Chapter One: Encounters with the Devil

"So, Giselle, where did you say you lived again?" Cordelia Parkinson asked.

Without lifting her eyes from the cup of tea she nursed in her lap, preferring to watch the murky brown liquid swirl around then meet the women's gazes, she said, "Erm, we moved to Chelmsford."

Glancing up, she saw Cordelia nodding thoughtfully, taking a sip of her own tea. Gisella shifted in her seat, wishing the other women would stop staring at her.

"Chelmsford? Never heard of it. Is that near that pretty, little country town Broomsfield?" Kathleen Nott asked.

"Not exactly. It is an up and coming suburb, though," Gisella replied, giving them a small smile. Feeling her cheeks flame as Cordelia sniffed, she quickly added, "We're only there short term, for Michael's work. I'm sure we'll be in a much better Wizarding community soon enough."

"Mmm."

"Remind me, what does your husband do for a living?" Camilla Ashbury asked..

"He-He works in Magical Creatures Protection."

"I see."

"He's really good at it, and enjoys getting to explore around different areas," Gisella assured them, her blush only increasing.

Cordelia looked at her, a smile on her face that did not reach her eyes. "I'm sure he is," she said. Then, turning to Esmerelda Scrimgeour, the smile widened. "Esmerelda, I do love your robes. Are they the new Whitticker range Alison recently released?"

"Oh yes, I've had my name on the waiting list for months now, ever since she announced another season. I do love the aquamarine and lilac colours she's incorporated."

"Yes, she does have taste," Camilla agreed.

Gisella nodded before turning her attention back to her lap. She had chosen the emerald robes she wore for her visit because they had looked dazzling on display in the window of the little shop down her road. Compared to the other sickle-priced garments, she had felt like a princess when she had tried it on. Now, however, as the women continued to gossip about robes and cloaks that must have cost over three hundred Galleons or more, she felt silly.

Taking a sip of tea—her mood dissipating even further as she noticed that the china had no chips or cracks like her own—she counted down the minutes in which she could leave. She had only come to the house in the attempt to get to know women with children Blaise's age, so at least he would have a chance to fit in Wizarding society. Now it seemed that Michael and his new, downsized job, was going to destroy that for their son the same way it had for any advantages in life Gisella had hoped to achieve.

The weather was freezing, though somehow not as cold as the atmosphere in the manor had been. Gisella pulled her cloak tightly around herself, ducking her head as the rain came down in sheets. Her long, dark hair whipped around her back, the curls she had carefully styled it into now a tangled, wet mess. Cordelia had offered to let her use the Floo to get home, yet she had been unable to accept and said the exercise would do her good. She couldn't very well tell them that her tiny house didn't have a fireplace. She made a note to ask Michael to install one, if he didn't think she was asking too much.

Quickening her pace, she ran down the street, the rain mocking her as it pelted down. At least she was close to Diagon Alley, and could wait in the pub's safe confines for Michael to finish work and Apparate her home—at least that was something he could do without complaint. Honestly, the man had promised her the world when they married, only to deny her it but a year later. If it wasn't for the fact that he deeply loved their son, she would consider moving back into her mother's place and enjoy the comforts of middle-class life.

"Oomph!"

Turning the corner too fast, her mind wandering, Gisella knocked into something solid. She fell backwards onto the wet pavement, saving herself from any major damage only by flinging her hands out last minute and breaking her fall. Her dress, however, was not so lucky, and as she moved onto her knees, hair falling in front of her face, she could feel a large, wet stain on her bottom.

"You ought to watch where you're going, you know," an irritated voice said.

Brushing away her hair, she looked up to see a man in purple robes bending down, his eyes furrowed. Quickly, she moved forward to help him pick up the pile of books and sheets of bound parchment that had spilled across the pavement. Holding out one entitled Gaddling with Ghouls—a large red mark slashed across it—she flinched as he snatched it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to knock you over. I—"

"It's fine, it's fine," he interrupted, picking up the last of his books and straightening up. Gisella echoed his movements, slowly and carefully rising so that the cheap material of her dress did not tear.

The man smoothed down his robes, finally looking at her. His bright blue eyes twinkled, and his mouth transformed from a frown to a smile. Extending a hand to her, he said in a kinder tone, "My dear, I should be the one apologising. Such a fine lady, I cannot fathom how I could have been so clumsy."

Gisella blushed as he took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Then, locking his eyes onto hers, he smiled, revealing a row of even, white teeth. Carefully styled blond hair complemented his jawline, his face somewhat familiar.

"That's-that's alright," she managed to get out a few words.

He stared at her for a minute, still smiling, as though expecting her to say more. When she didn't, his smile tightened and he shook their entwined hands. "Gilderoy Lockhart, and you are?"

"Oh, yes, I've seen you before. I'm Gisella, Gisella Zabini."

Gisella smiled at him, realising where she had seen him before. Amongst the pile of new books stacked on Cordelia's polished coffee table, there had been one labelled Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. His face had been on the cover, and she had become distracted by his winking as the other women boasted about their husbands promotions and new furniture. Never did she think she would be in the company of an author.

Gilderoy beamed at her. Something flitted across his eyes, as though he, too, recognised her name. The moment passed, however, and he continued appraising her. She wanted to look away, but his wondrous gaze had her captured.

"Tell me, dear, have you ever considered going into modelling? I don't say this to many women, but my you are one beautiful creature!"

Gisella's cheeks burned and she swallowed. The only person to ever call her beautiful was Michael, and lately his obsession with his work had meant compliments were even fewer.

"Thank you."

"You know, I'm feeling very generous at the moment. After our ordeal," he said, looking to the pavement and back, "the least I can do is offer you a job."

"A job?"

"How would you like to be on the cover of my latest book? No, no, don't answer now. Here, take my card." Gilderoy shoved the books and pieces of parchment into her hands and took out a quill and a card with his picture on it. "I'll just sign this for you, and there, my office address. Now I'm afraid I must be off."

She blinked as Gilderoy took back his possessions, winked at her once more, and strode past her. She had no time to answer his question as he left, or rather, to accept it. A model? Her? And on a cover of a book no less? Cordelia and the other women would surely be jealous. Staring down at the card, she traced her finger along the address printed neatly in purple ink. It was located a few streets from Diagon Alley, so she would have no trouble getting there. Tucking it into her pocket, she continued on her way, the rain no longer bothering her. Things were finally starting to look up for her.