Two years after the fall of the darkest wizard ever known, Wizarding Britain was still navigating the murky waters that ebbed and flowed through the lives of those who had been at the epicentre of the most horrendous period in their history.

Harry and Ron had completed auror training; with several Death Eaters still at large their caseload didn't show any signs of abating any time in the near future. Having passed her N.E.W.T.s with flying colours, Hermione had embarked on carving out a political career in a Ministry that was focused on rebuilding, reshaping and reinventing.

After the fallout of the war, as the dust had settled, both literally and figuratively, Harry and Ginny had wed. It was a quiet affair, away from the glitz and glamour that all too often surround the 'Golden Trio', and threatened to suffocate them.

Ginny had accepted a position on the Harpies reserve team, training and matches taking up most of her time during the playing season which just so happened to coincide with the school year. With just two days before the start of the new term and the quidditch season, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron had braved the crowds they normally felt compelled to avoid for a lunch and shopping trip.

As they made their way down the cobbled streets of the alley, Hermione frowned at the crowds that were gathering outside Flourish and Blotts.

"Strange," she murmured, her eyebrows knitting together as she watched the children darting in and out of the adults.

Ron chuckled beside her. "You know that's exactly how excited you always got about getting the new year's books," he reminded her, laughing at the blush that crept across her cheeks.

"Yes, alright, I admit I got a bit overzealous in my youth, but that's not what I mean: the last time I saw crowds behaving like this outside Flourish and Blotts, it was for Gilderoy Lockhart's book signing…" her words trailed off as the colour drained from her face, realisation dawning.

"I forgot that was today," she commented, sharing a pained look with Harry as the crowds parted and the figure of Rita Skeeter was seen wooing the crowds, her ironically timed entrance causing bile to rise in Hermione's throat as Ron ground his teeth next to her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am truly humbled," Rita crooned, then paused for dramatic effect, before flashing her trademark saccharine smile. "That you should be so eager to read 'The Charismatic Charms of the Late and Great Tom Riddle'," again she paused as a murmur hummed through the crowd. "But fear not, there are plenty to go around and I will be here all day to sign your copies," she announced with a flourish, before gliding inside the bookshop.

Hermione shuddered as she watched on, turning to Ginny who was in the midst of a panic attack. Harry pulled his wife into the tea rooms, ordering her a cup of Camomile to soothe her nerves, waving Hermione away. "I've got her, you should not let Skeeter stop you from picking up the books you ordered," he told her when she tried to protest.

"The nerve of that woman," Ron hissed, anger building in his chest as he looked back towards the tea rooms.

"Go," Hermione whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"But Harry…" Ron began, the conflicting emotions flickering in his eyes.

Hermione smiled. "Go to your sister. I'll be back shortly," she whispered, giving his hand a squeeze as he nodded.

Ducking into the shop, Hermione kept her head down in the hope that the crowds would be too preoccupied with Skeeter and her grandstanding antics to notice her. She had been looking forward to coming to the bookshop: perusing the new titles; watching the delight on the faces of children collecting their texts for the new school year. Slinking in the shadows was such a let down.

Nausea rose from the pit of her stomach as her gaze drifted, the stacks and stacks of Skeeter's biography, the emerald cover taunting her as she made her way to the counter. It was like being witness to a car-crash, Hermione vaguely mused to herself, as she felt herself compelled to pick up a copy, idly turning the pages.

Absently, one foot in front of the other, she drifted to the counter, glancing up from the page she found herself strangely enraptured by. She gave the details of her order to the shopkeeper, unable to stop herself being pulled back into the book while she waited.

"Anything else, Miss?" the shopkeeper asked, one eyebrow raised.

Hermione looked down at the book in her hands, momentarily indecisive. Later, when asked, she would have no explicit reason for what had compelled her to hand the shopkeeper the book, chewing her fingernails nervously as he ran up the bill.

Hermione was vaguely aware of the sound of the key in the lock as she pulled another file from the box and began spreading the parchment across the coffee table in front of her. Her eyes scanned the typed pages, reports from Wool's orphanage, as she absently reached for her cup of tea. Her fingers knocked against the fine china cup causing it to topple off the stack of books it had been perched precariously on top of.

Hermione jumped, her left hand reaching for her wand but to her relief, the liquid froze mid air. Looking up she saw Ron standing to the side of the couch, wand in hand as he righted the cup, saving her tea. Sighing heavily, he came to sit beside her, reaching across to brush the loose curls that had fallen from her messy bun, held in place by a spare quill, framing her face. She looked tired he thought, as he took in the circles under her eyes, the lines on her face, and the tell tale signs of dry eyes from spending so long reading.

Ron looked tired, Hermione observed, as her eyes scanned his face, taking in the dark shadow under his eyes, the crow's feet forming in the corners, the dryness of his fingers as his thumb caressed her cheek. He had been working on a case with Harry that neither of them could tell her about. It was frustrating not knowing where he was, what he was doing or when he would next be home.

"What's all this?" Ron asked, gesturing to the boxes that surrounded the coffee table.

"Research," Hermione responded vaguely, shifting in her seat as she watched Ron's expression harden.

"What research?" he pushed, his hand going to the open file, lifting the cover sheet. Inside were pictures, some muggle, others magical. Most showed a small boy at various ages, his cold vacant unsmiling features staring back at the lens. One final picture, creased and faded from exposure to light, showed a rocky outcrop surrounded by water.

Hermione pursed her lips, bracing herself for the inevitability of Ron's reaction. When it didn't come, she stole a glance at him as he silently replaced the photos, before rising from the couch. Frowning slightly, she watched as he made his way over to the sideboard, his fingers grasping the bottle of firewhiskey. She listened to the dull scrape as he unscrewed the cap, his back to her. She closed her eyes, jumping slightly at the sound of him slamming a tumbler down on the wood despite preparing herself for the expected action.

Anger radiated from his tense shoulders. Hermione could feel the anger in his eyes despite the fact that he had yet to turn around. She heard him hiss as he pulled the glass from his lips, stilling his hand as he returned it, turning his hand slightly, his eyes fixing on some indistinct feature in the corner of the room.

"How long?" Ron asked, the question catching Hermione by surprise. He made it sound like she had been having an affair.

Hermione's frown deepened as she considered his words.

"How long have you been digging up things that are better left in the past?" Ron hissed. Hermione listened to the tone of his voice. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal.

She chewed her bottom lip, dragging her teeth over the plump flesh as Ron turned around, finishing the contents of his glass in one gulp.

He watched her expression change. Anguish. Bewilderment. Anger.

He slammed the tumbler down on the sideboard, striding across the room, grabbing his jacket from where he had left it slung across the back of the worn armchair that sat in the corner.

"Where are you going?" Hermione cried, rising from the couch, clambering over a box in the process.

"Out," Ron replied gruffly as he yanked on his jacket roughly.

"Ron!" Hermione cried as she reached the front door just as he slammed it shut.

Dejected, Hermione returned to her spot on the sofa, staring at the pages and pages of parchment scattered across the surface of the coffee table, surrounded by boxes stamped with the Ministry emblem. Momentarily, she too wondered what she was doing. Her gaze drifted to the recently slammed front door. She hated fighting with Ron, but that was all they seemed to do. Their silent fights were the worst: the atmosphere between them tense, wordless and painful, the anger and hurt in the looks they gave each other causing the fissures in their relationship to widen until they stood on opposite sides of a great chasm.

Pulling the inside of her cheek between her teeth, she went through her mental rolodex, shaking her head with a small sigh as she realised there was no one on there she could call. No one who would understand. They would all react the way that Ron had. Straightening her back, she swallowed hard, finding her resolve once more, she picked up her quill and began to write.

Hermione shifted in her seat, smoothing non existent wrinkles out of her navy pencil skirt. Hearing the door open, her eyes shot up as she sucked in a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly as her eyes met the dark eyes of Theo Nott as he stepped inside the small ante office.

"Granger," he greeted with a cordial nod of his head, no malice in his voice.

"Nott," Hermione replied with an equal amount of politeness.

"Here to see the Minister?" Theo inquired, taking the seat beside her, stealing a glance in her direction.

Hermione folded her hands in her lap, nodding.

"Good, good," Theo replied, his eyes fixing on the artwork adorning the opposite wall. He frowned at what was apparently titled 'Anthropometry: Princess Helena.' He shifted nervously in his seat, the grip on his expensive leather briefcase tightening.

Hermione glanced sidelong at Theo, observing the way he paled as they waited.

She swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lip. "I'm here to talk to the Minister about a proposal," she told him quietly.

Theo turned at her words, eyebrow raised. "I'm interviewing for an internship," he replied, his gaze returning to the painting.

"Law?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

Theo shook his head. "Accountancy."

"Ah," Hermione replied, a half smile gracing her lips.

Theo frowned, turning to her. "It's not what you think," he insisted, watching as her half smile turned into a smirk as her eyes met his.

"No?"

Theo shook his head. "No. That's exactly why I want the internship. It's time to end corruption."

Hermione opened her mouth, the reply already formed on her lips as the door opened once more, Kingsley Shacklebolt striding in exuding sophistication and confidence with every step.

"Hermione! Welcome! Come into my office," his deep velvety voice causing her eyes to light up.

"To be continued," Theo smirked, raising one eyebrow at her, enjoying the way she blushed as she retrieved her briefcase, her eyes meeting his as he extended her hand.

"Good day, Hermione," he smiled, watching as she folded her petite hand into his much larger one, grasping his fingers with matched firmness.

"Good day, Theodore," she replied.

Kingsley pursed his lips as he read, his gaze occasionally drifting up, catching sight of Hermione as she tried to suppress her nervousness. He tried not to laugh as his voice caught her off guard.

"This is a lot to undertake, Hermione. Are you sure this is what you want to do?" he asked, scrutinising her carefully. "You are only twenty years old," he reminded her with a pointed look.

Hermione smiled, her eyes matching the intensity of his gaze.

"Ah, there's the Hermione I was looking for," Kingsley noted to himself as he watched her nervousness evaporate.

"Minister, I am sure you will agree that while chronologically I may only just be growing up, I grew up a long time ago. Do not allow my young age to fool you. I am very much aware of the challenges my proposal will involve and I am more than ready and able to undertake them. Further, I feel that this is something that is more than necessary: it is vital; and there is no one more suited to this."

Kingsley held up a hand, smiling warmly at her. "I meant no offence, Hermione. I was meerly checking, for my own piece of mind, that you are aware of the full impact of what you are suggesting. To open a home for children who are born to muggle parents who struggle with their magical children is a noble cause and you are correct, there is no one more suited to providing them with the care and attention they will need as well as the understanding and compassion the role would require. I just want you to be absolutely sure that you can fulfill this role without it wearing you down." Placing the parchment on his desk, he leant forward, his palms coming together, lips resting on his fingertips as he considered his next words.

"Do you have the full support of your friends," he asked, carefully watching the subtle reaction in her eyes to his words.

"Yes," Hermione answered, watching the flicker across his eyes that read: Liar.

Neither said a word for a moment. "You will need to work closely with Minerva on this," he informed her, watching her eyes light up.

"Is that a yes then Minister?" She couldn't help the excitement in her voice.

"I trust you, Hermione. I trust that you will approach this with a level head. But," he gave her a look that reminded her of the way her father would subtly lecture her. "Do not isolate yourself. You have broad shoulders but they cannot take the weight of the world forever."

Hermione nodded, sliding forward on her seat as Kingsley took his quill and signed the forms that would provide her with her initial funding. "I will be assigning someone to you who will act as a liaison here at the Ministry," he told her as he wrote. "All further funding will be accrued via donations which will be overseen by the liaison. He will also be your accountant and will prepare a financial report once a year."

Hermione nodded her understanding as Kingsley sat back, his eyes twinkling. "I have just the man in mind," he told her rising and going to the door. Hermione twisted round in her seat as he opened the door, her eyes meeting Theo's.

A/N: With thanks to my wonderful team of alpha readers and my beta. Updates will be every other Friday :)