August 24, Monday
I left the salon to Brianna today to meet with Ginny, or shall I say, a bad case of Ginevs.
Upon my arrival at Solomon's Ring, I spotted her flaming red hair, cow-print trench coat and hot pink microdress from metres away. Needless to say, diary, my white cotton tunic and cashmere shemag were spectacularly upstaged.
"Draco! So wonderful to see you again!" Ginny exclaimed when she saw me, motioning for me to join her at the table. In front of her, besides a cup of rose-colored tea and a fluffy white quill, was a pile of roti bread marked with notes, flow charts, and mind maps.
"I like writing on food, it's this odd thing I have," she explained, seeing me eye the stack with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "Ron absolutely hates it. He yells at me whenever I give him my inventory reports on toast."
She handed me a particular piece of roti with a rather crude drawing of a woman's head. "This will be the logo for Redhedde, our upcoming designer dye line," she said.
"It's very modern." I commented. To be honest, I've seen better-looking food stains.
Ginny, pleased at my "compliment", preened. "It should be. After all, the Redhedde brand will be the icon of everything that's hip, trendy, and now. Actually, that is where you, Draco Malfoy, come in."
My ears perked up at the sound of my name. "What do you have in mind, Ginevs?"
"Well, seeing as you were able to transform such a drab-looking man like Snape into this year's most beloved sex symbol since, ugh, Harry Potter "
(Her words, not mine!)
" as well as set a growing trend for gullible youngsters everywhere, I was wondering if maybe you could do your magic for Redhedde."
After this, more rotis were leafed through, detailing Weasley Pharmaceuticals and Personal Care Division's "hyper aggressive marketing plan" for the next two years.
Diary, I couldn't care less about hearing their company's target profit margins nor shelf placement strategies. In fact, I was quite renowned in the Slytherin house for my selective listening skills. Hence, the only points that registered during our whole 3-hour meeting were:
1.I would be rolling in even more Galleons in the next ten years,
2.I could have major creative control over all Redhedde dyes that would be released, and signature, face, and hair would be emblazoned on all Redhedde bottles and advertisements.
HAIR CARE SUPERSTARDOM HERE I COME!
Now, if only Harry Potter would finally show up in the salon like I told him to. I can't wait to rub this piece of news in his face!
"Ha, Potter, I'm worthy of you now!" I'd say.
rather, "Ha, Potter, I win at life and you suck!"
Then everything would be perfect!
Night
Ginny owled me a copy of the Redhedde contract, thankfully printed on three pages of parchment.
After carefully reading each line, to myself and aloud, and imagining the possibilities that they all held, I came across the following statements:
"The individual Severus P. Snape should agree to represent the Redhedde Designer Dyes brand as head model and endorser."
Aghast, I read further:
"Refusal of Severus P. Snape to perform any and/or all duties stipulated below counts as breach of contract by individual Draco Malfoy "
And further:
"Duties of head model and endorser include blah blah wearing a magical centaur prosthetic as part of a global billboard advertising campaign "
Merlin's beard. The only way Severus will agree to this is
HE WILL NEVER AGREE TO THIS!
August 25, Tuesday
Didn't open the salon today, as I am too depressed to even get out of bed. I could hear the clamor of my adoring, miserably-maned public from outside.
After what seemed like an eternity of people knocking and calling out my name, Blaise, screaming like a banshee, ordered me to "open the damn door and help me, Draco, my crabs are eating me alive!"
"Go away, Blaise, I'm not your effing gynecologist!" I yelled back.
I should really start making new friends.
August 26, Wednesday
Blaise managed to apparate into my bedroom despite the hard-to-pronounce German security charms I cast.
I guess not even Germans can stop a man with crabs.
"Why can't you go to a hospital like a normal person?" I told him.
"I don't have insurance!" wailed Blaise.
Merlin, what a cheapskate!
Seeing Blaise in agony made me appreciate my life a bit better. So what if I'm not a superstar? I've got looks, talent, money, and a healthy appendage, albeit one that's lacking in action. I should be thankful.
Sigh.
August 27, Thursday
Blaise, in return for my "special services", did a good turn and hauled Pansy all the way from Geneva and into the manor to cheer me up.
Last I saw her was six months ago, when she had a curvy waist, a stellar career in international law, and an engagement with Cormac McLaggen. Now, she is single, overworked, and looks like Crabbe in a 5000-Galleon dress.
"It's the chocolate, okay?" said Pansy, though we haven't even said a word (yet). "The office is right next to a blasted Toblerone factory."
We exchanged some pleasantries and gossip over some tea. I asked Pansy about the hairstyle patents, which, according to her, does not even exist. I took further advantage of her legal skills and made her read the Redhedde contract as well.
She "tsked" all the way through, which was good news for me.
"Tell you what," said Pansy, peering at me through her spectacles, "if you get me out of this dumb charity ball thing that I have to attend tomorrow night, I'll make the Weasleys agree on a wicked contract that won't involve poor Severus."
"Deal."
"And if it doesn't pass, well, there's always sedative, yeah?"
Diary, this is why I almost married Pansy.
August 28, Friday
Morning
Pansy told me that the charity ball that I am to attend in her place is at a clearing in the middle of The Enchanted Forest. She also told me to wear an insect costume, and to arrive at exactly midnight.
She's joking, right?
Evening
I have decided to come to the ball later as a dragonfly. I made Brianna tie silver tinsel on my hair and dust 24k gold powder on my eyelids. Blaise also lent me a shimmery, translucent costume from The Pleasure Coven.
Naturally, I charmed the said costume clean ten times before putting it on.
August 29, Saturday
4:30am
Breaking news: Harry Potter is a SOCIALITE!
And, Pansy's charity ball is actually Harry Potter's party for The Rehabilitation of Amputated MilliPedes (TRAMP)!
And I looked FABULOUS, and Harry conceded that I did not steal his hairstyle (thank you, Pansy)!
I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M WRITING LIKE THIS!
10:20am
Ahem.
In a more proper-like manner of storytelling:
I arrived last night at the said clearing, relieved to see insect people waiting outside a huge tent, looking as if they literally crawled out of the woodwork. Oliver Wood, Quidditch legend, was haphazardly dressed as in embarrassingly-tight green leotards and a headband antenna. Hermione, whose bushy hair I immediately recognized, was a ladybug, while Ron came as a jade green beetle.
I was about to make small talk (read: kiss Ron's arse now that he's rich and related to Ginny) when a host of butterflies ushered us all inside the tent. (Isn't that the most impossible sentence EVER?)
The inside was pitch black at first, so there were nervous giggles all around. I was about to spread word about a mass murder conspiracy, when suddenly, multicoloured fairy lights glowed from all around the tent and illuminated what I could only describe as "The Enchanted Forest on Angel Dust".
Blaise would have died from the fabulousness.
Anyways, in the middle of that tent was none other than Harry Potter. He was living proof that even millipedes could look half-decent, if not TOTALLY GORGEOUS.
As we all stood there, spellbound by his peculiarly beauteous form, he began the ceremonies by thanking everyone for supporting his beloved cause, and described the "many hardships" undergone by millipedes as well as TRAMP's vision to "tramp out the red tape and corruption" that surround the millipedes' rehabilitation.
Needless to say, we all applauded his useless speech, and his even more useless cause.
Harry Potter? My former nemesis? The Boy-Who-Lived, hosting flamboyantly decorated parties for causes that no one gives a Knut about? I've always imagined him to become someone of relative importance, like a super-secret Auror, a ministry official, or even a minor league Quidditch player!
And I thought I was pathetic!
Throughout the party, I inconspicuously inched closer and closer to Potter, out of sheer morbid curiosity as to what he has become and, as much as I hate to admit it, blatant physical attraction.
At last, I managed to "bump" into him at the refreshments table. I greeted him with practiced nonchalance.
"Oh, hey Potter."
Which prompted a barrage of unwarranted verbal abuse, directed to yours truly.
"Malfoy! You bastard, what did you do to my nephew's hair? He looks like me, and everyone looks like me now, except in technicolour! Even Snape! You have no right, no right at all to copy my hairstyle and invade my privacy like this! I want you to change back all those stupid haircuts you made and leave me in peace!"
(Before I proceed with the rest of the story, let it be known that I'm also famous in the Slytherin house for my skills in debate.)
My reply, which was heard by a rather large audience:
"I came all the way here to support this cause, and I get attacked by the host himself!"
Hermione and Ron, who immediately sensed trouble between myself and their bespectacled overlord, began shooing away our nosy onlookers, distracting them with embarrassing tales of their Tijuana wedding.
Seeing Potter turn a brilliant shade of red, I added, "And FYI, Potter, my creation has two double-layer cuts, a side fringe, and it comes in all these wonderful colours. Your "hairstyle", which, as far as I'm concerned, is actually an abandoned nest, has NONE of those. So get over yourself!"
After some sputtering, Potter finally managed a half-hearted apology, relating his "breakdown" to "pressure build-up, last-minute band cancellations, and those damned fairy lights".
"You're right. What I just did sorry. Extremely bad manners. Er, I'll make it up to you, yeah? I can treat you to dinner. Anywhere you want," he said, smiling sheepishly.
I scoffed. As if his company qualifies as a reward!
But then, diary, I said yes. Because I'm a sucker for free meals, and because afterwards, he said:
"You look nice, by the way."