SMUGGLEBORN/
There will always be someone willing to break you, ridicule you, gossip about you, belittle your achievements, and judge your very soul.
And that person is Dylan Blossom.
or,
In which George Weasley hires an unfeeling, walking contradi...
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Dressing up in a nice outfit is the only time Dylan Blossom felt any form of self love. A sense of pride would fill her as she looked in the mirror at her reflection. When she looked better, she felt better and when she felt better, she could accomplish anything she put her mind to.
The woman may be shallow, but that's what happened after spending a lifetime of people only seeing her at surface layer.
Her outfit that day reflected her mood, dressed head to toe in black.
She was attending a funeral for her dignity.
29 days until she was homeless.
The day ahead of her was tightly packed; she had two interviews lined up, one at a shop that sells second-hand objects (which would be a disaster) and another at a tea shop (Dylan really despised tea).
Then there was another addition to her schedule, a last minute, unwanted addition foisted on her by a little girl no older then six, a little girl who had the most infuriating and bothersome person she had ever met as a father.
George Weasley was an odd man, he had the patience of a saint but the personality of a muppet (definitely Dr Teeth). Dylan would pop in for not even two minutes, say her hello's, insult the gingers then make a swift permanent exit.
That was her plan for the day, simple and effective, with her first stop being the Junk Shop, a shop that only sells second-hand items ranging from clothes to furniture. If successful, she was betting on a generous employee discount because when she finds a new apartment, furniture will be a necessity, even if she would have to downgrade from her brand new velvet couch to second-hand furniture.
Her landlord had already informed her he would be keeping the couch as 'compensation' for her missing payments.
What an idiot.
Dylan would like to make one thing perfectly clear, she was brilliant at interviews, it was just the actual working aspect that she struggled with.
"So, tell me," the older gentleman asked, dirty apron on his frail body, hands that clearly hadn't been moisturised in years. Dylan tried not to cringe because the smile on his face was so gentle and kind (see, she could be complimentary at times), "why did you leave your last place of employment?"
Dylan let out a small chuckle, meeting his smile with her own, "Simply because of the late nights, I would be closing the pub at three in the morning and walking home, and it certainly isn't safe for a woman to be walking alone at night."
(Partly true, not a lie in sight)
The shop owner nodded his head, "Yes, of course, completely understandable."
"Have you got any more questions for me, Sir," Dylan quirked her perfectly plucked eyebrow, hands lying carefully on her black pants, her fingers nervously twirling with the rings on her fingers.
