– Chapter one –
I sat in the large leather chair and folded my hands together, trying to stop myself from fiddling with my hair. The vast oak table in front of me spanned off into the distance, littered with my business plan. On the other side of desk sat a goblin in a considerably larger and more ornate leather chair than the one I sat in. His long gnarled fingers were steepled together and he was making low muttering noises as he flipped through my work.
I'd been in the office for near enough two hours already. Most of that time had been spent sat in silence, waiting. It was only sheer fear of the goblin that was preventing me throwing a toddler tantrum and demanding he'd hurry the hell up. That, and I wanted to make a good impression.
I glanced around myself again just to confirm nothing exciting had sprung up in the short time I'd not looked. The office was still the same; wood panelled walls, various framed paintings and certificates, a set of gold scales with little gold weights. Lit by a chandelier. Filled with one grumpy goblin and one bored me.
Four hours later I was back in my (and when I say 'my', I mean rented and shared with three other people) house in Hogsmeade. Only one of my housemates was home, and it was my least favourite housemate to boot. Katie Jenkins was a nice enough girl, I guess, but she worried incessantly about things no one needs to worry about. And she thought I was a drippy airheaded pure-blooded princess, which quite simply isn't true. And she was scared of me, which just rubbed me up the wrong way.
Still. We got along face to face, and bitched about each other later.
"Tea?" Katie offered me, clearly noticing the look on my face.
"Earl grey, please." I begged as I dumped my bag down on the kitchen table and flopped into one of the wooden kitchen chairs. The familiar groan and thud of our red front door closing blocked out the howling gale I'd just faced to get home.
Katie flicked her wand at the ancient Aga, heating the hotplate on top that the kettle sat on, then bustled over to one of the cupboards, swinging open the chipped cream door and reaching in to get two mugs out. I watched her listlessly, composing a letter in my head to send to my parents.
By the time I'd mapped out 'Dear Wretchedly Unhelpful Parents, the goblins are bastards, love (but not very much of it) clearly your least-favourite child, Cynthia xx', Katie was done with the tea.
"Trying to tell me something?" I snarked, eyeing the Hufflepuff emblem on the mug she'd given me.
In defence of the mug, it had been painted by Klaus, one of our other housemates. Klaus was nothing short of an artistic genius, and all of our crockery had been painted by him, all in Hogwarts theme. I suppose it was his little tribute to the coincidence that between the four of us we represented each of the Hogwarts Houses.
Katie shrugged, sipping her own tea from a Ravenclaw mug. "Didn't think it would bother you, but I can change it if you want. I don't mind doing the extra washing up if it matters so much to you."
I shook my head. Dratted Puffers (and Katie was the worst type of Puffer) and their passive aggressive mugs.
Later that evening I was slumming it out in my room, waiting for a reply from my parents. As with most rental properties, it was in our rental agreement that we couldn't change anything about the property. My room was an excellent example of why picking rooms out of a hat is an awful idea. If we'd drawn straws for rooms, mine would have been the short one.
It wasn't a bad size, although all of the rooms in the house were small and cute, fitting with the cottage style all the houses in Hogsmeade had. That was pretty much the only good thing going for it. The walls were a faded and migrane-inducing flower pattern. The wooden floorboards were old and cracked, covered by a rug you wouldn't have wished upon a house-elf. The bed was an old wrought iron frame with a lumpy mattress, pushed up against one of the two windows so it was bitterly cold in the winter and too light to sleep in during summer (thank you, moth-eaten curtains). The wardrobe, dresser and bedside table all looked like once upon a time they'd been an elegant mahogany set, but that was before they got eaten and shat out again by an angry Chinese Fireball. I had a mirror, propped up on the dresser, but good luck seeing yourself through the murk.
The most infuriating thing about where I lived wasn't its poor state, or the annoyance involved with living with a Hufflepuff as puffy as Katie, or even living with Klaus who liked to paint you when you weren't paying attention. No, the worst was having all these amazing ideas in my head of how I could make it better. I'd love a house to renovate, and I was living in the ideal renovation project, not allowed to so much as change the curtains.
Finally a tap on the window announced my owl's return. I let her back in, untying the scroll from her leg. She ruffled her feathers then swooped off again into the darkness, no doubt heading for the Forest, looking for a mouse or two.
Darling Cynthia,
Oh good Merlin, preserve me from Mother's cursive script.
She asked how I was. She asked after Klaus, Katie and Jonathan. She asked if I'd found a lovely young man to settle down with. She even mentioned that my darling younger sister had just passed her apperation license test.
Father's slooping scrawl took over:
Darling, there's nothing anyone can do about goblins. Why don't you try getting a loan from one of those muggle banks? You only need send me an owl if there's any advice I can give you.
Ha! Get a loan from a muggle bank?! I can see how that would go. 'So you want to start a business, hmm? Making people beautiful using magic, you say? Mmhhmmm. Sure, here's £100,000. No no, don't worry about paying us back!'
Yeah. No.
Why wouldn't Father just bankroll it for me?! Just to get it set up? I'd pay him back. I could just dip into my inheritance a little early. He wouldn't be losing anything. Dammnit parents are unhelpful. I know it sounds like I'm being the brat Katie thinks I am, but think about it. The money's there anyway. One day it'll be mine anyway. This business is something I've been dreaming of and working towards since my OWLs, and now I couldn't achieve it simply because I wasn't allowed to use the money I already had!
I skimmed the rest of the letter, and tossed it into the bin that sat at the corner between the wardrobe and the wall. The front door groaned then slammed, and Klaus and Jon's voices filled our little cottage.
I hurried back downstairs and beamed at my two remaining housemates. I suppose if they were mediocre, Katie would be my favourite. But they're not. They're both pretty damned awesome, and Jon had been my best friend since second year of Hogwarts.
"Hey Cyn." They both greeted. They were in the process of unwinding scarves, finite-ing warming charms and shrugging coats onto the backs of our kitchen chairs. Both of them worked in Diagon Alley, though at opposite ends. Probably for the best, considering how bored of each other they would get otherwise.
Klaus had a small, vaguely dusty studio, lit by tall shop windows at the front and a roaring fire at the back. Mostly he painted people for magical portraits, but he also took memory commissions and bigger events like weddings or such. His work was second to none, and if it weren't for his refusal to paint people he didn't like and his extortionate prices, he'd put all the other artists right out of business. As it was, he bumbled along comfortably, happy to stay living with us even if he could maybe afford somewhere better.
Jon was a junior underling at the biggest law firm in magical Britain. He swears he's making a difference, representing clients pro bono until his troll of a boss decides him worthy of paying, but mostly I figure he makes coffee and fetches the post. A lot like a very dapper house elf in a suit. If Klaus is financially comfortable, Jon is a rent's worth away from a financial stinging hex to the bollocks.
Later that evening the four of us sat round the aged wood table in the kitchen, having dinner. Klaus had chattered away about 'this ghastly woman' who came in demanding to be painted thinner than she was.
"It's a crime." He bemoaned. "A crime, I tell you. Jon, you'd know these things. It's illegal to butcher art, isn't it? Probably comes under murder somewhere. Section 43 paragraph 7, 'never butcher art'."
Jon looked up from his lasagne (I'm a good cook. Just sayin', y'know) and rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, real crime you've got yourself there."
"You're no fun anymore, Walker."
Jon snorted and glared over at Klaus "And you're a raging gay, Hildgrim, if we're stating facts."
Klaus's mop of brown curls flopped as he threw his head back and roared with laughter. He pulled a pouty face at Jon with a wink.
"Lonely, big boy?"
Jon fluttered his eyelashes and leant towards Klaus "Maybe I am. It gets cold in that lumpy, shitty bed of mine."
"I knew I could drag you to the dark side." Klaus laughed, and returned to his lasagne.
Truth was, Jon's bed was never cold (for all it was lumpy and shitty). If it wasn't for my (apparently scary) presence, I don't doubt he'd have a different girl in there each night. As it was, he restricted himself to one or two a week. Mostly. I couldn't blame the girls; Jon was a reasonably good-looking guy who had the kind of personality that just drew people to him. All through Hogwarts, everyone was convinced we were sleeping together. A couple of times we did, but as good as the sex was, neither of us wanted to end up with each other. Being married to Jon would be like being married to your pet dog.
As far as I knew, Katie was the only girl to ever say no to him. Maybe she got the Labrador vibe off him too.
"You got any stories from work?" Katie asked, pointing her fork at Jon.
Jon chewed as he thought, swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, actually. Had some famous people in today, you'll never guess who."
"Voldemort?" I offered
Jon sent me a withering glare. "Funnily enough, no. It was the Potters! The whole lot – Harry, Ginny, James, Albus and Lily. I nearly asked for their autographs then remembered James stole my spot on the Gryffindor quidditch team and didn't bother."
Not that Jon holds a grudge or anything.
"What were they in for?" Klaus asked, looking nosey. Klaus has had a serious fan adoration for the family ever since he painted them a year ago. "Nothing bad, I hope?"
Ok, so I know client confidentiality, bla bla bla. But it wasn't like we'd go telling anyone. And Jon has to vent about these things. We're basically his shrink.
Jon had long since gotten over trying to keep things from us anyway.
"James was being stalked," Jon admitted, reaching a large hand out to snag a couple more slices of garlic bread, "By that crazy girl a couple of years below us, Dorothy Peerce. Black hair, Slytherin?"
I vaguely remembered Dotty. She'd been one of those irritating kids who thought they were cool with their spell-straightened hair and badly applied muggle make up. She'd followed me round for a couple of years wanting to be as popular as me, and then mutinied and called me a bitch in the middle of an after-quidditch party when she was in fifth year.
"Well anyway, she dated James for no more than a few months and then he ended it, and now she spends her free time stalking him trying to get him back. So far she's not done anything worse than break in and terrify the Potter house-elf into giving up James's underwear, but the Potters don't want it to get any worse."
We all snickered over the thought of it. I mean seriously, how low could you stoop? James Potter was a good looking, quidditch playing famous guy, sure. But breaking into his house to steal his undies? Some girls have no class.
"This is the third restraining order James has had to get." Jon elaborated "Poor guy. Imagine if my family insisted on legally restraining all the girls who wanted me? I'd have to go live as a monk somewhere."
"Think of all the money you'd save on contraception potions." Katie piped up "Might be good for your financial situation."
Jon had the good grace to go pink around the ears. "You sure know how to hit a guy where it hurts, Jenkins."
Katie just smiled and asked if anyone minded if she had seconds of the lasagne.