The Impatient Man and His Suit

A Conflicting Man & A Wise Girl

A stack of the print sat in several metal bins in front of the display window. Hastily grabbing the first newspaper, I scrambled the papers to find page six.

Irony in Its Purest Form

"Chaos breaks out across Europe as M.R.E cases continue to appear..."

"In an interview, I had with Cecily Cedargrove, the young witch states with passion, that she finds it '...entirely repulsive and disgraceful towards all muggle-born students and citizens that Cleverdeux has placed a tyrant in such a meaningful position...'

Cedargrove, who shared Malfoy's last year at Hogwarts as her first, has just recently published her book: "Living Amongst the Dark Ones," where she gets into depth about her first year at Hogwarts, just seven years ago, living in the same space as Draco Malfoy and the like. In the book, she describes her experience as having been '...bewildered in the awe and wonder by the castle. But fearful of my safety around the few Dark Ones left... Each time Draco Malfoy entered the dining hall, a torpid glare of vehemence—vehemence which belonged to a cold-blooded killer—shot across at each table: a warning. I could see the evil in his eyes, the way he even walked into the room made my blood evaporate...'"

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I choked on my own saliva in shock. I wondered how could this interviewee's account be accurate. The Malfoy in this article was a murderer and a public enemy. But Malfoy my professor was determined, quiet, and meek. Memories of his harsh words and frightening glares made me consider the news exclusive a little more seriously.

Smiling awkwardly on the front page with her book clasped tightly in her shaking hands, was the apparent Cecily Cedargrove, a blonde with bright red cheeks and invisibly thin lips. Reading below the article dedicated to Cedargrove's opinion on the matter, I found another moving picture. Above it read: "Clerval Pod addresses M.R.E cases." A man sweating bullets stood at a podium surrounded by people holding up wands as he desperately tried to avoid interruption. At first sight of the name "Pod," I knew immediately that this was the same burly mustached man who appeared in my flat just a month prior.

"'This is...er...—a delicate matter for those concerned. The Ministry asks you to treat the issue with respect and refrain from any gross accusations or assumptions,' stated Pod in an open conference Sunday morning."

Immediately throwing the folds of paper into the bin, I turned away in stressful disgust. I was going to walk out and pretend as if I had never seen the "Daily Prophet" a day in my life. But I realized that walking away from a matter such as this was like walking away from the pursuit of my own safety. I was in fact, the matter, the issue; the root of all. Quickly turning back, I snatched it from the bin and rolled it up. I would have obviously paid for the wrinkled paper if the currency of that world and my own weren't completely different. So, I wasted no time and shoved the paper under my arm where it was concealed by my coat.

Immediately after bursting from the door, I was lucky enough to see Wensley stooping over a metal cage filled with eggplant at a produce stand. Calling out to her, she stopped mid-way from kicking the cage with her foot, causing the little red basket on her arm to sway. Furrowing her brows she placed both of her hands on her hips and sighed, "I've been looking all over for you!"

"So've I," I smiled.

"As long as you didn't tell anyone what n'who you really are."

She now resumed her attempt at kicking the large metal cage and as soon as her foot collided with the thin bars, the round and long purple things I once thought were eggplants, began to screech relentlessly. I grimaced at their horrible cries while Wensley stooped low and placed her large ear unnecessarily close to them. Then nodding in satisfied approval, she stood back up and pointed at one wiggly purple thing in particular, saying "That one's ripe." The man behind the stand took out a bit of string from underneath his station and approached the cage with a key. After having fished out Wensley's choice of selection, he quickly tied the string around the mid-section of the screaming creature's "torso." It choked out a bit in confusion as to why it was unable to cry any longer, then gave up altogether and fell silent. Wensley was given the terrible living vegetable and stuck it in her basket.