(A/N: I want to thank you, my readers, for your extraordinary patience: not only waiting for this chapter, but waiting for my replies to your reviews from the last chapter. Don't think I didn't read them, every one of them - or appreciate them. It's just been very hectic for me, these days. (And for some reason, writing this chapter was like pulling teeth.)
I had thought of describing some investment ceremony for the new Minister of Magic, or even giving her some token of office - some big flashy medallion like the Lord Mayor of London wears - but we never saw Fudge or Scrimgeour wearing such tokens in canon, and I doubt the Wizengamot would invent one in the interim.)
(Disclaimer: Before Rowling, chop wood, carry water. After Rowling, chop wood, write fanfiction, carry water.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XXXIX: Transitions Great and Small
*
Sheryl gave the closed door to Hermione's chambers another nervous glance. She'd known there would be confusion and chaos, that Monday morning, with everyone preparing for the Wizengamot to convene. She'd thought it would be easy enough amidst the chaos to slip away for a moment of privacy, without anyone noticing. Which was true, for Sheryl Binder.
Not so true, for the Boy Who Lived Again. Even if he hadn't arrived at the Ministry practically hogtied to Hermione Granger at the wrist.
And in the end, it hadn't been at Sheryl's insistence, but at Canby's, that Harry had excused himself from Hermione's side and joined them in this closed room.
A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned to see Harry emerge from the evidentiary Pensieve on Hermione's desk. Harry took a few seconds to regain his bearings. When he did, his first words were to Canby. "That was when you…?"
Canby nodded grimly. "It seemed the best chance."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. He turned his gaze to Sheryl. "And thank you, too, ma'am. I mean, well… it's one thing to hear rumors, but to see it like that…!"
"Don't thank me," Sheryl hastened to say. "It gave me no pleasure… but I truly felt it was something you needed to see, before today's Wizengamot session."
"Forewarned is forearmed?" Harry's smile was wry. "Not that I think she'll try anything today: too much else happening."
"Oh yes," confirmed Canby with ears suddenly erect and a grin spreading on his face. "In fact, Canby hears something about to happen right now."
The door burst open to reveal Dennis Creevey, older and much taller than Harry remembered him but still recognizable. "Just got word from the Wizengamot," he said in a rush. "It's time."
Harry nodded. "Is Hermione…?" he began.
"She's already gone on ahead." Dennis anticipated Harry's next question. "She's pretty nervous - I don't think I've ever seen her so nervous. I'd swear, there's a circular groove in the floor out here now, from where she was pacing."
Harry sighed. "Well, a promise is a promise." He looked around the room at Hermione's three lieutenants - and, he now knew, her loyal supporters. "I wouldn't force this on you, not if you hate this sort of thing as much as I do - but in fairness, you deserve to be there. A lot more than I do, I'm sure. Anyway, wish me luck?" And bracing his shoulders, he strode from the room, heading for the meeting chambers of the Wizengamot.
*
"The votes have been re-tallied," announced Chief Warlock Ogden from the high benches of the chamber, where the full complement of the Wizengamot sat assembled. He gestured to either side and added, "To include the votes of our newest colleagues." In the higher benches, those newly chosen members of the Wizengamot stirred self-consciously; Neville tugged nervously at the collar of his plum-colored robe of office.
Ogden smiled beatifically on the audience seated before him, composed of journalists, Ministry officials, and the movers and shakers of wizarding society. "I am pleased to confirm the selection of our new Minister of Magic - one of the youngest in history - Madam Hermione Jean Granger!"
To the applause of the audience and Wizengamot (some more enthusiastic than others), Hermione took her place next to the Chief Warlock. She waited for Ogden to be seated, and for the applause to die, before facing the crowd and clearing her throat. "Good wizards and witches," she began, barely concealing her anxiety - until she spotted a mop of unruly black hair in the last row of seats.
And her confidence soared at the sight of it.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt will be sorely missed," she continued in a stronger voice. "He was a remarkable man, and his achievements as Minister were no less remarkable. His shoes would be hard for anyone to fill. I can only promise to do my best." She paused and looked around at the audience. "The best honor to Kingsley's memory is to preserve his work, and continue it. I plan no changes from the policies of my predecessor. I believe Kingsley's policies have helped make wizarding Britain, on the whole, a better place. And I believe, working together, we can make our world better still. To this end, and to you all, I pledge all my effort. Thank you."
Well, that has to set a record for the shortest acceptance speech ever given by a new Minister, she thought with satisfaction as she took her seat. I should win a few points for that, if nothing else.
The Chief Warlock rose, made some concluding remarks, and with a bang of his gavel declared the Wizengamot session adjourned. At once, the plum-robed members descended from the benches as the audience left their seats to come forward to meet them.
It is, of course, part of any politician's job to delightedly mingle with her constituents. Hermione knew she'd have to do the same, if she were to be an effective Minister. Yet she also knew, as she started shaking hands with a firmly fixed smile, that it would be the part of the job she'd loathe the most.
She managed to maneuver herself through the throng so that she could meet up with Neville and Susan earlier, rather than later. "I hear from Harry that congratulations are in order," she greeted them, her smile becoming genuine.
"It's not common knowledge yet," Susan said, standing close to Neville without quite holding hands. "But yes."
"We've not set a date," added Neville, knowing that Hermione would be curious. "There are still all too many details to be settled."
"Mm, yes, I daresay," Hermione nodded. "Perhaps I can help with one, at least. What evening this week would be convenient for us to finalize letting The Ossuary?"
Susan blinked. "The Ossuary… Brillig was your house-elf? Hermione, I never realized…!"
"No, no," Hermione quickly assured her, "not mine, not even working for me, but the offer is on my behalf. I just think the Minister of Magic should have a presentable home for official functions - more presentable than Enthalpy House, at any rate."
"'For official functions'," Susan repeated thoughtfully. "Then you won't be living there on a permanent basis…?"
"I haven't decided yet… but I expect I'll need a caretaker living there full-time." Hermione turned her head to spot Harry, who had retreated to the farthest corner of the room and was doing his utmost to remain inconspicuous.
Susan followed her gaze. "Ah… I imagine it's a bit overwhelming for him," she murmured sympathetically.
"Yes, well," said Neville before Hermione could respond, "I'm sure, with a little help, he'll learn to cope."
*
Interesting, Zabini mused inwardly as he mingled with the crowd, making witty small talk without needing to think about it. When Ogden introduced Granger, he emphasized her age: how young she was. No mention of her being The Witch Who Won… and certainly no mention of her being the first Muggleborn Minister.
Easy to see which issues will be downplayed in the new administration - and thus, which will receive priority.
Up to the very moment Granger had arrived in the Wizengamot hall, Zabini held out hope that Svartalfer's hints of action against her, early Sunday morning, would bear fruit… that Monday's Wizengamot session would be convened to find a new Minister, rather than invest one. Either Svartalfer had been overly optimistic - a quality Zabini would never have credited him - or Granger had dealt the Cartel yet another setback. Unfortunately, the charmed spectacles worked only one way: he couldn't contact the Cartel, but rather, had to wait until they contacted him. He now suspected it would be a long wait.
So Zabini would have to make his own plans for Dealing With Granger.
To that end, he'd kept a watchful eye on the door before the investiture began… so had seen Potter slip into the room almost at the last minute. Potter now looked distinctly uncomfortable; he was keeping a distance from the rest of the crowd; he was obviously here only at Granger's insistence, then. So Granger was trying to co-opt Potter's fame and popularity, in support of her position - or her policies.
The latter, Zabini decided. The Wizengamot vote was all the support she needed for her position, in and of itself. So if she needs Potter's support for her policies, they must be radical indeed. Ginny was right about that, too.
Let's hope she was also right about her ability to woo Potter to our side.
The random motions of the people in the room had brought Zabini up to Amos Diggory. "I heard about your promotion, Zabini… well done," said Diggory. "A mite surprised you accepted it, though."
"My history's shown I can work with the new Minister, Amos," Zabini replied easily. "As well as with others who, shall we say, can not."
"Hrrm. Well, I don't know if you'll have got the notice, but the new Minister'll be keeping on with Kingsley's weekly meetings with the Department Heads. First one will run longer than usual: she's asked for a report from each Head, summarizing everything that's going on within their Departments."
"Fair enough. Did the notice say when? Surely not today?"
"Meeting's been put off until Wednesday morning, to give us all a chance to prepare." Diggory grunted and jerked his head in Granger's general direction. "Decent of her, I suppose."
Out of the corner of his eye, Zabini saw someone making a beeline towards Potter: Gwenog Jones, former captain of the Holyhead Harpies, now their manager and coach. He wished, not for the first time, that there was some audial equivalent of the Supersensory Charm - something that would let him listen to private conversations from a distance - but he'd managed without it before now.
Still chatting, he began to maneuver Diggory, ambling towards a spot halfway between the exit and where Potter and Jones stood. It looked for all the world like a simple strolling conversation. Zabini was well-practiced at this technique: it only required a fraction of his attention to be devoted to Diggory. The rest was focused on the other conversation.
He was rewarded, as they drew past, with a snippet of speech from Jones: "… no photographers, no press releases, nothing like that. I mean to say… this isn't a promotional thing, Harry… this is a thank-you thing."
"Oh," said Potter. "Oh, uh, well, in that case… I mean, sure…"
Zabini didn't need to hear more. His voice continued discussing Wednesday's meeting with Diggory, while his mind went further afield, exploring this new development. With any luck, Ginny's plan would shortly prove a success: even if Potter's cachet couldn't be brought to the side of the Fire Party, it would be enough that Potter wasn't seen to support the new Minister.
But just in case… Zabini had to admit, he was none too eager to embrace them, but… just in case, he needed to at least consider Malfoy's suggestions for Dealing With Granger.
*
"That should do it," Neville concluded. It was Monday evening, and as arranged, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts had met with his temporary substitute teacher in his classroom at Hogwarts - there to discuss the course syllabus. Given Neville's class schedule, they'd agreed that Wednesday next would be a good day for Neville's absence: the classes would be devoted to "practicals" on that day, at which Harry excelled.
It also allowed Neville to slip Harry some of the course textbooks, suggesting he study them in case "theoreticals" ever came up in class.
"It's just one day," Neville said comfortingly, as Harry looked dubiously at the texts. "Susan and I need to talk to our families, is all."
"Uh huh," said Harry, still giving the books a skeptical eye. "And when the Wizengamot needs you to sit on a case, that'll be just one more day, won't it? When were you planning to tell me you and Susan had been elected?"
Neville shrugged. "Susie knew that some of our more reactionary members would resign in a huff, once Hermione was chosen to be Minister: that's when we decided to make our bids for the seats. Hey, Dumbledore was Chief Warlock and Headmaster at the same time: surely I can be a mere Wizengamot member and a mere Defense Professor without too much trouble." He sighed and caught Harry's eye. "You said it yourself, Harry: Hermione needs all the support she can get."
Harry echoed Neville's sigh. "As you say…" he began, then jerked his head up at a sudden rap at the door. By reflex his right hand went to his left forearm, stopping when he remembered that he no longer kept a wand there.
"'Salright," Neville said hastily. "I invited him. Come in!" he called to the door. The door opened and a grinning Ted Lupin sauntered into the classroom. "I figured you'd want to see him, since you were here and all," Neville continued with a smile, "but you wouldn't have been allowed to wander through Hogwarts to find him… not until you're on staff, anyway." After accepting thanks from both Ted and Harry, Neville retired to his inner office and left them to themselves.
"I'm not sure whether to be worried you're here, Harry," Ted joked, settling into a seat as Harry did the same. "All this conspiracy with Professor Longbottom… tsk, tsk, doesn't bode well for us poor students." He turned serious as he added, "All the same, I am glad to see you. I, um, wanted to talk about, well, this." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a scroll of parchment and proffered it to Harry.
Harry unrolled the parchment and began to read. He quickly looked up at Ted. "Hermione wrote this to you?"
"Yeah… a little advice. I got it just after the Party." Ted gestured for Harry to continue reading.
When Harry was finished, he re-rolled the scroll and returned it to Ted. "So she's actually advising you to make a will, hm? I can see one might think that's a trifle morbid… but you know, it's never really a bad idea. She, uh, she mentions the Malfoys?"
"Apparently, it was Gran's announcement at the Party - you remember, that they'll be staying at Grimmauld Place for a while - that prompted Her Nibs to write me," Ted said, with just enough lightness to his voice to forestall any reproof from his godfather. "She seems to think I might be in some sort of danger."
"Without a will, your grandmother Andromeda is your heir, as next-of-kin," Harry pointed out. "If you predecease her, she inherits Grimmauld Place and all that goes with it - everything I'd willed to you, what Sirius had willed to me. And she's getting on in years, Ted: no one would think it strange if she died soon after you did. And if you were dead, her next-of-kin would be…"
"Her sister Narcissa - and my cousin Draco." Ted waggled his head. "Yeah, but does that really put me in danger? I mean, do you honestly think either of them'd actually murder me, just to get Grimmauld Place? Seriously, now."
"Seriously." Harry rubbed the side of his nose, collecting his thoughts. "Seriously, they see you as a half-blood… which in their minds is another way of saying 'sub-human'. Seriously, Draco tried several times to kill Dumbledore - not to mention trying to kill me - he's proven he's not above killing, Ted. And I've never heard that a stint in Azkaban ever changed anyone for the better."
"Sooooooo you think he'd kill me."
"I think he might be tempted to kill you - if you didn't make a will that removed the incentive. Stopped anything before it could start, as it were. And it's not like a will's hard to arrange."
Ted sighed morosely. "'Course, under other circumstances, I'd have named Gran my heir in any case. But that would sorta defeat the purpose now." He flicked his fingers at the roll of parchment. "And Dear Aunt Hermione reassures me that any bequest doesn't have to be permanent… only until I 'beget heirs of my body'." The tinge of bitterness in his last words was very slight… but Harry was surprised it was there at all. This, he guessed, was what had truly prompted Ted's desire to meet with him today.
"We did have a talk about that, a couple of years ago, I believe," Harry said. "It, well, it didn't seem to bother you then." He waited, watching Ted closely. When Ted remained quiet, Harry added, "Do I gather it bothers you now?"
A very teenaged shrug was his reply.
"Tori Weasley?" Harry offered gently.
Ted shot him a quick but smoldering glare. "She doesn't know."
"Neither does Hermione," said Harry, "or she wouldn't have brought it up."
"Yeah." Ted subsided and slumped back in his chair. He said nothing more, but after a moment his eyes and hair began to change to match Harry's. "I guess there's a sort of symmetry to all this," he went on with a ghost of a smile. "You will the Place to me, I will the Place back to you… Oh, yes, it has to be you. You'd let Gran continue to live there, I can trust you for that. And you might even say it's the ultimate deterrent for Cousin Draco, if he knows you get the Place if I, er, how's it go? If I meet an untimely end."
By this point, Ted had morphed into… not Harry's twin, but a reasonable extrapolation of Harry's younger brother. Harry couldn't help smiling at the unspoken display of affection. "Neither of us is dying any time soon," he said more cheerfully. "This is insurance, nothing more."
*
Harry Apparated back to Enthalpy House that evening to find the cottage dark and empty, save for Bottlebrush. It didn't surprise him greatly: he felt sure Hermione's first day as Minister had been a full day, indeed. The moment Harry had solidly materialized, Bottlebrush marched into the kitchen and began to pace in front of the icebox. It was easy to see what he considered important.
"All right, all right, hold on…" Harry opened the icebox, while he tried to recall how much Hermione had usually fed Crookshanks.
The sharp pop of Apparation behind him told him Hermione had finally returned home. "Hello, my love," he called. "You're just in time. How much food…?" He straightened, turned away from the icebox, and froze. Brillig stood just behind him, blushing brilliantly, and very obviously trying to pretend that she hadn't been pretending that Harry'd been addressing her.
Next to Brillig was a shy young elf, female and (by human standards) attractive… but she wasn't one of Swivingham's "working elves". I do recognize her, Harry thought after a second, she was serving ibn al-Afrit, in the Pensieve vision. Poor Fatima's sister… what's her name, again? Ayesha, that was it. Ayesha was keeping her gaze firmly on the floor, hands clasped demurely behind her; it was clear she wasn't comfortable being at Enthalpy House. Or possibly, in the presence of the Defender of House-Elves.
He decided not to embarrass the newcomer by addressing her directly. Instead, he nodded casually to Brillig, affable but businesslike, as he imagined an employer ought to be. It felt very odd, employing a house-elf… somehow, odder than outright owning Kreacher had felt, years ago. Not that I was particularly enthused about owning Kreacher, either…
But last night, after Canby and Brillig had delivered their news and departed, he and Hermione had discussed the matter - quite thoroughly. And in the end, Hermione had convinced him of the necessity of taking Brillig on as a paid servant - despite the risk that close association would only make her more infatuated with him. At least I don't have to formally bond with her, he reminded himself, I don't think that could possibly end well.
"Ah, hello," he now greeted them pleasantly. "Have we heard anything yet about letting The Ossuary?"
Brillig shook her head. "No, Mister Harry, but Miss Hermione will be meeting with Madam Bones later this week, so all can be settled by month's end. Brillig is eager to begin her work, Mister Harry!"
"I'm sure you are," he smiled. He'd agreed with Hermione to live in The Ossuary, at least for now: Hermione would be the lessee of record, and Brillig would be the actual caretaker for the property. It seemed the smoothest solution, given that he wouldn't be moving into Enthalpy House any time soon, alas.
"And…" Brillig hesitated, and put a hand on Ayesha's shoulder. "And… Mister Harry, this is Ayesha. She is Fatima's sister, and Mister Harry must remember, he promised Fatima that Ayesha would be free. And Ayesha is free now, Mister Harry!" she added hastily. "When hit wizards came for her old Master, and he ran, they is telling Ayesha she is free!"
Harry nodded. As Hermione had explained, Ayesha would have to be freed from her bondage to be able, physically able, to testify against her former master.
"So… so now Ayesha is coming to England, Mister Harry, and… Canby said she could stay at Ministry with Sylph and Chalice and the others… and she did, Mister Harry, Ayesha did go to Ministry, but…"
"She wasn't welcome there?" Harry asked in surprise.
"They is always calling her Fatima," explained Brillig helplessly. "Mister Harry… does you know a home that needs a hardworking elf?"
Dimly, Harry could see how painfully awkward it must have been for Ayesha, being called by her dead sister's name… and probably being compared to her as well, behind her back (or even to her face). The thought crossed his mind that, to make Brillig willing to "share" Harry, Ayesha's plight must have been dreadful.
"Um… I haven't been in touch with very many wizarding households since my return, Brillig," he said slowly. "And I don't know if Hogwarts is hiring… or the Ministry… I don't even know who to ask, but I can find out. Until then…" He sighed. There really was no alternative.
"Until then, I suppose she can stay at The Ossuary. I mean, not to work - keeping The Ossuary tidy is hardly enough work for one elf, never mind two - but as a guest." He smiled encouragingly at Ayesha, and was surprised when she raised her eyes from the floor to glower at him.
"No," she said, with an odd musical lilt in her voice. "Ayesha will work. Ayesha is wanting to work. There must be so many things needing doing for Master…"
Before Harry could even draw breath, Brillig was interrupting Ayesha with a fierce intensity. "Not! Not 'Master'! Never 'Master'! Mister Harry is no elf's Master, that is the rule!"
"More to the point," Harry tried to interject, "as a free elf, Ayesha, no one is your Master…"
His words went unheeded by the two elves. "If he is telling Ayesha what she must do, is he not Master?" she asked Brillig indignantly. "Even paid elves is told what they must do, and they does it!" She put unmistakable scorn into the word "paid".
"When house-elves obey masters, it is because they is compelled. When Brillig obeys Mister Harry, it is because she wants to! And Mister Harry is very generous, that is why he pays his elves - "
"No," said Harry more loudly, and this time he caught their attention. They fell silent at once; Harry let the silence linger a moment before continuing, "People… pay people to do jobs, don't you see? Humans pay humans… and Hagrid, he was paid, too… and of course the goblins pay goblins, but they also pay humans, like Bill…" He realized he was rambling, and tried to marshal his thoughts so that the elves could follow them. "The point is, when someone's hired to do a job, they choose the job, freely. That's what it means to be free: you get to choose. And once you agree to the job, it's like a contract, you compel yourself. No one else makes a free person do anything, he makes himself do it - and the free person who hires him, he's contracted to pay. That's how it works with free people."
He stopped, somewhat embarrassed to have fallen into a Hermione-like lecture mode - though not nearly as eloquent, he admitted ruefully - but determined to let these elves know what it meant to be free. If Hermione's proposed reforms became law, Brillig and Ayesha wouldn't be merely freed elves, but legally humans: an enormous shift in status, and possibly some new responsibilities as well.
Merlin, if the elves're ruled to be humans, I wouldn't be surprised if some Ministry flack decides to tax them, he thought irrelevantly.
Harry became uncomfortably aware that the elves were still silent - simply staring at him with wide eyes. Their expressions were, for once, quite unreadable, which made him more uncomfortable still.
"The great Dobby was a free elf," Brillig finally said, in a soft voice. "Dobby chose…"
"Yes, exactly," agreed Harry, pleased that he'd managed to make his point. Dobby had made his own choices, once he'd been freed from the Malfoys' clutches: where to work, how to live… in the end, how to die. And Dobby's fame among elves would make the option of choice seem more attractive, more glamorous, to Ayesha and Brillig. I should've thought of that myself…
Ayesha and Brillig turned their gazes from Harry to each other. Each elf stared into the other's eyes for what seemed like Harry to be a long time… as though some silent communication were passing between them.
Finally, Ayesha turned back to Harry. "Ayesha would… would not feel right, accepting charity," she said slowly. "There must be something Ayesha can do…"
Harry had never heard an elf use those exact words before. "Well…" he said, racking his brain, "well… we haven't let The Ossuary yet, but when we do, I'll need my clothes and things moved into it. Brillig, you remember you found my flat, where I was living amongst Muggles? Show Ayesha where it is, and then, once The Ossuary's lease is final, you can move my stuff from my old flat. Okay?" It was a trivial task for her, given the power of elven magic, but Harry judged it was exactly the sort of household duty that would appeal to Ayesha. It ought to satisfy her need to be needed, Harry told himself.
"Until then… um, until then… Brillig, you mentioned Dobby just now. Ayesha, have you been to Dobbywatch?" He recalled Bill and Fleur mentioning, at Hermione's Rebirthday Party, how Dobby's grave had become a sort of shrine amongst elves. Maybe a visit to the grave of the most famous free elf in history would help reinforce what Harry'd said about freedom.
Brillig brightened at once. "Oh, it is beautiful! Ayesha will enjoy seeing it! And there is always gardening to be done at Dobbywatch, too!"
Harry fervently seconded the notion of garden work at Shell Cottage, and somehow managed to send the elves on their way without actually seeming to kick them out. Once they were gone, he took a deep breath and released, glad he had (for the moment, at least) dodged a hex. And if he'd helped Ayesha, even a little, to understand what it meant to be a free elf, then it was all to the good.
Now then, he told himself, opening the icebox again, first Bottlebrush's dinner, then our own. Hermione should be home soon, and she probably won't have found time to eat all day… He was again interrupted, however, this time by the voice of someone calling through the Floo.
Sighing in exasperation, he dried his hands and went to the living room, where he discovered Fleur's head floating in the Floo fire. "Why, hello, Harry," she greeted him, raising one eyebrow. "I didn't know you were staying at Enthalpy House."
"I'm not," he replied, kneeling in front of the fireplace to bring his head level with Fleur's. "I am, however, cooking dinner, or trying to. If you're looking for Hermione, she's still at the Ministry…"
"Can you bring me through her wards?" Fleur interrupted.
Harry thought it best not to mention that the wards were, in fact, his. "Yes, but… I mean, Fleur, dinner isn't going to be anything fancy tonight…"
"Oh, I'm not inviting myself to dinner, Harry," she replied with a quick smile, "tempting though the notion may be. No," and here she turned serious again, "I've received something tonight - something I feel absolutely sure Hermione will want to see before tomorrow morning."