Chapter 1 — The Exit Interview

It was her Hogwarts Exit Interview - the meeting between the headmaster or headmistress and the graduating student that showed the paths available to them based on their assessment scores and where the students themselves wanted to go.

Draconia had kept her head high when she had received the notice. After all, a Malfoy did not give it to insecurities, but in reality she was anxious.

“Miss Malfoy.” McGonnagall said from behind her half moon glasses, seated as she was at her desk with that same stern demeanour she reserved for all of her students. Draconia could have sworn that she reserved it just for the Slytherins.

“Professor.” Draconia responded, trying to figure out if she needed to bow or something to the more senior woman.

“Please, take a seat.” McGonnagall had started with. She had indicated with her hand, palm upwards and open, to an open chair across from her.

Draconia did as she was told, smoothing out the bottom of her school uniform as she did so.

Every exit interview had a stack of papers on the headmasters desk - letters of offer from a variety of different departments across the wizarding world. Draconia couldn't resist a look at how many she had received as she sat down, and a bottomless pit formed in her stomach as she saw how many there were…

“I'm not going to break this to you easily, Miss Malfoy.” The Professor said, a hint of what felt like sympathy touching her voice. “It would appear that there is only one offer given to you - the promise of a place among the Aurors given to every student for their place among the recent fighting.”

The silence, as soon as that sentence had finished, sang pregnant in the air. Draconia was doing everything in her power not to have her jaw drop, or to pout, or to show any reaction at all.

“I don't fully understand myself.” McGonnagall continued, the sympathy still there. “Your OWLs and ELFs are among some of the best in your year. And even if that weren't the case you are a starting player on a house Quidditch team - they usually receive some form of offer from one of the premier teams.”

At that Draconia began to pout in genuine sadness, unsure of how else to act. It wasn't until the next line from McGonnagall that the hammer truly fell.

“It is almost like no one wants your father to hear that they offered you a job.”

She felt the impact of those words, and, as a method of stalling, looked out the window. Below she could vaguely make out three orange, red and black dots by the lake.

“How many did he get?” She heard herself ask, almost choking on the words as she fought back tears.

“He has free pick to go anywhere he wants.” Came the reply.

“Of course. He’s the hero.” Draconia scoffed, trying to deflect from her own feelings by getting angry at Potter's fortunes.

“Miss Malfoy, I know you are-”

“Were.”

“-close. But you give him too little credit. Mister Potter has been consistently top 10 in the grade, a 7 year starter at his position at Quidditch…” There was a softening of tone and features on McGonnagall “...and yes, everyone is lining up to be the employer of the boy who lived.”

Whereas I just want him to be the boy that loved. Draconia almost replied.

“You know, I shouldn't mention this, but there is something else we can do.” The Professor pulled out a self writing quill and some forms. “This isn't unheard of getting so little offers. We usually coach the student with where they need to be leading up to the interview which I understand doesn't help with your particular circumstances but-”

“So I'm a charity case?” The words came before Draconia had thought about them.

If McGonnagall was angry at her, she didn't give any indication but a slow blink, like a cat that had just had its patience tested.

“On the contrary…” The words had an edge to them. “We can write to any departments to see if they have any openings. Is there anywhere you have thought about, dear?”

Draconia had a long thought about that. Her eyes drifted out the window again.

This time she didn't see the 3 dots mingling by the lake.

This time she saw the rubble. Saw the statues that lay half destroyed and lying on their sides. Saw the downcast faces of those few she could make out the details of.

She also thought about what had happened the last 3 years, about where she had been and where she had come from.

It had been a journey, from being at her father's table while men and women in long black robes plotted and schemed, to taking up her wand against those same men and women.

It gave her an idea.

“I would like to apply for the Department of Prosecutions please, Professor.” Draconia Malfoy finally said. The tears that had threatened had subsided, and her chin was stuck up and out in an instant.

The quill stopped. So did McGonnagall, who leaned forward and looked at Draconia over the top of her glasses, appraising her.

“You’re sure?” The words came slowly, cautiously.

“I am.” Draconia responded.

“You would be potentially sentencing your family.”

“And who better to know what the exact dealings were than someone who was at the table?” Draconia responded.

“Your loyalty will be questioned.”

“I can speak for my actions.”

McGonnagall paused, and Draconia could have almost sworn she could see a tiny smile start to pull its way at the edge of the elderly professor's mouth.

“Very good. I'm sure the Department will be incredibly happy to have you.” She finally said, once the quill had stopped and the self sealing envelope had finished its work.

Draconia rose to leave.

“Oh and Miss Malfoy?”

Draconia stopped and turned, looking over your shoulder.

“You'll be pleased to know Mister Potter will likely become an Auror.” The Professor did not look up from her desk, but did give a smile “It would appear that should you be successful, you may be working together for some time.”

“Thank you Professor, I shall keep that in mind.” Draconia had responded, with all the cordiality she had been taught, before turning and walking from the room.

In reality all she wanted to do was punch air.

Chapter 2 — Father and Daughter

A small chapter and set up continuing the Post-War story I started yesterday which can be found here.

A reminder that none of this is AI. it was written by me in a doc with some harebrained ideas, and there's plenty more to come.

It had been a tired and tiring few weeks, at best, for everyone at Hogwarts.

Draconia Malfoy had thought about that as she stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express, ready for it to pull away from the school for the last time.

Tired green eyes stared back.

She had disobeyed everything she knew, including her family and their traditions, to defeat evil. And in doing so had thrown her lot in with a cute boy with glasses and a lightning bolt.

He had struck the killing blow, of course. He was the hero of the story. But she had created the opening. And after doing so, she held him while he thanked her for her role in all this.

She had not seen him again.

While Potter had been quickly rushed off to be tended and cared too, she had volunteered, along with a number of students including the Weasleys, Granger, Longbottom and a number of other Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and other do-wells to round up the death eater army.

The fighting had been swift, tremendous, and terrifying. The Death Eaters had fought with desperation and wily abandon, looking to escape the fates that awaited them at the death of their Dark Lord.

The students, spurred on by adrenaline and released tension now showing as the bravery expected of young adults who had stared down death, as well as knowledge of the terrain, had fought even harder.

And although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she could feel a shift in those hours, and she hated to admit it, the weeks since during the cleanup and everything else.

Like the magical world was changing.

Like the power of the old families, bolstered by their traditions and bloodlines, was waning in the light of Voldemort's death.

Like a new order had been ushered in with the death of the death eaters

The young woman continued to stare pensively out the window as she ruminated further on that.

She wasn't sure she liked it, at least not yet, although she did accept it.

There were no doubt conversations and interactions that had, and would, reinforce Draconia’s view. But she was a Malfoy - she would walk into most of them with her head held high.

That, at least, was one tradition she could not escape.

Since the Battle for Hogwarts, the assorted Death Eaters had all been imprisoned. Barely a select few, who were being hunted by dedicated Auror teams and constantly on the run, remained.

The result had been a devastating blow for order among the ministry of magic. The holding cells beneath it were full to bursting, even with all the magic to increase its capacity. And that was not to even mention the calls for justice, or compensation, or both that flooded the ministry from witches and wizards who had felt the worst of the consequences of the fighting.

When Draconia entered, the first she noticed was that her father had a rather large cell. There was plenty of space for him to wander around, and were it not for the bars, she was certain he could wander the entire room.

The second was that he did not turn to greet her.

In fact, she had not been sure he had even registered her presence until he started talking.

Prison had not been kind to Lucius Malfoy. His hair was wildly unkempt and his clothes seemed to be so tattered and worn down he almost seemed more like a Weasley than the noble aristocracy he had portrayed mere months ago.

“So…” Lucius’ voice was cold, like a snake that hated its confines and saw any interaction as prey. “...Are you here as my lawyer, or as my daughter?”

“Neither.” Draconia tensed as she responded. “Both.” She added.

The silence hung in the air like uncoiled tension, neither side looking to break it lest they look weak to the other.

It was Lucius who would break it first.

“The Department of Prosecutions.” He scoffed. “As if the betrayal couldn't be more thorough “

Draconia didn't dignify that with a response.

“All for some boy who probably hasn't even talked to you since everything happened. Am I wrong?”

The follow up hurt. Draconia hasn't spoken to Harry since the Battle. Somehow her father hearing about that made it hurt more.

Lucius continued.

“I never should have told you to make acquaintances with the Potter boy. You were meant to use your head. Instead you used your heart, and look where that got us.”

“Got you.” Draconia retorted.

That got a reaction.

He had turned now, and begun pacing in front of her like a tiger. The flash of anger on his face would have scared her. Should have. Now she wasn't afraid.

“How long do you think this peace will last?” The words dripped like blood from a stone. The word peace was particularly enunciated, like Lucius Malfoy couldn’t bare himself to call it that.

“I fail to understand the question.” Draconia replied, as evenly as she could manage.

“Sooner or later, someone else will find Grindelwald’s teachings. And we will start this whole thing again. And then this new world will crumble and we will return to the old ways. The better ways, where the bloodlines could guide our world into a better future.”

“You seem not to hold a lot of faith in the institutions of our world. Despite your hand in many of them.”

“They never should have adapted. Never should have evolved. Tradition was what kept us safe.”

“Strange. Arthur Weasley seems to be doing that with his Muggle Hybridization Program, alongside Hermoine Granger.”

“Granger? That Mudblood”

Draconia was in front of him in an instant. In his face, glaring.

“You will not say that word in my presence again.”

The smirk that dominated Lucius’s face was equal parts smug, shocked, daring, and threatening.

Her hand had been raised, as if to strike.

Strike her father.

Mere months ago, the very thought would have been abhorrent, but Draconia wanted to do it. To wipe that grin flat off his face that he had no doubt. She wondered if this was how Potter had felt for many years with her own torments.

“I think it's time for you to leave.” Lucius said, the second he realised she wasn't going to go through with it.

Draconia continued to glare into his eyes with intensity.

Slowly she lowered her hand, adjusting her sleeve as soon as it was low enough to do so.

She raised her chin, so that it was pointed at her father's, and showed all of the etiquette lessons he had given her.

Her eyes didn’t leave him. Not even to blink.

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Draconia said slowly, her eyes slowly un-narrowing themselves. “Goodbye Father.”

She did not remember walking from the room.

She did not remember sitting back at her desk.

She did not even remember writing a letter and attaching it to her father's file.

Bonus — The 2017 House Cup

Liliana Potter had never been this scared in her life.

She’d ridden a broom before. Hell, she'd been to loads of practices and even watched old photos of her parents play. But never like this, never in front of crowds.

A snarking voice snapped her out of it.

“Hey, Potter! Ready to get humbled?”

Lily’s head turned. There, in Slytherin robes of green-and-silver, spiky blond hair, and a face she’d seen her entire life, was the opposing seeker.

Albus Potter.

Or, as she knew him; Albie.

Her brother.

“Why are you trash-talking me?” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. He could be such an idiot at times.

“House pride.” He responded, a teasing grin on his face. “Also, you're going to lose.” The rest of the Slytherin’s snickered with him.

Lily immediately remembered that dad had told her once, before she started school, that mum had been much like this.

She wondered if dad had rolled his eyes as much as she felt like she needed to right now.

“Are you stupid? Were your parents related?” She spat back.

“...we’ve got the same parents?” Albie wasn’t sure how else to respond.

“Shut up then.” Lily responded and nodded. The teams were starting to fly out, and her and Albie were next.

There was a moments silence, broken up by a mumbled “Mother will hear about this.”

Lily took the bait, even as she kicked off onto her broom amid the cries of the crowd.

“Good.” She said, looking over her shoulder and giving him a wink. “You can tell her all about it when you lose.”

She put her arms out, as if issuing her own challenge, controlling the broom with just legs.

Just like dad had taught her.

And then she was off, repping the Gold and Scarlet of her father's house while the crowd seemed to boom with excitement for their new seeker.

The MC, an excitable third-year in a Ravenclaw scarf, had already begun his commentary as she pulled out of her lap.

“....and this will be a special one, folks. We have a match-up you’re likely only to see once in a thousand years. That’s right, the rumours are true. We are about to see siblings line up as Potter faces Potter as Seekers for their respective houses…”

From a viewing stand, two figures stood watching the festivities. Both wore dark clothes not designed to stand out apart from one thing.

One wore a fiery red Lion scarf, that clashed with his dark hair.

The other a dark green and silver scarf that clashed and drew attention to her platinum blonde hair.

They stood looking up at the Quidditch teams, hand in hand.

“So, when Gryffindor wins, we’re still happily married, right?” Harry Potter asked, his lip curling into a smirk even as his eyes drifted to his wife.

“There’s a couple of Lions I have a soft spot for.” Draconia responded. “But not today.Today you’re going down.”

“Lily’s been taking lessons.” Harry teased.

“Oh, so that’s where you’ve both been going all summer.” Draconia chuckled. “I wondered where the Firebolt kept disappearing too.”

“She’s good.”

“Of course she is. She’s our daughter.” Draconia finally looked at her husband, and gave his hand a squeeze. “She’s a Potter.”

And then the horn blasted to start the match and their eyes, so often reserved for each other, flicked between sky and ground as the two ex-seekers reverted to instincts and tried to outdo the other

Their hands remained intertwined the whole time.

Back up at opening kickoff, Lily had pulled her broom in next to her brother’s. He seemed sullen, but she also wondered if he was just looking for the snitch.

“Hey, you know I was kidding back there, right?” She asked Albie.

“Course.” It was only then he turned to her, and grinned, sticking out his knuckles. “Good luck.”

Lily bumped her own knuckles back. Her and Albie’s captains, who everyone swore we're dating anyway, glared at them both.

“Loser has to write ‘Love You Dad’ on their next Defense Against the Dark Arts paper though.”

“You’re on.”