Friday, 28 September 2011
12:15pm, The Leaky Cauldron

Niobe smiled and stood up from the small window table.  The wizard she'd been waiting for had arrived. She'd met him in passing a couple times before, but his tall stature would never fail to make an impression. She hoped that the impression she'd made on him, however briefly, was that she was fair.

She had her hair bundled up on top or her head, and was wearing the most impressive brocade jacket. In her hand was her fluffy black Verbatis Quill, which was enchanted to catch every word.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mr. Misslethorpe. Can I get you anything?" Niobe reached out to shake his hand.

This was her first half-way decent assignment from Cuffe in weeks, the whole Devon robbery being a huge bore. One quick owl to Sandy Misslethorpe asking for a quick word, and his affirmative, was all she needed to cheer her up.

"A gillywater please." said Sandy. It was lunchtime. He had work to do still. He felt anxious. Was this a mistake? Koko did not want him to make things worse. Witch Weekly was having a week. He shook her hand. He knew Thursby's name. He read the Prophet. It was hard not to. "How long have you worked for Cuffe?" asked Sandy.

In short order, Niobe acquired for both of them a gillywater each. Misslethorpe, well, she imagined he had many reasons to be hesitant to speak about it. The Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet weren't direct competitors, but the public rivalry was enough to make one imagine a news boys dance-fighting in the streets.

She pulled her own glass closer to her and tapped a pinch of table salt into her hand. Niobe wasn't yet taking notes. They'd have to get settled first and try to make Sandy comfortable.

"Oh, oof. Ninety-six, actually. Got my start with two inches on the Brockdale Bridge. That was ages ago." It had been the event that most associated with the official start of the Second War. Niobe had been twenty-one and desperate to get away from a small local paper and into the Daily Prophet. She'd sent in copy on the hopes they'd publish, and they did. Cuffe was a genius, but that was not a compliment. He was a controversial person and not a spirit she liked to invoke in diplomatic situations.

Niobe sprinkled the salt into the gillywater and it made the tiniest fizzy pops.

"How are you holding up? Quite a week you've had."