Prologue
I walk with my mother, her hand on my shoulder as we push our way through the crowd of journalists standing in our way.
I knew going home after this year would be a struggle for us. After everything that happened, it didn't surprise me in the least.
"Madam Lorley, you have been quoted to saying you had no idea of your husband's involvement with Death Eater activity yet you are also quoted from another source saying he had been planning the attack for months!—"
"— is it true you assisted in the planning and coordination on the attack at the ministry, ma'am?"
"Did Miss Eleanor have a hand in it? Giving Mr. Potter the idea that he had to go to the Ministry for some outrageous scheme in the first place?!"
I clenched my jaw and starred in front of me as I shoved my shoulder into one of the journalists trying to block our path as we exit Platform 9 and 3/4. Just off in the distance, I can see Harry Potter standing with his friend Ron Weasley and his family. All were starring at the scene in front of them. The scene being us, and a few other wizarding families effected by the events at the Ministry.
Myself. The Malfoy's. The Notts. Just to name a few.
We were the three most well known Pureblood wizarding families in Britain. Of course we would gather this kind of attention when your so-called family is found guilty of breaking into the Ministry of Magic and found guilty of conspiring with Death Eaters and You-Know-Who himself.
I always knew my parents had a past with dark magic. The way they have always acted toward other people and myself. How cold they always are, how willing they are to punish instead of love. Warning signs were all over the place. Even the Dark Mark etched onto my father's arm though he claimed he was Imperio-ed and had no idea what was happening.
News articles galore were already written about all of our families before we left school. To everyone outside of Slytherin House, we were seen as traitors. It is as if by our family's choice, our's was made for us as well. At least to the rest of the school.
I had picked my side a long time ago. At least I thought I had.
I knew what my father spoke about was wrong. I knew that looking down on people for their blood status was something that was seen as outdated, something despicable that was no longer acknowledged. Yet, in the social elitism of Pureblood society, it was seen as normal, everyday life. If you were not commenting on how dirty a muggle-born's blood was, you were a blood traitor yourself.
I don't think someone's blood status determines how much of a wizard you really are in society. I think that how powerful your spells are, how skilled you are in wand magic and how knowledgeable you are in wizardry is what defines a Wizard. Not if you were born in a Pureblood house with 19th century traditions.
I can't condone what my father did— what any of our father's did that day. I cannot speak for the others but I know I am not the only one who is mad at Potter and his friends. If it wasn't for Potter, we wouldn't be in this mess. If he would have just stayed at school like a normal student instead of running away, breaking into a government building, getting people killed and still being seen as a hero with no repercussions, no one would have died. No one would be in Azkaban.
As we are leaving the Platform, I can still see them all standing there. Glaring at us, as if it was us who were caught at the Ministry of Magic that day. I lock eyes with Potter himself, clenching my jaw together and glaring right back at him.
It was all his fault and I damned them all for the hell I knew I'd be entering now because of them.