Date: 17 January 1979
Location: Emerson’s office, The Daily Prophet Headquarters
( @henrysayre )
One of the defining features of Emerson’s office, she felt- other than what a tiny and cramped space it was- was the constant flurry of activity. Letters were constantly flitting in and out, charmed to find their way as if guided by their own personal winds. It was a veritable menagerie of paper birds, and something she’d long since grown used to. Her office wasn’t exactly much- but she had a desk, a typewriter, one couch for visitors (currently occupied) and a window that looked out on Diagon Alley. So she supposed she was lucky, considering what she was stuck writing for the newspaper. Deciding which letters to answer in an anonymous advice segment wasn’t exactly the most glamorous. But, Emerson decided, there were worse things.
It was just then that one of the letters fell off its course and veered towards her. She barely even flinched as it bounced off the side of her head before settling in its respective pile.
Emerson heaved a sigh and leaned back in her seat upon completing the draft she’d been working on, flexing her fingers to get rid of the cramps. She stared at the page almost accusatorily; editing it had consumed most of her morning, and it still felt fruitless.
In the next moment, she’d ripped the page from the typewriter, taken one last look at it, and crumpled it up into a ball.
"Hey, Henry,” she said, lobbing the paper towards him, “Think fast.”
