Who: Lucius Malfoy and Percy Weasley What: Lucius comes back to the Ministry to retrieve something improperly impounded during a raid Where: Ministry of Magic When: Today Warnings: None
It had been some time since Lucius had left home. Coming into the city was a step he hadn't been looking forward to taking - not now, at least, when things were still so ... unsettled. And his dread had been well-placed, too: as though it hadn't been enough of an insult to his dignity to use the visitor's entrance, as if the nametag, of all things, hadn't made him want to turn around and go straight home - the stares in the Atrium had been positively agonizing. It seemed everyone had suddenly forgotten how to whisper as he walked through the crowd, nose firmly in the air, as always. He could hear the speculation surrounding him perfectly clearly as he stopped now to give his name to Security (you'd know damn well who I was even if it wasn't printed on my chest, you vile little peon). It was hard not to think longingly of times past, when he'd have swept by without so much as a second glance. - Someone would certainly have held the lift for him, then, too. Not so, today; he was left waiting for what must have been at least three minutes, possibly more. But it was almost better that way, he supposed. When it finally returned to the first level, it was empty, and he stepped in alone, save for one unaccompanied memo fluttering about his head. When he stepped out, the paper was twitching brokenly on the floor. He felt marginally better.
And he'd had no choice but to come, of course, he told himself. When he'd received the letter informing him that there had been a mistake, and that he was free to come recover what was rightfully his ... Well, it would be a cold day in hell before he'd let any of his family heirlooms rot in the Ministry's vaults if he could help it. This one he'd had from his grandmother - a pretty little jewelry box with the charming habit of inducing unauthorized openers to try and off themselves - and if they were giving it back, he was bloody well taking it. Even if it meant stopping here, in front of the small, relatively unassuming doorway he'd hardly ever noticed before on his way just down the hall to the Minister's offices. And even if it did mean taking it from a Weasley. How many of you are there? he wondered testily, as he rapped impatiently at the door.