Carmen was ready for her big report. She was dressed in her nicest clothes; she had even pulled out the expensive dragonhide heels she hadn't worn since Sinistra complimented her on them. A reporter's sixth sense told her that this would be an occasion no one would be quick to forget, and she wanted to ensure that she looked her best when the announcement happened. Minister Shacklebolt's announcement probably wouldn't even make a difference in the mystery--it would be some soothing, flattering words to calm the public at best, and lies at the worst—but all the same, he was actually allowing the press into the Ministry. After the last two weeks of restricted access, she was desperate to get in and snoop around. Such drastic restriction for the press hadn't been put in place since the last fall of Voldemort. Surely they weren't that intimidated by the desperation of the press?

No matter. She was not concerned with those sort of rambling, inconclusive thoughts at the moment. She wanted facts—when, where, why, and how—and she wanted them now. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor of the Ministry Atrium, which was flooded with people. Employees in Ministry robes, members of the press in black with fuchsia badges, visitors with their own badges decorating the black and blue and green cloaks that swirled around their feet. Carmen gave an imperious glance to whoever got in the way of her quick march towards the fountain, in front of which a podium rose.

Strange. Maybe Shacklebolt wouldn't lie. If he was going to lie, why would he erect a podium draped in black?

Just as she reached the area in front of the podium she was approached by a frazzled looking witch with hair so frizzy, she might have just stepped out of a lightning storm. The witch (wearing a WWN representative badge) shoved a strange device into her hand.

“Ah, of course,” said Carmen, “For the radio?”

“Yes yes. Flip the switch on the bottom, then speak into this part at the top--”

“I know how it works.”

“Yes yes, of course you do. Go on with you then, the Minister will be out in a few minutes.”

The crowds behind Carmen surged. Other reporters tried to jostle past her to get in the front, but a swift kick in the shin with the heel of her boots was enough to make the most eager reporter step away. She enjoyed a small bubble of personal space in the sea of curious press. Very calmly, as if she didn't notice the crowd and roar of voices behind her, she flicked a switch on the bottom of the microphone. She slipped an ear piece on, then, after clearing her voice, clicked a button.

“This is Snidgeton. Are we connected, WWN?”

A voice buzzed in her ear. We're connected.

“Excellent.”

You go live in two minutes.

“Very well.”

Around her, reporters from other countries were busy using the same equipment. It was a newer invention inspired by the muggles and half-breeds. She didn't like it much, but what could she do? Not use it and fall behind? As she waited for the two minutes to pass, she looked around her. There—a freckled man from Ireland's The Scully, she recognized him from a heated argument at a Magical Press Summit about the significance of the Irish Blood Revolution. And right behind her there was an Australian from The Mage who was babbling away in their microphone already.

Snidgeton

“Yes?”

Fifteen seconds.

“Excellent.”

She cleared her throat again as the communicator from the WWN counted down.

...Four...three....two... “We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this live report of the Minister's address. We have a special correspondent from the Daily Prophet with us, ready to give you the scoop. Carmen?”

“This is Carmen Snidgeton, Junior Editor of the Daily Prophet, and I'm very excited to be bringing you this historic news coverage.”


<To be continued...>

“...This is Carmen Snidgeton, Junior Editor of the Daily Prophet, and I'm very excited to be bringing you this historic news coverage...The tension is palpable in the air as visitors and listeners from all over the globe wait to hear Minister Shacklebolt's announcement on the whereabouts of Harry Potter. I'm surrounded by literally hundreds of representatives from dozens of countries across the globe. It seems the entire world is waiting to hear the news on Harry Potter, and whether or not the saviour of the wizarding world is safe, wherever he is."

He's still a dirty mudblood to me she thought, as she scanned the crowd one more time. She glanced down at her watch quickly and sighed in satisfaction. Only a minute to go.

"In only a few moments the Minister will make his announcement," she continued. "A representative has just stepped up to the podium; it's the Senior Undersecretary, Horace Hawking, ready to introduce the Minister. He looks somewhat nervous as he adjusts his robes, but he's maintaining his composure." Her voice dropped lower with the crowd's, so that an eerie whispering sound filled the atrium. "He looks down at his papers and seems to get more nervous. He's about about to speak. Let's listen in."

She let go of the button on the microphone.

Senior Undersecretary Hawking's mouth opened--and snapped shut suddenly as a piercing scream filled the air.

"The Minister! The Minister!"

Carmen registered the words; then, in a motion almost inhumanly fast, she slipped under the barrier and sprinted towards Level I. Her shoes clackclackclackclacked against the floor as she ran. Her voice came back onto the WWN, gasping for air now. She had to get there before security did. Thank Merlin you couldn't apparate in this building!

"WWN! Are you there!"

"What's going on, Snidgeton? We heard the scream."

"That was a scream of terror, there was--gasp for air--no other way to explain it. I'm on my way into Level I now!"

Clackclackclackclack.

"This is Carmen Snidgeton, reporting exclusively from Level I in the ministry. No sign of the minister. I'm being trailed by about a hundred reporters and a dozen brunette hott--wheeze--I mean aurors. This is a sure sign of disaster, WWN. Something terrible has happened! This is totally unexpected, it's clear that the aurors don't know what's going on, no one knows what's going on. I'm drawing up to the Minister's office now. The door--the door--is open."

She staggered to a halt in the doorway of the minister's office.

"I'm looking into his office now, and--Oh my God--"

For a moment the sound of the microphone died.

"Snidgeton? Snidgeton, are you there?"

There was a click.

"Yes."

Her voice was different now.

"Yes. It appears, listeners...that the Minister of Magic...has been murdered."