November 2005
My name is Jack Lovelace, and yes, I am the man who got Night Bus worker Stan Shunpike hitched to Quidditch star and famous beauty Cho Chang last year. I also did a lot of other remarkable things in my illustrious matchmaking career, like changing my name three times, avoiding criminal justice, learning to make a delicious rosemary chicken, and of course, finding true love myself. The following is my personal logbook from last year. I must warn you to read on at your own risk, my story does indeed include all my expert matchmaker's, ahem, I mean relationship consultant's, secrets, but it also includes Rita Skeeter, dangerous relationship advice, and many acts of violence and extremity such as pushing, teasing, slapping, verbal abusing, cajoling, sneering, kissing, … You have been warned.
The Professional Notebook of Draco Malfoy, Relationship Consultant
Notes:
1.This is not a diary. To my knowledge, diaries are personal accounts of tragic love written by sobbing girls ages thirteen to twenty-four. This is a professional notebook, and it is for work purposes only.
2. It is also not a journal. Journals are almost always stories of difficult childhoods written by self-righteous old men.
3. Note to self: Buy new tie. Something in blue silk would go splendidly with my spruce dress shirt.
October 6th 2004
I am now absolutely convinced that it is my lifelong fate to be surrounded by idiots. Most of my father's associates were idiots, or at least idiots to be duped by him. Most of said associates' children were idiots too. I don't recall having any trouble manipulating or bullying them. Then came my school days. My closest friends (if the term can be applied) were also known as Hogwart's resident numbskulls, namely Crabbe and Goyle.
The war came next and there were plenty of idiots on both sides. I mean, look at their leaders. The Boy who Lived to be a Pathetic Waste of Oxygen and Old Shifty Eyes Snake-man. Given the choice between the two, I'd probably flip a coin… Scratch that, I actually iwas/i given the choice between the two and suppose my long dormant conscience (or my well honed survival instinct) interfered and I ended up helping the Four Eyed Moron. I spied, ratted out, confronted, and testified against every one of Snake man's little groupies, including some close relatives.
And what do I get in return? Am I thanked for my selfless efforts? Hah, St. Potter firmly believes that mercy and forgiveness only apply to those who weren't sorted into Slytherin. My appearance was slightly modified, my name was changed, and I was put into the Ministry's Wizarding Witness Protection Program. They claimed that my dear old Aunt Bella was still on the loose with a promise to forcibly separate my beautiful head from my perfect body, but I'm fairly certain that it was the Potter who picked every one of my new identities.
Just in case your wondering, they all involved idiots. My first new identity, Aidan Felicis, curse breaker, didn't sound that bad. Until I discovered that tomb robbers are all idiots, idiots with dangerous magical booby traps and reanimated mummies. Eventually I gave myself away by drawing money from a private Malfoy account to pay all my hospital bills.
Next I was an assistant healer in the Spell Damage ward of St. Mungo's, and after that I was a used cauldron salesman. Needless to say, both went disastrously. My shortest identity of all was a waiter at the Three Broomsticks. I don't think I'll ever know what possessed that intoxicated house elf to call me a Death Eater… Anyway, when I ended up in the Wizengamot offices, again, I finally managed to convince them to let me choose my latest identity. There were only a few options that worked with my background (or at least that's what they said), so I picked the one that sounded most appealing.
That's right, I ichose/i to be Jack Lovelace, relationship consultant. Never fear, I am still surrounded by idiots, but now most of those idiots pay ime/i to criticize ithem/i. It's a nice little setup.
For example one such idiot came in to my office this morning. "A Mr. Bidleigh to see you," said my secretary, Dennis Creevy, another idiot in my life, and one of the few who does not pay me to criticize them.
"Send him in Creevy," I answered without looking up. I was drawing a picture of the suit I was going to order at Madam Malkins tomorrow. It had silver cufflinks.
Rob Bidleigh peeked through open door, apparently decided I did not look life threatening, and darted into the room. He had a curly brown hair and a nervous, slumping look about the shoulders. I stood up from my desk and held out a hand to him. He was one of those people whose hands start shaking before they actually shake hands. We'd have to work on that.
"Oh, It's such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lovelace!" said Bidleigh when I offered him a chair. "I've heard such good things about you?"
"You have?" I hadn't really established my remarkable reputation yet.
"Well not really," admitted Bidleigh, "But it seemed like such a polite thing to say!"
Honesty problems, I jotted down next to the picture of the three piece suit.
"What seems to be your problem Mr. Bidleigh?" I said in my most professional tone. The fact that I had recently acquired a pair of sexy reading glasses helped this tone a lot.
"There's this girl." I nodded soothingly. It's what they all say. "She's so beautiful, so smart, she's tall and she's got these long legs and this smile… We've been out a couple times, but sometimes I feel that she's not satisfied with me. Maybe it's my job? My appearance?"
iMaybe it's the fact that you twitch/i I thought, but then another idea came to my mind. "Mr. Bidleigh, how tall is this girl?"
Bidleigh did not believe in numbers, so he raised his hand to his forehead to indicate her height. "Just a little shorter than me."
"Hmm, I think I see the problem," I said. "Would you do me the favor of standing up?" I said. Bidleigh did so, and I followed suit. I examined his posture and the nodded in my most professional way. "You need to stand up straighter." I sat back down at the desk.
Bidleigh remained standing, "That's it? That's all?"
I smiled condescendingly. "The girl has been on several dates with you, so she clearly harbors some affection for you. However, in my experience, tall women are always suspicious of men who even appear to be shorter than they are. Subconsciously, your bad posture has driven the girl to distraction. Whereas if you placed both feet firmly on the ground," I motioned for him to do so, "put your shoulders back, and chin up, she will become completely enamored with you."
"But you don't stand up straight," he protested as I continue to correct his general tendency to slump.
"It's different. You slouch. I lean against things aristocratically and look comfortable and charming. You have to be a Mal-, I mean a Lovelace to pull it off."
Bidleigh looked at me as if I was speaking another language, but he swallowed whatever idiot comment he was about to make next. He spent the next few minutes practicing his new stance, after five of them he was able to cross the room without moving like an amoeba. "All right, looks good, get out of my office," I said.
"That's really the only advice you have for me?"
"It's the only advice you need," I promised.
"But-"
"I'll send you the bill," I said airily. I'd always wanted to say that. I watched him walk from the room looking like someone had lodged a steel pole into his vertebrae. I chuckled, even if this didn't work, it had still been pretty amusing.
"He left fast," said Creevy when he came in to deliver more notebook paper.
"Thanks to my incredible ability to pinpoint any problem."
"Whatever," said Creevy, dumping the paper on my desk. He didn't know I was Draco Malfoy of course, but he still didn't like me. As for myself I decided to put away my habitual Gryffindor/Slytherin animosity and feel only pity for the lad. I mean, what kind of self-respecting 21-year-old male who graduates at the top of his class wants to be a secretary?
But the prat had to shut up when a letter arrived from Mr. Bidleigh three days later. In order to keep the level of idiocy in this anecdote at a reasonable level I won't copy it down here. Suffice to say it contained a page long note of desperate gratitude and more importantly, a large amount of galleons. Despite my natural confidence, I have to admit this was the moment that I truly realized, This could actually work, this might actually be the job for me.
I didn't admit as much to Creevy. I paid him and gloated a bit. I leaned back in my chair and envisioned myself wearing that brand new suit, and maybe even having dinner at fancy restaurant. Believe me, not being rich is never very fun, but when you were raised with every comfort it's especially annoying.
"Well, Creevy, when is my next appointment?"
"If you'd take your feet off the desk you'd notice I left a schedule on it."
I gave him a Malfoy sneer just to show I was still in charge and then removed my feet.
"This says I've got an appointment at 9:30, that's five minutes from now."
Creevy shrugged, "That schedule's been on your desk for an hour."
"There's no name under the appointment."
"No, someone sent us a note. They didn't give a name. Very neat handwriting though." Creevy paused, "Do you suppose whoever it was won't come?"
"No they'll be here," I hurried to clean up my desk. "People with neat handwriting always come to their appointments."
Just then we heard a bell ring to indicate someone had come through the room. "Go to your desk and stall while I clean up!" Creevy nodded and dashed out the door. Apparently his stalling skills left something to be desired, because just as I had shoved my stubborn desk door closed my creaked open and some brown curls peeped through. The curls were followed by a face that plainly said I-am-much-cleverer-than-you and a rather wide smile.
Sweet Merlin, it was Granger.
"It was kind of you to make this appointment on such short notice," she said. You mean it was kind of my idiot secretary. I didn't even have time to offer her a chair before she sat down. Typical Granger.
Must not give myself away. "I do my best," I said. Must. Not. Give. Self. Away. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't." Right, of course she didn't. Smart one, Granger. "My name is Hermione Granger." Hmm, so it was still Granger. I was surprised, but oddly pleased that she wasn't a Potter or a Weasel.
"What can I do for you Ms. Granger?"
Then something strange happened. Granger smiled again, but not the wide smile I remembered from school days. Instead his lips curled up strangely and her eyes glowed. "I have a problem Mr. Lovelace," she leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand, "and I believe you can help me with it."
Hey, if you like this, check out my other story, The Ultimate Marriage Law Fic, it also ships Draco/Hermione! (and a lot of other people!)