Saturday, July 5th, 2014. 9:50 AM.

  K27 Diagon Alley, Mysticked District, Borough of Islington, London, UK.

  Ginny bounded off Diagon Alley into The Daily Prophet reception area. She gave the young witch behind the desk a cheery whoop and a wave, as, without slowing down, she hooked an elbow around the firepole marked UP:

  FIRST FLOOR - Newsroom

  SECOND FLOOR - Staff Offices.

  THIRD FLOOR - Editor-in-Chief’s Office.

  ROOF - Arrivals/Departures, Brooms/Apparition.

  She slid up and away in the face of the woman’s open-mouthed look.

  Ginny twirled off the pole in the newsroom, looking around to see who was in. Before she could set off in search, something poked her in the back of her head.

  She reached up to find an Inter-Office Memo in her hair, folded into a paper airplane. In it was a note, hastily scrawled:

  Get your happy asp back down here!

  - Phil

  Ginny turned back and took the firepole marked DOWN:

  GROUND FLOOR - Reception.

  SUB-FLOOR ONE - Production.

  SUB-FLOOR TWO - More Production. Oh, and Newspaper Morgue.

  SUB-FLOOR THREE - Skivving Off, Mucking About. (Bertie, it’s your turn to bring the Butterbeer. Last chance, or you’re off the company Quidditch team, I don’t care how many Bludgers you can take to the head before passing out).

  SUB-FLOORS FOUR to ???- Storage, Maybe? Old Office Supplies? (I think I saw a Boggart down here once).

  Back in the reception area, Ginny let go the pole, and made a grand TA-DA gesture. “Why, Miss Philomena Duddlepuck, as I live and breathe!”

  ‘Puddleduck, you loon!” Phil laughed. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Wicked Witch of the Weasleys?”

  “She is now the Pampered Princess of the Potters, I’ll have you know.” Ginny propped herself on the corner of the desk. “What is troubling that tawny mass of Titian hair and the no-doubt razor-sharp mind under it?”

  “Gaffe asked me to send you up to his office when you came in. I don’t believe he was expecting you this early.” She frowned slightly. “Come to think of it, I don’t believe I was expecting you this early?”

  Ginny waved an airy hand. “All part of my new weight-loss plan.”

  Philomena eyed Ginny’s perfectly toned physique cynically. “Weight loss?”

  “Yes, indeed. You take 65 pounds of obstreperous brat, and ship him off to his cousin for two months. The weight I have lost! Highly recommended.”

  Philomena laughed. “So, do you want me to put Gaffe off while you get your Drakes in a Conga Line?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “No, indeed. In fact, Barny Boy is the exact person I need to see.”

  “Please, please, call him Barny Boy to his face.”

  “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Live in suspense.” Ginny stuck her tongue out at Phil as she slid up the pole.

  ***

  Ginny debarked the pole into the outer office of the Editor in Chief, and smiled at Barnabas Gaffe’s Executive Assistant, Grizel Hurtz. The slight, greying middle-aged witch was going through an Owl Post Inbox the size of a washing basket. Every few minutes, an owl would swoop in through a high window to her right, dropping a new letter in the box. Without pausing, each would catch an Owl Nut on the fly from the Automagic Dispenser, and then glide out the high window to her left.

  Grizel was a picture of efficiency as she sorted the post. A tap of her wand would select and open a letter, another tap would either fold it into a paper airplane and send it on its way, or Vanish it completely. Every once in a while she would drop a letter into one of two baskets before her, either for Gaffe’s immediate attention, or for her own. She doubled as the Agony Aunt columnist for the paper, so that was the most likely explanation for that.

  “Hey, Miz Griz,” Ginny said. “I’m told Himself wants to see me?”

  Grizel smiled without taking attention from her work flow. “That he does, but give him a bit. He’s in with the Head of Security.”

  Ginny cocked her head slightly. “Isn’t Caspahr our only security person?”

  Grizel gave an impression of rolling her eyes, while never actually looking away from her work. “That would be 'Yes'.”

  “Gotcha.” Just then, one of the paper airplanes did a very credible barrel-roll and soft-landed in Ginny’s hair.

  “Since you’re up here anyway...” Grizel said.

  “Good idea.” Ginny took a seat by the small conference table in the corner, and started making notes in her note book, and on the letter itself. Letters came her way fairly regularly, (after all, it was a World Cup year). About fifteen minutes passed in companionable silence.

  The Editor’s Office door finally opened, and a tall young man sporting pince-nez and a handlebar moustache backed partway into the room. He had the air of someone receiving final instructions, which came forthwith.

  “Remember, Wiggleswade, this is not on you personally. I am very pleased with your work, and I have never regretted acting on your Uncle Dempster’s recommendation of you. I do, however, consider it a serious matter. Those lower sub-floors have nothing of interest or value, yes. I mean, old business records, broken or outdated magical machinery and furniture, who cares? But I do care that someone is able to bypass our very expensive security spells. Who is to say they will not start rifling through the higher floors?”

  Caspahr Wiggleswade nodded intelligently. “I’m on it, Mr. Gaffe. I have my notes here, and I already have some idea of where to start. I also thank you for your trust in me. I will not let you down.”

  He pulled the office door closed behind him. He turned and gave Ginny a tired smile, and mimed wiping sweat off his forehead. Grizel still wasn’t taking her eyes off her work. Caspahr just said, “Thank you, Ms. Hurtz,” then grabbed the Up Pole and slid out of sight, nose already in his notes. A few seconds later, he slid through the office on the Down Pole, blushing slightly, eyes firmly fixed on those same notes.

  Grizel said, “That’s enough for now.” She levitated the almost empty Inbox enough to get it out of her way. Taking a memo pad out, she wrote a quick note and tapped it with her wand. The paper airplane thus created zipped up and over the transom window to the inner office.

  Ginny stood and started for the door, but Grizel held up a hand. Her head was turned slightly, and her ear was cocked up to the gap above the transom. A voice came through, quite clearly.

  “What? Blasted thing! Ow!” A chair creaked, and the sound of steps came toward the door. It opened, and a dignified looking elderly man stood framed in it, rubbing the side of his neck.

  “Curse and blast it, that hurt, Ms. Hurtz! Damnable thing got me right behind the ear!”

  “Sorry Mr. Gaffe.” Grizel didn’t look sorry. “It’s this new batch of memo paper. I’ve had complaints from every department.”

  Gaffe noticed Ginny for the first time. “Ah, Potter! Just who I wanted to see. Come in!” He backed a little and held the door for her. “Ms. Hurtz, why didn’t you tell me Potter was here?”

  The Executive Assistant met his eyes, then lowered hers until she was looking at the crumpled airplane in his hand.

  He followed her gaze. “Ah. Erm, yes. Um, very good. Carry on.” He started to close the door, stopped, and said, “Grizel?”

  “Yes, Barnabas?”

  “You know, I can hear you perfectly well in here. Why can’t you just tell me people are waiting?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “At the last Staff Meeting, you were very firm about having a paper trail of everyone who enters your office.”

  “Ah. Erm, yes. Yes, I was, wasn’t I?” The door closed the rest of the way.

  Grizel’s sweet smile stretched into a grin.