Disclaimer: I am not Jo. And I don't own the series. More's the pity…

The idea just came to me during one of the very few moments when I actually got the time to read my whole Being Them story. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

"This poor girl, what is she going to do now?"

"I don't know, maybe have a life, just for a change?"

"Meagan!" The first voice sounded shocked.

The younger old woman didn't bat an eyelid. "Come on, Julia, you know that he had turned her all but a slave. Can you put your hand on your heart and tell me that she won't be better off without him?"

Rhea Walters could hear them pretty fine, but she didn't even have the strength to get angry. The last days of her father and then the arrangements for the funeral had left her so exhausted that she didn't even feel grief. The only thought in her head was to go to her bedroom, collapse on her bed and sleep for at least a week.

For the first week, she got her wish. There was no waking in the middle of the night because of a sudden worsening of her father's condition, no necessity to read to him aloud, while all she wanted to do was sleep, no running around Diagon-Alley with a whole list of things that her father needed urgently all of a sudden.

There was nothing at all.

It was strange to remember how badly she had wanted her freedom and realize that now, when she had it, it was of no use to her at all. Sure, the whims of an old, elderly man had been hard to live with, ut at least then Rhea's life had had some meaning. Now she was thirty-one and she knew nothing about life, nothing at all.

It was such a precipice that lay in front of her. And she was afraid. She could postpone it at least a little by sleeping off her grief and telling herself that she needed just another day before it started.

Then, one day she woke up by the rays of the rising sun and filled with sudden energy, she started checking the bills for the maintenance of the house, for her father's potions and medicines, for the last few months when the two of them had had no time to deal with calculations and living within their means.

The result left her speechless. She was worse off than she had previously thought. Far worse off. If she didn't find a way to fill the holes within her finances, she would have to move out of the house… soon.

Well, Rhea told herself, I won't panic. I will find a solution. If I want to turn into a normal woman, it's time to get started anyway. And, by Merlin's name, I will become one – no matter what.

Her first action was to flip through the pages of all copies of Daily Prophet that she had not read during the last week. The first add caught her attention immediately – a small enterprise that was looking for… in the Muggle world, it would be called accountant. Rhea was good with numbers. She wasn't too sociable, she didn't know how to relate to people and she had certainly never worked a day in her life, but she was good with numbers. She had run her parents' finances for years and as they grew older and queerer, it was mainly due to her efforts that they had a house to live in and a budget relevant to their small income.

Rhea took a piece of parchment and wrote a few words. Crossing her fingers, she tied it to the leg of Mercury, the old owl, and let him fly.

The answer came in bare minutes. "Are you free to come around? Now?"

And that was how Rhea went into one of the intersections of Diagon-Alley – a small, quiet street with bushes and trees. The air smelled of snow and freshness and the white scene in front of her made her feel a strange surge of – renewal? No, that was not right. Renewal was for young girls, not colourless loners like her who didn't know how to live, let alone live again. Anyway, she felt more vital than she had in years. Her pace quickened, her face flushed with the nice effort, the cold and the pleasant feeling swelling inside her and the passers-by stopped staring at her as if she were some audacity – now, she had forgotten to feel out of place and people felt it.

She looked at every window display to make sure that she wouldn't miss the one she was looking for, but as soon as she saw it, she realized that she might as well have not bothered – there was no way to mistake Glamour for anything else and there was practically no chance that she would miss it: the bright colours of the shop windows, the vials, lotions and potions, as well as fantastic clothes grabbed the attention of everyone. Inside, the space was bustling with consultant and visitors, all smiling and chatting. Rhea hesitated on the doorstep, unsure as where she should go now – there had been no room or name in the note delivered by the owl.

"Excuse me – " she addressed the woman who stood nearest to her. "I am looking for – "

The woman – a gorgeous black beauty in her late twenties, with carefully applied makeup and a professional smile, looked at her and immediately made up her mind. "Are you the accountant?"

"I – yes. I am looking for – "

"I'll take you," the woman interrupted and led her upstairs. "Isabelle mentioned that she was expecting you. I am Roxanne, by the way. Roxanne Anderson. If things turn out the way I hope, we'll be working together. I run this place along with my cousins, but unfortunately, we have no idea what to do with calculations and we're in desperate need of someone who knows."

"I understand," Rhea murmured, but the truth was, she didn't. How could anyone take the risk of starting business without knowing how to deal with money?"

Suddenly, Roxanne's professional smile was replaced by a wide grin. "No, you don't," she said, "but that's okay."

They reached a small room with a desk literally buried beneath piles of documents, and behind it sat the most beautiful woman who Rhea had seen in her life – with oval-shaped face, creamy skin and almost unnaturally big green eyes – the colour was so light, she has never seen such a shade in human eyes – and shingled hair that shines like pure silver. The woman was slender and graceful, her hands with perfect, but short manicure held the quill with the air of long practice and the impatience was evident on her face.

"Finally!" she exclaimed. "You are Rhea Walters, right?" Rhea nodded. "I am Isabelle Potter and I'm the one who contacted you. See what you can do with this stuff," she added and pointed at a frighteningly messy, but enormous pile of accounts, bills, and financial reports. "I'll be back after work-time and I'll see what you've done. Bye!"

With that, she Apparated away.

Rhea looked at Roxanne, but she merely shrugged. "No idea," she said simply. "My cousins, Dominique and Victoire, and I take care of the practical section – doing the procedures, providing the charms and spells, modeling the clothes, but we really are awful at keeping track of our money. Sometimes, Isabelle comes over to help, but she has a job of her own in Gringots. That's why we so desperately need you to help us keep our records in good order."

Rhea wanted to tell her that this mission was next to impossible. However, she did need the money and in the several hours that followed, she did her best to organize the records in the pile. First, she tried by the name of the person who had sent them, but there were just many people. Then, she had tried to sort them by colour… again, failed attempt. By date… that was a little better, bit not quite. Finally, enlightenment came to her and she divided the documents in three piles – one for the beauty parlour, another one for the clothes shop and the third one for the cafe – three enterprises that were divided under the logo Glamour. Now it was quite easier to check the financial reports and Rhea did it with fanatical devotion – she needed that job, although she certainly didn't need the comparison that she could not help but make between herself and the women who came in and out of the room. They were all young and while not all of them were as stunning as Isabelle Potter, they all looked young, well-groomed and free-spirited. Compared to them, Rhea felt second-classed, colourless, and just plain ordinary.

Anyway, they were all friendly, curious about the life of their possible future colleague and thrilled by the perspective of having someone who could tell them the exact date to expect their salaries. And they were chatty. By the afternoon, Rhea already knew everything about the recent founding of Glamour, about the most common beauty spells used in it – charms seemed to be overlooked here, – about the three women who ran the enterprise – Roxanne Anderson, Victoire Lupin, and Dominique Laurence, and what a cutie Dominique's daughter was, and how Dominique's second pregnancy progressed.

The woman in question was indeed pregnant – it was visible without effort. She was also quite excited by the perspective of hiring a full-time accountant and Rhea got the feeling that Dominique could hardly wait for Isabelle to come and pass her judgment.

How the women in this building could get anything dome, with all that noise and chatter, was beyond Rhea. At the end of her second hour here, she felt that her head might well explode any minute now.

But she needed the money.

Isabelle Potter entered at 5.15 p.m., as gorgeous and immaculate as she had left eight hours earlier. She smiled at Rhea and looked around, taking notice of the now stacked piles, some of which were even put into folders differing by their colour. She looked impressed. "I've always intended to sort them, but never quite got the time," she said and started checking Rhea's accounts.

Quite nervous, Rhea sat quietly, waiting for her judgment, but the beautiful fair face remained expressionless. Finally, Isabelle looked up. "I'll talk to the others," she said. "Would you mind waiting here just a tad longer?"

Somehow, Rhea managed to find her voice. "No, not at all," she said. But now it was impossible for her to keep a level head: if she didn't find a job, and soon, she might very well find herself homeless. She started pacing up and down the hallway, fighting the temptation to overhear magically the conversation in Dominique's office. She didn't have much experience with such spells, never having attended a magical school with peers to overhear, but she felt pretty sure that she could do it.

A young, red-haired man appeared from the staircase. He was holding a broom under his arm and he was smiling, as if he anticipated that something very nice would happen to him. Next to him walked a man his age, but dark-haired and green-eyed. They were chatting amiably and laughed softly from time to time.

When they passed past Rhea, the red-haired man looked at her. "Can I help you?" he asked. "You must be looking for the beauty parlour." The look he gave her left no doubt what he thought of her face and plain brown hair. "Or maybe the clothes shop?" he added, looking at her shapeless, billowing robe.

Feeling totally humiliated, Rhea ran down the hallway and then upstairs, while the door of Dominique's office burst open and Roxanne rushed out, crying, "Rhea, wait!"

The two men looked at her, confused. "What happened here?" James Potter asked.

"You just insulted the woman who we want to hire as an accountant, James," Roxanne snapped, "that's what happened."

"Merlin!" James groaned. "I thought she was a customer."

Roxanne looked livid. "Do you really think you're going to save yourself by this excuse?" she hissed and then decided that there was no need to feed the curiosity of their employees, who had started poking their heads through the doors to see what was going on. "Inside!" she ordered and marched her cousins in Dominique's office.

"James thought she was a customer," she explained shortly, when her cousin gave her a questioning look.

"You treat out customers this way?" Dominique asked. "By dropping hints about their looks?"

"I – I didn't mean – "

"I know you didn't, James, but that doesn't matter. What matters is how she accepts it. She's different and I think you really hurt her feelings."

"I didn't think – "

"You always say the nicest things, James," Al said. "No wonder it took you forever to win Jillian."

6