The not-so-roving reporter watched with heavy eyes as the teachers and support staff of Hogwarts gathered to what seemed to be a routine meeting. Not exciting at all, and if Christopher were to have listened close enough he might have heard a few mentions of rule breaking from students. Hardly news in the real world, it was best if his attention was diverted back to wallowing in absolute misery, to engage himself in the grasps of melancholia and wish for the present to be dulled in the effects of alcohol. As he reached for his whiskey, and considered lighting up a cigarette, the man jumped as the door exploded and a figure enter into the Hogs Head which was different from the others. In a split second, the dank homeliness of the tavern had been gutted to induce thoughts of threat and danger. The small man that walked from the wreckage of the entrance held forth a wand, hardly something one would do when entering a drinking establishment then in the dim light, one could see the glint of the white mask. A Death Eater.

Another followed, cloaked in black and formidable looking as they uttered hexes and spells and all Christopher could do was watch from his quiet corner as the situation erupted. They were aiming for the teachers, the esteemed colleagues of Albus Dumbledore and in Chris mind he managed to catch on to that thrill of a good news story despite the tragic outcome. One after another, the Death Eaters arrived and Christopher felt that surreal tug in his stomach fight or flight. He was no wonder at wandwork, which is why hed opted for a sorry career in writing. It was only instinct for him to hide. Sliding from his chair, he knew he couldnt leave. This chance for a comeback was too much to resist.

As he watched the barstools fly up around him, and the spells deflect from various surfaces, the man hastily plunged his hand into his pocket and brought out his trusty quill and notepad. While others were screaming, and trying to escape or getting injured in the crossfire, the man muttered a few words and bit the end of his quill, allowing it to scurry back and forth across the pages as it described through magical means, the circumstances. Christopher noted the spells being flung, including the unforgivables and was selfishly pleased that he was in the thick of it. He was in danger, yet in that danger he thought of nothing but informing the public of this disastrous attack against the Professors of the school. The public would think he was marvellous, his wife might come back to him he simply must stay and watch. Christopher was by all means a selfish man. The excitement of possessing such a story dulled the threat of death and injury. The fear of the Death Eaters was prevalent in his mind, but he knew they were fixed on the Hogwarts gathering, for reasons unknown.

The quill scribbled vague descriptions of each of the participants, the menacing growl of a female death eater who favoured spells that were gruesome against a woman, whos quickness with her wand could only be due to specific training. Christophers mind was reeling as the spells came, one after another, in unison a complexity of yelps and flashes as they deflected or struck.

Protego, Stupefy, Imperio, Arceo, Incarcerous, Crucio

On and on it went, and soon it came perilously close. Christopher believed that he was safe under the shield of his table, until suddenly a charm hit the tabletop and caused it to virtually shatter into wood splinters. Forced down onto his stomach from the impact, Christopher frantically rummaged among the wood for his notebook and his quill, still faithfully scribbling on.

the fear escaladed as furniture and other solid objects disintegrated from the violence of the curses. Everyone in the tavern at risk of an untimely death from the hands of these Death Eaters, as Dumbledore watched, formulating his best response to the attack.

Moving it protectively to his chest, the man crawled until he reached another table, upturned against the wall. He eased himself between the crevice between the two objects and watched objectively at the scene, trying to escape that notion that he might possibly be in danger. The stern looking woman, her eyes alert and actions swift and smooth with a quick manner atypical of an Auror suddely shrieked in response to a shrouded figures curse, and even in the presence of the Unforgivables being thrown about, Chris felt more determination to record this story than anything else. The young man who was in the presence of the Professors of Hogwarts, though in pain managed to bring down one of the Death Eaters.

A sudden streak of green shrouded the company in an eerie glow as the accursed unforgivable was announced, Christopher turned his head to the voice and was expecting to see a masked figure with their wand outstretch. To his horror, it was a younger man, his features distorting as he realised the outcome. Christopher knew of him, Leathan Collier, a respected auror. Knowing that a murder had been committed, the man watched on as finally, Dumbledore ended all things and one by one, everyone disapprated and left the Hogs Head in virtual ruins. To him, it was the story of the century, Christopher felt both blessed to have witnessed it and be given a chance to redeem his career but disgusted to have seen the Unforgivable performed by an auror, of all people.