Frederick gave a casual shrug at the question. The Prophet didn't pay him enough to send him somewhere he couldn't return from (unless they were going to be issuing advances for room and board while he was out, which was a luxury generally saved for the reporters who actually cared about the quality of their writing, which, most days, he didn't), so there was little chance of him being dispatched to Irvingly, he thought. And if he was, it would only be for an afternoon, and he'd be apparating back to Hogsmeade in time to get his evening copy in to the press.

"I'll go wherever they send me," he said indifferently. "It'll depend on what else is happening. If it just stays the way it is — fog in Irvingly and nothing else — that won't really be news," he pointed out. Of course, that might not stop them from reporting on it, if there wasn't anything better to write about. He'd certainly spun stories out of less source material, before.

"They'll probably have one of the Ministry shills write the story for when it finally clears up," he added. "Since they'll want a nice puff-piece." Freddie didn't write those kinds of stories. Not that his own writing had much more in the way of substance, they just generally weren't as kind to their subjects.