Power Struggles

Chapter 1: Peace is a Fragile Thing

Of her entire seven years at Hogwarts, there was only one event Hermione didn't remember with the dim cloak of nostalgia for her youth. She could still remember with startling alacrity, her first view of the castle, all the way back in her very first year. She remembered the thrill of seeing the majestic towers of Hogwarts rise out of the gloom of the lake, a sight that had imprinted itself on her mind. She remembered with choking clarity the fear, anticipation and pride that had risen within her at the sight. Her determination to prove herself had amazed her.

She remembered entering the Great Hall decked out in all its splendour. She remembered the surge of pride that filled her when she imparted her knowledge about its special features.

Looking back at those days with fondness, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why it was that the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor. Her determination, ambition and arrogance made her a perfect Slytherin candidate. A shudder rippled across her features. Hermione Granger, borne of Muggle parents, in Slytherin?

She wondered what life would have been like in the house of serpents. Certainly her ambition would not have been so unusual, for indeed, all Slytherins were possessed of a remarkable amount of ambition. However, Hermione reasoned, with every advantage there was an equal disadvantage and the disadvantage here was obvious. Her muggle-born heritage would not have gone unremarked upon.

A wry smile crossed her face as she remembered the Yule Ball in her fourth year. It seemed that even house and blood barriers didn't stop the coveting glances the Slytherin boys threw her way. Looking back, it seemed rather cute, but she could still remember her annoyance which caused her to leave early and go back to her dormitory, only to have Ron waiting there to accuse her of playing around with the enemy. All in all, her first adult-like ball didn't seem like a huge success. It had evoked too many memories of the childhood parties she had attended with her parents, before Hogwarts had placed a seemingly impenetrable rift between them. She had stolen out the following morning, wearing Muggle clothes and looked out at the snow from the window by a deserted passage. Hermione still remembered how pleased she was that her hair-straightening charm was still operating.

An arm encircled her waist from behind, bringing her back to the present. Hermione felt hot breath on her neck. "Why the frown?" Ron Weasley spun his wife around to face him. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped her over her desk and kissed her. The edge of Hermione's robes caught against a sheaf of papers and she watched helplessly as dropped haphazardly onto the ground.

"Ron!" she scolded angrily as she extracted herself from his hold and began to pick up the parchments. "Those were my research papers!"

"So now I'm not allowed to kiss my wife?" Ron looked quizzically at Hermione as she stubbornly continued to pick up her papers.

"Not when she's working, no!" the harsh words were out before Hermione could help it.

Tiny lines of anger snaked their way across Ron's face, hardening the line of his mouth. The habitual frown that had been on his face for the past few months, reasserted itself. He opened his mouth to reply when Hermione held up her hand.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have snapped."

Ron's mouth shut fast. Pushing past her, Hermione heard him say curtly: "I'll be at the Ministry if you need me."

Hermione fought to control the well of anger that threatened to bubble up inside her. "I'll see you tonight, then," she called after him in the normal jovial tone of a wife to husband. The words tasted dry and ashy in her mouth.

The door of their home slammed shut, making her wince. Not Apparating within the house was a sure sign of anger. She knew that Ron only tolerated - barely - the fact that she had her own job, despite all his declarations that he loved her independence. His mother, Molly, had been the perfect wife and sometimes Hermione wondered whether her husband wished that she were more like his mother.

Lately though, Ron seemed to be more on edge than usual about her work. It was almost as though... but, no, that was too ridiculous to contemplate... he expected that she would quit her job for him. Well, not just for him, Hermione amended her thoughts, for him and their baby. An involuntary smile spread itself across her tired face. Their child. A baby girl. In seven months, she was going to be a mother.

Hermione gave herself a shake. I need to get back to work, she thought as she bent over and gathered up the rest of her notes that had been swept off the table by Ron's careless spontaneity.

Sitting herself down, she picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell that was built into the desk. Her eyes scanned down the notes, and Hermione was surprised to realise that her paper was ready to be written. Her notes were complete, though in the wrong order - thanks to Ron - and she had spent so many hours on this that she already had an idea, in her mind, of what it would look like.

Pausing only a second to think, Hermione dipped her quill again and began to write:

Theory of Dual-Consciousness in Split-Brain Patients and its Application to Practical Magic

By Hermione Weasley, MW, PhD

A brief smile crossed over her face as she regarded her title. One of the proudest moments in Hermione's life was receiving her Doctorate in Mage Mathematical Physics and now this paper would prove her worth as a Doctor of MMP. During the Dark War against Voldemort, one of the greatest limitations of the light side was their inability to block the three Unforgivables that Voldemort's supporters employed so often.

Now though, Hermione thought she might have discovered - through Muggle physics - the way to render the three most deadly curses useless.

It was simple as most truly genius ideas are. The Unforgivables always struck the left side of the brain, which was a well-known fact. However, what wasn't so well known was that Muggle science had shown that both hemispheres of the brain were capable of working independently of each other if separated. The right side of the brain - commonly thought of as not being intelligent in the traditional sense - Muggles had found out, could be trained in split-brain patients to perform the duties of an entire brain. So, even though the left side of the brain would be under the influence of the Unforgivables, the right side could still function and overcome the left side and control the entire body. Simply by separating the brain hemispheres, you could resist the most potent curses of all time. It was brilliant in its simplicity.

Of course, this wasn't the only use for what Hermione had grown used to calling dual-consciousness, but she was quite sure that it would be the one that created the most waves in the community. After all, resisting Crucio was impossible, right?

Smile still on face, Hermione continued to write.

~~~~

Molly Weasley was fretting. She had been fretting ever since her son, Ronald Weasley, had married his Hogwarts sweetheart Hermione Granger. She fretted so much, in fact, that she hadn't attended their wedding, which placed a seemingly impenetrable rift between her and Ron.

When she had heard of the wedding, Molly had wrung her hands with despair. She had done almost everything in her power as a mother to stop the wedding, but to no avail. The wedding went on as scheduled that lovely summery June morn, no more than two years ago.

Molly had nothing against Hermione, personally. She was a lovely girl. Perhaps not conventionally pretty, a little too ambitious for her liking, but still Molly could see why her son loved her. But Molly had been determined to put a stop to the wedding, not to hurt Ron and Hermione, but rather to save them the pain that they were about to go through.

Molly almost wished that her husband had never told her about the birth of Hermione. It had been top priority news at the Ministry, the birth of a wizarding child that possessed wizarding powers but with the DD Muggle genes instead of the normal dd wizarding genes. The book that recorded the births of all magical children at Hogwarts had immediately alerted the Ministry about the birth of Hermione Granger.

Magical children with the DD genes were rare, about one each generation. They possessed superior intelligence, heightened magical powers and determination to succeed. Power was something they were born to achieve.

There was a downside, though, to having what magical scientists nicknamed Double-D. There was precious little chance of them having magical children. If they married a witch or wizard, the combination of genes meant that only a squib could be conceived unless there was a genetic mutation in the child. If they married a Muggle, there was a tiny possibility that their child could turn out to be Double-D, but in all other circumstances, the child would be squib.

Molly Weasley liked to think of herself as a magnanimous woman. The Weasley family had been pureblood for as long as recorded history and to have a squib born in the family would be a disgrace. But Ron didn't listen, and now a child was on the way. A child, Molly thought, that was bound to be a squib and therefore an embarrassment to both the Weasley family and Hermione.

~~~~

"Another one?" the Minister of Magic eyed the seemingly innocent cream envelope with a mixture of horror and disgust. His fingers fiddled nervously with a small figurine of a lion on his desk. The figurine wobbled unsteadily.

"I'm sorry, Minister. We are trying to do everything in our power to find out where they are from. We have fifty Aurors on the job," the Head of Security said.

"Well that apparently isn't good enough," the Minister turned his darkened grey eyes towards the smaller man. "Take ten off the Malfoy case."

"But Minister!"

"No buts. Just do it. If information about these continuing threats leaks out this is going to be detrimental to the peace that Fudge the Great created. This administration is going to be blamed, Terry," the Minister said, looking serious. "The election is soon and we must have public support if we are to keep the peace together."

"Yes Minister." The man nodded and left. There was no reason in pointing out the Minister's many achievements to him. If he chose to ignore them, well, it was his problem.

Looking after the man's retreating figure through the door that was closing fast behind him, the Minister sighed and opened the latest envelope. It had, of course, been checked out by Aurors and contained nothing more than a note. There were no curses, no Muggle biological warfare. It was simply a note.

The note was short, obviously written with an Untraceable Quill and unsigned as the others had been.

Minister of Magic.

Resign immediately or you will be eliminated.

This is the last warning.

Aurors can not watch your back all the time.

Involuntarily, the Minister spun around and walking over to the open window, peered out cautiously though the drapes. There was nothing. Besides, he reassured himself, the magical attack disruptors are in place. There's no need to worry. Just nerves.

Nerves, he told himself as he sat back down at his desk. Nerves, he told himself as he heard a rustling of the drapes behind him. Nerves, he told himself as he heard a breathing sound behind him. Nerves, he was telling himself even as the bullet entered and exited his body. He slumped forward, making a messy splatter on his desk.

A drop of blood hit the lion figurine and with a small wobble, it hit the ground and broke, shards embedding themselves in the Persian rug.

~~~~

As soon as Ron walked into the Ministry, he knew that something was horribly wrong. Nervous faces peered out from behind every corner and upon seeing his familiar face, they only managed small smiles before reverting back to their terrified expressions.

"Hey," Ron waved cheerfully at his colleague as he passed but only received a blank look and then a look of disgust as if Ron was laughing at a funeral.

He was walking down the corridor towards his office when he bumped into his secretary. She had a panicky expression on her face. When Ron peered more closely at it, he could see that it was devoid of makeup, looking like it had been hastily wiped clean, and her eyes were slightly swollen. "Bernice, what's the matter? You look like someone's died!"

Looking like she was obviously trying to remain calm in the face of disaster, Bernice managed to whisper, "The Minister... assassinated," before she ducked into a nearby doorway. Ron could hear quietly muffled tears.

Ron's breath caught in his throat and he strived to remain calm. The minister was assassinated. Why, that was impossible! He had only seen him yesterday. It was ridiculous, really. Surely in a minute, Bernice would come out with a laugh in her dark brown eyes, telling him that it was simply an elaborate hoax.

After all, no Minister had ever been assassinated before whilst in office. Even during the Dark War, no such horror had ever happened.

Ron suddenly shuddered. The wizarding community was just beginning to heal itself after the Dark War. Such a thing would create chaos in England. It might even destroy the delicately balanced peace.

The Minister had been a popular man. Had been. He was dead. This was bound to have repercussions, big repercussions. The Minister had been an integral part in the creation of the current peace. He had supervised the signing of the treaties with the werewolves, giants, vampires and other Dark Creatures. His charismatic personality had won back to the light many who had gone over to the Dark Side during the Dark War. He was highly intelligent, yet in touch with the common witch and wizard. He had respected privacy, which had led to many people seeking out his ear, knowing that they could trust him to keep their secrets as closely as he guarded his own. He was fair, honest and reliable. Oh boy, was this going to have huge repercussions.

"All Ministry employees!" the small pin on his robes blared. "Apparate to the conference room within the Department of Security immediately. Urgent meeting!"

Laying a hand on his wand, Ron muttered words of Apparation and instantly appeared in the conference room. Witches and wizards from all different departments were milling around him, talking in hushed voices. In the centre of the room, there was a raised platform. He had just seen Bernice in the corner and was about to walk over to comfort her, when the Head of Security suddenly appeared on the raised platform.

He held up his hand and waited until the noise had died down to barely a whisper when he began to speak. "Witches and Wizards. I am sure all of you have today heard the tragic news that our finest wizard, in fact, our very Minister of Magic has been assassinated. I was with our esteemed Minister two hours ago, moments before his death and let me be the first express my deepest sympathies towards his family and friends." There was sombre applause.

Ron couldn't help noticing, as always, the power in the voice of the Head of Security. He only had to whisper and the entire room snapped to full attention. There was a certain convincing nature about him, his voice and demeanour.

"But we cannot let this act of terrorism deter us from our jobs and our everyday lives. If we live our lives in fear, then the assassin of the Minister will have won. If, however, we employ full forces to search for the assassin while still going about our everyday tasks, then he will not have won. We must present a brave face for the public. We must reassure them that all is right, and the assassin will soon be caught and in Azkaban. We must remain alert but not alarmed. We cannot let our lives fall into disarray because of this one tragic act. We must show the public that the Ministry is strong and will not be defeated."

As Ron looked around, everyone he could see was nodding. Indeed, Ron himself was also nodding. It made sense; perfect sense.

"Counselling will be provided free of charge for anyone who wants it. The counsellors will be the most esteemed of their kind in England. I advise that everyone go at least once. Events like this often have unforeseen effects on the mind.

"Discussion of this with family members is not strictly forbidden but simply advised against. There is no need for undue panic in the community.

"Work shall not stop because of this. Grieving is important, but in such delicate times, presenting a brave face is more so. You are all due back in your own offices for work in an hour. That should give you enough time to discuss this amongst yourselves. That is, all except the Department of Security personnel. Security will be upgraded in every Ministry department because of this and it is imperative that it begin immediately.

"You are dismissed."

Slowly a babble of voices was heard in the room once more. Ron watched as small groups of people broke away and left, walking slowly back to their own departments.

He began walking slowly towards the Head of Security who was still standing on the raised platform.

"Ronald Weasley," he acknowledged Ron with a curt nod of the head. His eyes swept over the other dozen or so people clustered around the platform. "It seems we are all here." He stepped off the platform, his seeming height immediately diminishing, as he was actually a rather diminutive man. "Follow me," he ordered the security personnel as he walked off, drawing his cloak around his body.

They entered a small room off the main corridor of the Security Department. The room was sparsely furnished with one table and fifteen chairs, just enough for all of them. "Be seated."

Ron seated himself.

"Before we begin with the new security plans for the Ministry, let me just express my disappointment in all of you." His piercing eyes travelled over all of them, making them all lower their heads. "The Minister began to receive death threats over a month ago and none of you have managed to turn up with a single suspect? And now he's dead."

"But the Aurors..." a dark haired woman began when he cut her off.

"But the Aurors!" he said mockingly. "We are the Department of Security. The Aurors are simply an extension of us to fight the Dark Arts and threats on the Ministry. This isn't their fault. It's ours. It's our fault for not securing the Minister's office against non-magical attacks. It's our fault for not catching the assassin as he crept up thirty floors on the outside of the building to shoot the Minister in the back. It's our fault that we don't know a single thing about the person or persons who have committed this atrocious act."

Nobody felt brave enough to say anything after that tirade so after a minute or two of silence, he began again, this time speaking in a calmer voice. "I have cast a Silencing Spell on this room, so that nobody can eavesdrop. Anything discussed in this room is top secret. It will not be discussed with wives, husbands, lovers, friends or children. Understood?"

Everybody nodded.

"We are going to upgrade the entire security system at the Ministry with a melding of Muggle and magic security. Every future Minister is going to have two personal bodyguards. The election in a few months will still go ahead and Aurors have told me that they anticipate riots that Muggles are sure to notice. We will make sure that does not happen. We will make sure we catch this assassin and stick him in Azkaban where he belongs. We will find out what group he works for and take steps to eliminate that group. And we will do all this without public scrutiny from The Daily Prophet. There will be no leaking of plans from this room. If I find any of you talking, you will find your magical licence immediately revoked."

When Ron exited the room five hours later, dark rings were apparent beneath his eyes. His argument with Hermione had been forgotten so when he Apparated home, he was quite surprised to have Hermione burst into the Apparation Room and envelop him in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, Ron!" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I was so afraid that something had happened to you. I heard what happened to Jack. Oh I'm so sorry." She buried her face into Ron's robes as he patted her on the back.

"Don't worry, Hermione-love, everything will be all right." Ron heard his own confident tone, and wished that he was really that convinced.