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"Next!" Dorea Potter called as a glamorous girl stepped over the threshold.

    "Hello!" She said, her breathy voice oozing with confidence, "It's such a pleasure, Mrs. Potter."

    "The pleasure is all mine, honey. Now, stand up!" The steel-haired woman ordered as she took out a measuring tape. "Hmmm, thirty-eight, not bad, and then nineteen. Well, I suppose, no... wait, perfect!" She muttered as she cinched in the black, strapless dress and fluffed out a sleek, merlot curl. "Now, I want you to be sprawled out with your head up, and legs like so. Tilt that chin, darling, we need more lipstick pronto, and maybe a bit of blush.Bring that arm back behind, and bend it at the elbow. Curve at the arc of your back, show off that waist, but look at the camera, dead on, dearie. There, that's it! Don't move a muscle!"

    James watched all of this from his seat in the director's chair, glad to recognize someone but upset that she looked as good in person as she did on all her magazine covers that littered the studio. Of course a press princess like her would only be on the cover, leaving the inside to less worthy girls, ones with flaws. After all, from her shining hair, swimming to her pinched thighs, and marbled complexion coupled with satin cheeks and lips like the richest wine, well, even he had to admit she was the most beautiful creature to ever grace the earth. Still, that didn't mean he had to like her, no matter how nice she seemed or how rich her father was. It didn't help that everyone else fawned over her, either. Hell, even his mum preferred the divine Lily Indigo Ingram-Fulke to her own son. Such a perfect name, for such a perfect girl.
   
    Watching her finish the shoot, and having the entire crew at her beck and call (Oh, well, I don't want to be a bother, but could I please have some Evian, chilled?) was how James Potter finished his afternoon, or thought he was going to. Instead his glorious mother invited her over for a spot of tea, since she did live quite near their neighborhood, didn't she? And, in case we'd never met, she had a son, around fifteen, just like you. The only card she didn't play was the dating card, and for that I could at least be grateful.

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    "You have such a lovely home, Mrs. Potter. That rose garden is simply divine." Lily cooed as she gracefully walked up the cobblestone path to our house, Blahniks clicking. Had she not lived in Yew Grove, for the most elite of pure-blooded society, I almost would have believed her, but since her house was a castle that had been in their line for centuries, I could only assume she was a talented liar.

    "Do you really think so? We've just finished it come last spring, but the houselves do have quite the green thumb, I think." I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at her use of the word houselves. In truth we had two, one of whom could no longer hold up a tea tray, but had she said houself I'm sure her most prized of clients would have been rather turned off. After all, I'm sure she had at lest twenty, maybe more, since her father was the Minister of Magic you know.

    "Well, come on in to the parlor, Lily. The tea and cakes will be here in a moment." She said and rang a delicate silver bell. True to her word Twinkie, our last elf, appeared with a heavily laden tray which he sat down on the cold, stone table with a bow. "Milk, sugar, or lemon, dear?" 

    "I'd like lemon, if you please." Mother nodded approvingly, she had always been a lemon girl herself. I didn't like tea at all so it didn't matter much to me, it just seemed so girly. Now, butterbeer, that was a whole nother story, there. It was the drink of men, underage men, but men all the same. Just as I was musing over this there came a loud knock on the door, answered by Twinkie.  

    "Mistress, a Mr. Binkerman is here to see you." he wheezed

    "Who? Oh, well, never mind, invite him in. James, be a dear and show Lily up to your room. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time."

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