The Daily Prophet

By: Feige Jarkeni

Banchory somehow thinks that enough time has passed for it to attempt to reband its Quidditch team into the British and Irish League, or perhaps they at least think we don’t remember that match against the Arrows where they hit the bludgers out of the pitch in 1814. 

But will two hundred and ten years be enough to reset this Scottish team’s slate and make them a force to be reckoned-with? The League apparently seems to think so, since they approved the Bangers’ petition to reband on 18 September 2024. Will this team live up to expectations? Or will they throw another afterparty sporting plenty of sherry and Daisyroot Draught? 

Or BOTH?

“We’re dedicated to creating a stable team this year,” says League Director Phineas Watson, a former chaser and captain of Puddlemere United, “We feel that they’re up to the challenge.” Watson also mentioned that anyone in possession of firewhiskey at the tryouts would be immediately disqualified from making the team.

Here’s to hoping the Bangers aren’t a team of total fools this year, and if they are, then that it’s entertaining to watch.

Dear Amy,
I have a wart on the end of my nose and it’s rather unsightly. I have tried many a beautifying potion to remove it but it simply grows back. Please help.
– Warty in Worcester.

Dear Warty, Maybe your wart is there for a reason. Have you ever thought of that? I don’t know what that reason could be, but you should think on it for a bit and try to come up with something. Or you could just try and work the wart. Perhaps you could make it look cool or something. But if you really want to get rid of the wart, however, try going to St. Mungo’s to see if the healers there can help you out. I hear they know all kinds of ways to cure problems.

Dear Amy,

I’m afraid my sister is a squib. She is six years old and has not yet shown even a bit of magical ability. I even gave her my wand to play with and all she managed to do was get it stuck in her ear. Should we give her away to a family of muggles?

~Julia in Bury St. Edmunds

Dear Julia, I honestly think that your sister is a genius. Perhaps she is hiding her magical ability from you just to annoy you. Maybe she doesn’t like you and would rather be sent off to live with another family so she wouldn’t have to deal with you any longer. Sounds like she’s a Ravenclaw to me! Just wait and eventually I’m sure you will see that she is a witch. Just watch out for when she could do magic, she might try and get you back for sending this in.

Dear Amy,

Why do my friends think it’s strange to be obsessed with wizarding pop sensation Dustin Tieber? They always tease me about it at mealtimes and someone drew a moustache on my poster with permanent marker. Now he looks like an old muggle dictator. What can I do to show them how wonderful he is?

-Brian, Definitely not from Hogwarts

Dear Brian, I am most certain that people are doing this to you because you are a boy that is obsessed with Dustin Tieber. Had you been a girl, I’m sure the taunting would not have been nearly as bad. If you talked less about him and focused more on the people around you, I bet things will get better. I also suggest that you take down the posters you have as him, as that will just result in more moustaches being drawn on his baby face.

Dear Amy,

Why is it 2024 and there is still blood prejudice? It’s not really fair, is it? I mean, people shouldn’t have to worry about being disliked just because of what they were born. It’s not their fault anyway. And everyone should be equal since there are smart and dumb people in every crowd, etc. Is there something we can do to stop this?

~Ruby from Blackpool

Dear Ruby, I don’t really think there is much anyone can do. You can’t just make people think what you want them to think. If they believe that muggleborns are bad, they believe that, and they have the right to. There is no law about what you or anyone else can believe in. We can’t go around policing thoughts. However, if you see someone around you being mistreated because of their blood status, you could step in and try to stop it. (For the record, I’m half-blood, in case anyone was wondering.)

Dear Amy,

Is there such thing as a part-troll? Because I swear a kid in my year is half-troll or something.

–Ashley from Ashbourne

Dear Ashley, I’m actually not sure. I do find it weird that I got two questions about blood status this week. Anyway, I would ask a professor at the school since they must have records on this sort of thing. Or, better yet, visit the library and look it up. If you find out, let me know, I’d love to know the answer.

Dear Amy,

Recently a wild dragon wandered onto our grounds. I think it’s just a Common Welsh Green, but it’s only a baby and I really want to keep her. She has only burnt down one of our five out-buildings so far. Do you think it’s safe to keep her tied to a fence on our lawn? It’s near a stream so she can drink.

-Tiamat, Aberystwyth

Dear Tiamat, You sound like an idiot. Dragons are supposed to be handled by professionals ONLY and you are no expert. Everyone knows that dragons are dangerous! Where did you grow up? And did you even go to school? I would report the dragon to the Ministry of Magic straight away so it can be taken to a reserve before any muggles see it. You better hope you don’t get arrested.

If you’d like to write to Amy, please send a letter to:

Amy, Advice Columnist

Daily Prophet Offices

By: Ishmael Ruffen

One would normally think it safe to be alone in the house with one’s dishes. It would never, not once, cross our minds to be wary of our fine china. Sadly, on a Thursday night, a magic English family sat down at their dinner table in a quiet Muggle town in Yorkshire, only to have their night ruined by their enraged porcelain dishes.

While one neighbor informed the Ministry of Magic, a Muggle neighbor called for the local police. Unfortunately, the Muggle police were just down the road and one of the newer, oblivious trainees apparated on top of a policeman and broke his wrist. Yet another fine example of why graduating does not automatically make you capable of doing anything worthwhile.

After a harried tossing of spells for over 17 people including the family, the mess at hand had been dealt with. The dishes, zooming about the house in unexplainable rages, were also enchanted to have mouths; with which they screamed and bit. The only member of the family that was harmed was the older son of about seventeen. A dish had attempted to gnaw off his large toe and when the Ministry officials entered the house, they found him being shaken upside down, hanging from the dish’s porcelain mouth, almost unconscious from the amount of blood flowing to his head. The rest of the family, a mother and father in their early forties and their younger children, one four and one thirteen, took refuge in the washroom. The parents said that they would have gone for their boy but a number of the dishes had taken to slamming themselves against the washroom door in a weak attempt to get inside.

With the seventeen-year-old boy at St. Mungos and dishes either smashed to bits or rounded up for inspection, the Ministry obliviated nearly half of the neighbors and set out to find out why these dishes had gone rogue.

This was not so difficult. After interviewing one neighbor of magical blood and talking to the family themselves, they had been enlightened with some very crucial information. The father, a store clerk in Diagon Alley, had made a particularly pungent enemy—quite literally. A madman who, though he owns a house complete with a bath and washroom refuses to shower more than once a month, seemed to have grown a rather bitter taste in his mouth toward the family man of forty-two.

The madman, commonly known as ‘Durk’ by the local youth (this is because it is ‘Krud’ spelled backwards—creativity at its finest), spent nearly a month working on a set of porcelain dishes. He eventually enchanted them to become inconsolably enraged at the touch of food. After the catastrophe, the Ministry found out that he was not completely successful, as some of the plates had simply thrown themselves as hard as they could at the glass windows and shattered to bits. ‘Durk’ left these dishes as a gift, boxed and wrapped, on the family’s doorstep. It was signed “From the Shoppe!”

‘Durk’ has been taken into custody and awaits his sentence. The Ministry is issuing an invitation to the magical world that should a box appear on your doorstep that is either unexpected or not signed, one should feel free to bring it by the Ministry for inspection.

With the economy taking such a dive, it’s no wonder people are out of work. Do you find yourself among them? Do you spend all day with a bag of Cheetos, parked in front of your WWW just waiting for destiny to fall from the ceiling and land in your expanding lap?

Well, get up! The Daily Prophet is looking for people to add to our unique and diverse family. People of all shapes and sizes are welcome, just leave the Cheetos at home and bring your working gear because you’ll be going out in the field to find the most interesting stories Britain has to offer!

[http://www.virtual-hogwarts.org/rpg/index.php?showtopic=73930&pid=818674]

February 18 2022

Have problems? Let me make them worse!

Dear Amy,
I have met this wonderful muggle man that I might love but my pureblooded parents don’t approve. They have already picked out a wizard for me to marry but he’s a total idiot. What do you suggest I do about this?
~Mary of Middlesbrough

Dear Mary, You must first choose what is more important to you – your overbearing and (sounds like) annoying parents or your muggle love romance. Once you discover that it’s actually neither as muggles are icky, then you can move on to bigger and better scenes.

Dear Amy,
Help me! I never get recognition for my work, ever. I come up with what I think are the greatest ideas and they either are ignored, or others take them and I end up with no credit. My boss just doesn’t notice me or what I have to offer until someone else offers up with the same idea. What do I do? How can I get my colleagues to stop stealing my ideas? How can I really get myself out there?
– Clara of Canterbury

Dear Clara, You need to be strong! Don’t let anyone walk all over you! You need to find your voice and tell them that your ideas are your ideas and they shouldn’t be stolen. Maybe try copyrighting them. Then everyone but you will be out of a job. Oh, revenge, how it’s sweet.

Dear Amy,
My father says I’m a princess so I’ve asked him for a castle. The thing is, I don’t know if I want a new castle or an old one. Maybe I’ll have both! What do you think?
– Sarah of Newcastle

Dear Sarah, You seem like you’re a spoiled brat who needs a swift kick in the butt. I would love to give you said kick but, although we are magical, magic wouldn’t be enough to make me reach all the way to your rear. I highly doubt your family has the money to build or buy you a castle. Why not ask your father for a unicorn instead?

Dear you youngin’ Amy,
I’m old and no longer in my prime. My eyes are very sensitive, see, so the lights from my muggle neighbor’s house have been blinding me at night when I try to sleep. What do you suggest I do? I don’t need to be arrested to die in Azkaban. Sincerely, Filbert of Brighton

Dear Filbert, Don’t you ever call me a youngin’ again. You don’t see me going around calling old people “oldies” now do you? Anyway, I would punch and/or kick your neighbor. You’re magical, the muggle police would never be able to find you once you fled. However, you’d never be able to return to your house so the whole thing would be for nothing. So then I would suggest you cast a charm around your house to block those lights. Or throw rocks at the lights so they don’t work.

If you’d like to write to Amy, please send a letter to:
Amy, Advice Columnist
The Daily Prophet Offices

by Adam Bentley

One year after Hudson Yates’s tragic death, and Roland and Denise Anders are only beginning to recover.

Their losses were not of a personal nature; they didn’t know Hudson or his family. Rather, they suffered financially.

The Anders’ Bed and Breakfast, Around The Bend, saw a rapid decline in business, and was at one point approaching the edge of financial ruin. They attribute this decline to their proximity to Hogsmeade, the sight of Hudson’s murder. Roland Anders says he’s not the only one suffering. “All of the business around the area got hurt by it, not just us.”

On my request, Roland allowed me to compare his records from the winter holiday after Hudson’s death to the holiday before. There was a steep drop off in guests following the boy’s demise.

Similar stories can be heard all around the U.K., but especially in Scotland. Mr. Anders has his own theory.

“People get murdered everywhere,” Anders pointed out . “It wasn’t the fact that that boy was murdered that hurt business, it was how [the news media] presented it.”

Indeed, the downturn in tourism as charted by economists was far greater than initially predicted. Geoff Grissom, a freelance business analyst, insists that media sensationalism is only half the problem. “There’s a precedent here that people are very concerned about.”

The precedent, as Grissom explains, concerns the murder of Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts student who many consider to be the first victim of The Second Wizarding War. “Last time something like this happened, The Dark Lord resurfaced. What’s going through a person’s mind when they want to book a vacation? I’ll tell you what’s not: putting themselves in the middle of a country that could be on the verge of war.”

To do her part in helping to counteract this fear, Denise Anders has bumped up the inn’s security since last year. “Our floo channels are now open by appointment only, and we’ve had an anti-apparition field placed around the grounds. We also offer Foe-glasses and Dark Detectors by request, free of charge. We want our guests to know that their safety and comfort is our first priority.”

The tightened security certainly didn’t hurt business over the summer, where Around The Bend pulled in its highest revenue since the crime in neighboring Hogsmeade took place. “Not much has happened since then, so people are starting to come around. We just hope something so horrible doesn’t happen again.”

As I left the couple to attend to their inn, I assured them that they weren’t alone in that hope.

As the editor of the Daily Prophet, it is on rare occasion that I am granted the time or energy to write an article. Simply thinking of the amount of time I could spend editing and rewriting the message I am about to convey worries me to a point where the message itself becomes cloudy, and I begin to lose focus. This fear of writing is often what keeps my associates busy, and I would gladly hand this project off to any one of them if it were not so strongly rooted in my heart. So here I sit; frightened of the quill and parchment before me. I’d like to think of this as a public journal entry, so please excuse my informality.

I awoke this morning not to the familiar sound of my alarm clock, but to the dead silence that is often and rightly associated with 3 am, and a name ringing in my ears. Hudson Yates, a boy younger than all of my grandchildren, was killed at the hands of an unknown person on an ordinary trip to Hogsmeade with his classmates. Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of his death. My heart goes out to his family, but the issue I must speak about today is not entirely Hudson-centric.

For twenty years we slept soundly in our beds. Our children played in our gardens well into the night, and save for the occasional cut and scrape, not one of us worried over their safety. For twenty years we felt safe. We felt alive. We frowned at the deaths reported in the papers, but forgot quickly the name of the man who died quietly in his bed, or the woman who mixed the wrong ingredient into her potion. For twenty years we were free from the cold grip of fear.

How many of you have forgotten Hudson Yates’ name?

There is a reason his name can be recalled so effortlessly, and I wonder if I am not the only one who cannot think of Hudson without remembering the name of another young boy whose life was extinguished for no plausible reason. I am sure that I am not the only one who recognised the feelings that arose after learning of Hudson’s death. I can see it when I look down the streets of Diagon Alley, or even the hallways of the Daily Prophet headquarters. It is waning now, with no additional incidents to fuel it, but it shows. It is in the words of my associates, and the actions of each person I meet. It is in the newspapers, and on the wireless. Perhaps for me, it is most noticeable in the eyes of the man I see each day in the mirror. We are fearful.

For twenty years I have tried to quiet a guilty conscience. Tried to tell myself that I did my best to help during the war. However, the longer I try to silence the voice telling me otherwise, the easier it is for me to accept the truth. That the greatest cause of losses during the last war was the complete inaction spurred by the actions of the Minister of Magic and The Daily Prophet. The denial that we projected served only to aid Voldemort in his attempts to seize control of our country. Our world. Us.

The fear we feel now, only a shadow of what we felt back then, should serve as a warning. Perhaps we are making more of this death than it truly is. But what if we’re not? What if we have every reason to be frightened to leave our homes, or let our children play outside? Is it worth the cost to ignore the feeling in our gut? To chalk it up to paranoia, and leave it at that? Is there a single person reading this that can say, without an ounce of doubt, that there is no reason for us to prepare ourselves for the worst?

I pray that we are overreacting. I pray that Hudson’s death is absent of the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded Cedric Diggory’s. I pray that whatever happened that day was the result of an accident or a terrible mistake. I pray that I have no reason to pray these things, but I will not be caught off guard if my prayers go unheard.

On Sunday December the 27th, 2020, the Convention Hall at Millennium Conference Centre in London, England was filled with witches, wizards and goblins alike. There was an event taking place in less than fifteen minutes, and already wands could be spotted out in the open, cooling the wielders with a gentle breeze.

An author, Trista Truelove happened to be there to share with the crowd – of mostly females – her thoughts and opinions. She would also be promoting her new slew of romance books for the fans. I felt oddly singled out, sitting in a row of girls. I was perhaps one of ten to fifteen boys in the hall. And I can safely say that the only reason I was there was because it was all my girlfriend’s fault (no offense, Miss Truelove).

Halfway through her little speech, I was already falling asleep while my girlfriend listened with rapt attention. Her hands clutched her copy of Myrtle Mopps and the Mysterious Muggle, eager to have an autograph on the inside cover, proof that, yes, Eleora Chance met and spoke to a trash novelist.

“There once was a man, whom we all know of. He was a fascinating man and seemingly had an answer for everything. I was fortunate enough to be a pupil at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he was Headmaster. He taught me a great deal about right and wrong. Tolerance and peace. He fought for those things. What else would a Gryffindor fight for?” she had said during her very long winded speech. However, this is the part my knowledge thirsty ears perked up for.

“His death is still shrouded in mystery for us common folk. Those who were there knew only the aftermath of what happened to the Wizarding World’s most loved, and respected wizard of all time.” She later goes on to share with the crowd her plans for the future – a biography of Albus Dumbledore.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the idea. Not out of disrespect for the man or the wizard, but for yet another author who thought their version of Professor Dumbledore’s life was more eye-opening than any of the other hundred’s of biographies on him. I personally think she is fooling herself in thinking she has something better to offer, though I believe her popularity in the Romance novel industry will give her enough credibility to be successful.

I, on the other hand, have access to something she did not.

I found myself in Arthur Weasley’s (the current Headmaster’s) office after the New Year had begun. While waiting on the Headmaster to arrive for our scheduled appointment, I had the opportunity to sit down and talk with the Greatest Wizard the world has ever known – rather, his portrait.

“I don’t think Headmaster Weasley would look too kindly on a student occupying his chair, my boy,” the portrait with a golden plaque stamped with “PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE” informed me. I looked up at the portrait, giddishly happy that I had this chance to take advantage of.

Usually, students paid no mind to the portraits in Hogwarts; their loss, I say, because the portraits hold the key to Hogwarts’ own history and the added bonus of secret passages. I’m not afraid to admit I was a little intimidated by a portrait – just this one.

“I think he’ll be happy I don’t have my feet on his desk,” I replied with a smile. “I’ve read about you before.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes. In fact, there are many biographies written about you.”

“Yes, I suppose there are.”

“I found some inconsistencies after reading a fair few.”

“Ah,” he nodded his head knowingly at me. “Those who are not me do not know what it is like to be me. Tell me what you’ve found.. Forgive me, I do not know your name.”

“Lyceus Falls,” I reply. “It’s true that you have all the memories of – how to put this – the actual Professor Dumbledore right up until he died?” He nodded at me. I caught a slight twinkle in his eye. It was as if he had a sense of understanding about everyone, and everything, and I knew this was something he got from his life well lived. “Several books claim you were pushed from the Astronomy tower that night.”

“Pushed?” he chuckled. “My, it’s wonderful how over the years stories get twisted into something unrecognizable with each telling.” It made sense, but I was still confused. With such a popular subject, I found it difficult to believe the truth that slapped so many people in the face was lost to them. “You will find, Mr. Falls, that there are those who might twist the truth to make sense of something they don’t understand. Or, perhaps it was to cover some tracks.”

“Are you saying that some of these writers might have had a hand in the plot against you?”

“That, I cannot say.” He stroked his white beard. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“Rita Skeeter said some insulting things about you, Professor.”

“Yes, Headmaster Weasley told me about that. We cannot control what people say or do. If people believe the lies, there’s not much to be done to counter it.”

“The truth would,” I told him firmly.

“The same truth that is twisted and obscured with each retelling?” he asked. “At this point in time, there is not much that can be said either way to change anything.”

“But… I could do it,” I told him. “It wouldn’t be someone trying to piece your life together. You could tell me everything, and I could write your biography. It would be the irrefutable account of Albus Dumbedore’s life. Isn’t that worth inspiring our fellow wizardfolk? Isn’t it worth setting the record straight?”

I would let him think on that.

I thanked the portrait for his time, a smile on my face, and a newfound sense to find the truth in things. It was odd that this revelation came from a portrait of all things, but it was what it was. I paused at the door and turned to look at the portrait once more. “One more thing, Professor,” I grab his attention, “just how old were you?”

He smiled with that same twinkle in his eye. “Goodnight, Mr. Falls.”

So, after all of that, I went to the white marble sarcophagus, a rose in my hand that I secretly plucked from the Greenhouse and paid my respects to a man I had never actually met. However, his memory does indeed live on.

Today is the anniversary of his death.

This is a story of a great man, a marvelous mentor, the greatest wizard to ever walk this Earth, and it’s one well known in varying degrees and told with an alarming amount of contradictions through the years before and after his untimely death. It’s just a shame this lowly article will never be read.

Or, apparently, it will.

Underage gambling has taken Hogsmeade by storm as the Triwizard Tournament kicks into full speed. While those ‘champions’ chosen struggle in their tasks, intent upon glory for themselves and their schools, student spectators are reportedly splurging their savings upon guesswork of who the victor shall be.

Ludovic Bagman is the accused personality - the target of these rumours. Bagman makes no secret that he acts as a bookie for the tournament, but denies taking money from children.

“But if I did,” says he, “If I did, you could hardly blame me. How are you meant to tell these days? Some of them are walkin’ around with full grown beards - even the girls!”

The ups and downs of Ludovic Bagman

Ludovic ‘Ludo’ Bagman has a spotted history. Back when yours truly was an extremely young girl, he was put on trial for acting as an informant to deatheaters. Despite (or because) of any discretions, he rose swiftly to act as Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports - a fitting occupation for one who is obsessed not so much with the sports themselves, but with those who win and lose.

This is not the first time he has been accused of betting with youngsters. At the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, which he was assisting to organise, he was known to make many illegal bets. Having lost all proceeds after the match (famous for the reason that the winning team did not possess the winning seeker), Bagman was forgiven his indiscretions.

But it seems he does not learn.

“I’ve been at Hogwarts before,” he says. “I officiated back then. Good times. Great kids. Wouldn’t gamble with them - no, not knowingly.”

There is a charm about Bagman. Is he gambling with the students? If so, there’s no denying that he is scum that should be thrown to the the depths of the lake to lurk with the giant squid.

If not …

He winks at me. “How about a date?”

Where is the smart money?

Ludo says that cunning gamblers should place their money on Durmstrang. “Four strapping young lads - all in their prime, and good sturdy wands. They’re sure to go far.”

If chosen, you stand alone.

Those were the immortal words of Albus Dumbledore – whom we all now know as ‘that dead chap what used to run Hogwarts’, but was once both hailed and vilified as one of the greatest wizards to ever walk the earth.

Whatever your theories on the poor old deady, one thing is for sure. He is eminently quotable, and a tremendous source of wisdom for me.

So I say again – if chosen, you stand alone.

No surprise what the words are in regards to. With so much emphasis on unison and teamwork at the school, it feels somehow wrong that the Triwizard Tournament is all about solitary heroics rather than companionship and cooperation.

Certainly, it purports to be about friendship. After all, we drag our ruddy-faced northern friends and the twinkle-toed gallics to our bosom, don’t we? But think about it – what the tournament is actually about is the right to say one thing. “HAH! We’re better than you!” One school manages to humiliate the others – and not only is it one school that glorifies itself, but it is glorifying itself on the basis of one student, and one student alone.

I’m sure it’s true that one student really can be representative of the entire student body.

After all, we’re all just like Tom Riddle, aren’t we?

In any case, if you’re chosen – yes, you stand alone. You stand alone, you work your guts out. And if you lose? Woe betide you. We’ll have nowt to do with you. But if you win? By damn, let’s share some of your glory!

What more can I say?

Goooooo HOGWARTS!