Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 13, 2003

Bullshit. All of it was bullshit.

Silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint rustling just outside the closed door of her office.

Sitting at her desk, Hermione flipped through the Daily Prophet, her eyes scanning the pages filled with images of Malfoy’s face and headlines about an upcoming bill. The Nationalist Party was pushing for legislation that would restrict the rights of Muggle-borns all under the guise of “preserving tradition.” It was sickening.

Mandatory tests rooted in outdated pureblood customs… Disqualifying Muggle-borns from attending wizarding schools unless they passed… Penalizing children for not knowing the “old ways” of a society they hadn’t even entered yet… And now, forbidding them from participating in certain magical traditions unless they had a pureblood spouse or family connection.

She clenched her jaw.

“Ms. Granger?”

A woman’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Startled, Hermione looked up, her eyes landing on her assistant, Malorie McKiss.

“Yes?” she asked, setting the paper aside.

McKiss offered a polite smile. “Just a reminder. You've got a press conference in thirty minutes.”

Right. The press conference.

In just a few minutes, Hermione would be officially announced as the new Deputy Leader of the Equalis Party. It was an achievement she was proud of, despite knowing how quickly Malfoy had risen through the ranks — without doing even half the work she had. Still, she refused to compare herself to someone like him. She had to be better than that. If she wanted to fight for justice, she needed to hold herself to a higher standard than those she opposed.

“Thanks, Malorie. I just need to finish up a few things before I head out.”

Malorie gave her a gentle grin and excused herself, shutting the door softly behind her.

Hermione stood and walked to the gold-plated mirror in the corner of the office. Ron had called her crazy when she insisted on having one moved in. But now, looking at her reflection, she was grateful she had trusted her gut. Her natural curls had frizzed wildly, and the bags under her eyes were growing darker against her warm skin. With a quick sigh, she pulled her tangled hair into a top knot, hoping to look even a little more composed.

Half an hour later, she stood behind a podium in the Ministry’s courtyard. Reporters packed the rows in front of her, eager, restless, waiting to pounce.

After the war, Ron and Harry had chosen lives away from the public eye. But that was never an option for Hermione. She had to stay visible. To speak for those who couldn’t speak for themselves.

“I would like to thank you all for being here.”

Kingsley's voice pulled her back into the moment.

“I’m pleased to announce that, after careful consideration, the new Deputy Leader of the Equalis Party is Hermione Granger.”

As Hermione stepped up to the stand, the crowd erupted. Reporters surged to their feet, shouting questions over one another in a chaotic wave of noise. She could barely distinguish a single voice in the crowd.

“Ms. Granger! How does it feel to be the first mudblood woman elected to the Ministry?” one shouted above the rest.

But this. This was what she had trained for. It was what she had worked toward for years.

“I’m not a mudblood,” she said clearly, her voice unwavering. “I’m Muggle-born, and I will use my position to continue speaking out.”

As the words left her mouth, a stunned silence rippled through the press then, suddenly, the questions doubled. 

“Whats your stand on the new bill making its way to be passed—“

Just then Mckiss made her way to excuse Hermione off stage and away from the reporters.

Making their way through the narrow hallways of the Ministry, Hermione let out a soft, frustrated groan and ran her hands over her face.

“Why must they all be so— infuriating?”

McKiss hummed absently in response. 

“I could’ve handled their questions, you know. There was no need for you to pull me out so quickly.”

“That may be,” Mckiss replied, “but you know I can’t let you answer questions like that. Not when you’ve just been elected, Ms. Granger.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But what’s the point of being elected if I can’t even speak on political matters yet?” She shot her a look. “And honestly, how many times must I tell you? You can call me Hermione.”

“Answering questions about ongoing political issues this early on would damage your image, Hermione,” McKiss said firmly. “Image is everything. If you come across as too forward or..Merlin forbid bossy, the public will turn against you.”

“Bossy?” Hermione scoffed. “I’m not bossy. I’m just… passionate.”

She trailed off as they reached her office, reaching for the handle.

“Someone has to speak up about these issues,” she said, quieter now. “Someone needs to push back against legislation that directly affects people of different blood status…and the magical creatures this Ministry continues to take for granted.”

McKiss softened. “Hermione. You and I both know you’re right..and your time will come. But this is politics. We have to do it my way. Introduce you slowly, carefully. Let the public warm to you before you challenge the system too directly.”

“…you’re right” Hermione sighs “we’ll do it your way..wouldn’t want my career to end before we even start do we?” She chuckles softly trying to lighten up the mood.

Malorie gave a reassuring smile. “Exactly. One step at a time.”

Hermione nodded, but inside, a fire was burning brighter than ever. The fight wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

She glanced back at the closed door, then straightened her shoulders. This was only the beginning.

And she would make sure they heard her voice, no matter what it took.

Chapter Text

January 5th, 2004

“What the hell is this?!”

Hermione slammed the parchment onto Draco’s desk with a loud thud, forcing him to acknowledge her. Her fists gripped the edge of his desk, and her eyes furrowed as she looked at him through the curls that framed her face. His office was vastly different from her own. The stone walls of the Ministry’s higher floors and the heavy wood desk—everything screamed of money and old magic.

It was a quiet reminder of how far privilege could carry someone in a place like this, despite how similar their roles were. Both were public-facing figures in opposing political parties, but the differences between them were impossible to ignore. She was the Deputy Leader of Equalis. He was the Head of the Nationalist Party. On paper, their titles held equal weight, but in the halls of the Ministry, blood still spoke louder than merit. The Sacred Twenty-Eight were favored, their names opening doors Hermione had spent years forcing open. And Malfoy? He walked through them like he’d built the place.

Draco glanced down at the parchment, taking in a slow breath as he registered the headline. It was today’s paper, reporting just how much closer his bill was to passing. Good news for him. The higher-ups were backing him, and it looked like he had the majority on his side.

He struggled to hold back a slight smirk as his eyes swept over Hermione with infuriating ease.

“If I had to guess,” he drawled, “I’d say it’s a piece of parchment.”

“Oh, you—” Hermione’s fists clenched on the edge of his desk, threatening to break it. Even after five years, it was clear Draco still dismissed her. To him, she was just the same Mudblood girl—loud, emotional, and beneath him.

Before she could fire back, he cut her off.

“Now, please, Ms. Granger… some of us have work that needs doing.” He gestured lazily toward the door, flashing that same arrogant grin she had come to loathe.

She inhaled sharply as color rushed to her cheeks, her brows knitting in disbelief.

“This isn't over, Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth, leaning forward. “I won’t let you pass this outrageous law.”

Her tone only made his smile widen.

Leaning forward, voice low and dangerous, he said, “Oh, but Granger…” His breath ghosted over her skin, tinged with sharp mint. “It looks like I’m already winning.”

She stiffened, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Huffing, Hermione spun on her heel and stormed out of his office, leaving Draco alone and grinning.

Hours later, the Ministry grew quiet, the usual rustling outside her office door having faded into silence. Hermione sat alone, the weight of the day settling into her bones.

Since the war, Hermione had come to cherish the quiet. It was the only time she ever truly felt at peace, free to sit and think without part of her braced for danger, no unknown threat lurking around the corner. That was one of the many ways the war had changed her.

Before seventh year, she used to find comfort in the little noises around Hogwarts—the mindless chatter in the common room, the distant echoes of footsteps in the corridors, even Ron’s snoring during those rare moments she got to see him and Harry during the summer. She’d never admit it out loud, of course. But now... now she couldn’t stand them.

As she packed up, the only sound was the faint rustling of parchment and the snap of her bag closing. Despite being a fully-fledged witch, Hermione still preferred doing some things the “Muggle way.” There was something grounding about it.

After locking her office door behind her, she began walking down the hallway, finally taking a moment to admire how beautiful the Ministry truly was. She’d worked here for years, and it was easy to grow numb to its grand architecture and intricate design. But on nights like this—late, quiet nights—Hermione allowed herself to see it properly. To appreciate it.

She made her way to the Floo. Passing the high arches and what seemed to be hand-carved detail into each wall, she noted the runes covering the surface of the Ministry. Each wall was filled with protective runes, each with its own purpose, enchanted by the best of the best after the war.

As the ashes scattered across the floor, green flames rose around her, swallowing her whole.

And just like that, she was home—where the silence didn't feel as heavy. Placing her bag down near the fireplace, she slowly made her way to the couch where Crookshanks lazed. It was a miracle he was still alive.

Then she saw it: a letter, lying on her coffee table, sealed with red wax. Her blood ran cold. It hadn’t been there this morning when she left, and there was no way someone could have gotten into her home. She had warded off every possible entrance with every spell she knew. The only ones able to get in were—

She reached into her pocket, grabbing her wand before silently opening the letter.

It was from Harry. Hermione’s shoulders relaxed, the tension melting away as a soft laugh escaped her lips.

“God, Hermione,” she thought wryly, “way to get yourself worked up over nothing.”

Hermione,

It’s been too long since we last met up to talk. I suppose I’m partly to blame. Life has been getting kinda crazy, with Ginny being pregnant and her due date getting closer. It’s really hitting me now that I’m going to be a dad. God, even writing that—I’m still in disbelief.

Ginny and I have seen you in the papers, and we’re so proud of you, ’Mione. We hope to see you again soon.

With love,
Harry

P.S. Ginny insists you come over for dinner sometime.

With each word, Hermione couldn’t fight off the soft smile growing on her face. It had indeed been too long since she’d seen Harry and Ginny. Work had gotten so hectic that she’d completely gotten tunnel vision.

Dear Harry,

You’re right, it has been too long—but I suppose I’m to blame for that as well. With this new bill I’m fighting against, I reckon I’ve gotten tunnel vision.

Harry, you're going to be a dad. Of course it feels surreal, but I have no doubt in my mind that you’re going to be a wonderful father. Ginny too. Honestly, I can’t tell you how happy I am for both of you.

It’s late, so I’ve got to get off to bed. I’ll drop by soon.

With love,
Hermione

P.S. Give Ginny a hug for me. It’s been too long.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s alarm blared through her apartment the next morning. It was still dark outside, the sun yet to rise on a harsh winter morning. Crookshanks was curled up beside her, his warmth pressed against her side, making her hesitate to move. She knew she couldn’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much every bone in her body ached for it—begging her to surrender to the comfort of the sheets instead of tearing herself away to face the day.
Maybe just for today, she thought to herself. Perhaps I could spare a few moments.

She turned her head toward the clock. 5:45 a.m. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She had to get up. Hermione had already slept through her first few alarms, and if she didn’t move now, her whole day would unravel.

Hermione didn’t have to be in her office until nine, but she liked having these quiet mornings to herself—a small pocket of peace before the rest of the world stirred awake. The early hours were when her mind felt clearest, when the stillness made room for her thoughts to settle before the endless meetings, reports, and debates began. Routine kept her grounded. It gave her control—or at least the illusion of it—and after everything, that was something she wasn’t willing to let go of.

Reluctantly, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, startling Crookshanks as she stood and began her morning.

By 6:30 a.m., she was pouring her second cup of tea when the owl arrived, snow-damp Daily Prophet clutched in its beak. She didn’t need to open it to know it would bring grim news lately, they all did. Finishing her tea, she carried the paper to the dining table, setting her mug down gently as she unfolded the front page.

BOB OGDEN, LEADER OF THE EQUALIS PARTY, FOUND DEAD IN HIS HOME.

Hermione froze. Mr. Ogden? Dead?
He had been the head of his party for a decade—the very reason Hermione had gone into politics at all. He’d sought her out after Hogwarts, believing in her when few others did. This can’t be happening.

A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. 6:47 a.m. No one should be here at this hour. Heart quickening, Hermione reached for her wand and crept toward the door. After the news about Mr. Ogden, she couldn’t afford to be careless. Now that he was gone, she was next in line to lead until the next election—and she doubted his death was any kind of accident.

Peering through the peephole, wand raised—  Harry?

Hermione quickly opened the door, slipping her wand into her back pocket. “Harry? What are you doing here?”

He stood in the doorway, still in his Auror uniform, snow clinging to his cloak. Exhaustion shadowed his face.  “Hey, ’Mione.” He offered a tired smile. “Mind if I come in?”

She stepped aside to let him through, closing the door behind them. “Why are you here, Harry? Not that I’m not glad to see you.” Her voice was soft but confused.

Harry sank into the chair opposite her, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Bob Ogden.”

“Yes. I just saw it in the paper.” She joined him at the table, setting her wand aside. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Fuck…” Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. He looked wrecked.

Hermione frowned. “I’m guessing that’s not the only reason.”

“I wish it were.” He took a shaky breath. “Ogden’s death—his assassination—has half the Department working around the clock. I can’t share details, but Merlin, Hermione, I wish that was all.”

Her blood ran cold. Assassination. Mr. Ogden had been murdered.
Her pulse thundered as she tried to steady her breathing. Not now—not when Harry looked like the world had already ended.

He spoke again, voice low. “The Ministry… while the press was swarming the scene—they moved the legislation hearing. And—”

“And they ruled on it,” Hermione finished for him, her voice barely a whisper. “Without informing me.”

Harry met her eyes. He didn’t need to say it. They’d gone behind her back. After all her work—her late nights, her speeches, her desperate effort to stop it—they’d passed the legislation anyway. “What else” she croaked out as if she was too scared to ask.

“Due to the severity of what had happened– the ministry is afraid that the killer may start going after some of the other..political figures” Harry starts slowly, gently as if he's testing the waters “and so..there's going to be a buddy system put in place.”

“Buddy system?” Hermione frowns, her brows confused, “So I'm going to be staying with Kingsley or someone else for a bit? Till they find this guy?” Hermione searches Harry's expression for any sign of confirmation but he refuses to meet her eyes “more like..malfoy?”

“MALFOY?!” Hermione’s voice shot up, the word echoing through her flat as she pushed back from the table. She began pacing across the kitchen, anger bubbling under her skin.

Hermione hated him. Perhaps there was once a time when she might’ve said he wasn’t all that bad—that the war had changed them all—but not anymore. Not after everything he’d done. Hearing his name leave Harry’s mouth stirred something sharp and bitter inside her, all the resentment she’d bottled up over the years bursting free.

“Hermione—”

“No! Absolutely not!” she snapped, spinning on her heel to face him, cutting him off mid-word. “There’s no bloody way I’m going to be spending any time with Malfoy. I can handle myself, Harry—”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, ’Mione.”

Harry’s voice was firm—measured and professional. It was the tone he used for press briefings and public statements as an Auror, never for her. Not until now.

“We’re sending a team over to pack your things and have them moved to Malfoy Manor by the end of the day,” he continued. “That’s where you’ll be staying until further notice.”

Hermione stared at him, speechless.

“I don’t want to do this to you, ’Mione,” Harry added quietly, his expression softening. “But my hands are tied.”

Hermione blinked at him, her mind struggling to catch up with his words.
“Malfoy Manor?” she repeated, voice sharp with disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Harry. That place—” She stopped herself, memories flashing too vividly for her to finish.

Harry’s gaze dropped to the floor, guilt flickering across his face.
“I know what that place means to you,” he said quietly. “But it’s the most secure estate outside of the Ministry itself. Wards layered by generations of pureblood magic. It’s practically impenetrable.”

Hermione shook her head, her chest tight. “You think I care about the wards? That house was a prison, Harry! People died there—people we knew.”

“I know,” he said again, voice low but steady. “But the killer’s already taken down one party leader, and the Ministry believes you’re next on the list. They don’t want to risk anything.”

Hermione turned away, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the countertop. She hated that it made sense. She hated that Harry was right. But most of all, she hated that it had to be him.

“Of all the people in the world,” she muttered bitterly, “why did it have to be Malfoy?”

Hermione’s words hung in the air, sharp and trembling. Harry exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’d been dreading this part.

“It’s not just about keeping you hidden,” he said finally. “Being seen with Malfoy—living under his protection. It lowers your value as a target. Whoever’s behind this seems to be going after high-profile figures with strong ties to Muggle rights. The Ministry thinks if you’re connected to a family like his, it’ll make them think twice.”

Hermione let out a bitter laugh. “So I’m a pawn now? Hide the Muggle-born behind the Malfoy crest and hope the murderer’s too confused to try again?”

Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

She stared at him, searching for any sign this was a cruel joke, but all she found was exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “You can’t seriously expect me to stay there,” she said quietly, almost pleading now.

“I do,” Harry replied, voice soft but unyielding. “Because if you don’t—Hermione, I don’t think you’ll make it through the week.”