(A/N: No, of course this chapter doesn't say everything I wanted to say. Yes, of course this means the story will be prolonged even further while I wrap up loose ends. One of these days I've got to learn pacing. I'm sure my long-suffering beta reader, MirielleGrey, will appreciate it.)
(Disclaimer: If I never claimed to be JK Rowling, or making money off this story, how can I disclaim it? Logically, don't you have to do something before it's possible to undo it?)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXV: Rain of Anvils
*
Neville smiled serenely and dropped his bombshell. "You'll have to return to Hogwarts and finish your seventh year."
Harry was too nonplussed to speak at first. After a moment, deciding that Neville was making a joke, he began to laugh. "Oh, I don't think so, Professor." His laughter died when he saw most of the other adults at the table were seriously considering the idea.
"I'm not joking, Harry," Neville insisted. "Aren't you seventeen? Or, I should say, isn't that what you want people to think? To the vast majority, if you're seventeen, then you're a seventh-year student at Hogwarts, period. So if you want to reinforce the public perception of you…"
"And you know," Bill added gravely, "almost any employer is going to insist on seeing your NEWTs, even if you are Harry Potter." His attitude seemed more than a little patronizing to Harry, for some reason - just a touch shy of condescending, in fact, and Harry found it rankling.
It moved him to object more strongly than he might have. "Fred and George did fine without NEWTs, as I recall. NEWTs aren't mandatory. I'll find work - it's not like I'm really a helpless teenager, after all. Besides, it's too late to go back to school now, term's already begun."
Neville waved the objection aside. "We're barely three weeks into term. You should have no trouble catching up with the rest of your class - as you say, mentally you're not a teenager. And if you do need help, I feel quite certain we can find a seventh-year willing to tutor Harry Potter for a couple of weeks."
"That's true, Harry," Ted felt bound to interject. "We could ask Prudence Boomhalter, she'd be a perfect partner for yoomgkph-OW!" The termination to his suggestion was caused by Tori's elbow to his ribs arriving only milliseconds before Rose kicked him in the shins under the table.
"You," Tori hissed in his ear, "are not helping." Rose's face was as red as her hair, but that didn't keep her from looking daggers at him.
"I wouldn't need a tutor in any case," Harry snapped, now thoroughly nettled. "I could probably teach most of those classes… the practicals, anyway."
"Then it wouldn't be any hardship for you to finish school," Fleur pointed out reasonably. "And it would give you a bit of breathing room, while you decided what to do with the rest of your life."
"What to do with…!" Harry brought himself up short. "That's it, isn't it? Yeah, I thought something was a bit off with everyone today." He stared huffily at the adults around the table… but his voice, when he spoke again, was almost gentle. "I'm not a child, ladies and gentlemen. In point of fact, I'm the same age as our good Defense Professor over there. I only look like a teenager."
"We know that…" Neville began.
"Do you? You're sure not acting like you know it… or it may be that you know it in your heads, but you're reacting automatically to what you're seeing. And what you see is a teenager, so…" He shrugged. "Eh, I suppose you can't help it." He turned to Hermione. "I'm just grateful there's one person who still sees me as an adult. Thank you."
"Well, it helps that I did actually see you as an adult," Hermione responded, "before you were, erm, rejuvenated." She gave him a quick, nervous smile that vanished almost as soon as it appeared, before lowering her gaze to her plate. Her next words seemed decidedly forced. "But I, I have to, to agree that schooling is important, Harry… as is getting your NEWTs. I returned to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year, after the war, you know, and I don't regret it."
He regarded her quizzically for a second, before pitching his voice low, for her ears. "But would you regret it if I did?"
Her reply was barely more than a movement of her lips. "I'm torn." Beneath the table, her hand fumbled atop his leg, seeking his hand, seeking reassurance.
"Got it," he breathed, as their hands found one another and clasped. And indeed, Harry did understand Hermione's conflict. To her, a good formal education was paramount, absolutely indispensible. It was a cornerstone of her beliefs, and always had been. She'd labored over her schooling for years, and pushed him and Ron to do likewise. It would be unthinkable for Harry to have a chance to complete his schooling, and reject it.
Except, as her desperate grip on his hand told him, now that he'd finally come back she couldn't bear to be parted from him anew.
Harry returned his gaze to Neville, but spoke for Hermione's benefit. "Well, I don't have to decide right this second, surely. I'd like a chance to think it over. A few more days won't affect my class standing, seeing as I'm already three weeks behind. And in the meantime, you should probably run this by Professor McGonagall - I mean, she is the Headmistress. And who knows? She might have some, well, some reservations."
"Doubtful, that," said Neville, but he looked thoughtful. "But you're right, I should… I mean, courtesy if nothing else… and there are probably some logistical problems to be addressed…"
Ron gave a sudden bark of laughter. "Like how she's going to deal with the sons of Prongs and Moony together in Gryffindor?"
Neville's open mouth showed he hadn't considered that aspect of Harry's return. "Oh! Ah… well, er…"
"Oh, no worries, Professor," Ted put in, with a truly impressive show of gravitas. "No worries in the least. After all, we all heard Harry say he doesn't have his invisibility cloak any more. So honestly, how much trouble could we get into?" He lifted his glass of wine to Harry, who nodded in acknowledgment, and took a demure sip.
*
Roswitha, bless her heart, had done her best with the cake. No, Harry chided himself, be fair, she's done quite a decent job of it. I could see only one, maybe two spots where I'd have gone back and fixed it. (Harry had to admit that he probably wouldn't have had time to add the icing drop flowers.) The meal done, Ron stood and announced, "Thank you again, all of you, for coming and celebrating with Hermione and me. I reckon we've all got a lot to be thankful for." He beamed at Hermione for a moment, then continued, "We've got the use of the parlor until three, so feel free to hang about… keep eating, catch up with the news, whatever you like."
Most of the guests, including Harry, rose from the table at this invitation. Harry decided he'd snag a few last morsels of salmon, and meandered over to the sideboard. The party became a socializing event, where guests formed groups of two or three that chatted for a few moments before breaking up and reforming. Harry spotted Andromeda with Ted (with Tori on his arm), and thereafter lost track: he found himself chatting amiably, and privately, with Bill and Fleur, finally convincing them of his adult status.
Once he broke away from Bill and Fleur, he linked up with Ted and Tori. "Ted, that was inspired," he greeted them.
"It was that," agreed Tori warmly. "Almost makes up for his earlier faux pas." She ignored Ted's scowl and continued smoothly, "So, er, Harry, are you really considering coming back to Hogwarts? Or did you just want everyone to stop talking about it?"
"A little of both," Harry admitted. "I really don't see the point of it, but it seems to be so important to… um, everyone…" His eyes scanned the room over their heads as he said this.
"Well, you did spend fifteen years puttering around as a Muggle," Ted shrugged. "One more year in limbo ought to be easy enough." When Harry didn't respond, Ted turned his head to follow his gaze. Hermione and Ron, wearing serious expressions, had gathered Rose and were speaking to her in low tones.
"Take it outside," Harry muttered under his breath. Tori raised an eyebrow to Ted in inquiry; his slight shake of the head conveyed his own puzzlement.
Across the room, Ron and Hermione took Rose's hands. "Ron and I are walking Rose back to Hogwarts," Hermione said to the party. "Please, enjoy yourselves - and thank you all again for coming!"
"Family chat?" Ted asked Harry quietly.
Harry nodded. "Tori, you and Rose are pretty close, aren't you? You might make yourself available this evening… in case Rose needs to talk."
"I can do that, sure. Harry, what's this about?"
"Something you should let Rose tell you," Harry said firmly.
*
Hermione was satisfied with how things had worked out. This, she felt, would be an ideal opportunity. She and Ron could walk with Rose to Hogwarts, not a brisk walk but taking their time; the walk would give them the privacy and intimacy they needed to tell Rose about their divorce. Hermione was fairly sure that, while Rose might be surprised and dismayed, she wouldn't be shocked.
They were barely out the door of the Three Broomsticks and on the street when they were ambushed.
"Madam Granger, what was your first reaction to the Wizengamot vote?" "Madam Granger, do you plan to continue the policies of your predecessor? Even expand on them? What changes do you plan?" "Mister Weasley, what was your reaction to the news?"
"What? What!?" Hermione held up her hands and tried to command silence, or at least impose order on chaos. It had been years since she'd been confronted by so many reporters, all at once. Obviously, they'd known of her Rebirthday Party, somehow - well, it hadn't been a secret, exactly - and had been waiting for Hermione to leave the party, to be in a public thoroughfare, before they pounced.
She was forced to raise her voice. "All of you, quiet down! Please! What in the world are you talking about?!"
"Today's Wizengamot vote, Madam Granger," piped up one reporter, before the others could speak. "They met just two hours ago and elected you the new Minister of Magic!"
This set off another blizzard of questions: "Any comment on the unusual timing of today's vote, Madam Granger? Why it was delayed? Then scheduled for today?" "Madam Granger, were you aware that Shacklebolt wrote a letter of endorsement for you before he died? Did he ever discuss it with you?"
"Kingsley wrote a… what?" Hermione was thoroughly taken aback. She had never suspected, never dreamed…
*
Ahhh, thought Neville as he watched the scene unfold, so that's why Tiberius wanted me to 'be ready'. All at once, a great many things seemed to fall into place.
"Neville? Did you find out what all the commotion's about?" Harry and Ted were approaching the parlor window where Neville stood, attracted by the noise outside. Neville raised his hand in the universal sign for shush, and the two fell silent as they joined him. He nodded at the scene outside.
It only took Harry a few seconds to absorb what was happening. When it did, his face clouded, then turned pale. His breathing quickened - but his spine stiffened. He began to step away from the window, towards the door…
Ted laid his hand on Harry's arm. "Hold on a moment, Harry."
"She needs my help," Harry said hoarsely.
"Uh huh, and it wouldn't take much. All you'd have to do is walk past them. Those reporters would drop Hermione like a soggy crisp, if they had the chance to interview The Boy Who Lived Again. That's what you're thinking, am I right?"
Harry gave a curt nod, and made a motion to brush Ted's hand from his arm.
"Okay, but let's hold off a moment," Ted suggested. "Plenty of time to intervene, if you need to."
Harry looked strangely at his godson, who returned his gaze blandly, and told himself that he couldn't be that obvious. For in truth, Harry's stomach was churning at the thought of making himself the reporters' target. He would rather have thrown himself to wolves - which he would readily do, for Hermione's sake. But surely, there was no way for Ted to have known about his acute social anxieties…
Unless Harry was that obvious.
"You haven't seen Hermione in action, these last few years," Neville put in mildly. "She's pretty impressive. Ted's right, let's give this a chance to play out…" He broke off in mid-word, as their combined attention was suddenly riveted to the events on the other side of the glass.
*
The reporters - there looked to be no more than half a dozen, though they gave the impression of a mob - were still peppering Hermione with questions. She'd barely had to time to begin formulating an answer to one before another came hot at its heels. For the moment, though, she was holding her own against them.
Ron felt far less sure about his own ability to do so. Moreover, while it went against his grain to back away from any confrontation, he had Rose to worry about. Get her away from these vultures, he reasoned, before something bad happens, and then come back and help Hermione…
Quietly, he placed his hand on Rose's shoulder, and with a gentle pressure suggested they move away from the scene. Rose was, thank goodness, too flummoxed by the verbal assault to resist. Casually, inconspicuously, they edged away from the impromptu news conference. For a moment, Ron thought they might be lucky enough to escape notice.
Given the history of his life, Ron ought to have known better than to trust to luck.
"And what about you, Mr. Weasley? Any comment on Madam Granger's election?" "Can you tell our readers, Mr. Weasley, how you managed a magical divorce when it's never been done before? And was the divorce deliberately timed to take effect before the election?"
"Shut up, you berks!" Ron shouted, but it was too late.
"Dad?" Rose quavered, looking up at him. Hermione rushed over to join them, kneeling to bring her head level with Rose's.
"Darling, we were about to tell you," she said as soothingly as she could. "Please understand, this doesn't change how much either of us love you…"
Ron tried to chime in, but the questions continued to hammer at them, unabated. If anything, they were growing louder, not only to compete with each other, but to break through the private family moment: "Madam Granger, how will your election affect custody? Mr. Weasley, will you be keeping your daughter if her mother is too busy with the Ministry?"
And then one reporter went too far, even for the press. "Miss Weasley? Miss Weasley, can you tell us what you thought when you heard about your mother's election? How will it feel being at Hogwarts when your parents are divorced? Do any of your classmates…"
Rose's lower lip trembled as she fought to keep hold of her newfound sense of maturity. She failed: instead, she turned her head and buried her face against her father's side. Outraged, Hermione rose to her full height and turned savagely on the assembled reporters. She drew breath to rail at them, too wrathful to care about her exact choice of words or their possible impact. Then she realized, with grim satisfaction, that the reporters had fallen abruptly silent. They'd stepped away from her, doubtless intimidated by the expression on her face…
She didn't notice Ron and Rose, behind her, suddenly hugging each other for warmth, nor the wave of arctic coldness that washed over everyone in the street… nor the icy horror on the faces of the reporters, as though the angel of Death had reached into their chest cavities and prodded their hearts with one bony, accusing finger.
*
"No, Harry!" hissed Neville. "You can't!" He had an iron grip on one of Harry's arms; Ted had seized Harry's other arm and was holding it equally fast. It was the only way they could prevent Harry from diving bodily through the window and attacking the reporters with his bare hands.
On the surface, Neville felt surprised: given the freezing flash that Harry had just radiated, Neville had half-expected Harry's body to be ice-cold. Deep down, Neville was even more surprised: he would never have imagined himself brave enough to physically restrain a dangerously powerful, dangerously angry Boy Who Lived Again. His face was twisted with rage, and Neville almost imagined he could see green lightning flash from his eyes.
"Those soulless bastiches! Those pustulous, scum-sucking leeches! Let me go, you two… as bad as dementors, have they no shame, I won't stand for this…"
"You won't have to," Neville insisted, happy his voice didn't waver. "Just watch…"
*
"The Wizengamot has not yet formally announced the results of their session today," Hermione sternly told the now-silent reporters. "I know this because, if they had chosen me to be Minister, they'd have done me the courtesy of informing me before making a general announcement. And I've not been informed of any such thing."
Her gaze swept over them, daring them to interrupt. "Since I've not been informed, I have of course not given any thought to any possible agenda for the Minister's office. Time enough for that, after - and if - I receive the position. Until then, it's fruitless to ask me any policy questions - though I would anticipate there'd be no radical changes in the direction of Kingsley Shacklebolt's policies."
She took a step forward, and suppressed a smile as the reporters nervously took a matching step backward. "No matter what the Wizengamot has decided, I remain an official in the Ministry, and as such I am, naturally, always open to questions from the press. BUT!"
Her voice rose sharply on the last word, then descended to the quiet, incisive, razor-precise tones that were more compelling than her shouting - tones that might have been described as "soft", except there was nothing whatsoever soft about them. "But: my family is off-limits. My daughter is off-limits. There are lines you will not cross, gentlemen - doubly so, should I gain the title of Minister! - and before you even think of evading this issue, just remember the title I had before I joined the Ministry."
She didn't explicitly say the words The Witch Who Won, but they were hardly necessary.
"Now, if there are no further questions," and her voice, her stance, and her flashing brown eyes made it abundantly clear that there weren't, "we'll be returning our daughter to Hogwarts. Good afternoon to you all." Hermione held out one hand; she felt Rose's hand slip into it. With a quick glance to be sure that Ron held Rose's other hand, she nodded one last time at the thoroughly cowed reporters and resumed her walk down the main street of Hogsmeade.
*
"See, Harry, that's the Hermione Granger we've come to know and love," Neville said, releasing his grip on Harry's arm. Harry had… not relaxed, but at least stopped struggling, once Hermione had begun delivering her dressing-down. He now watched wordlessly as Ron, Rose and Hermione sauntered past the poleaxed reporters and continued towards Hogwarts.
Harry finally spoke in a low voice. "She's always been brilliant and scary. And nobody knows better than me just how capable she is. But… Minister of Magic? Neville, has there ever been a Muggleborn Minister of Magic?"
"Not that I can recall. And believe me, I think I would."
He nodded, and then nodded again, reaching a decision. "Ted, I'm afraid you're going to have to continue the Marauder traditions on your own, after all. Neville, I won't be coming back to Hogwarts. Not this year, which means probably not ever."
"Well… if you say so, Harry," said Ted hesitantly. "But you could still…"
"She's going to need me," Harry interrupted. "She's going to need every bit of help she can muster. There are still a lot of blood purity elitists, and they'll be fighting her every move. You know what I'm talking about, Neville!" He paused, and added more quietly, "And she'll be lucky if fighting her agenda is the only thing they do. No, I have to be there for her."
"She's hardly a pushover, Harry," Ted reminded him. "I mean, she is The Witch Who Won."
"And these days, that probably has a bit more cachet than The Chosen One," Harry said with a wry half-smile. "But if I can open just a few doors that wouldn't open otherwise, it'll be well worth it." He fell silent, pensive.
"Right, then," Neville said at length, "if you're sure, Harry… I have to agree, she can use all the support she can get." He too fell silent, before drawing a deep breath. "Mr. Lupin, would you mind asking the Weasleys if they could escort you and Miss Weasley-Major back to Hogwarts? I'd like to remain here for a bit longer."
Ted immediately noticed the change in address, recognizing Neville's shift from "family friend" to "Hogwarts professor". "Yes, sir, not a problem. Talk to you soon, Harry?" He gave his godfather a warm smile before breaking away and seeking out Tori.
Neville watched Ted go for a few seconds, then turned back to Harry. "You didn't look shocked to hear her called The Witch Who Won. I take it you knew already?"
"I heard," Harry grimaced. "I'm sure she hates it as much as I hated my titles."
"Uh huh." Neville eyed Harry skeptically. Neither said anything for a moment.
It was Harry who broke the stalemate. "Something on your mind, Neville?"
"Just wondering something. Y'see, I was there when Hagrid brought your body back to Hogwarts, the morning of the Battle. I remember the entire scene, quite clearly. So I was listening very carefully earlier, when you described how you came back to life."
"It happened just as I described it, Neville," Harry said, face and voice carefully neutral.
Neville nodded, then seemed to change the subject. "Hermione did tell me about the prophecy, after everything had settled down… seemed to think that I deserved to know, given how it almost applied to me. Well, that, and how close I came to being tortured trying to save it." They shared a smile at the memory, before Neville cleared his throat and lost his smile. "But y'know, it's a funny language, English. Have you ever noticed how many English words have more than one meaning?"
Harry stood stock-still. He looked Neville in the eyes and slowly shook his head, silently mouthing No, and trying by facial expression to get Neville to lower his voice.
"For instance," Neville continued, seemingly oblivious but watching Harry closely, "the word either. Normally it's, like, a choice: 'either-or', one thing or the other thing. But it can also mean 'each', one thing and then the other thing…"
"Enough," Harry whispered desperately. "Let it go, Neville…"
"'Either must die at the hand of the other'," Neville mused, although he now murmured his words for Harry's ears alone. "Voldemort killed you in the Forest, you were quite clear on that point. To fulfill the prophecy, you must have returned the favor - so when did you find the chance? After you came back to life, obviously… and you told Andromeda you summoned the Wand from Voldemort's hand, which would have happened, let's see, just before…"
"God damn it, Neville, enough! You've made your point!" Harry glanced around to see if anyone had been close enough to hear their conversation. "Yes, fine, I admit it. But you can't tell anyone, Neville. You especially can't tell Hermione! It's just as I said, as Minister she'll need every scrap of advantage she can get. To the public, she has to be The Witch Who Won. Which she wouldn't, if she thought it wasn't true! You know she wouldn't, and she must! Promise me you'll keep it secret!"
"The credit should go where it's due…"
"It has, trust me, it has. I've heard the stories of that last fight - she earned her title." Harry shrugged with one shoulder. "And it's not like I need it, particularly. Please, Neville."
Neville pretended to consider the matter, though in fact he'd crafted his response before he'd started talking… when he'd first deduced who'd actually killed Voldemort. "On one condition," he finally told Harry.
"Let's hear it," said Harry cautiously.
"I'm, well, I'm looking to marry in the next few months - yes, thanks," he added, as Harry smiled and made the appropriate congratulatory noises, "thanks, I appreciate it. Susan Bones, you remember Susan of course? But there've been some hassles, some difficulties… anyway, there are details we need to arrange, and that means days I'll have to be gone from Hogwarts. And for those days I'm absent, I need a guest lecturer."
Harry raised one eyebrow. "I am supposed to be a teenager, Neville. I'm barely older than your students. Makes it rather hard for me to be their teacher, don't you think?"
"Being the same age as your pupils didn't stop you in the D.A. You have the skills, Harry - didn't you just tell us you could teach the practicals if you wanted? Right, then, Mr. Boy Who Won't Die, time to put your Galleons where your gob is." Neville grinned as Harry rubbed his nose dubiously, thinking.
"We're talking, what, one day a month?" Harry eventually asked.
"More or less," Neville agreed. "Might be a bit more… I've no way of knowing how long it'll take to smooth out our wedding details. And, yes, I will clear this with Minerva." He left it at that, though he would have liked to keep the pressure on: This is the price for my silence, pay it or suffer the consequences. But he knew from experience that pressuring Harry only made him more stubborn.
And in the end, he couldn't have Harry calling what was, after all, a bluff.
"I'll need to see your course syllabuses," Harry said… muttered, actually.
"Come to my office at Hogwarts Monday, after classes. I'll have copies ready." They shook hands on the deal, Harry inwardly relieved that he'd gotten off so lightly… and Neville outlining what he'd tell Susan that evening.
*
Ginny was shocked by Blaise's appearance. Oh, to anyone else, he would look as though he were entering the Ministry Atrium with his usual confidence and elegance - but to Ginny's eye, he looked haggard. Immediately, she put into the background all the things she wanted to discuss with him… taking his arm in hers, she simply said, "Let's go home."
Blaise looked at her as though he were having difficulty focusing on her face. Then his features seemed to minutely relax. "Yes, let's," he replied. "Sitting room?" When she nodded her agreement, they Disapparated together.
They arrived in the sitting room of Zabini's manor house. Blaise immediately released Ginny's arm, strode to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. He downed it neat, in a single gulp, his hands steady.
He spoke without looking at Ginny. "I intend to resign my post at the Ministry. Oh, it's customary, at a change of administration, for all the senior officials to offer their resignations - but I intend to follow through. I want it to be my choice, not the new Minister's."
"Blaise," said Ginny evenly, "what's happened? Where have you been?"
"I've been in… protective custody," Blaise replied. He poured another shot of firewhiskey, but didn't drink; he kept the crystal tumbler gripped tightly in his hand. "It turns out, my dear, that I had privy information about the International Cartel Lords… enough to give Gawain Robards the option to prosecute me as a co-conspirator, if he chose. So, to prove my innocence, I've spent the last forty-eight hours… cooperating with the Aurors."
"And you've proven your innocence to everyone's satisfaction?" Ginny knew full well Blaise was shading the truth for her ears. As though she couldn't read between the lines as well as anyone.
"No charges will be brought against me." He downed the second shot of firewhiskey as quickly as the first. "But unfortunately, that came too late to be considered in today's Wizengamot vote." Blaise turned to face Ginny. "I doubt it's public knowledge yet, but the new Minister of Magic will be… your sister-in-law."
"Hermione!?"
"Ha! Yes, I suspect that will be a great many people's reaction." Blaise glanced down at the tumbler in his hand, and visibly decided against a third drink. He tossed the tumbler into the liquor cabinet, heedless of whether it broke or not, and strode to one of the large plush chairs. He didn't so much sit as collapse into the chair, staring stonily forward.
After a minute of tense silence, Ginny cleared her throat. "These Cartel Lords… they're the ones who had me Obliviated?" At Blaise's terse nod, she continued more quietly, "Is there any chance they'll want to do the same to you?"
Blaise's eyes flicked momentarily towards her. "Now that I've been debriefed? No, that's not a concern." It wasn't necessary to point out the obvious: Obliviation might keep the Cartel's secrets, but more lethal spells made for an excellent object lesson.
"We'll take extra precautions," Ginny said decisively. Blaise didn't reply.
She walked over to him and sat on the edge of the chair, caressing the back of his head. "We'll deal with it," she said, quietly but firmly. "Okay? Okay." She paused to let that sink in, then went on, "About your resigning…"
"I will hardly be alone," Blaise noted dispassionately. "I feel quite sure there'll be any number of resignations, from the Ministry, from the Wizengamot… tolerance for Muggles is all well and good, up to a point, but when it comes to serving under one of them…"
"Which is exactly why you shouldn't resign, love."
He finally looked directly at her. "Ginny, I know your family has always had a soft spot for Muggles, but do you truly want them overthrowing our culture?"
"She's not a Muggle: she's a Muggle-born. There's a world of difference. She understands the superiority of magic, otherwise she wouldn't still be living in our world. I'm not saying Hermione won't try to make changes," Ginny said quickly, raising her hand to forestall Blaise's objection, "of course she will, and with the best of intentions. That's why you shouldn't resign."
Blaise's eyes narrowed slightly. She had his full attention now, and his brain was starting to work in its normal manner. "Damage control, then? Are you saying I should stay at the Ministry to clean up Granger's mistakes?"
"Not quite. You're staying at the Ministry precisely because others are resigning. They aren't broad-minded enough to work with the new Minister, but you are. You'll be the go-between for Hermione and her opposition. You'll be the one who'll actually get things done." Ginny began to massage the back of his neck.
"And besides," she continued, "I know Hermione better than just about anyone. She does mean well, but she doesn't understand our world, and she's not exactly patient. Sooner or later - and I'm guessing sooner - she's going to attempt some huge legislative reform. It won't be a little thing, like Kingsley'd do, it'll be something huge. And hugely unpopular. It might be a necessary change, maybe even the right thing, but she'll approach it all wrong. So even if she manages to push the thing through, there'll be a call for a vote of no confidence."
Ginny moved her fingers from his neck, to entangle them in his hair, as she shifted her weight. "Whereupon, a more traditional candidate - one who's already proven he's a consensus builder - will look very," she slid from the chair's arm into Blaise's lap, "very," and draped her arms around his shoulders as she finished, "attractive." Her eyes danced as his arms reflexively encircled her waist.
"Tell me," Blaise said thoughtfully after a moment, "were you always this politically savvy, and I simply didn't notice?" Ginny smiled, and though she didn't reply in words, the kiss she gave him might have been a reward for his newfound insight.
"One more thing," she said when they broke contact, "you need an ally who can broaden the base of your support. One that Hermione can't touch. Literally and figuratively."
"Literally and figuratively? What do you…?" Blaise frowned. "It's Potter, isn't it? You actually think I can recruit Potter? We never got along, and I'm sure the last thing he remembers about me was my departure from Hogwarts. He'd never trust me."
"But he'd trust me," Ginny said simply. "And remember, he's spent the last fifteen years on the other side of the Veil. He doesn't know anything about the current political situation. If I convince him that Hermione, for all her good intentions, is a bit of an extremist - easy enough, I only need to remind him about SPEW - and that you represent moderation… if he thought you were the one most likely to make the wizarding world safer… well, Harry's a pragmatic bloke. If he could work with Severus Snape for the greater good, he'll have no problem working with you."
"Mm hmm, perhaps… if you convince him. That's a fairly large 'if''. Just how, exactly, do you plan…?" Blaise fell silent as Ginny placed one fingertip over his lips.
"If it would upset you to know the answer," she told him with a sly smile, "you shouldn't ask the question."
Ginny kept her finger in place a moment longer, until she saw in his eyes that he understood. Then she leaned forward to kiss him again, more thoroughly… thereby receiving his tacit approval to her plan.