Maeve Macmillan liked to write.
It didn't matter if it was writing her thoughts in her diary, short stories in a journal, articles for newspapers, essays for homework, letters to her parents, simple reminders on her hand, quotes on parchment to st...
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--------------------> MAEVE KNOCKED ON THE DOOR leading to Rachel's private office. After hearing a "come in!", she pushed the door open. Rachel, who had been sitting in her chair like it was a throne, stood upon spotting her and approached her.
"Maeve?" Rachel's eyebrows were raised in surprise. "What happened? Is everything alright?"
"Um, yes, I think," replied Maeve, stepping forward and closing the door behind her. "Rita found out that Aurors would be authorised to use unforgivable curses on those they suspected to be Death Eaters from tomorrow."
"That's wonderful!" Rachel cried, before pausing. "In a horrible way. What about it? If you have any questions, you need to ask Rita, remember?"
Maeve had questions about Rita, which she filed in the back of her mind for now. It wasn't as important as what Amelia had asked of her. "I know, but, see, after—"
"Did Rita get the interview from the Minister?" Rachel interrupted.
Maeve blinked, taking a moment to process her inquiry. "Um, yes, yes she did. She said she'll drop by later with the article ready."
"Lovely. Did you have a nice first day?"
"Yes, it was incredible, but Rachel—"
"I can't wait to read the book you gave to my daughter tonight," said Rachel, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I'm sure she'll love it."
"I really hope she does, and—"
"It's Friday tomorrow. Don't forget we have the company dinner."
"I won't but—"
"And what about your article for Musings With Maeve? You haven't sent that in yet," chided Rachel, to which Maeve blushed.
"I'm terribly sorry. I have it ready. I'll bring it with me tomorrow."
"Good, good. Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?"
"I....forgot," admitted Maeve, the redness spreading from the tip of her ears all the way to her neck. As Rachel giggled in amusement, Maeve retraced her thoughts. Amelia's masked face popped into her head. "Oh, yes! We can't publish the article about the unforgivables."
Those words successfully halted Rachel's amusement, which drained away from her face. "I'm sorry?" Rachel asked carefully, but her eyes were sharp like daggers.
Maeve didn't blame her, she was practically telling the Editor-In-Chief of the Daily Prophet, the most acclaimed newspaper in the United Kingdom, how to do her job.
"I'm so, so sorry," said Maeve, voice soft with the slightest tremor, "but the Aurors said we mustn't. Only until tomorrow. They said they'd share all the details then."
"The Aurors said we mustn't," Rachel repeated in a deadpan. "And they'd share all the details?"
