The Heart of Things

Blair MacLean rounded the corner onto Pennsylvania Avenue, armed with a latte and briefcase. Her copper hair was arranged in a neat twist, though it seemed a bit wild, as if the pins wouldn’t really hold it. A spotless black skirtsuit and matching black heels gave her a formidable, successful-feminist-businesswoman look. She looked as if she should be on Law and Order.

But as remarkably in-place as she seemed, the fact remained that she was a witch. Not one of the spell-chanting, nature-worshipping variety, nor that of butt-kicking and demon-vanquishing. If one was to categorize her, she would be put in the Halloween-witch category , the sort that rode a broom and brandished a magic wand and sometimes wore a pointy hat (but only on the most formal of occasions). She was even particularly proud of her evil cackle. She and her kind portrayed every trait that Muggles had applied to witches and wizards to sell Halloween decorations. Nowadays, heading up the American Muggle Relations Office, it was a constant struggle to keep them believing the same silly stereotypes. And with all the witch hype going around, Blair was working overtime.

She flashed her security badge at the guards watching the west gate at the White House. They waved her in, opening the gates just enough for her to get through. She noticed they were heavily armed, which wasn’t surprising. Security was so tight in this place, an ant couldn’t get onto the grounds without setting off a thousand alarms.

Blair smiled to herself. The whole process of getting to work each morning was all very sneaky, and she often allowed herself to switch into the childish fantasy that she was an international spy, or something to that effect. It all got rather boring once she got through all the codes and searches and sliding electric doors. At least, boring to her.

Very few Muggles would find the U.S. Department of Sorcery at all boring. Nestled 10 stories below the White House, it was almost the sort of thing you would see in an action film, the secret headquarters of an underground organization. Naturally, the President and his closest advisors knew of it, along with a handful of Congress members and FBI agents.
But once Blair sat in her cubicle and starting leafing through the mound of paperwork on her desk, it all became quite unmagical to her.

“Morning, Blair,” greeted the blond witch at the front desk, “You’d better find Becker. He’s ripping his hair out over some crisis or another.”
“Not surprising. With Pottermania on the rise, things are going to start getting hectic around here.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate the fact that I’m just a secretary,”

“As you should. But I get pretty good bribe money for doing the dirty work, though. No one wants to deal with Muggles.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” The secretary slid Blair’s elevator card across the desk and smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Theresa. Have a great day.”

Blair turned and made for the elevator, swiping her card, then punching the ‘down’ button. The disembodied ‘elevator voice’, as she liked to call it, came on and began to announce the floors they were arriving at as they moved deeper into the earth.

“Level Ten, Office of International Magical Cooperation, Offices of Magical Ambassadors, Office of Magical Entertainment.

Level Nine, Office of Magical Beast Control, Office of Biomagical Research, and Office of Magical-Genetic Studies.

Level Eight, Office of Magical Law Enforcement, Office of Magical and Forensic Research, Office for the Control of Improper Magic Use, and Auror Offices.

Level Seven, Office of Muggle Relations, Office of Magical Security, and Obliviator’s Offices.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Blair, stepping through the doors as they slid open at Level Seven. Things were quiet, with everyone busy at work in their cubicles. She walked leisurely down the hall to her office, tipping the last drop of coffee into her mouth. The door opened to her touch, and she wasn't even given the chance to close it behind her when she was attacked.

“Mary Mother of God! Where the hell have you BEEN!!??”

Blair wasn’t surprised to see her assistant, Pete Becker, glaring at her, his face an unnatural combination of purple and red.

“Now really, Becker, keep that temper in check, will you?” She held up her empty latte cup to show him, before tossing it into the trashcan. “There was a line at Starbucks.”

But she knew joking wouldn’t get her out of this one. Something big (and very bad) had happened.

“Why today? Today of all days, you had to be late.”

“Well, Becker, I wasn’t informed there was such an emergency, or I would have come in early. Christ, I’m only fifteen minutes late. Just...take a deep breath.”

He did as she asked, but he still looked pained, as if he had ingested one too many fire crabs.

“Now. Will you please explain what’s causing you to verbally vomit all over my pleasant morning?” said Blair.

“Would you like me to put it bluntly, or should I break it to you gently?”

“Go ahead and give it to me hard, Becker. I can take it.”

“All right, just remember you’re the one who asked for it.”

He took a deep breath.

“Okay. Well. As you know, the first installment of an unauthorized biography depicting the life and times of Harry Potter was released to the Muggle public a little over a year ago, cleverly titled Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. The Ministry of Magic has so far been successful at keeping Mr. Potter unaware of these events.”

All the color drained out of Blair’s face. She knew exactly what Becker was about to say next.

“Shit!" she hissed.

“To say the least.”

“How?”

“It was only a matter of time, as you put it to me last week. It was actually a friend of his, Miss-" he consulted the file folder in his hand, “-Her-mee-own Granger who discovered it. She was browsing through a London bookshop and must have somehow discovered the Concealment Charm. To make a long story short, she found the source and performed the counterspell.”

Blair cursed under her breath. "All they did to hide the book from Potter and friends was a Concealment Charm? Are they out of their minds?"

“Oh, I'm sure of it," said Becker, going back to his explanation. "Of course she went straight to Potter, who went straight to the Minister of Magic, who went straight to the Prime Minister, who went straight to Rowling, who maintains beyond reasonable doubt that the idea tumbled fully-formed into her mind on a train ride.”

“Oh, right.”

“That’s what I thought too. Nevertheless, Potter’s pissed beyond all thought and imagination. I hear from the Minister that he was in such a rage when he came to the Minister’s office that he knocked over the man’s desk.”

Blair sighed. “Okay, get to the ugly part.”

“What?”

“The part that involves me, on my hands and knees, cleaning up someone else’s shit.”

“Oh, right. Well, Potter’s out for blood. Not only is he suing Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic, but he’s demanding quite a sum from the Ministry of Magic for knowing about the books and doing nothing.”

“I get it. So we get the same deal, right?” Blair sighed, pushing loose hair away from her face.

“Oh, you bet. Ten million in dollars. Apparently his reputation was, and I quote, ‘damaged.’”

“Wait, I’m still lost. How does this fall on Muggle Relations’ turf?”

Becker ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Well, since the book was released to Muggles, and Potter is suing two Muggle companies, it’s up to you to keep it as quiet as possible. You along with Ambassador Michael Weir and head of International Magical Cooperation, Patricia Blythe.”

Blair looked at her watch. “Dammit. And I was going to have lasagna tonight.”

“My condolences. But we have a meeting in five, and the Secretary will be sure to fill you in on all the delightful little details.”

“Great. I'm totally pumped,” sighed Blair in the most lackadaisical way she could manage.

“Glad you’re excited about it, because I’m positively dreading it.”

Blair smiled sarcastically and faked a British accent. “Oh, come on now, Becker, you know how perfectly lovely London is this time of year!”

Becker grimaced. “Tut-tut, it looks like rain.”