Chapter 1: A Bit of Press

About half way through May, 1996, a new shop opened in Diagon Alley. People who were too busy to stop stared at it as they passed, some with their mouth agape. Others ventured in, carefully, unsure of what, exactly, they would find inside. A few ran inside as soon as they laid eyes on the shop, and didn't leave until closing time.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was a blinding success, much to the pleasure of the owners, Fred and George.

The two owners had just closed up the shop for the night, and were now staring curiously at the owl perched in the open window in their flat upstairs.

George stepped forward, and removed the letter tied to its leg. The owl ruffled its feathers, and seemed to make itself more comfortable.

"How long d'you reckon it's been there?" Fred asked.

"Dunno," George replied, shrugging, flipping the letter open. On the front, written in neat black lettering, was their names and address. George looked up at his brother, and shrugged, opening the envelope.

After dropping the envelope on the table, and unfolding the parchment, his eyes scanned the letter.

"What's it say?" Fred asked, looking over his shoulder. George cleared his throat, before reading.

"Dear Misters Fred and George Weasley,

My name is Freya Locke, and I am a reporter for the Daily Prophet. It has come to my attention that your recently opened shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, has received a great deal of attention and success. And I suspect it will receive even more.

I would like a chance to write an article on your shop, and help increase its publicity. In order to do this I would like to interview you; find out why you opened your shop, if you suspected this amount of success ect, ect.

I would appreciate it if you could reply as soon as possible, so we can arrange a time and date.

Regards,

Freya Locke."

George finished reading and looked at his brother, raising his eyebrows.

"Huh. Sounds… interesting," Fred said, reading over the letter again.

"Yeah," George replied, knitting his eyebrows together, "Are we gonna do it?"

Fred shrugged, "Why not?"

"The Daily Prophet is full of conniving, word-twisting scumbags?" George replied, "C'mon, Fred we've had enough experience of that over the last few years."

"Yeah, but everyone reads the Daily Prophet," Fred replied, "and, y'know, maybe we can slip some pro-Potter messages in without this journalist realising, and she'll keep them in by mistake. Plus… more publicity!"

George contemplated his brother's words for a second, before sighing, "Yeah I guess…" He shrugged, "Why not?"

He went to go and find some parchment and a quill to scribble a reply.

A week later, when it was near to closing time and the shop was nearly empty, a woman strolled into the shop. She was dressed in immaculate, deep blue robes, and a matching hat, with a brim that shadowed most of her face. A small smile was held by painted pink lips and her heels clicked as she made her way across the shop, looking at the colourful products with interest. A bag was kept over her shoulder, and she kept a bony hand placed over it.

She made her way towards the till at the other end of the shop, where, she assumed, one of the owners was tending to a customer. It wasn't that hard to spot a Weasley.

The customer left, and Fred looked up as the woman stepped forward.

"Can I help you?" He asked. The woman lifted her head, allowing him to see slightly more of her face.

"I'm Freya Locke," She introduced herself, holding out a hand. Her nails were painted dark red, and, if you looked closely, you could see dots of ink over her fingers.

"Oh!" Fred exclaimed, shaking her hand "The journalist?"

"Yes," Freya replied, an amused tone in her voice. Her smile widened, and the skin around her mouth creased.

"Right, well," Fred checked his watch, "The shop closes in about five minutes, so… if you don't mind waiting?"

"Of course not," Freya replied.

"Right, I'll be back in a minute. I'm Fred, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Freya nodded.

Fred left her at the till, and she leaned against it, making herself more comfortable.

Fred passed his brother on his way to close the shop, and mentioned that the journalist was here.

"Oh right, I'll go say hello then."

George made his way to the front of the shop, where he saw the journalist. She had taken off her hat, and placed that and her bag on the counter. Her short blonde hair seemed precisely ruffled around her head, and she looked around the shop with clean looking blue eyes. She looked younger than George had expected, possibly a few years older than him. He'd expected someone that vaguely resembled Rita Skeeter.

He also thought she looked slightly familiar, but he couldn't remember where from.

As he came walking towards her, she looked up and blinked, "Oh, you're back," she said. George quirked a smile.

"Uh, no, I'm George," he replied. A slightly embarrassed look crossed her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" she started to say.

"Its alright, don't worry," George held up a hand, "Even our own mother does it."

Freya raised her eyebrows, "Surely your mother should be the one person that does get it right?"

George shrugged, "Doesn't really matter. Its quite funny, really." A smile pasted over Freya's lips.

"I'm sure it is," she replied.

At that moment, Fred came back, clapping his hands together, "So, we're famous enough to get into the Daily Prophet, are we?"

Freya nodded, a grin forming across her face. "Yup!" she replied, rummaging around in her bag, "I know you've had advertisements in it for the past year or so, but obviously not everyone looks at adverts," she pulled a notepad, quill and ink bottle out of her bag, "do you mind if I lean on here?" She asked, gesturing to the counter.

"No, go ahead," George answered. Freya smiled her thanks, and Fred narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You don't have a Quick Quotes Quill, do you?" he asked. Freya looked up at him, amused.

"No," she replied, "Well, I do, but its at home. I don't use it. Don't worry, I'm not Rita Skeeter," She flipped the notepad open and unscrewed the ink bottle.

"So! First thing's first bit of back ground information," Freya muttered, dipping the quill in the ink, "why did you want to open a joke shop?"

Fred and George glanced at each other. A smile quirked at Freya's lips.

"Kind of obvious, isn't it?" George asked.

"We like jokes," Fred added.

"And we wanted to share it with the world!" George finished. Freya's lips spread into a full out grin, showing off a row of too-many tiny cramped teeth.

She could already tell this was going to be entertaining.

Well, this is the first chapter (and prologue, previously) of this story. Er, I hope it turned out ok. I would really, really like some feedback, y'know, anything wrong with my grammar, characterisations, general writing style. Also, is there anything that you really like? Yeah, I'd quite like some feedback :)

Next chapter will be up in a few days. Its already pre-written, but its just in draft form, so... need to make it better

Please Review!