“It’s absolute bollocks” said Demelza.
She was looking at the interview with Ron Weasley. It had been published that morning. She should know. She was the typesetter and compositor for the Daily Prophet. Dennis was in charge of all photographs.
The interview had made her sick to her stomach as she had typed it, as she heard the lead being moulded, spat out and then hammered into place to form the layout of the front page. Ron Weasley Speaks!
“You think you had it bad” murmured Dennis. “You didn’t have to prep that photo of his stupid face.”
“He’s a git.” said Demelza. “An absolute arse. Take it from someone who was once punched in the face by him.”
“Oh that’s right, you were on the Quidditch team with him, weren’t you?”
“Indeed. Almost put me off Quidditch for life. Being screamed at every practice because he was fucking up. It was pathetic!” She paused, and flicked back to an earlier article. “I thought better of Ginny though. She always seemed nice enough. Obsessed with Golden Boy, but nice enough.”
“You don’t think it’s true then? What she says about Hermione?”
“I don’t think any of it’s true. You knew Hermione. A bit, at least, yeah? Did you ever think she was the sort to deliberately ruin a wedding? To want extra attention for herself? To stab people in the back?” Demelza shook her head. “They’re barking. The mother, Ginny, and Ronald - what they’re saying just doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree, in principle - but if that’s the case, why isn’t Golden Boy saying anything?”
“Yes. I wondered that too.”
“And you can’t deny that Malfoy is a Death Eater.”
“Mmm… he was. And even then, it’s not like anyone would put him on a list of ‘Greatest Death Eaters of All Time’. He never really did much, did he? And since then, he has to have changed, or they’d never let him near the DMLE.”
“That’s true. Yeah, I forgot that. If he works there, then he must be okay - I mean, not done anything really bad, or they’d never let him be an Auror. And they say he saved Potter’s life during that raid, remember?”
Demelza looked at Ginny’s interview again, and shook her head. “I mean, she’s trying to make it sound like Granger’s mentally ill! That’s ridiculous! She’s the smartest witch in Britain, everyone knows that!”
Dennis hummed. “They do say that genius can be close to madness.”
Demelza scoffed. “Well maybe, but not for her. She’s an Unspeakable. I’m pretty sure that if any of them go off the rails, they’d be fired straight away. The stuff they deal with is too dangerous. They can’t have anyone unstable messing around with timeturners and memories and prophecies and stuff, they’d blow up the Ministry! No, she’s sane enough, and 10 times smarter than any of them. I just wish I knew why they’re all ganging up on her like this.”
Dennis smiled. “10 times zero is still zero, Mels.”
Demelza whacked him over the shoulder with a rolled-up paper. “Don’t call me that! And fine. She’s infinitely more intelligent than pretty much anyone else in Britain. Better?”
“You have to have your facts straight when you work for a reputable paper like the Prophet” said Dennis with a perfectly straight face.
Demelza sniggered, then stopped almost immediately as Rita Skeeter came down the stairs into the typesetting room.
It was rare for a journalist to deliver copy themselves. Usually it just appeared through the pneumatic tubes, rolled up and ready to re-type. For Rita to deliver it herself suggested that this was something big.
Rita was almost vibrating with excitement. “My dears!” she said “I hope you are ready for a long night’s work? I have a very important article for you to prepare tonight, and nothing less than your absolute best will do!”
“Understood, Rita” said Dennis “We know our job, you know that.”
“Yes, I must admit you do. Well. I’ll let you get on with it. But I want to check the galley proofs myself. Call me as soon as they’re ready.”
Demelza and Dennis exchanged glances. For a journalist to do their own proofreading was also extremely unusual, but it wasn’t their place to argue.
“Now. This statement must be printed at the top of the article. Then, there is this photo” - she handed it to Dennis - “and here, is the article.”
Dennis looked at the photo, and Demelza at the statement. Their eyes widened. They looked at each other, then swapped. Then they both grabbed the article. With the speed-reading that came with her profession, Demelza finished it first.
“Fucking hell!”
Dennis finished reading, and looked up.
“Fucking hell indeed. Shall we get this little bit of dynamite ready for the presses?”
Demelza gave a rather feral grin. “Oh, we absolutely will!”
Dennis had never completed the photo conversion process at such speed. Demelza had never typed faster. In what was possibly a world-beating time, the lines of metal type, the etching of the photo, and that headline had all been locked and hammered into place. Dennis swiped it with ink. Demelza pressed the paper on top. The galley proof was ready, and it was perfect. Rita checked it carefully, then sat back and sighed in contentment.
“Ready to roll, Rita?” asked Demelza. Rita nodded. Dennis fitted the front page template in place, then Demelza started the printing press. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, copies of the Daily Prophet were spat out of the machine.
“I do believe” said Rita smugly “that this will cause quite a stir.”
Demelza and Dennis said nothing. For once, they both agreed with her.