Roslyn stiffened, probably visibly. She could not even say she was surprised—Ross had always been political, and was friendly with the now-former Minister Urquart. As a member of the Wizengamot and a department head, he certainly had the gravitas. But while the idea of him as Minister of Magic was perfectly sensible, the idea of her as wife to the Ministe was something Ros found decidedly offensive.

Roslyn Fisk had been one of ten children, happiest with anonymity. She had not shed that when she had shed her natal surname.

A deep breath.

"You would be an admirable Minister, though I hope I don't need to tell you that," she offered with a small smile. "Possibly even the best man for the job—though I am, perhaps, rather biased. Certainly better suited than Dawlish," Roslyn added, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the mention of the lecherous, ancient Chief Warlock.