Lover Boy

Lover Boy

Grand Rekindling

Almost Perfect

November Issue

Volume I

By LG

‘Are you ready for the social event of the century?

The Annual Charity Ball is looming ahead of us like a promising social roller coaster. It is a widely known fact that the Ball is held religiously every year at a prestigious location; but interest among the general population has been dead for the last eight years. By no means do witches and wizards flock to the event as they did in decades past. As a result, the funds raised on the occasion are only a fraction of what they were at the peak of this yearly tradition—not enough to actually make a difference in our beloved magical world. It doesn’t posses that grand presence that allured you to its very threshold, the razzle dazzle of desired surprises, the quantity of interesting options that were always offered. It doesn’t pique the interest, it doesn’t move you in any way except for habit. Then why, you ask, am I even mentioning it? Surely something as bland as this Ball can’t really hold many promises to the attendants. Why am I classifying it as the social event of the century? Why, because this year’s Charity Ball is being sponsored by none other than Draco Malfoy himself, owner of Malfoy Enterprises and current wealthiest man in magical London. He is the owner of many prominent chains in the wizarding world: Honeydukes and Florean Fortesque’s Ice-Cream Parlour only being the most recent additions his daily income cove has come to swallow. The Academy in charge of the Ball considered him the most likely host to finally recapture the audience’s attention and Lord Malfoy most graciously accepted their desperate invitation.

The Ball is to be held in his very own manor: an ancient stone structure that has proudly weathered well over a thousand years. Lord Malfoy has gallantly opened the doors of his private residence in the hope of rekindling the lost tradition of raising millions of galleons for Wounded Witches, this year’s elected charity cause.

But what is it that makes Lord Draco Alexander Malfoy so irresistible to witches, wizards and warlocks alike?

According to the last edition of this magazine, he is “the one and only possessor of grey eyes that manage to chill you to your very bones and sear straight into your mind.” According to our reporting source, “silver-blonde hair that brushes lashes that flutter down against chiseled skin, a Roman straight nose that provides him an aristocratic profile, and an irresistibly heart-shaped mouth only add to the marvelous apparel Lord Malfoy presents as a whole.” He has a “feline and liquid grace [that fills]…his every movement” and a “stubborn” jaw, running in his family line for centuries. Elected three consecutive years as the most ‘Eligible Bachelor,’ his is one face you can’t forget.

But he has to be more than that. He has to be what has made him the top leading wizarding CEO in the market: the stubborn man, the sardonic shark…the inflexible competitor.

Lord Malfoy has always been socially active in the highest aristocratic circles and his name has apparently taken permanent resident on numerous magazine covers. He has an old family name looming behind him, casting over him protective shadows of automatic authority and thus effectively sealing his impenetrable façade.

But Lord Malfoy is not a man that takes defeat well. He is a man that can keep a grudge for years without end, and his pride apparently is the only thing that can surpass his egotism. True, you can trace his family name back to the beginnings of time and not a single squib has been born into their lines, but what does that reveal? Absolutely nothing, except for the fact that he indeed has powerful blood running through his veins.’

***

Blankly, he let the magazine slip from his fingers and fall upon his desk. A smirk spread over his mouth as his eyes felt on the last line of the rabid diatribe.

‘Draco Malfoy is the living proof that appearances can—and will forever be—deceptive.’

Oh, it had started well enough, he guessed. Objective, stating the facts, the obvious, but then…then she had strayed too deeply into her emotions for her article to actually cause some reaction. She had wandered off topic and it had gotten tiresome. Wasn’t the article supposed to be a public relations act for the Ball? She wouldn’t be garnering that effect if she continued in that way.

It was his third or maybe fourth read and every time he tried to reread the closing paragraph he found he couldn’t. He felt like rolling his eyes and forgetting the article ever existed. It was too pointless. Too…blank. It was boring and lacked the usual innate signature that left her readers breathless. He had read her other articles and she was damn good. She always managed to ignite the spark of public indignation against the acts she protested, but in here she had let her emotions take control, making everything collapse into shite. Utter shite.

“Pity. It would’ve been a damn good article.”

He closed the magazine, and stared at the picture that jumped out of the fuchsia background. A serious Draco Malfoy, a quote framing the picture that stared at you significantly while giving a curt nod.

“It is something we all have to share, whether we want to or not. It’s humanity.”

Thanx for the reviews I got so far, I hope they keep coming! Please support me on this one.

mem0rycafe: heart to you always, honey! I still can't get over the fact that you like this =D.

“Perfect.” A frown marred Ginny's brow as she re-read the article, searching for any grammatical mistakes. “That stuffed hypocritical arse,” she muttered absently, unconsciously chewing her right thumb nail. She narrowed her eyes as she spotted yet another mistake and glared accusingly at the monitor.

During times like these, she often wondered if she didn't suffer from that muggle illness Hermione was always preaching about: dizzy what? Ditz…um…Dyslexia! She had to proofread these damn things at least three times before they were even recognizable as an article. And Merlin knew she had to do it herself. She certainly was not going to trust her words to Minnie Hart: the squealing, fumbling fool that was Witch Weekly's parody of an editor. Her mouth worked a mile a minute, capable as it was of multitasking: simultaneously dissecting every gory detail of the latest addition to the rumour mill and smacking Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

After Ginny was sure that every minuscule error had been skewered by her all-seeing eyes she typed the initials `LG' with a flourish of satisfaction, clicked `print' and sat back, closing her eyes as her printer hummed to life. She would just add her article—printed on a sheaf of muggle paper—to the pile of loose parchment that was sitting on her desk and then the magazine dummy for this edition of Witch Weekly would be complete.

Humming to herself, Ginny padded to her printer and collected her work. “Brilliant,” she sighed. Nimbly, she shuffled through the parchment looking for the page numbers her article was supposed to be between, pausing as she was confronted with Malfoy's life-sized face.

Impassively, Ginny took out the loose sheaf of parchment for closer inspection.

“Damn, you're ugly,” she commented spitefully, looking at the photograph with a critical eye. Pointy face, pale arse, perpetual smirk, hell you sneer. That's barely what I would call attractive, much less `drool worthy'. So really, what's the attraction? Would you care to share?”

Here Ginny huffed, as if the picture had actually answered back.

“I'm not blind. My sight's just dandy, thanks for worrying, I'm touched…Shut up. I believe I have remembered just why I don't like you.” Arching an eyebrow, her humming increased a bit in volume as she twirled toward the other side of her desk, shuffling inside drawers as she wiggled her hips in time with her mental music.

“You really think so?” She continued the one-sided conversation with the picture as she straightened up, her eyes dancing. “Well, let's see what we can do for you then, sir,” she snickered as she uncapped a black Sharpie marker. Who said muggles were useless, anyway?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Gloria? Hullo!” Ginny spun forcefully in her chair, her loose hair whipping around in a massive cloud of beautiful red curls which shimmered in the candle glow…that ended up slapping her in the face. Ginny coughed out strands of hair and proceeded to glare down at the offending pieces.

“I ought to have you butchered and turned into cheap wigs, you useless pieces of crap,” she hissed menacingly.

“What?” The nasal twang that usually made Ginny crawl out of her skin brought her back to attention. With a haughty I'm-better-than-you sniff directed at her red mane, she shoved it behind her ears and cleared her throat.

“Er, it's LG, Gloria. I think we're having a terrible connection: I can totally hear static seeping in,” she improvised carelessly as she rummaged through her desk drawers. She frowned when she found an unidentified brown piece of…something covered with unknown blue specks in the first drawer. Carefully, she brought it under her nose and sniffed it. Grimacing, she threw it over her shoulder.

“Well, it sure wasn't me who chose this method of communication.”

“Are you saying you're actually disagreeing with me?” Ginny answered in a sugary sweet voice, her hand still roving around her desk. Then she gave a mock gasp as her fingers closed around a bunch of familiar objects.

Ginny knew damn well how much Gloria hated muggle things, which was one of the reasons LG staunchly refused to communicate via the normal wizarding way. Besides, the Floo network had been out of service since the end of the war.

One of Ginny's sinful pleasures was arriving at the Sorting Section and hearing the unending stream of Gloria's most colourful curses, which most of them went along the lines of “fucking compuper.” Despite being on the most isolated corner of the building—to which Ginny was a neighbour of—her gaffer's voice carried quite well to the hidden corners of the Owl Underworld.

“I have this strange sense of déjà vu,” Gloria commented a bit snidely. Ginny, beaming triumphantly as she pulled a handful of sharp darts from the drawer completely ignored the tone on her editor's voice.

“Do you have news for me then, LG?” Gloria changed gears abruptly, her voice growing crisp and businesslike as she started clicking her fuchsia nails one at a time against her desk.

Ginny chuckled as she heard the beginning of the nail-clicking and clucked her tongue in slight reproof.

“So impatient, Gloria,” she scolded. “You know what they say: patience is a virtue,” Ginny said, spreading the darts on her desk and picking a particularly sharp one.

Narrowing her eyes, she eyed her objective and aimed carefully. With a loud zing! the dart flew through the air and imbedded itself in Ginny's study door; effectively piercing the—now enlarged—nose of a black moustachioed Draco Malfoy. Ginny felt a surge of childish pleasure at the scribbled face of her childhood enemy. The ridiculously enlarged ears gave her inner five-year-old a flush of pride.

“—LG…LG!” Gloria's exasperated voice came through the line and Ginny rolled her eyes as she was diverted from her current entertainment.

“What?” Ginny snapped.

“What? What! I'm not the one who called.”

“Yes, well, you don't have my number, do you?” And Ginny had made damn sure of that. Even though it was a muggle artefact, the mobile had been charmed—courtesy of the twins—to block its number from being displayed.

“It better be good, LG, we need it soon. We need to see some action or you'll find your cute little arse busted into the street,” Gloria sneered. “You're late as it is. We're two days from publishing the magazine, with or without your valuable contribution.”

And now Ginny remembered just why she hated this witch. Smug little slave-driver. She still didn't understand why in Hades Bill had actually dated her. If there was one witch who was totally oblivious to her undesirability, it would be Gloria Whitman Preston. From the red glasses that hung around her neck, to the white-blond hair that came straight from a potion vial and to the generous bosom that spilled over tight suits, courtesy of Knock Up Your Knockers, Gloria wasn't really a winning candidate for Miss Wonderful Witch of the Year.

Molly had threatened suicide when Bill brought Gloria home to `meet the family.' It had been a total disaster, destined to perfect failure since the very beginning. There was no way a girl would survive one of the twin's Guppy Gas Bombs for the Gorges (which were still under testing), no matter how much love she professed. Much less if she sprouted canary feathers. The relationship had ended soon after that, crushed under Bill's classy dragon hide boots. To him, family came first; but that didn't mean Gloria would dare step into the Charmed Wand again ever.

Needless to say, since Gloria was hardly fond of the surname Weasley, Ginny had had to work her arse off to become anything more than a courier at WW.

“LG! Are you hearing me at all? I have a meeting in less than five minutes, stop fannying around…dear,” Gloria threw in the endearment as an afterthought, probably thinking that it would soften up her statement.

“Weeell,” Ginny drew out the word, giving a theatrical sigh. “I guess we can talk later if there is something more important than your front page. I was only thinking about the price this article deserves…though if you don't want it, I have this great offer from Glam Witch…” she let herself trail off, waiting to see if Gloria would snap the bait.

“No!” Ginny had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as she heard how Gloria cleared her throat and tried to compose herself. “How much do you want now?”

“Now, now, Gloria, you can't rush greatness,” she scolded.

“Of course I can, LG. I want it in the next edition of WW and Hart still has to go through it.”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny asked in a scandalized tone. “You had better not be planning to ship off my precious baby to that blabbering mouth. When has a spiffy work of mine passed through an editor's hands?” She grinned as she heard the clicking start again double time, and Gloria's tired sigh.

Ginny could picture her boss perfectly: right hand holding her mobile a bit too far away from her face as she crossed and uncrossed her legs in an effort to keep herself from snapping at her highest rainmaker. Carelessly, Ginny propped up her mobile with her left shoulder and sent another dart flying into the moving picture that was now scowling deeply at her. This time it inserted itself in Malfoy's large right ear.

“How much, LG?” Gloria repeated sharply.

“Oh, we'll see, love, we'll see.” Ginny clicked her mobile shut and heaved a deep sigh.

“You're going to make me filthy rich, Ferret.”

Draco Malfoy only stared.

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