Chapter Text
Hermione Granger wasn’t often livid. Annoyed? Yes. Irritated? Oh, certainly. But she very seldom found herself on the cusp of strangling another human being. That was until her mail arrived the evening before at her temporary tent in the Egyptian desert. How the bloody Ministry of Magic’s owl even found her there remained an open question, one she’d deal with later.
With that little piece of post, all hell broke loose.
“Hermione fucking Granger here to see Kingley fucking Shacklebolt,” she growled at his administrative assistant. The young man looked up from his desk, startled, eyes wide with awe in the presence of the famed war heroine.
“Ms. Granger, I’m sorry, but Minister Shacklebolt isn’t taking any appointments this morning,” he began. Surely her eye was twitching. Did this little desk boy know he was in danger?
Her glare could have sliced the bollocks off of a much scarier man, and small beads of sweat appeared at the assistant’s—his name plate said Reginald—temples. “That is Dr. Granger to you, and I don’t give a flying hippogriff shit if he’s taking appointments. Either you open the door, or I will open it myself. And you really don’t want to see how I would open it myself,” she snarled. Her voice was low and vicious, her wand twirling menacingly between her fingertips like a drumstick.
“I… uh…”
“Hermione,” the deep baritone of Minister Shackbolt warbled through the doorway. “I had a feeling I’d be seeing you. Come in.” His dark brow was creased with stress, and her hateful glare at Reginald did nothing to assuage the man’s fears of what awaited him. She walked with purpose into the expansive, luxurious office suite, ever-observant eyes flicking boredly over the many expensive trinkets and boastful photo ops found around the opulent space.
“You had a feeling, did you, old chap?” she said, tipping her head to the side, feigning innocence as she stared at the man she’d faced armies with in a past life.
“Well, I know you must not be thrilled, Ms.—”
“Dr. Granger,” she snapped again. “Don’t you dare condescend to me, Kingsley. I saved your sorry arse on the battlefield. I saved your sorry arse in the political arena, and you’re going to pull this bullshit?” Rage radiated off of her in palpable waves, the tips of her curls crackling with pent-up magic.
“My, oh my, I see that your fieldwork has done nothing to soften that sharp tongue you’ve developed, Hermione.” She was practically foaming at the mouth, raising a threatening eyebrow. Sharp tongue—she’d show him a sharp fucking tongue.
“Yes, well, I am no longer dedicated to a lifetime of being a teacher’s pet. Pleased you’ve noticed in the years of sitting around not doing jack shit to fix Wizarding Britain. How dare you pass this legislation? Of all the spineless, feckless trash I’ve ever seen the Ministry pull, I never dreamed you’d stoop so low.” Shacklebolt looked as though she’d struck him.
“I did what I could, Hermione. The Wizengamot was going to pass this law either way. I did what I could to attenuate it. The portions of the bill that demanded immediate procreation have been removed and I—”
“Oh, well, that’s just grand. Let’s give you an Order of Merlin for ix-naying the marital rape clause, you sodding coward!”
“That is quite enough!” Kingsley finally shouted back. The curly-haired witch before him did nothing, staring stoically at him as though he were simply another puzzle to solve.
“What, not a fan of the truth?” she simpered with fake concern. “Coulda fooled me with all of those bloody Prophet articles with you championing this legislation. Colour me shocked, Minister. You’re a victim of others’ ambitions, I’m sure?” Her whiskey eyes were blazing with fury. “Certainly, this law cannot be your own fault? It can’t be that you were too weak to do the right thing, to step out and declare to the press what’s underpinning this legislative move? There isn’t a thing under the sun that you, the Minister of Magic, could have done to prevent this, right?” She walked closer to his desk, finger trailing along a polished edge with a menacing air she never could have produced a decade ago. “Tragic.”
Kingsley swallowed. “I assure you, Hermione, that if this could have been prevented, I would have done anything. But the magical world is on the cusp of a population collapse. So many perished in the war. And in the years since, so few have chosen to have a family… The Wizengamot, misguided though it is, is doing its best to bridge the gap before it’s too late.”
Hermione chuckled darkly. “Ah, yes, the good ol’ bandage approach. Of course, why would the Wizengamot—who sat on their arses while Voldemort stuck his scaly, reanimated hand up said arses and made puppets of the entire institution—have any sympathy for those of us who were traumatized? Who fought in a war before we were even adults? Who were tortured at the hands of Death Eaters and watched our friends and families die? Why on Earth aren’t we all just desperate to marry and bring even more responsibilities down on our shoulders? Goodness, it just beats me. We should be chomping at the bit to fuck and move on.” Kingsley tugged uncomfortably on his collar.
“I know you’re angry, but this is how things have unfolded. I am subject to the mandate as well.”
“You have my condolences for your predicament,” Hermione sneered. To those who knew her in her Hogwarts days, it would have seemed uncharacteristic, perhaps disturbing, the way she could curl her lip with such unfettered disdain—disgust that dripped from her words, her lips, her gaze.
But not anymore.
Hermione Jean Granger was no longer the little goody goody who raised her hand and jumped in her seat to answer questions. She was a vicious intellectual force of nature with an attitude to match. And Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Wizengamot, and the whole Ministry of Magic were about to find out just what happened when you fucked with her.
“Oh, Kingsley, I’ll marry him. And then, my dear friend, I will raze this corrupt institution to the fucking ground. You have been warned.” Her parting smile was filled with malice, her wand flicking behind her.
The door to the Minister of Magic’s office had mysteriously caught fire.
Pity.