The Malfoy Project

𝟑 - 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

     They descend upon me like vultures the moment I re-enter the classroom.

     "What did that horrible woman want?" Hermione demands.

     "Did she mention why she chose you and not me? I mean, the real reason," whines a downtrodden Ernie.

     "Shut up, Ern, nobody cares." Susan Bones shoves him aside and grips my arm. "What's the assignment? Tell us now or I'll jinx you with Jelly Legs."

     "It's nothing exciting, really. I just have to interview some people at the Ministry about their jobs. So I'll be spending my weekends doing that." I'm surprised by how easily the lie flutters out of my mouth, weightless as air.

     "Interview the Ministers!" Hermione sighs regretfully. "Wow, I should've volunteered as well. Would you mind terribly if I send her a letter telling her I want to give it a try?"

     The rest of the team doesn't give me a chance to answer, bombarding me with all sorts of other questions. Which Ministers will you interview? What about homework and N.E.W.T.s? Would you still be able to write for The Hogwarts Digest? We absolutely can't lose you, the team is already bare-bones as it is!

     The interrogation session is cut short when Sue Li interrupts to announce that classes are about to start. Everyone scrambles for their things and high-tails it out of the classroom - but not before Hermione locks the door and casts the Intruder Charm, securing the embargoed newspapers within.

༻❁༺

     I cannot not fuck this up.

     The Daily Prophet doesn't hire any Tom, Dick, or Harry they find on the street. The application process for a job there is an arduous affair, requiring multiple rounds of interviews and the provision of about a dozen writing samples. To be offered a shortcut there was near unfathomable.

     And so, I decide I absolutely, positively cannot fuck this up.

     I make a trip to Hogsmeade that weekend. I first buy a Butterbeer from The Three Broomsticks, and spend about two hours there penning down how I will go about this.

     Then, I go to Scrivenshaft's and buy a Self-Writing quill. They carry a whole assortment of different feathers in every colour imaginable, and I settle on a plume of white, downy feather with a gold-adorned shaft.

     A box of Quick Quotes quills sits on the ledge in front of the counter. I pick one up curiously, twisting and noting how it feels between my pinched fingers.

     How easy would it be if I had one to write down a perfectly sensationalised piece for each interview? I wouldn't even need to think about phrasing, or vocabulary, or the perfect headline. The quill would do it all for me. I would only need to be present and sat there, pretending to listen, while it did the rest of the work. Because, quite honestly, I'm not particularly interested in what the Malfoys have to say for themselves.

     They're traitors. Hypocrites who serve whichever side they think is winning. It's a judicial travesty that Lucius eluded prison twice, when he should have his head shaved and be locked up forever. Narcissa was no better. People think her noble to have betrayed Voldemort at the last second, but if they can turn for you, they can turn against you. And their son, Draco, was a selfish, bullish, stuffed-up knobhead.

     But as far as my distaste for them goes, I would not want to put anyone through the same thing Hermione had. It's utterly humiliating, to be victimised and shamed so publicly. It chips away at your self-confidence, and I don't want to be the reason Draco pitches himself off the Astronomy Tower or anything of the sort. I put the Quick Quotes Quill down.