You know that picture of the old guy groping J.K. Rowling's breast? He's her agent, and it's in his contract that he gets to cop a feel off of everyone who makes money from the Harry Potter franchise. His cold hands are why I'm releasing this story for free.

CHAPTER FIVE

Meet The Press

I'd had the House-elves close off the flue the day I'd moved in to the room. I'm crazy, not stupid.

Instead of a wood fire I had a Heat-Charmed cannonball, which Longbottom insisted on calling a bludger. I nudged it a couple of times with the special poker, setting it to maximum heat, and sat down on the warm masonry by the hearth. Someone had left a thermos of coffee and a plate of sticky buns out for me. I wrapped myself in a wool blanket and ate sticky buns as I soaked heat from the stonework.

A steady drumbeat of rain came down on the window. The weather had gone Scottish last night and Hogwarts sat inside its very own cloud.

Some days you really miss the meds.

Wednesday. Two days until the start of the school year. Things to do. I had to make sure Flourish and Blotts had the new textbooks in. Sometime during the previous evening all my stuff from Montreal had arrived. The House-Elves had stacked the boxes nearly two metres high. And it was a safe bet that my antics last night had made the papers. Time to deal with the fall-out from that.

I sat by the fireplace, soaking heat from the red-hot bludger and drinking coffee.

My sulk was interrupted by a knocking at my chamber door, three short thumps. I really didn't want to talk to anyone, but I couldn't sit in my room humming old Eurythmics songs all day. ''Come in.''

Professor Isgar swooped in like a giant bat, scholarly black robes flapping. The only colour in his clothes was the green and silver lining of his cloak. I supposed he must have had meetings already. He carried a bundle of newspapers under one arm.

''We had a press scrum in front of the Great Hall this morning, following the release of the morning papers.'' He put the newspapers on my little table. ''News of your Muggle status broke this morning. Page three of the Star, page two of the Prophet. The only reason we haven't seen it in the Weekly is that they don't go to press until Friday evening.''

Isgar sat in one of my chairs and looked at me for a minute. ''You look better than last night. How do you feel?''

''Tired.''

''Did you sleep?''

''Some.''

He shook his head. ''Clearly not enough, but it will have to do. Hogwarts needs you to speak to the press this afternoon, in time for a late edition of the Star. Rita Skeeter is paying Galilea a favour here, but it won't work if you're not ready.''

''Is this the woman who wrote Mad, Bad, And Dangerous To Know?'' Short, sweet, and to the point, it was the best of the books I'd skimmed on the Wizarding Wars. The woman obviously loathed the leadership of both the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's Army.

Isgar laughed briefly. ''I thought that might bring you out of it. Rita and Galilea are friends from, oh, ages ago. Galilea was the first Pureblood to give a grubby Halfblood journalist the time of day, pulled a few strings to get her in at the Prophet back when she was hungry. Rita hasn't forgotten, now that she runs the Daily Star.''

''Journalists with obvious agendas are God's finest gift to my profession. No one digs deeper than a vicious hack with a grudge.''

''We'll have to Renervate you a few times, see if we can't do something about those bags under your eyes. But I suspect you and Rita will get along like old friends.''

Rita Skeeter had stopped just short of calling Potter's right-hand-witch a starstalking slut. The prospect of meeting the Procopius of the Wizarding World definitely woke me up. I was even starting to feel warm.

Isgar stood and stretched. I suspected I hadn't been the only one to have a sleepless night. He walked over and knelt next to me. ''In less pleasant news, the Aurors would like to speak with you.''

''What? Why?''

''I have no idea. Galilea hoped you might know.'' He watched me carefully, as though studying a bubbling cauldron. ''We have just enough time to get you fed and cleaned up.''

''All right. I should get moving anyways. It's starting to get hot here.''

Isgar's face twitched. ''Really.''

He yanked me to my feet, pulling the blanket off me.

''Hey!''

''Clean up and eat.'' He pushed me towards the door, one hand gripping my shoulder. ''You can complain about my manners later.''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

I washed quickly, scrubbing off the night's sweat. The East Wing bathroom was empty and the shower stalls smelled faintly of bleach. I doubted either situation would last past the start of the school year.

The lack of a private bathroom was the big disadvantage to rooming at Hogwarts. Maybe I wouldn't unpack. There were some Muggle villages relatively nearby along the A Road, with modern wiring and plumbing. Close enough to commute, not so close that I couldn't have my tablet. I missed texts. Newsfeeds. Email. MP4s. I was starting to go into withdrawal.

I'd have to go back to Diagon Alley soon. At some point I'd managed to scorch my under shirt. I had no idea how, but it was just as well I'd not noticed.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

Mail arrived a few seconds after breakfast appeared. The staff owl dropped the bundle of envelopes in front of me, circled once, then flew off silently.

Enchanted owls. Had the Ministry run a contest looking for the stupidest possible way to operate a postal system?

With me settling in to Hogwarts, Neville spent more time at his home above the Leaky Cauldron. Other teaching staff were spending more time at the school as the start of the year approached. This morning I sat at the table between Charms Professor Belladonna Burke and Arts Professor Rebecca Lestrange. Neither of them said more to me than the bare minimum courtesies. Maybe the old witchhunters had been on to something, at least for the Purebloods.

I ate quickly while sorting through my mail. Letter from the services department at Gringotts, probably the usual summary of yesterday's email. Letter from the office of the DME Head, probably a form letter inquiring after my health. Letter from Glinda Ollivander, hopefully a yes to my request for an interview with a historically fascinating family. Letter from - Hello.

Letter from Jezebel Rosier.

Odd.

The rest of the mail could wait till after my meeting.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

The Auror was not a pretty man to say the least. He had thick features and a heavy brow, and was ugly in a way the women I knew would call 'masculine'. Two days of bright ginger stubble didn't make him look any better. Hollywood would cast a man like that as the villain's chief thug.

Ron Weasley. Potter's personal leg-breaker, yes-man, and pet idiot, according to Rita Skeeter. I had to wonder about the roots of her grudge.

He smiled hugely as he shook my hand, his cheeks dimpling. Suddenly he looked less like a heavy and more like the hero's buddy in a romantic comedy. ''Welcome to Wizarding Britain, Professor Hunter. Has anyone tried to Hex you yet?''

''Not that I've noticed. But I'm wearing so many protective wards and Shield-Charmed clothes that any Hex would probably ricochet back to the caster.''

''Good, good. And George's new underpants? How are they holding up?''

''I signed a contract forbidding me from discussing the nature or even existence of my underwear.''

Ron Weasley smirked. ''George couldn't keep a secret if you put out his tongue with Acid Pops. I worked in his shop for more than a year. We didn't develop a single new product that his competitors hadn't heard of weeks before it hit the shelves.''

The Headmistress spoke up from behind her desk. ''And yet, we at Hogwarts have never felt the need to ban the entire product line of any of your brother's competitors. They always lack that Weasley flare.''

''I'll tell him you said that. That'll make his day.'' Weasley took a seat in front of the Headmistress' desk. He looked up and past her to the portrait behind her desk.

The portrait behind the Head Teacher's desk is reserved for their most recently deceased predecessor. Another one of those historically fascinating figures scowled down on us from the canvas.

''Hello, Professor Snape.''

''Mr. Weasley. If you're here, trouble surely follows close behind.'' God, had the man ever had a kind word for anyone?

''Albus is fine, since you asked.''

''I pray never to meet the boy.''

Ron Weasley actually smiled at this. I had to be missing something.

Headmistress Grimward held up her hand. ''Gentlemen, you can measure wands later. At the moment we have business to discuss. Professor Hunter, please be seated.''

She'd neglected the top button of her shirt. I really did need to find a more suitable object of lust than my boss.

Weasley waited for me to sit. Our chairs abruptly moved, angling themselves to form a triangle with Weasley, Grimward, and I at the points. I really wish wizards or witches would warn people before doing things like that.

''Well mate, there's good news and bad news.'' Weasley smiled again. Well-connected, attractive in a grotty sort of way, and charming. If he hadn't married his sweetheart right out of school, Ron Weasley could have had his pick of any woman in the Wizarding World. ''The good news is, you made quite an impression on that young lady last night. The bad news is, she's a Pureblood supremacist with ties to a rather nasty terrorist group.''

Terrorists?

The office felt very far away. I stared ahead, past the Headmistress to the wall.

She held her hand up in front of her and snapped her fingers twice. I shook my head.

''Sorry. Did it again, didn't I?''

''You've had a hectic week,'' she said.

I was missing something here, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I turned back to Ron Weasley. ''But why? I mean, I understand that some of the Purebloods don't want a Muggle teaching their kids. But why would a terrorist group be interested in a junior professor?''

Weasley shook his head. ''You don't understand the politics. And believe me, politics are the only reason I'm personally involved in this. If it were anyone else under threat, they'd be talking to a junior Auror.''

Not the fist of Harry Potter Himself. Right.

''Explain the politics. I really need to know what's going on here.''

''As simply as possible,'' said Weasley. ''It's Hogwarts. The school is over a thousand years old, and it's the heart of the Wizarding World. And it's not just symbolic. Between the membership of the Board of Governors, the magical skills of the Head Teacher, and the spells built into the school itself, Hogwarts is one of our major centres of power. Honestly, It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Believe me mate, there is no such thing as a 'junior professor' at Hogwarts.''

I turned back to Grimward. ''Just how political is this project of yours?''

''Deeply,'' she said. ''Don't glower, Professor. I had no idea anyone would blow this so far out of proportion. Mr. Weasley, who are these people?''

''They call themselves The One Hundred. Don't ask me why, we've thought of at least three different possibilities. But they're the same pack that Umbridge came from.''

He nearly spat when he said the name. Umbridge, Umbridge, Something Umbridge, one of Tom Riddle's Quislings in the last war. Something about that name... Something about a human eye stuck to her door, and God I hoped I was misremembering that.

''Isn't she the one that thought Muggle-borns were stealing magic somehow? Is that even possible?''

''It is not.'' Headmistress Grimward shook her head. ''One is either born with the ability to cast spells, or not. Within that ability there are varying degrees of talent, or even varying types of talents, but you can either cast spells, or you cannot. There is no way to steal that inborn ability.''

And there were other abilities. Like being able to see non-material magical creatures, or places warded from Muggle attention. Most Squibs had that. It was one of my qualifications for professorship at Hogwarts, that I could see the bloody place.

There's a minority of wizards and witches who think magic can be stolen. Look at it from their point of view. A Muggle walks into a tea shop in Hogsmeade... And all of a sudden he's a professor at Hogwarts attending dinners at the Ministry.

It wasn't really funny, but I had to laugh a bit. ''Oh God, I must've made a real impression on her last night. All those candles above the table. I'm pyrophobic. I was babbling. I can barely remember what I said.''

''According to the Prophet you were going on about flesh-eating automatons, cannibalistic barbecues, and Muggle soldiers slaughtering wizards. Not the sort of thing parents want to hear from a new teacher.''

Something clicked. ''Mr. Weasley, do you have kids?''

''Two,'' he said, beaming. ''My daughter starts at Hogwarts this year.''

''Is this an official Auror's visit, Mr. Weasley, or a visit from a concerned parent? Or are you trying to panic my employer into letting me go?''

Weasley's smile went a bit flat. ''I don't want you to lose your place, Professor Hunter. The One Hundred is a dangerous bunch, and we - ''

''You haven't actually said they're interested in me. Just that I sat next to someone with ties to them.''

Grimward leaned forward on her desk. ''How is this woman involved with The One Hundred, supposedly?''

''Money. Her family isn't wealthy any more, hardly any of the Purebloods really are, but she runs one of our estate firms. She's channelling funds to The One Hundred. We can't prove it yet, but we will.''

''Should you be telling me that? I mean, if you can't prove it?''

Weasley finally looked a bit embarrassed. The Headmistress laughed. It had a bitter sound.

''Proof and evidence are such quaint Muggle customs. I doubt we'll import those ideas any time soon.''

''My wife has been at me for years about that. She's been at Shacklebolt too. It's gotten to the point that he avoids her in the halls.''

Right. New mental note: Find out what exactly passed for civil rights in Wizarding Britain. But the matter at hand was a little more important. ''Assuming good faith on your part, what do you suggest I do?''

''Go about your business. If you notice anything that seems odd or out of place - ''

I snorted.

''All right. Anything that seems odd even by the standards of wizards and witches, or if you think you're being followed, tell Headmistress Grimward, Neville, or Ewart Fairbairn immediately. And make sure that the Headmistress knows your schedule and where you'll be at all times.''

''And don't open any strange packages that I might get in the mail?'' I decided not to mention Jezebel's letter just yet. I'd bring it up later in private with Grimward.

''Exactly.''

I made a noise between a groan and a sigh. It might not have been his real reason for being there, but Weasley had a point. ''Death threats I'm used to. You would not believe how some parents react to their little genius receiving a less than perfect grade. But terrorists?''

I had to face the ugly question of whether the students would be safe with me around. But I was too damned tired to deal with it. Later. We'd have to have a meeting about it later. Would this One Hundred group care if I'd been Obliviated?

I realized Weasley was talking. '' - basic security procedures. Between the protective Charms at Hogwarts and a little bit of caution, you should be fine. Just keep your eyes and ears open - ''

Headmistress Grimward laughed out loud at that. Ron Weasley looked at me. I think I blushed a bit.

''I'm easily distracted.''

''Ah. Lucky I'm about then. I'll keep an eye on you.''

''Officially or unofficially, Mr. Weasley?''

Ron Weasley stood. ''I've a meeting soon. Headmistress, Professor, it's been a pleasure to meet both of you. Headmistress, with your permission... ''

''Granted.''

He Disapparated out, leaving only a loud crack as air fell in on empty space.

There'd been a lot of information in that short interview. But the first thing to come to mind was how he'd left. ''According to Hogwarts, A History, Anti-Disapparation Charms are part of the school's oldest layer of defence.''

Galilea Grimward leaned further forward on her desk, crossing her arms under her chest. I was absolutely certain she hadn't forgotten where she had buttoned her top to. Her silver and jade snake pendant was downright hypnotic. ''My predecessor found those defences utterly inadequate, as well as highly obstructive in the event of an emergency. Senior staff may Apparate and Disapparate at will, and as Head Teacher I may extend permission to others.'' Grimward smiled. ''Minerva wrote the shaping aspects of those Charms herself. She actually subtly Transfigured the incavium space around Hogwarts, to dis-intent incursion without the attention of senior staff. It was a pleasure to work with her.''

I followed almost none of that. But again, it wasn't the matter at hand. ''About Ron Weasley... As far as cops go, he's a lousy liar. But whether that was an official visit or not, I am worried about the safety of the students.''

''Good. Professors Longbottom and Fairbairn are both former Aurors. I will schedule a meeting where we can discuss school security. That will be tomorrow. Today, you will rest. You have an interview with Rita this afternoon, but I've taken you off the schedule for staff meetings. The day is yours. Rest, Geoffrey.''

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

A table at the Hogshead. Firewhisky, bacon and onion pie, and chips. A History of Magic (Bathilda Bagshot) to the left. The Penguin Illustrated History of Britain and Ireland (Barry Cunliffe, editor) and The Oxford History of Britain (Kenneth O. Morgan, editor) in the middle. Hogwarts, A History (Authorship disputed, under review by a DME committee) to the right. A fresh notebook and coloured pens.

What? How do you relax?