Joanne leaned against the window frame, looking out over the lights of London and playing with her necklace. The night was perfect, a rarity for September in a country with such a changeable climate. Tonight marked the culmination of all her planning and hard work over the past decade. Tonight, the secret would finally be safe. Turning from the window, she crossed the room. Slipping on her shoes, and wincing slightly as her toes were restricted, she thought back to the moment that set all of this in motion.
…
She sat quietly and watched the two men whisper to each other. Occasionally, one or the other would glance back over his shoulder at where Joanne sat. She forced a calm, impassive expression to her face despite the raging curiosity beneath. The whispering had been proceeding for nearly ten minutes now, and looked to be especially passionate at the present.
Shifting slightly on the hard chair, she glanced around the room. The office was traditionally decorated, all in dark tones of mahogany and green leather, but she found it austere and intimidating. No pictures adorned the walls, no curios sat on the desk – nothing to reveal anything about the personality of the inhabitant. Although it was generally held that the Minister did not in fact have a personality.
She shifted once again and, in doing so, drew the attention of the two men. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement looked at her warily while the Minister whispered frantically in his ear. Joanne looked at them steadily, and saw the department chief throw up his hands in defeat and stalk across to stare moodily into the fireplace. The Minister frowned at his back, before schooling his features into what he no doubt thought was an indulgent smile. Joanne thought he looked constipated.
"Now my dear, you are no doubt wondering why we asked you to come here today?"
Joanne inclined her head but a mumbled 'sir' was her only response.
"Well, we have something… usual to discuss with you. As you are aware, our recent triumph in the war against the Dark Lord – while devastating in the losses inflicted upon us – is cause for universal rejoicing among the magical population. We cannot condemn the relief felt by our people after such a long period of doubt and terror, but some of the celebrations are getting… out of hand. The Prime Minister was already suspicious of the recent spate of 'gas explosions' and now even the general muggle public are starting to notice."
"I'm sorry, sir," Joanne said, "I will try to improve the variety of excuses used."
The Minister looked at her blankly for a few moments before the department chief interrupted from his place by the fire.
"Joanne writes the cover stories and press releases that the Obliviators use when they're correcting memories," he said impatiently.
"Oh, yes" blushed the Minister, "of course. And do you enjoy your job?"
"Yes?" she cautiously replied. He nodded distractedly.
"Good, good. I remember now that your supervisor did say you had a particular talent for writing."
Joanne made no response and merely watched as the Minister looked at the department head, running his fingers through his hair. Suddenly sighing heavily, he sat down behind his desk.
"You see Joanne, something has to be done to protect our society and prevent the muggles discovering our very existence. We have argued back and forth between the senior staff, and finally decided upon a course of action." The Minister ignored the snort that came from the direction of the fireplace and continued. "That is where you come in."
"Me?" asked Joanne in surprise. "What can I do?"
"Ah, that is the point my dear. We want you to write a story."
"A story?"
"Well, more a history. A chronicle of the war against the Dark Lord."
Joanne nodded slowly, still unsure how this would help contain the situation.
"And then we want you to release it to the muggles."
She looked up sharply, staring open-mouthed at the Minister. He wore a forced smile and sweat glistened on his forehead. The silence was oppressive as she struggled to comprehend what she had been told. Joanne stuttered as she attempted to make a reply.
"But... How… What about the Statute of Secrecy?" she asked weakly.
"Exactly!" exploded the department chief as he stalked back over to the Minister, who strove to project a calm exterior although his smile was becoming more strained by the second. "Exactly! What about hundreds of years of protecting our people from exploitation and persecution by muggles? What about centuries dedicated to the concealment of magic lest it be abused in ways even worse than we have seen? What about the people who died or those whose memories were altered to protect the secret? Will their sacrifices have been made in vain?"
"We have been through this many times," sighed the Minister. "I understand your concerns – share them, even. But this is the best option for addressing our problem, and may even lead to a greater degree of freedom than we have achieved to date. You heard the Granger girl's plan."
The department chief shook his head in dismay, but made no further objections. Joanne looked between the two men with a great deal of trepidation.
"What exactly is it you want me to do sir?"
…
The memory faded as a call came through the door to remind her that the car would be collecting her in ten minutes. She smiled as she fastened her earrings – the plan had been genius. Only Hermione Granger could have concocted a plan so convoluted, daring and brilliant. It had taken lots of hard work and sacrifice on Joanne's part to execute it so perfectly.
Six months to write the first installment. Actually, she thought she had generated the manuscript rather quickly but the Ministry had nagged incessantly, constantly badgering Joanne for updates on her status. No author ever had such a dedicated editor! And they had not liked the first draft, feeling she focused too closely on Harry Potter's story and not on the exemplary conduct of the Ministry. But she had insisted that it had to be so if the book was to be a success and after both Hermione and Minerva McGonagall had supported her the Ministry had backed down, albeit with a great deal of grumbling.
Finding an agent had been daunting, and sending out the draft to publishers downright terrifying but Christopher had been a calming influence in those frantic times. And once it had been accepted by Bloomsbury, Joanne had danced in the middle of the street in happiness. Everything was beginning to come together. Of course the Ministry still fretted about the length of time the process was taking, reminding Joanne that the whispers and suspicions were growing, but Hermione calmly assured them that everything was proceeding as fast as could be expected - faster even – and that they were actually ahead of the original schedule as a result of Joanne's hard work.
And then came that day – the 30th of June 1997. The day her book was released into the world. Sales were quite good, certainly above what they had projected. The Ministry spies reported that the only whispers of magic they heard now were between young children discussing their new favourite book. As one, the magical community had sighed in relief.
Joanne had written the second installment, chronicling Harry's second year at Hogwarts, in the interim so when the publishers came back for more she was able to comply. The next three books were released yearly, and each year the number of fans grew. Even Hermione had been astounded at the response, and Harry had wept when Joanne showed him the letters of support she received after Cedric died at the end of book four.
For the first time, the Ministry became alarmed. These books, intended to disguise as fiction any rumours that had escaped those dark days immediately following the war, were being embraced across the world. Films based on the books released. Since Joanne had retained a lot of the creative input, the magical world was recreated on screen more faithfully than it had ever been seen before. Muggles had been observed standing on platform nine at King's Cross Station, staring at the wall separating nine from ten. Pet shops had been fielding questions from young children interested in owning pet owls, toads and rats (although none had yet started stocking such creatures, to the relief of most parents). But far more worryingly, Ministry agents had spotted adults reading the books on trains, furtively passing volumes across pub tables and discussing which house they would prefer to be sorted into.
Uncomfortable with the popularity of the series the Ministry tried to pressure Joanne to stop writing, citing the Statute of Secrecy. Hermione had laughed when they had made their demands, in the cold meeting room in the basement of the Ministry. She had explained that it was now impossible to stop, and they would have to see it through to the end. Several Ministry officials had looked rather nervous – and a few quite green - at that, but most conceded that there was nothing to be done and they must hope for the best.
They had not been pleased with book five, but Joanne – by now good friends with Harry and Ron as well as Hermione – resisted the omission or softening of the treachery of Umbridge and the interference of the Ministry, going so far as to refuse to allow Ministry input in the editing process for the first time. Having broken from the control of the Ministry, the final books were darker in tone than the earlier installments and more true to the story than would otherwise have been possible. Gone were the carefree days of childhood. Even Joanne wept as she listened to the horrors that Harry, Hermione and Ron would recant to her in dull, toneless voices and tried to shape them into words suitable for a children's book.
The volumes were larger and less frequent, but still eagerly received and quickly devoured when released. Families, friends, countries mourned the loss of Sirius, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Fred and Lupin together. They raged at Snape's betrayal and wept over his redemption together. Together, they walked the dark trail through the woods alongside Harry, tears streaming and silently angry that he must give so much and others so little. And together they cheered for the hero that Neville had always been.
The magical community were themselves interested in the books and movies, viewing them as a historical drama. But mostly they watched transfixed as muggle hearts felt both their pain and elation; admittedly not in the same raw way they had experienced it but in an oddly real way nonetheless. Those wizards and witches previously disposed to dismiss all muggles were forced to reconsider their non-magical neighbours, and greater understanding could only lead to greater appreciation.
And then for the final, genius part of the plan: the part that nobody, even Hermione, was sure would succeed, the part that depended on so much. Merchandising. Such a simple word for such a large concept: replica wands, wizards' robes worn by small children (and a fraction of larger, adult 'children'), parchments, quills, house scarves and socks and ties, school bags. Suddenly it was acceptable for a wizard to stuff his wand in the back pockets of his jeans on the way out in the morning. No longer did a witch have to worry about carrying round a selection of beauty potions in her handbag. Mothers could openly monitor the safety of their family on their wristwatches and fathers could reach for a handkerchief only to spray galleons, sickles and knuts in all directions, all in safety. Muggles would see wizards and witches going about their daily lives and if noticing anything magical, would assume they were 'Potterheads'. Of course they'd had to move the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, but that was a small price to pay.
Hermione had been right – this was a previously unprecedented level of security. It was meta… Joanne wasn't sure of the suffix, but knew it was definitely meta-something! Maybe just meta all on its own. And now this: a level none of them had expected. Not even Hermione had foreseen just how far this ride would take them.
The voice through the door called once again to tell her the car had arrived. With one more glance at her reflection, she picked up her bag and hurried out of the room.
…
"I am often asked how I first thought of the Harry Potter story," smiled Joanne into the flashing camera bulbs and microphones arrayed before her. "And I am just as frequently quoted on my answer. Allow me, on this very special occasion, to quote myself. 'I simply sat and thought, for four (delayed train) hours, and all the details bubbled up in my brain, and this scrawny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who did not know he was a wizard became more and more real to me'. As the years go by, he only becomes more real and more precious to me. And so it is to the courage, loyalty and love of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley that I dedicate this new attraction. I declare the Diagon Alley Experience to be open!"
Joanne escaped into the crowd and looked around at the smiling faces and laughing children in satisfaction. She recognized many faces as belonging to wizarding families but many more were clearly muggles. The streets were crowded with shoppers eager to experience everything Diagon Alley could provide. Shops selling items as varied as potions ingredients to broomsticks lined the narrow streets as people bustled along. Here wizards could procure the provisions necessary for magic, while muggles were amply supplied with souvenirs almost identical to the real thing. And once interest in the series died away and tourist numbers dwindled, the witches and wizards would keep coming. This place would live forever.
She stopped in front of the gaudily decorated shop window of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and laughed at the outrageous display. Several muggle fans in search of autographs stopped to speak to Joanne but none took a great deal of notice of the three who stood beside her in a shadowy corner. True, none of them resembled any famous actor and at least one of them looked bemused by the continued interest of the fans, but here stood the three that made everything possible. They had given up so much before and during the war that Joanne was pleased that they had found their happy endings after it.
It was to protect their privacy that she had successfully fought the Ministry when – in light of the good feeling towards magic in general and for the Ministry in particular – a motion to scrap the Statute of Secrecy had been tabled. It was for their sakes that she shouldered the burden of dealing with the press and kept up the charade she had perfected over nearly twenty years. And it was for them that she had given up using magic, unwilling to risk exposing the secret she had worked so long to protect by being caught by the paparazzi who hounded her every move.
She'd never been all that good at spells anyway, she told herself. Her real magic was with words.