Mr. Lovegood had agreed to Blake's request, but his heart still ached.
Thousands of magazines, nearly a thousand Galleons in production costs—now Blake wanted to give them away for free?
As if sensing his distress, Blake pressed something into his hand. Mr. Lovegood's fingers closed around the weight, and his worry vanished—until he realized what it was.
"You want me as deputy editor, right?" Blake said with a grin. "That makes me part of The Quibbler. And if I'm part of it, how could I not invest? Consider this thousand Galleons my contribution."
A fresh wave of guilt struck Mr. Lovegood. A thousand Galleons? He knew The Quibbler wasn't worth that much. He had agreed to the deputy editor title without thinking, and now this boy was handing over a fortune.
Still, he pocketed the money, heart heavy.
Blake wasn't stupid. In fact, he was incredibly shrewd. A thousand Galleons might seem like a loss, but the value of what he'd get in return—his investment in The Quibbler—was worth far more. And then there was Luna. She was watching, her eyes thoughtful.
"Dad! How can you just take it?"
Mr. Lovegood flinched. "Ah—well, I—"
Luna didn't wait for an answer. She reached into his pocket, pulled out the heavy pouch of gold, and turned to Blake.
"My dad doesn't need this."
Mr. Lovegood nearly wept. No, we need this very much!
Blake looked between the pouch and Mr. Lovegood's stricken face, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"No, Luna," he said, pushing the Galleons back into Mr. Lovegood's hands. "I have a lot of plans for The Quibbler, and they'll need funding. I can't expect your father to cover all the costs."
Mr. Lovegood's eyes stung. This is a good boy. A truly good boy! So thoughtful, so considerate!
Luna hesitated. She couldn't argue against Blake's reasoning, but she still turned back to her father. "Then… you can't waste it."
Mr. Lovegood sighed. I wouldn't dare.
If Warley and Delacour were here, they'd be shaking his hand in solidarity. We feel the same way!
Blake, meanwhile, was enjoying himself. He smiled. "First things first, Mr. Lovegood—we need a better printing press. Then, we'll hire more people. The magazine needs diverse content to attract readers. If it's all just your writing, it'll be too monotonous."
Mr. Lovegood nodded furiously. Of course, he knew that. But before, The Quibbler had barely been able to support him and Luna. Hiring others had been out of the question.
Now? He pressed a hand over his pocket, feeling the reassuring weight of gold.
"Well," he said, "you're the boss now. I'll do whatever you say."
Blake grinned. "I'll take these magazines with me, then."
Mr. Lovegood waved a hand. "Go ahead. I'll sort out the printing press and put out the recruitment notice."
Blake opened his suitcase, flicked his wand, and the magazines floated inside, stacking themselves neatly.
"Once the printing press is set up and we have staff, I'll tell you what to put in the next issue," he said.
While these copies of The Quibbler were eye-catching, they lacked depth. Still, they would make a great promotional issue.
"Where do you plan to distribute them?" Mr. Lovegood asked, recalling his own failed attempts. Free copies, yet no one wanted them. How tragic.
Blake's smile turned confident. "Somewhere with plenty of people."
There weren't many such places in the wizarding world, but one spot in Diagon Alley fit the bill perfectly.
The beauty salon was booming.
Witches loved it. Unlike Muggle treatments, magical beauty enhancements worked instantly.
Agnes, the primary beautician, was overwhelmed. Her twin, Agatha, had only lasted two days before giving up, leaving Agnes to handle the influx of customers alone.
Even with hired help selling magical beauty products, Agnes was swamped. And with only one trained beautician, the queue stretched endlessly.
Witches waiting in line were bored. Restless.
Then, Blake arrived—with a suitcase full of The Quibbler.
No smartphones. No entertainment.
But a free magazine? That was something.
It took half a day for a third of the magazines to be distributed.
Since beauty treatments lasted several days, returning customers wouldn't come back immediately—giving time for a fresh issue to be released before their next visit.
That evening, Blake returned to Mr. Lovegood's house, requesting another thousand copies to be printed overnight.
The next morning, he was back at the beauty salon, replenishing the stock.
By nightfall, Mr. Lovegood had found three recruits.
Blake arrived to meet them—three bespectacled young men.
They looked like Ravenclaws. Bookish. Socially awkward.
And he was right. All three were Ravenclaw graduates, academically brilliant but painfully introverted. Social situations? A nightmare.
Writing from the safety of an office? Perfect.
Blake wasn't bothered. He had a job for them.
"Mr. Lovegood, you'll remain editor-in-chief and keep writing the Fantastic Beasts column," he assigned first.
Mr. Lovegood nodded.
Then, turning to the recruits, Blake pulled a stack of books from his pocket.
Muggle novels.
"These are bestsellers from the Muggle world," he explained. "Your job? Adapt them for the wizarding world—change the characters, the setting, everything. But keep the core story."
A chubby recruit hesitantly raised a hand. "Isn't that… plagiarism?"
Blake smirked. "Technically. But do you think Muggles, who don't even know we exist, will sue?"
The three young men relaxed. Plag— No, adaptation! Much easier than writing original content.
Blake continued, "Each of you will adapt three books tonight—different genres. And make sure to use cliffhangers."
"Cliffhangers?"
"Yes. When the story reaches the most exciting part—cut it off. That way, readers have to buy the next issue."
Four audible gasps filled the room.
Mr. Lovegood's eyes shone. "I wish I'd met you sooner!"
The chubby recruit's face turned a feverish red. "I… I suddenly feel excited. Cliffhangers… hehehe…"
Blake took a step back. A little concerning.
He turned back to Mr. Lovegood. "The next issue will be for sale."
Mr. Lovegood gave a thumbs-up. Fully convinced.
"But what if readers don't like these stories?" he asked, still cautious.
Blake laughed. "They'll love them."
Wizarding literature was limited. Wizards weren't prolific storytellers.
Even Gilderoy Lockhart's exaggerated adventure books had captivated readers. Compared to Muggle bestsellers? No competition.
And this issue?
All romance.
Why? Because the biggest customer base in the beauty salon was women. And what did women love? Romance.
The third issue was set to be sold at Flourish and Blotts, while the second continued as a freebie in the salon.
Blake ordered 5,000 copies.
The printing press worked overtime, smoking from overuse—causing Mr. Lovegood much distress.
The next morning, the new issue hit the salon.
Delise, a regular, picked up a fresh copy while waiting in line.
Thicker than the last one!
She flipped it open.
A serialized novel.
Twilight? What's that?
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
She didn't move.
Neither did the others.
Agnes, peering from the back room, frowned. The line wasn't moving.
She stepped out, confused.
The customers sat motionless, magazines in hand, eyes darting across the pages, faces shifting between shock, excitement, and delight.
Agnes blinked.
What in Merlin's name… did Blake enchant these magazines?!
=============
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