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It had been almost a year since the war ended. Almost a year since Mara Potter had shown her face to the world.
It started out well. They've won the war, and she had killed voldemort. She thought she was finally done and now that she had fulfilled her rule, they would leave her alone.
But apparently, they were more persistent than she had previously thought. Letters were piling up her front door, she couldn't even show herself in public. One foot out of the door and she would be swarmed by masses of paparazzi and people who had nothing better to do than invading her privacy and making her life more unbearable than it already was.
However, Wizarding Britain seemed to be sorely lacking in one particular area ( other than common sense ). A strange and almost nonexistent concept to many of its citizens.
That concept was minding their own bloody business.
Something that she had been the victim to, ever since she stepped a foot on the soil of magical Scotland.
Her features creased into a frown, marring her otherwise pale and seraphic visage.
'Dear Lady Potter,
It has come to our attention that your presence is required at the Ministry of Magic as soon as possible. Please attend at the given date and time outlined in the attached parchment. The purpose of your visit will be disclosed upon your arrival.
Sincerely,
Corban Yaxely_ head of DMLE The Ministry of Magic'
She could already feel a headache coming.
~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~
Walking through the streets of London, a sight worth admiring was the stunning witch. She was swathed in elegant robes of black and crimson, a blend of the colors of her ancestral houses, a visual testament to her heritage.
