#emmeline 01

Where: The Leaky Cauldron Who: @fidemaledicta

Emmeline had sent him an owl to meet up telling him she had something to discuss with him. He wasn’t sure why but it felt ominous. He didn’t know her that well just that she was a member with a somewhat questionable background and he had seen her around in school being in the same year. They hadn’t run in the same crowd though so he had never really spoken to her much before. Dumbledore had mentioned her as one of the experienced potion makers within the order along with a few others he might contract out to make the wolfsbane potion. As of right now, he had halted his mission for the moment with James and Sirius’ concerns and suddenly the supply from Dumbledore had dried up. It was a terrible feeling knowing he would once again have to lose control, he never wanted to go back to that but he didn’t want to bother Lily and James with all they had going on. They were already helping him with the other potion, he couldn’t ask more of them with what she’d been through and a child to care for. 

Remus was seated in a back booth at the leaky cauldron nursing a hot toddy as it was only the afternoon so he didn’t want to be full out drinking just yet… but there was something about the letter that made him think he might be in need of a drink. He was fidgeting with his necklace running his fingers over the smooth silver of the crescent moon trying to think of what this could be about. They hadn’t been paired up in any missions nor was there talk of anything at the meeting when he’d seen her last. Not paying attention her arrival startled him and he nearly spilled his drink in surprise. “Oh, hello, I, -er sorry I didn’t order you anything, I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

It wasn’t until Xeno had stepped through the door to the offices of the Daily Prophet that the implications of their intentions actually caught up with them, the receptionist’s stare sparking the realization of the fact that they probably would’ve been better off settling for just sending an owl. But when they’d plucked a discarded copy of the Prophet off a table at the Three Broomsticks on a whim, well, it had really only been a matter of time until their idle paging through furrowed their brow. And after that, just moments until they were leaning over the bar to drop a kiss on Edgar’s nose and promising to be back soon. They’d turned and made a beeline for the door, aware, even if only subconsciously, that he’d likely convince them that storming the offices of the Prophet wasn’t advisable if they gave him half a chance to get a word in. Which they probably should’ve done, really. 

The fact of the matter was, Xenophilius, for all their unconcerned detachment from what most may or may not think of them, was well aware of the fact that they weren’t exactly well liked among the ranks of the wizarding world’s primary publication. This probably had to do with the corrections and suggestions they were readily willing to provide in response to the frankly alarming number of errors that littered the paper, and the close-minded reporting the bulk of the reporters seemed to suffer from. Apparently sending back copies of the paper liberally spattered in notes in colour changing ink wasn’t taken kindly to. Nor were owls. Or in-person visits. Or, when all else failed, including at least one article about the Prophet in each and every issue of the Quibbler. And so, as the receptionist stared warily at Xeno from behind his desk, they waved jauntily at the wizard with the hand that was holding a somewhat crumpled copy of that day’s paper. 

“Hello! Don’t mind me, I’m just going to go right around this way because I think that one of your reporters made an unfortunate mistake- or, well, a number of mistakes, really, but I’ll discuss that with them- in this article published today about the Ministry’s recent interactions with the centaur communities in the midlands. So, I’ll just be a moment, I promised I’d be back soon, you see, so I’ll just go now-” Xeno was already walking past the wide-eyed wizard’s desk, heading for the door they knew would lead them to the main hall of the offices. 

The receptionist scrambled out of his seat, following behind Xeno, “Wait, wait! You need an appointment, and to fill out this form-” But he might as well have been speaking to no one. Xeno was easily distractible, but they could be single-minded when it mattered. 

Xeno entered the room where reporters sat at desks, or stood and talked, or bustled by busily, with the receptionist at their heels and an uncharacteristic seriousness to their expression. The copy of the Daily Prophet in their hand was folded to expose the article they’d taken particular issue with, a piece praising the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in a dispute they had with a small familial community of centaurs living on contested land in the midlands. The Ministry claimed they were a threat to the Statute of Secrecy where they were, and the article had cited their status as “beasts” rather than “beings” as valid reasoning for the Ministry to move forward in forcibly removing them from their land. Which was obviously a load of nonsense. 

The young receptionist had given up trying to convince Xeno to go back to the front room, and was looking around hopelessly for help. Xeno distractedly patted him on the head. “I’m here to speak to Donald Hobday, who wrote the piece on page 6? Or anyone, really. This article-” they wiggled the Prophet in their hand, as if the gesture indicated what they’d taken issue with, “is incredibly misleading to people who don’t know very much about centaurs. And it’s very rude to call them beasts. Also you really should interview people on both sides of any story, it’s just good reporting.”