Paradise Lost ━━ Regulus Black

Gossamer Creature

Rain pelted against the window. The sound was awfully belligerent, like a distant drumbeat calling to arms, yet if one listened closely, the dull percussion had rather a soothing rhythm to it. Lola certainly thought so as she stared out the window, eyes glazed over with boredom, watching the beady droplets race each other — which one would reach the sill faster? The suspense.

Diagon Alley appeared strangely deserted. Or not so strangely at all, not after the last attack. Many people were hesitant to venture far from their homes — you never knew when the blight would strike again. The blight which had taken over the Wizarding World in the past years. Like a malignant decay, it had been growing, and spreading, and corrupting, turning the once peaceful community into an open battlefield. Nowhere was safe. No one was safe. Not unless they bore a mark on their left arm and a dark stain upon their soul.

Plop. A sugar cube disappeared in the steaming hot tea, musky smell of bergamot wafting from the cup. Two more — ah, yes perfect. A splash of cream, though not too much, mind you. Mix it all up nicely, put the cup on the tray where two more already rested. Making tea was a form of art, especially when you made it for Thaddeus Powlette — the renowned writer and the current editor-in-chief for Witch Weekly. See, the man was very particular about how he took his tea. So particular, in fact, that he made it Lola's sole job to make it, because "she did it so masterfully". Never mind that she was a reporter — an editorial assistant, to be precise — and had more important things to do than serve tea and biscuits. Mr. Powlette happened to employ an actual secretary for that, only everyone at the office knew that hers was an entirely different field of expertise.

"Ah, Lola!" Mr. Powlette's moustached face lit up when she walked into the conference room. He was having a meeting with a few senior board members, likely talking over the spread for the upcoming issue. The three men spared her a bored glance; a dutiful once-over that lingered on the curve of her tweed pencil skirt. Lola took the lecherous ogling rather impassively, but made sure to place the cups in front of them with deliberate force, "Marvellous, marvellous. Thank you, darling," Thaddeus gushed.

Lola mirrored his smile but it dropped as soon as she walked out. God, that man was a royal prick. Sending the tray back to the kitchenette with a swish of her wand, she returned to her station — it was nestled cozily in the far-off corner of the office, right next to the wide, arched window overlooking Flourish and Blotts. It was the end of summer and school would be in session just in a couple of days, but the bookstore stood glum and empty, missing the usual hoards of Hogwarts students.

"He tip you well?" came a sarcastic Irish lilt of her cubicle pal, Fionnuala McDougal.

Lola sat down at her desk — a perfectly immaculate working area, not a piece of stationary out of — ah, blast. She frowned at the quill that was slightly skewed, falling out of line with the others. Lola nudged it sternly into place.

"You ever found it strange how there're only five women writing for a women's magazine?" she wondered out loud as she leaned back into the decidedly uncomfortable office chair, twirling a quill between her fingers with an absent-minded boredom.

"Six," corrected Fia. She sounded a bit distracted, was — hold on, was she painting her nails? "You forgot sweet Rita."

Lola scoffed. Someday she would stick the floating quill up Skeeter's flat arse — to keep company to that ever-present stick. For now, though, she would have to keep seeing her beady blue eyes, bleached blonde hair and thin glasses perched right on the tip of her narrow, pointy nose. "She's not a woman, she's a monster."

"Powlette would call it bit redundant."

"Wouldn't he? It would make a rather flashy pitch, actually," Lola mused with a heavy pinch of sarcasm, "'Beast Devision: Women's Registry'. I'd wager at least half of the Wizengamot would vote yea. Most of their wives are harpies anyway."