Chapter 26) Cover Witch

Selected Listening: Breathing Underwater- Metric or Anti-Hero- Taylor Swift

Anastasia stepped out of a marble framed fireplace into a large atrium. Zabini Enterprises was made of white and gold glittering marble from floor to ceiling. At the front, a tall willowy woman waited at the reception desk.

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, ever good to see you. And Miss Dumbledore?" The woman took Narcissa's fingertips in polite greeting and held out her hand to take Anastasia's as well. Anastasia nodded shyly. She gazed around the space, there was something odd about it, and she couldn't place what. A classiness that went beyond what she had ever laid eyes on before.

Another young woman in a sleek cocktail dress appeared beside them, offering them glasses of a bubbling liquid.

"Gigglewater, madame?"

Narcissa took the coupe glass by the stem. She sipped and laughed lightly.

Anastasia looked at the drink curiously but did not move to take it.

"You may have some," Narcissa offered. Anastasia nodded, thanked the woman as she took her glass, and burst into a bit of laughter immediately after the first sip.

"Narcissa, darling!" Madame Zabini strode down the stairs, hands raised. She took Narcissa in a friendly embrace, and then turned to Anastasia.

"Delighted to see you, Miss Dumbledore, and under much happier circumstances than last, yes?"

Anastasia nodded grinningly, while Narcissa looked down at her for an explanation.

"Um, Madame Zabini let us stay in her tent for a while during the World Cup before things went…awry."

"Ah, well then, I have that to thank you for, Mercucia. Although, I nearly had Draco's head later for running off like that. I'm glad they were safe that evening and not wandering about when the chaos began."

"Yes, chaos," Mercucia pursed her lips at her friend somewhat knowingly. "Anyway, shall we begin? Lots to accomplish."

They ascended the white marble staircase and entered a room that looked like a long corridor. On either side hung a myriad of fabrics in all colors, textures, and sheens. They passed ones that looked like liquid glitter and ones that looked like a coat of crow feathers Anastasia could tell some of them were laced with magic—a mesh with tattoo-like patterns moving across it, a shiny silk that reflected rainbows, and one with a jungle print in which you could see animal prints moving beyond the trees.

Mercucia kept pausing at certain ones and thinking. She would pull the cloth out to eye-height and look at Anastasia past it, muttering to herself and saying "no, no, yes, no."

All the while, the assistant followed behind, picking out bolts of fabric that Mercucia gave the OK to, and carrying them in a stack in her arms. By the end, she had a collection of green and silver, which Anastasia assumed was for Slytherin.

At the end of the hall, a couple of different doors stood, connecting back to other rooms in the building. They took the right and ended up in a large sitting room with a vanilla velvet couch and armchairs. The coffee table was full of tea, cakes, and sweets. A wide window let sun in through the overcast day hovering over downtown London.

The only thing strange about this room was that all the seating was directed towards a short pedestal covered in white carpet, framed by curtains as if a life-sized doll should have been standing there.

"Right this way, Miss Dumbledore," Madame Zabini nodded to the pedestal. Anastasia walked up to the tiny stage and stepped up onto it while Narcissa lounged on the couch with her beverage.

"Alright, now, we begin!" Mercucia clapped her hands and three more beautiful assistants, tall and slender with ivory, caramel, and ebony skin apparated into the room. Mirrored nametags with gold cursive print read Claudia, Yvette, and Maude. They all wore high heels and business or cocktail dresses.

"I can take that, Miss," one of them said, and took Anastasia's drink from her hand. She returned with a measuring tape that began to float by itself around Anastasia, taking measurements here and there, she jumped and lifted her arms as it wrapped her torso, waist, and hips.

Another assistant held a clipboard and wrote down things Mercucia said as the designer took the fabrics from the first assistant, one by one, and laid them beside Anastasia's skin, layer and re-layering until she had just what she wanted.

Mercucia waved her wand.

"Eep!" Anastasia gasped as all her clothing vanished and had been replaced by a swaddle of cloth that Madame Zabini chose, emerald with infinitesimal fractals that shined like iridescent scales.

"Sorry about that, the change is always a shocker the first time."

Anastasia felt like this place was different than any magical business she'd ever entered before, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Of course, she'd never seen so many young and gorgeous women before all working together. She'd never been to a design studio, grand beyond her wildest dreams, and she'd never been offered drinks from a silver platter before.

Then Anastaisa suddenly realized what was so different beyond the obvious. There were no house elves running around Zabini enterprises.

"Excuse me?" she asked as Madame Zabini cast three different spells on the hem of the dress. With every shot of magic, the dress pulled here and tightened somewhere else.

"Yes?"

"I noticed you don't have any house elves. At least, not here."

The assistants laughed as if it were a secret joke between themselves. Mercucia smiled along.

"Ah, you noticed. Yes, magics of my race generally don't like the idea of house elves. It was a long time ago when I realized I could pay fully grown witches to do the work with me. The witches work for me as interns, I train them as models, and sometimes they learn business or design themselves and begin their own lines one day."

"Oh," Anastasia said, "I've never seen someone whose pureblood not use them before. It's quite brilliant."

"Why, thank-you! Narcissa, I like your goddaughter. Maybe I'll keep her," Mercucia fawned. Anastasia smiled.

"Not a chance," she remarked proudly, adjusting the stick of olives in her martini.

Something inside Anastasia rippled. She knew it wasn't anything, but Narcissa often acted as if she owned her. Like she could tell her to do anything, and Anastasia would have to participate. She didn't like that.

But before she could think of a way to bring it up, a visitor waltzed through the door.

"I'm here," Blaise announced as he walked in the room. Not in his robes but in a fitted emerald velvet suit. He examined his sleeves. "This looks nice, mum. Not bad."

Anastasia immediately flushed. Although she wasn't naked, the fabric hung off her at odd angles. Only by magic was it not slipping off her form.

"Ah! Blaise, you came, I didn't know if you would make it. What do you think?" Mercucia stepped back and gestured to the length of her dress.

Anastasia, face entirely red, had to look away.

"Don't be embarrassed, princess. Once I learned my mother was designing your Yule Ball gown, I had to come for quality control. Besides, I had to get my own robes too."

Blaise took a glass of giggle water for himself and gazed up at her as if he were looking at an art piece. Anastasia continued staring out the window at the London skyline.

Blaise came closer and lifted the corner of the cloth to examine the shape.

"Mum, the A-line is nice, but it doesn't flatter her at all. Go with a mermaid waist."

"You don't think she's too sticky for that?" Mercucia asked. Anastasia gave her an uncomfortable half-glare that only Blaise seemed to catch and respect.

"I'll forgo my comment. Try it," he suggested, waving and walking away to stare out the window as well. Mercuria shrugged, cast a spell, and Anastasia felt the gown shrink inward to wrap tightly around her hips.

"Ah! Mon amor. C'est beau! Tres magnifique!"

"Told you," Blaise said casually without turning around.

At the end when the whole thing was adjusted and fitted, Anastasia stood in a dark green dress with a heart shaped neckline and off-the shoulder sleeves. The skirt tapered in toward her knees and flared out at the end in a flared circle of green scales.

Narcissa rose from her lounged position and came to look it over herself.

"Beautiful," she said. "Photoshoot worthy."

"Sure, it's not too much?" she asked her godmother insecurely, keeping her arms out on both sides. Opinions on fashion were one thing she could trust from her godmother.

"Not at all dear. You are stunning."

At that moment, the desk assistant walked in leading another woman in a white button-down shirt and pinstripe black slacks, carrying a notepad. A man walked in behind her with a camera.

Anastasia froze.

"No," Anastasia said, "no reporters. We're…we're done."

"Oh," the female reporter said disappointedly, "should we come back another time?"

"No," Narcissa reassured and walked over to Anastasia, taking her shoulders. Anastasia fought the urge to push her away. "I want you to get the chance to get your say before anyone else. There will be plenty of reporters chomping at the bit to get Yule Ball news, because every witch and wizard is going to be living vicariously through the young. And you deserve to have every ounce of control over what's said about you."

Anastasia froze again.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking over her godmother's shoulder at the young woman. "Are you sure she's not like Skeeter?"

"Positive," Narcissa said and waved the woman over, "Elspeth, what was it that you told me when I asked you about your journalistic style?"

Elspeth approached, holding her notepad and quill in both hands in front of her.

"Elspeth Harkman with Witch Weekly," she bowed her head slightly in greeting. "I report what you say, word for word. No editorial, no commentary. All you, in a real, genuine interview," she said straightforwardly, her messy clipped-up bun stacked at the back of her head. Anastasia bit her lip and nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Narcissa asked.

"Okay," she said certainly.

"Wonderful!" The reporter gushed. "Here, we'll do the photoshoot first."

"Narcissa, why don't we go have some tea while they do their work. Blaise?"

He gave a smug smile.

"Think I'll stay right here."

This time Anastasia glared at him.

The camera man had her pose all sorts of ways, playing with the skirt, hand on her hip, laying down with her head upside down, arms over her head. She was surprised at the end how tired she was. The camera man helped her down to sit on the platform, and the reporter took a spot on the chaise across the table from her.

"So, who are you taking to the ball?" Elspeth asked. "The last report said things were rocky between you and Malfoy, but I doubt that's true if you're still palling around with your godmum."

Anastasia took a nervous breath and tried to clarify.

"Erm…that report was wrong. It was entirely a misunderstanding. Draco and I are doing very well. We're very happy together," she vouched. Which was true, they were, even if all the adults and several of their peers constantly made things more difficult.

"Are you? Well, that's fantastic! Give us the scoop." Elspeth leaned in excitedly, but not like Rita waiting for gossip she could twist, more like an encouraging best friend. "What do you like about him?"

Anastasia froze.

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you like about him? He's your boyfriend. Certainly, there must be something?"

It threw Anastasia off guard. What did she like about Draco? Across the room, Blaise raised his eyebrow expectantly.

"You're not allowed to tell him anything I say today, you got it?" she shouted at him. Blaise shrugged.

"He's going to find out eventually if it's in Witch Weekly."

That definitely didn't take the pressure off.

"I guess…well…it's kind of hard to explain." She told the woman. She couldn't tell her the truth, that they were entwined together by an ancient curse that aligned their fates whether they wanted to be together or not. But even the small, everyday things that happened between them weren't very small. What could she say? She encouraged him to stand up to his prick of a father? He had her pilfer inhalers for him from the infirmary to stay alive? He rescued her from becoming an obscurus once more? They spent the summer together, flying and exploring the grounds of Malfoy Manor…

"Well, we both like quidditch, and flying," it was the first thing she thought of that wasn't superficial or super-secret. She rubbed her hands together aimlessly.

Blaise snorted. She stuck her tongue out at him. The reporter turned over her shoulder.

"Ey you. Zabini, is it? Why don't you scatter before I tell your mum you're harassing my interviewee."

Blaise rolled his eyes, but shoved off the table he'd been leaning against with his teacakes and left the room through the main door.

The reporter turned back to Anastasia. She smiled at the woman gratefully.

"Quidditch?" The reporter asked. "So you're a sporty one, eh? Is all the glitz and glamour of a fashion shoot eating away at you right now?"

"Haha, no…not really. It's only pink frills that bother me. That's why I left the teashop that day. Glitz is part of quidditch…it requires showing off a little too much," she laughed. "I suppose that's something he and I share."

"You're both show-offs then? Is that how he got your attention?"

Anastasia thought back, she had almost forgotten.

"Yes, actually. I had grabbed one too many books in Diagon Alley one day, and he was right behind me, ended up paying for everything just to get me to move along."

"Really? The nerve," she joked, "and how did you respond to that?"

"I forced him to go out for ice cream with me and wouldn't let him leave my sight until I paid him back for it. Since then, we always go out for ice cream. At least once a year, even by accident."

"Once a year? When did this start?"

"Um, when we were ten. Grandad used to bring me to Diagon Alley secretly, and we would run into each other along the way while we were out."

"So you wouldn't call your relationship a rebellion against your father at all? This has been a long time coming."

"Maybe even longer than that," she sighed, "but it's certainly not a rebellion. Grandad made certain I learned his values—which are that blood purity doesn't matter—and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Are you now? And that doesn't rub your beau the wrong way? He is in the Sacred 28 after all, eventually you'll have to—"

"We're both a bit young to be thinking about that in my honest opinion. Who knows what will happen in the years ahead? All I want is to enjoy life with him for as long as I can."

"It must be difficult, toing the line between walks of life."

"It can be…but when you care someone it doesn't matter where they came from or how they grew up, even with different ideologies. There's a lot of time for things to happen between me and Draco, but no matter what happens, I'm sure I'll always love him."

The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she'd said. The reporter smiled warmly.

"And that's a great stopping point. Here's my card if you need anything," she handed the card to a stunned Anastasia as the reporter turned to leave.

"Wait. Please don't print that last part," she asked pleadingly. "I haven't even been able to tell him yet, and I don't want the whole world knowing first."

The reporter's smile turned apologetic.

"I print every word as spoken. You'll have until the holiday issue comes out the day after Christmas."

The final assistant bustled around her. The woman raised her wand, cast a spell, and Anastasia was back in her street clothes, the dress hanging over the assistant's arm.

Anastasia could hear herself swallow as the door shut gently behind the reporter and the assistant. She had three weeks to buck up the courage to tell Draco. He had already mentioned marriage. Why was love so frightening?

But that's why it was frightening…marriage could exist without love. Narcissa and Lucius were proof of it, but love was different. Telling someone you loved them was like giving them permission to break your heart in return.

She barely had time to process before Blaise came in, took three cookies off the tea table and crashed on the couch.

"Hey, Princess. How'd the rest interview go? Did you find anything useful to say?"

Anastasia stalked back to the little platform in her dress and collapsed down into her poof of a gown.

"It would have been fine…if I hadn't let slip that…that I love Draco," she whispered the last part.

"What was that?" Blaise asked, eyebrow perched.

She tried it louder this time, practicing. She didn't know why, but she trusted Blaise. He always seemed to have Draco's best interests at heart.

Now his eyes hung wide open.

"Wow…that is big. What are you going to do?"

"I have to tell him, I guess…before Witch Weekly tells everyone else."

Blaise nodded with a strained smile.

"What? You think it's a bad idea?" she asked hesitantly.

"That's simply…" Blaise took a bite of cookie, chewed it completely and swallowed before responding, "…a lot. Draco isn't used to love. He's used to convenience and advantage."

Anastasia stared wistfully in another direction.

"Either way, I have to be honest with him."

"And that's why you Gryffindor lot are the brave ones…" he tapered off. "I wish you the best of luck…"

Anastasia walked to the window and stared at all the cars zooming by on Piccadilly Circus below. Draco must have loved her back. He wouldn't have said what he did the other day if he didn't love her.

"By the way, what's with you and Narcissa?" Blaise asked. "Seems a bit less than warm and fuzzy."

Anastasia shot her eyes back to him nervously. He already knew about the lifeline.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked.

"Not if it will benefit me," he admitted.

"Well then I can't tell you."

"Maybe just this one time," he dared charmingly.

Anastasia sighed.

"Their old house elf told me Narcissa used the imperious curse on Lucius to have him kill my mother's husband just so she could make me in her lab experiment and tie me to Draco."

"Oh," he said, face serious, "That's convoluted. And you don't know if it's true or not?"

"No…the elf…he's a bit of an oddball."

Blaise raised his eyebrows.

"Elves know a lot. They hear everything, and no one cares to hide it from them," he said critically.

"I have to know for sure. I love Draco, but I don't want to spend my life feeding into her plot."

"Have you considered a veritaserum?"

"A what?" she asked. "If that's some kind of dark—"

"A truth potion, Dumbledore. Perfectly legal. You could slip it to her and then ask any questions you want. She'd be obliged to answer you honestly."

Anastasia lowered her voice.

"You really think that would work?"

Blaise nodded and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket before handing over a vial of perfectly clear liquid. She outstretched her fingers, hesitating.

"You have some made up?"

"You have to in Slytherin!" he exclaimed. "And with the men my mother dates."

"What gives?" she asked, not ready to take a deal with strings attached.

"What do you mean what gives?" Blaise retorted.

"What are you going to hold against me if I take it?"

"Oh nothing," he said self-assuredly. "I have more where that came from, and I've seen what Draco goes through. He deserves something real."

Anastasia smiled thankfully and reached for the vial.

The door creaked open and Narcissa and Mercucia entered again. Blaise snapped his hand back and tucked the vial in his robes. Anastasia folded her hands behind her back and stared out the window.

"Here it is!" Mercucia exclaimed, carrying a large dress box.

"Allow me, mum," Blaise said, taking the box and carrying it to Stasia.

Under the box, his hand brushed hers.

"For next time," Blaise murmured.

And he passed her the glass vial.