It's a Pureblood World, We're All Just Living in It
“I cannot believe I ended up working with the most idiotic bloke in all of Britain.” Adolphus Lestrange pointed across the room, where Eric Dawson had just entered the lavishly furnished study in the Malfoy family mansion. “Why’d you hire this git too?”
“Because,” Abraxas Malfoy glanced up from the pile of paperwork he shuffled through on the desk, an irritated look on his face. “Our families are all very close. And if I thought both of you were completely incompetent, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
“Nice to see you too, Adolphus,” Dawson rolled his eyes and dropped onto the couch beside Lestrange. He surveyed the table in front of them and frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Someone,” Lestrange shot a look at Abraxas, “is making us write out — by hand — his wedding invitations. As if this has anything to do with company business. I was under the impression we were working for Triple I, but apparently I was mistaken.”
“Yes, and I’ll fire you if you continue to be annoying,” droned Abraxas. “It’s not as if I don’t have mudbloods falling over themselves to work for this company. And I said you could use magic after I realized how bloody awful your handwriting is.”
Lestrange leered over at Dawson. “Eric has very nice handwriting. . . .”
“No thanks,” said Dawson, hastily pulling out his wand. The two recent Hogwarts graduates were technically supposed to be working directly under Abraxas, who had taken control of his father’s shares of Triple I upon Tiberius’s election as Minister of Magic. Abraxas said he needed them for company outreach and distribution management — but the stress of the wedding next month had shifted all his attention to making sure everything would be perfect for the big day.
“Why’re you two getting married so quickly anyway?” asked Lestrange and he received a shove from Dawson. He paled in realization, opening his mouth to blurt an apology.
“Because Mother is sick,” said Abraxas without a hint of emotion, not looking up from the parchment he pored over. “She wishes to see us married.”
“You knew that,” Dawson whispered to a horrified Adolphus.
Lestrange hissed back, “I forgot!”
Dawson shook his head and the two went back to magicking out the invites.
They had just finished and were trying to figure out a decorative little spell to make the borders of the parchment turn silver when the study door opened and in stepped Melania Crouch.
“Abraxas?” she called quietly and he jumped, scattering the stack of parchment all over the floor. Turning red as he muttered a spell to retrieve them.
Across the room, Lestrange and Dawson had to duck to hide their laughter. Since the engagement, Abraxas acted as flustered and love-struck as when he had first started dating Melania.
Melania giggled and approached the desk, handing him a letter. “It’s from Natalie,” she said with a smile and gave him a brief kiss which made him immediately drop the letter.
She picked it up for him and placed it back on the table with a twinkle in her eye before walking over to where Lestrange and Dawson quickly stopped laughing and pretended to still be struggling with the aesthetics of the invitations.
Melania studied the invitations for a moment, then tapped the pile with her wand. Every single one changed drastically, morphing from a curling silver theme to an elegant black and white design.
Lestrange and Dawson stared at her.
“Much better,” she whispered, winked conspiratorially at them, and floated out of the room.
The two then waited a few minutes before asking the burning question that had been on their minds since they heard their former Quidditch captain’s name.
When Dawson couldn’t bear it anymore, he blurted out, “what’d she say?”
“Yeah, we haven’t heard anything from her in two weeks — since Hogwarts,” said Lestrange, looking very upset about this fact.
Abraxas chuckled as he folded the letter.“She punched the team captain in the face during their first practice.”
“Oi! Oi! Evan! Hold the door!” Except Evan Rosier did not have to do that because the elevators in the Ministry of Magic are, shockingly, magical.
The door remained open long enough for Zacharias Nott to jump in and join Evan Rosier.
Rosier gave his long-time friend, cousin, and former teammate a suspicious look. “Let me guess — Seamus Dawson’s office.”
“Wait, you too?” Nott’s jaw dropped.
“Yeah,” smirked Rosier, “who’d have thought.”
Nott groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead as the elevator doors closed and it began to drop. “For a bloke whose father is the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, he sure can act like an idiot.”
“I heard he and Adolphus are at Triple I,” said Rosier with a laugh. “And that Abraxas is making them do his bitch work.”
“I assume you lot got a wedding invite?”
“I assume the entire wizarding world did.”
“That’s going to be a party to remember,” Nott flashed a grin.
Rosier snickered, “or not remember.”
The elevator came to a stop and the doors dinged open. In walked a very large pile of newspapers until Rosier knocked half of them to the floor.
“Hello, Lloyd.”
Lloyd Avery stared down at the scattered newspapers in horror before glancing up and noting who was in the elevator with him.
“Oh, hi,” he said, blinking as though not quite sure where he was. “Fancy seeing you two. . . .”
“We work here now,” said Nott, “I’m guessing it’s the same with you?”
“With the Prophet,” Avery said with palpable gloom. The elevator doors closed behind him and it continued descending deeper into the Ministry. “Adolphus’s father got me in.”
“Yeah, I heard you’re under Jonathan Shaw, right?” inquired Rosier. “What’s he got you doing?”
“Walking the day’s copy of the Prophet to every office in the Ministry,” said Avery. “As if we don’t have bloody magic.”
Nott gathered all the newspapers back into a pile with a flick of his wand. “And you’re actually doing it?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Avery, “Shaw terrifies me.”
“Shaw? Jonathan Shaw scares you?” laughed Rosier, “that bloke was a goofball at school. Remember when Cap nearly made him piss himself because he was late to breakfast the day of a Quidditch match?”
“Yeah, but Cap scared everyone,” sighed Nott with unexpected wistfulness. “I miss her.”
“You have a girlfriend, Zack,” Rosier teased him.
“You know what I mean!” Nott rolled his eyes, “not her — like, her, you know. . . .”
“Energy?” Avery tossed the word out and the two others glared at him. He reddened and dropped his gaze, meekly clutching the stack of newspapers.
An uncomfortable air arose in the elevator at the mention of the former Quidditch captain. The three avoided meeting each other’s eyes. They’d broached upon a topic which none of them wanted to address because they all agreed with Nott’s assessment.
“Has, er, anyone heard from her at all?” Nott asked in a small voice.
“No,” replied Rosier as Avery shook his head. “Not a word since we left school two weeks ago.”
“Pity,” mumbled Nott and the silence between them returned.
“Anyway,” Rosier cleared his throat as the elevator came to a stop and announced the floor of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He nodded at Avery and the newspapers. “This is us. Good luck with that, Lloyd.”