"Not unless the culprit turns themselves in out of the goodness of her—or his—heart," her answer came, accompanied by a sigh. Though she was leading the charge against the person(s) responsible, little evidence had turned up—little of anything had turned up. It was simply a parade of half-leads and dead-ends and bizarre new marriages.

She loathed it.

"Tell me, Skeeter," she could not help but mentally flinch at the name, for all that there were dozens who bore it, "how did you escape these arranged love-traps? Surely you're as public a face as any, what with working at Hogwarts and all."