Miracle Won't Show

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Here We Go Again

Chapter 27: Miracle Won't Show

POV: Dominique

Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum.

Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum.

Fee. Fi. F—I'm a bloody whale.

I was walking through the cold halls of the Ministry of Magic, elbowing people or being disgustingly pressed against them because my body mass had quadrupled during this excruciating third trimester of my pregnancy. Whereas I'd been petite and slender my entire life, and adorably round in my mid-section during the first two trimesters of my pregnancy, I know felt like a massive giant stomping along her path. I felt peoples eyes on me, and they were probably wondering what evil bastard had sent me to eat everyone in the premises.

Truth is, Mum sent me. I didn't want to, of course, but she thought I needed some fresh air—more like a distraction. I'd been locked up in Shell Cottage for three months, but that's something I rather not get into. I was in public, and if I thought of why I've been confined to the walls of my room for twelve weeks, then I'm going to start crying and the people would drown from this giant's never-ending tears.

So, instead, I put on a fake smile as I passed through. I said hello to a few old workers I remember from my childhood running around the Ministry—a privilege not many kids got, mostly because Shacklebolt was a family friend and my relatives were Heads of almost every department—and headed to my destination.

In my path, I saw a set of dark hair and my heart started pounding with fear and anticipation. Could it be him? Could that feathery, black hair be attached to the head, whom owned a face I had not seen in so long? With a knot in my throat, I diverged from my road and turned the corridor of where the man turned into.

"Okay, okay. Let's get this over with, then, Carmen." My heart had been pounding, but then it sank with disappointment when I noticed that the man I'd followed wasn't the man I wanted to see.

"I'm ready, Sir." This man was accompanied by a tiny brunette who was holding a notebook with a quill ready to take notes. Though she was small, the lines on her face screamed annoying perfectionist with a splash of brown-noser and total bitch. By the clear look of her, I could conclude she was a secretary who thought too much of her positioned and probably assumed she ran the entire department of where she worked.

The man sighed as he leaned against the emerald, tiled wall of the Ministry corridor. He crossed his arms and looked thoroughly bored. "As word has traveled throughout the community of a war brewing between the British and German Ministries, the Daily Prophet finds itself responsible of misinforming its readers about these misconstrued rumours."

As the man paused, the woman hurried to scribble down in her notebook his previous words. Once she was done, she looked back up at him and nodded seriously for him to continue with his statement.

"Though the British and German Ministries have a widely known history of tension, this Ministry of Magic would like to clarify to its citizens that the possibility of war with the Germans is not in question. There are differences between the two Ministries, but as diplomacy goes, every precaution has been taken from both sides to avoid a breakage of comradeship. The journalists of the Daily Prophet, whom continue to discuss this matter, are misinformed and their faulty sources are enough to discredit them. Instead, these journalists have barged into the Ministry to assault any Head of department for a quote, and when they have not been given one, they create ones of their own."

"'...they create ones of their own'," the secretary repeated as she scribbled harder onto her notepad. She looked up at the man once more, and as she did previously, she gestured for him to continue on.

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