Chapter Three: Celebrations

Gisella smoothed a crease out of the white table clothe, ensuring the table looked as good as it could possibly be. A candle in the centre lit up the room, allowing the white plates to shine for the first time in years. Polished knives and forks glinted, and the delicious smell of Game Pie—an expensive treat at three Galleons a slice which she thought she deserved—wafted through the small dining/ family room.

"Dinner's ready," she called, satisfied with the effect.

Her son came running into the room, a cheeky smile on his face. Gisella pulled out his chair for him, tucking it back in as he settled down and picked up his knife and fork.

"And what are you so happy about, my darling?" she asked, bending down and pecking a kiss on his cheek.

Blaise's smile disappeared, replaced by a serious look. "It's a secret," he said.

Gisella raised her eyebrows, but said no more, settling into her own seat. Blaise enjoyed keeping secrets, usually about the games he made up in his room. He never let her in on any of them; in fact, the only person he did play with was his father, who seemed to find no problem in bribing him with toys made from parchment and empty ink bottles. That would change soon, if and when her modelling career picked up.

Placing a slice of pie onto Blaise's plate, she then helped herself to her dinner, calling once more, "Michael, dinner's ready."

After a few more minutes, her husband came trudging into the room, his tie loose around his neck and top shirt buttons undone. His hair was tousled, and as he sat down and helped himself to dinner, he remained quiet.

"Do you like the pie?" Gisella asked as he took a bite, chewing slowly.

Michael turned to her, swallowing. Taking a sip of water, he nodded. "It's good. Why do you ask?"

Gisella rolled her eyes, yet knew why he was suspicious. Dinner times usually remained quiet affairs, with the occasional protest from Blaise as he tried to hide his vegetables under his plate. If either of them, mainly Gisella, did say anything to the other, it was not pleasant.

"Because that's what normal people do. They ask their family how their day was," she replied.

"Aha." Michael took another bite, staring at the pie as he chewed. "So, is there a special reason we have Game Pie on the table?"

Putting down her knife and folk, Gisella muttered, "Well it's certainly not from your wage."

"Pardon?"

Locking her gaze with him and clearing her throat, she said, "If you must know, yes, there is a special reason. We're celebrating my new career."

Running a hand through his hand, Michael placed his own cutlery on the table. She could see bags beginning to form under her eyes, and subconsciously her mind wandered to her own face, happy to now know the secrets of concealing her own.

"Gisella, I was- I thought this was a one-time thing," Michael said slowly.

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him until he sighed and looked away. "We discussed this this morning. I want to be a model, and it turns out I'm pretty good at it."

"What about Blaise? Who is going to look after him when you're off gallivanting around with some other wizard?"

"That other wizard happens to be the person who will make me—us—rich. He seems to be the one interested in making sure our son has all he needs, which is more than I can say for you."

"Damn it, Gisella!" Michael yelled, slamming his fist into the table. Then, lowering his voice as their son looked at them in alarm, he continued more quietly, "You know I am doing my best to provide for us. You're lucky we even have a roof over our heads at the moment."

Gisella reached across the table and picked up her goblet. Taking a sip, she continued to glower at her husband. Michael sighed, picking his fork back up and stirring around the content of his plate.

"I just don't like the idea of you spending all this time with a strange man, that's all," he said after a moment.

Huffing, she put down her goblet. "If you'd get off your high-thestral for one moment, you would know that Gilderoy isn't bad at all. In fact, he asked about you, and is very keen on getting to know you and your work."

Michael's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, before knitting together. "I don't think Gilderoy Lockhart is as interested in ghosts and ghouls as he is in making money," he said, shaking his head. "I simply don't trust the man; he's a shady character."

Gisella gritted her teeth. Stubborn jackass. "That is because you don't know him," she said slowly, pushing away your plate. "You only think you do."

"I think, therefore I am—" he began, but she cut him off.

Pushing out her chair, she said, "You am what? An asshole? I'll tell you what, Michael, I have more clue as to what people are like than you ever will have."

Michael let out a breath, his chair scraping as he, too, stood up. He opened his mouth to reply, yet was cut off once more, this time by a screech.

All three sets of eyes turned to the open window, watching as a tawny owl came soaring through. A letter was clamped firmly in its beak, which it dropped only as it landed on the table, the remaining slices of Game Pie toppling to the floor. Then, taking the piece of crust Blaise held out to it, his face alight with a smile once more, it took off, leaving them to stare at the envelope.

Before Michael could touch it, Gisella leant forward and snatched it up. Her name was written in neat cursive with purple ink, and she knew it was from Gilderoy. Michael craned his neck to see it, the frown still on his face, yet she moved it out of his sight.

"I'm going to be a model, Michael, whether you like it or not," she seethed. Spinning on her heel, she stormed out of the room.

"Are you ready? Alright, open your eyes in three, two, one. Surprise!"

Gisella's eyes flew open, only to see a blur of black and white print pressed in front of her face. Blinking, she moved her head back a little, allowing the parchment to come into focus. It was an article, she realised, almost an entire page long. She looked at the top of the page to confirm that it was the Daily Prophet, before scanning the paragraphs and gasping as her name came into view.

'... the book will feature upcoming model, Giselle Zabini, on the cover. It will be…'

Well, it was close enough. The page disappeared and was replaced by Gilderoy's beaming face.

"Did you see how excited they are for the book's release? Of course, I had to tip them off that it was going to happen, but only because it will be a best-seller. You're mentioned in there too, somewhere," Gilderoy said, eyes twinkling.

Gisella nodded, not sure what to say. Her name was in the paper, as an upcoming model. Model. She knew Cordelia Parkinson often read the gossip columns and reviews; would she have seen it yet? Would she think better of her now? No, who cares? She was going to be famous!

"I can tell by your smile that you're excited," Gilderoy continued. "My dear, you are going to be famous and rich—almost as much as me—before you know it!"

"Wow."

"I have to actually finish the book, mind you, but at least the press know about it now. It should give my ignor- my publishers something to talk about too. Tell me, did you ever get around to asking Michael about his research?"

"I- I couldn't, I'm sorry. But I think I can get you a copy of his research from his desk. I'll owl it to you tonight," Gisella said, shaking her head and looked down at her feet.

In the fight last night, she had completely forgotten her plan to talk about Michael's work. She felt awful, knowing that she had let Gilderoy down. Would he fire her now?

Looking up, she saw that Gilderoy's smile had indeed faded, but he did appear angry. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a deep breath, before placing his hand in his pocket. Withdrawing a small, unlabelled vial of clear liquid, he took her hand.

Staring into his eyes, Gisella noticed they looked sad, water lining the rims. "Gisella, my dear," he began, rubbing a finger over her knuckle. "Is Michael treating you well? Does he not want you to be here?"

She gulped, wondering how he could possibly have known. Still, she did not know what to say.

Gilderoy nodded, pressing the small vial in her hand. When she went to look at it, he tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"Do not worry, dear, I understand. He must simply be stressed from work; all men are at some point. But I'll tell you what, you slip this calming potion into his drink—a secret recipe I and some other famous wizards like to use—and he'll be perfectly agreeable for you."

"What is it?" she asked, a horrible feeling rising in the pit of her stomach. The vial could contain anything.

Gilderoy's eyes widened, and he hastily reassured her by saying, "It's not a drug, my dear, if that's what you're worried about. Just a little concoction."

Her stomach swirled uncomfortably, but she placed it in her pocket. If things didn't improve soon, she would use it then. Perhaps it was something that would relieve Michael's stress, and therefore allow him to be more supportive? Perhaps.

The wizard smiled at her and pulled her to her feet. "Now, enough of that, we must celebrate! Accio wine."

From the winding stairs, a polished silver tray came flying towards them, bearing a bottle of Merlot and two crystal goblets. It stopped in front of them, and Gilderoy poured the wine into the two goblets. Giving one to her, he raised the other in a toast. "To fame and fortune!" he shouted.

Clinking her goblet against his, she echoed his statement, forgetting her troubles. "Fame and fortune!"

A/N: Only two more chapters of this short tale left, though I'm starting to wonder if I should bother completing it at all. Another Cinderella-themed story could be written, but please let me know what you think about this one—for those of you who know me, I never seem to be able to make up my mind, so any input is more than welcome :) Either way, I sincerely hope that you are enjoying this, and any errors will be fixed gradually when I find a beta.