I actually like it here in the sports department, everyone's nice, there's not much competition (None at all actually), and I love it that way. Everyone's friends with each other, we have so much fun. Right now, I'm writing an article on the Chudley Cannons, who, in fact, to put it bluntly, stink to the moon. But everyone loves them anyway.

My boss is the friendliest person ever, she was in the Arts & Entertainment department earlier, so she knows a lot about what people like and hate. She's a wonderful person.

Sheryl (My boss) just asked if I wanted to go get a butterbeer with her at the Leaky Cauldron. I tell her I'll be there in a moment.

I grab my coat, the November air is really chilly, but I rather like it. We decide to walk there, instead of apparating; I never really liked it, it always gives me a funny feeling inside my stomach, like I've just swallowed poison or something (Not that I ever have).

Tom, the bartender, comes up to us. "What would you ladies like?"

"Two butterbeers please."

"Coming right up!"

Pretty soon, two warm butterbeers are sitting on our table, while Sheryl and I are talking about... well, just general stuff. Pretty soon, it gets to the Prophet.

"We've always had a shortage of people in the S.D. I don't see why people don't like it here..." Sheryl says.

"I know! I should've come much earlier." I agree.

"Yeah, but anyway, since we have so little people, I'm going to have to ask you to go out on the field for one of the Magpie games, then interview one of the players, at the end of the game, I'm not sure who we can get to interview, a lot of them try to hide from the media. Is that ok? I know you've never done a field report... On a quidditch field at least."

Days later, after my talk with Sheryl, I'm getting ready to go to the game, which is as Sheryl said that day, my first field report on a quidditch field. I've done other field assignments, if fact, I've fought against quite a few Death Eaters, but I have a feeling this field assignments going to be a heck of a lot easier.

I've also got a feeling that this assignment is a lot like the ones I would see with my father of the Boston Patriots, whose sister would send us tapes of; she was really excited when they first started playing in1960, she taped all of the football games (While she lived). I loved watching the reporters on the field, and tried to mimic everything they did. Since the magic world doesn't have TVs, this is the closest I'll ever be.

What I don't get is why the Americans called it football? I mean, they barely even use their feet in the game, only the punter and field goal kicker, most of the time it's in their hands. They should call it handball or something like that. And what's with the word soccer? Soccer? You use your feet in soccer, so it only makes sense to call it football, but where in the world did they come up with the word soccer? I guess it doesn't matter, since I'm not part of the muggle world anymore, but I guess it always ticked me off in some way.

Anyway, I just apparated outside the quidditch field. I flash my badge to the security guard, and he lets me through. I follow the signs that say "Press Box" and soon I am seated at the end of the row, next to a man who's working for the Quibbler.

The game started out with me writing furiously on my paper, stating who passed to who, who blocked who, and all that other stuff. While one of the Magpie chasers was meandering up the field, dodging bludgers on the way, I realized that I could do a copying charm from my voice to the paper. Soon, instead of writing my arm off, I'm whispering what's happening and it's appearing on my paper.

I had totally forgotten that I was a witch, which is a horrible thing to do.

45 minutes later, 20 more goals for the Magpies, 5 more goals for the Wasps (The opposing team), the seeker, James Potter (Yeah, I remember him from Hogwarts, the little bugger) pulled into a fast dive, the opposing seeker on his trail, he pulls a Wronskei Feint, and rises up with the golden snitch neatly stored in his hand, while the opposing seeker crashed onto the ground, quite hard.

10 minutes have gone by, and all the stands and press boxes have emptied, I'm supposed to wait for my interviewee by the field sideline benches. I decide to make my way down there, better early than on time, which was my mother's motto.

She was always dragging us hours earlier to family parties than we really needed to be, she had set our clocks fast so that we would look and think we were late, but really we were early, which was good thing too, because it practically saved my life at Hogwarts.

And again, it was a good thing, because as soon as I arrived there, I saw my interviewee making his way down to the benches.

The sun is in my eye, so I can't really make out who the person is, he's tall, very tall actually, has black hair, I think, it might be brown, I can't tell.

I stick out my hand, introducing myself. "Hi, I'm Lily Evans, reporting for the Daily Prophet, I was asked to interview- POTTER?"

The hair gave it all away. As soon as he stepped closer, I could see the messy black hair, still windblown from his dive, sticking up all over the place. And those glasses. The glasses helped too.

He laughed. "Well at least I don't have to introduce myself. Yeah, I got an owl earlier, asking if I would do this interview, and since I hadn't been asked in ages, I decided I would take it, besides, everyone is looking for me outside. It's nice to get away from them."

"Yes, well anyway, I'm going to start asking questions now," He nods his head, "The first goal of the game, belonging to the Magpies, the formation the chasers used, was that practiced before, or did it just happen?"

"The chasers had been working on that formation for a while, it was extremely difficult, but coach helped them through, I'm glad it worked so well today, sometimes we try it and it ends us going to the other team."

And that's the way it went, I was surprised. I thought it was going to be a nightmare, I mean, interviewing James Potter! James Potter, the arrogant, stuck-up, show off, being well, a team player and reasonable! I was astonished, blown away, flabbergasted, bowled over, and well, you get the picture.

I got back to my cubicle and started writing my article, even though it was Sunday. I wanted to get this article over with, while I was alone, instead of people always badgering me about being able to interview the James Potter, because it was a great feat to accomplish.

I wrote my basic outline, and decided to leave it at that, I'd come in later and finish it. That was thing I hated the most about being a journalist. Your time limit. I hate being rushed, it makes my writing worse. It's why I've always written my article as soon as I get the information.

It's now 3:00, the game lasted about an hour and a half, my interview an hour, let's see, that's two and half hours, 20 galleons an hour, that's 50 galleons, plus the hour I spent writing my draft, 70 galleons. Wow. I wonder if it counts as overtime...

I decide to leave; I lock up the department, and head out, back to my flat in muggle London.

I'm going to write a letter to Sheryl, telling her how the game went, about the interview and all that nice stuff.

I call over my owl, Artemis, pen my letter and send her off to Sheryl's house in a small wizarding village.

After dinner, I get a reply.

Dear Lily,

I'm glad to hear that your interview went well. I was psyched when Mr. Potter agreed to an interview. I wrote another owl to him, asking him if he would like to do the same thing after every game. I'm waiting for his reply. If he does say yes, would you be the one who does the interview? I already wrote that you would, and since I'm your boss (haha) if you don't want to, I'll make you.

This is a great achievement for the S.D, and if he does say yes, the whole Prophet will be at our feet, the sky's the limit, Lily my friend! The sky's the limit!

I hope your doing well,

Sheryl.

S.D stands for Sports Department, for those, like me, who cannot for the life of them figure out what acronyms stand for.