"Have you lost your damn mind?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt lurched to his feet and even backpedaled a bit as Hermione Granger stormed his office, a whirlwind of fury and wild hair that would have frightened anyone. That was what he told himself as he straightened his spine and tried to look dignified as she slammed a crumpled copy of the paper down on his desk with both hands.

"Miss Granger, I don't believe we had an appointment," he tried to break in and calm the situation, making eye contact with his frantic secretary who had followed the young woman in, trying to explain that she couldn't just go barging in. Hermione ignored them both, obviously having something to say.

"Of all the foul, loathsome, backwards things this ministry has ever done this might well be the worst. Muggle-borns are not broodmares for your amusement, Minister," she spat his title like a bad word, "and if you think for one hot second I will allow you to sell us into slavery I'll have grounds to have you removed from your post for insanity."

Security moved in, 37 second response time, and Hermione drew her wand with a fearless snap. Kingsley pulled his composure around himself like a set of warm robes and let his voice ring out with authority. He was the Minister of Magic and he would have control over his own office. "I'm sure violence will not be necessary. Miss Granger take a seat. I can give you five minutes of my time today, and then I must attend to other matters."

The seconds creeped by just a little too long. Just long enough to remind him that, although Hermione was known for being the most level-headed of her peers, when she did decide to break rules she felt ruthlessly justified. None of them could be coerced, controlled, or condemned, but it behooved one to remember that Miss Granger was the reason that Potter's little rebellions were always actually successful, not just teenage tantrums.

Finally, she did take a chair, regal as a queen, with her wand gripped firmly in her right hand as though she had every right to threaten the minister. Security waffled, not wanting to assault her, wanting her to follow some protocol, unsure what to do about her since she was who she was, and she knew it.

He sat as well, preparing his tongue for the explanation he had practiced. At some point, he knew he would have to explain this bill to prominent Muggleborns. He just hadn't expected one to dodge security and storm his office 8 minutes after the paper was released.

He should have expected her.

"Miss Granger, you and I both know that Voldemort was neither the beginning nor the end of his ideas. A twisted mind and great power was a vehicle for a dangerous ideology that plagues our people. We owe our children better. And this is how we will do it. We will stamp them out. We will irradiate the notion of pureblood superiority. This is a sickness, an infection. It must be lanced and drained for our society to heal. Sometimes you need to cut deep to reach the heart of the matter."

"Do not give me that nonsense. You can't legislate out people's prejudices and ideas! All you are doing is handing these people a way to enslave Muggleborns legally so that we don't have another war for power." She hissed at him so venomously that he thought there ought to be steam boiling out of her ears.

"Please don't be so overly dramatic; it's beneath you." He scoffed at her, remembering his cause, remembering how these three refused Ministry help and caused the war to drag on needlessly. He owed this girl nothing, not even a meeting. It was a kindness to explain himself to her, but if she wouldn't let her level head accept pure logic then there was nothing he could do. The populous may love her, but they had also loved Gilderoy Lockheart. It was good to remember that the masses did not understand what it took to run a country.

"That law is very carefully crafted to protect all parties involved equally. This generation is already deeply scared and damaged. Coming together in bonds of Marriage is a timeless and battle-proven technique to diffuse tensions of war. The next generation will be half-blood or not at all and this particular war will be put to the history books only to be remembered on a test."

She stood, knocking her chair back a full foot and rucked up her sleeve to show him her arm where there were the remains of a very faint scar that had resisted magical removal. Mudblood, jaggedly scrawled across the flesh. "Don't tell me I'm being dramatic. Unlike the general populous, I've been up close and personal with these people."

"Yes, I recall you repeatedly ran off to duel with Death Eaters." He said calmly, refusing to give her the courtesy of standing while she was throwing a temper tantrum. "You will recall that those particular types of people are either dead or in prison. We are talking about a younger generation. Children, who were thrown to the wolves, just as you were. Kids, brainwashed by their own parents, too young to really understand the repercussions of their false beliefs and actions. I believe you testified to that effect at the Malfoy trial, yes?"

Hermione stared at him, panting and furious, before pulling her sleeve down, gathering her paper, and storming out of his office. The slamming of the door caused papers to stir and the people within to jump a bit. But then then there was blessed silence and Kingsley began to tidy his desk methodically. She was a clever girl: things would become clear to her eventually. This was all for the greater good.