Hermione stared at the gold invite which had just landed on her desk. An invitation to the Minister's Ball, one of the most prestigious events of the year, and an event which was known for being a large gathering of wealthy pureblood families. The curled black lettering seemed to mock her, as if it held a coded teasing message which mocked her blood status, the gold paper twinkling at her and reminding her of her lower status, even though these days she had more than enough money to get by. It reminded her of the teasing at Hogwarts, and then later, the prejudice she faced during the horrible events of the Second Wizarding War. Thinking about this caused her to touch the scars on her forearm, a reminder of how much damage was caused, how many lives lost, and how much pain they had endured to get to now, where some things were completely different, but she saw so much that remained the same.

Tearing her thoughts away from the haunting memories of the war, she yanked her hand away from the scars and forced herself to focus on the invitation, but she found that the damage had been done and her working headspace was shattered. Feeling a little enraged and hateful at the invitation which had freed her assaulting memories, she pushed back her chair and snatched the invitation off her desk, stalking out of her office. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a dead man if he expected her to actually attend the Minister's Ball this year. She hated events like this, full of haughty purebloods who would look down their noses at her. Other years, she had managed to escape from attending through overseas work, illness, and earlier in her career, her relatively unimportant job and her willingness to take on extra work, often from those who were actually attending the Ball. She was now one of the higher ranking personnel within the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and this year, she was expected to attend and she hoped that Kingsley wasn't going to refuse her when she begged to be excused from the event.

=====RTD=====

Her heels clicked as she stalked towards the elevators, stepping into one which arrived mere seconds after she arrived outside them. She clenched the invitation in her fist and waited for her arrival on the floor containing the Minister of Magic's office, glancing occasionally up at the paper planes which whizzed through the air above her. As the elevator slowed and the doors opened, she glared at a man who tried to push through the crowded elevator and get out before her. He shrank back and she strode down the hall towards the Minister's office, accompanied by a whirl of paper planes, no doubt carrying important paperwork or the latest complaints of the wizarding community.

As she approached the heavy oak door, it opened, and several people hurried out of the Minister's office, a few of them looking sufficiently chastised for whatever blunder they had unfortunately made. The opening of the door allowed a stream of paper planes to fly in and out, some only just making it before the heavy door swung shut again. As the people who had just exited Kingsley's office came closer, they stepped aside for her, and she shoved the heavy oak door open, striding into Kingsley's office. Hermione shot a glare at the secretary who got up to stop her as she stormed towards the inner office. The secretary sat back down and Hermione huffed, throwing herself into a chair in front of Kingsley's desk and tossing the crumpled invitation onto the paperwork he was currently filling out.

Looking up, the Minister of Magic smiled at her, noting her look of displeasure,

"And what can I help you with today, Hermione?" he asked, taking note of the way she huffed and folded her arms, the glare she gave him, and the crumpled piece of expensive golden paper that lay on top of the paperwork he had been hoping to complete before lunchtime. He put his quill down and stacked his paperwork, knowing that now it would have to wait until after lunch and the meetings he had scheduled immediately after that. He saw the young witch gesture to the crumpled invitation, her look of displeasure deepening into a frown as she eyed it,

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," she growled, pursing her lips, one of her hands clenching into a tight fist, "You are a dead man if you're going to force me to go to that poorly covered excuse for show-off purebloods."

Hermione watched as the dark skinned man raised an eyebrow at her and did his best not to grin. She forced herself to uncurl the fist she had formed, and her hand itched to just grab her wand and hex him, so she grasped a handful of her robes instead. She returned his raised eyebrow with one of her own, silently challenging him to refuse her demand, even though there was a small part of her which knew he would. She waited for him to speak and tried to calm the urge to scream at him.