"Don't try to intimidate me," Martin said, obviously quite intimidated in spite of himself. "I just wanted to show you that I know your tricks. I've been watching and studying you for quite some time. You won't be getting me to drink any of your potions or performing any brainwashing tricks on me. I'll answer your questions, but only because I expect you to answer some of mine, as well."

        Neville fingered his wand. "And why, pray tell, do you believe we won't just bring in an Obliviator, have your mind wiped of all memory of this place, and drop you off at the nearest turnpike?"

        Martin tapped the tiny microphone clipped to his lapel. "This is why. My voice, and everything all of you are saying, is being sent through my phone to a computer at my office. Everything is being recorded. In a small town not three kilometers from here is a film crew and a group of experts in a variety of fields whom I have asked to assist me in my investigation--"

"Investigation!" the Headmistress repeated incredulously. "Absolutely and unequivocally out of the question!"

        Martin overrode her. "One of those individuals is an agent of the British special police."

        James felt a palpable silence descend over the room at the mention of the Muggle police. He knew from conversations he'd heard between his dad and other Ministry officials that it was one thing to Obliviate a single person or even a contained group, but things could get extremely complicated if any official Muggle investigative bureaus became involved.

        "It pays to be owed favors in high places," Martin went on. "It took quite a lot to get a ranking agent out here, but I am confident that this is the sort of story one calls in large favors for. There is no official charge yet, of course. Merely curiosity, since there is no record of any establishment of this size in the area. The point is this: if they do not receive a phone call from me in the next two hours with directions for how to get their gear onto the grounds, they are to return immediately to the office, retrieve the recording of this conversation and everything that has occurred to me here so far, and broadcast it however they see fit. It may seem preposterous to most people, I grant. A school in a castle in the dead of nowhere teaching kids how to work real magic, wands and all. But your secret will be out, nevertheless. Your students may attend here, in this secret location, but they do sometimes go home, do they not? And I am willing to bet those homes are nowhere near as protected as this. There will be investigations. You will be revealed. One way or another."

        Headmistress McGonagall's face was as hard and white as a tombstone. She merely stared at the skinny man in the white shirt. Franklyn broke the silence.

        "My good sir, you cannot comprehend what you are asking." He took off his glasses and stepped in front of Martin. "Your plan would undeniably result in the closing down of this school and possibly many others like it. All those present, and many, many more, would lose their livelihoods and educations. More importantly, what you are insisting upon is the re-introduction of the entire magical world into the world of Muggles, whether either is prepared for that or not. And to what end? Not for the betterment of mankind, I expect. No, I suspect that your aspirations are far more… myopic. Please, do think before you continue. There are forces at work here that you do not comprehend, although you may well be acting on behalf of some of them. I sense that you are not a bad man, or at least not yet a very bad man. Think, my friend, before you make a choice that will condemn you in the eyes of generations."

        Martin listened to Franklyn's words, and seemed to actually consider them. Then, as if snapping out of a daze, he said, "You're Benjamin Franklin, aren't you?" He grinned and waggled a finger at Franklyn. "I knew you looked familiar! That's amazing. Look, I know you're not in a position to discuss this right now, but I have two words for you: exclusive… interview. Think about it, right?"

         "Mr. Prescott," the Headmistress said, her voice stony. "You cannot expect us to make a decision regarding this in a matter of minutes. We simply must discuss this."

"Indeed," Neville added. "Even if we do agree to your conditions, you must conduct yourself upon our terms. How that can be of any benefit to us considering the sheer magnitude of what you are undertaking, I do not yet know. But regardless, we must have some time."

        "As I said," Martin replied, seeming far more comfortable now that he believed he had the upper hand, "you have two hours. Well, ninety-four minutes, actually."

        "Answer me this, Mr. Prescott," Franklyn said, sighing. "How did you get onto the school grounds? Before we go any further with this charade, we must know that."

Martin sighed lightly. "Got a chair? It's rather a story."

        Neville pointedly produced his wand. Never taking his eyes off Martin, he pointed the wand at a wooden chair in the corner and levitated it rather brusquely. The chair shot forward, nearly scooping Martin off his feet. The man plopped gracelessly onto the seat and the chair thunked to the floor.

        "Do continue," Neville said, half sitting on a corner of the Headmistress' desk. McGonagall settled into her chair, but remained ramrod straight. Franklyn and James continued to stand.

        "Well, I first got the letter telling me about this place in September of last year," Martin said, leaning forward and rubbing his backside while staring angrily at Neville. " The View offers a hundred thousand poundreward for proof of paranormal activity, and the gentleman that wrote the letter seemed to think that this Hogwarts place would offer such proof in spades. Honestly, we get thousands of letters a year from people hoping to collect the reward. They include everything from blurry pictures of tossed pie plates to actual slices of toast with the faces of saints burned onto them. The Viewnever actually had any plans to reward the money. They like a nice dash of the inexplicable in the news from time to time, but when it comes to belief, most of them are the most cynical bunch of hardheads imaginable.

        "Me, on the other hand, I'm the sort of guy who wants to believe. It wasn't the tone of the letter that got my attention, though. It was the little item the sender had included in the envelope. A little box containing something called a 'Chocolate Frog'. I expected it might have some novelty spring-snakes in it, at best, so being a sport, I went ahead and opened it. Sure enough, there was a perfect little chocolate frog inside. I was just about to grab it and take a bite when the thing lifted its head and looked right at me. I just about dropped the box. Next thing I know, the frog leaps straight out of the box and onto my desk. It was a hot day, and the thing had just come in with the post. Good thing, too, cause the little bugger had gotten a little melty. Left little chocolaty frog footprints all over that night's copy. Three good hops, then the frog just putters out. I was afraid to touch it, but five minutes later, it still hadn't moved. I had time to determine that it had just been a normal frog covered in chocolate. Some joke. Thing probably had suffocated from the stuff, and from the heat of being in the box. So I went ahead and scooped it back up and sure enough, the thing was just chocolate. Good chocolate, too, I might add.