Prolog Making Improvements
Mikayla Whit was angry. She'd been angry for a long time. The ministry of magic had tried to shut her up so many times that she was surprised when they didn't just sentence her to the dementor's kiss. A part of her wishes they would, and if it wasn't for her godmother she would have gotten her way by now. She wouldn't be surprised if it were physically impossible for Minerva McGonagall to mind her own business. Minerva thought she was helping her by standing up for her…that she was just going through a phase. But it wasn't just a phase. For as long as her insides hurt, as long as she woke up screaming or crying, as long as she was forced to face the memories of why she was alone, the ministry of magic would know about it. She would make the ministry feel what she felt. They would be sorry…even if it killed her. She didn't care. She had nothing left to lose.
She pulls her dark red hair back into a ponytail, her green eyes almost black in the shadows that surrounded her. Pulling off her cloak, she crumples up the name tag she had gotten on her way in. She didn't need a hood or a mask. She wanted them to know it was her.
Today was the anniversary of Dumbledore's death and the ministry was throwing a ball to honor him. He didn't deserve that honor, and Merlin help her if she just sat back and watched.
She studies her surrounding, trying to decide what to fix first. To the left there was a huge banner than normally had the minister of magic's face on it. Today it was Dumbledore's face. She pulls out her wand and smirks. She could fix that.
"Incendio!"