There was nothing more in the world that Gigi Peyton Meyer enjoyed more than order. Order, organization, and management, that was Gigi's motto.

Every morning, Gigi would wake up at precisely 6:30. She would make her bed, and then walk from her bedroom, down the portrait-lined hallway, and into her completely spotless, all-white tile bathroom. She would take a five-minute shower, careful to use only a quarter-sized squirt of her cucumber shampoo and conditioner. After precisely five minutes has passed, she would briskly shave her legs and underarms, and then step out of the shower, careful to wrap her body in one of the thick, blue towels that sat on the warming rack next to the sink. Gigi would then methodically brush her teeth, careful to scrub in between her molars and scrub her tongue. After, Gigi would blow-dry her hair, careful to curl the ends of her chic, sleek, black bob around her thin jaw, framing her face. Once she was sure that her hair was smooth and her bangs were combed, Gigi would apply her make-up. When she was done, she would put on a robe and return to her room, dropping the used towel in the basket in her closet. Gigi would then open one of the drawers to the massive dresser than sat in the corner of her closet. She would carefully select a lace bra and underwear set, and then put on a simple, silk shirt and a slimming black pencil skirt that reached her knees.

Gigi would then browse through her jewelry and shoes. Louboutin, Dior, Chanel, she had it all. As far as Gigi was concerned, the way you looked, what you wore, signified how much you were worth. How much you were worth signified your power in the workplace. Gigi would usually put on a pair of sky-high black heels, a simple piece of silver jewelry.

Then, after making her bed, Gigi would head down to her sanitized, Italian inspired kitchen. She would reach in a cupboard and grab a box of granola. Carefully, she would measure out a ½ cup of the cereal and pour in just the smallest bit of skim milk. She would chew carefully, making sure to grind the granola to bits, chomping down twenty-four times before swallowing. After she was finished, she would brush her teeth one more. She would then grab her wand (12 ½ in, made of yew and the hair of a unicorn) and place it carefully in her purse. She would put on her long, tan trench coat, carefully button it up and walk straight into the living room fireplace, arriving to the Ministry of Magic fifteen minutes before she was due for work.

This was routine was no different on the day of September 2. However, Gigi had a spring in her step. Because this was her day. Gigi had been working at the Ministry of Magic for three years now, under the wing of Alicia Reynolds, the publicist for the Minister. But Alicia, at age 65, had decided to retire, leaving the position of publicist open. And Gigi just knew, she had a gut feeling, that she would get the job. Who would be better? Absolutely no one. You see, Gigi was just as orderly at her job as she was in her personal life. Everything Gigi did she did with extraordinary grace. She was punctual, polite, sometimes demanding, but overall, the perfect employee.

So on September 2, Gigi went about her morning routine with a smile on her face.

On September 2, Harry Potter woke up disoriented. He woke up to the sound of his neighbors arguing. Old Mr. and Mrs. Avett, who lived across the street, got in a fight every morning, usually over the coffee Mrs. Avett had forgotten to brew. Harry screwed up his eyes as the shrieks of Mrs. Avett began to float through his bedroom window, and then yawned. He reached out and groped alongside his nightstand, before his hands fell upon his glasses, which he shoved onto his face. Blearily, Harry looked at his alarm clock, which read seven-thirty. Harry shouted out a rather vulgar exclamation, shot out from bed and to his closet, quickly dressing in his work robes. He slipped on his gold watch, a birthday present he received three years ago, and shoved his feet into a shiny pair of black-leather shoes, his personal favorite. In an attempt to look professional, Harry stopped in front of the mirror that hung above the bathroom sink. He ran his head under the water, and then combed his fingers through his black hair, trying to get it to lay flat. Rather, his hair just stuck up even more, giving him the appearance of being slightly deranged. With no time to eat, Harry ran down the hallway into his study. He grabbed his wand off the handsome, mahogany desk that sat beside a large, bay window, and grabbed a briefcase that sat on a rather battered leather chair. He threw green powder into the fireplace, and shouted a name as he stepped into the warm flame.

September 2 wasn't only Gigi's day. No, though it might not have been apparent, it was Harry's day as well. Harry had finally graduated from his further education, and today, he was officially beginning work as the head of the Auror Department. He felt slightly nervous, and truth be told, he couldn't believe he was really capable of running the department.

By the time Harry arrived at the Ministry, Gigi was already five floors above the entrance, in the Minister's Office.

"Hello, Sir," she greeted the Minister as he settled down in his desk chair. "I brought you your coffee, two sugars and no cream." Gigi handed Kinglsey the cardboard cup. He took a sip, and then nodded appreciatively.

"The American work ethic," he noted in his slow, strong voice. "Good to have you around, Gigi."

"Thank you, Minister." Gigi smiled brightly. "Now, I arranged a press conference for you at three 'o clock today. The Prophet and Witch Weekly, all the press outlets will be there-"

"Uh, Gigi?" Kingsley asked, trying to interrupt, but Gigi kept chatting away, going down her list of notes.

"Now, they're going to want to know about the outbreak of Wizard Pox. It's killed six people in London already, not to mention the hundreds of others. They're calling it a major epidemic, Sir. The cure St. Mungo's has been administering hasn't been working, but you would know that." Gigi placed a thick manila envelope on the Minister's desk. "It's all in there, Sir."

"Gigi!" Kingsley suddenly said, interjecting loudly. Gigi abruptly closed her jaw and blushed. Kingsley smiled slightly, and Gigi's heart skipped a beat. Could this be it? Was her promotion here? "Gigi," Kinglsey began. "You are truly a talented employee. Certainly the best publicist we've had in years."

Gigi nodded in acknowledgment, fighting a smug smile from breaking out across her face.

"And I appreciate everything you do, since you do it perfectly. And I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"What?" Gigi asked, holding a hand to her heart. "Are you retiring, Sir? You're the best Minister we've ever had, Sir."

"No, no, though I do appreciate that." Kinglsey sighed deeply. "We're transferring you, Gigi."

Gigi nearly dropped her cup of coffee.

"What?" She asked, her voice going up an octave.

"We're transferring you." Kingsley laced his fingers and placed them on top of his desk. "You know that Harry Potter starts work here today. It's a big deal, his start at the Ministry. There's no doubt that every media outlet will be focused on him. That's why we need you on his case. I can handle my own affairs from here out."

"But-" Gigi sputtered, shaking her head. "I'm not getting promoted?"

"Well, I…" Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "In a way, you are. Though you won't be working for me, you will be working for a top Ministry Official. You'll be the only publicist at the Ministry."

"But…" Gigi began. But under Kingsley's soft but intense stare, Gigi fell quiet. "Yes Sir. Thank you."

"That's what I like to hear, Gigi," Kinsley said. He took the file she had placed on his desk and opened it, flipping through the papers. "You can go down there now. We've set up an office for you."

Gigi nodded and left the office, trying hard to keep her composure. Promotion her Pilates-toned ass! She had been demoted.

Meanwhile, Harry had just arrived at the Auror Headquarters.

"Harry," someone said. Harry, to busy taking in the office, looking at the multiple maps and cubicles, with the fluorescent lighting casting bright, flying papers into sight. "Harry!"

Harry shook out of his stupor to see his predecessor, Gawain Robards, approaching him. Gawain had a box in his hands, but placed it under his elbow in order to shake Harry's hand.

"Hi, Gawain," Harry greeted him.

"Come on back," Gawain told him, walking back towards his office, which was now Harry's. The walls were now bare, save for a map of England and a window. The desk was completely clean and there are two wood chairs that sit in front of the desk. "First order of business, you have a few new employees on hand, and you might want to give some kind of speech. I know that everyone's eager to listen to you, seeing as you're Harry Potter."

"Right," Harry said quietly.

"Also, you need to set up a meeting with your publicist. Miss Meyers is going to be basically your assistant in certain areas, managing the public appearances and media things…ah, there she is now." Gawain pointed out the door with his chubby finger. Upon seeing her, Harry dropped his briefcase.

She walked into the area as if she owned it, her high-heels clacking against the wood floor. She checked her watch impatiently, and then pushed her purse higher on her shoulder. Harry watched her; mesmerized by the way her hips swung slightly as she walked. Unconsciously, Harry noticed that he was gaping while looking at her. But conscious Harry made no effort to shut his jaw, but continued to stare at her.

"Miss Meyers!" Gawain called, and she began to walk towards the office. Harry quickly tried to straighten his tie and flatten his hair.

"Gigi, please," she murmured Gawain with a smile. "I've told you a thousand times, its just Gigi." She turned to Harry, and her expression changed. It's colder, more business like, and even vulture-like.

"Harry," Harry introduced himself, sticking out his hand. "Harry Potter."

"I know," she replied, shaking his hand with just three of her fingers, as if she couldn't bear to touch him. "I'm Gigi, your new…" she stopped, cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. "Your new publicist."

"Well," Gawain said, rubbing his hands together. "Now that introductions are done, I'm sure Harry would love a tour of the department. Gigi, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Gigi said, smiling at Gawain. But when he turned around, Harry saw Gigi's smile turn into a frown. She turned to Harry, her eyes dark and unsmiling. "Come with me," she said, rather rudely. Harry, still entranced by her beauty, followed without a word.

He would have followed her to the end of the world, if she had asked him to.