The freedom of speech was a basic human right – 'was' being the correct terminology. So was the freedom of the press.
For some, of course, the restrictions meant nothing. The Ministry's demands upon the Daily Prophet did not affect their work whatsoever. For Maya, it had brought nothing but misery.
"Wrong AGAIN!" yelled Sir Crumbottom, the editor, as he slammed her work down upon his dragon-skin clad desktop.
Maya flinched as he stared demonically at her beneath bushy grey brows – the only hair upon his head. Maya's brown hair had slipped out of its bun and her robes were tatty. She was living off the meagre savings she had stored in Gringotts and she nothing better to wear. Darkness encircled her blue eyes from forty-eight hours without sleep and they hurt from where she had rubbed them in an attempt to stay awake.
"Miss Tomlinson," started the Crumbottom, in loud tones of disapproval, "you really do astound me! This is not, and will never be, accepted by the Prophet. How can you come up with such…rubbish, and expect it to be published is beyond my grasp."
"Sorry sir," Maya mumbled.
"Yes," Crumbottom said emphatically, "but by the way you continually return with these mountains of dragon dung you call articles, I doubt you are sorry. The Prophet does not stand for such nonsense."
Maya nodded and let Crumbottom continue with his monologue.
"Freelance writer or not, this sort of writing is dangerous. Do you know how much trouble I could get into for putting this into the paper?" he slammed his fist of the desk in a show of frustration. "You are lucky I don't turn you into the Minister. You could end in Azkaban."
"What?" Maya sputtered. "That's utterly…" she could not finish the sentence, such was her bewilderment.
"The kind of people who might want to write this," he said carefully, "are Death Eaters."
Maya just stared. She was completely speechless. What an accusation to make!
"Or," continued Crumbottom, "at least followers of Sirius Black."
"When have I ever, ever, said anything in Sirius Black's favour?" Maya found her voice and she blurted out her defence with gusto.
"It's what you haven't said that's worrying," Crumbottom answered, his red cheeks fired up and his dark eyes glinting with predatory instinct. "With all these opinions on Potter, you've never once mentioned Black. Not once. And he is the boy's godfather, after all."
"What are you getting at?" Maya asked angrily, confused as to how they had come to this point.
"I am a 'Sir', Miss Tomlinson," Crumbottom said threateningly.
"I'm sorry, sir. I must have forgot," Maya said placidly, inwardly smirking at Crumbottom's reaction, as he brimmed with rage at her cheek. "So, what are you implying, sir?"
"What I am saying, Miss Tomlinson," he hissed through his tightly clamped jaw, "is that you jump to the defence to a fifteen year old boy who is obviously deranged and who is suspected of being in collusion with dark forces and you will not write a bad word about the godfather who is a murderer of Muggles and wizards alike. So, if you do not write about the right things, then you must reap the consequences of your actions."
"'In collusion with dark forces'," Maya did not believe what she was hearing. "He is fifteen year old boy and does not deserve this sort of treatment, that is all I am getting across in my articles."
"He is deranged," Crumbottom stood up, leaning his hands on the desk so he could snarl in Maya's face.
"Say's who?" Maya replied, standing her ground.
"The Ministry!" Crumbottom cried. "The Minister himself! Anyone who is presumed in contact with Black must be losing his marbles. And Potter may be doing so. No – damn it – he is doing so. So anyone who says otherwise may be condemned as a dark wizard, a traitor, you name it."
"Traitor? Dark wizard?" Maya's eyes opened wide. She was more awake than she had been in hours. "You really think this of me?"
"Not at first, no," admitted Crumbottom. "But the more I look at your writing, the more worried I have become. Listen," he held the sheet of paper that was the final draft of Maya's article and proceeded to walk from one side of the office to the other like a prosecuting lawyer. "'To presume Harry Potter as deranged, when, barely two years ago, he was being housed – at the Minister's own expense – at the Leaky Cauldron on Diagon Alley, is absolutely ludricrous.' Personally involving the Minister of Magic, there I see. And how about this? 'It is vital that the Ministry looks into Potter's claims' bla bla bla '…especially with the support of Albus Dumbledore – the greatest wizard of our time – ' pah!" Crumbottom chuckled, "He's senile! And, may I add, now an enemy of the Ministry and all those who side with it. Now where are we, oh yes," he gave an evil grin before continuing. "'Those who are concerned for Harry Potter's safety are now sidelined by the Ministry by direct order of the Minister himself. How can we be sure of the truth when so much has been done to cover out eyes?' And there you end. You have a lot of explaining to do."
"Things need to change," Maya said. "I don't see how this condemns me to Azkaban. I say nothing in favour of the Dark Arts, nothing about the greatness of Sirius Black – "
"Ah-hah!" Crumbottom pointed his finger at Maya. It shook with ominous triumph. "'The greatness of Sirius Black'."
"What?" Maya founding herself asking again. "That's not what I meant."
"You can't talk yourself out of that one," Crumbottom said smugly. "Now go, and don't back with another heap of gnome bogies again."
Maya stormed out of the office. She was so enraged by the accusations he had thrown at her. If he was not so incompetent, there would be a very different life around the Ministry, she thought. There would be searches into the truth behind Harry Potter's story and certainly a medical for Dumbledore, journalists would certainly make sure of that, would they not?
As she entered the lustrously decorated wood-panelled corridor, she felt a hand grip her roughly by the wrist. She tried to struggle free, the breath knocked out of her by shock, but she could not match her attacker's strength.
She spun round and was faced with two bulky men in Auror's robes. One had her by the wrist, his wand hovering above her frantically beating heart. The other smiled and held up his wand. Out of the tip, she heard her own voice echo:
"'The greatness of Sirius Black.'"
"Gotcha," the man mumbled. "Azkaban for you, love."
And that was the mind of the Prophet, Maya thought as they dragged her away. No freedom. Just lies.
Heya, would great if you could do a review. I'll take criticism because it'll only help me get better. Thank you for reading!!