𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 | 𝒟.𝑀.

7 | ﴾ Ministry of Magic ﴿

A mere seven days after waking, I left the British Ministry of Magic with a satisfied smile on my face, not even trying to mask having had such a successful job interview.

The moment I had entered the building I was greeted by an onslaught of curious stares. The White Witch title had stuck to me like glue and I could hear people whispering it under their breaths as I passed. I was completely floored when the Ministry opened up into a large central atrium with multiple, brand new golden statues clustered in the middle of a colossal running fountain. Against the black tiling that clad the steep walls of the underground establishment, the brightness of the gold shone impressively. I paused with my mouth open, staring up at the three statues that loomed several stories above, like frozen giants. 

In the center stood Dumbledore. On one side of him was the current Minister; Kingsley Shacklebolt, and on the other my father. My eyes roved over his familial features as witches and wizards buzzed passed me in the busy space. They had gone so far as to darn him in the military robes he had died in to aid in the rescue of England, and his signature handlebar mustache was perfectly carved. Around the heads of the statues, little green fairies were buzzing around like glitter in the air.

A snap of a camera brought my attention back to reality and I turned to see that a boy several years younger than myself with wispy blond hair and an intern badge had just taken my photograph using a massive, old school camera. When he saw my intense reaction he took off towards a set of elevators, looking back over his shoulder as if I would be chasing him down. I heard a cluster of middle aged wizards pass by me, and the name Malfoy dropped multiple times.

Our faces, all of our faces, had been on the covers of wizarding newspapers for weeks and great details had been spilled regarding the decisions made by all of the Malfoy's - including myself. The tabloids had absolutely dragged Lucius through the mud, framed me as a crazed lunatic - The White Witch - using her magic in sinister manners, and Draco had well, just been pathetically described as a tool who didn't know who he was anymore. Reeta Skeeter had gone so far as to suggest his absence in society shortly afterwards was due to him being kept at St. Mungo's for instability.

Nevertheless, there was still quite a lot of truth being told amongst those who mattered most. Besides Lucius, the Malfoy's had redeemed themselves greatly for their brave efforts to defeat the dark lord as double agents. My father being the French Minister for Magical Affairs had not hesitated to scold the British Ministry for their poor handling of the situation before the end of the war, and now the entire Ministry had been newly hired and reorganized. If France had not come, there would be no freedom in England. After reading my letter, they had offered an opportunity to interview for the International Confederation of Wizards, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, in honor of my father's sacrifices. 

After the meeting had gone well - despite having to awkwardly pretend that they weren't utterly stunned by my appearance - I was informed that I would start the following Monday which gave me the weekend to prepare. I had also heard back from Harry Potter who'd agreed to come to the Manor. He had made it clear he was trying to maintain privacy at his new residence, only allowing very few knowledge of the location.

On Saturday morning the sun's rays were already blaring down onto the Manor unforgivingly. I left my room in a pale pastel pink dress that flowed loosely from my frame. I was finally starting to tan from sitting out on my balcony in a vain attempt to mitigate how pale I'd grown. I drifted down to Draco's room to check that he was doing alright. Narcissa had been gone for two entire days with no word of returning, but I had seen in the papers that the trial was not going well.

Draco had continued to be curt and snide around me and I decided he was not at all pleased with feeling so vulnerable in my presence. I tended to badger him for my own entertainment which explained why he saw me as a bully. He brought it out in me in new ways that I could not explain and it had become a game of authority. The more he grasped for control the more dominating I instinctively became, aware that I was far more powerful than he was now.