Virginia's Secret
_________________
***The Legal Malarky:
1) We do not claim to own any portion of the Harry Potter franchise and do willingly acknowledge that ownership of that franchise belongs to J.K. Rowling [affiliated with TimeWarner, Bloomsbury, and Scholastic]. We do not intend this story for the purpose of making a profit.
2) The writing of this story is a colaborative effort made by regular members of christiancoulson.com. You can find us and this story at http://www.christiancoulson.com/cgi-bin/board/ikonboard.cgi. The member responsible for bring the group story about is Ausaims. [Complete list of chapter authors to appear below.]
3) We do not, in any way, intend for any comments relating to the character of Simon Cowell to in any way malign the character of the public figure of the same name.
4) Under no circumstances is this story to be reproduced or redistributed without the expressed written consent of these members of cc.com: Sampaguita, Angelamyte, Catriona, Hesaki, Ausaims, Lydia C, Ava, Ms.Poet, Voldie, and Mandragora.
Now without further gilding the lily and with no more ado we give you...
CHAPTER 1: Virginia's Secret
by Sampaguita (aka demisha969)
Draco Malfoy pressed the button beside the heavy metal door and heard the loud buzz from within the building. Above the entrance was a elegant placard bearing the moniker "Virginia's Secret," written in what looked like a fluid script hand. Several moments passed. He pushed the buzzer again, and met only silence. He pulled out his wand just as the door was pushed open.
"What do you want?"
The woman who answered the door was built like Attila the Hun. His eyes drifted to her forearm where a tattoo with RODNEY spelled out in blue letters resided in the center of a burgundy colored heart. Her presence seemed as apropos to a lingerie factory as the image of an American quarterback at a debutante ball. Draco felt sorry for Rodney— the poor little bugger. Was THIS the little Weasley he used to joke Potter about? Was it possible that the invisible little girl he knew at school had grown up to become roughly the size of a barge? The hair color was roughly the same—more strawberry blonde than the vibrant red he remembered.
"My name is Draco Malfoy. Are you Virginia Weasley?"
She tooted like a foghorn. Draco supposed that the sound was meant to be a gesture of mirth, but sounded a bit like a rampaging Godzilla. Then she spoke, "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"No. I'm a barrister for the Ministry. I'm looking for Ms. Weasley. Is she here?" He removed what looked like a wallet from his breast pocket and flashed his credentials.
That won him a scowled glare and a deliberately slow and distrustful once-over. "Follow me."
She led him to the stairwell. "Second floor," she told him before pushing him through and slamming the door behind him.
He climbed the stepsand opened the door to a carpeted, climate-controlled office that was exquisitely furnished, complete with a simpering receptionist who, upon noticing him, said "Mr. Malfoy?"
"That's me."
"Ms. Weasley is expecting you. Go right in."
She opened the door for him and stepped aside. He went in and received the next in a series of mild astonishments. He had expected to walk into a glamorous office that lived up to the expectations evoked by the reception area. In stead, this was a vast, functional working space. There were several drawing tables and three headless dress forms, a sewing machine, swatches of fabric, and a woman.
Seated on a high stool, bending over one of the tables with a pencil in hand, sat who he assumed was Ginny Weasley. As the door shut behind Draco, she raised her head and looked at him from behind a pair of trendy, but functional rectangle-framed plastic glasses. "Draco Malfoy?"
"Virginia Weasley?"
"Yeah, that's my name."
She wasn't what he'd expected. But then, what had he expected little Ginny Weasley to look like after all these years? Like Godzilla out there guarding the front? It hardly seemed like she and her bouncer belonged to the same species, much less the same gender. Her outfit was smart, comprised of a tailored blouse and trousers—but she exuded femininity in a way that her truck-driver-esque bouncer did not.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, extending her hand.
He took it. "Yes."
"Can I offer you anything to drink?"
"Nope. Thank you."
He gave her a subtle once-over. Immediately, he was able to ascertain several things about her. She was a working woman, and not overly concerned with feminine affectations and vanity. She was also a woman trying to hide her nervousness behind polite hospitality. Only the pulse beating at the base of her neck gave her away.
As his gaze left her throat, his eyes settled on a trinket hanging from a pale green silk chord around her neck. It took her a moment to realize exactly what he was looking at.
"It was a gift."
"What's in it?" The small vile lying against her chest contained a translucent, green liquid. "A bloody love potion?"
His gray eyes connected with hers in what seemed like an audible click. And, out of nowhere, Draco found himself wishing that he wasn't talking to her in an official capacity.
She uncapped the vile and blew bubbles. "It's just a whimsical distraction for when work gets me down… My cousin is a squib, and she likes to give me these amusing muggle trinkets. Why are you here?"
"Simon Cowell— GOP Congresswizard from the United States." Draco let the name settle between them, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet. She refused to pick it up, so he continued. "You heard about his murder?"
"Certainly. The Daily Prophet interviewed me about it not too long ago. Didn't you read the article?"
"No. When was this?"
"The day his body was found—a couple days ago. The reporters came to get my reaction."
"What do you know about the murder?" Draco asked.
"Only what I read in the newspapers, why?"
"Were you acquainted with Cowell?"
"Never met him."
"But he knew you," Draco said, dangerously. "Didn't he Ms. Weasley?"
"Only as the owner of Virginia's Secret—not personally. He's acquainted with my name… Which he's tried to make synonymous with the terms 'smut peddler' and 'pornographer.'"
"How did you feel about that?"
"How the f@#$ do you think I felt?"
"I'd say that you hated it."
"That pretty much covers it."
"Well, I guess the next question I've gotta ask is—What were you doing the night Simon Cowell was murdered?"
_________________
***The Legal Malarky:
1) We do not claim to own any portion of the Harry Potter franchise and do willingly acknowledge that ownership of that franchise belongs to J.K. Rowling [affiliated with TimeWarner, Bloomsbury, and Scholastic]. We do not intend this story for the purpose of making a profit.
2) The writing of this story is a colaborative effort made by regular members of christiancoulson.com. You can find us and this story at http://www.christiancoulson.com/cgi-bin/board/ikonboard.cgi. The member responsible for bring the group story about is Ausaims. [Complete list of chapter authors to appear below.]
3) We do not, in any way, intend for any comments relating to the character of Simon Cowell to in any way malign the character of the public figure of the same name.
4) Under no circumstances is this story to be reproduced or redistributed without the expressed written consent of these members of cc.com: Sampaguita, Angelamyte, Catriona, Hesaki, Ausaims, Lydia C, Ava, Ms.Poet, Voldie, and Mandragora.
Now without further gilding the lily and with no more ado we give you...
CHAPTER 1: Virginia's Secret
by Sampaguita (aka demisha969)
Draco Malfoy pressed the button beside the heavy metal door and heard the loud buzz from within the building. Above the entrance was a elegant placard bearing the moniker "Virginia's Secret," written in what looked like a fluid script hand. Several moments passed. He pushed the buzzer again, and met only silence. He pulled out his wand just as the door was pushed open.
"What do you want?"
The woman who answered the door was built like Attila the Hun. His eyes drifted to her forearm where a tattoo with RODNEY spelled out in blue letters resided in the center of a burgundy colored heart. Her presence seemed as apropos to a lingerie factory as the image of an American quarterback at a debutante ball. Draco felt sorry for Rodney— the poor little bugger. Was THIS the little Weasley he used to joke Potter about? Was it possible that the invisible little girl he knew at school had grown up to become roughly the size of a barge? The hair color was roughly the same—more strawberry blonde than the vibrant red he remembered.
"My name is Draco Malfoy. Are you Virginia Weasley?"
She tooted like a foghorn. Draco supposed that the sound was meant to be a gesture of mirth, but sounded a bit like a rampaging Godzilla. Then she spoke, "Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"No. I'm a barrister for the Ministry. I'm looking for Ms. Weasley. Is she here?" He removed what looked like a wallet from his breast pocket and flashed his credentials.
That won him a scowled glare and a deliberately slow and distrustful once-over. "Follow me."
She led him to the stairwell. "Second floor," she told him before pushing him through and slamming the door behind him.
He climbed the stepsand opened the door to a carpeted, climate-controlled office that was exquisitely furnished, complete with a simpering receptionist who, upon noticing him, said "Mr. Malfoy?"
"That's me."
"Ms. Weasley is expecting you. Go right in."
She opened the door for him and stepped aside. He went in and received the next in a series of mild astonishments. He had expected to walk into a glamorous office that lived up to the expectations evoked by the reception area. In stead, this was a vast, functional working space. There were several drawing tables and three headless dress forms, a sewing machine, swatches of fabric, and a woman.
Seated on a high stool, bending over one of the tables with a pencil in hand, sat who he assumed was Ginny Weasley. As the door shut behind Draco, she raised her head and looked at him from behind a pair of trendy, but functional rectangle-framed plastic glasses. "Draco Malfoy?"
"Virginia Weasley?"
"Yeah, that's my name."
She wasn't what he'd expected. But then, what had he expected little Ginny Weasley to look like after all these years? Like Godzilla out there guarding the front? It hardly seemed like she and her bouncer belonged to the same species, much less the same gender. Her outfit was smart, comprised of a tailored blouse and trousers—but she exuded femininity in a way that her truck-driver-esque bouncer did not.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, extending her hand.
He took it. "Yes."
"Can I offer you anything to drink?"
"Nope. Thank you."
He gave her a subtle once-over. Immediately, he was able to ascertain several things about her. She was a working woman, and not overly concerned with feminine affectations and vanity. She was also a woman trying to hide her nervousness behind polite hospitality. Only the pulse beating at the base of her neck gave her away.
As his gaze left her throat, his eyes settled on a trinket hanging from a pale green silk chord around her neck. It took her a moment to realize exactly what he was looking at.
"It was a gift."
"What's in it?" The small vile lying against her chest contained a translucent, green liquid. "A bloody love potion?"
His gray eyes connected with hers in what seemed like an audible click. And, out of nowhere, Draco found himself wishing that he wasn't talking to her in an official capacity.
She uncapped the vile and blew bubbles. "It's just a whimsical distraction for when work gets me down… My cousin is a squib, and she likes to give me these amusing muggle trinkets. Why are you here?"
"Simon Cowell— GOP Congresswizard from the United States." Draco let the name settle between them, throwing down the proverbial gauntlet. She refused to pick it up, so he continued. "You heard about his murder?"
"Certainly. The Daily Prophet interviewed me about it not too long ago. Didn't you read the article?"
"No. When was this?"
"The day his body was found—a couple days ago. The reporters came to get my reaction."
"What do you know about the murder?" Draco asked.
"Only what I read in the newspapers, why?"
"Were you acquainted with Cowell?"
"Never met him."
"But he knew you," Draco said, dangerously. "Didn't he Ms. Weasley?"
"Only as the owner of Virginia's Secret—not personally. He's acquainted with my name… Which he's tried to make synonymous with the terms 'smut peddler' and 'pornographer.'"
"How did you feel about that?"
"How the f@#$ do you think I felt?"
"I'd say that you hated it."
"That pretty much covers it."
"Well, I guess the next question I've gotta ask is—What were you doing the night Simon Cowell was murdered?"