The Malfoy Project

𝟔𝟖 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐄𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

✼¹

     The Daily Prophet looks exactly the way I left it. The entrance is warm and toasty, and the long, narrow hallway into the main office is still lined with frames of the publication's most sensationalised, best-selling issues. 

     Unlike the previous time when I had come on my own volition and blundered through a situation I had been completely unprepared for, today I have been summoned. I force myself forward before I changed my mind.

     Lucy sees me before I see her, and it takes all her strength not to roll her eyes when I walk up to her desk. "Name?" she asks, even though she already knows.

     "Gabriella Ainsley," I say. No question marks this time. 

     She glances down at her clipboard and nods. "You may see her now."

     What is this, a clinic? I want to joke, just to spite her for last time. But there is no room for pettiness now. Lucy needs to see — everyone here needs to see — that I am mature, professional, and intelligent; that I am not a girl capable of attacking journalists or destroying private property.

     Behind the frosted glass of the door I see the striking head of yellow hair bent over the desk. A hand goes up to adjust the purple glasses perched on its face. I knock.

     "Yes, come in."

     With a deep, shaky breath, I turn the knob.

     "Ah, Ella!" Rita exclaims. "So wonderful to see you again."

     Pretend nothing ever happened. I plaster on my most polite smile. "Hi, Rita. How have you been?"

     "Oh, fine, fine!" she says, flicking the air. "Business as usual. Please, have a seat."

     I do, quickly, surely. She must not see that my hands are trembling, that my breaths are short and uneven with anxiety at the thought of what I am about to do.

     "What about you, Ella?" says Rita. "Since you stopped having to report to me I trust you've had extra time to focus on your N.E.W.T preparations?"

     "School's great."

     Rita clicks her tongue and leans back in her chair. "Well, isn't that nice to hear! When I was in my final year, we didn't have nearly as much time to study. They were still giving us homework till a week before! How times have changed, hmm, Ella?"

     "It's Ainsley."

     "Pardon me?"

     "It's Ainsley," I say, catching her busy eyes and holding it. "My name is Ainsley. And while I'd love to chat about my exams, I don't believe that's the real reason you've called me here today."

     Rita's smile morphs from friendly to sly. "How astute of you. I suppose I should get right to it, then. As you've read from my letter, the Prophet has caught wind of your little... freelance project. Well, we'd like to offer you a counter proposal. A publishing deal of one hundred thousand Galleons, to be exact. You'll get twenty-five thousand when you sign the contract, fifty thousand when you deliver the book, and the rest when it's actually published. How does that sound?"

     "It sounds wonderful," I beam. "But I've been thinking — you know, with all the extra time I have now — that I would come up with my own counter proposal." I unclasp my satchel and pull out a roll of parchment, and flatten it out on the table. "Twenty-five thousand when you sign, fifty when I deliver, the rest when it's published. On top of that, I'll get fifteen percent of royalties for every single copy sold, and another fifteen percent will be given every month to a charity of my choice."