LUNAR (A Harry Potter Universe Fanfiction)

Nine. Letters.

"Mr. Finnegan, if you could pop in here a moment, please," came a voice out of one of the offices down the right side of the hallway.

Marlowe was just about to head home for the day and had been about halfway to the locker rooms to collect his things. He pivoted on his heel and turned into the manager's office. Joe Benson had only been with the team for about eighteen months now, and Marlowe knew he had spent eight or nine years previously managing the Wimborne Wasps, and before that he had played for both Puddlemere United and Appleby Arrows, but his office made it look like he had always been and would always be a Chudley Cannons supporter.

Nearly every inch of the walls were covered in memorabilia. There were signed photos of former players, pictures of Benson himself with every iteration of the team since he'd taken on the position, pennants and banners, and even a very large painting of the Cannons stadium that his daughter had done. She was an artist. She often did the illustrations for Q-Mag, which followed all the professional quidditch happenings.

"Take a seat," said Benson. Marlowe leaned his broom against the wall inside the door and sunk down in one of two scratchy looking chairs across the desk from Benson.

"Get that look off your face. You're not in trouble," he said. "I just wanted to make you aware of something if you aren't already."

He slid a magazine across the desk to Marlowe, folded open to a page about three quarters of the way through. Marlowe saw his own face plastered all over the page. He glanced up at Benson and then back down at the page, afraid to read what it said.

It was strange, seeing himself in a gossip magazine, the sort you saw at the checkout at the convenience store in Diagon Alley or that would come rolled up and tied with a bit of twine, dropped in the laps of the girls in Caiti's class at breakfast back at school. The people in these magazines weren't real people. Marlowe was a real person. He didn't belong in here.

"HR is going to have someone do an official interview with you on Thursday to address some of the gossip, make sure the real, reliable story is out there as long as stuff like this is coming out. I think you should read through this and make sure you know what's being said, because they'll ask you to dispel any rumors, respond to critics, things like that."

"Right," said Marlowe.

"We'll have someone pull you tomorrow at some point to coach you a bit, give you an idea how to speak, how to behave, represent the team well and all that."

"Okay," said Marlowe.

"And I'd send an owl to your girlfriend tonight, too. Ask her what she's comfortable with you sharing or not sharing..."

Marlowe frowned. He looked down at the page, skimmed through the article, and his heart sank. They had brought Caiti into it. He didn't want her getting wrapped up in all this mess.

"So that's all, just wanted to make sure you were aware that interview was coming up so you can prepare and what not."

"Can I take this?" Marlowe asked. He didn't really want to have it in his possession, but Benson was right. It was better to know what damage had already been done.

"It's yours. Thanks for stopping in," he said as though Marlowe had just dropped by for a friendly catch-up.

"Yeah," said Marlowe. "Thanks." And he stood back up, collected his broom, and headed down the hall to the locker rooms trying to figure out how on earth he was going to explain to Caiti that gossip columnists were after her.

—-

"Hi, sweetheart. There's been a letter for you," said Mrs. Finnegan when Marlowe arrived home. She nodded towards the kitchen table where she had left it for him.