𝘿𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 ; 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

xii.

xii. | TWELVE.
❦
6 november, 1998
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

They hadn't spoken since the incident.

Which was detrimental towards her — really, it was. She felt far too sheepish for just a terse word with him. And despite her efforts, she could barely schedule a time to get him alone.

She'd nudge things from her desk. Curse. Swear. Any profanity she could come up with in the elapsed hour she'd spent in his classroom. Argue. Talk back. Did things that didn't represent her ordinary self. Anything for a detention with him to altercate the occurrences of All Hallows' Eve.

But no. Absolutely not, he just had to add to that frustration boiling within her each time her intentions for detention ran amok.

He'd talk over her profanities.

Lift the objects dismantled from her desk with wandless magic.

Ignore her arguments.

He was being so bloody annoying. She couldn't obscure the fact that she'd been daydreaming about the fair-haired man ever since that erotic night — and he couldn't even look at her. And God forbid he bat a lash in her area of the classroom.

And she was going to do something about it.

Arabella sits on the crocheted blanket atop Ivory's bed — absorbed in the latest issue of Witch Weekly, as Ivory tosses articles of clothing into her trunk, all in a fervent sweat.

Arabella snorts, flipping a glossy page. "You hear that the Minister and her husband divorced? It's confirmed now."

Ivory furrows her brows, scooping a handful of lacy socks into her trunk. "Really? Hm — interesting. She probably has an affair, to be frank. Don't most of those politicians do that?"

A blush bleeds into Arabella's cheeks at the sight of the page, Minister Weasley — well, now Granger — plastered on it. "I wouldn't even care. Bloody hell — she's stunning."

Ivory cranes her neck a bit — catching view of the righteously gorgeous Minister across the page. It seems to be photographed by paparazzi — she's in a beige blazer and maroon pencil skirt, both accentuating the contours in her figure. Her face is utterly ravishing, as well. Angular jawline. Freckles speckling her features. Curly hair that frames her face. Absolutely and painfully beautiful.

And of course — she just has to be Mr. Malfoy's boss.

Mr. Malfoy wasn't a St. Mungo's Healer, where one would usually serve as a Mediwizard. He serves for the Ministry — sort of an assistant to Aurors, where he'd Apparate to sights of misconduct and Heal anyone afflicted by magic.

And Minister Granger was also legislative over the Auror division, which included critical Healers such as Mr. Malfoy.

Ivory huffs — caressing the nervousness from her temples before turning towards Arabella. "Arabella — what do you do when you envy someone Shriya is affiliated with — what do you do in that case, and how to do stay civil in those situations?" Her questions escape in little garbles.

Arabella spares her a succinct smirk. "Now who is it you're envying over Mr. Malfoy?"

Ivory groans tempestuously, whamming her trunk shut. "I — Arabella, he —" She can barely assemble the courage to discuss Scorp's party. She situates herself atop the mattress, tinkering with her thumbs. "I'm really not sure if it was under the circumstances of intoxication — because I very highly doubt I would've done something so nonsensical while sober, but at Scorp's all Hallows' Eve Party —"