"I just can't believe it!" exclaimed Mr. O'Rourke to the spellbound room of newspapermen after Dennis had shown him a series of table levitations, pencils turned into rulers, and typewriters made to sing 'God Save the King'.
"Hey, O'Rourke," said his editor, who had been watching the proceedings with suspicious eyes. He had seen stranger things in Ireland. "Do you realize that now we have absolute proof of a news story that could put County Cork on the world journalism map, and it can't go in an article? We can't show something like this in pictures—it just looks like a fraud."
Mr. O'Rourke looked sadly at the gaggle of students who had accompanied Dennis and his son to his office. "I suppose you're right. Even on television it would be laughed off as special effects."
Dennis grinned up at the reporters. "I think you'll find that taken care of." He proceeded to extract from his backpack clippings from about half a dozen Irish newspapers. "Two magicians discovered in our midst," read one. "Local woman from Scotland blessed with unexplainable powers," said another.
The small wizard explained. "My brother owled these over this morning. Now it's being called a very organized prank by world journalists, but just a few more reporters like you taking this seriously in isolated areas of the country and they can't ignore it! My friend Hermione disobeyed orders and placed some people in Australia, too, so sooner or later we will blow the lid off this can of worms.
The editor stared blankly. "There are more of you?"
Dennis nodded, addressing the entire room. "Millions. All over the world. We're kept hidden for reasons that have become less and less as the years go by. The worst part is, a lot are born to non-magic people—we call them muggle-borns. They're going to be in on the action, too, once they get back to their hometowns for Christmas break. They tend to be on our side."
The editor looked weakly at Mr. O'Rourke. "Bill, I think since your son brought us the story, you can investigate further with the help of these witnesses."
But it was soon clear that this would have to wait. Only Dennis recognized the loud crack that punctured the air next for what it was, and only he knew the meaning of the horrible robes and masks of the printer's new visitors, which he had seen before only in decades-old photographs from the Daily Prophet.
Even the typewriters stopped singing. "Call the police! It's a Dark--"
It was at this point that Dennis was Stunned. But Voldemort had made one error in judgment.
The previous attacks of his first reign had been on small families in their homes. Even he knew he was not yet strong enough to take on a public place—the stealth of the Dark Lord fit with his name. However, he had grown impatient in his dormant period. With his body restored to strength, he decided the new challenge of the wizarding world, this silly notion of revelation, merited a personal appearance from Lord Voldemort. However, he expected to find only one half-grown wizard and a few muggles, which he estimated as possessing about half the challenge of a flobberworm. This meant he needed only three or four Death Eaters for his first resurrection attack.
The muggles in the room outnumbered him ten to one, and he could only crucio them one at a time. And, more importantly, they knew he was a wizard. One intern in a corner cubicle was thus able to slip under his desk and quietly call the swat team.
Lord Voldemort had steeled himself against every magical death known to wizardkind. Yet, like Dominic before him, he had severely underestimated the muggle toy known as a sniper rifle.
The new hero of the wizarding world was Jonas Kirke, a muggle. And, in a few months, they had the clearance to tell him so.
