The corridor felt longer than usual, a stretch of stone that seemed to pull away from her with every step. Draconia walked with her shoulders back, her chin held at a precise angle to ensure the light caught her cheekbones. She did not rush, for a Malfoy never appeared to be in a hurry to meet a superior. Her footsteps echoed against the floor, a solitary rhythm that underscored the quiet tension of the castle. She knew the location of the office by heart, having memoraged the turns and the slight tilt of the floorboards.
The door to the appointment room was heavy, carved from dark wood that looked ancient and unyielding. Draconia paused to smooth the front of her robes, ensuring the silk was perfect. She took a breath, steadying her pulse before she knocked. It was a small thing, a formality, but it felt like the start of something significant. She waited for the sound of movement from within, a signal that the meeting was ready to commence.
"Enter," a voice called out, high and sweet, though the sweetness felt forced.
Draconia stepped into the room, where the furniture was as soft and rounded as the woman sitting behind the desk. Umbridge looked up, her eyes bright and watchful under her heavy eyebrows. The room felt smaller than the corridor, crowded by the velvet textures and the heavy, ornamental objects placed on every surface. Draconia took a seat, sitting on the edge of the chair to keep her spine straight. She did not fidget, even though her palms felt slightly damp.
"You are punctual, Draconia," Umbridge said, her smile widening just enough to show the edge of her teeth. "It is a quality that serves one well in these times."
"I believe punctuality is a sign of respect, Professor," Draconia replied. Her voice was steady, a clear, ringing tone that did not betray the slight tremor in her fingers.
The woman reached into a small velvet box on the desk and pulled out a pin. It was a small, gleaming thing of silver and emerald, shaped like a stylized crest. The metal caught the light, flashing a sharp, bright green that seemed to vibrate in the dimness of the room. It was beautiful, but it was a heavy sort of beauty. It was a mark of authority, a tool of scrutiny, and a badge of judgement.
"This is a significant honour," Umbridge said, her fingers lingering on the metal. "The Inquisitorial position requires a certain... calibre of person. Someone who understands the importance of order. Someone who can see the cracks in the foundation and report them."
"It is a great responsibility," Draconia said. She watched the way the light danced on the silver, feeling the weight of the expectation. "The Malfoy name has always stood for order."
"Precisely," the woman nodded, her expression softening into something that looked like maternal pride, though Draconia knew it was merely a mask. "You will do excellently. You have the eye for detail that we require."
The meeting ended with the formal hand-over of the pin, a transaction that felt less like a gift and more like a contract. Draconia left the office with the small box tucked securely in her pocket, her heart thudding a rhythmic beat against her ribs. She walked through the castle, moving toward the entrance of the manor-side wing where her parents waited to meet her for the evening meal. The stone walls felt colder than before, or perhaps she was simply more aware of the air against her skin.
She found them in the drawing-room, a space of high ceilings and polished surfaces. Her mother stood by the window, a silhouette of elegance against the darkening sky. When Draconia entered, her mother turned, her face softening into a smile. She walked across the rug, her movements fluid and graceful.
"You look radiant, darling," her mother whispered, reaching out to cup Draconia's face.
The woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to Draconia's forehead, the touch cool and lingering. The scent of jasmine and expensive perfume clung to her mother's skin. It was a gesture of affection, yet it felt like a blessing bestowed upon a subject. Draconia stood still, absorbing the warmth of the kiss, feeling the starch of her collar against her neck.
Her father was seated in a high-backed chair near the hearth. He was reading a parchment, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the fire. He looked up as she approached, his grey eyes scanning her from her boots to the top of her head. He did not stand, but the gravity of his presence filled the room. He looked at the small velvet box she held in her hand, his gaze narrowing with a quiet intensity.
"The appointment went well, then?" he asked. His voice was low, a deep resonance that commanded attention without needing to rise in volume.
"It was successful, Father," Draconia said, stepping closer to the warmth of the fire. "The position is mine."
He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. There was no grand celebration, no outburst of joy, only a solemn acknowledgement of a goal achieved. He looked at her with a sense of grim satisfaction, as if her success was a testament to his own standing.
"It is a vital role," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Do not carry it lightly. A name is only as strong as the person who holds it."
"I understand," she replied, her voice firm.
"Good," he said, returning his gaze to the parchment. "You have done well to secure it."
Draconia felt the weight of his nod in her chest. It was a heavy, solid thing, more substantial than the compliment itself. She turned away to find a private corner, her pulse still racing beneath the surface of her skin. She found a tall, silver-framed mirror in the darkened alcove of the hallway. The glass was clear, reflecting her image with startling precision.
She opened the box, revealing the green and silver pin. The emeralds glowed with a deep, internal light, looking like tiny, trapped-sunlight. She took a breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the clasp. She pinned the silver to the fabric of her robes, the metal biting slightly into the heavy silk. The green was a sharp, striking contrast against the dark fabric, a bright spark of colour in the dim hall.
She looked at herself in the mirror, staring at the way the badge sat upon her chest. It was a perfect addition to her uniform, a sign of her status and her power. She saw the way the light hit the silver, making it shimmer with a cold, unyielding brilliance. She looked at the reflection of her own face, seeing the perfection of her features and the stillness of her expression.
She puts it on and looks at herself and thinks: coward.