Storm walked tentatively towards the Head Cleaners office, her heart filled with dread. She stopped before the door, straightening her uniform and pulling her masses of curly, dark brown hair into a neat- well at least, as neat as Storm could make it- ponytail.

She knocked on the door, biting her lip and hoping for the best. “Come in.” Came the stern voice of the Head Cleaner. Storm gulped, before entering the office.

The Head Cleaners office was neat and tidy. The walls had no posters or pictures of loved ones hung up, only some boring paintings that looked like they had been done by complete amateurs. Storm frowned at these- She loved art, but hated the uncreative pieces that were called “Masterpieces”.

The Head Cleaner was just as bad. Mr. Grovel, or Gary, as he wished all employees to call him. He was young, attractive, but Storm found he had the personality of a wet towel. None. She often noticed him flirting with the other female employees, and insulting the males and the females who were old or ugly. Storm could still not figure out how he got the job.

“Sleaze.” She murmured under her breath, and he looked up. 
“What was that Miss Sanders? Or may I call you Storm?”
“Storm’s fine.” She said icily, and Gary smiled, beckoning for her to sit down, before pulling out a report from his files.

“Now lets see…. Storm Ileana Sanderson, that is your full name I gather?”
Storm sighed. “Well, yes and no.”
“Yes and no? Why is that?”
“I was adopted. My birth name was Ileana Juli Aguilar, but my adoptive parents changed it.”
Gary stared at her thoughtfully, before speaking.
“You know your fathers surname, why do you not try to find him?”
“He is dead. I tried to find him. Turns out he died when he was trying to catch some criminals. He was an Auror in Spain.”

Gary frowned, and tried to look sympathetic. Storm sighed. Why was this loser trying to pry into her personal life? She smiled, but it was a forced smile.
“So, why was I called to your office sir?”
“Please, call me Gary. I called you here because your work does not seem to be of a very high standard. You are always stopping to read or something like that. And you encouraged the other workers to go on strike against the ministry. This simply will not do Storm. I am afraid I will have to fire you.”

Storm let out a cry of outrage. “You can’t fire me based on that! My work has been good, and the workers all wanted a strike! Please, what can I do to keep this job? I need it!”

Gary smiled, and stood up, walking towards her. “Well…you could do something for me…” He said, standing in front of her. Storm stared. “Oh no….” She whispered, before Gary kissed her on the lips, pulling her towards him. Storm pushed him off her furiously; her wand quickly was pulled out of her uniform.

“How dare you! I don’t care anymore; this was a stupid job anyway. I quit!”

She walked out of the room, her mind whirling, and sparks coming out from the tip of her wand. She apparated out of there, arriving in her apartment. She looked around, checking to see if anyone followed her, before beginning to cry.

This kind of incident was becoming too common for her. She hated the fact that she had flawless brown skin, hated her slim figure, her grey eyes surrounded by dark lashes. She wanted to be hideous, so people wouldn’t judge her on her appearance. That was why she was so often unemployed. Everyone thought she was a stupid, ditzy girl who couldn’t do anything in case she broke a nail. It didn’t help that her mother- Her adopted mother died at the time of her NEWT’s, so she failed most of them, overcome by grief.

She sighed wearily, wiping a tear out of her eye, before picking up a copy of the “Daily Prophet” from the floor, and turning to the all to familiar jobs section.

She read through them sadly, none jumping out to her. All of the jobs were either too underpaid, too boring, or too far away. Then she saw the ad.

<i>Looking for a creative, hardworking person to write for the Daily Prophet’s Art section. If interested, please send a Resume to the Daily Prophet. The best five will be asked to come for an interview. Pays approx. 25 galleons a fortnight.</i>

Storm stared. 25 galleons! That was a lot of money, in her opinion. Storm smiled. Creative, Hardworking Art Journalist huh? She smiled to herself.

“Perfect.”

She got to work straight away, Writing a detailed Resume. She found it easy to list all the jobs she had ever worked, surely that would be in her favour? She also included a short review of some artwork she had seen in the “London Wizards Art Museum”.

Storm sent it off immediately, with her old owl Checkers. She waited in her apartment for the reply, hoping Checkers had not gotten lost on the way.

Finally, Checkers arrived, a letter tied to his foot. Storm stood up slowly, staring at the letter hopefully. She began to walk over to her owl, each step harder and more laboured, as if bricks were tied to her feet.

“Please, Please, Please let me have an interview!” She said to herself, clumsily untying the letter from Checkers foot. She opened it, and began to read.

<i> Dear Miss Sanderson,
I am pleased to say that you have been invited for an interview for the position of Art Journalist at The Daily Prophet. We were very impressed with your resume.
Please come to the Daily Prophet at 7:30am on Saturday the 8th , to the Editors Office.Please be very punctual.
Sincerelly,
Dasha Cross
Secretary to Editor

“Hooray!” Storm screamed.

On the day of the interview, Storm woke up at 5:00, dressing in her most proffesional clothing. She wore a long black skirt, and a white blouse. She spent a half an hour on her hair, until it was satisfactory, tied up in a loose bun.

She apparated to the Daily Prophets Headquarters at 7:15, hoping to get extra marks for being early.

The Headquarters was huge. Storm’s eyes widened as she looked around. There were people everywhere, the place was covered in paper, and the halls were like a maze.

“Wow.” Storm whispered, beginning to walk in what she hoped was the Editors Office.

Within Five minutes Storm was completely lost.  She retraced her steps, trying to find someone to help her out. A lady walked by, and Storm hurried over to her.
“Excuse me-“ She began, and the lady turned around suddenly, spilling her coffee all over Storm.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” The lady exclaimed, staring at Storm’s ruined clothes in horror. Storm frowned. This was not turning out well at all.

“Here, let me fix that!” The lady said, and got out her wand. She did a spell, attempting to get the coffee off Storm, but instead set fire to it. Storm screamed.

“Oh I am so sorry! I am a squib, and-“ The lady began, but Storm quieted her. “It’s okay.” She said, putting out the fire to find the bottom of her top and the bottom of her skirt were burnt.

Storm sighed, before getting out her wand. She cut off the burnt parts of the clothing, and magically made the coffee stains disappear. Now she was wearing a midriff top, and a mini skirt.

She continued on her way, leaving the lady behind. Finally she reached the editors office, and knocked on the door sadly.

The door opened, and Storm looked up wearily. “Sorry I’m late-“ She began, but then gasped. She was staring him. Damien Jefferson, the one man she had ever loved.
“Storm?” He exclaimed, his eyes widening.