Hermione flashed her Press badge to the security at the front of the hotel and he ushers her past the crowd that has gathered. He pushes her through the posh doors and shut it behind her. All that was loud instantly retreats to a whisper.

A prominent photojournalist has recently returned to London after spending the past 5 years documenting the Restoration of the Wizarding world after the fiasco that is Lord Voldermort. His photographs first appeared on the Wiznet. Then the Ministry started using them as campaign pictures for charity. Since then, his pictures are everywhere. In the news, in collaborative exhibitions and spreading like wildfire on Wiznet.

Tonight, he is being honored as the Photojournalist of the Year. His winning photo will be forever preserved in the War Museum, erect to commemorate the war heroes, and displayed for all to see for generations to come.

Hermione registered herself and moved to the mini exhibition area. It is just a long corridor lined with photos that were taken during the Restoration. Many are graphic and depicted death and destruction. They really were photos that pull at something within you.

Pictures say a thousand words?

No. These photos are saying nothing. They are just there as a sour reminder of a much harder time. There is nothing worse than the aftermath. Everything calms down and one is able to assess the extent of the repercussions. A heavy feeling starts to form on her chest making it hard to breathe.

She recognizes some of the faces in the photos. They were of classmates who have devoted themselves to the Restoration. Rounding up of the last of the Deatheaters and reconstructing what was destroyed. Just after the War, she also volunteered for the Restoration. But it took too much out of her to see the damage, the pain and the endless despair. She had to take time away before she too, became nothing but a damaged article left behind by the War. She decided that if she could not be in the action, she will write about it for the masses that could not as well.

After the corridor, she makes a beeline for her seat and setup at her station. Her setup is simple, just a recorder on a tripod and her laptop.

Quickly, the large ballroom starts to fill out with people. Twenty minutes later, someone was up on stage introducing the photojournalist.

Draco Malfoy steps onto the stage and walks to the podium. He still retains that poise that people who are born into old money has but the look in his eyes is so different from when he was merely the school bully. Through his viewfinder, those eyes have seen so much and the feeling never leaves the soul without leaving its mark.

He spoke clearly into the microphone.

"My family was the forerunners of the War. They helped in every way they could and given the chance, they would have done more. All I did was ride their coattails. After all was over and the dust settled, I turned to photojournalism while my peers are hard at work to put back into the community what was taken from it.

My job made me rank being a bystander over dirtying my hands for the community that provided for me even when I was part of the poison that ruined it. And tonight, I am being commemorated for my lack of pro-activeness.

Thank you but no thank you. "

He pulled off the satin cloth that obscured the winning piece. It was a Dementor giving the kiss of death to Lucius Malfoy as an Auror held his head back by force. The moment captured is one when Lucius turns to Draco camera with a pleading expression and his hands chained behind his back.

The ballroom is instantly flooded with camera flashes.

He drops the cloth on the floor and left the stage. His head hanging low.