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Later, that night…
There were perks to being the PM, Hermione thought. A ridiculously comfortable bed, for one. The ridiculously wonderful person sharing it with her, that wasn’t part of the job. It was much better.
Aside from the new accommodations, it was a fairly typical evening for the Granger-Lennox family. Dinner, and Larry the Chief Mouser became a welcome addition who rapidly discovered which plaintive beseechments were effective for titbits. Bedtime, storytime (her turn), and sleep for the children. Then bedtime for the parents as well, who stayed quite vigorously awake. A nice way to inaugurate their (optimistically) long-term lodgings.
Currently, Hermione was marking up briefing papers. Paul was revising a new edition of his Intro to Chemistry textbook, except that didn’t last overly long. He put his tablet aside, leaned over to her nightstand for the pages of the next speech, and started marking those up instead.
Yes, she had people paid to do this. However, Paul’s notes always made the words sing. They became more her. He was the secret weapon that had gotten fresh-faced prospective parliamentary candidate Granger to where she was today. Hermione expected he would soon also be revising her ‘spontaneous’ replies for PMQs in the Commons. Her first was only a few days away, after all.
An hour or so passed quietly, aside from pencil scratches and a couple of snorts from the new PM over affairs in other countries. Honestly, Americans and their antics. Not much longer, Paul knocked off with a kiss. Hermione debated whether to stay up to read for a few extra minutes, nothing work related (one of their rules), and overruled herself. Lights off, she snuggled against to him.
Sleep wasn’t easy in coming.
~~~~~~
She had expected Harry to show, of course. Hermione had left Magical Britain; that didn’t mean she was ignoring it. Long before she took a cabinet posting there was surreptitious work to monitor and deal with wand users that would threaten Queen and Country. Done by her and others like her.
Nott was the first to reach out, likely as they never crossed paths at school. He wasn’t the last, by far. There was an impressive network assembled over the years, if she did say so herself. Life was healthier without genocidal terrorists and a discriminatory, diseased government treating her country like their private amusement park. And she was going to keep it that way. No matter what.
Harry, today… that went better than she’d expected. Damn, it was good to see him. She did really have hope it could work out, that between them there could be a future for both their worlds.
Twenty years on, Hermione still retained memories of the three of them. The slow-motion war until it wasn’t and, yes, there were good times too. With good friends.
She had talked with Paul after Harry left, also of course. He was well aware of Harry Potter. And Ron Weasley. No secrets between Granger and Lennox anymore, after having tried (poorly) to keep them at Cambridge.
They first met there about a month after classes started and clicked. It began nicely. Neither were looking, especially Hermione. Both were working quite hard towards future law degrees. Unknowingly, both danced around knowing about magic. It made for awkwardness when the past came up; the secrets felt like lies, mostly as they were. A breakup before the end of the term. No hard feelings; both could tell it wasn’t working out.
Post-graduation, post-higher degrees, they were separately invited to a party by a mutual friend and clicked again. A few drinks, a few laughs, a few revelations while they walked to the Tube station. Paul had switched to chemistry in their second year, it turned out. And he had discovered Hermione Granger’s childhood. His family still got the Prophet, delivered through back channels, and Paul had spent an afternoon leafing through old issues. Her name was there, mostly not in a good way, and then loudly as Undesirable #2.
Reading through them made him very glad his parents had withdrawn and disappeared into the sanity of real Britain. They had seen what was coming, having barely lived through the first phase. They watched from the outside as it rose anew, saw what was happening around them and knew what was really happening.
They had left when he was eleven. He would have been in her year, if he’d manifested magic. No thought of returning post-war; they had grown accustomed to life in the wandless world. And Paul would forever be treated as a second-class citizen at best if they returned. Here, he could be a well-respected author and expert. Which he was, and which Hermione still found sexy as hell.
Paul was a half-blood, as Hermione learned on their post-party, second round, second date. He brought it up, not her. Both Reginald and Amy were wonderful and had done an excellent job raising their son in her opinion. And in keeping them all alive. They had been a little in awe when Paul brought her to dinner after the fifth date; they remembered her name. Well, mostly Harry’s, but hers too.
(They also helped with Robby and Jeanie without complaint, as did Jean and Richard. This made for excellent photo-ops, not that Hermione would ever say that. Paul did, and often.)
It was wonderful to have someone who she could really talk to. And it was wonderful to be with him once more, period. As for Paul, he felt the same. While he had fun with her status. “I can’t believe I’m dating an actual hero!” came up several times, as did pillows tossed at his head.
Hermione looked over at her husband, enough light that she could make out the features. Not that they weren’t memorised, and she ruffled his short, neat black hair. So unlike her once famously untameable mane. Political cartoons early in her career had simply showed wild tresses, no face required for identification.
She can’t imagine life without him, just as she can’t imagine life without her children. What he did for her, what he meant for her… Hermione’s not sure he knew, despite her efforts to ensure he did. How special he was, even if their old society would label him a disappointment to be pitied. He wasn’t. Paul was everything for her, everything for Robbie and Jeanie. If needed, she’d fight another war to prove that to anyone who dared say otherwise.
Her potions man.
It was a good life, and a good decision to leave magic, Hermione mused. Plenty of ammunition for her otter which yes, she missed on occasion.
Paul.
Winning her first case. Winning her first election.
Marriage.
Accepting her first cabinet posting. Going to America as the Ambassador, one of youngest ever.
Robert and Jeannette. The full names they rarely hear except when Daddy or Mummy are upset with them.
And now PM.
Not bad. Certainly better than anything Hermione would have had with a wand.
~~~~~~
She had just drifted off to sleep when Robby and Jeanie came rushing in, banging open the door just like they did at the family’s former residence.
Robby first. “Mummy, Daddy, the painting in my room was talking to me!”
“I could hear it through my wall!” Jeanie wasn’t a second behind her older brother.
Okay, that was different, Hermione thought as she struggled up off her pillow. Paul flipped the lights, and they shared a look before it turned to their pajamaed offspring. Who were now facing off against each other, as they were wont to do.
“You barged into my room, you didn’t knock!”
“I did so!”
“Did not!”
“Did so!”
“Children. You said the painting was talking to you?” Hermione was smiling and only on the outside. She would have words with Harry tomorrow, even it’s a weekend.
“Oh yes, it was talking!”
“Actually, the man inside was talking.”
“Like on telly, but a smart telly. Zoomy telly.”
“He was an old man and he ran out into the pasture and chased away the pretty horsies!”
“We told him not to!”
“Then became angry that we had ‘magic mirrors.’ Which we don’t!”
“We don’t even have our mobiles.” Yes, Security needed to safe them; ‘PM’s Children Childproofing’ as they put it.
“Mummy, when can we have them again?”
“Daddy, what’s a ‘Muggle?’”
“We tried to tell the old man about mobiles.”
“He’s pretty dumb.”
“He’s never played Minecraft!”
“He didn’t even know about the internet!”
“And he talked funny. Like people in the old videos you watch.”
“No off button on the painting so we told him to go away.”
“He didn’t want to go!”
“So we made him.”
“Yeah, Jeanie set his hair on fire!”
“Well, Robby poured boogeys over him!”
“He didn’t like that.”
“He used words you said we shouldn’t use.”
“And ones we’ve never heard of.”
“What’s a ‘Boggart,’ Daddy?”
“He ran away after that.”
“Smoking and dripping.”
“We thought you should know.”
“This house is very strange, Mummy.”
Finally they paused to breathe. Then, in unison, “Do we have to live here?”
While the hot boogey application must have been fun, her children weren’t looking happy. Too many changes in too little time, from the campaign to relocation to… paintings that talked. Oh, she would so have words with Potter over this.
Paul put his arms out and Robby and Jeanie ran into them for a big hug. Hermione put on a robe and joined in. Being PM was a grand achievement. These two will always be her life’s highest priority, her biggest win. Years ago her advisors had been against children when it was clear where she was aiming to reach. She’d promptly sacked the lot.
Hermione pulled away, then pulled them out so they were in front of her and Paul. “We’ll take care of this. We promise.” That helped brighten their faces. “And you both did the right thing, coming right to us about it!” She smiled at them as she said the words and meant it, except…
Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt.
Long before the children, she and Paul had discussed the possibility. They both had the family history, regardless of if it wasn’t in his generation. If it happened, it happened, seemed to be the answer. Paul insisted he would be pleased either way. Hermione admitted she’d be less pleased with it manifesting than not. Ideally, it would be an issue for years down the road. If ever.
Then Harry, today. Of course it came up directly after he showed. No, she won’t blame him. Though she was never a fan of coincidence. Particularly when magic was involved.
“First, let’s see about turning off your painting,” Mummy declared. That got cheers, and they all marched off to war in Robby’s bedroom.
The painting was silent, pastoral, and empty of grumpy old men. The horses were indeed rather pretty. Just to be safe, Paul carefully removed the framed work for transfer into the PM’s bedroom. Jeanie poked it a few times along the way, just to be sure. Robby stuck out his tongue as it was wrapped in a spare duvet and jammed backwards into a closet.
Hermione brushed her hands with a smack, and her children nodded their heads firmly. Family code for ‘a job well done.’ Paul grinned over their shoulders.
“That’s that for tonight,” a quick look at the clock and Godric, it was 2 in the morning, and dammit why was she dropping into her Hogwarts vocabulary! She would have to watch that in public.
Paul took small hands in his. “Into your beds, both of you. Our brave warriors!” and that gets giggles all around. It was all an odd lark, cool tech the house employed, and simple to dismiss at their age and at this hour. Yawns were issuing as Mum and Dad escorted them to their respective rooms.
That job accomplished, The Right Honourable H.J. Granger, LL.B., LL.M., MP, Her Britannic Majesty's Ambassador to the United States of America (former), and Prime Minister of the United Kingdom (current), tossed off her robe and collapsed on the still quite comfortable bed. “Merlin’s soggy… beard.”
Paul laughed. “Oh Mi, I haven’t heard you use that phrase… well, ever.”
She smiled, then let it fade. “No more guessing, I guess. It’s real now. Seriously, honey, how do we feel about this?”
“We feel,” Paul pulled the covers down, “like we can wait,” reached for Hermione, “till the morning,” and drew the fabrics over them both, “Madam Prime Minister.” Her turn to yawn as she drew him close. He hit the lights.
Hermione let a few moments pass. “We’ll have to show them that it wasn’t a smart house feature,” she said to the darkened ceiling, then sighed with resignation. “Paul, I may need to find my wand.”
He didn’t disagree, she noted. “Storage shed, yah? With our books?”
“Yes. Which one?”
They both loved books (a major part of the clicking) and were reluctant to part with any. Even old college texts. On Hermione’s part, this included pre-Cambridge volumes with silly and bizarre titles. All securely locked up in chests and buried under false bottoms. Knowledge is Power, as the saying went. She’d not discard any power that might…
Wait. Hermione suddenly knew where her wand was. She felt it. Inside her old handbag, not in a shed but buried up in the attic of their home outside London.
It was calling to her. Or to her children.
Nope, that bloody well wasn’t going to happen. For demonstration and educational use only, then straight back into the bag.
Hmmm. Perhaps she would first try wandless. The attic could remain undisturbed.
She took her husband’s hand and let him know. They shared a squeeze, then a kiss.
Right. Tomorrow should be well interesting, Hermione thought as she dozed off. Definitely a call to Harry. Thank God it was a weekend.