I still remember the first time I'd glimpsed the future.
I was seven, flying with a couple of kids in my neighborhood when the darkness hit. Everything around me suddenly silent and very still. Then, the world went up in flames.
I'd woken up two days later in the hospital, with a fractured skull and parents terrified to ever let me in the air again.
It was a week later when I saw the smoke.
Dark clouds billowed into the sky, just visible over the garden wall of the manor from the direction of the muggle village I'd never been allowed near.
It was at that moment I knew.
By the time I'd hit the main road it was too late. Children were crying. People were panicking, attempting to help as the muggles tried desperately to fight the fire without magic and keep it from spreading, several houses already ablaze.
It was the first experience with that unique sense of guilt my kind so often felt, alien to others who didn't have our 'gift.'
'You could have stopped this.' That cold, sickening feeling whispered from the back of my mind as horror began to sink in. 'You could have done something.'
It wasn't my fault. I knew that. But it was the thought that weighed heavy in my mind after every tragedy or disaster.
'You could have prevented this.'
Very few people knew what I could do, and those who did spoke about it in hushed tones, eyes darting towards me from whispered conversations, their expressions a range of emotions. Uncertainty, fear, sometimes even respect. There was also a strange eagerness, however, usually corresponding to their notion of the value associated with my being an interesting anomaly. An idea that they might just be able to get something out of my abilities, profit off of it in one way or another. The unspoken label so obvious in their expressions.
Seer.
Yes, I could see the future. And believe me, I wasn't a fan of it.
I didn't go around selling fortunes and prophecies to willing customers, eager to pay me for what they wanted to hear. In my opinion, the ability was a damn nuisance, always keeping me just one step ahead of every day catastrophes and minor accidents in other people's lives, while trying to avoid the inconveniences it caused in mine. Like the fact my co-worker, Nelly, had had disaster written in her tea leaves, that she'd been blissfully unaware of all morning.
She always read them wrong, a fervent, but fruitless hobby of hers that was slowly driving me insane. Every morning she'd take a tea brake, eagerly drain her cup with even the most atrociously thin substances that would technically qualify for the job, spin the cup and let the 'tea' drain.
Then she'd read the leaves.
She always read them wrong. Always.
Today she'd thought she'd seen a spade in the murky lumps, a symbol of good luck. She'd been delighted, giggling madly when she pointed to a clump of leaves that was absolutely nothing, certain it was a pattern of burning flames. Passionate emotion.
She was convinced she was going to meet the man of her dreams any second now. No doubt a six foot tall adonis, who saw the quill she stuck in her insane 'I've got a deadline three days ago,' tangled knot on top of her head, blood shot eyes behind her massive reading glasses, and think, 'That's her. She's the one.'
Not that I was looking much better at the moment, waiting for fate to strike, because Nelly had actually seen was a skull.
She'd also completely missed the cross angled directly towards it. Horrible signs. I wouldn't be surprised if a piano actually landed on her like they did on those muggle cartoons I'd been forbidden from watching growing up.
When she'd announced she was going to the back to check on her article in the printing room, I'd offered to go with her, convinced her hair was going to get tangled in a gear and the machine was going to rip her head off.
It didn't, and I'd almost snapped my favorite quill in anxiety, clutching it so tightly, my knuckles went white as I waited for whatever was coming, all while Nelly continued to saunter around the office, offering to pop out for snacks from the bakery down the street, or run errands she normally would never have volunteered to do, no doubt hoping to run into this 'mystery love'.
I wasn't completely convinced she was going to die today, but I wasn't ruling it out. And until I could be certain what was going on, I didn't want to let her out of my sight.
"What is your deal today T?" Malcom asked raising an eyebrow as he considered me.
Though he was sitting, you could see he was tall, long limbs barely fitting under the desk shoved against mine. His blond hair was curly, but short enough that with the right product, it was contained to an attractive wave. He had chilly light blue eyes that melted when he smiled, an expression that could crack almost any source and he often used to his advantage. Currently, however, he was frowning.
"You look like someone told you you have to face down an angry mother dragon." His brow furrowed. "Why do you keep staring at Nelly?"
Like me, Malcom worked for the 'The Pointed Quill', a small but dedicated independent paper founded after the war, struggling to stay alive as slowly, as the years moved on, people began to forget just how quickly the media had fallen to Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. How easily better funded papers like 'The Daily Prophet' had given in to printing all of that 'precautionary' misinformation the ministry had peddled about muggle borns, lying to its readers, eventually becoming nothing more than a resource to spread prejudice propaganda.
Because we were so small, Malcom, as well as Nelly and our boss Edmund, Merlin help him, had many jobs assigned to him, mostly related to finances. He was the only reason The Quill managed to, for the most part, turn a profit. He was incredible with numbers. Gringotts would have taken him from us in a heartbeat if they could. But for some reason, due to something in his not completely frozen heart, he'd chosen to keep working here.
Why? I had no idea. But I wasn't going to complain or bring it up.
Edmund, currently back in his tiny office, more a coat closet really, wrote a few columns and had the title as the lead editor for the paper. He was the only editor really, and the head of our little team. He wrote mostly deep dive journalism about topics so minutely researched, almost no one cared about them even if they were both relevant and important to the day to day life of the average witch or wizard. His passion for keeping the public well informed had seemed to have caused him to forget he had to entertain them at least a little while keeping them up to date with current affairs. Otherwise, they'd never read it.
Malcom stuck to mostly finance news and minor current events, keeping important stories alive when they'd fallen out of the public consciousness. Nelly, who'd originally been hired in an administrative role, wrote our public interest stories. The closest thing The Quill got to gossip, and truth be told, some of it was mostly gossip. But it was sent through me to 'professionalize' and then Edmund to make the final call before print. Usually it was sent back with notes imploring for 'serious journalism' and 'credible sources,' and Nelly was brought to reason between setting up appointments, scheduling interviews, and whatever other miscellaneous task that fell onto her desk.
I was the only person at The Quill who was purely a writer, but there was a reason for that.
A flash of awareness went through me and I got up, knowing the tea leaves were about to strike.
"I don't know how you do it T." A booming voice said as the door was thrown open into the cluttered room, and knocked over a rack of freshly printed papers we all knew to avoid.
There was a groaning noise of metal and I pulled Nelly, who's desk was by the door, hastily out of her chair as the rack crushed it, the chair's legs cracking and splintering under the weight.
"Merlin." Malcom said, icy eyes going wide, while Nelly let out a hysterical little laugh.
The door swung shut cutting off the light from outside and I hastily pulled out my wand, righting the rack and fixing the chair before anything else could crush Nelly.
"Guess my tea leaves were right." She said beaming at me. "I was lucky you were there T."
I bit my lip and let out a very slow breath.
"Guess so." I said smiling at her and looking at the man who'd just walked in and caused the chaos.
"Sorry about that Nelly." He said apologetically and she smiled.
"No problem boss."
The Quill's owner was a massive man named Jeromy Oakham, that, despite nearing his mid fifties, still looked as if he could tackle an Auror, and get them sent back to combat training without so much as reaching for his wand.
He was a retired curse breaker who'd made a fortune early in his career and had been coasting in life ever since, using his insane amounts of money and general good business sense to make himself even more money and fund his next interest in life. The Quill had been one of his less successful ventures that had still made him at least a little money, and I was amazed he'd stuck with it for this long.
He'd met Edmund by chance when doing an interview with The Prophet about one of his many businesses. Back then only a junior reporter, Ed had suggested funding what was, at that time, a local newsletter of boring, but important issues Edmund had been circulating for free after the war, calling for more competition in the news industry in the wizarding world. The newsletter had been committed to honest and critical reporting of the people and systems in power, and if The Prophet had ever found out about it, it almost certainly would have gotten him fired.
Oakham was a pureblood, but had had friends that had been affected by the regime, and had actually been set to go on trial for speaking out against what was happening to them publicly, but all charges had been dropped after the Battle of Hogwarts and the war ended.
It was probably the only reason this paper was still around honestly, because Oakham believed in what it stood for, not because of what little money it could make him.
After he'd gotten the ok from Jeromy, Ed had plucked me out of obscurity in the sports department of The Prophet as an assistant to a 'journalist' who couldn't find the right end of the broom no matter where you shoved it, and convinced Jeromy to take me on. I'd recommended we poach Malcom from the finance department, the only person I'd managed to make friends with at The Prophet, seeing how much we'd both hated our jobs, and pay him more than we honestly could have afforded at the time, and promise to let him write.
Edmund had thought I was insane, but I knew it would work out. Perks of seeing the future. Nelly, well, she'd simply wandered into the wrong building one day looking for a book store, and when she saw the state of our filing systems, had started reorganizing them with what looked like almost a compulsive instinct.
She'd been doing it ever since.
It had occurred to me at one point, that she might have done it even if we hadn't been paying her she was so anxious. But that didn't really seem fair. I was convinced now that we had her here, we wouldn't get anything done if it ever occurred to her to leave.
We were a weird group of people. Misfits from nearly every walk of life, but we worked together well.
"I don't know how you do it Tara." Oakham said after giving Nelly a final concerned look, then turning and beaming at me, slapping the most recent copy of The Quill, a special edition, onto Nelly's desk. The one surface in this place that was neat enough to do so.
His dark hair, that had only recently started to gray, was practically quivering with excitement as he smiled at me.
"You're a genius. One step ahead with every story, without fail. I cannot believe I ever doubted Ed's decision to bring you on."
"What's happening?" Malcom asked, a light eyebrow darting up while Nelly looked at Oakham, politely curious.
"Once again, we're first on the mark of a major story. Not even The Prophet had caught wind of this."
Ministry Messes: Unspeakable Fates
I'd had a vision a few weeks ago, about an accident that was going to occur in the Department of Mysteries. I didn't know much about it, but I had found the Unspeakable and manage to warn them in time.
It hadn't stopped them from getting hurt, but it did manage to mitigate some of the damage and save several of the Unspeakables who he had warned.
He'd been fired for interfering with their work, the Ministry assuming he'd been talking outside of the department to get such a warning, which was unfortunate as I had very little clue what he or the other workers there were up to as it hadn't even involved the Hall of Prophecy, the only part of department I was somewhat familiar with.
In gratitude for the warning, and maybe a little spite for his dismissal, he'd agreed to act as a whistle blower. He couldn't give me much detail as even he'd been keep in the dark about a lot, but he had given me enough for an article. We were first off the press on a major story. A cover up of the endangerment of several ministry employees, even after they had been warned.
Now all the other papers would be scrambling to catch up. To figure out what happened and who to talk to, while our story was already out. Keeping people accountable, and selling papers. That's what we were about.
"I have got to know who your source is." Oakham said looking at me eagerly, curiosity shining in his dark blue eyes. "How do you find out about these things T? I have got to know."
"Sorry Jeromy." I said. I was the only one here who was comfortable enough to use his first name, well, besides Ed. "That's confidential. Even the boss can't know."
"I'll let you get away with it because you make me money." He said good naturedly. "All of you, I want you to leave early today. Meet at the Leaky Cauldron in an hour. Drinks on me. Partners welcome."
"Alright." Malcom, the only one of us who actually had a partner, said with a grin while Nelly beamed.
"I've got to talk with Ed, but you lot can head out now. Enjoy an early start to the weekend."
"Thanks boss." Nelly said brightly, grabbing her bag and hustling over to Malcom's desk excitedly as Oakham made his way towards Edmund's office.
She offered to send an owl to his girlfriend Valerie, but he waved her away.
"No, her shop is on the way to the pub, I was just going to pop in on the walk. Want to come say hi?"
She nodded and as Malcom gathered his things, he glanced at me.
"You want to come with us?"
"I've got a couple more things I need to work on." I said nodding towards my desk that was full of parchment drafts and clippings of articles I was particularly proud of. I had a feeling this one would be joining that list.
"But Mr. O said we could take off." Nelly, as neurotic as she was about keeping the office running, was not one to turn down free drinks and an extended weekend.
Neither was Malcom, and he worked just as hard as any of us.
"Let her do her work." He said waving his hand good naturedly. "You know she's only happy when she's completely bogged down in annotations and impossible word counts."
Nelly smiled.
"Dolly Pennwright never rests."
"No she does not." I agreed, recognizing one of my many pen names that I used for my articles. I had at least six or seven of them now. Probably more.
"Have fun Dolly." Malcom said grinning and offering his arm to Nelly who took it happily.
I watched amused, knowing when they reach the door, they were going to run into issues which they didn't figure out until they were right in front of it.
Nelly laughed, making an exaggerated business of holding it open for him. They stepped out to the sunny street, no doubt to go wrangle Valerie, Malcom's gorgeous but painfully shy girlfriend, into an evening out for once.
I expected she would have a great time, then need the next three months to recover before we saw her again, not that I thought he minded having her all to himself most of the time.
I'd just gotten two drafts into my opinion piece about the Ministry's latest negotiations with the goblins at Gringotts, knowing Edmund was going to scold me about the length, when his door opened and Oakham stepped through it.
"T." he said and while his tone was reproving, he was smiling. "I thought I told you lot to clear out for the evening. What's the point of having employees if they won't even let you give them an afternoon off?"
"I just have a couple of edits-"
But he cut me off.
"I don't want to hear it," he said pointing at me. "You've done more than enough lass. Come celebrate with your friends. I promise I won't tell the boss."
I grinned a little at this and glanced back at Ed's office, to see he was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, his thoughtful expression turned down slightly in a characteristic frown.
Ed was an over thinker. He was constantly ruminating on the worlds problems, determined to find a way to fix them. Strange as it sounded, I didn't think Ed was ever truly happy if at least some part of him wasn't miserable.
Like Malcom, Edmund was tall, but instead of the cool, super model good looks Malcom so often used to his advantage, Ed was bookish. His dark brown hair was curly and almost always tousled like it was now, no doubt from running his fingers through it as he agonized over things like sentence structures and warning readers about black market sellers that were passing off dangerous substances as magical stimulants. He was all long limbs and awkward like a baby deer, and only recently stopped looking so much like a teenager despite nearing his late twenties. His dark blue eyes were worried as settled over me and I raised an eyebrow.
Nelly, when she'd first started, had giggled to me one day that she thought Ed was cute and while, yes, under the whole, 'guy who looked like he couldn't look up from a book long enough find his way out of the library' situation, I guess he wasn't terrible looking, I just couldn't really see it. As usual his sweater was way too big and looked as if it should have been thrown out years ago, and he'd pushed his glasses to the top of his head. I knew some girls liked the nervous, nerdy type, but it wasn't for me.
That didn't stop me from being able to read him however.
His was a face I knew better than my own. I could tell by his expression he wanted to talk, but he shook his head and glanced at Jeromy.
The meaning was clear. Now wasn't the time.
"You coming?" I asked grabbing my bag and putting it over my shoulder, but Ed shook his head.
"I've got some work that's pressing. I might catch up with you later if you all are still there."
"He's even worse than you are." Jeromy said shaking his head but pausing as he opened the door, clearly waiting.
I shrugged and stood up from behind my desk, glancing at the paper still on Nelly's desk.
It was then that I got my first proper look at cup sitting next to it, tea leaves scattered across the bottom of it, feeling a jolt of surprise when I realized there was a symbol I'd missed in the few glimpses I'd gotten this morning.
Seeing it almost made me smile.
She'd mistaken the skull for a spade, but missed the heart.
'Maybe she's on to something.'
I couldn't investigate further, however, as Jeromy was still waiting. So, reluctantly, I looked away from the cup and headed for the door, stepping out into Diagon Ally.
"You know," he said as the door swung shut and squinted in the sunlight. "As much as it pains me to say it T, I think I'm going to have to disagree with you on your most recent article. About the national team." He added when he caught my surprised expression.
He nodded towards a row of papers for sale on a stand outside the nearest shop, and I saw that in addition to our most recent paper, the special issue about the Department of Mysteries, they had our weekly paper, the front page sporting a photo of a familiar figure, pushing through camera flashes while his team members smiled awkwardly, trying to cover their keeper's surly expression with smiles of their own.
Should They Keep Him?
I'd thought the play on words was funny at the time, but now I felt like kind of a prat after what had happened in the game last night...
It felt like kicking him when he was down.
"Did you have to be so hard on him?"
"How was I supposed to know he was going to take a bludger to the head like that?"
I'd tried to warn him he was playing too recklessly, it was what my whole article had been about, that he'd get caught making a dumb decision and any team with beaters worth anything close to what they were paid would punish him for it. Clearly, he hadn't read the article, or if he had, he hadn't listened. He'd been knocked out cold, our goals had been wide open, and the opposing chasers had had a field day.
"I dunno T, but you seem to know everything." He said with a laugh. "He's a good player though. I'm glad they chose him."
There had been some debate on whether or not Oliver Wood would be the starting keeper for upcoming world cup this summer. In my, and no doubt most of the country's, minds, Wood was the best keeper in the country, quite possibly on track to being one of the best in the world when in his prime.
But that right there was the problem. He'd been in a bit of a slump recently, not playing as well, and while he was a good enough player to get away with playing in the national league, it was going to be problematic on the international stage, a point I'd been making for weeks now in the sports column of The Quill, and looked as if had come to a head in the game last night.
Sure this was a thing that sometimes happened to players. Most of them snapped out of it eventually. But was it worth risking for a keeper heading into the most important tournament in the world of magical sports? Just hoping he'd get it together?
That I wasn't sure about, and it the very point I'd made in my most recent article concerning the national team.
What if he didn't snap out of it? Or, if by the time he did, it was too late? It was true Wood was an amazing keeper, and as a player, his record was actually pretty solid, but there were other factors at play as well. He was notorious for being difficult to work with, not so much with other players, but with coaches and the press. He flatly refused to give interviews and rarely interacted with fans. He'd been a good enough player for people to forgive this behavior, seen as a hard working, if not somewhat brooding, rising star, who really understood the game on a strategic level. But then on occasion, he'd have an outburst with one of his coaches or against a fan that caught him on a bad day, or, even worse, do something risky on the field.
He usually got away with it. For a while, people were more likely to consider him a genius rather than a gambler on the pitch. But it had been catching up with him recently, leading to a somewhat patchy performance on the international circuit as of late. By all accounts, he was still the best keeper England had, but he could be better. And there were plenty of excellent keepers out there, that would improve the more they played, and were easier to work with. I had to admit, a part of me was starting to wonder if this issue in mindset was something Oliver ever would recover from. And if he didn't, well, maybe it would only go down hill.
That wasn't something you wanted to deal with going into a major tournament.
Jeromy left me to ponder this as we headed towards the pub, however, about half way down the street he was approached by what seemed to be a friend, and told me to go on ahead and meet the others.
I'd almost made it when an image darted across my mind. Nelly tripping, crashing into the ground in front of a massive fire place, a tall man with an extremely handsome smile.
I swore and started running.
'I couldn't have been separated from her for more than twenty minutes.' I thought irritably, darting in and out of shoppers as I sprinted for the pub.
I spotted the sign for the Leaky Cauldron and slowed, out of breath as I shouted.
"Is anyone a Healer?"
Several people looked at their companions, then around the street before a man, good looking with swept back brown hair and hazel eyes raised a hand.
He'd been standing across the street, talking to the man next to him, though when he approached, he did it alone.
"My friend took a pretty bad fall." I said and he looked concerned immediately. "Do you think you could-"
"Of course." He said following after me into the pub where I saw a small crowd had formed in the corner, including Malcom and Valerie, Nelly holding a rag to her forehead that was stained with a fair amount of blood.
"Let me through." I said annoyed pushing people out of the way. "He's a healer."
Malcom looked up at the sound of my voice and his eyes darted towards the man who dropped next to Nelly who immediately flushed, going as pink as her bubble gum colored robes.
"What happened?" the man asked his tone sympathetic.
"Bottle rolled out from under the table as she was walking passed. She stepped on it and it rolled out from under her, total accident. Hit her head on the mantel." Malcom said giving me a strange expression, before nodding towards the fire place. "She's lucky she didn't stumble right into the fire."
"Very lucky." He agreed glancing at the flames before his eyes darted back to Nelly. "Can I?" He asked politely gesturing towards the cloth.
Nelly nodded, if possible, blushing even more as he reached up and gingerly took the towel away from her face.
"That's a pretty nasty cut." He said sympathetically reaching into his pocket. "Should be an easy fix though. Do me a favor, look this way."
He snapped his fingers next to her temple and when she glanced at the noise, he gently poked the cut with the wand he'd drawn.
She made a jolt of surprise, then touched her forehead automatically.
"All done." He said with a smile standing an offering a hand to help her up.
"T-Thanks." She stammered looking honestly a little awestruck.
"You alright Nel?" Malcom asked.
"Yeah, fine." She said going red again as she realized she'd probably made not the best impression in front of a very cute healer that had quite literally come to her rescue. "I'm so sorry to have bothered you," she said tucking a strand of hair that had fallen out of her crazy bun behind her ear awkwardly. "It's probably your day off…"
"Don't worry about it."
"Can we at least buy you a drink?" Malcom asked putting an arm around his around Valerie who was still looking extremely concerned about Nelly.
He seemed to be on the verge of refusing, but then glanced at Nelly, who shot him a shy, slightly embarrassed smile and seemed to reconsider.
"Alright." He said and I had to bite back a smile of my own. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't." she said scratching the back of her head. "It's Nelly."
"Allen." He said.
"I'm going to get us a round." I said cheerfully.
I lost track of the conversation as I went to get drinks, but came back to hear Nelly falter a bit when he asked what she did.
"She's a writer." I said smoothly setting a bottle in front of him first, then the others. "We all are."
"Barely." She muttered looking embarrassed. "I only write come of the smaller articles…"
"Don't sell yourself short Nel." Malcom said his tone encouraging. "You're hilarious. Five times funnier than T over there."
I smirked.
"So, ten times funnier than Malcom, then?"
He scowled at me causing Valerie to laugh.
"We work together at The Quill."
"The Quill?" he asked, surprising me when it looked as if he was frowning in recognition of the name. People rarely did. "The Pointed Quill? The one that's currently sending the Ministry into a tailspin?"
"That's the one." Valerie said before continuing quickly, sounding a little flustered. "I don't work there." She nodded to Malcom next to her. "Malcom does."
He looked interested.
"Which columns do you write?" he asked looking at Nelly curiously. "Don't tell me you're the one who tore poor Oliver Wood to shreds the day of the game he got knocked unconscious?"
"Nah." Malcom said with a laugh. "Nel's is too nice for that. T's the one you're looking for if you want someone to yell at."
"I didn't know he was going to get hurt." I said in exasperation, and this time, it was true. I hadn't seen Oliver's accident coming, not that I could have done much about it even if I had. "Even if I was right."
"I write some of the smaller pieces. You probably haven't heard of them. Morgana's Musings is probably the one you might have seen, but-"
He looked incredulous.
"I read those every week."
I had to hide another smile as I was pretty sure I felt Nelly's heart stop.
"Really?" she asked stunned and he laughed.
"Yeah. The article about Healers and bedside manners made my team and I laugh so hard we pinned it to the wall next to my desk."
Nelly beamed. It could have lit the entire room, and it seemed to light something within Allen as well.
"I can't believe I ran into you." he said and he sounded as if he really couldn't. Like he'd realized a neighbor he'd had for years but had never seen, was in fact, a celebrity. "You're famous around the hospital. My team is going to jinx me if I don't get you to come in and sign the article."
"Sure." She said with laugh, sounding shocked at the request, and it was his turn to smile.
"What else do you write?"
...
Nelly and Allen talked for hours, eventually branching off from the group after Jeromy and, finally, Edmund had joined our table.
"I can't believe it." Nelly said practically vibrating with excitement as we stepped out of the pub, and walked back towards our building to pick up the last of our things before we all separated for the weekend.
Night had fallen, and the street apart from the crowd outside the Leaky Cauldron was almost empty, most shops having closed for the evening.
"I never really took the tea leaves all that seriously, but they were right." She squealed grabbing my elbow excitedly and I jumped, not expecting the contact. "I can't believe it. Allen is such a sweet heart, and he reads my articles too."
Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with something that looked closed to wonder.
"I didn't even know anyone read my columns. Thank Merlin you bumped into him T. He's really something special, isn't he?"
"Perfect for you." I agreed a little amused at her energy while Malcom, who was walking next to me, put his hands in his pockets and frowned.
"Yeah, about that." He said shooting me a sidelong long look. Valerie, while extremely sweet, had reached her 'people' limit, over an hour ago, and departed for the evening no doubt curled up with a book waiting for Malcom to meet up with her at her apartment for the weekend. "How did you know Nelly needed a healer? You hadn't even made it to the pub yet."
"Every girl needs a tall, extremely good looking guy with a good job in her life." I said with a smirk. "It wasn't a stretch. Just ask Val."
He grinned.
"Out there doing the women of the world favors, are you?"
"I am the essence of charity."
"Right." he said sarcastically, but his expression shifted, softening as no doubt he thought of his girlfriend. "I guess I of all people can't really complain though, can I?"
Malcom had been in a terrible relationship when we'd first started working together at The Quill. He'd hated me for always making him to the book store whenever they'd ordered papers for the print stand outside their shop, or random things like emergency parchment or ink. He'd thought I was making him do the grunt work, until one day, six months after I'd started forcing him to go there, and had let slip to Valerie that my extremely good looking coworker was recently single, she'd gotten the courage to talk to him.
It hadn't been hard to catch his attention. Like Malcom, Valerie was tall and just as gorgeous. She was also an absolute sweetheart, and Malcom, once as prickly the back end of a Horntail, seemed a lot happier since they'd settled into their relationship.
"Seriously though, it's like you have eyes and ears everywhere. It's a bit scary. How do you always seem to know everything that's going on?"
I didn't answer this and he shook his head.
"Fine. Don't tell me."
He glanced at Nelly who was still glowing, chattering at Edmund who looked a little alarmed at her enthusiasm.
"Really though Tara," he said frowning. "How come you don't use your super powers on yourself?"
"How do you know I don't?" I asked and he snorted.
"You work more than I do." He said. "In fact, you somehow manage to work even more than Ed. You cannot possibly have time for a relationship."
"Maybe I don't want a relationship." I said raising an eyebrow. "My fiancé left me for another woman." I reminded him. "Maybe I'm traumatized."
"Ah yes, the fiancé from the marriage of convenience. Who you told to break off your engagement, and not to muck things up with, with the woman he left you for, attended their wedding, and have a photo of with his wife and their little girl on your desk. None of your family, just his. And is still your best friend."
"That's the one." I confirmed cheerfully and added. "I still cry myself to sleep."
Another eye roll.
"Maybe you're right." He said with a smirk. "Maybe it's better you're single. I don't know what poor bloke I'd subject to enduring you."
"That's sweet, Malcom." I cooed sarcastically. "You know, you weren't exactly a ray of sunshine either when you started with us."
"So then maybe you really do need a boyfriend." He smirked and I sighed.
I guess I'd walked right into that one.
"I don't really trust men." I said crossing my arms over my chest and shivering a little as a cool night breeze rolled over us on the street.
He frowned at this.
"You seem to get along with me and Ed just fine."
"We work together." I pointed out. "We've known each other for years."
"True." He said frowning thoughtfully and rubbing his jaw. "Come to think of it, I did think you were pretty tightly wound when we first started working together. But I thought it was just because you hated working at The Prophet more than I did."
"I mean, that was part of it." I said shrugging.
"The other part?"
I didn't answer this and he shook his head.
"So, full of secrets." He sighed. "Maybe the Ministry should hire you as an Unspeakable. I think you'd be pretty good at it."
"Until I leaked all their documents to the press."
"You'd get a lot of money selling a story like that." He pointed out.
"I'd rather be the one writing it."
He grinned, looking highly entertained as he said.
"I know."
He held the door open to the office space and I watched as the unlikely group filed in after each other. Nelly, the adorable anxious little witch that seemed to drift happily where ever life took her, Malcom, intelligent, attractive, the sort of person who you think would have everything in life at a glance, but had somehow always struggled to make friends. Ed, overworked, over stressed, but the passionate political nerd who cared about everyone's well being, causing him to look at every social issue that came across his desk under, as the muggles would say, a microscope, just to see if he could find a solution.
Then there was me, the cynic. The freak who saw the world for what it was in it's darkest corners. What it was, and what it would be. And tried to prevent others from having to see it that way. Desperate to try and prevent what I knew was coming, only sometimes succeeding.
I hadn't wanted to make friends at this job. It had happened against my will. I didn't want or need a lot of people in my life, and when Nelly had joined the staff I'd already felt like I'd been bordering on too many.
And yet I couldn't help but smile a bit as she hummed to herself, practically skipping to her desk, or stop the slight feeling of panic that went through me as her face fell.
"Well that can't be good." She muttered spotting the shards of her tea cup in font of her desk and I let out a sigh of relief.
The cup must have fallen on her desk when either Ed or Jeromy had shut the door when leaving for the pub earlier.
She looked up, her expression a bit panicked.
"Do you think I should send Allen a message and reschedule our date?"
"I think you'll be fine." Malcom said grinning waving his wand in the direction of the tea cup that reassembled itself and plopped back onto her desk.
Not that long ago, before Valerie, he would have made a cutting remark, impatient with Nelly's relentless and whimsical optimism. Now, like me, he seemed to find it endearing.
He grabbed his work bag off his chair, while Ed wandered back to his office, citing an evening with an article revision despite the fact we were supposed to be off for the weekend. He caught my eye as he crossed the room however, and I knew that whatever he'd wanted to discuss earlier, was about to be brought up.
"You heading out?" Malcom asked as Nelly practically skipped out the door, still riding high from her unexpectedly fortunate evening. Well, unexpected to everyone but her.
I shook my head.
"No, Jeromy forced me to leave early today and I've got somethings I really want to get done."
"Surely it can wait until Monday." He said with a frown and I grinned.
"What's the point?" I asked pretending to sigh. "It's not like I have a gorgeous girlfriend to get home to."
He shot me a superior look.
"Too bad for you."
I gave him a sarcastic wave as he walked out after Nelly, unsurprised that the moment the door had shut behind him, Ed's opened.
"You free for a chat?"
I felt my stomach drop.
"Sure." I said trying not to frown as I made my way towards his office.
The room was tiny and not for the first time, I found myself wondering how Jeromy had managed to fit in it, let alone sit in the chair squeezed between the edge of Ed's desk and the wall. Then again, maybe he didn't. Maybe he just stood, or Ed gave him his chair.
I tried to picture Jeromy behind Edmund's desks stacked with papers of competitors and pages of random research ranging from muggle to wizarding currency exchange rates, troll rights activists groups, and dangerous additives made to cheapen the costs of commercial potion brewing. The picture didn't form.
"We have a problem." He said the moment the door closed behind me and I frowned.
I didn't feel like trying to squeeze my legs between his desk and the chair, so I elected to stand and lean against the door.
"What do you mean?" I asked in surprise as he flopped into his chair looking stressed. "I thought the article was a success?"
"It was." He said stiffly. "It's already sold out. We're already reprinting, might even have to do it twice. I've got owls from just about every paper out there begging me for details and your source. This story is massive."
"I don't see the problem." I said feeling my eyes narrow. "It sounds like we're actually going to be making money for once."
"Exactly." He said miserably.
"Ed, I don't get-"
"The Prophet has made Jeromy an offer, a massive one, so has The Quibbler. And they're not the only ones. But The Prophet has the most money to throw at situation."
"So?" I asked frowning. This always happened. Every once and a while we had a story really take off and other papers remember we existed. They'd make an offer to the owner, we'd beg him to reject it, and then everyone forgot about us again for the most part. At least the major papers. We had a core audience that regularly bought our prints, and while though our readers were fairly devout, there weren't exactly a ton of them. "People make offers all the time, but they're never all that serious about it."
"It's different, this time." He muttered his jaw setting and I felt my brow furrow.
"How different?"
"Different enough that he's considering it." he explained sounding stressed. "People are making major bids T, serious money. Money even Jeromy can't turn down. He could make ten hobby papers with the kind of money they're offering. Probably more. Even smaller papers are making joint offers."
"Why?" I asked in complete shock. I had a hard time believing The Prophet was seriously determined on acquiring our quarterly column about vampire accords in the last century. "Because they want the article?"
"Because they want you." he said seriously. "Or the group of writers they think is you, or your sources at any rate. They're tired of a tiny paper beating them to major stories like this one. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Tara, I think you've actually gotten to be too good at your job." He let out a hollow laugh. "They see us as a threat."
"And what? They think they can just buy their way out of the situation?" I asked in disgust. "I won't work for The Prophet again." I continued stubbornly. "I don't care how much they promise. I don't need the money."
"I know." he said with a sigh. He sounded exhausted. "I won't go back either. And I told Jeromy that, but they're willing to pay him, either to acquire our 'team'." He put quotes around the word. "Or cut their competition."
"But that's the whole point of this paper." I said indignantly. "We're supposed to be their competition."
"I know, but Jeromy wants to retire."
I stared at him.
"Well, retire more. He doesn't want to have to worry about if we turn a consistent profit. He's ready to move on to his next… well, whatever he wants to do. Merlin I have no idea what goes on in that bloke's head."
"So what do we do?" I asked frowning. "Tank the sale? Refuse to reprint? Make a retraction?"
"And gut our credibility?" he asked his eyes going wide. "Are you insane Tara? And there's no way Jeromy is going to let us stop printing this story, or put it out there for free. He's going to make too much money off of it. And it's good reporting. I don't want to take it back."
"So that's it then?" I asked incredulously. "We just have to accept this? We're getting bought out?"
He shook his head.
"No." he said and when he saw my dubious expression, he continued. "Look. Jeromy's a reasonable man. He might be ready to retire, but he knows we're happy here."
He grimaced.
"He cares about us. He said he's willing to turn them down if we can up circulation. Increase our revenue, be a more consistent stream of income."
"Stream of income?" I asked appalled. "So, sell out?"
"No." he said stiffly, again shaking his head. "Like you said, the whole point here is not to sell out. Jeromy thinks if he sells he can convince the buyer not to mess with our system…"
"That's complete dung."
"Yes, I know." He said rolling his eyes. "But we do have another option."
"What are you thinking?"
He sighed.
"We could do a feature."
"A feature?"
He nodded.
"In addition to our regular paper, over the summer. It would be a lot of extra work for you, for all of us. But I think it might work, and it could set the tone for maybe some lighter pieces that would get more readers, in addition to our usual stuff." He continued, cutting me off before I could interject. "Not instead of it."
"And what would this feature be?" I asked crossing my arms over my chest.
I wasn't sure why I felt so nervous, but I didn't like the way he was looking at me. And I had a feeling I was going to like his suggestion even less.
"Quidditch." He said and I frowned. "The World Cup is this summer, England has a chance to win it for once. You already write the quidditch column for us."
"Everyone is going to be writing about the World Cup." I said frowning. "And they've got way better contacts than I do to get tickets and photos. Interview with players-"
"Not one player."
I froze.
"You've got to be kidding, Ed."
"Aren't you friends with one of his friends?"
"I have spent the last several years of Oliver Wood's career doing little other than criticizing him."
"Which is why," he pressed smoothly. "He might agree to it. Every other paper is scared to critique him. They think it will get them interviews."
"Did you read even my last article?" I asked frowning.
"Of course I read it, T." he said in exasperation. "I edited it."
"I tore him to shreds."
"Yeah, and if you promised to keep things positive…"
"Sell out you mean." I said darkly.
"Even you think he's a good player." He argued. "And if we ease up on him a bit, we might be the one paper he actually talks to. Let document not just the team, but him throughout the cup. Everyone knows he won't do interviews."
"You really think he wants to talk to the writer who said it might have been better if England had left him off the national squad for the tournament?"
"If she promises to play nicely," he said his tone significant. "He might."
I glared at him.
"Ask your friend." He said seriously. "If we could make this happen, we'll pick up in sales. We could establish connections with the players. Nelly could do more public interest stories. You'll get better angles for your sports column."
"I don't need help with my sports column."
"Well we need your help to sell, T." he said an edge of something in his voice.
He was upset, but he didn't seem angry with me. Just as if he'd been put in an impossible position.
"I know you don't want to do it, but it might be our only option. I can't think of anything else that would get us the kind of numbers we need to make to convince Jeromy not to sell. And you know what will happen if he does."
I looked away, but nodded, annoyed.
"The Quill dies." I said dejectedly.
If not in actuality, then in spirit.
It might take a year or two. They'd let us do what we wanted at the start before the first stories were blocked. Demands for articles that were sponsored by wealthy companies or people, new staff would be hired that would be willing to write the ideas we shut down. Suddenly, there would be new teams, who found themselves with all the resources. We would be labeled 'difficult to work with'. Some of us would quit, others would be fired. And just like that, another strike in the heart of honest reporting in this day and age.
"At least ask her to try and set something up."
"Fine." I muttered resentfully
"And try to be nice."
"I'm always professional."
"That's not what I said."
"Well it's what you're getting." I said my tone mutinous and he shook his head.
"Don't be so short sighted, T." he said and I almost laughed.
If only he knew…
I managed to keep my composure, but my lip must have twitched or something, because he frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing." I said schooling my expression. "I'll ask Alicia, but I don't think it will go well. Especially, after last night's game."
He winced.
"Good point." He frowned. "Well, maybe give it a couple of days. But I want an update by the end of next week."
"Alright." I said with a sigh. "But I'm not happy about it."
"I didn't say you had to be. Just help us sell."
I nodded.
I didn't bother to say good bye as I walked out of his office, still fuming but knowing that Edmund might have a point. I mean, he was mad if he thought Oliver Wood would ever agree to speak with me, but, on the off chance that he might, it would be kind of a big deal. People would be interested, and as I fell into my seat behind my desk I couldn't help but feel a bit conflicted.
Without meaning to, I glanced at the photo Malcom had mentioned earlier. A young man with dark hair, and eyes, that like Malcom, had once been frigid. They'd thawed over the last several years, their hazel a color more familiar to me than my reflection, his dark hair a contrast with bright auburn of the woman next to him, and the little girl between them.
Unlike the rest of the pictures in the office, this one didn't move. Muggle photographs never did after all. And that's where Neil, of all people, had ended up. The Slytherin cynic, almost unrecognizable in a muggle park, looking happier than I'd ever seen him.
I felt myself smile a little before glancing back at the parchment in front of me and grabbing my quill, knowing it wasn't just the odd little family we'd built for ourselves here at The Quill that I'd be willing to swallow even this amount of pride for, and after a few moments of deliberation, I began to write.
'Alicia…'