"Well, the cat's out of the fucking bag."
Hermione slammed The Daily Prophet on her desk, in front of which sat Jerry and Sammy.
"I'm guessing you've seen this?" Hermione asked. "Rita Skeeter with one last scoop."
"Yep," Sammy said. "It's been all over Magic Twitter since last night. Jerry's ass is a meme — the Ass Who Lived!"
Hermione had been trying to maintain a normal atmosphere at Hogwarts in the week leading up to the championship game, but it seemed like everyone wanted to see the ragtag team of amateur quidditch players who had taken the sporting world by storm. A sympathetic piece in the London Wizarding Times and softball interview with BBCWizard had raised the profile of Hogwarts. A flood of prospective students sent in applications for next year. Alumni were stopping by campus offering to help with the repairs. There was even a small trickle of new donations. It was all manageable.
But when news hit that Harry Potter's bastard son was actually the mysterious Shades McAllister, star seeker, Hermione knew it would be a shitshow. Overnight, thousands of owls descended on the castle, delivering love letters, fan mail, interview requests and marriage proposals to Jerry Potter. Students mobbed Jerry at every turn, asking for signatures. Three camera teams from national outlets set up camp in the field in front of Hogwarts, desperate for any shot of Jerry or the quidditch team.
What scared Hermione the most was the raft of inspectors, auditors, watchdogs, and inspectors general from the Ministry of Magic who had a new reason to look into the dilapidated school.
Hermione had decided to sit for a single media interview. She was in her office, preparing and looking over old papers, when she heard a knock. The door swung open and a dashing, suave man stepped inside.
"The name's Longbottom," the special agent told Hermione. "Neville Longbottom."
He was dressed in a black suit so fine it made Sinatra look like a hobo.
"Oh, Neville, my old friend," Hermione said as he strode into her office. "I'm so glad the ministry sent you. You know I can't stand the fuzz."
She got up and came around from her desk to hug Neville, but the special agent held out his arm to stop her.
"I'm sorry, headmistress," Neville said. "But I'm all business. And we've gotten some tips in the past week that need to be investigated."
"The underground troll fighting ring is under control, I swear," Hermione said.
"Please, headmistress," Neville said. "The ministry can look past such things. I'm talking about the 'creative accounting' that's been going on here."
Hermione's skin blanched. She gulped.
"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.
"Don't worry. I do," Neville said, dropping the search warrant on her desk. "The ministry has already seized the magic shredding machines and the remaining files. Try not to make a scene. It'll be better for you and the school in the long run."
Neville turned and walked briskly out of the office.
"Good luck on the interview, darling," Neville said.
"Fucking feds," Hermione said under her breath.