"I told you. I'm not HR," Colette said testily as the intern dropped another application onto her desk. The third of the day. And it was only eight in the morning. After Remembering Day's events, the Prophet had been working at full steam. And boy was Colette steamed. Not one to be kind on less than six hours' sleep, the editor hadn't even made it through the mock-up of tomorrow's paper, whose articles had been written so sloppily it read: "Ministry dies in popularity polls." Ministry's Popularity Dives in Polls. Dives. Good God, did no one proofread anymore? Of course not. They had an editor.

"Uh. . . but Debelius told me to give you this. It's a cover letter, resume, and writing samples. She said something about freelancers?"

Colette, rolling her eyes and sending a death glare at the intern -- who, seemingly exposed gradually to such a look, had built up a strong immunity -- read the letterhead. Recognising the name, she sighed and held out her hand, turning her eyes back to the article on her desk.

The intern deposited the application and left. Probably to go spend as much time by the watercooler as possible before actually needing to do something. In his absence, Colette looked over the coverletter. Vague. It seemed Maggie was potentially out for anything that was available, or else was not certain that there had been more than one job opening listed. Potentially a problem, as that proved she was not reading the Prophet closely enough. Or maybe the intern hadn't specified. But one thing was certain: Margaret Groust was a better worker than that intern. (One of these days, she might learn his name, if he could prove it was worth the effort.) She perused the writing samples and was impressed.

Colette had never actually read Margaret's writing at Hogwarts. She only had known that Maggie was her top competition for the role of "best pupil" in several writing-based courses. Well, perhaps "best writer." Both Colette and she had had their fair share of classroom deportment issues. Too sassy with the other students. But the application looked good. Colette, of course, could not do anything permanently; as she had said before, she was not HR, but she could find the sorely needed freelancers for the inundation of Remembering Day news. Maggie had probably even been there; Colette had not, and she knew Debelius had not. Eyewitness accounts were needed. Good, good.

"Intern!" she called, leaning back in her chair. She heard the clomping of his shoes before she saw him, head lolling forward. Terrible posture. He'd make a terrible Quidditch player. "Send an owl to Margaret Groust. Tell her we would be interested in her doing a piece. Potentially a human interest or eye-witness account. She'll need to come in; talk about 'the vision' and all that. 12:00 should work. Got that?"

"What about lunch?" the intern asked.

Colette raised an eyebrow at him. He waited patiently. Damn, the boy had gotten a vaccination against that glare or something. "Tell her to bring something if she's that hungry. You can pick me up a sandwich."

The intern seemed happy at this -- a much coveted opportunity to leave the office -- and trod off at a much swifter rate than before. Well, then.

Colette leaned back in her chair and read the next line, groaning. Only four hours of mindless work to go. . .

It was 8:30 in the morning and Maggie was sleeping soundly. One arm and a leg dangled off the bed, but the rest of her was snuggly cocooned in blankets. Every so often her nose would twitch or her eyebrows would draw together as she dreamed, but all in all, Maggie looked peaceful. That was until her morning wake-up call arrived, hours early!

“Get it!” A voice filtered into her dreams, annoyingly high pitched and familiar. Maggie snorted in frustration and rolled over.

“It’s getting away!- I want it!- What is it?”

Shuffle shuffle, BOOM. The pitter patter of small, seemingly angelic footsteps bounded up the stairs. Seconds later the door to Maggie’s room flew open. Maggie’s eyes popped open and she rolled over for the second time- right off the bed and onto the floor.

“Maggie!” Lexie shrieked. “Brandon used magic when he wasn’t supposed to.”

“I did not!-“

“Ow,” Maggie grumbled in response, sitting up and rubbing at the back of her head. “What the hell!?” She gave her two darling siblings her most evil glare. Apparently there was something amusing about it though, or maybe it was just her bed head, but instead of being frightened properly the kids started giggling.

“A letter came for you,” Lexie announced in a sing-song voice, waving the letter over her head so Brandon couldn’t grab it. Margaret stood up, swayed slightly. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and looked at it. The parchment was sealed with an official stamp, one that she recognized instantly.

“Merlin. Give it here. That’s from the Prophet.” She held out her hand and waited (which was her first mistake). Lexie smirked, glanced at Brandon, and then shoved the letter into his hands.

“Run!” She whispered, giggling.

The boy hesitated, astonished that he was given such an honor, and that the letter he’d been trying to grab for the past few minutes was finally his. When he paused, Maggie lunged, but she was too slow and that only spurred him to react. With a devilish giggle he sprinted out of her room and thundered down the steps.

“Damn it, Lexie!” Maggie growled, an angry red rising in her cheeks. It was just another morning in the Groust household. And yet another reason why she needed to move out!


About three and a half hours later…

After retrieving the letter from Lexie,  cleaning up the kitchen of owl feathers and Brandon’s magical mishap, showering, and agonizing over what to wear, Margaret was finally dressed and ready to go. She used the floo system and walked through Diagon Alley to arrive at the Daily Prophet: a large, imposing building with a metal quill rotating in the air above it.

She swung open the glass doors, immediately conscious of the way her shoes sounded on the tiles-  more like a horse clomping on cobblestone than the feminine light clacks of heels. She tried slowing her pace slightly, though the noise didn’t seem to disturb anyone. The Daily Prophet was abuzz with frantic activity, much akin to the fast beating of her heart. She was nervous. She didn’t get nervous often, but this was something she really wanted, had wanted for a long time, and now had the chance to make something of it. Thanks to Colette Wheaton, of all people! The Prophet suited Colette perfectly from what Maggie remembered of her, but it was just ironic to come face to face again with her rival. Former rival, really. She’d have to remember that they weren’t students in competition with each other anymore. Taking extreme measures to best each other would probably be frowned upon (like that time Maggie may have replaced Colette’s ink well with delayed-vanishing ink right before their History papers were due).

Small, claustrophobic cubicles were clustered in the middle of the building, larger offices lined the sides, and everywhere the sound of automatic quills scratched madly. Rolls of parchment and self-correcting ink sat at every desk. Voices and loud conversations echoed off the walls.

“What do you mean you need more time? The deadline is 5:00 today, Victoria, not tomorrow-”

“Have you got that quote from law enforcement yet, Mitchum?”

“No, but I’ve got something better-”

Margaret kept walking, trying not to gawk too much. This was definitely very different from the small-town newspapers she’d worked for previously. She felt a twinge of uncertainty but quickly shoved it down. This wasn’t the time to doubt herself. They’d called her here for a reason, and she was going to prove that they’d contacted the right person.

As she left the cubicle area and walked through the maze of hallways, Margaret stopped and stared for a moment at the Wall of Layouts, which kept shifting and changing as the articles pushed each other around to found their best spot. A few of the headlines caught her eye: “Aurors still investigating at Memorial Ceremony…” “Funeral date changed for Leon Carter…” “Hogwarts: A History of Troubled Students…”

“Excuse me,” a harried intern sidestepped her, carrying a huge tray of tea.

Margaret snapped back to reality and followed the signs until she found the copy editor’s office. She glanced at her watch: 11:55, not bad. After smoothing out her skirt and straightening her dress jacket, Margaret rapped on the office door, waited to hear a response, and walked in.  When she saw Colette sitting there she couldn’t help but smile. This was the girl she’d fought with all throughout Hogwarts. It was only when they’d had to collaborate on a school project together that they’d become more like friends, or at least, happy acquaintances. It was, admittedly, good to see her again.

“Your intern sent me an owl so I could come out here and remind you to take your lunch break… he also may have mentioned a little something about writing a piece,” she joked a bit, not knowing what to expect but hopeful that this meeting would be more pleasant than awkward. 

Colette swivelled in her chair, leaning back looking up at the woman. Her smile broadened as she moved swiftly to her feet, extending her hand.

"Well, that's because he just wants me off of his back for an hour," she dismissed with a laugh -- a sound nearly foreign to those in the walls of The Prophet. Seeing Margaret, however, put her in a good mood. She'd even dressed the part. Fabulous.

For a moment, Colette was torn as to whether or not to catch up, to ask her about her travels, her goals, her ambitions . . . Colette found herself actually curious, if not a little envious. She herself had wanted to travel a bit and take a chance to see the world -- something Margaret had been alluded to in her cover letter -- but Colette had never been as good at small talk as she would have liked.

"Yes, the piece," Colette smiled. After shaking Margaret's hand, she motioned to the chair in a corner and moved her desk chair to sit beside it. "About Remembering Day, as you might imagine. There are several different angles we are looking for -- a human interest story, eyewitness account . . . we have most of our columnists working on op eds and investigative backstories already. They have the resources for that. But you're here," she observed, "so I'm taking it you're interested in working with us on something."

Colette turned as she felt the looming shadow of the intern in the doorway. "Yes?" she asked with a smile. The intern held a brown paper bag in one hand, an orange in the other.

"Dijon sandwich with . . . avocado," the intern said timidly. Colette took it, her smile spreading to a grin as she watched the intern grow increasingly uncomfortable.

Colette would have to smile more, if it had that effect. She reached out her hands for the long awaited meal.  "Thanks." Her hand bounced a little as the orange was dropped into it.

The intern blinked and, after a time, nodded, shuffling out.

"Sorry about that," Colette said, scooting the chair back a little across the carpeted floor to drop the meal onto her desk. She pushed herself back into place, her face one of attentiveness.

“Definitely,” Maggie nodded a little too enthusiastically after Colette inferred that she’d be interested in working with them. At that point, Colette seemed distracted by the arrival of her lunch, so Maggie waited while the intern stared at them for a few moments and then left. Colette dropped her lunch on her desk, apologized for the intrustion, and scooted over in her chair to face Maggie.

“It’s good to be the editor,” she smirked, referring to the intern fetching her food. If only little siblings worked the same way! Margaret thought about telling Colette that she could eat if she wanted to, but then realized that she probably wanted to get straight to business instead of making small talk. Maybe they could catch up after she told her about her ideas. Maggie was curious about her, how she’d landed this position and what she was doing these days.

“So, I’d definitely be interested in working on something. I was at many of the Remembering Events, including the Memorial Ceremony, so I witnessed much of what went down and could talk more to the people I saw there.”

Maggie paused, thinking. “If it’s the smaller events that people want to know about, I could write about the welcoming ceremony, the tours, the reenactment… there was even a mural. Oh, and I was forced to go through the not-so-secret passage to the Hog’s Head about five times,” she said dryly, “so I know all about that one. My little sister couldn’t get enough of it,” she shook her head and smiled very slightly.

“Concerning Hogwarts in general, there seems to be several staff changes for the fall. There’s supposed to be a new Divination professor and one for Ancient Runes, for example. Also, twice the amount of sponsored kids will be coming in as first years, which might be interesting to look into,” Margaret was reminded of Mairead and all the other very young faces in the crowd during Remembering week.

Maggie wasn’t sure if The Prophet would let her investigate something serious this soon, but they said they needed people, so she might as well mention what she was thinking. “With the memorial ceremony,” Maggie started, her voice losing that sense of dry humor. “Everyone has a theory about why it happened and how. People are angry that Kingstreet made it onto the stage in the first place, so they want to blame her for everything. Some think that the two people who died were killed on purpose, for various reasons. A few people even think that the Ministry had something to do with it,” Maggie shook her head. “I could look into any of the rumors, however far-fetched they may seem,” she suggested slowly, studying Colette’s face to try to gauge her reaction.

“But it really depends on what The Prophet needs. Plus, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes at this point… I’m not at Hogwarts anymore after all,” she chuckled, betting that Colette would remember all those times they’d stepped, no, stomped on each other’s feet to get ahead in classes.

Colette's smile spread at Maggie's enthusiasm -- with only half the sardonic glow that usually hung about her expressions whilst at work. "I'm only an editor. And a sub-editor at that," she added, explaining her position on the totem-pole. "But there are always those beneath me," she smirked, then gave a light laugh. "Maybe I'm too hard on him."

Maggie would be reporting to her as a freelancer; she didn't want her to think Colette callous in dealing with her coworkers.

Even if that was just the slightest bit true. The fact of the matter was, Colette wanted very much to be chief sub-editor. And now. She hated taking orders. She looked back at her brown bag lunch. She did, however, love giving them.

"I think we have May 1st and 2nd covered from a vareity of angles. We can dispense with rumours for now. You can only speculate so widely before you start soundling Quibblish," she said dismissively of her least favourite periodical. Tabloid. One must call it what it was. It could make even those old Penny Dreadfuls look good.

Colette swiveled in her chair and considered Maggie's list of hypothetical stories.  No lack of ideas, though not all equal, in Colette's opinion. Good; that made things easier. Maggie was clearly a thinker, an improvisor but had definite strengths to play off of. Evaluating what she seemed to mention first (and last), where her own personality shone, what she was most interested in, and what readers might want to hear, Colette finally nodded decisively, leaning forward in her seat now and placing her elbows on her knees. "Alright. I'll suggest something . . . if you don't mind. It's your first story, so . . ." she grew suddenly timid as she recalled their rivalry at Hogwarts. What might she take this as? Advice? Criticism?

"I'd like to see a piece that is more personality, less factuality. As a freelancer, you won't have access to the resources that might be needed for a current affairs piece. But a reflection piece. . . What you've said is right: You're not at Hogwarts anymore. But you went back. I think it would be interesting to see your assessment -- as a concerned, involved, enthusiasticwhathaveyou alumn -- on the changes at Hogwarts. And the changes that Remembering Day might bring. And of course, the tongue-in-cheek observations of your siblings -- Hogwarts students, right? -- would be more than welcome. A bit light hearted with some overarching, take-out for the readers." She shook her head. That was Colette terminology. "Take-away food for thought," she clarified.

Her expression grew mirthful as she shifted. "Kind of miss Hogwarts sometimes. . . Quidditch and Common Rooms. Do you?" Her eyes widened as though a thought had just hit her, "What have you been doing all this time, anyways? I haven't seen you around much, and Wizarding London's not that big a place." She smirked. "I mean, not for big-shots like us."

By the end of her Hogwarts experience, she had just begun liking Maggie. Perhaps the only other competent person to have in a group project. At least, that is what they had both decided. But they hadn't kept in touch. After all, they had spent more time hating each other -- likely a good four years -- than liking each other.

Margaret nodded when Colette dismissed the rumors about the Memorial Ceremony, understanding that it was almost impossible to tell what had a grain of truth and what didn’t. It would be far too ambitious for her to write an article focusing on the ceremony this soon, and when she thought about it more carefully she realized she wouldn’t have known where to start. She waited quietly as Colette pondered the situation. A very small, insecure part of her worried that none of her ideas were very good and so Colette was trying to figure out how to ask her to leave, but the rational, more dominant part of her realized that the editor was just considering different options. Maggie studied her face for a bit and then looked away, giving her time. There was no need to rush this. She was excited, though, and her stomach agreed by doing a flip flop.

When Colette leaned forward and spoke, Maggie looked at her again, noting her hesitancy with confusion at first. She suggested a reflection piece, something more personal and less about fact-gathering. A smile appeared on Maggie’s face. Colette knew her well. A reflective piece would be somewhat easy for her, more like writing a journal entry than a formal article, which was something Maggie did almost every day anyway. She’d given an excellent suggestion, and Maggie felt a rush of gratitude that she didn't quite know how to express.

“I can do that,” she nodded confidently. “When would you like it done by?” If she had to, she’d rush home and write it all in one day and –oh dear Merlin- cancel her plans with Frank if absolutely necessary. Maggie hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Still, it was her first piece, and she was jumping at the bit to show her worth. She was being overenthusiastic and overeager, of course, but Maggie was thrilled that she had a chance and couldn't help it.

Colette shifted topics, which was a pleasant surprise. It looked as though Colette didn’t hold any grudges from their Hogwarts days. She seemed to be just as curious about Maggie as Maggie was about her.

“Yeah, sometimes,” she agreed with a wry smile. “I mean sure, I complained about Hogwarts all the time when I was there-“ she smirked, certain that Colette had vivid memories of Maggie’s pessimistic ranting. “…but once I left I kind of missed it.” After a few years Maggie finally saw the value in what she’d learned there. She was like that with most experiences, only able to truly appreciate them once she had some distance.  

"What have you been doing all this time, anyways? I haven't seen you around much, and Wizarding London's not that big a place." She smirked. "I mean, not for big-shots like us."

Maggie gave her a rare grin. “That’s because I haven’t been in wizarding London. I left the summer after graduating Hogwarts to go on a backpacking trip and, well, ended up staying away for three years. Not completely away, you know. I visited home during the holidays and things.”

She paused, thinking about it. “It was fun. I got the travel bug. I also didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do, career-wise, but I found out quickly the jobs I wasn’t good at it. Anything involving customer service,” she shuddered. “I’m sure you can imagine…” Colette had, in fact, often been on the receiving end of her lackluster social skills.

“I was surprised to see you here…” Maggie commented suddenly, realizing too late how that sounded. She was also happy to see her, but couldn’t say it just yet. “It’s a shock every time I run into someone I know from school, all grown up and being responsible. Guess I stayed away for too long…” she trailed off, expression becoming curious.

“So… how’d you end up here, at The Prophet? Free lunch delivery and all… fancy, fancy,” she joked, glancing at Colette’s meal.

"I can do that."

Some of Colette's favourite words if from the right person. If it came from an intern, it was cockiness. If it came from Maggie, well, it was a godsend.

"Fabulous," she said with a smile which, upon her face, could not help but look like a smirk. "A short piece -- 500-900 words, so I would say by tomorrow morning. It can feature in the paper the next day; we'll have time to clean it up. Not," she said with a challenging grin, "that I am offering to do that work for you." Knowing Maggie, she wouldn't want to take the help anyway. Also knowing Maggie, she probably didn't need it.

At her recollections, Colette pulled out her sandwich, took a bit, and leaned back in her chair. This was probably as close as she got to going out to lunch with girlfriends. "Ah, the halcyon days of our youth," she said in a grand voice once she swallowed, giving a soft laugh because their days had been anything but. They'd raised bloody hell.

"Customer service? Good God. I'd rather . . ." Colette wasn't sure what she'd rather do, but she decided it was probably something vastly inappropriate for office talk anyhow, and so, stopped where she was. "You got to see the world; I was always a little envious of people who had that chance, who took the break before they started work." She gave a ghost of a smile here. "Wel, but I don't regret it. Carew wouldn't have let me travel, anyhow," she said with apparent bitterness.

Maggie had known Carew; though two years older, he had been in the same house, and Colette and Carew (when they weren't fighting or trying to ruin each other) spent most of their time with his friends and the Slytherins.

"And my family wanted me to start right away. They were right, of course. One has to jump on these opportunities when they arise. " She held up an orange to Maggie in offering before continuing. "I come from a family of journalists, publishers, you know. . . These days, it takes not only the talent -- or competence -- but the networking and connections." She sighed. "It's not how I imagined it, but fortunately, those who are capable rise up in the ranks quickly enough."

She smirked and added, "I might even offer 'the intern' a spot here when he graduates. If he works for it." A slight pause. "I was meaning to ask you: we got your application, but I didn't know exactly what you were interested in. We have immediate need for freelancers, but could consider you for something a bit more permanent, if you like. Are you planning on staying in London long, or will the wanderlust once more overcome you?" she prodded teasingly.