Dionysus is the Greek God of wine, fertility, festivity, and theatre. He is one of the twelve Olympians, and is the son of Zeus and Semele. Performance and art are central to his cult.
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The next day, Draco went with me to work as he always did. We Apparated to Central London, and he walked me to the underground public toilets.
"I'll make something special tonight," he said, pecking me on the lips. "Have a good day at work. I'll pick you up after as usual. I love you."
He watched me go as I entered the toilets. Thankfully, there wasn't a queue this time, and I stepped into a grimy toilet bowl and flushed myself down.
The Atrium at the Ministry of Magic was already bustling with workers hurrying about, briefcases in hand. I pushed past them and squeezed into the lift.
"Level four, Beast Division, please," I told the attendant. The doors closed, and with a great woosh, we zig-zagged across the levels.
It opened right as a brunette girl in a fashionable tweed dress was running past. Upon seeing me, she practically shrieked. "Angel! There you are! You're late! And so very dead. She's been looking for you."
"Thanks, Lucy." I cursed under my breath and began to sprint, my bag thwacking against my thighs. Past rows and rows of desks I ran, flying by the personal offices that lined the other side of the wall.
I didn't stop until I came to a huge red door in the deepest part of the floor. It was three times my height, and bold, gold letters read 'Head of Department'. I took two seconds to compose myself, hastily smoothing my hair and skirt before knocking.
"Ah, Miss Dawson! Decided to show up today, did we?" The lady at the desk peered at me over her purple spectacles when I entered. She looked immaculate as always, a large amount of shock-white hair piled atop her head, red lipstick precisely applied.
I cleared my throat, heart pounding. "S- sorry Madam Faulkner, it won't happen again."
"That's the second time you've said that in the past month."
I huffed to myself. It was literally one minute past nine. Who kept count like that, honestly! I shuffled, not quite knowing what to do.
She stood up and patted the different stacks of paper and files on her desk sternly, naming them off. "These need filing... these go to the Spirit Division... Pest Advisory... and these need signing off by the Minister." She paused for a second. "Well, what are you waiting for, dragon eggs to fall from the sky?"
With a start, I jolted forward and began collecting the stacks, feeling Madam Faulkner's eyes burned into my back as I left the room.
The Being Division was on the way to the Spirit Division, and a voice called me from the one of the desks. I turned and saw Hermione hurrying towards me.
"Morning, Hermione!" I said, my arm already beginning to tremble from the weight of the papers.
"How was your weekend?" Hermione chirped. Her fresh face and lively demeanour starkly contrasted my own, I was certain.
"It was great, thanks!" If you count great as not having slept at all due to nightmares and Draco having a manic episode.
I instantly felt heinous for thinking that. It was unfair to Draco. I quickly brushed the thought from my mind.
None of them knew, of course. Not the Trio at least. I had only confided in Susan once, after last Christmas, but I don't think she understood the extent of it.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "I've had a splendid one! Ron and I spent it at The Burrow. Mrs Weasley made the most perfect blueberry pies. Hey, I've brought some today! Maybe we could share over lunch."
I suddenly remembered I haven't had breakfast, and as if in agreement, my stomach growled. "Thanks, Hermione!" I said gratefully. "I've really got to go now, or Faulkner will have my head."
Hermione gave a sympathetic smile. "She's a tough nut. Go on, then. See you at lunch."
The Spirit Division was a medium-sized office of about two dozen officials. They hunched over their desks, scribbling frantically on parchment. Ghosts lived forever, and so there was a never-ending stream of complaints.
A boy with curly hair sat at the first desk, and his eyebrows twitched up at me in greeting. I instantly felt at ease. "Alright, darling?" he drawled, standing up. "I'll take these off you now."
"Thanks, Lorcan," I sighed as I handed him his stack of files.
"Busy day?"
"Shaping up to be. Can't chat."
"Lunch with 'Mione in a bit, yeah?" he asked, and I nodded. He waved me off, but I was already running to my next destination.
All the offices loved when the newbies came around, because that meant extra favours. Oi, love, another cuppa', d'you mind? Mr Tassleoff shouted from the back. Then Mrs Zephaniah caught my arm as I walked past her desk. Dawson, darling, be a dear and fetch this to GLO, would you? You know what GLO is, don't you? Goblin Liaison Office. Oh, and while you're there, tell Astroford I've been waiting for that coffee date he promised me ages ago!
I scurried about like a mad person, dumping paperwork on the appropriate desks and refilling tea and playing owl between the offices.
Finally, I glanced down at the remaining two stacks in my hand - the one for filing, and the other for the Minister. Order of Execution of Magical Creatures, read the title of the documents. The words made my stomach churn.
Oftentimes, creatures were executed for the smallest reasons - a prime example being poor Buckbeak that one time he slightly hurt Draco's arm. It was just as well Hermione hadn't seen these. She was already so busy campaigning for the house elves; she might have absolutely lost her mind.
This is what Mom was fighting against during her time here, I reminded myself. She had been in a position to call off orders such as these, and she spared no effort. One day, I'll get there.
After sending them off to the Minister - or rather, his very rude and disinterested assistant - I spent the rest of the morning in the filing room. I leaned against an empty desk, drearily flicking my wand. The case files and miscellaneous paperwork flew about the room, slotting neatly into their respective drawers.
It was mindless work, but at least it was something.
I wondered what Draco was doing at home now.
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I sat with Hermione and Lorcan during lunch. Lorcan Atwood, was his full name. He was only a few years older than us, but boasted a youthful face, tousled brown curls and a cheeky grin. I had thought he took a liking to Hermoine - he was always wanting to sit with us for lunch.
"How's Madam Fuckner doing this wonderful Monday?" he asked me as he took a huge bite from his sandwich.
"Lorcan!" Hermione was aghast. "She's the head of the Beast Division! Can we please show some respect!"
Lorcan and I shared a look, and I had to bite down a giggle as I told him she was doing just fine.
"And how's the uh- boyfriends? Have they tired of you girls yet?" he jested.
"Oh, Ron would never get tired of me," Hermione said rather seriously as she stabbed her fork into a slice of blueberry pie. "He told me so."
"No, of course he wouldn't. You're the best thing to have ever existed! After Pygmy Puffs, of course. Pygmy Puffs over everything else." He shovelled the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. "And you, Angel? How's our spicy little ferret boy?"
I laughed out loud this time. "Lorcan! I told you not to call him that! It was just one time. Very illegal of 'Professor Moody', might I add. And he's my husband."
I knew Lorcan was only having a laugh, but I felt weirdly protective of Draco when he wasn't around.
Everyone had already known about the Malfoys. Their reputation preceded them, and it was hard for Draco to defend himself when daggers of gossip were pointed from all directions. I felt it was only right for me to do so in his absence.
"Alright, Mrs Ferret," Lorcan held up his hands in mock surrender. "What I meat to say was: how's Drakey-Wakey?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, and I shook my head at him in amusement. "He's fine. What about you? Spent the weekend with any cute witch - or wizard?"
"Hmm, no. I'm waiting for the right one."
"You're a... you haven't done it?" Hermione lowered her voice.
"'Course not, what do you take me for? I'm saving myself for my wifey. Or hubby. Whichever comes first." Lorcan shot me a wink.
"Hermione, do you really believe he hasn't done it!" I threw my head back in laughter. "He spends every bloody weekend down at the Dragon's Horn!"
"Which is just a pub down the street, in case you didn't know, Granger," Lorcan quickly threw in. "Not anything else."
Hermione's face twisted in slight surprise. "Of course I know that!"
I don't think she did.
"Well, anyway, gotta' jet," Lorcan said, crumpling his sandwich wrapper in his fists and standing up. "Lots of important things to do, sorting files and all that. You know how those Ghosts can be. So much angst." With that, he gave us a little two-finger salute and left.
"He fancies you, you know," I said as-a-matter-of-factly to Hermione. She nearly choked on the last of her pie. "He does not! I thought he fancied you!" Now I nearly choked on my pie. "Does not!"
"I don't know, he seems rather your type."
"And what type is that supposed to be?" I mentally prepared to defend Draco again.
"Cheeky. But not too much. And also very kind. Bit like George, you know?"
I snorted. "The Weasley boys aren't the only available men in the world, Hermione!"
"Exactly why I think Lorcan and you would be perfect together."
"Hermione," I said slowly. "I'm married to Draco Malfoy."
She exhaled sharply and looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. Yes, you're married to Draco, but do you really have to be? He's an unpleasant bullish git, you deserve better.
I knew because she'd said these exact words to me in the girls bathroom one drunken night at the pub. She's right, as always! Hannah had tipped her glass to Hermione, Susan smiling apologetically at the side. They were all pretty adamant about the fact I had somehow been duped into marrying Draco.
And they wrong. I loved Draco, and he loves me. When we were together, I fit into his arms perfectly like we were carved from the same piece of marble.
The marble just needs a little bit of shining right now, that's all.