Abs-owl-utely. Om nom cronch, pleased coo. It glides off down the hallway with owly grace.

His letter is the contact information (address and "floo label") of a witch who can turn the basilisk corpse into (from her perspective) its component substances, and (from Cam's perspective) a pile of gold coins. Also, the information that the local currency is magically distinguishable from counterfeit and he should use the money thus obtained if he wants to buy anything.

Well then. Cam writes a letter to this address indicating that the basilisk is available at Hogwarts, died on thus and such a date, and can be hers for the going rate. "Owl? Hey owl?" he calls.

That owl is long gone, but the note also mentions that there are school owls in the owlery up the south tower.

South he goes, then.

The owlery has a lot of wide-open windows and a faint smell of owl. Post owls seem to have more variety or flexibility in their sleep schedules than regular ones; some of them are alseep and some of them are swooping in and out hunting and some of them turn to stare at him.

He offers a staring screech owl his note.

It inspects the address and lets him tie the letter to its leg before taking off. 

An extremely tiny, extremely blonde girl with huge eyes slips into the owlery behind him and smiles. "Oh, hello. You're that man from the other universe, aren't you."

"That's me, hello."

"You've scared off all the nargles. It's very convenient."

"I've scared off the what? Sorry, in my universe I don't think we have those and I don't seem to have got it as a new vocabulary word in transit."

"It's alright, most people don't know about them. They're little creatures that live in plants and steal things."

"I don't have an explanation for why I would have scared off the nargles but it sounds like they may not be missed."

"They probably won't be, no." She holds up the letter she's carrying. "I'm writing to my father about you. He runs The Quibbler."

"Oh dear. Press. I guess I have no grounds to intercept you."

"Are you worried about being in the paper? He might want to interview you, but if you aren't interested I can tell him that."

"I don't think I'd prefer to be in the paper but I do think the freedom of the press is important."

The child beams at him. "That's just what daddy always says. He writes about things the Ministry doesn't want people to know."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Like Minister Fudge's secret army of heliopaths. Also the existence of crumple-horned snorkacks, though I'm not sure if the Ministry is trying to hide them or just doesn't believe in them."

"I'm afraid I've never heard of either, but I'm learning a lot of new things lately."

"Well, I could loan you my copy of the latest edition so you can see if you want to subscribe."

"Sure, why not."

She fishes a thin magazine (printed on normal paper, for once) out of her bag and holds it out. The cover features a moving picture of an elderly academic-looking witch and the headline "BATHILDA BAGSHOT: SECRETLY SEVERAL BADGERS IN A ROBE?"

All right, fine, what is the evidence for this old woman being secretly several badgers in a robe.

She eats a suspicious amount of frogs' legs, never wears clothes that show anything between her neck, wrists, and ankles, and has on multiple occasions had to leave events on no notice.