Chapter Text
MARCH 1
3 Days Until Super Tuesday
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nymphadora muttered under her breath, rushing past a couple of volunteers. They ducked out of her way as soon as a perky blonde girl spotted the latest issue of The Washington Prophet in her hands, half-crumpled. Despite the paper’s state, Nymphadora could see a headline that made her heart stop as soon as she checked her mail.
REMUS LUPIN: GUNS ALL THE WAY AND NO CONTROL WHATSOEVER
by Rita Skeeter
Remus John Lupin runs a presidential campaign of senior US Senator from Washington, Andromeda Tonks née Black. One of the main political standpoints of the Tonks campaign is their support of the gun control movement. But what would your reaction be if you found out that Remus Lupin almost shot a man with a gun bought in a simple supermarket?
Rita Skeeter investigates the hypocrisy of the Tonks campaign manager, or how people support the distribution of guns by voting for Senator Tonks.
She was sure she almost took the door off the hinges as she entered her mother’s office. Everyone was already there, and Nymphadora cursed herself once again. She chose the worst day to oversleep.
She looked around the room until her eyes landed on her mother. Andromeda was standing in the furthest corner of the room, leaning onto the bookcase and gazing out of the window. Nymphadora didn’t like the look on her face at all— as if she had already made a decision and wasn’t happy with it.
She pulled her pinkish hair—the color was already wearing off—into a high ponytail and headed to the leather couch. There was Remus, head down in shame. Lily sat next to him, stroking her friend’s back in gentle circles while James stood nearby, watching them with a clenched jaw and unreadable expression.
“Remus,” Nymphadora called out. He looked up, and she couldn’t hold back a gasp. His eyes were red-rimmed, downcast, a shadow looming behind them she hadn’t seen in so long. “No. No, no, no. Don’t tell me it’s that bad. It can’t be.” She shook her head, refusing to believe it. They would get over it, the way they had always done.
“There’s no getting over this, Dora. Not this time,” he assured her, a small, defeated smile tugging his lips. And God, it hurt so much that out of all people, he was smiling right now.
Nymphadora’s gaze snapped to Lily, a chaotic mess she had never seen a woman before. Her red hair was rumpled after running through them probably a hundred times, and her clothes were mismatched in the worst way possible.
Nymphadora let out a shuddered breath, clenching and unclenching her fists in a weak attempt to steady herself. Breathe in, one-two. Breathe out, one-two-three-four. “Who was the rat?”
James took a few steps towards and spat out, “Peter. He betrayed us.”
And it all clicked. Lily and James and oh God, Remus—they weren’t just so shattered because of the fall-out that was to come. They were stabbed in the back by someone they had known for more than thirty years, someone who was their best friend, someone who they thought they could trust.
And suddenly, all she was seeing was red, white-hot rage filling every cell in her body. “That goddamn Republican bitch!” Before anyone knew it, an empty glass that stood on the coffee table was hurling towards the wall, shattering into hundreds of pieces. She couldn’t believe that one of her aunts—or, better to say, both of them—actually had a damn audacity to pull off something so utterly, devastatingly low.
“Nymphadora.” Andromeda’s voice was cold, but to everyone who knew her well enough, there was a barely concealed rage hidden behind every letter. “Don’t talk about your aunt that way.” She looked at Nymphadora, folding her hands as if in self-defense.
Nymph’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Are you fucking kidding me, mom?” She remembered to whisper, not willing to be overheard by the rest of the campaign staff. “My dear aunt not only poached our communications director, who was privy to all of our strategies. No, as if this wasn’t enough, she used a piece of private information he was trusted with for—for what exactly?”
When her mother stayed silent, Nymphadora turned to Lily, and then to James. It was another two minutes before her eyes landed on Remus, and there was something in his eyes, in the quirked corners of his lips, that told her everything the words never could.
“No. It’s not happening. No.”
“Dora,” Remus breathed out, shaking his head and chuckling as if she still was a child. “I handed in my resignation letter twenty minutes ago. It’s already done. I’m sorry.”
She felt tears burning in the corners of her eyes and turned to her mother once again, croaking out a barely audible, “Mom?”
Andromeda’s eyes were shining with unshed tears of her own, a quiet acceptance of what had happened written on her face. “There’s nothing we can do about it. It’s the best course of action.”
“Like hell it is!” Nymphadora spat out. “How can it be the best? What, isn’t anyone going to talk her out of this stupidity?” She looked at James, and at Lily, and then at Remus, waiting for a back-up that never came. Her gaze snapped to her mother. “C’mon, mom, there’s got to be something! You’re not really letting your campaign manager go three days before Super Tuesday, are you?”
When there was no reply after what felt like an eternity but couldn’t be more than five minutes, Nymphadora glared at her mother until Andromeda spoke up, sounding more exhausted and defeated than she had beein in a long time. “What do you want me to say, Nymphadora? Why do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know!” she shouted, not even caring anymore, throwing her hands in the air for the briefest of seconds. “Don’t let him go! Remus is one of the best campaign managers on the East coast! You work so well together, and for fuck’s sake, you have been best friends since forever, and he—he—” Her rant was interrupted by a feather-light touch to her shoulder, and Nymphadora turned around, crashing into Remus’s embrace. She buried her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “There’s got to be something,” she whispered, barely holding back the tears.
“Andy is advocating for gun control, and her campaign manager is caught up in the scandal involving his usage of a gun he bought freely,” he said calmly, and God, she wanted to hit him for this stupid soothing voice so much.
“You were seventeen, for fuck’s sake! Greyback assaulted you, he almost fucking beat you to death!” Nymphadora hissed, reminding him. As if Remus wasn’t the one who survived this, as if he somehow forgot.
“It doesn’t change the fact that I bought a gun, and the next time he came onto me, I pointed it at him.”
“There’s got to be something,” she repeated stubbornly, pulling back to meet his eyes.
He smiled at her, and Nymphadora felt her heart breaking at what was sure to come. “There’s nothing, Dora. I can’t be there for your mom anymore as her campaign manager.”
“Well, then I’m leaving, too,” she said.
Remus shook his head, his eyes shining with something that wasn’t quite tears. “We both know you can’t. You won’t leave Andy, and you staying there, helping her manage the fall-out from this scandal is the right, the best thing to do.”
“How fighting for you isn’t the right thing?” she snapped. “Why the fuck no one is fighting?”
Remus sighed. “Because all of us here know that me leaving this campaign right now is what your mother needs to make it to the Oval. And you understand that, too.”
“I don’t want to.”
Remus chuckled sadly, pulling away entirely as Nymphadora’s hands fell to her sides. “It’s time for me to go. You all have a lot of work to do.”
“Remus—” she tried again.
He just shook his head like the last time, silencing her. “I’ll be in touch. I’m just a phone call away. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Remus headed towards the door, reached for the doorknob, and then looked over his shoulder at all of them. Andromeda was still standing by the window, hugging herself now, guilt-stricken at what she believed was entirely her fault—even though everyone here knew it wasn’t. Lily was sitting on the couch, face buried in her hands to hide the tears undoubtedly streaming down her cheeks. James was watching him solemnly, angry at the world, at Peter and at himself for not predicting his betrayal somehow.
And then, there was Nymphadora. Too strong and stubborn to let herself cry, too strong and too stubborn to let him go. Remus smiled at her, at all of them, and said, “You just... do what we all came here for. Andy can change the world when she gets to the Oval. It’s your job to make it happen. And I believe in each and every last one of people on this campaign.” And with that, he left.
Andromeda was the first who spoke up, about ten minutes after Remus’s exit. She dropped her arms to her sides and headed towards the table, reaching for her black leather notebook and a fountain pen. “Let’s talk strategy and staff,” she said.
With her words, everyone snapped into action. James nodded and left the room to make a few calls to reporters closest to them, while Lily ran her hand through her hair one more time. She took in a deep breath, opened her eyes and said, “Well, for starters, we need to decide if we distance our campaign from Remus as much as possible, or—”
Nymphadora scrambled for the words that weren’t too insulting, but it was her mother who interrupted the redhead. “It’s off the table, Lil. We won’t be putting everything on Remus. I won’t allow it.”
Lily let out a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, and nodded. Nymphadora could picture what was running through her head at that moment; she was extremely grateful that Andromeda didn’t choose the easiest way out.
“Okay. So, I suggest we play a pity-card with the press first,” Lily began, switching to her press-secretary mode. “There are hospital records that will prove Remus was beaten up, badly, and I think we can even spin it in his favor. I say we still strongly support gun control, obviously, but we also state that we are against situations when minors are left without protection from adults.”
“We charge into foster care with double effort.” Andromeda nodded, catching up. “Offer people more changes in the current system.”
Lily hummed, tapping on the coffee table with her fingertips. “Self-defense training, maybe? Nothing too excessive, but if a person can defend themselves without a gun—”
“No, we can’t do that,” Nymphadora interjected. “If we offer this, then we just dwell on the violence. It can make matters even worse.”
Lily cursed under her breath. “So what if—”
“Violence isn’t the main problem. It’s a symptom of the disease which is a foster care system the way it is now,” Andromeda suggested, writing it down at Lily’s eager nod.
“Remus was thrown from one foster home to another since he was twelve,” Nymphadora mused. “And Greyback and his gang—”
“—had been in the system even longer,” Lily finished for her. “A common dominator. Brilliant, you two.”
“It makes sense. Like, truly does.” Nymphadora even managed to crack a small smile. “Foster care is one of the topics we’re already passionate about. Yes, there will be a hit concerning our gun control movements, but—”
“What we lose from these supporters, we can gain from the ones who see all the cracks in the system.” Andromeda smiled, actually smiled, and Nymphadora let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. They were going to make this right. “James!” she called out, craning her neck to look past Nymphadora at the still-closed door. About five seconds later, he hurried to the room, papers in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear in another. “What do we have?”
“On hold with The Washington Prophet. Debating options. They’re offering us Skeeter,” James sighed.
“Absolutely not—”
“Over my dead body—”
“No fucking way—”
Andromeda, Lily, and Nymphadora glanced at each other after they realized they spoke up simultaneously. James rolled his eyes at them and murmured, “Yes, I figured you’d be... opposed, to say the least. I’ll keep trying.” He ducked out of the office, leaving the door open. There was quite a commotion in the bullpen, mostly interns and volunteers, wide-eyed and awaiting instructions.
Andromeda headed outside, stopping a few feet away from the mass, and started rattling off orders before anyone could even do as much as blink. “Lavender, I want new polling numbers in fifteen. Parvati, you and Padma are on research. I want to know everything literally anyone says about this situation, including gossip blogs. Dean, get me Congresswoman McGonagall on the phone in twenty. If she calls earlier, put her trough immediately. Oh, and we need to interview someone on the current state of the foster care system. Someone new, someone we couldn’t get our hands on before.”
Everyone who got their tasks scurried away, mostly in silence, except Padma’s grumbling of, “I hate gossip blogs.”
Andromeda chuckled half-heartedly and that, and then focused back on a few people still standing in the bullpen. “Everyone else, get to work. I will be talking strategy with Lily and Nymphadora. Disturbance only on top-level emergencies.” With that, she turned on her heels and stormed into her office, shutting the door behind her and leaning onto it. She closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. It won’t do you any good to kill two of your sisters, she tried to remind herself. Convicted murderers can’t be Presidents.
“Mom?” she heard Nymphadora’s concerned voice, and her eyes fluttered open.
“I’m fine,” she assured her, pushing off the door and passing her daughter to get to her table. As soon as she was seated, notebook right in front of her, she looked at her press-secretary. “Lil?”
“So, there’s a matter of your campaign manager—”
“No,” Andromeda cut her off. “Not yet. I don’t—” She bit her lower lip, a clear I don’t trust anyone the way I trusted him sitting on the tip of her tongue. She chose to swallow it. “Can we do without a campaign manager for a time, until I find someone suitable?”
No, she told herself. Super Tuesday is in three days. How can a candidate run without their campaign manager? It was a mind-shattering experience even with the best of the best, and Andromeda not only didn’t have that anymore—she didn’t have a campaign manager altogether. Still, it felt pointless to search for someone completely unknown and unreliable now. Andromeda supposed Minerva might have had some people on standby if anything ever went sideways with Remus, but she wasn’t that desperate for these options, not yet. She wanted a person to run her campaign for the next nine months to be someone she actually wanted.
“Well, it’s possible,” Lily agreed, albeit hesitantly as if she had seen every one of Andromeda’s thoughts—which she probably had. It was one of the things she liked most about working with her friend, they always seemed to read one another without much effort. “It will be hard and time-consuming, but we can do a month or two, maybe even three. The campaign manager is high-importance. It’s literally your future Chief of Staff. So, take your time. We’ll hold the fort.” Lily smiled at her.
Andromeda nodded and mouthed a quick, “Thank you.”
“But…” Lily drawled, and Andromeda couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course, Lily had to mention the fact Andromeda knew all too well. “It will be absolute hell, Andy. You will probably get four hours of sleep a night, max. That is if we find a new communications director. And we need one. Not today, not tomorrow. Yesterday.”
Nymphadora nodded once, a strand of her pinkish hair falling out of her ponytail. “We certainly can’t run this thing without one, especially with the Super Tuesday looming around. We need to start searching.” She paused, as if not wanting to continue, but ended up throwing a pretty eloquent, “Unless...” at Lily.
“Uh-huh,” the redhead mumbled. “Peter may be a treacherous bastard, but he still had much more knowledge in politics than I do.”
“So, what do you suggest then? Who, that is?” Nymphadora asked, folding her hands. Lily was a pretty fucking good press-secretary, managing daily press, but, for starters, she was absolutely awful at social media. She didn’t even have an Instagram account, and pretty much everything and everyone was on Insta these days.
“Let’s draw a portrait,” Andromeda offered.
The corners of Lily’s lips twitched as she reached for the clipboard and a pen. It was one of their favorite tactics when they were searching for a new member of the staff. It was like doing a puzzle. There were little pieces and qualities which absolutely had to be there, and put together, they created an image of the person they needed.
“So, a political science degree. And communications, obviously. Or PR,” Nymphadora started.
“Easily approachable. Likable,” Andromeda added as Lily scribbled down everything they were saying.
“Yes, I think that’s an important one,” Nymphadora said, turning to look at her mother. Her light-brown curls were a bit more chaotic today due to a rushed morning. She was distinctly looking like Nymphadora’s aunt and current nemesis number one, Bellatrix Black. She shuddered at the comparison. Maybe their appearance was quite similar, but her mother was nothing like Bellatrix.
Nymphadora shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts, and kept on. “Pettigrew was smart, yes, but he wasn’t really likable. I think a lot of people refused communications just because he was a bit... rat-like, or something.”
“How accurate,” Andromeda muttered, and both Lily and Nymph actually snorted at that. “What else?”
“I want at least two languages,” Lily added because for fuck’s sake, she couldn’t speak French, despite what other people thought. “And ambition, a lot of it. Loyalty, obviously. It has to be someone we know. She has to be—”
“Oh, so that will be a she,” Nymphadora chuckled. “I’m certainly on board.”
“That’s an obvious advantage.” Lily wrote down her own words. “More women on the campaign means—”
“—more votes from feminists,” Nymphadora finished for her. “Yeah, I know the drill, Red.”
Lily threw her hands in the air and groaned. “For God’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?”
“Probably until the day one of us dies of exhaustion and too much caffeine in our blood system,” Nymphadora deadpanned, straight-faced, hands in the back pockets of her jeans.
Lily rolled her eyes, looking as if she was seconds away from strangling her. “Oh, for the love of—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Andromeda cut in with enough firmness in her voice to get them to stop. “You both have to get back on track. A woman, two or more degrees and languages, is approachable, likable, ambitious, loyal, and familiar. What else? It’s still too… abstract.” She wrinkled her nose at the word.
Andromeda took in a deep breath and tried to browse through all the important names in her mind that would fit the needed description. There was Marlene, whom she hadn’t spoken in the last six or seven years. The other woman was a mean political fixer, a great advisor, for sure. She made a name for herself in that field, but by all means, Marlene was no communications director. Besides, there was her previous affiliation with Narcissa—it had been decades ago, but Andromeda wasn’t sure she was ready to take a risk like that. Not after the stunt the Black campaign had just pulled on hers.
It was more than a political campaign, though—it had become something personal the moment they attacked Remus. Sure, when Andromeda decided to run, knowing all too well that Bellatrix will be absolutely furious with her decision, she understood what complications it might bring her. But her, not Remus, not James and Lily, who had lost their colleague and their friend.
Everything was too good to be true, she supposed. February was their month. The Tonks campaign hit it off at the beginning of the month in Iowa, with 69% of the votes. New Hampshire Democratic primary was another win, and Andromeda had been polling so great compared to her results in the first caucus of this election. Even three days after the results were announced, all she could see in front of her eyes was 75%, just three points lower than Bellatrix’s numbers in the Republican primary. Then there was Nevada, and then South Carolina basically two days ago. They had breezed through caucuses and primaries, a team of people who had been best friends since they were ten.
But Peter must have already been working with the Black campaign for quite some time, so everything had to be a pretty illusion she didn’t want to give up. Since flashes of Remus’ past were exposed in the morning, Andromeda had been through every interaction she had had with Peter in the past months. A little uncertainty here and there, longer hours than usual, a little bit of secrecy and forced smiles—Andromeda had written it off as a sign of exhaustion, of a campaign weighing down on him. She would never in a million years think he had been working with her sisters, of all people in the world, for the opposite party with ideas he couldn’t have really supported.
Andromeda couldn’t find it in herself to be really mad at him the way she thought she was supposed to. Peter had always been smart but quiet, a little too shy, and a bit under-the-influence type. He was easy prey for Bellatrix, she was sure of that. He was easy prey for Narcissa. So, instead of being angry at Peter, she was absolutely furious with them. Even more with Narcissa than with Bellatrix, because she knew all too well how they operated, years of growing together and then apart still etched in her memory. Bellatrix may be the candidate, the one running for President after being groomed by Riddle for years, but Andromeda wasn’t foolish like many other people were. She knew Narcissa was the one who was running things, from every decision made to every article printed and every word said after being carefully crafted and approved by her.
Andromeda shook her head, realizing she got a bit carried away as she always did when the thoughts of her sisters were invading her mind. When she looked up from the notebook still lying in front of her, she was met with Nymphadora’s concerned eyes. Andromeda sent a small, meaningful smile her way, and then turned to Lily. The redhead was staring at an opposite wall, just past Nymphadora, and seemed to be as deeply in thought as Andromeda herself was just a little while ago. There was a slight crinkle on Lily’s forehead, the one she would always get than she was thinking too hard, even back when they were teenagers preparing for an upcoming test.
It was gone barely two seconds after Andromeda acknowledged its existence, and Lily’s features smoothed, became softer with something suspiciously reminding… triumph. So Andromeda waited for the name of a person who would be the perfect candidate for the communications director position. It must have been what all of this was about. But then Lily said, “Sweatpants and yesterday’s blouse are not really the clothes I fancy having on at work. I think I’ll go change.”
And with that, she was gone in an instant, leaving behind a trail of leathery perfume, accompanied by Nymphadora’s eloquent, “What the actual fuck was that?”
What the actual fuck, indeed.
“Mione!”
Ultimately, the urgency in the voice was the only reason Hermione jolted awake. She was too groggy to recognize it just yet, so she looked around, taking in her surroundings. The sun was shining through the half-closed curtains, and there was a mess of red hair on the pillow next to her. She heard light snoring, and then a barely audible, “Bloody hell, Harry...”
So, Harry was the one calling for her. Hermione ran a hand through her hair, turning to her bedroom door and eyeing it expectantly. Three, two, one...
“Mione!” Harry almost took the door off the hinges as he entered the room, still in his pajamas, a half-crumpled paper in his right hand.
Hermione glanced at the clock on her nightstand—7:30 in the morning, for God’s sake, and on Sunday, the day she turned off every alarm and decided to sleep in for the first time in what felt like months. Or maybe years. Of course, Harry would choose to barge into her room today, shouting her name with such urgency as if the world was ending. “If it’s not about the election, then I’m seriously considering murdering you,” Hermione grumbled what was meant as a joke. She pulled covers closer to her body, intending to go back to sleep.
But Harry’s face twisted in something, and suddenly, she was wide awake. She groaned ever-so-slightly, pushing the sheets aside and getting out of bed. “What is it?”
“It’s about Uncle Remus,” Harry said, casting a quick glance at what Hermione recognized was a new issue of The Washington Prophet. Then, he looked up at her, and added, “It’s bad. Like, really, really bad.”
Hermione’s interest was piqued in an instant, and she basically dragged her best friend out of her bedroom, closing the door behind them and leaving Ron to his snoring. She headed towards the kitchen area, Harry trailing behind her. She took a Starbucks cappuccino drink from the fridge and downed half of it before turning back to Harry and asking, “How bad is ‘bad’, exactly?”
“I think Peter is the one who leaked information to the Black campaign, and I’m sure Uncle Remus will have to resign. Effective immediately.”
Hermione was sure that if she was drinking, she would spat it out. Instead, she simply choked on air. After her brief coughing session, she gripped the kitchen counter and croaked out, “What? You mean they lost not only their campaign manager but a communications director, too?” She took in a deep breath, clearing her throat, and then asked, “Is there any chance Lupin can stay?”
Harry handed her a half-crumpled newspaper. “You tell me.”
Hermione reached for it and leaned on the kitchen counter, studying the first page. Because, of course, news about Remus Lupin had made the first page. As if it wasn’t bad already, Rita Skeeter’s name on the byline made it ten times worse.
The article was about something that happened more than twenty years ago when Lupin pointed a gun at one of his bullies. It was approximately six hundred words of dwelling on that fact. Hermione was sure she had already seen the word ‘gun’ fourteen times, and she wasn’t even halfway through it.
She didn’t need to finish reading it to reply to Harry, because the message written on the first page was as clear as a cloudless sky.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” She watched Harry’s shoulders slump. “It’s an incredibly thought-out attack. He could have stayed if that was uncovered in literally any other way, but this?” She lifted the paper and then threw it away, watching it fly to the floor. “The Blacks knew what they were doing. I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. Not for Lupin.”
Hermione filled her words with as much compassion and sympathy as possible, but she could already feel the wheels turning in her head. That was quite a scandal. The Tonks campaign needed good press now, needed to focus on something not so violent. It could draw the attention away, she mused. “Hey, Harry,” she said absent-mindedly, “have you talked to your mom yet?”
He shook his head. “I decided against calling. It’s probably a literal hell out there for her, and for Andy, too.”
“Wasn’t Lupin in foster care?” Hermione asked, tapping on the kitchen counter with her fingertips.
And that was the moment when Harry had finally looked at her and noticed The Crinkle. He got used to seeing it on his mother’s face, and when he had first seen it on Hermione’s in their second year in undergrad, he almost fainted. They had been studying for their comparative politics exam, and when Hermione had been browsing through her notes and memory cards with utmost attention, he had noticed The Crinkle.
Just like with his mother, The Crinkle between her eyebrows meant that Hermione was deeply in thought. It took him about three seconds to realize what exactly she was thinking. “Are you trying to figure out how they can get out of this mess?” he asked, and if there was a slight accusation in his tone, he chose not to dwell on it.
Hermione’s gaze snapped to his face, and that calculating look turned into something softer. “I—of course not,” she huffed, absolutely unconvincingly. “It would be extremely... insensitive.” Harry just looked at her. Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered, “Okay, maybe I am. But, in my defense, there’s a road they can take, a foster care system. Reveal its cracks. Go with the ‘the system is the core reason for violence in Remus Lupin’s case.’”
“Oh,” Harry said, looking somewhat puzzled, as he did every time Hermione talked about politics. “I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s a good angle. Maybe you could pitch it to my mom?” he suggested, hopeful as ever.
“Harry, you sound just like Ronald.” She shook her head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging her lips. “We’re talking about Lily Evans Potter here, who is working with Andromeda Tonks, who is running for the Office. I’m pretty sure they got it all figured out in under two minutes.”
“Well, you did, too,” Harry noticed, nudging her side.
Hermione let out a laugh, shaking her head once again. “Whatever.” She pushed off the kitchen counter and headed to the fridge, taking out two yogurts. “Want one?”
“What choice do I have?” Harry asked, squinting to see the flavors. He was in such a rush after getting newspaper by mail that he completely forgot about his glasses. Without them on, he distinctly reminded Hermione of a squirrel.
“Well, since one of them is chocolate chip, you don’t really have one.” She chuckled and handed her best friend the other one, which turned out to be pomegranate flavored.
Harry groaned. “Again?”
Hermione shrugged, trying to keep herself from laughing. She took two tablespoons from one of the drawers and handed one to Harry, who was still grumbling about how he never got the flavor he wanted.
They ate in comfortable silence, until Hermione broke it with a tentative, “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “I wish someone called me and just explained what the hell is going on,” Harry admitted, a shade of guilt lacing his tone. “I’m really worried about Uncle Remus because he loves this job. And about Andy, too, because they make a pretty good team, if... what was that again? North Carolina and—”
“South Carolina,” she corrected him. “And their numbers were pretty good after New Hampshire, too.”
Harry nodded. “And I’m also worried about mom. Like, what if the Blacks decide to go after her next?” he asked no one in particular, his gaze hardening at the mere thought. “They got their hands on Peter, got him to betray mom and dad and Uncle Remus and Andy. What if Narcissa Black just, I don’t know, decides to destroy my mother’s career on a whim?”
“I doubt it could be done.” Hermione rolled her eyes on confusion on her friend’s face. “Harry, your mom is politically perfect. No shady backstory, a great education, a happy marriage with two kids. An attractive appearance.” Harry cringed at the last part, making Hermione laugh. “My point is… do you even know how rare is that? Narcissa Black may be a political Godzilla, but she is no God. She won’t do something to lose her credibility, and any attack against Lily’s picture-perfect everything would be exactly that.”
Harry chuckled. “You know, this politically perfect thing? It’s not that rare as you make it to be.”
Hermione just raised her left eyebrow at the statement, and Harry rushed to explain. “I mean, here you are. Sitting there, in front of me. Being pretty politically perfect,” he drawled. “Well, except for this petty theft you have on your record. I can’t find any other name for what you’re doing by taking chocolate chip yogurt all to yourself.”
She pushed at his shoulder, barely using any force. “Very funny.”
“Why didn’t you sign up as volunteer?” he asked the question that was nagging him since the start of Andy’s presidential campaign.
“Because volunteers don’t get paid, Harry,” Hermione said in that tone that made him feel a little bit stupid. “Besides, I don’t think I have to remind you that I have a full-time job. With only one day off a week, and that’s if I’m lucky.”
Harry wrinkled his nose at the mention of her job. “Your job is boring, Mione.”
Hermione opened her mouth to argue but shut it less than in a second. She couldn’t really fight Harry on this one. She knew her job was kind of important—she was working for Congresswoman McGonagall, after all. But this was probably the most spectacular thing about her career, because it was, indeed, boring as hell. There was nothing particularly exciting about it—just filling out forms, bringing coffee, and ghostwriting great speeches and organizing events others got credit for. Hermione was pretty sure Minerva McGonagall hadn’t even remembered about her existence, and she tried no to feel too bitter about it.
It’s just a first step, she reminded herself. Even though it's a long one.
The truth was that it had been eight months since she graduated Stanford, and seven months since she started working for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office. The job paid well, and would certainly look good on her resume if when she decided to leave, but that was it. There was no drive about it, no game, no adventures she had wanted when she decided to go into politics and communications.
“It’s not,” she replied after too much of a pause, sounding unsure even for her own taste.
“Uh-huh. Let’s pretend I actually believe you.” Harry winked at her in this child-like way he always did. A soft chuckle escaped Hermione’s lips because if there was one thing she knew about Harry, it was that he couldn’t wink to save his life. “So, I really think you should—”
Hermione knew he would talk about volunteering, again, so she almost shouted an excited thank God! when they heard his phone ringing. Harry threw her a dark look that told her she wasn’t entirely off the hook yet and went to his bedroom to fetch his cellphone.
At the same time, Hermione threw away yogurt packaging and rinsed the spoons, putting them back in the drawer. It didn’t look like Harry was coming back anytime soon, so she slipped into her own room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible. Hermione brushed her teeth and took a quick one-minute shower before returning to her room, stilling in front of her closet, still wrapped in the towel. She was trying to decide between sweatpants and leggings for the day when the door swung open, again.
“Mione!” Harry called out, even more urgency in his voice this time.
“For the love of God, Harry, I’m practically naked,” she hissed at him, gesturing at her state of undress and then at Ron to tell Harry not to wake him.
“Sorry,” he whispered, turning away as quickly as he could. Hermione could see the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks. “So, I kinda need your help. It’s a matter of national importance and blah-blah-blah.”
She narrowed her eyes, close to burrowing a hole in the back of his head. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe you could, um, put something on? Your work clothes, preferably.” Before Hermione could ask any questions, he slipped out of the room as quickly as he appeared.
Hermione turned to look at her clothes again and sighed, already exhausted, and it wasn’t even eight. She pulled out of the closet one of her favorite pantsuits and glanced longingly at the items she was looking at before Harry barged it. It looked like sweatpants would have to wait another week.
“Well? Is that acceptable?” Hermione asked as soon as she entered the living room, spreading her hands in a mocking gesture. Her slacks and blazer were the lightest shade of navy blue, giving a faint hue to her hazel brown eyes. She chose to wear a simple white cotton shirt under the blazer and a pair of beige oxfords, which would go well with the trench coat. Her hair had always been a more complicated task, so she spent about five minutes trying to figure out some sort of updo. None of her attempts were successful, so Hermione just let it loose after combing them for what felt like seventy times in a row.
“You look great,” Harry said, actually grinning.
That left Hermione completely, utterly puzzled. She knew he had been talking with both of his parents and probably with Lupin, too, so the look of absolute happiness and triumph was quite confusing. Maybe they had found a way to keep Lupin on the team? Hermione seriously doubted that, and that raised about twelve more questions in her mind. She was halfway through the seventh one when her train of thought halted to a stop, thanks to Harry.
He took a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of her, and pinned something to her blazer's left lapel. When he stepped aside, she noticed it was a customary Tonks for President pin, a USA flag behind the words and Andromeda’s smiling face.
Hermione’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Okay, did you sign me up as a volunteer for the campaign without telling me?”
“What? No!” Harry stuttered unconvincingly. He chuckled nervously. “It’s just, both my mom and Unccle Remus need my help. There’s a binder Uncle Remus needs, and he’s like, halfway across the city. But mom is out of her spare outfits, and there are usually two garment bags in my closet just in case. It’s pretty convenient since campaign headquarters are four blocks down from our apartment building.”
Hermione frowned, casting a quick glance over Harry’s shoulder and noticing the garment bag on the couch. “So you want me to—”
“Deliver my mom’s clothes to her so she could avert crises looking impeccably and not wearing sweatpants? Yeah,” he finished for her, his eyes actually gleaming. Harry surely didn’t look like the person who got told his Uncle Remus had to quit his job. No, he looked like he just got told his parents were going to buy him a car. Or an island.
“On my only day off. At eight o’clock. On Sunday.” Hermione narrowed her eyes, letting her annoyance show. So much for sleeping in, so much for wearing sweatpants all day.
“It’s a matter of national importance!” Harry practically shrieked, and oh, if Hermione hadn’t already been suspecting he was up to something, she would've totally started doing it now. “We’re talking about press-secretary of the future President of the United States, Mione,” he said in that voice as if he was actually scolding her.
“Let’s pretend I believe you,” Hermione answered dubiously. Her gut was telling her something was very wrong, but she still walked to the couch and took the garment bag in her hands.
Harry came from behind her and pulled her into a tight embrace, muttering an over-excited, “Thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”
Yeah. Something was really, really wrong. She just couldn’t figure out what.
In Hermione’s opinion, the headquarters for the Tonks campaign was quite impressive. It was a huge open space filled with tons of glass cubicles and buzzing with energy. There were a few rooms with walls that weren’t made of glass, and she supposed it was the candidate’s and Mrs. Potter’s offices.
Upon arriving, she collided—quite literally—with James in the hall, and he didn’t seem surprised at seeing her. Hermione got the impression that he was intentionally stalling her because it was the only explanation she could find for his countless questions on a day like this. She knew there were about four different things he needed to take care of after Skeeter’s article, but he still spent five minutes of his time bugging her with questions about her breakfast, of all things. James also was glancing at his Apple Watch literally every twenty seconds, and on the sixth minute of their conversation, he interrupted her to tell her how sorry he was he couldn’t give her more of his time. He practically flew out of the hall, ducking into one of the open offices with glass walls, and all Hermione could do was stupidly blink.
She went ahead and halted to a stop only when she found herself in the middle of it all. The phones were ringing at least on eight or nine different tables, volunteers in campaign t-shirts were scattered around the room, carrying coffee cups or piles and piles of documents. There was a lot of shouting, do-this and do-that’s, and also a really loud and truly exasperated, “I need two more cups of coffee if I want to get through today without murdering anyone.”
The voice was muffled because of all the noise, but Hermione still found it distinctly familiar. She turned around and ended up being face-to-face with Lily Evans Potter, who didn’t look half as bad as Harry told her when he described his mother’s clothes. No, Lily actually looked the way she always did, in a grey pantsuit and a dark green top, her red hair in a stylish updo Hermione was ready to kill for this morning.
“Mrs. Potter?” Hermione asked, not even bothering to hide her surprise and confusion at the woman’s appearance. Lily Evans Potter sure didn’t look like it was a matter of national importance to get her out of the sweatpants. God, sweatpants. Hermione groaned inwardly, a little envious of Ron, who was probably still sleeping back in their apartment.
“Mione, it’s so good to see you!” Lily pulled her into a quick one-armed hug, her over-enthusiastic voice and a radiant grin leaving Hermione even more puzzled than she had already been. “And how many times do I have to tell you? It’s just Lily.”
Hermione nodded. “Lily. Okay.” She gave the older woman a quick once-over, trying to find a coffee stain or a piece of ripped fabric in her pantsuit, but there was nothing of the sort. “I’m sorry, but you look impeccably—ready to take on the world, really—so what am I doing here?”
“Oh, I’m sorry for dragging you out of your bed at that ungodly hour,” Lily said in that tone of voice that told Hermione she wasn’t sorry at all. “I found this one in the back of my closet about five minutes before your arrival. Sorry to bother you.”
“Oh, nothing to worry—”
Lily didn’t let her finish, cutting her off with an ecstatic, “Actually, I had a chat with Harry. He recounted your conversation to me, and I was pleased to hear your thoughts about how you would deal with the fall-out from that hideous article.” Hermione refrained from calling Harry an asshole just because he was Lily’s son, but she still couldn’t help the slight parting of her lips. “Actually, I was impressed. It was almost the exact same idea Andy talked about earlier today when we had a briefing.”
“She did?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask, her heart fluttering at the thought. She strongly believed that Andromeda Tonks would be the one to end Tom Riddle’s presidency and stop Bellatrix Black from taking the Oval over from him. And finding out she had a similar way of thinking with one of the few politicians she actually liked and was ready to stand behind? It was pretty damn amazing.
Lily just hummed, looking slightly over Hermione’s shoulder, not meeting her eyes. “You know, I think I’ll actually use that outfit you brought sometime in the future,” she said absent-mindedly, reaching for the garment bag. “I have to take this to my office, and then answer one or two calls. Can you wait for me here? It will take five minutes, tops. I would like to thank you for your help. Breakfast, maybe?”
Before Hermione could thank her for the offer but say that she should really head home to sleep, Lily hurried away to what Hermione supposed was the woman’s office, but looked more like a conference room, with glass walls and a giant table littered with papers.
Hermione looked around, searching for a place to sit down, but found that there was literally no one who was doing that. Everyone was running or standing, and the only people who were sitting were on the floor, packing parcels with brochures or typing furiously on their laptops. She kept looking until her eyes landed on the girl who was the only one behind her desk, staring at her computer screen. She looked fresh out of high school, with blonde hair in a messy bun and an expression that told Hermione she could cry any second. Hermione looked around once again, watching if anybody had seen the girl’s state of distress and was coming to help her, but everyone was busy with their own tasks. There wasn’t any sight of Lily, either, so Hermione sighed and headed towards the girl’s cubicle.
When she came closer, the girl jumped—actually jumped, for the love of God—and looked up to meet Hermione’s gaze. The blonde’s eyes were the darkest shade of blue, pleading and gleaming with unshed tears as if Hermione’s arrival was the sign of her being kicked out to the curb.
“Hello. Do you need any help?” Hermione asked patiently, her lips quirked in a soft, timid smile so not to scare the girl off—she had already looked like she was contemplating running for heels or jumping out of the window.
“Yes—no—yes,” the girl muttered in one breath.
“Okay.” Hermione nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Hannah.”
“So, Hannah,” Hermione drawled. “You’re one of the volunteers, right?” The customary t-shirt was the most telling sign, as well as the girl’s age, so Hermione wasn’t surprised when the girl nodded shakily. “And why are you volunteering?”
“Well, I—I think Senator Tonks would make a great President, and I support her opinions on, like, most things. Everything, really,” Hannah blurted out. “I’m in my senior year, and we do this thing in our political science class where we can choose to learn theory or… try it out in real life?” The blonde looked up at Hermione as if checking that she was following on. “And just that day, after I talked with my counselor, I found out there were still a few volunteer positions left with the schedule that fits my school one. So, I signed up, and now… I’m more than sure I’m failing spectacularly.”
“What were you asked to do?” Hermione asked, leaning over the girl’s shoulder to look at her computer screen. There were at least six different tabs open on the home screen, one of which was Microsoft Word, and the other one was Excel.
“There’s this speech someone from the editorial wrote. About Mr. Lupin’s resignation and its reasons?” Hannah clicked the mouse and showed her the document with typed words. “So, Ms. Evans asked some volunteer to check it, so it would be like, politically correct? And that some volunteer is me. Obviously,” she huffed, clearly annoyed with herself more than with anyone else. “And I don’t even know what to look for. It’s my fourth day, and so far, all I’ve been doing was coffee runs or office runs when I just bring documents from one place to another. So, all kinds of errands, really,” Hannah explained, looking up to see if Hermione followed. “And now I was tasked with something real. Important. And I can’t even figure out what to do, and I tried asking a few people a couple of times, but mostly they just shout at me to do it all myself because we’re in a crisis mode, as if I don’t know that. I tried to get ahold of Ms. Evans, but she’s just—I couldn’t. She’s like, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Like a hurricane or something. You know what I mean?”
Hermione chuckled. That sure sounded like Lily Evans Potter she had known since she was eleven. “I think I do, yeah.”
“So, that’s it. And I think I’m hyperventilating. And I don’t even know if I should be telling you that. For all I know, you might be from the Black campaign.” Hannah looked shaken at the thought, wide-eyed and absolutely horrified. “God, please, tell me you’re not.” The blonde looked Hermione over and breathed out in relief as soon as she spotted the Tonks for President pin. “Oh thank God. But still, I don’t even know your name. What’s your name? Sorry for all the rambling. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”
Hermione let out a soft laugh. “Nothing to worry about, Hannah. And my name is Hermione Granger.”
Hannah’s brow furrowed as she tried to scramble through all the names she had learned in the past fourth days. “I don’t think I know you? You aren’t a volunteer, are you? Because you surely don’t look like one. In that suit…” She paled as she realized what she had just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that! I mean, I did, but—God. I wanna die. High school is a piece of cake compared to, you know, all of that. Politics and pretty women.”
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that. She found the girl’s rambling quite adorable. “So, what do you say if I help you check that speech?” she asked instead of commenting on anything that was said. “I had to take a class in my first year of undergrad, which was just about that. Making sure things are politically correct, and there’s not a thing that can, you know…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain.
“Start a war or something like that?” Hannah chuckled.
“Exactly.” Hermione nodded, and then looked over at the computer screen, hovering over the girl, her left hand on the table supporting her weight. She read through the speech in under a minute and frowned. “That speech is…” She scrambled for the right word that wasn’t ‘totally incorrect’, ‘horrible’, ‘dreading’, ‘awful’, and all the synonyms for these words that could be found in fifty-two different languages.
“You think it’s awful, too?” Hannah quite literally beamed at that. Hermione thought she looked much younger with that broad grin on her face, which only grew wider when she nodded. “Thank God, I thought I was seeing things.”
“You most certainly weren’t,” Hermione assured her. “It focuses too much on what had happened, on the fact of the violence rather than on the fact what had brought it. And it reminds me of Rita Skeeter’s article?” She turned her head to the right and looked at the blonde, raising her eyebrows in the unspoken question of whatever Hannah had read it or not. As soon as the blonde nodded, Hermione continued, “Too many guns and too few reasons.”
Hannah hummed in agreement, still looking at the monitor as though it was her mortal enemy. Seeing the look of sheer determination on the girl’s face, Hermione got an idea. “What do you say if we rewrite it?”
Hannah blinked, actually staring at her now. “What?”
“With a speech like that, checking it for being politically correct basically means editing, and editing, in turn, actually means rewriting.”
“Can… Can we do that?” Hannah lowered her voice. “Won’t I get kicked out? Won’t you get fired?”
Hermione chose not to tell the girl she actually didn’t work here. She was one-hundred percent sure Hannah might freak out at disclosing so much information to someone who wasn’t a part of the campaign staff. “Everything will be fine. Let’s try it. So, the first sentence is easy. It’s just retelling of the fact that Remus Lupin isn’t Senator Tonks’ campaign manager anymore. And then, we mention the reasons.”
Hannah frowned. “Isn’t there like, one reason?”
“In my experience, there’s always a reason behind the reason.”
Andromeda was talking to Minerva in the conference room, Nymphadora sitting right behind her and taking notes when Lily all but barged into the room with an over-excited grin. “I found her!” she cried. Andromeda’s eyebrows shot up that. She didn’t think she would be seeing Lily happy, actually happy anytime soon, not after everything that happened with Remus.
“What?” she mouthed, half-listening to Minerva, but focusing all of her attention on her press-secretary.
“I found a new communications director for your campaign,” Lily elaborated. Suddenly, her grin turned into a triumphant smirk, and Andromeda immediately knew it was something big. This smirk was Lily’s political one, the one she would always throw at Narcissa whenever they crossed each other during primaries or various political events throughout the years.
“Minerva, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to call you back,” Andromeda ended the call, putting down the phone. She looked at Lily expectantly, but when after a minute of silence, nothing was said, she asked, a bit impatiently, “Where is she?”
Lily ignored her question altogether, taking a quick step forward. “So, she has two degrees, Communications and PR in undergrad and Political Science in grad school. Both Stanford, top of her class, and she was also a valedictorian in high school who graduated a year earlier,” Lily latched into an explanation, not allowing Andromeda or Nymphadora to get even one word in or ask a question. “She’s fluent in French, has a B2 in German and a B1 Spanish. And her appearance—she’s approachable, likable, stylish, and sometimes Harry even says she looks like a Disney princess. But she’s fierce, and ambitious, and undeniably loyal. I’ve known her for eleven years, and God, she’s so smart. Quick-witted and stubborn, and won’t stop until she gets things done, but she has a high moral ground. She’s—”
Nymphadora actually snorted, chiming in. “Red, you’re talking like you’re in love with her.”
Lily blushed furiously. “I—you know, I always fall in love with people like that in our field. From a political standpoint,” she specified before Nymphadora could ask if James had known. Instead of bickering with the younger woman, she turned to look at Andromeda, hope filling her blue eyes. “So, Andy, what do you say?”
Andromeda looked at Lily, sensing that something was a bit off. An over-enthusiastic smile was a rare occurrence itself, especially on days like this one, but it was nervous fidgeting throughout Lily’s speech that gave her away. Andromeda narrowed her eyes and said, “There’s something you’re not telling me. Go on.”
Lily winced. “Um, she’s Harry’s best friend. And a roommate.”
Andromeda’s eyebrows shot up at that, but she was sure it wasn’t everything she needed to know before making a decision. “And?” she drawled, tapping on the table with the tip of her pen.
“She’s twenty-two.”
Andromeda was too shocked to even formulate a thought, so Nymphadora was the one who blurted out, “Um, excuse me? Do you mean she’s four years younger than me?”
Lily rolled her eyes. “I didn’t really mean that, but it was implied, yes.”
Andromeda hummed quietly, trying to put together every piece of the puzzle Lily had given her. Description of the younger woman was oddly familiar as if she had heard it before but couldn’t quite pinpoint where and when. After all, Harry had a lot of friends, but Andromeda doubted Ronald would be the one Lily was talking about. It took her another minute, but she found the right name in her memory. “Are you talking about Hermione Granger? The one who—you mentioned she had been working for Minerva, for what, half a year?”
“Yes, that's her. And actually, it’s eight months,” Lily corrected her.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually in love with your son’s best friend while being married,” Nymphadora kept on, a devilish spark in her eyes. “These petty political gossip blogs would totally explode.”
“Oh, shut up,” Lily hissed. She turned to look at Andromeda once again and said, “I know she’s really young, Andy. Believe me, I do. And I know she’s a little bit… inexperienced, but—”
“She’s in her twenties, Lil,” Andromeda breathed out. “You know what this age implies.”
“Well, I don’t,” Lily replied, making Andy roll her eyes. “And Hermione doesn’t, too. The wildest thing she had ever done was staying up for forty-two hours to study for her finals in graduate school. And that’s about it. Her past is clean as a whistle, believe me. I’ve been there for the past eleven years to witness her grow up into this person she’s now. And this person is great.”
Andromeda stayed silent for what felt like hours, but couldn’t be more than five minutes. Still, Lily couldn’t physically take it; she was ready to jump up and down in excitement and anticipation. “Andy, you know me,” she tried again. “You know I wouldn’t risk like that if I wasn’t sure. But we need a new communications director as soon as possible, and she fits the description we’ve sketched out perfectly.”
There was more silence. And more. By the time even Nymphadora stopped her whispered comments about Lily’s crush—which was absolutely preposterous, thank you very much—Lily was pretty sure that Andromeda was going to say no and curse her six ways from Sunday. But instead, Andromeda just said, “Fine. Arrange a meeting.”
Lily grinned, inwardly applauding herself. “Well, actually…”
“Oh no,” Nymphadora muttered, shaking her head. “What did you do now, Red?”
“Hermione is kind of here. Right now. I’ll just go get her.” She turned around and looked around the open office through the glass walls of the conference room. It was easy to spot Hermione in her navy blue pantsuit, but the most interesting thing wasn’t her choice of clothes—and it was certainly something. The most interesting thing was the fact that Hermione wasn’t alone. She was hovering over the girl, one of the volunteers who had begun to work with them just the other week. Hannah, if Lily wasn’t mistaken? So, the most interesting fact was Hermione seemed to be actually working on something. Lily scrambled through the mess of her thoughts and quickly remembered her last conversation with the blonde high-schooler—Hannah was supposed to work on checking the speech someone else had written.
Lily actually jumped when she felt someone’s presence just behind her back. Nymphadora was peeking over her shoulder, curious as ever. “The girl in the navy blue pantsuit, light brown wavy hair? Is that her?” she asked, and Lily couldn’t do much but nod and keep watching. It looked like Hermione was saying something, and then Hannah was nodding at her words and typing with super-speed. Lily kept waiting, and after they had been at it for at least three minutes, she realized they were probably rewriting the whole speech instead of just editing it. To be honest, Lily didn’t expect anything less from an overachiever Hermione Granger was.
Soon enough, Andromeda joined them, hands folded and her glance calculating. Andromeda was sure her best friend could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.
The girl—or was she supposed to call her the younger woman?—was young, sure, but Andromeda wouldn’t be able to tell she was twenty-two if she had met her in the coffee shop or someplace else. She seemed and looked older, probably closer to Nymphadora’s age, and something told her Hermione Granger could possibly be twice as mature as her daughter. There was a certain aura surrounding the girl, her presence commanding attention, but not in the way Andromeda got used to after growing up with Bellatrix and Narcissa. Hermione was softer, not relying on fear, but rather on motivation and desire to help, be needed, and achieve. She was also dressed impeccably, her style undeniably similar to Lily’s, but this easy way she moved, talked, and even breathed was something Lily couldn’t do because of her age and experience.
The decision was made in a split-second. “Call her in then, since she’s already there,” Andromeda said, but before Lily could even think about leaving the conference room, she added, “Wait. Let them finish.”
All three of them stood there and watched the person Andromeda was pretty sure would become her communications director.
“I think I could kiss you right now,” Hannah admitted, looking up at Hermione as if she was the reason the girl had still been alive. “Like, seriously. This is brilliant. Much better than the original speech.”
Hermione let out a laugh, tossing her hair over her left shoulder. “I have to agree. But this was teamwork, Hannah. You did great. You’re okay with sending this to Ms. Evans? Speaking of whom, I should probably find her.” She glanced at her wristwatch and realized it had been about thirty minutes since Lily left her ‘for five minutes, tops’. “It was nice to meet you, Hannah, and a pleasure to work with you.” Hermione smiled and turned around, ready to wander the campaign headquarters searching for Lily, but she hadn't taken more than two steps before she ended up being face-to-face with the older woman. “Lily?”
The redhead was smiling—grinning, smirking, even? Hermione couldn’t quite tell, but Lily sure looked like she had just won the lottery, or her candidate won the presidential election. But Lily was strictly against gambling with money, and it still was nine months until the general election, so Hermione didn’t know what had brought that expression on. “There’s someone who would like to talk to you.” She glanced over her shoulder to the conference room. When Hermione followed her gaze, her eyes landed on Senator Andromeda Tonks herself. Her lips were slightly quirked, arms folded, and she was looking back at Hermione.
She felt a faint blush creeping up her cheeks and the base of her neck, and at the next moment, she was sure she was white as a sheet. Hermione looked back at Lily, whose expression suddenly made all sense in the world, and hissed, “You and Harry were in this together, weren’t you?”
Lily shrugged nonchalantly and smiled oh-not-so-innocently. “Maybe we were. Maybe we weren’t. That’s not the point.” Before Hermione had a chance to get a word in, she continued, “The point is, Andy is waiting for you. So, go there and be your amazing self and just… charm her the way you always do with people.”
Hermione was ready to argue. She really was—she even opened her mouth. But she couldn’t even get a single word out before Lily had actually pushed her forward, and she practically stumbled these few steps that made the distance between Hannah’s cubicle and the conference room. She took in a deep breath and marched into the room, closing the door behind her.
Senator Tonks was sitting at the center of a big round table. There was this unmistakable confidence literally floating in the air around her. Suddenly, it was abundantly clear who commanded everything in there, and Hermione was sure she would shiver under this studying glance if the eyes of the lighter shade of brown weren’t so soft up close.
“Senator Tonks,” she forced herself to say, words coming out a little more breathless than she had intended to.
“Ms. Granger,” the older woman drawled, and that was about it. Hermione was almost ready to say ‘to hell with my job’ and sign up as a volunteer for the Tonks campaign, but the sense of responsibility she had grown with didn’t let her do that. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“I can imagine,” Hermione muttered, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to the open space. Her eyes landed on Lily, still grinning and standing next to the younger woman with pinkish hair. Hermione recognized her as Nymphadora Tonks, Senator Tonks’ twenty-six-year-old daughter and a significant part of the advising team.
Hermione shook her head and turned back to Senator Tonks, who was eyeing her in the most intense way Hermione had ever experienced. And she had experienced Molly Weasley’s Glare after the woman caught her and Ron in the same bed, so that was saying something.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Senator Tonks prompted, the slightest hint of a smirk evident in her features.
“Excuse me?” Hermione blurted out before she could stop herself. She was more than sure volunteers weren’t interviewed by the candidate herself, so everything had taken quite a strange turn.
“Tell me about yourself,” the older woman repeated, and to be honest, that wasn’t really helpful.
Thankfully, Hermione had this speech down to a tee. “I went to Stanford for both undergraduate and graduate programs. Communications and PR in undergrad and Political Science in grad school. I’m fluent in French, have a B2 level in—”
“—German, and a B1 in Spanish,” Senator Tonks finished for her, seeming mildly… bored, even. “I know all of that. My press-secretary was quite vocal about your abilities.” She chuckled. “I want you to tell me something I don’t know. Why you are here, for example.”
Hermione let out a laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
Senator Tonks raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow at that statement. “Oh?”
“I was supposed to bring a dress for Lily because sweatpants and a yesterday’s shirt isn’t a good enough outfit, but ended up rewriting a speech and talking with you instead,” she explained and shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy that. Especially the second part. I think I actually screeched from excitement the moment I found out you were running.”
Senator Tonks tilted her head to the left and asked, genuinely interested, “And why is that?”
“Your platform is something important. It brings people hope because you talk about things others tend to forget about. The important ones, the ones most stopped noticing because it became too easy to hide behind President Riddle’s reforms and new laws and oppressions. You talk about equality and having opportunities to make your own choices.” She sighed. “You’re actually the reason I decided to go into politics in the first place. I was about sixteen, my junior year in high school when you were running for Senate. I was spending the night at my best friend’s place, and my boyfriend came over. We were flipping through the channels and somehow ended up on a political one. It was a live-stream of your debate with current Senator for Virginia,” Hermione recalled. “And the next day, I was googling you and bugging Harry and Lily with endless questions, because they knew you.”
Senator Tonks hummed quietly, and then popped the question which, Hermione could say for sure, was entirely out of the blue. “What do you think about my sister, Ms. Granger?”
Hermione blinked. “Vice-President Black? Or Ms. Black?”
“Both.”
Hermione sighed. “Vice-President Black is—” she paused, scrambling for the words which wouldn’t be too harsh, but found none. When Senator Tonks noticed her hesitation, she smirked, clearly amused at Hermione’s inner torture. “I would never support her the way she is now. Her ideas, her policies—they aren’t hers, they are President Riddle’s. Political blogs call her a puppet with her muster behind the curtains, and I’m inclined to agree. I do not support discrimination on any grounds, and Senator Black is a hateful person. At least politically, from what I can tell.”
Senator Tonks nodded her agreement, tapping on her chin with her fingertips, as Hermione’s shoulders relaxed in relief. “And what about Narcissa?”
“She is something—someone entirely different,” Hermione said.
“She’s a Republican, running Bellatrix’s campaign. Was the one behind the attack on Remus Lupin. Therefore, shares President Riddle’s beliefs,” Senator Tonks listed, as if trying to make Hermione change her mind. “How is she different?”
Hermione sighed, shifting her weight. “They call her the Ice Queen, do you know that?” she asked and continued, not waiting for the answer. “In political gossip blogs. Her attacks are calculated, deliberate, and fierce. It’s clear she was behind poaching Peter Pettigrew, and he gave her all she needed to know about Remus Lupin’s past to strike. And that article? I’m eighty percent sure Ms. Black ghost-wrote it,” she chuckled.
“You still didn’t say anything about why you think she’s nothing like my older sister.”
“She never attacked your daughter. Not once. Not even when she was handed everything she needed on a silver platter.”
Senator Tonks met her eyes, and there was something in them, something Hermione couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it told her she was doing everything right. Because they both knew what Hermione was talking about.
Edward Tonks, a decorated war hero and Senator Tonks’ husband, died on duty when his daughter was sixteen. Nymphadora spiraled out of control, a classic combination of frat parties and drinking rampages and running away from home. As soon as Senator Tonks announced she was running for President, political blogs latched onto Nymphadora’s past as the means to drag the candidate down. Some other Democratic candidates were behind dubious articles, but they weren’t important enough to get much notice. The only campaign that could make a scandal out of Nymphadora’s way of grieving back when she was a teenager was the Black campaign.
Harry had told her how Lily was on call every hour of every day, updating The Washington Prophet’s website every twenty minutes. She was waiting for Rita Skeeter’s exposé, which, in her opinion, was inevitable. The only person who remained calm and focused was Senator Tonks. The article didn’t come, and neither Bellatrix nor Narcissa Black made any comments about rumors speculating on their niece.
“Her way of thinking—” Hermione continued, careful as ever. Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up, she thought. “It’s unique, in a sense. Ms. Black always thinks she’s ten steps ahead and is not reluctant to show it. That’s her main mistake. The way her mind works can be used against her, and she wouldn’t even know it.”
That was what Hermione chose to say. She didn’t mention that she thought Narcissa Black wasn’t as supportive of President Riddle’s policies as she appeared to be. She didn’t mention that day in undergrad when Draco Malfoy made out with Harry, and then he and Hermione had a conversation both of them vowed not to talk about with anyone ever again. She didn’t mention that supporting President Riddle and his protégé fully meant Narcissa would be forced to go against the person her son was.
Hermione didn’t mention any of that, but somehow, it appeared that Senator Tonks knew nonetheless. She looked at her, her eyes gleaming with the words left unsaid and a silent appreciation, and for the first time in a while, Hermione wondered if Andromeda and Narcissa kept in touch, somehow.
Senator Tonks looked over Hermione’s shoulder purposely, as if meeting eyes with someone—it was probably Lily, Hermione mused. They had had a silent conversation for about a minute, and when another one passed, the door to the conference room opened and revealed Lily with two different papers in her hands. As the woman walked past her to the place where Senator Tonks was seated, Hermione caught a glimpse and realized it was the speech she had been working on with Hannah, an original version of it and a rewritten one.
Lily stood hovering other her boss’s shoulder as Senator Tonks looked through both of the papers. To be honest, Hermione was prepared for the worst when the fourth minute passed, and she still hadn’t heard any feedback.
She wasn’t prepared for a smile on Andromeda Tonks’ face as she looked at Hermione and said, “Congratulations, Ms. Granger. The job is yours. Your trial run is Super Tuesday.”
Hermione’s mouth fell open. She blinked. “Excuse me?”
Something was really, really wrong. For starters, volunteers didn’t even have interviews. And what they were doing—it wasn’t called a job since they weren’t being paid for their work. And Hermione was sure as hell volunteers didn’t get trial runs, and damn, Super Tuesday? It sounded not like a trial run but rather like a march of death, considering its importance.
“The job is yours if you want it, Hermione,” Lily repeated, a warm, triumphant smile on her face as if she had known how Hermione’s meeting with Senator Tonks would end. Which she probably had.
Hermione cringed inwardly, glancing up at Senator Tonks. “I would really love to be a part of your campaign, but I already work for Congresswoman McGonagall’s office. It’s a job with crazy hours and only one day off a week if I’m lucky, so I can’t be a volunteer for your campaign, even if I want to.”
And then, the most unimaginable thing happened. Senator Tonks laughed, truly laughed, this deep, throaty sound filling the conference room and echoing off the glass walls. Hermione stood there, dumbfounded, having no idea of what was going on, and watched as Lily tried to keep herself from laughing along. Hermione replayed in her head everything she had said three times but couldn’t figure out what was so funny about any of it.
She couldn’t, until Senator Tonks stopped laughing, looked at her once again, and asked, dead-serious, a hint of smirk still evident in her features, “You thought I was interviewing you for a… volunteer position?”
“Yes?” Hermione answered, but this one word was literally a half-question. She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. What was her own name, again?
Senator Tonks and Lily exchanged meaningful glances and amused—amused, for the love of God—smirks, and Hermione lost it. “Maybe someone could tell me what is going on?”
“She aced the job interview without even knowing what the job was,” Senator Toks said, tilting her head towards Lily. “I suppose you were right about her, after all.”
“Of course I was,” the redhead answered. “When have I ever been wrong?”
“I still don’t understand anything,” Hermione chimed in and sighed, exasperated. Both of the women looked at her, small smirks on their faces and eyes gleaming.
“Andy here just offered you to be her new communications director, Mione,” Lily said in that voice as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.
It certainly wasn’t.
Hermione’s hands were still shaking when she tried to put her key in the lock, managing to do it only on the third try. When she entered her apartment, she shut the door behind her and leaned onto it, closing her eyes. Hermione reminded herself she needed to breathe. In and out. In and out. In…
She went to the Tonks campaign headquarters to give Lily a change of outfit and got offered a job instead. And it wasn’t even a volunteer position she was talking with Harry about earlier this morning—it was something entirely different. Communications director. If she accepted, she would be Lily’s boss. (When she stated the fact, Lily huffed, “No, you won’t be,” at the same time as Senator Tonks smirked and said, “Yes, in a way.”)
And God, what would she do with her other job—with her current job? There was a two-week-notice policy, after all. Or maybe it didn’t apply when the Democratic candidate for President was poaching you? Hermione didn’t know. Something like that had never happened to her before. Did it happen to a lot of people her age? She doubted that. (Because she would be Lily’s boss, and Lily was twenty years her senior. And her best friend’s mother who had known her since she was eleven. Hermione seriously doubted that Reddit had any bits of advice concerning her situation.)
She choked as she realized that she forgot about breathing out. She took in a deep, steadying breath next. When Hermione opened her eyes, Harry was standing right in front of her, a goofy smile plastered across his face. “Well? How was it?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she hissed, walking past him and heading straight to the kitchen area. She pulled off her blazer, threw it on the barstool, reached the fridge in record time, and took out a bottle of ice-cold fizzy water. As Hermione noticed Harry approaching her, she thought she needed something stronger, but it wasn’t even past nine in the morning on Sunday.
“Well, if I had told you, you would have said no right away,” Harry countered, slipping onto the stool and putting his elbows on the counter.
“I thought I was being interviewed for a volunteer position, not to be your mother’s boss.” Hermione opened the bottle and downed the whole thing in three big gulps. She threw it away and turned back to her best friend, feeling the slightest desire to throw something at him. “God, Harry. It’s just—it’s crazy. Do you understand how crazy is that?”
“What exactly is ‘that’ you’re talking about?” he asked, that little asshole who knew damn well what exactly she was talking about.
“I’m twenty-two, I graduated only eight months ago, I’m thoroughly inexperienced, but somehow, by some goddamn miracle, I still got offered a job thirty minutes ago. And not just any job,” Hermione drawled, sounding like she was about to lose it. Which she probably was, Harry mused. “A job as a communications director for a presidential campaign. When—does that even happen? God, am I still sleeping?”
Harry was still grinning at her as if she wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t really helpful with the fact that Hermione felt like she was about to go into sensory overload any second now. Before she could continue venting, she heard a string of muffled voices from her bedroom. Her eyes snapped to the still-closed door, but it swung open a couple of seconds later. Hermione saw a smiling Ron, carrying a huge cake, and then the living room area was filled with her friends, all of whom were wearing party hats and tinsel. There was Ginny, who looked like she was half-asleep—Sunday was her only day off, too—but there was a radiant grin on her face, even bigger than both Ron’s and Harry’s. Next to her was Luna, still in her light-blue pajamas, her hair in a disarray of blonde curls, a timid smile tugging her lips. Neville had a large and colorful Hermione Granger, communications director for Tonks campaign sign in his hands, and the look of utter happiness in his features made it seem like he had just won a lottery.
Hermione put her hands to her mouth to cover a laugh that escaped her lips. She shook her head disbelievingly and walked over to them, Harry trailing behind her, and each and every one of her friends pulled her into a tight hug. She lingered next to her boyfriend as soon as he passed the take to Harry.
“Guys, I hadn’t even accepted Senator Tonks’ offer yet,” she reminded them, unable to keep herself from smiling.
“But you should, Mione,” Ron said as she looked up at him, her arms still around his waist, his right hand wrapped around her shoulder. “This job was made for you. You will totally kill it.”
She laughed, and then she kissed him, accompanied by loud cheering from all their friends. When Hermione and Ron parted, she looked around, noting how happy her friends were for her, and she thought that maybe they were right. Maybe Lily was right, after all; perhaps, she would be good at it, and the job was indeed made for her.
Less than one hour later, after eating a huge cake and talking with her closest friends in the world, Hermione sent off a text to Senator Tonks’ number she got earlier today, four words that would change her life forever. I accept your offer.
That night, she was lying in Ron’s arms on their bed. Every word was spelled out in hushed, gentle whispers. They were making promises to each other and themselves, and the first thing Hermione said was, “Don’t worry, Ron. This job—it won’t change anything. Not between us. Not me.”
Boy, was she wrong.