Three minutes to six, evening

It had been a warm couple of days in England. The temperature had reached levels of early summer, and spring was establishing herself well. Edwin had seen precious little of it, save through enchanted windows of the London offices of the Ministry of Magic. It seemed almost backward for the fire in the grate to flare up that evening, but it was only to announce the last minute arrival of the owner.

Edwin stepped out and stood straight, giving his robes a shake. There was still daylight coming through the floor to ceiling windows to his left, which overlooked the garden. That was full of shrubbery, patio and a long sloping lawn which led to a quiet place to apparate, out of sight of any Muggle neighbour. Everything was as he had left it that morning, apart from the plates had washed themselves in the sink ahead of him. Otherwise the newspapers were still loosely piled on the coffee table between the two low sofas, and piles of reading were still on the dining table between him and the windows.

Satisfied nothing had been noticeably disturbed, Edwin slipped his hand into the pocket of his suit robes, fishing out his pocketwatch. It not only told the time but notified him of appointments and warnings through elaborate dials. On this occasion it just confirmed it was two minutes to six, far later than he had hoped to slip home, but still a lot earlier than he had for several days. His visitor[1] would be on the doorstep any moment, if not already.

He drew his walnut wand in his other hand, and flicked it precisely at the kitchen. Cupboard doors slid open, assembling coffee pot, coffee mugs, and with another swish the kettle lifted itself into the sink, filled with water and then landed on the stove. Hearing the noise of feet on the gravel outside the front of the house, he walked swiftly into the hallway and approached the front door, only stopping to check his appearance in the mirror. He swept a lock of his thinning hair back over, pulled a surprised face at himself to ease the habitual frown he wore, and reached for the door.

“Ms Flint, your punctuality is most appreciated, do come in.”

1.	26th March, Snail Mail

"Hello Mister Glass!" Greeted Josie enthusiastically. She had to keep her enthusiasm in check. But she was interviewing the Minister of Magic. He had said yes. He did not say yes to every reporter. He did not invite them to his house. "Thank you for taking the trouble. Stoked to be interviewing you again. Through here like last time?"

Josie saw herself into the living room. Edwin's house looked a lot like before. But now she saw much more clutter. It had been spookily neat last time. She could hear water boiling. "Oh I got you a present. To say thanks like." Josie carried a red muggle knapsack on one shoulder. She dumped it down on the end of his sofa. Shoved her hand in. "Muggle coffee. Like blow your head off strong stuff. Great for those all night meetings!" Held out the crinkly packet. It had a cartoon of a brain on it in a big star shape. Like it was glowing. Josie grinned. She hoped he liked it.

Josie Flint was less of a sparkling wine, more a bottle of fizzy muggle pop. She bounced down his hallway like she was one of his young relatives on a visit. He trailed her a few paces behind, wand in hand, and saw her gaze sweep round the ground floor of his house.

“Oh, I got you a present, to say thanks, like.” The witch dug into her bag which she unceremoniously threw down on his sofa. A moment later she offered up a crinkled packet of extra strong coffee.

“Like blow your head off strong stuff. Great for those all night meetings!” Edwin was strangely charmed with the thought, given his expectations for a surprise gift had been rock bottom from Flint.

“Ah, thank you,” Edwin managed politely, receiving the packet. He gave it a good look, as only polite. “I’ve put some on already but I’ll be sure to give it a go next week. Has to be better than matchsticks.” He gave her a tired smile and gestured to the low sofas. “Take a seat, I’ll only be a moment.”

Some minutes later, Edwin had recounted updated answers to the ones Josie had begun with last time.
“Still here, yes, still alone. Where did you want to begin? With the dementors? Flying cars? Or highlights of my first year in office?”

"I saw your car was still out front." Quickly said Josie. She pointed her quill to the front of the house. "Been on the ground all year I bet. Nothing new there though? Monty Pepper's been writing in the Prophet like. Going on about it." Josie shrugged. "He write to you? You still friends?" Josie was going to go back to interview Pepper again in the summer. So they could go on his flying motorbike this time. "He told me Zephyr was too conservative to consider it. You a conservative Minister too?"

“Conservative? Keeping the status quo?” Edwin checked her interpretation. “I am open to new ideas, I’m not afraid of them, but they need weighing up for the merit.”

Edwin sipped coffee, his gaze not leaving Josie. He trusted her a little more than most reporters, but only because he thought her naive.

“Change is unsettling for a country, but necessary for progress. One just has to set the pace as leader, and make the right decisions.” He gestured with the cup, “and yes we’re still friends. He’s painting my Ministerial portrait as it happens. Best artist for the job, but you might suppose he wouldn’t speak to me if I chose anyone else over him after so many years.”

Actually, that was the truth.

“Zephyr had enough on her plate with the dementor issues, let’s be reasonable.”

"Yes! The dementors." Said Josie. "The worst seems to be past now right?" The newspapers still predicted dementor showers. But not to stay indoors eat chocolate and cast cheering charms. Josie was a bit sad about not being told to eat chocolate. She did it anyway. "I still eat plenty of chocolate. What about you?" She had not spotted any. "Is the dementor threat over?"

“A regular dose,” Edwin confirmed, “though maybe not as much as you.” He did not have a particularly sweet tooth. “The worst is over,” he confirmed with a firm nod. “With Musgrave off the streets, they’ve dispersed once more to manageable levels.” There were other reasons, unspeakable reasons, which he wasn’t about to share with Josie. Things were finally progressing and getting back to ‘normal’ down on Level Nine, or whatever qualified as normal.

“The public are incredibly resilient against the dementors, and we have had robust plans in place to manage the numbers, of course. We’ve drafted new laws which will go into place with regards to interactions with dementors, too. Prevent this happening in the future, or at least discourage any copycats.” Perish the thought!

"So a copycat is a possibility?" Asked Josie. "I thought Musgrave was an outlier. He was public enemy number one?" Josie knew a lot about the case. She had tried to write to Lawrence. She had met him. When Sandy had him. But she was sworn to secrecy. That was very had for Josie! But she wanted the story so badly. "He still has not been brought to trial. Is that something you want to insure this year?"

“So a copycat is a possibility?” The journalist leapt to conclusions. The Minister waved a hand dismissively.

“I thought Musgrave was an outlier. He was public enemy number one?“

“He was.” Edwin confirmed. Nobody else would be desperate or enough of a dick to meddle with the dementors now, not when they were in decline. “Which was why it was so important to bring him in.”

“He still has not been brought to trial. Is that something you want to insure this year?” Josie followed up.

“Certainly.” He gave a firm nod. “That case has been slow to come to trial due to its complexity, but the public has waited long enough. Unfortunately we are tied up by Musgrave not yet being well enough to stand trial according to St Mungo’s.”

"He's still not well enough?" Asked Josie. Surprised. "He has been in St Mungo's for months. Do they think he will never get better?" She frowned. Worried. "Or do you think they are stalling for another reason?" It was a bit far fetched. But she had to make it seem like she was thinking about this for the first time. "Why would St Mungo's want to stop a criminal going to trial?" Asked Josie out loud. "The Head and Deputy Head of St Mungo's are Musgrave's old school friends right? I thought the Ministry can overrule the hospital?"

“Why would St Mungo’s want to stop a criminal going to trial?”

“I might suggest you ask that question in their direction,” Edwin “why indeed.” He raised his eyebrows just enough. Better to send the young reporter off to scratch at Miranda and Sandy’s door than his own. Truth being that the pain in the arse Musgrave was more use as a lab rat to St Mungo’s and the Department of Mysteries, and they didn’t want to give him up as a result.

“When he is, however, I will be pleased to see the trial go to full process. It is beyond time. I am sure your readers would agree.”

"I am sure they would too." Agreed Josie. Eyes lighting up. A lead! Maybe she could get Sandy to run a poll. Hang on. Did he not say something about not being able to report on Musgrave because of the Ministry? "Minister. Did you tell Witch Weekly it could not report on Musgrave because it is owned by Healer Misslethorpe?"

Oh, so easily swayed. This was why he quite liked Flint. She had a particular energy, and also a youthful innocence. She was more hungry to get published, whatever the medium, than she was for the longer leg work on a deeper story.  Edwin liked that, face value facts, as presented. She wasn’t like Darlus Scruffin who would have dug to Australia to dig up something on Edwin if Cuffe wished it. Thankfully, he was on good terms with the Editor.

“Minister, did you tell Witch Weekly it could not report on Musgrave because it is owned by Healer Misslethorpe?”

“Did I?” Edwin repeated, emphasising the I in question. “The press are free to report, but if you are referring rather to the possibility, or inference, that their source could be Sandy Misslethorpe, then I would support his wise decision to advise his magazine to steer clear to avoid all possibility.” He gave Josie a curious look. “Has Misslethorpe told you that I have placed a censor on his publication?”

"Not in so many words." Admitted Josie. The Minister could not read minds could he? Because Josie was thinking about Lawrence Musgrave at Sandy Missltethorpe's house. She swallowed. "Yeah. Wise. I get you." Josie looked down at her notes. Kicked herself internally. Changed the subject.

END