Everlasting (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Ministry of Magic Trip

During your detention with Umbridge, both you and Harry were forced to write upon a piece of paper how you will not tell lies. And yet, upon doing so, the very thing you wrote began to burn itself upon your skin; leaving marks of 'I must not tell lies' upon your entire hand and arm, which, by the end, was stinging and was thus covered in gruesome blood of your own. Both you and Harry could simply not belief at Umbridge's audacity to hurt her own students and, seeking out medical help, proceeded to discuss her as your arms were being wrapped in bandages.

"Who appointed her?"

"I don't know," you said. "It couldn't have been Dumbledore. He would never appoint a spiteful bitch like her."

"Language," Madame Pomfrey said, wrapping your arm up.

"Am I wrong?" You asked, and Madame Pomfrey only shook her head without a response, before turning away, having finished your arm. This now gave both you and Harry the opportunity to walk through the halls of Hogwarts together, heading for Dumbledore's office, which, when admitted to, you both stood awkwardly in the middle, staring at the old man who waited for one of you to speak patiently. Panicking, you gently pushed Harry forwards. He cleared his throat.

"[F/n] and I were just wondering ... who appointed Professor Umbridge? Professor Dumbledore, you must know what she is doing to her students. I mean - beginners' books, and then this!?" Harry lifted up his bandaged arm. "Sir, I refuse to believe you would appoint someone like her."

"Unfortunately, you are right," Dumbledore nodded with an exhale, "I would not. However, I have little to say in this matter."

"Then?"

"The head of the Ministry of Magic. Cornelius Fudge."

"Cornelius Fudge? What kind of name is that?" You sighed. "Professor Dumbledore, may Harry and I take a day off, or so, to visit the Ministry of Magic? I beg of you. We will catch up on all the work."

"Do you plan to speak to him?" Dumbledore laughed gently, sitting at his desk.

"Speak? Yes, let's call it speak." You said, and Harry quietly laughed at this.

"Please, Professor," Harry pleaded.

"Oh, very well." Dumbledore smiled. "Since the two of you are here, however, allow me to issue you another day off."

"Oh, really? Thanks."

"Not to louse around, though. I have a place for you to head to and see for yourselves," he smiled as though he had something in store. "Head to number twelve, Grimmalud Place, after you have spoken to Cornelius Fudge. You have two authorised days off, then. Make sure to tell me what happened when you're back."

"Thank you!" You and Harry shouted in unison, charging off and out of Dumbledore's office, heading for your common rooms to grab your backpacks, pack some clothing in for your two-day-trip. Harry was the one to grab two brooms for you and himself, and when reunited by the entrance of Hogwarts, you took one broom off him.

"London?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I've read up that to enter the Ministry you need to go through, like, this specific telephone box, you know."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, and they do like a check and authorise you as a guest, or something. We'll just do that."

You did exactly that. The two of you charged off on your brooms, occasionally racing through the clouds, seeing who had more skill. Being a Slytherin seeker for longer than Harry a seeker for Gryffindor meant that you had more practice and therefore more natural skill, giving you the opportunity to make more tricks than him and be definitely faster. The journey took some time, and you felt yourself grow exceptionally hungry after some time of flying. To entertain yourselves, you and Harry spoke a lot, flying side by side, discussing students back at Hogwarts, and grades, and other random matters that you would expect from a brother and sister conversation. And finally, glad you were, when you finally began to see the buildings of London and the beautiful city lights which looked ever so perfectly against the dark night sky.

"Can we go and get food first?"

"Definitely."

When you arrived, you discovered for it to be eleven at night. This was luckily not an issue with London, for restaurants were still buzzing. Streets were still full, and people were still excitedly partying. All the lights of London looked exceptionally appealing. Landing in an empty, nearby street, you and Harry dusted yourselves off, fixed your hair, and emerged out of the street, holding your broom, backpacks on. The brooms must have undeniably looked weird, but you did not bother about it too much. Instead, you walked in proudly to the closest McDonalds you could find, as you both ordered yourselves a meal and proceeded to eat it, sitting down, with the brooms by your sides.

"So, which telephone boxes?"

"One second," you got out a map and began to inspect it closely, "this one here. Fred and George pointed it out to me before."

"Why did they show you?"

"I asked them about the Ministry of Magic when I started having dreams of Snape being a Death-Eater. Long story."

"Alright, it's not far then. We'll go to this one."

When all was done, all cheeseburgers were eaten, all McFlurries eaten, and all drinks drunk, you and Harry grabbed your brooms and set off further into your journey. Using your map, you directed the pair of you to the telephone box which was supposed to take you to the Ministry of Magic. You really were going in blind-eyed, but it made the journey all the more exciting. Finally, after some street turnings, you looked up and found the very red telephone box you'd been looking for. With a beam, the two of you dashed to it and entered it.

"Type in as follows: six, two, four, four, two. It spells out magic."

Harry did all as follows, and before you knew it, the two of you began ascending into another place through the wondrous means of magic. And there you were! In the very Ministry of Magic, which proved to be as you'd always imagined in; very dark in colours, but very glamorous. The place was filled with people swarming back and forth, wizards in suits pacing through, holding briefcases with the utmost seriousness of expressions.

"It's all so professional," you whispered, "it's the wizard equivalent of Parliament."

"It really is." Harry looked around, gripping his broom tighter. "Where do we find Cornelius Fudge?"

"Excuse me," you asked the nearest person who was passing, who happened to be a male in his 40s, perhaps, in the typical suit, holding a briefcase, looking serious, per usual. "Where can we find Cornelius Fudge?"

"Forward ahead, second turn left, along the corridor to the fifth turn right, down that corridor and the last door with his name on it." The man answered like a robot before turning away and proceeding with his walk.

Staring ahead, you began: "Forward ahead ... second turn left. No, right. No, it was left."

"Forward ahead, second turn left, along the corridor to the fifth turn right, down that corridor and the last door with his name on it." Harry repeated perfectly, looking at you ridiculously.

"Alright, no need to flaunt a good memory," you rolled your eyes, and Harry only laughed.