Trollhouse Publishing had learned a thing or two from it's star author over the years; namely that making a lot of money went hand in hand with how willing you were to exploit the resources you had at your disposal. What better way to draw attention to one's self by dragging the recently reclusive Dolly St. James out for a dog and pony show at Hogwarts? They booth had both a literary agent and copy editor there to field the questions she couldn't answer; but even their pamphlets on summer programs and internships brandished her face about from any number of glamor shots. The woman, herself, sat primly between the two overeager faces with a plume-y quill held delicately between her long fingers. She was taking applications for her own summer intern; though it was something she agreed to grudgingly and only to shut the suits up. It seems almost disrespectful so soon after Tabitha's death.

The publishing company itself was in the midst of a transformation; it was targeting younger readers and thus needed younger writers. They had hopes with the glittering presence of Dolly that they might lure in some new talent. Of course if they had ever listened to Dolly talk on the matter they would know that the thing she regretted most was starting so early. She openly admitted as of late, to friends and fans that bothered to ask, that she had made many mistakes in writing her first book. It was a far cry from her former self proclaimed indifference to the feelings of those she wrote about. It was easier to live with yourself when you didn't give a damn who you hurt. With age had come experience and wisdom for the writer - and something she had never counted on in her life; remorse.

It was seeing Landis that had undone her really; looking back on her life before she spilled her secrets. In truth the agent was there to keep a leash on the writer. Since her accident in March she'd holed herself up in her penthouse and refused most visitors. She was working on something; but no one could drag out of her what. Meal ticket though she was, St. James was also unpredictable (more so now than ever before). Dolly was aware of all of this - which somehow made the sign above her head inquiring ARE YOU THE NEXT DOLLY ST. JAMES? seemed more insulting. They were going to mine the potential talent pool of Hogwartian short stories for a possible next big catch. It was just a short story contest but Dolly could see where it was going - and she wasn't at all being paranoid. At. All.

Right.

-- Outfit. --

---

There was a thing about Dolly St. James that Beatrix always enjoyed. Perhaps it was her wild, unpredictable ways. Or her consistently interesting conversations. The pink-haired girl had merely met the writer at a dinner party she was only invited to because she was pureblood and Daz wished to string her along (and perhaps she had a disturbing love for Professor Bombay.) But she liked Dolly. She enjoyed her writing. She even sometimes connected and empathized with her writing (as awful as that sounded.) Beatrix practically worshiped the woman. But that meant nothing. She was just like every other girl in the crowd who wished to meet and famed woman. She was just another fan. A fan willing to claw a few other gals in order to get closer to Dolly, however.

Beatrix wouldn't call herself a superb writer, but she read constantly had quite the interesting vocabulary. She was too humble to admit she could write a good short story. But that was also possibly due to the fact she never showed her writing to anyone. Maybe Vincent could catch a glimpse of one of her essays here and there, but she was always too embarrassed to let him read anything else. She decided to push past her insecurity and take her hand at the contest she heard was going on at the Trollhouse booth. While Beatrix wasn't confident, she truly wanted to test her skill. Rumors spread that Dolly would be taking the winner under her wing (or perhaps it was a book deal; students were very untrustworthy when it came to information.) While Beatrix had no true interest in the writing profession (in fact, she would be running around the alchemy booth when she wasn't at the Trollhouse booth -- Potions and creation were her true callings.) She didn't count on winning the contest, but it would give her a brief moment with Dolly St. James.

Beatrix pushed herself through the crowd, ducking between people with her tiny body. She felt like a cat, flowing gracefully through the horde of fans. If it weren't for the fact she was wearing heels and shuffling about to avoid tripping, she would have fit that analogy. Most people around her were simply there to just ogle at the beautiful woman. Each time Beatrix caught a glimpse of Dolly, even she was a bit awestruck. Since Beatrix had grown much more infatuated with Dolly's writing, she felt much more excited to meet her. Even if she had already met the lovely woman at the Bombay dinner, Beatrix felt much different this time. Much more anxious. And slightly silly for not realizing how brilliant the woman was beforehand.

Brilliant wasn't exactly a good adjective for Dolly, however. Her writing was entertaining but she was no Shakespeare. Simply a fad. Beatrix knew this, but she hardly cared. In the future, she could tell her Pennyapple children that she met St. James in her prime. And her black-haired, dark-eyed (possibly metamorphic?) children would be amazed.

With a rather aggressive bump of her hip, Beatrix pushed one of her peers out of the way in order to get her hands on an application for internship. Her bright blue eyes quickly flashed up to look at Dolly, a cutesy smile forming on her face. She wasn't sure if she should speak up. Or if Dolly was too busy/uncaring to respond back. But the Dark girl didn't exactly want to leave the booth without trying.

"Good evening, Miss St. James," she announced with her bubbly voice, "I don't know if you remember me, but we met at a dinner party a while back ago. At the Bombay's. I was the one with the pink hair," she giggled before continuing, "It's okay if you don't. But I was hoping to intern for you this summer, you know? I thought it would be fun." A person behind her attempted to nudge past her and she dug her heel into their foot. They screeched and quickly stepped back behind the Ravenclaw, and the people around her quickly caught on to her intolerance with the impatient crowd. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling on," she stepped to the side and began reading over her form.

Dolly St. James was such a classy lady. Winifred had read all of her books and loved them very much. She wanted, when she got older, to be just like some of the girls in those books and wanted to be as classy and beautiful and charming and talented at Dolly St. James was, too. Winifred wrote her fan letters on a regular basis, and even though her mum and dad and Uncle Archer told her that the Slither Girls were filth- she didn't care. She liked it, and she read it anyway.

Winifred did not have much to do today at the career fair. She was sad her Uncle Archer wasn't going to be at the Auror Booth, but that left her more time to do other things. Like gawk at Dolly St. James in person.

The Hufflepuff cautiously approached- and was excited to see a big sign asking if she was the next Dolly St. James (Winnie hoped so) and information on a writing contest. She turned when she heard someone screech- watching as Beatrix Dark smashed a foot. That Beatrix Dark was a mean old Ravenclaw. And kind of scary. But that was alright. Because Winifred wasn't here to see Beatrix Dark- she was here to see Dolly St. James, and Dolly St. James was certainly classy enough to realize that you couldn't be mean to your fans and she was certainly about a bajillion times the woman that Beatrix Dark would grow up to be. So there.

"Wow," she said when she finally reached the table. Her copy of Dolly's latest book was clutched in her chubby hands, and her eyes were wide- bugging out of her head. It was Dolly St. James- right in front of her!. "I can't believe you're here!" she squeaked. Fangirl? Yes, Winifred had that tendency. "I sure wish I wasn't too young to be your intern!" she exclaimed. "Wow! Wouldn't that be a dream come true, huh?"

Dolly really wanted a smoke and a drink. It wasn't the children that stressed her out (secretly Dolly adored kids; it didn't suit with her image but facts were facts) it was the feeling of being confined, unable to gesture at will with the point of a cigarette and a laugh. She didn't fancy herself a proper role model (then again she was probably a better one than Dominik. She'd never bit anyone's ear off nearly or burned them with a cigarette in the middle of a fan booth). She knew that in the long run she would be remembered for her clever tricks and quick turn of phrase; her exploits overshadowing her talent. She did have talent. The early books didn't show case it because it was all so sensational. In writing book five (which she had greatly struggled with) she became more in touch with herself, with the past, and the repercussions of her actions. She had tried to frame the story differently; challenge the reader to envision the characters complexly. More than anything the last book had been cathartic in the simple sense that she stopped trying to make Odette seem innocent. Her heroine was no longer the damsel in distress; she took her kicks but (much like the woman herself) she had given up on waiting for Devlin (Dominik).

Chewing the inside of her cheek she was snapped back to reality by a gleeful voice and flash of pink hair. Her blue eyes focused on the sprite in front of her and she found herself not only recalling her fondly but remembered asking after her to Daz not so long ago, "Beatrix, Darling! Don't you look charming," she paused realizing that was a terrible greeting as she extended both hands to the fifth year and leaned forward to bump cheeks with her. "Of course I remember who you are, if there is one thing I remember it's a girl with a sense of style," she offered the girl a wink and a smile. From what she remembered the twins' story was a sad one; the short version of it being everyone in their family criminally insane (in the case of her father quite literally). Dolly often felt pangs for children who grew up in that life. One would be hard pressed to tell but the woman was not without her own nurturing qualities. If anyone needed proof of that her lengthy and public friendship with Dam could have told them that. She may have acted colder than the Arctic but behind the mask she was just a woman who fought her own great capacity to love.

Nudging a smooth piece of parchment toward the bubblegum haired girl, her smile was genuine, "If you're that interested then I insist you fill out an application. I do have to tell you though it well be far more boring than they make it sound. I do have another book to put out. These almost yearly release dates are whomping me and my social calendar," she gave the girl a wink before turning in the direction of the fresh faced redhead. Salazar's knickers! She couldn't have been more than a third year. People actually let twelve and thirteen year old children read the smut she wrote? She knew, to a degree, that her fanbase was split between housewives and teenage girls but she had honestly never fathomed that girls who looked so positively innocent were reading the trashy romance novels her first books at been. She hid her horror and shame well, of course, because really a fan was a fan in the eyes of her publishers. Instead of bug-eyed disbelief she smiled warmly extending her hand to the round faced girl, "Aren't you just the sweetest thing, I love fan gatherings - of course I'm supposed to be here strictly as a professional adviser," she glanced around conspiratorially before reaching out to tap the cover of her boot with a red nail, "but I'd be willing to break professional code if you'd like me to sign that for you".

She silently thanked Merlin that there was a cut off age for her internship. She was having a hard enough time trying to figure out what she could schedule to include an intern and what she couldn't. She and Molly had actually shared a bit of a laugh over it really (largely because Dolly often felt like a corrupting influence on Molly - she could not imagine having to watch her alcohol intake and language around someone ranging from possibly 15-17. The idea of a seventeen year old didn't bother her as much as the idea of someone only fifteen. Still, that was better than the fact the writing competition was literally open to everyone. She and Molly would have a lot of work cut out for them if they got an influx of submissions. So far there had only been four, maybe five. Looking between the girls, encouraging polite conversation lest the booth fall back into gawking silence she fiddled with the plume of her quill, "Are either of you entering into the writing contest? Unlike the internship there's no age bottom or cap. We're really hoping to encourage young writers to be a little fearless and open themselves up to the joys creative writing brings," she grinned a little her nose wrinkling ever so slightly; voice lowered to a stage whisper as though only the girls could hear her, "It sure beats the hell out of eight feet of essay writing".

"Beatrix, Darling! Don't you look charming,"

The Ravenclaw's cheeks flushed pink when Dolly St. James called her by her first name. She hadn't known about Dolly's interest in her, but if she had she would have been immediately attached to the woman. Beatrix, sadly, never had a mother figure. While Daddy Dark wasn't the fittest father, the only heartache he ever gave Bea was when he disappeared for a few years and she had to live with her actual mother. Beatrix hardly counted Audrey as her mother, anyways. Replacing her with a woman much younger, prettier, and talented than her would be no big deal for Beatrix. Of course, Daddy Dark would most likely be confused to why Beatrix followed around a writer and called her, "Mommy Dolly."

"Oh, thank you!" Beatrix beamed at the woman before she pulled Beatrix into a small hug. Anyone watching Beatrix at that moment was likely envious of her. This put a rather evil looking smirk on the tiny girl's face. There was nothing Beatrix loved more than having people jealous of her. And, in Bea's eyes, there was a lot to be jealous of. Cute boyfriend, cute clothes, cute sister (and brother, but squibs somehow didn't count), cute face... And now she could tell people, "Dolly St. James knows my name and hugged me at Career Day. Your life is irrelevant."

"Of course I remember who you are, if there is one thing I remember it's a girl with a sense of style,"

Beatrix's cheeks were then a brilliant red. Dolly St. James thought that Beatrix had a sense of style. It was like she was viciously stabbing everyone who ever told Beatrix her clothes were weird. Beatrix's evil smile became brighter. "Thank you so much!" She chimed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear out of humbleness. Beatrix took the application in her hands, pink fingernails gripping the sides carefully. Beatrix didn't mind if working for Dolly would be boring. Beatrix already sat around, reading all day. Perhaps she'll be able to not only read, but do mindless tasks for the writer, too! Such as fetch her coffee and ink and feeding her dog (or whatever she has.)

A younger Hufflepuff came along and started talking to Dolly (of course Beatrix had no clue who she was, but remembered seeing her around her cousin a few times.) Bea sent the small girl a bubbly smile. It was pretty cute how the young thing wanted to intern for Dolly. It made Beatrix feel warm and fuzzy. But even Beatrix realized how weird it was that a thirteen year old would be reading Dolly's books. They were a bit... Raunchy at times. However, the girl was thirteen. Beatrix was reading plenty of awful books by that age. She decided not to think anything of it and went back to her application, picking a pen from a peer's pocket and filling out the basics. She wrote down her name in curly, black letters. She had lovely handwriting. But she knew boys who could write prettier than her... Like Razzy.

"Are either of you entering into the writing contest?"

"Oh, I am," Beatrix stepped back in, "I don't exactly imagine that I'll win, especially since I bet Maddie Pratt may be submitting something, but it'll still be fun." Beatrix was rather jealous of Maddie Pratt's writing skills. But everyone had a knack for something. Beatrix had her potions, Maddie had her writing. Nothing to get worked up over. "Will we be assigned a prompt or is it a free response? I don't think having students write freely would be a very good idea, to be honest," she leaned in towards the two girls, "There's people like Trent Travis lurking around who might be looking to abuse that."

Winifred could have just died when Dolly St. James told her that she was sweet and held her hand for Winifred to shake and then said that she could autograph the book that Winnie was clutching in her arms. But instead of letting herself die, Winifred just squeaked excitedly.  Winifred handed Dolly St. James her book and smiled as brightly as she could. "Thank you so much! I would really love that!" Containing her excitement was just getting more and more difficult to do.

"Can you make it out to Winifred?" she asked. "Or Winnie. Or Fred, even. Some people call me Fred." But Winifred had told her that before when she had written to her. In fact, Winifred had even once written to Dolly St. James to ask advice about boys. The boy in particular being an older boy that she thought was just dreamy... also known as Dax Fayette. Dolly had told her just to feign disinterest (Winnie had to look up what the word feign meant) but that was really hard to do since she got so excited when she got to talk to Dax about things.

When there was talk of a writing contest, Winifred made an "oooooh" sound. "I didn' t know there was one!" she exclaimed. But if people like Bea (who obviously had to be super creative) and Maddie Pratt were entering, then she likely didn't stand a chance. Especially since she wasn't a very good writer or speller to begin with. "But I probably won't enter. It sounds like fun but I'm just awful with writing stuff. I can't spell good, either." And obviously she was lacking in grammar. Pretty much the only thing that Winifred was good at was muggle studies. Although her wand work had been improving since she had been getting tutored. Improving in the sense that she wasn't blowing things up as often, at least.

Molly pursued her planner for the third time in fifteen minute, wired by coffee and intent on not missing a single important reminder. She'd redoubled her efforts at organization of late-- things had been chaos since Tabitha's death and Dolly's hospitalization, not least of all because Molly's own brother was caught up in the mess. It had been a strange relief to resume work as normal, but she still found her nerves pinching whenever she thought too long what Tabitha might have done. It was hard to miss someone, to pay respect, while also taking over their job, and Molly felt more than a little guilty about it.

But that hadn't stopped her from doing her best to comfort Dolly and make sure she didn't go off the deep end. It was easy for someone with so much success and drive to do just that. One's creativity was often one's best means of destruction, a true double-edged sword. And Dolly's habit of self-medicating made her mousier friend frown. How did one stand up to such a glamorous whirlwind, let alone take care of her? How had Molly Pratt of all people ended up the chosen one? Surely there people better qualified, but now was not the time to dwell. Besides, her sense of self was not so terrible as her recent fretting made it sound. Molly loved her job, her boss (who was also a dear friend), and her husband and their new home, too. She would not want to be anyone but exactly who she was, doing exactly what she did.

Looking up from her list as she finished checking everything for a third time in Weasley's Color-Changing Highlighter Quills, the Hufflepuff alum smiled at a young girl whose dormitory had perhaps once been her own. "There are pamphlets that explain everything," she offered kindly, magicking one the hover before the younger badger. It poked and prodded at the girl's torso, waiting impatiently as reading material was like to do for her to take it to hand. "But it's better coming from your favorite writer's lips," she admitted, not much of an afterthought as it was a plain truth. Part of the appeal of Dolly's wildly successful saga was Dolly herself, who lived much the same life her characters did. She caught the other woman's eye.