Fiancé

Chapter 4

Affably Blue

"Me either. I bet if I suggested a game of Quidditch, he'd cum in his pants." - Paul Rudd, Role Models

I woke up on Thursday morning to the sound of a sharp tapping on my window. Feeling surprisingly energetic, I sprang to my feet and eagerly went to the window to let Calypso into my room. She zoomed past me and went straight for her water dish.

I laughed. "Did Hest make you cross a desert, or something?" I asked Callie as I put a few owl treats into her bowl.

She hooted up at me and then reluctantly flew over and stuck her leg out.

I started untying the letter strapped to her talon. "Thanks, boo," I said as I stroked her wing fondly.

Callie flew back to her food and started pecking at it very intently.

I turned the neon orange letter over in my hand and then started reading.

Lily-bear!

¡Hola, chica! (Ahh. Do you remember Spain? Well, obviously not because you weren't there. But do you remember when I went to Spain? Merlin, it was nice. Actually, scratch that. It was much much better than nice. Why is it so bloody cold in England? I'm so sick of the rain. It makes my hair frizz out, my stupid cankles fit horribly into galoshes and it's such a pain in the bum to walk when there's no room, and I'm almost as pasty as you right now from the lack of sun).

Okay, so yesterday was my first official day as a Daily Prophet reporter. I got up extra early and wore my black skirt with my purple top (you know the one that shows off my cleavage really well?) and these awesome pumps I've had in my closet for ages. So with full Hestia Attitude, I strutted into that office and let them know that Hestia Jones was reporting for duty.

And then they made me get coffee.

Oh yeah. Seven years of schooling, nine application article samples, and eighteen years of Jonesing, and I am fully qualified to conjure up some coffee.

Bite me.

It got better after that. I got to file paperwork and check facts and alphabetize things. Oooh. A dream come true.

My" mentor" is this complete slag named Rita Skeeter. She's in her mid-to-late twenties (though, I'd doubt she'd say she's older than 21), blonde (of course. She would be), and I'm pretty sure she wasn't wearing knickers. I caught her flirting with about everything that moved in that office. If there was a fly zooming around, she probably would have banged it.

But, I digress.

I don't care how scarlet the A on her chest is because I HAVE AN ASSIGNMENT!

I, Hestia Syl Jones, have my first ever assignment as a reporter. I am going to be covering (I'm sorry my handwriting looks like crap here, but I am so bloody excited that my hand is literally shaking and I'm still recovering from the eight cups of coffee I had yesterday while I was forced to keep making Rita coffees until there was exactly two teaspoons of skim milk and three-quarters packet of sugar substitute in it)...a QUIDDITCH MATCH!

You read that right. Freaking Quidditch! Can you believe it!

Here's the what:

My new bossman, Barnabas Cuffe, walked in and was all, "Rita! Zyaire is sick! I need you to cover his story on the Puddlemere game tomorrow."

And then Rita got into a huge fit about how she's busy with some huge scoop on this scandal she just discovered and doesn't have time to cover "such a vulgar game."