A Scandalous Interview

A Scandalous Interview

by Icarus

"So. What do you really think about Harry, now? And about Professor Snape?" The woman asking was obviously a reporter, though in fact she was no less than Lillian Fairweather herself. True, none of her stories had made it past page four in The Daily Prophet, but her luck was changing: she had this one over a barrel and he didn't even know it yet.

Terry Boot grinned. "The usual. Daft professor... Boy-Who-Lived..." He shrugged, though a sharp person might note the guarded look behind that twinkle. "Why?"

Lillian smiled. "A Mister Alec Reddick suggested you might know a little more than that. Maybe a good bit more."

She gleefully warched as the boy paled at the mention of the notorious potions dealer and pimp. His ex-boyfriend... and ex-employer, as Ms. Fairweather had been told by many easily confirmed sources. To his credit he didn't attempt any further dissembling.

"What do you want?" Terry's voice was smooth, though the look in his eyes was sharp; wary as a cat.

"Just a chat and a friendly drink at the Three Broomsticks." His sort didn't turn down free alcohol.

"Um, no." He appeared to be thinking fast; as well he might. "I have to work actually." He beamed. "Professor Snape helped me find a job; thought I'd be good at it. Here's my card. I have to work late tonight, but you can meet me there at, say, nine o'clock?"

Ms. Fairweather was disgruntled at this turn of events; she'd hoped for a relaxed, talkative young man once she got a few drinks in him. Then she glanced at the card and a smile spread across her face. Bogle, Fogey & Harumph, a very conservative law firm. Oh yes, the cheeky lad had a great deal to lose. Her leverage had just increased ten-fold.

"Till then," she said.

~*~*~

At nine, she stood outside the gates to the law offices of Finnegan & Maury, a Muggle firm she was certain didn't actually exist. She waved the card at the entrance, and the letters changed, rearranged themselves to read Bogle, Fogey & Harumph, Attorneys at Law, established 1382. The cheerful face of Terry Boot peered between the bars of the gates.

"Oh good, you're not late," he said, seeming sincere. "I had to wait outside to let you up. Getting kinda rainy tonight."

His grin was infectious as he unlocked the gate and led her inside to the worn, marble stairs; brass banisters gleamed in the high candlelight. She struggled to keep up as he took the steps two at a time, turning back occasionally to encourage her, though she quickly fell behind. Finally, panting and sweaty, she arrived at a heavy paneled door. Terry was waiting for her.

"We'll use Mr. Bogle's office. He won't mind, very nice fellow," he said. "Plus he's hardly ever here. Whoops -- I forgot. May I take your coat? You must be in a sweat after all those steps. I'm used to them myself. Must go up and down them ten times a day."

Of course, the inconsideration of youth. For a moment she'd almost suspected the lad had done it on purpose.

"Mr. Fogey, he's wanted to put in a lift for years, but Mr. Bogle's really put his foot down on 'new-fangled contraptions.'" He busied himself hanging up her coat, his voice muffled behind the door. "He's one hundred and thirty-seven years old, you see." When he returned, he held her chair for her quite politely, and she sat, mollified and charmed by the cheerful young man. "Sometimes I think the wizards fall behind Muggles because the older ones get stuck in their ways," Terry shrugged, then sat behind the desk very comfortably. He casually edged a stack of parchment in her direction. "Well. There's the contract," he said.

"Contract?" she asked, suddenly wary.

"Sure. It's all in there... I give you the interview and you keep my name out of it, all that rot." He leaned back in the chair and tapped his quill against his lips.

"Oh, I assure you, I keep my sources in the strictest confidence. Reporters can't survive if they don't," she purred at him.

But he was already shaking his head, smiling. He gestured to the room broadly as if to say 'look around you.' "I know my rights. This way you get a great interview, details that you won't get anyplace else. Not if I know Professor Snape -- he's careful. Otherwise, all I can tell you about Harry Potter and Professor Snape is what I know from Hogwarts: the same as everyone else."

"My sources..."

"Are a bunch of sleaze-bags, and Alec is the sleaziest of the lot. Or so I've heard," he smirked a little, slouching in the chair. "Meanwhile I'm a respectable wizard, working for a prestigious law firm..."

"A career that is very difficult to maintain under scandal... true or not," she emphasized.

"And Mr. Bogle likes me. He calls me 'chipper,' says I remind him of himself when he was my age." He leaned forward suddenly. "Do you want this interview or not? Honestly, those people you mentioned are only guessing. I'm the one person -- besides Harry and Professor Snape of course -- who knows the truth. In detail. You're the one writing that unauthorised biography of Harry Potter, are you not?"

In detail. Truthfully, she had only hints of scandal about the Professor and his student. A fight, an illicit glance or two, some untrustworthy vague accounts from disgruntled Slytherins. Good enough for a magazine article, but a book required more. Harry Potter had led a distressingly public life, as she'd discovered to her chagrin. The magazines and newspapers had left no stone unturned. Her book 'The Untold Tale of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived' was dead in the water and she knew it. She gazed at the contract, living proof that Terry must know something or he wouldn't take her questions so seriously. Her salvation.

"There isn't much about Harry that people don't already know. Except this." He was guessing at her situation, she could tell, but it hit the mark. And Terry called him 'Harry' so easily. Not 'Potter', like the Slytherins, or 'Harry Potter' like some of his other classmates. A reporter was trained to pick up on nuances like that. He did know Harry.

She began to read the contract. It was nearly twenty pages long, 'Herein, forthwith...' God, she hated legalese.

Terry winced a little and glanced at his watch. "Just so you know, I have to close up around ten."

She glanced at her own watch. A quarter past nine. He shrugged at her with a chagrined expression. "I suppose I could push it to ten thirty..." he said doubtfully.

She scanned the document, then found the signature line and signed it. It wasn't as though she'd understand the contract anyway; the publisher's lawyers would have to sort it out. A mist rose from the page and then slowly a ghostly copy of the contract formed, lifted from her hands and floated across the room, right through the door. She stared after it, blinking. She'd never seen a contract do that before.

Terry relaxed visibly. He looked at her with a small, amused smile. "Oh, yes. We use Spectre filing around here. Saves a lot of work. Legal for us, the Malfoy attorneys, a few others... grandfathered in, you see. It's one of the little benefits of being around since 1382. So," he sighed, rubbing his hands together. "Best get cracking."

Then, with a bright grin, young Terry Boot proceeded to give her the interview of her life.

~*~*~

An hour later, Ms Fairweather scanned her notes, hungry and eager for more. Terry freely admitted he'd worked his way through school as a high-class prostitute in Hogsmeade's Pettifog quarter, by Ichabod Place and Malafide Lane. Yes, it was the infamous Alec Reddick who got him involved in that life. Terry's family had been, if not as poor as the Weasleys, of much less consistent income. She suspected Terry's father drank their fortunes away, though she hadn't time to ask for more background.

Yes, Professor Snape was homosexual and visited the Pettifog quarter often for 'company' (this was what she had learned through her various sources). But the shocker -- and what would make her book a best-seller! -- was that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was gay!

In fact, Terry knew of no girl Harry had ever been with, despite the mountains of publicity surrounding Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, Lucretia Alexander and so many others. "Bollocks," Terry said. "Complete bunk. He's a flying fairy; he's just very straight-acting. Not bad in bed either. Really... umm... enthusiastic. Great body, too." Terry's eyes had misted over. It was obvious he was telling the truth.

It would break the hearts of millions! She was ecstatic, and struggled to maintain her professional demeanor.

He explained Harry had slept with his best friend, Ronald Weasley -- "Straight," Terry insisted. "Happens more than you think." -- and never looked back. Terry couldn't divulge anything of his involvement with Professor Snape (though he quickly lapsed into calling his Professor 'Severus' in a rather fond tone, from the moment the interview began) due to their previous contract -- "and his hexes I would never risk," Terry explained. "You are familiar with how a contract with a professional escort is ensured? Hexes, nasty ones, for anyone who breaks it." But halfway through Harry Potter's seventh year, 'Severus' and 'Harry' had found out about each other... and started up a torrid affair, right there at Hogwarts!

"They're still together as far as I know, just waiting out Harry's last summer 'til he's free of his Muggle family," Terry said, rather bemused. "Never thought it would last this long, to tell you the truth. They fight like there's no tomorrow -- really stormy stuff, not my cup of tea. But they do seem to get on."

She thanked Terry profusely, almost forgetting her coat, which she returned for with a nervous laugh. He handed her the coat and then with a gallant gesture escorted her to the door.

"Just owl if you need a follow-up," Terry smiled. He handed her a sheaf of parchment. "Don't forget your copy."

It didn't occur to her to notice that he knew the terminology like an experienced reporter, or to note the impish gleam in his eyes. She assured him she would be certain to contact him soon.

~*~*~

The next morning, Ms Fairweather fairly beamed with excitement as she stepped into her office. Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, was gay! And soon the entire wizarding world would know. There would be press tours, people would want to interview her. Probably the Wizarding Wireless Network would want to devote an hour to it -- this break would make her career. She would invent some smart investigative reporting... just to help cover her source, of course.

There was just a quick trip to Legal to drop off that bloody contract, and then a meeting with her editor. As soon as possible. Her owl last night had been a deliberate tease. "News," it had said. "Good news." That was all. Florence would be ready to burst with curiosity.

She almost handed the contract off to an assistant, but this was her 'big break' on the book. Not to be chanced.

She walked it down the two floors and gave it to one of the legal clerks herself, and wasn't two steps on her way out when someone shrieked. She turned back, only to find her contract scattered all over the floor, pages all out of order. A woman stared at it, open-mouthed.

"A Bogle & Fogey contract..." she whispered. There was a swift intake of breath all around the room, and no one moved to pick up the contract. One of the senior solicitors pushed his way through the crowd, a silver-haired gentleman with a serious demeanor.

"Don't be naïve," he sighed, and leaned down to pick up the papers. "If it was going to get you, it would have already. Let's just have a look first and see how much trouble we're in, shall we? What idiot decided to sign a Bogle & Fogey contract on behalf of the company?" He looked around.

"What -- what's so different about a Bogle & Fogey contract?" Ms Fairweather asked.

He fixed her with a hard stare. "Come into my office."

He ushered her into a smaller office than Mr Bogle's, brightly lit and roomy. The deskplate said 'Jonathan Lamphrey, Esq.' Jon's mahogany desk was covered with scrolls and piles of parchment, which he swept aside and motioned for her to sit. He leaned on his elbows, and explained, with forced calm.

"Bogle, Fogey & Harumph is one of perhaps five legal firms in the country that are still permitted to use Spectre filing."

"What?"

"Did they not mention it to you?" His long face brightened somewhat. "Because if they didn't tell you during the initial signing that they use it -- they don't have to tell you beforehand but they do have to say at some point..."

"He mentioned it, but what does a filing system have to do with anything?"

"Filing. Not 'filing system.' Legal filing!" Jon rolled his eyes at her ignorance and rubbed his forehead with a frustrated gesture. "Every other legal document is filed with the wizarding courts." He stared down at the document in front of him. "These are filed with Spectres. It was outlawed years ago, because the Spectres want you to break the contract and... collect. They are very exact about the terms, but there's no fighting the agreement once the contract's signed. The more unfair and impossible it is, the happier they are."

Ms. Fairweather's eyes widened. Spectres... they would draw out the heat of a body, keeping their victim just barely alive so they could continue to feed. Intelligent as demons, they were known to catch unwary travelers in old ruins. Then Spectres negotiated deals for the victim's release -- with impossible terms the victim could never meet -- in order to trap the spirit in the body, in debt. She hadn't made the connection.

There were stories of clever bargainers who'd won and earned the servitude of a Spectre for a specified time. Clearly, someone at Bogle & Fogey once had.

"Yes," Jon said, gauging her sudden pallor. He put on reading glasses as he turned to the document. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you at least read the contract before signing it?"

Ms Fairweather hesitated, and then shook her head in humiliation. With the faint stirrings of fury she began to realise that Terry had deliberately given her no time to do so. And also threw her off-balance by making her almost run up those steps, immediately followed by politeness. Of course, she'd guessed at the time, but with his boyish grins and all that mindless chatter, he hadn't seemed the type. Yet Professor Snape thought Terry would be a good solicitor -- oh. She just got the joke.

Jon looked at her, though not without compassion. "Let's see just how ruthless your friend at Bogle & Fogey is."

~*~*~

Nearly an hour later, Jon sighed. "Well, you're lucky. Whoever drew up this contract was fair. All you have to do is confirm his story through two other sources who will go on the record, and you can use what he said."

Her heart soared! Terry, thank you, thank you, thank you! she thought. All she had to do is find two other people who would... go... on... record... Oh no. The memory of Terry's words replayed in her mind:

"I'm the one person -- besides Harry and Professor Snape of course -- who knows the truth."

The only way she could write about this, the only way her book would succeed, was if both Harry Potter and Professor Snape confessed. She had been wickedly out-maneuvered. Terry had protected not only himself, but his friends in the bargain.

Belatedly, she recalled that the cheerful, smiling Terry Boot was a Ravenclaw.

Finis.