Disclaimer: I do not own any thing you recognise--otherwise you would be buying this in the store, not looking at it on here--but am only borrowing them for a time being. I will give them back Miss Rowling, I promise. Well, except Snape.


Dear Calus,

I am 102 and a widower of three years. My wife died in a car accident; no healer could save her. Although I know I should move on now, I just cannot. I miss her too much, Calus. My children and friends tell me I should go out and date women, to let my wife, Ruby, go; but I feel like that would be disrespecting her. What should I do, Calus?

-Dufftown Deceased Lover

Dear Dufftown,

You bloody imbecile, she is dead! Your wife "Ruby" is never coming back, you pathetic man. She is six feet under and unless she chose to return as a ghost—which I doubt since I know if I were married to such a sad excuse for a wizard, I would look to the afterlife as a way out to myself—you're never going to see her again, got it? Moreover, you should not even try to date because you will probably just sit there boring your dates to death with stories of your wife. Here is what you should do: stop writing newspapers because they aren't going to give you the answer you want, alright? Go out and get drunk at a pub every night because there is nothing else for you.

Dear Calus,

I read your column everyday, watching as poor souls write to you for advice and you give them the worst sort on top of an insult. Don't you know that these people look up to you? They need your help, help from an admired person. You influence many people, Calus, and as such should watch what you say. In addition, quit being so mean! I will admit that even though I have no clue who you really are or what you look like, I don't like you.

-Empathetic from London


You don't like me? Then why do you read my bloody column? If you don't like what I say then quit picking up the damn paper and reading this! In addition, I will not glaze everything with icing just because you think I'm mean. I will say whatever the fuck I want to say and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. And those "poor souls" that write in? If they really want my advice, let them ask for it. Because if they wanted some psychiatry-type bullshit you'd probably give them, they would be asking you, now wouldn't they?

It was the newest thing to hit the magical part of London. No one knew where it came from but the "Ask Calus" column just suddenly appeared in The Daily Prophet, throwing out insults. Ginny couldn't get enough of it, and I suspect, harboured fantasies about this mystery man.

I tried to point out that this could be some two hundred year-old pervert and also that she was married but she was quite like a person standing out in the rain without an umbrella, refusing to get wet.

To be honest though, I was curious as to whom the mystery was; who was this Calus person and where did he get off thinking we should hear what he said?

I read his column everyday trying to get a small peek into the man—he'd stated in one of his earlier columns that he was male—behind the curtain. And being a reporter for The Quibbler—which had become a rather credible newspaper after the article on Harry—I could do just that.

I wasn't looking to make the front page; I was just looking to reveal the identity of Calus--Calus Who? Also, I thought, if Ginny's fantasy image of him was ruined, she'd stop obsessing over him. Therefore, I decided to go undercover and apply for a job at The Daily Prophet, with the advice of my boss, Mr. Robert Lovegood, and my promise to publish my findings.

A/N: This is the first story I have published so pleasepleasepleaseplease let me know what you think! I will take all forms of reviews: criticisms, complements, flames...just review!

Another A/N: Can anyone find out where I got the name Calus? I will give you a hint: it isn't Latin...

Thanks loads to my LOVELY betas for your wisdom. (bows deeply)

Next chappie...Hermione's disguise...