Lawrence edged his way gingerly down the staircase, leaning heavily on the bannister rail as he went. The light in the open plan living room and kitchen was low, and there was a low fire in the fireplace. He paused at the foot of the stairs, observing the owner of the house bent over, adjusting a wireless set that hissed and buzzed.

"Ah! You're up." Edwin called, hearing the descent. "Good timing." As he spoke the radio finally tuned.

… harm has befallen us this past Guy Fawkes night, we have survived and proven ourselves worthy…

"Come. You'll enjoy this."

Frowning, Lawrence made his way slowly across the room from the foot of the stairs, his bare feet sliding over Edwin's wood floors as his hand clasped the blanket tight around his shoulders. The night before he had broken into Edwin's house in desperation of a safe place to recover. His old friend had not been all that surprised to find him collapsed on the spare bed. The state he'd been in, Edwin had done more than slicing up baked beans and mending a broken arm. Strangely he did so without much complaint. Lawrence found it curious.

He settled himself cautiously on the end of of one of the sofas and rubbed one of his ears to his shoulder to push away his matted brown hair. Edwin disappeared behind him into the kitchen. Lawrence tried to focus on the voice from the set in front of him.

Because surely, listeners, like me you have asked yourselves the great and dire question: What next?

Edwin appeared at his shoulder, extending a mug of something that didn't look like alcohol.
"What next indeed!"

… crime has been allowed to pass - and received so clumsily - then what else can we expect to happen in the coming months?

On tentative sniff of the mug confirmed it was to ease his pain. Edwin really was too kind to him. It made Lawrence very suspicious. First Ira summoning Hannah and torturing her to ensure he was treated rather than letting him die and still carrying out her punishment. Considering he believed the task to set off the charges in the Leaky Cauldron the previous night had been a suicide mission…

… And there is my advice for those listeners casting about for comfort in the dark: do not forget.

Lawrence's head protested at the aural offence of the music that followed. Edwin turned the volume down with a flick of his wand, settling on to the other sofa with a glass of wine, feet up on the coffee table. His piggy little eyes watched Lawrence carefully. The straggly man's colour was returning.
"This is The Haunting Hour. Zephyr hates him. Goes on air usually after a significant headline. Apparently nothing last night, so I banked on tonight, and well-" The music had tailed off. Edwin flicked his wand adeptly towards the set.

Lawrence's attention switched back the set, a second voice had joined the first, a woman with an accent. Vaguely French? He had lost his ear for them with his time away.
"Who's this?" He asked.
"One of the Hogwarts Professors I think." Edwin replied, frowning. He had come to know of quite a number of them during the Tournament, but the faces changed regularly.

… Horribly disorganized. The rescue teams sent out came in without a set plan. They were trying to do their jobs, I respect that. But they were reckless-- by the time they had arrived on scene a third explosion happened. Whoever caused it had been there at the time…

"Cheers Layton." Lawrence muttered, toasting the wireless with the end of the mug of potion, catching Edwin's lips curl as he raised his wineglass to sip.

… More people will die needless deaths, preventable deaths…

"Spoilers!" Edwin scoffed.

… do you believe, as suggested in our previous broadcasts, that the threat is coming from within?

Why can't it be both? Threats from within working with threats from outside?

"They're on to you, Ed." Lawrence muttered croakily, eyelids heavy from the potion. "They've learned from my time."
"Our time." Edwin corrected.
"Hmph. I claim it, I did the time for it."

Eventually the set fell quiet, the broadcast seemingly over.
"Who's the fellow then?" Lawrence asked, not at all recognising the voice. Edwin gave a genuine shrug of the shoulders, finishing his glass of wine.
"I don't know, but someone must know. And when Madam Minister finds out, I'm sure she'll be very happy to have someone 'interview' him in return." He reached forward to put down the glass, catching Lawrence's eyes with his own, "In the meantime, I'll be sure to mention his broadcasts to her at every opportunity."