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”I can’t let a Yaxley become Minister for Magic, Hermione.”
”Well, what are you going to do about it? You’re the Boy-Who-Lived, yes, but that’s not something you can use to just declare him unsuitable and then nothing more!”
”I’m going to do the only thing I can, of course. I’m going to campaign for Minister for Magic.”
~
I hadn’t expected Harry Freaking Potter to become the Minister for Magic. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, of course, since he was pretty much the most famous wizard since Merlin himself – had, in fact, been called Merlin’s second coming on several occasions. That, I felt, was not even worthy of being called ridiculous.
No, Harry Potter was not the second coming of Merlin, but he had been elected Minister for Magic – an almost universally beloved one, at that. The only legitimate opponent he had faced had been a Yaxley – Marked or not, that name would see him judged. I knew for a fact that this particular Yaxley was Marked.
Had I known Potter would become Minister I would not have become the Ministry of Magic’s official Minister Reporter. I had, for all intents and purposes, become that which a much younger Draco Malfoy called a fanboy. The only thing actually making things better was that at least I was getting paid for following Harry Potter around and taking photos of everything he did.
I don’t know if I would have appreciated following Yaxley around – the name Malfoy didn’t carry any clout anymore, and where Potter was a decent human being at the core, Yaxley was rotten. I grew up around Death Eaters – was one, even – I knew rot when I saw it.
~
”I can’t do this. What was I thinking?”
”You were thinking that the only one who had a chance to beat that silver-tongued devil himself was you.”
”I can’t – I can’t campaign for Minister. I don’t know how to lead a country!”
”You will lead a country the same way you fought a war, Harry. Because you have no choice.”
~
“Don't you ever get tired of it?” Potter said, the words carrying far more meaning than his tone. Had I listened to the words, I might've started thinking he cared about what I was going to say, rather than a question asked just to pass the time - which this obviously was meant to be.
“Tired of... What, exactly, Mr Minister?” I didn't look at him, insouciantly slouched in oxblood-red Chesterfield, bowtie hanging untied around his neck. He didn't look like a Minister, certainly didn't look like our world’s most powerful man. He looked like a student, whose only current goal was to get drunk and get laid, not necessarily in that order.
“Seeing the world pass by, only watching through a camera lens?” He gestured with the glass of whiskey he held, the amber liquid in stark danger of spilling out. I had never put any stock in divination, but even I could predict the stain it would leave on the carpet.
Without thinking about it, not even considering what shutter speed or exposure I had set, I swung the mentioned camera up and snapped a shot of him there. The goal of this spread was to show “Harry, the ordinary wizard”, hidden somewhere behind “Harry Potter, the Legend”.
I had a feeling, as I saw him finally spill the whiskey he’d almost upended several times already, and then as easy as breathing he just flicked his fingers towards the resulting stain and it – vanished. Potter didn’t say a word, didn’t touch a wand, just negligently scoffed at a stain I would have struggled to get out even using the proper charms and the stain vanished. Like it had never been there.
It suddenly struck me then that there might have been a reason for why a scruffy, malnourished teenager managed to defeat the worst Dark Lord our world had seen since Harpo the Foul reigned.
He had outgrown the malnourishment, gone from a thin, reedy teenager to a tall and imposingly broad man. If I knew my potions and their effects right – thank you, Severus – he had gone through a rigorous potions regime to achieve the effect he had.
It didn’t bother me that Potter had turned into what anyone uncouth would call a hunk of a man (I blame Daphne for me even knowing the words), but it did bother me that he could tower over me then. He could always do that if he brought his presence to bear, of course, but by then he could do it physically as well.
It rubbed me the wrong way, that was all. Potter was supposed to be scruffy, not fit.
The black, exquisitely tailored waistcoat, the matching slacks and the crisp, white shirt did nothing to hide just how much in the prime of his life Harry Potter actually was, and as he was now, contrasted against the blood-red upholstering of the chair and the moss green of the wall behind him – he would win Most Eligible Bachelor again on looks alone.
That story was supposed to show the “Harry” behind “Harry Potter”, but even then – not having worked in close quarters with him for very long at all yet – I knew that there was precious little difference. Not because Harry was an incredibly open person, but because Harry Potter was incredibly closed off.
He was the British Wizarding World’s most important man, and no one outside of his absolute closest circle knew how he took his tea. I lived in the same house as the man – a requirement of the job, and one I hadn’t felt like opposing – and I didn’t know how he took his tea.
“No, Mr Minister – I do not find my situation in any way tiresome.” Except you, I thought but didn’t say. You can’t exactly tell the subject of your entire career that you find him a tiresome oaf.
~
“Did you know Malfoy is the official Ministry Reporter?”
“He prefers to call it Photographer.”
“I know – everyone can write but it takes skill to take a photo, so he’s informed me – archly – a multitude of times.”
“I did know, yes. Didn’t you?”
“Oh, I knew – I didn’t know that we’d be living together if I win this election.”
“When, Harry. When you win this election.”
“When.”
~
I never thought I would enjoy shadowing Potter around. Maybe enjoyment is the wrong word, at least for what I felt back then.
He was staunch in everything he did, and I felt an intense admiration for that. He had – still has, even to this day – a way of making a decision and then sticking to it. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t change his mind if given sufficient reason, it was rather that he would not be swayed by pretty words.
It was a characteristic rarely seen in politicians in our world. Of course, I wouldn’t ever call Potter a politician, not now and certainly not back then.
He knew what he was doing, however – he was good at spinning even bad situations in a positive light, all without lying about it. Potter must have been the first Minister who staunchly refused to lie about things. He could withhold things, yes, and say so many things at another time no one was really certain what, if anything, had been said, certainly, but he didn’t lie.
~
“He’s insufferable. Snape called me that so many times, but I never really understood what he meant – the twat – until I have to work with Malfoy hanging over my shoulder, scoffing at everything.”
“Can you imagine how Malfoy felt back in sixth year?”
“He was a Death Eater! I’m trying to run a country!”
“It all comes down to life and death.”
“His death.”
“Or everyone’s.”
“You know I won’t let that happen.”
“I know.”
~
The measure of a minister is taken not when times are easy, but when times are lean; first in opposition does a man’s true character shine through. That was something my grandfather, Abraxas, told me time and time again. Seeing Potter, hands gripping the sides of the podium tight – not nervously, but in a way that managed to convey total assuredness that everything was going to be okay – brought that phrase back to mind for the first time since I saw my father grovel before a monster more snake than man.
I think what grandfather might’ve really meant was something about how following the Dark Lord’s biddings in everything was for the best, but what I heard was a condemnation of the proud purebloods who would go to their knees in front of a megalomaniac.
The man now addressing a nation, speaking to a union that only nominally was his to lead, was nothing short of great. In front of me then, on the other side of the camera lens, was a man I was proud to call Minister.
He didn’t specify much, said only that times were lean, we were going to face difficult weeks, months, maybe years ahead, but he didn’t offer empty platitudes. After hearing Fudge, with a short break for Scrimgeour, followed by Thicknesse, carry on about how everything was just fine, it still shook something in me – and my fellow reporters with me – to hear a Minister fully acknowledge that things were bad.
“This was not the kind of State of the Union speech I wanted to hold, this third year of my term,” Minister Potter said, hands gripping the podium solidly, eyes scanning the gathered reporters in a slow, steady sweep. I was ready when his gaze met mine through the lens and I knew what photo would be on the front page of every newspaper in the Magic Commonwealth come morning. His eyes were burning with a fervour I hadn’t seen in him since the war.
“It is, however, the State of the Union speech I will hold, because you, the Wizarding World and everyone inhabiting it, deserves to know.”
~
“I don’t know how we can survive this.”
“We’ll have to ration everything.”
“Yes – but make sure no child goes to bed hungry.”
~
The rationing following the horrible draughts that lasted what felt like forever – followed, of course, by rain so heavy nothing would grow due to rot – was not popular.
The people old enough to remember the First War against Voldemort remembered well the rationing they had to suffer then – and how laden the politicians’ tables were for every meal.
I think that that day when I wrote the article about why Minister Potter had started rationing – and taking a photo of him, in a sober pinstripe suit, eating a bowl of plain porridge for breakfast, a photo that wasn’t staged – I think that’s when I actually started falling in love with him.
A crush I’ll admit to, I had had one the size of Avalon since the very first ‘behind the Minister’ article I wrote, but that article was the first time I saw Harry.
“The rationing will apply to everyone. You can, if you want to and feel the need to, trade rations with each other, but there will be a set amount of coupons delivered every Monday.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. He drank his tea plain that morning, something I knew meant he had slept less than four hours during the night, and he didn’t count on managing to steal even a minute of peace during the day. “In the interest of full disclosure, it is not strictly necessary that we ration yet – but if we start now, my hope and ambition is that no child will have to go hungry during my tenure as Minister for Magic.”
The sound his spoon made when it scraped the bottom of the bowl made shivers run down my spine. When he looked at me again, his eyes were blazing.
“I have gone to bed hungry enough times to never let a child feel that. As long as it is in my power, I will not allow a child to go hungry.”
~
“You really should hire him as a public relations officer.”
“Hardy-har-har. He pretty much is that already.”
“I don’t know how he manages to make something that should come across as a sob story – I know it’s true, but at the moment it doesn’t sound it – seem this genuine.”
“I was genuine.”
“Yes, but how does he manage to convey that so well?”
“I think he’s starting to see me now, actually.”
~
“You really should find yourself a wife, you know,” I remarked - a comment that was met with a spray of lukewarm tea. It was the first time I had seen anyone do a spit-take – except for one time Crabbe – no. I managed to avoid most of the spray simply by way of being placed below it, but I did see the drops on the camera before an apologetic drying charm swept over me.
“I’m sorry but what?”
“A wife. A pretty little witch who can run rings around every other Minister wife out there.” I snapped a photo of the gobsmacked look on his face, a photo that hasn’t ever been published – and won’t ever be, either – but has pride of place in one of my private albums. Had I been my father, I could’ve run the world with those albums.
“Why are you bringing this up now? Shouldn’t the time for getting married to have a Minister wife be sometime around the first two years in the first term?” He was only thirty-five, the youngest second-term Minister we had ever had, solely due to being the youngest first-term Minister we’d ever had. He was also going grey at the temples, something I found incredibly charming and more than a little attractive. It didn’t make him look old, it only made him look distinguished - as if he needed any more advantages in being the most popular Minister we’d ever had.
“I’m just saying – if there is a reason you’re waiting to propose to Granger, now would be a good time to stop waiting.” I didn’t really want to think of him marrying – bedding – anyone else, but I think if I had to entertain the idea of someone other than me between his sheets, Granger would be the preferable choice. At least she was intelligent.
“Hermione,” he said pointedly, brows lowering over his eyes until I nodded – it was routine by then, something we’d both gotten so used to that the one time I did call her Hermione everything felt off. “Hermione is like a sister to me, and while I think she would make for a fine Minister wife, I would much prefer to have a Minister husband.”
Everything went silent around me as that single word kept bouncing around my head. Husband. Somehow it felt even worse, knowing he was gay – that meant that technically I could’ve had a chance, but being me that chance was nonexistent.
~
“Do you think repeated exposure to the dark arts leads to insanity?”
“I would say so – you know Neville and his parents as well as I do.”
“Not like that, more like… if curses are cast in your vicinity, but not necessarily at you, will you develop some weird delusional illness?”
“…What’s Draco done now?”
“He suggested we get married. You and I, that is. So that I’d have a pretty little Minister wife who could run circles around every other Minister wife.”
“But you’re as bent as a rainbow – and so am I! We’re practically siblings!”
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem to realise the only one I want to marry is him.”
~
“I still do think you should marry. How about that American bloke, the Auror?” I swirled the wine around in my glass, glad to have something other than the blazing green eyes on the other side of the table to look at.
I dropped the glass in shock when he stood up suddenly, chair tipping over from the force. All I could do was watch him pace, tension bridling in every inch of his form. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the wine staining the carpet crimson.
“What, exactly, is so difficult to understand, Malfoy?” He broke the tense silence after what felt like hours but probably wasn’t even minutes, spinning on his heel to face me head-on. The full force of his gaze was awe-inspiring, and I was rather happy I hadn’t faced it at school. I would have been on my knees within seconds. As it was then, it made me gulp. Judging by the way his look sharpened more still, it was audible and he heard it.
The way he moved towards me looked like nothing so much as a big cat prowling towards prey. He looked leonine, and I had a sudden urge to bare my throat. I told myself I didn’t cower when he bent over, I only leant back so as to not be caged by his (muscular, bare, not at all distracting) forearms as he got so close to me I didn’t have to strain to smell his cologne.
“I would think, Draco,” he purred, something I thought only wild men in bodice rippers (not that I read those) did. I did not want to taste my names off of his lips, and if I did – that was my business only. “That it would soon become obvious that the only person I want in my bed and in my life is you.”
Then he kissed me. Just like that. I kissed him back, of course, I probably wouldn’t get a second chance, but I was still in a state of shock when he pulled away.
“I’ve never seen you speechless before.”
“Wha- huh,” I replied eloquently. Abruptly standing up, something I was displeased to notice did nothing to make him move, I started pacing. There was a lot of pacing going on that night. He just stood there, seemingly more at peace than I had seen him since before he started campaigning for Minister the first time. “You can’t just kiss me!”
“I could – and you kissed me back,” he returned, lips quirking up at the corners.
“I’m – you can’t marry me! I’m a Death Eater!” I must have been having an out of body experience because I could see myself arguing with him as if watching through a Pensieve.
“Former, coerced Death Eater, yes. We’re already living together, we spend pretty much all our time together – pretty much everyone I’m on friendly terms with, up to and including the US President of Magic, has a bet in the pool on when I’m going to man up.” Harry shrugged, dragging one hand through his hair in an unconscious, nervous gesture I hadn’t seen in years by then.
“You – love me?” I said, slumping slightly where I stood before childhood reprimands floated through my head and I straightened up again.
“I do, yeah – so if you’re so set on seeing me married during this term, well, I guess you’ll have to get married.”
~
“I manned up and asked Draco out.”
“Oh Harry, I’m so proud of you! What did he say?”
“Well, we’re getting married in June, so I would say it’s been a resounding success.”
“…”
“This is the first time I’ve seen you speechless, Hermione. I get a biscuit for that, right?”
~
Happily Ever After – Minister Harry Potter marries Draco Malfoy in Whirlwind Wedding of the Century!
Extra photo coverage of the event inside!
~
FIN.