Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter.
Written for the Occasion-a-Day Competition/Challenge. September 25 Prompt: Write about an ambitious character.
"That's amazing!" Gilderoy gasped, a theatrically-splayed hand in a dramatic swoop over his chest. "What did you do next?"
The slightly gap-toothed witch across the table grinned.
"Well the dragon was stunned then, right," she continued. "So I took my wand and blasted the wall above it, and there you go."
"Brilliant," Gilderoy said admiringly. "Was the dragon dead then?"
"Nah, just out cold," the witch shrugged, taking another long pull of her firewhiskey. "Left it trussed up for the dragon handlers."
"Surely you didn't just leave," Gilderoy protested, but the witch (Veronica to everyone else, Ronnie to her friends) nodded.
"What's the point of sticking around? Didn't want to take the chance of the blasted thing waking up," she chuckled.
They chatted for a few minutes more before Gilderoy made a production out of looking at his pocket-watch.
"I'm so sorry," he apologised. "I really must be getting back. May I walk you home?"
"Sure," Ronnie said, draining the last of her drink and drawing her cloak around her. In another world, Gilderoy reflected, he'd be finagling for an invitation inside. The gap in her front teeth notwithstanding, Ronnie was quite pretty (although not nearly as pretty as he was), and she had definite curves hidden beneath the shapeless robes. But he had other business-
The streets were deserted, and Gilderoy held his wand loosely under his cloak, ready for the appropriate moment.
"Here it is," Ronnie said, pointing to her own front door, up a short flight of steps and recessed. Gilderoy grinned. Perfect.
"Thank you, love," he said sincerely, the tip of his wand suddenly at her temple. She blinked at him, going for her own wand, but it was too late.
"Obliviate," he whispered. His publisher was going to love the story of how he'd defeated a Welsh Green preying on the populace in this remote village, they really were...
