Teddy Lupin, 17, godson of acclaimed Wizarding hero Harry Potter, blows up half a dungeon and endangers the lives of professors and students. Pictures and details inside, as well as how to recognise cat hairs from dog hairs.
They say a picture paints a thousand words, but for Dennis Creevey, they also pay his rent.
Alone in his tiny cubicle, he shifted through hundreds of photographs, the eyes of different people staring up at him as they smiled and grinned into the camera lens. He strained his eyes; the pitiful light from the dwindling oil lamp made it difficult to see the various moving people in the photograph.
Dennis glanced at his watch and saw the minute hand crawl past the six o'clock mark. A bell rang somewhere in the corridor, and it coincided with the shifting of chairs backwards, the yawns and groans as people stretched, the idle chatter of people finally free of work. The day's toil was done.
The people in the photograph on his desk were encouraging him to stay, to finish checking this last lot of pictures, a task that needed to be finished by tomorrow morning. That was the right thing to do, Dennis agreed, but it was also the boring thing to do.
It was time to go home. Today had been another in a long string of bad days, and he rubbed his eyes free of tiredness.
As he sorted through the many reels of film and the copies of photographs that littered his already untidy desk, he wondered how long he had been doing this, and how long his landlord would be waiting - lurking in the shadows - until Dennis returned home so that he could jump out and demand his money.
It turned out pictures were infinitely better at painting a thousand words.
It would probably take the landlord just around five and half minutes to move from his flat into the landing, taking into account the minor heart defect, the low angle of the chair he usually wallowed in, and the effort involved in putting down his magazine and moving the bowl of cheesy snacks from his lap to the nearby table.
Probably, Dennis reasoned, but highly likely. He would get away with it for another day if just ran a little bit faster.
Dennis packed up his things, shoving the pictures unceremoniously into his rucksack (at least they hid the half-eaten pumpkin pasty and the lone sickle rolling around at the bottom) and shuffled awkwardly out of his booth, grabbing his anorak on the way out.
"Oi, Creevey! Could you possibly just have a look at…"
Dennis kept his head down, and barged his way through the dwindling crowd. Home, to his tiny flat with a broken bed-frame, a pot of week-old stew and his newest copy of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Home, to an angry landlord and an angrier letter from his mother.
And, as he pressed the elevator button for the ground floor, Dennis wondered whether life would get more exciting by itself, or whether he would have to do all the work himself.
Teddy Lupin had always hated running, and this time it was made all the worse by the people chasing him down the hill towards the gamekeeper's hut. His breath was laboured as he galloped over the tumbling tree roots and the boulders, easily avoiding the patches of wet grass that would have resulted in grazed elbows and a detention.
He hadn't meant to set the dungeon alight. It was all just a misunderstanding. Fred, in his amateur, extrovert ways, had decided it was a good idea to add frog spleen to an infusion of wormwood and rat's liver, and it had all gone awry from there.
But of course, Teddy was the one to blame.
He swerved around an oak tree, pausing for a second in its shadow to see whether his pursuers were far behind. Stupid, stupid Fred. He should have resisted the puppy dog eyes and go on alone, as planned. He had just wanted someone to whom his skills and tricks could be entrusted after he left this place, and Fred was the only willing volunteer - the grasshopper to his master, so to speak.
"He's over here! I just saw him! By the tree!"
And then Teddy was flying over the grounds again, his robes swinging behind him. If he could just get beyond the gates - just a few more yards - he would be safe, hidden within the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade. He would lay low. He would sit down with a nice butterbeer and a copy of the Daily Prophet and contemplate the day's work. Congratulate himself on avoiding the wrath of Professor Pennyhugh. It was just beyond this inexplicably large boulder...
But then, suddenly, something large and hairy was blocking his path, and he went careering into its back. He fell back onto the damp ground. The voices of his professors were soon within earshot.
"Curse you, Hagrid," he mumbled.
"Dennis! Dennis, wait!"
It took Dennis a few moments to realise that someone was calling his name.
Dennis had never really interacted with his colleagues in the office - apart from Bernard, the strange old man who worked on the other side of his booth, who was in charge of nature photography (several billywigs were now roosting in the filing cabinet and Dennis was pretty sure Bernard was incubating a basilisk egg underneath the desk lamp). There was Linda, the strange dinner lady. And then there was Sally, but that was different.
So he was surprised when a young woman approached him, curly hair bouncing. Her face was strangely angular, Dennis supposed, but he wouldn't call her ugly. She would be nice to photograph, maybe in low light and low focus. He had trouble recalling her name and so simply stared at her.
"Hello," he said. It was better than trying to guess her name and failing, therefore avoiding the awkward shuffle and strained apologetic look.
She wore plain, sensible clothes that were too big for her and her thick, dark and curly hair was pulled up into a scruffy ponytail. She had failed to scrub a splotch of ink from behind her right ear. She was carrying a vast pile of articles, which she dumped onto the front desk and then turned to face him.
"Meredith, remember? From yesterday? You asked me about double-checking some names."
Dennis nodded quickly, as if he hadn't forgotten. She started organising the pile of parchment into separate sections and slotting them into various trays. She worked quickly and efficiently, and she talked at the same time.
"It turns out that Mr Henry Lemington-Smythe is getting married to Lucinda Whitfield on Monday. There was a bit confusion about his gambling habits but now everything is fine and dandy."
Dennis nodded, as if he didn't already know this information. He slotted his own sorted photographs into the trays.
Meredith had finished organising her papers and now just lurked in front of him. She pushed a piece of stray hair behind her ear. Her cheeks had turned a strange pink colour and Dennis wondered what was going on. He had heard about stress-induced seizures, and copy hour was always tough going.
"A couple of us are going to get a drink, if you wanted to join. The cafe downstairs has a new slightly dodgy liquor license," she said, laughing weakly. She was talking far too quickly, and a sheen of sweat had blossomed at her brow. He watched her hair bobbing slightly as she spoke to him. She pushed her glasses further up her nose. "I mean, if you don't want to then that's fine, I suppose..."
"I've actually got to go."
"Oh, is your wife expecting you home?"
"I'm not married." He wondered why Meredith was looking at him so intently, her bright brown eyes gazing at him. A faint blush traced her cheeks. She looked better with colour in her cheeks, and Dennis believed she would look better if she wore reds and pinks, rather than the strangely murky green she was currently sporting.
"So you're meeting your girlfriend?"
"I don't have one," he said, trying to work out why Meredith's facial expression was one of complete happiness. Surely he wasn't that exciting. He saw her mouth form the word 'boyfriend' and, coupled with her quizzical look, he quickly added, "listen, Maureen..."
"Meredith," she corrected. Dennis shuffled awkwardly and sent her a strained, apologetic look.
"Right. I've really got to go. I've got to get up early tomorrow."
"Of course, of course. Maybe another time." Her voice was weaker now, and her face was flushed. She looked at her toes and so did Dennis. Her shoes were sensible too, and matched her rather holey cardigan. Meredith also had a cat, Dennis could tell, from the collection of short hairs on her mid-calf and the three parallels scratches on her right arm and the faint whiff of loneliness.
Cats were fun to photograph, kittens especially. Dress a kitten up in a bow tie and photograph it, and it would make anybody's day. Sally always laughed at those.
Dennis pulled the corners of his mouth upwards, and Meredith smiled. A paper message was zooming around her head and, still looking at Dennis, she reached up and caught the fast moving thing in her fist. It stayed struggling in her hand. Dennis readjusted the strap of his backpack again, wondering what was going on, why Meredith was staring at him intently, whether he had left the stove on, whether that black and white close-up of his grandmother's hands really was that noteworthy...
"Bye, then, Dennis."
He nodded again before turning sharply on his heel and leaving.
"I can't believe you did this, Teddy."
"They were asking for it."
"Really? The dungeons were asking for it?"
Teddy slumped in his chair as his godfather whispered words of disappointment and annoyance in his ear. The portraits of various headmasters glared down at them from above, and Teddy felt small and ashamed of himself. It hadn't been a good idea to run, probably. He should have thought of an exit strategy that didn't involve that much exercise. He was still struggling to catch his breath. Teddy should have summoned his broomstick - that was a good idea that had never been done before, and it definitely wasn't like he had heard the story again and again at Christmases and birthdays and parties.
"What do you think your grandmother is going to think?"
"That it's funny," Teddy said, but Harry shook his head. He continued. "I just don't understand why you're being judgmental, it's not like you - or Dad, for that matter - had the cleanest of sheets when it came to this sort of stuff."
"I shouldn't have given you the Marauder's Map."
"Yep, that's definitely where it all went downhill. You trying to be the 'cool' godfather."
"Excuse me that is just..."
"Mr Potter? Mr Lupin? Sorry to keep you waiting."
The Headmaster entered his study and as Harry stood up to shake his hand, Teddy sunk lower into his chair to avoid eye contact. Professor Pennyhugh was notoriously harsh on pranksters - one year he had suspended Jimmy Fodder for simply planning some elaborate scheme. Admittedly it was a thoroughly ridiculous project involving various explosions and traps involving cakes and cookies, but the slight to the pranking community was still felt. People were terrified of the Headmaster now.
Apart from Teddy obviously, who possessed the Marauder's Map and his godfather's invisibility cloak, and used them both to great advantage. He was in another league. A league of his own. A league that all the other Hogwarts pranksters' could only aspire to be in. He was good at what he did. There was no reason for Pennyhugh to persecute talent, was there? He actively encouraged when it came to things like studying, or Quidditch, or Gobstones - whatever that was.
"I gather, Mr Potter, that you comprehend the seriousness of the situation."
Harry coughed awkwardly. "I do."
"And that this is not the first occasion in which we've caught Mr Lupin doing something like this."
"I understand."
Pennyhugh turned to Teddy this time, and stared down at him. "How about you, Teddy? Do you recognise the seriousness of what you have done?"
"I suppose."
The Headmaster sighed, and scribbled something down on a sheet of parchment on his desk. Harry elbowed Teddy in the ribs, which made him almost cry out. His godfather was staring at him, mouthing words that Teddy couldn't understand... 'apologise', maybe, or something similar. Teddy ignored him. There was no use in doing that now. If he was going to be sorry about it, he shouldn't have done it in the first place. Pennyhugh would know that he was just sorry that he got caught.
And where was Fred? His protegé should have been here as well. He was mainly to blame.
"Our usual procedure with situations like this is to suspend the student for three days, minimum, depending on the nature of the crime. Mr Lupin will have to serve out this punishment, I'm afraid."
Teddy inwardly smiled. He would get to spend several days with his grandmother, baking cakes and sitting in rocking chairs, talking about his parents and his grandfather and the good old days. He wouldn't have to do homework - just some boring essay about how would never do it again, like he had to write for when he lured Felicity Shipley into that Vanishing Cabinet. And summer was around the corner - this way, it would be able to start early.
"But," Pennyhugh continued, "because this 'prank' could have easily endangered the lives of several students and teachers, we're asking this time that Teddy do something extra... something that shows he is worthy of being a Hogwarts student and capable of integrating into the outer wizarding community."
Teddy sat up. How dare Pennyhugh suggest he was some sort of social outsider, unable to socialise because of his fascination with explosions and practical jokes? Teddy had plenty of friends, boys and girls. They all liked him, he reckoned. Well, they laughed at his jokes.
"We want Teddy to take up some sort of internship over the summer. We've already arranged something at the Daily Prophet. He starts a week after term ends."
"But my summer!" Teddy blurted out. "I had plans!"
"I'm sure you did," Pennyhugh said. "But if you don't go through with this, you will not be able to return to Hogwarts to finish your education and complete your NEWTs. I'm sorry, Teddy, but the situation has called for some serious action."
Teddy scowled. He ignored Harry as he stood up to shake the Headmaster's hand and apologised on his godson's behalf. He ignored the Headmaster's smug smirk as he stood up and stomped out of the office. He ignored whatever Harry was saying to him on the journey back down to the Gryffindor common room, and the catcalls and jeers of his housemates.
All because of Fred Weasley. Never add frog spleen to fusion of wormwood and rat's liver. It just results in a whole load of running, apologies, time wasted and a whole summer down the drain.