𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟓 - 𝟏𝟎

I didn't know about everyone else, but I personally wasn't a fan of flying over the never-ending treetops, five hundred feet in the air, on complete nothingness. Sure Luna and Potter and Longbottom could see the thestrals, but Weasley, Hermione, Ginny and I couldn't, and the experience made it quite possibly my least favorite mode of transportation ever.

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked as we left the navy clouds behind us and sailed into London, hundreds of thousands of yellow and red lights sprinkling the buildings beneath us like glow in the dark confetti.

We quickly landed in a dark, dingy side street off of what didn't appear to be a very safe road. I hadn't the faintest idea where we were, or how the thestrals knew to land here, but Potter seemed to know where he was going. He brought us to a rundown telephone booth, its bright red color standing out against the grey bricks of the wall behind it. 

"Here we are," Potter announced. "Everyone in."

We all looked at him incredulously, but managed to squeeze inside the extremely small space with no casualties, only slight discomfort. Actually, extreme discomfort, at least for me. I was a little closer to Potter than I wanted to be.

"Who's closest to the phone?" Potter asked.

"Me," Weasley answered. His voice sounded muffled, like his face was squished against one of the windows.

"Right, type in the numbers 62442," Potter instructed. Weasley did, but he had to bend his arm at a bizarre, painful-looking angle to reach. 

When the last number was punched in, the telephone booth rumbled. Then it began to sink into the ground like an elevator, and I watched as the pavement swallowed us. We were blanketed in complete darkness for only a moment before light entered through again, and we were met with the, admittedly gorgeous, front lobby of the Ministry.

No matter how many times I had come here as a child, the inside of the Ministry always managed to take my breath away. The floors were smooth, black tile. There were ginormous fireplace grates lining the walls for people who came to work through the Floo network, and in the middle of it all was the biggest white marble fountain I had ever seen. The Fountain of Magical Brethren. The statues in the middle depicted the golden figures of an old, angry wizard, and a young, beautiful witch, surrounded by a centaur, goblin, and house elf, staring up at the two adoringly.

The odd thing though was that the place was entirely empty. I knew it was pretty late at night for the general crowd, but not even security at the front desks? That was strange.

"We need to get to the Department of Mysteries," Potter said, snapping everyone out of their awed trance.

"The Department of Mysteries..." I repeated. "That's near my father's office."

"I saw him and Fudge talking down there the day of my hearing," he grimaced. My eyes trailed up to the huge banner of the Minister hanging from the high ceiling. He was sitting with his hands in his lap, an esteemed look on his face as he gazed off to the side. I felt angry just looking at it.

Wasting no time, the seven of us ran to the actual elevator and Potter pushed in the button for level nine, the second lowest floor level in the Ministry. As we descended I vaguely recalled the last time Draco and I came here with father. We were eight. The elevator was crowded, but everyone parted as well as they could when father stepped in. At the time I thought it was because they respected him. Now I realized it was because they feared him. 

It would at least explain why I got so many sympathetic looks on that trip, like people were thinking, Imagine being Lucius Malfoy's child? I could imagine. It was terrible.