Left ya hanging there, huh? I know, it's kind of a weird concept, how that totally EW-ISH Rita Skeeter could possibly be the one, the ONLY J. K. Rowling, but I'm gonna make it work. You'll see! Just keep reading!

Chapter Two: Curiosity

I got into Wizarding world with much difficulty, but I tell you, it was worth it. I suppose you'd like to hear the story. . . .

I was there the night young Harry's parents were killed. Of course, I didn't know it was happening at all. I did find it suspicious, though, when a tall cloaked figure stalked up the Potter family walkway. I just shook it off and kept walking, but the next morning I found that Lily and James had been murdered. I just couldn't let that go, so I set off for more information, to find out if I couldn't have stopped it from happening. I shuddered to think that I could have indirectly killed those poor young lovers. And what had happened to their son?

I had to know. Curse my curious nature!

The night after the Potters were killed, I forced myself to go into their house. I really didn't like the idea of going into another's house, especially if they weren't home. But I convinced myself that they were never coming back anyway and carefully entered. It was a neat house usually, that much I could tell, but I could also tell that the murderer had taken them by surprise. And what kind of force can completely blow off a doorknob? I brought myself to rifle through a stack of papers when something caught my eye. Something moving. For a minute I thought I was just seeing things, but there it was again. I swore something in that stack of newspaper was moving. I knew curiosity killed the cat, but I told myself that it was a good thing I wasn't a cat, or I'd already be dead! I reached out for the paper.

It did move! The picture of a tall, ancient man was moving. His bread was snowy white and his half-moon spectacles glinted as he swayed to some unheard music. He was wearing a maroon robe tied with a golden tassel, not usual attire. How would one take a video and attach it to a newspaper? After the initial shock released me, I read the top. The Daily Prophet. I'd never heard of that one. Was it special, from Sweden perhaps? Nonsense; even Sweden didn't have that kind of technology! So how. . . I let my mind drift over impossible possibilities until I was interrupted by a cat jumping through the open window. I gasped, naturally, and stroked the kitty's head, grey with uneven black stripes. I was glad not to be alone anymore, but the cat's eyes pierced through my very core. I could tell this was more than a cat; it knew something and wanted to tell me.

The cat raised its paw, making sure I was watching, and placed it in between two of the newspaper's pages. I turned to that page, not sure what to find there. I saw an article titled, "You-Know-Who is on the Loose!" I quickly skimmed and put it in the back of my mind to actually read it later. I searched around for any more issues of the Daily Prophet and piled them up in my arms. Surely the Potters wouldn't mind. They would want someone to know the truth of how they'd been killed, right? Of course, they seemed like respectable, forgiving people. I knew that these papers would help me to solve the case, and I wouldn't rest until I knew exactly what happened the night before.

The cat meowed. I looked up to see it by the door, calling me with its eyes. I sauntered over to the threshold where the cat sat patiently, flicking its tail this way and that. Then, right before my eyes, a brand new issue of the Daily Prophet appeared. I jumped slightly, but reached slowly for the newspaper. The front page read: "Potters Killed!" Apparently, the cat had no objections to my thieving of the Potters' property. I must be going crazy, I thought. I'm putting me trust into a cat and seeing things! But I knew that I hadn't just made up the magic I had seen that night.

Not until two years after this night did I think it to be a good story for a new book. I had read every article in each of the Daily Prophet issues I had found and soon had a basic understanding of wizards. I had many questions, of course, but I was now searching for a way to enter the Wizarding World. I needed a Portkey, or some Floo Powder, or a wand, though I doubted any of that would work for a Muggle.

I spent years seeking out any bit of information that could enable me to find the killer. I even filed a report with the police once, but that didn't go over well. After eight years of searching, all I had collected every newspaper article on the murder. I had analysed every website, but you really can't trust those Wikipedia responses. I didn't know what to do next!

Until the cat came back. I was elated by its sudden visit; I had longed to meet this wise feline ever since we had parted. I had always wanted to know what it really was; I knew it was more than just a cat by a long shot. When it came, I was sipping my orange juice and absentmindedly picking at a muffin. I was reading over for the thousandth time the article on You-Know-Who. I wondered why this man didn't have a name, but I knew he must. No one wanted to use it, though; they were that scared! Then my ponderings were shattered by a quiet meow. I immediately folded up the aged newspaper and saw the very same cat balancing on my tabletop, tail swishing at my obvious remembrance of the night so many years before. She looked older than she had the last time we'd met (I could tell now that she was a girl).

I jumped from my chair and picked up the cat in affection. It seemed to glare at me, so I set it in the mahogany chair next to mine. I offered her a glass of milk only to realize that she couldn't drink from a cup. She would have to. . .

Morph from cat figure to human figure, just as she did! My eyes must have been like saucers as her rich fur gathered itself atop her head and her limbs all grew ever longer. Her pinkish cat skin changed into a forest-green dress and her eyes seemed to sprout spectacles. She was smiling at me and I realized how silly I must have looked.

"Hello," she greeted me courteously. "My name is Minerva McGonagall." She held her hand out to shake. "I believe we've met."

I took her hand and added, "Yes, yes!"

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," Minerva stated.

"Not at all!" I assured her. "I have always hoped you would come back."

"I know," Minerva replied. I was puzzled for a moment as she took a sip of the milk. "Let me explain. I've been keeping tabs on you, Joanne. Or may I call you Jo?"

"I prefer Jo," I responded.

"Jo, then," Minerva complied. "I have been wandering around in this part of the Muggle world very much lately. I assume you know the Dursleys?"

I nodded, regretful that her visit was for them.

"And you also know that Mister Harry Potter resides in their home," she added. "And I know you have been desperately trying to unravel the mysteries of my world."

"I'm so sorry. Have I done something wrong?" I asked, suddenly worried.

"No, no, that's perfectly natural, but witches and wizards believe that they should live completely separate lives from the Muggles," Minerva explained.

"Am I causing much trouble?" I wondered aloud.

Minerva averted her eyes to the floor. "Well. . ."

So? What do you think? Please, please, please tell me! I'm not going on with the present in this story until I've given you all the details of the past, so review. I can't write without inspiration anyway. Come on, only one review last time? That's lame! But thanks, Lexi. I appreciate it! Come on, peoples! We're all buddies here, so tell me honestly what you think. Please!