INTERLUDE II

Oliver examined himself in the mirror again, not sure if he was happy or sad that the Witch Hunting Guild had better makeup artists than his day job, but he knew better than to try and recruit them. The Council wouldn't like their talent being poached.

There was a knock on the door and the producer entered without waiting for a response. "The Council have given me strict instructions to keep you on script, Mr. Sterling." He said with a put-upon attitude, as though he was on Oliver's side on this when he knew that the little rat would have bad mouthed him to their superiors.

He gave no visible reaction to this news aside from a shrug. "Oh well, you can hardly blame them, can you?" He asked as he made his way from the dressing room to the set. "All this equipment is so expensive, not to mention the cost of paying an entire crew to run it. Speaking of the crew," he gestured to the producer who had been following, "shouldn't you take your position in the editing bay?"

The producer looked annoyed at this dismissal, but he couldn't argue as he was in the right. Oliver took his seat behind the glossy desk and began to fiddle with the papers there, even though there was nothing written upon them. He waited until the cameraman's countdown reached zero before looking up and speaking in the reliable, unwavering voice he was so famous for.

"Good day and thank you for joining us," he began, addressing the hundreds of thousands of fellow Witch Hunters around the world who would be watching a recording of this in the days to come. "Our main story today is the attack on a young family in Mexico City. Two witches were captured and executed at the scene due to the efforts of the first responders, but not without heavy loss. The parents, Francisco and Camila Martinez, are unable to recall ever having a younger daughter, Isabella, another child lost to the witches' tyranny."

He skipped over the fact that the Aurors had captured and arrested the Hunters responsible for the Mexican Ministry workers' murder just minutes later, as the Council deemed it bad for morale. The focus was rightfully kept on the Obliviations of the witch girl's parents and how their child had been torn from their arms and out of their memories.

As his words would be interspersed with a pre-recorded report from the scene in the final edit, Oliver skipped ahead to the next story on the script. "In other news, the search for the witch capital continues-" Wanting to leave as soon as possible, he read through the rest of the script without a single deviation, unlike last week's recording.

Finally, when the cameras stopped rolling and the lights went down, he left the set and, much to his consternation, the producer saw fit to follow. "Great job today, Mr. Sterling." He bounced alongside him like an excitable puppy. "We won't even need a second take; it was so perfect!"

Oliver ignored the voice that wanted to tell the irritating man that you should always do multiple takes on anything but a live report, as he didn't want to extend the conversation. "That's great, John," he said, stepping into the dressing room.

"Oh! Actually sir, my name is-" He was cut off as Oliver shut the door in his face.

He crashed down in the chair in front of his vanity and put his head in his hands. He had joined the Witch Hunters Guild when he'd been little more than a child who'd lived in fear of the things he could see which everyone else could not. He had been so idealistic then, so ready to believe that he could make a difference.

Now he was on the wrong side of forty and had over two decades of experience in journalism that made it impossible to ignore the lies of omission he was preaching to his brothers and sisters.

The Council only paid him so much because having a real British Newscaster gave them an air of credibility to all the Witch Hunters of the world, old and new. Both members of the guild and independent hunters were swayed to see things the Council's way once they heard it in Oliver Sterling's deep, reassuring voice.

But now he had long since grown tired of being a mouthpiece for the Council. He wanted to affect the real change he had envisioned when he had enlisted all those years ago.

"You really are great at what you do," an unfamiliar voice suddenly said, "few men can say the same."

Oliver started and whirled around. He had been alone when he entered the room, he was certain of it, and no one else had entered since. But somehow, there was a man lounging on the sofa as though he belonged nowhere else, and he was looking at Oliver as though he expected a response. Instead, Oliver opened his mouth to call for help.

"DEATH EATER!" He knew that call would have the crew running in faster than if he had called fire, and they would bring all the weapons and tools they had to bear against their foe.

But no one came.

"You recognise me? I'm flattered. I never would have thought I was so famous in both worlds." The man, who by his shaggy brown hair, long, pale face and scruffy beard, would have looked unremarkable walking down the street to anyone else, was unmistakable for Oliver. He had reported on enough of his crimes to know Antonin Dolohov when he saw him. "I've already placed a Muffling Charm on the room by the way. I know how your renowned voice can carry." He smiled mockingly. "Please, have a seat."

He was so afraid that he didn't even feel an ounce of indignation at being offered a seat in his own dressing room.

When he sat down, Dolohov began to explain his presence here. "I know you and I are on differing sides, but I sincerely think we can help one other." Olivier was still too frightened to scoff, but something must have given his thoughts away as Dolohov asked, "Unless you're content with being the Council's puppet?"

It was that which gave him pause. If Dolohov wanted to kill him, he could have done it before he even realised something was wrong. It must be something truly intriguing if he went through all this trouble.

Blaming his journalistic curiosity, he said, "I'm listening."

Author's Note:

Muggle parents can't deny their child magical training. I hinted here that the girl in the news report, Isabella, was forbidden by her parents and when the ministry insisted, Witch Hunters got involved due to their own spies, but the parents still got their memories wiped of her existence. It's a rare case, as in this AU, Harry's grandmother Euphemia was the Advocate of Education and prevented memory wipes being the norm. Only when the local ministry deem the child to be at risk are they permitted to obliviate the parents. Think canon Dursleys as an example.