Liv Lavendale

He had to admit that even if his eyes spent more time than they should looking for Benjy in the crowd of people, he knew an attractive face when he saw one. And this woman truly was gorgeous. Also definitely his boss, yes, but still gorgeous. Could he flirt with his boss? Flirting with Rodolphus had been funny but almost never anything even remotely serious in any way.

“Oh I don’t know, these parties always do have a way of getting quite feisty when you least expect. Owen Baldwin’s here, he always loves a good scene.” Gilderoy sipped his champagne and smoothed down his velvet floral suit. “You know, I do work for you now, you don’t need to pretend like I’m the competition any more.”

She wasn’t exactly sure who Owen Baldwin was but she hadn’t read his name in Imogens file so she was probably fine shrugging one shoulder and changing the topic. “Fiesty parties are for teenagers. All I want is a good spread and an even better cocktail selection.” She half-lectured sliding her eyes over the handsome man beside her in a way that was all Liv. 

The real Imogen should really hire her, she was doing fantastic at this. If the curse breaking didn’t work out she knew who she would contact. 

Kingsley blinked down at his elbow for a moment, startled. That he truly hadn’t noticed. If Anson was here he would’ve pointed it out instantly. At least Liv had his back for now. He removed his sleeve hastily and wrung it out on the floor before Charming it clean.

“Hestia deserves the chance to enjoy what she’s won.” He said gently. Of course Kingsley knew that Liv wouldn’t say this if she wasn’t the Witch Weekly owner, he knew this. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “My boy wrangled his team perfectly, you ought to be glad he’s out so he didn’t hear you say that. Every good team loses some times.”

She had spoken a little louder than she usually would to make sure the people surrounding them would have to hear. When even the eavesdroppers winced she knew she had probably gone too far. “I’m far from glad he’s out, Mr. Shacklebolt. I’ve been trying to wrangle him in for a cover for at least the past six months. Too bad about him disappearing, I was really hoping to make him Mr. December.” Liv would need to send Kingsley a nice fruit basket following this. A very nice one. 

She spoke as if Anson was away on holiday and not like he had been brutally kidnapped. For Shacklebolt’s sake she hoped the little bastard was fine. She would put money on the attackers even bringing him back unharmed, Anson Wood had that sort of charming way about him. Not like she would know or anything though. “Although Mr. January is still available if you’d be interested, Mr. Shacklebolt.” 

Marcus had been excited to be around his husband this evening, but it didn’t mean that they were attached at the hip. Still, he kept Levi in the corner of his eye making sure he was okay. It was a habit he’d picked up, but it wasn’t one that could be easily dropped even if this was where he was most of the time. 

Still there was a soft pleasant look on his face as he took in the entire party. He’d seen the Castle before, but it was mostly the grounds. He hadn’t really been in the building that his husband now spent most of his life in. 

He almost didn’t hear the other, eyes focused on looking at the room and where he should go next, but at the question he tilted his head slightly and gave a chuckle. “I think we can forgive them, I do hope this means that they spend more time focusing on teaching children. Although the spread isn’t great.” 

He shook his head trying to put the other at ease. “No I don’t think we have. I’m Marcus.” Looking at the drink and back at the other he continued almost conspiratorially, “They also are watering down the drinks. I don’t know if you usually go mixed drinks, but if you want a proper drink you might want it neat.” 

Liv laughed, feeling odd when the laugh wasn’t her own. “When you put it that way I suppose it can be forgiven if it meant the budget went to education.” She cast a disdainful look at the mentioned spread.

She held out a dainty hand for him to shake. “Imogen Dittle, I own Witches Weekly, the finest paper currently in publication.” Liv had actually always preferred the Quibbler but that was neither here nor there. At his helpful tip she looked down at her glass. It did look a little watered down even though she had gotten it not even five minutes prior. Subtly she left it on the table with the spread. “Noted. Dumbledore, that man.” She made a similar face to the one she had while thinking of the spread. 

She pretended to be impressed. “It’s not often I meet a man with actual taste. Are you currently employed?” Imogen was looking for more people around her publication so Liv was really doing the both a favor. 

Standing here at a party without Anson felt wrong. Not knowing anything about where Anson was or who had him felt worse. What right did he have to feel happy and smile and smooze about when he didn’t even know if his boyfriend was alive right now? 

Kingsley clutched his fancy champagne and tried to plaster on his best smile. He was back in a room with his partner and Moody, he ought to feel a bit better. A good portion of the Order and several of his closest friends were scattered around the event in disguise. He ought to stay sharp and keep an eye out for them. Fuck, he just kept thinking of how much he could get done back at the office with his map and his sources, trying to whittle away at this infuriating mystery.

“Pardon?” He said to whomever had just spoken to him, turning around to get a better look, “Sorry, didn’t catch that. Come again?”

Liv pointed at Kingsley Shacklebolt’s elbow. “Your elbow is in the punch bowl, I thought you should know.” Shacklebolt was pretty high up in the Order, so he obviously knew what was happening tonight. But considering the amount of polyjuice going around tonight and the fact she couldn’t even trust her own reflection her smile was reserved and she didn’t drop her cover. 

Liv knew that Anson wasn’t probably something he would want to talk about but Imogen didn’t. “Too bad about the Arrows loss, Mr. Shacklebolt. I heard you were at the game. If your boy would have wrangled his team better maybe Hestia Jones wouldn’t be gloating this very moment.” She almost winced and wondered if that was too far. She actually liked Hestia Jones, but judging on the not-so-nice articles printed about her in Witches Weekly magazine she was sure Imogen did. 

Keeping that in mind she scanned the room. She didn’t recognize most of the people around her but that was the point she supposed. She took another sip of her drink (usually her favorite, although now it tasted off) managing to appear much more casual than she felt. Liv looked at the person to her right who also seemed to not know anyone. “Not a very exciting party, is it? The spread is disappointing. Wait, sorry, have we met before?” She was asking everyone that, not sure exactly who this ‘Imogen’ might know. 

Caleb had been told in short who he was meant to pretend to be, donning the role as best as he could. There was no reason that Dumbledore should invite him among the other successful people, but Curtis Killman had good taste being a world-renown wizarding fashion designer and he suspected Dumbledore imported designed goods from him. Whether or not Caleb knew he was tonight hardly mattered. He was meant to blend into the crowd with a face that the people who weren’t masquerading tonight would know. It shouldn’t be too hard to know someone who was interested in fashion, thinking Curtis might have good taste enough to approach someone. The evening had just started and he needed to make the most of the time that he had such little of. The goal was to get information from those invited and he put on a smile that lighted through Curtis’ lips. “Enchanté. Might I remark on you beautiful those robes are? I could use that in my spring catalog.” 

Her file on Imogen hadn’t called her a flirt, but Liv couldn’t help it. There was something a little freeing about being someone else. “You’re more dashing in person than I had imagined, Mr. Killman.” She was glad to have found someone in the crowd that she recognized. Curtis Killman’s face had stuck out to her from the crowd having been featured in Witches Weekly not even a month back. Imogen would certainly know who this man was. 

“These robes? Oh I don’t know, my assistant picked them up somewhere. Isn’t that ridiculous? I’m dreadful with fashion. I’m Imogen Dittle, I’m sure you’ve heard of my magazine? We actually voted your line the most fashionable of the year, did you see?” From what Liv had heard of Imogen, she was a little bit of a chatterbox. She barely paused before continuing. “You cut a striking figure in person, Mr. Killman. I wish the interview we had requested would have worked out.” She had done her research, and by research she had read the past years back copies of Witches Weekly. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” 

It took her a second but her hand finally clasped around the right one. Liv pulled the red bottle from under her sink and read over the dusty label. This one would be perfect. The label was something that looked vaguely french which meant it had to be decent at least. She wasn’t a wine expert but the colleague who had given it to her last Christmas promised it was nice. Normally she wasn’t the red wine type but she was guessing her guest was. She couldn’t imagine Zara drinking a rosé, that was for sure. 

Standing up from her crouch by the sink she flicked her wand towards the cabinets. Two glasses floated lightly down from a height that was normally just a hair out of her reach. (They were thankfully dust free.) She turned and did a half wave with her wand and her candles sputtered to life. Finally she stood back to appreciate the full picture. She had the wine, the pleasant atmosphere and a loaf of bread baking. It was nice, very girls night-ish.

Ever since returning to England she’d come to the realization that her back home friends were few and far between. She enjoyed people so it was beginning to feel a bit like a self imposed exile. So here was her effort to remedy that. She and Zara had met through work and the few weeks they had worked alongside each other had been pleasant. Remembering her, Liv had sent her an owl inviting her over the week prior and it had been met pleasantly.

She was adjusting her knickknacks when the bell rang at the exactly the stroke of six. Liv straightened her blouse before yanking open the door and greeting her guest. “Zara! It’s so wonderful to see you. You look fantastic, love the shoes.” She hoped she was coming off a little too much. “Please, come in! How have you been?”