Chapter 4- February 9, 2012: Conflict
The game had ended quickly; so quickly, in fact, that most fans had not yet found their seats when a large collective groan was heard from the American contingent. There was a lot of grumbling to be heard as people walked out of the stadium. "How much were those tickets again? And for what? Five minutes?" A few of the more adventuresome had even tried to storm the ticket office demanding a full refund.
Even though the California Falcons were considered one of the best of the American teams, currently leading the Sierra division by 140 points, today was not their day. The Cannons star seeker, John Sparks, caught the snitch in near record time. He had just throw the falcons for a loop, performing the very difficult Krum Maneuver, when the snitch suddenly appeared right under his nose. It actually took a minute or two for him to realize what had happened. The rest of the team had their own problems, however, and were unaware the game had come to an end until three loud and long whistles were heard from the referee.
In the post-game interviews, James Carter the Cannons coach was quick to admit he felt lady luck had certainly changed her address today. He had noted that if the Snitch had not been found so early, the Falcons' offense very well might have crushed them in the end. Within that ten-minute span, the Falcons had scored four goals and kept the Cannons chasers stymied, not allowing a single point. The game had ended, rather anti-climatically, 150- 40.
Most of the more devoted fans stayed, since they knew that they would not be entirely disappointed. As expected, the players stayed on the field, performing midair stunts and handing out free merchandise for at least an hour after the game's end. Near the end of the hour after the show, the players swooped onto different parts of the stands and signed autographs for their fans. The players basked in the glow of the fan worship, smiling cockily as only professional athletes could.
Harry Potter was a bit displeased to note that Ron Weasley, famous Chaser of the Chudley Cannons, had landed in a section of the stands that was as far away as he could have been from Harry. Harry looked at the crowd, trying to find a way to get through the fans without being swept up in the mass himself. Luckily, John Sparks landed only a few rows down from Harry, causing a flood of fans rushing to meet him, and leaving Harry an open path to where Ron stood.
Harry quickly ascended the stairs. To avoid the occasional fan wanting to meet the famous ex-Seeker, Harry had taken a precaution to prevent being recognized. Instead of seeing the famous face with the green eyes and the messy black hair, the curious bystander would see the round, happy face of Neville Longbottom, Harry's friend and lawyer. A little bit of Polyjuice Potion had transformed all but his voice, and Harry was in no mood for chatter.
Harry waited quietly on the outskirts of the fans gathered around Ron Weasley, standing unobtrusively and waiting for the hubbub to settle down. He waited nearly ten minutes before he remembered the fanaticism of most Quidditch followers. I could be waiting here a long time, he thought wryly to himself, and decided to step forward and make himself heard. He nudged past a few of the other fans, drawing a few grumbles and a few stares.
When Harry reached the front of the crowd surrounding the Chaser, Ron was busy signing the T-shirt of a pretty girl, grinning all the while. With a black sharpie, he scribbled something that could barely be recognizable as "Love ya, Ron Weasley" on top of her breasts. The crowd surrounding him cheered wildly, and the girl reached up and kissed him on the cheek. She whispered something in his ear, and his grin grew even bigger as he released her.
Harry cut in front of the next fan getting ready to talk to Ron, drawing a muffled curse from the fat man. Ron looked at him, his face unrecognizing, and Harry waited until he saw the recognition flood his eyes.
"Well I'll be," Ron said, smiling, "if it isn't Neville Longbottom from Hogwarts! How've you been, man? Come here!" Ron leaned forward and hugged him tightly.
"Actually, not quite right," Harry said quietly in Ron's ear, not disguising his voice. "Remember a little potion we made in Myrtle's bathroom second year?"
Harry had to give Ron some credit- neither his posture nor his expression changed in the slightest way when he heard Harry's voice. He simply released Harry from the hug naturally, slipping a pass into Harry's hand discreetly. He smiled at the rest of his fans, and mounted his broomstick. A loud groan slipped out of those who had not had the chance to talk to him yet, and Harry saw out of the corner of his eye many angry glares directed at him.
Before anyone could throw projectiles or insults at Harry, however, Ron lifted into the air. The crowd quickly quieted down once they saw that the famous Quidditch player had something else to say.
Ron waved again, giving a cocky grin as he guided his broomstick to a halt ten feet from the stands. "Thank you all for your support," he shouted. "We'll be back for the Inter-Continental Quidditch Cup Finals, I promise! And I'll be keeping you in mind!" he grinned and pointed to the pretty girl whose chest sported Ron's autograph. A roar answered him, and the girl blew him a kiss. He turned around and zoomed away out of sight, towards the exit. As if his exit was a cue, the rest of the Quidditch players that had been greeting their fans lifted into the air, and left the stadium.
Everyone seemed to realize that the show was now finally over. Groups and groups of the wizards were still arguing loudly over which player was the hottest or the amazing moves pulled by players on both teams (no one disputed the fact that Michelle Tea, the California Falcons Chaser, had been the best player out of both teams on the pitch). They walked through the exits en mass, creating a jam worthy of any logistician's nightmare. It was apparent that wizards were no better than Muggles in keeping in an orderly fashion.
Harry slipped through the crowd, after having read the inscription that Ron had written on a note on top of the pass:
Meet at Gate 3B
Show this Pass to the Door Guards
Bring Your Transport There
His transport, as Ron had so briefly stated, was an old model BMW. After the Second Great War, when terrorism had almost completely destroyed three Quidditch stadiums during matches, anti-Apparating charms had been places on a great number of public places. It was a slight inconvenience, but after ten years of finding ways to show up at the games, the wizards found it hardly a nuisance now. Most wizards saw it as good fun, and driving a car to the match had become as much a part of the whole ritual as eating hot dogs at Muggle baseball games.
Gate 3B was a mostly unknown exit from the Quidditch stadium. Unlike most of the exits, which led straight into Los Angeles, 3B led out to a parking lot that led straight to the California Freeway 10 West. Only a few miles out of Los Angeles, it was an easy act to drive back into the city. And there was the added bonus of less traffic.
The front passenger door opened, and Harry/Neville stepped out. He took a quick glance around the scenery, and took in the guards in front of a nondescript door. He nodded, and ducked his head back inside the car. He said to Neville, who was driving, "Looks like this is 3B. I'll go check things out." The Neville-driving-the-car nodded.
Harry/Neville stepped around the front of the car briskly, and walked calmly towards the two huge guards. They didn't budge as the ordinary-looking Harry approached, only staring back at him through those opaque black sunglasses. The muscles on their arms bulged as they simultaneously crossed their arms across their chests.
"May I help you?" The one on the right asked in a vapid voice. Harry was instantly reminded of the finer days, when Draco Malfoy always attempted to bully him with his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. This man was the splitting image of what Harry imagined Crabbe would look now. His hands itched to yank those glasses off his face, to see if he had the same squinty eyes.
"I was told to meet Ronald Weasley here. Has he come by yet?" Harry asked in a soft, commanding voice. The two guards looked at each other, only moving their heads, then stared back at him. Faint grins grew on their faces. They tilted their heads slightly, to tower more over Harry. Harry, nonplussed, stared back into the black glasses of the one who had spoken to him. After, all, Harry had fought face-to-face with Voldemort. No silly guards could intimidate him after that experience.
Finally, the guard spoke. "No. No one is allowed here- this is restricted to Quidditch players only. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Harry shook his head. "As I stated before, the Quidditch player Ronald Weasley told me to meet him here with my car. Here's the note he gave me." He pulled the small note out from his coat pocket and shoved it towards the Crabbe look-alike. He made no motion to grab it out of Harry's hand, but only tilted his head down further.
After a slight pause, he shook his head. "I don't know Mr. Weasley's handwriting, nor would I let you in even if I did know it. Rules are rules. Leave now or I'll be forced to take you out by force." The other guard nodded slowly.
Despite his many experiences with obstinate, idiot guards, such as the one in front of him, Harry began to feel a bit annoyed. After all, hadn't he shown the guard the evidence? Despite his wishes, Harry started to frown, and unconsciously began to tap his foot on the floor, irritated.
Before things could escalate further, however, the door suddenly opened, and Ron stepped out. His hair was freshly combed, and his skin had the look of having been recently washed. He flashed a winning smile at the two guards and walked forward towards Harry. He said over his shoulder, "Good job you two are doing. Thanks Patrick, Jason."
Patrick - the guard who had been so idiotic with Harry - gave a silly grin, and replied, "We'll see you later, Mr. Weasley." Harry shot him a dirty look, then turned and walked with his friend Ron.
"Hello, Ron, it's great to see you. I must say, great security this place has," Harry said. "I'm sure I could have stunned both those idiots and barged in through the restricted area in five seconds flat." He directed Ron towards the BMW, and reaching there first, opened the back door for Ron. "Get in."
Ron smiled. "Hey, Harry my man. I'm sure you could have gotten past those incompetents. Then you would have been stopped by the anti-terrorist Auror team that was lounging inside maybe twenty meters away." Ron ducked his head to enter the car. He glanced at the driver, and started at seeing another Neville. He nodded at Neville-driving-the-car. "Hey, Neville- or should I say, Dean?"
Neville smiled back. "Hey, Ron. No, it's really me, Neville. Now get in so that we're not wasting the A/C. I'm killing the environment plenty already." Ron leaned into the car and sat down on the black leather seat, not hurrying in the slightest. Harry closed the door, ran around the front of the car, then entered on the front passenger side. Almost immediately after Harry closed the door, the car leaped into motion, turning towards the exit in a squeal of tires.
It was silent inside the car, except for the almost imperceptible drone of the air conditioning. Ron and Harry both clipped on their safety belts, using the time to try to ready themselves to break the awkwardness between them all. No one knew how to broach the reason why they had stopped being part of the Trio, and no one knew which memories would be too touchy to talk about. Neville looked intently for signs directing him where to drive, but none appeared. He stopped the car at a crossroads, pulling over to the side, and turned to face Ron.
"You're looking as fit as you did at the Scotland Quidditch Championship, Ron. Have to say that the goal you made against Steve Zilstra cinched the win. Too bad Ms. Tea rolled over your team today like you weren't even there!" He said, grinning. Ron shook his head and raised his hands in protest.
"It was all Nicky's doing, I tell ya. And it's not my fault- Michelle is amazing at handling her broomstick." All three in the car nodded thoughtfully. Ron grinned mischievously. "Wonder how good she'd be at handling mine?"
Good-natured groans came from the front seat. "Lord, Ron, you haven't changed a bit since joining the Cannons. Still acting like you're trying to beat Wilt Chamberlain's record, huh?" Neville said, smiling. He put his hands on the wheel again, and turned his head to look towards the right for oncoming traffic. His eyes caught Harry's for a moment, and Harry could read clearly the message written in Neville's eyes: Things have changed, Harry.
Yes, things have changed, Harry thought, but perhaps not for the worse. Nothing ever stays the same, after all. Perhaps I could become the best of friends to this Ron, just as we were in Hogwarts.
"Who's Wilt Chamberlain?"
"Don't worry about it, Ron. Just a joke."
The car began moving again, cutting through Harry's thoughts. The BMW swerved as it took the tight turn that sent all three straining against their seat belts.
"Hey!" Ron exclaimed as he was yanked to the right. His body immediately rebounded, pulled back by the seat belt. "Neville, don't do that! And for your information, I prefer the term 'fan relations.'"
Harry nodded. "He's right, Neville, don't drive so quickly. We've got nothing but time." He looked back at Ron once more, who had a discomforted look on his face. His eyes flickered between the two sitting in front of him. Suddenly, Harry understood.
"Don't worry, Ron, the Polyjuice will wear off in a bit," he said grinning. Ron could tell that it was so; at that moment, the round face characteristic of Neville began to give way to the more angular features of Harry Potter. Ron leaned back and sighed.
"I must say," he said, grinning slightly, "That's a relief. It's more than a bit unsettling to see two Neville Longbottoms sitting at the front of the car. Sod it all; I'd never have guessed that bumbling old Neville would be driving a car. I'm still half-expecting him to drive right into the tunnel wall!" With a loud chuckle, he leaned back into the seat of the car and stared at the ceiling of the car. His two old friends laughed along with him, sounding only slightly uncomfortable.
Neville cleared his throat. "You do know I'm sitting like a foot away from you, right?"
Ron shrugged. "Despite what you said earlier, I'm still hoping that you're Dean or Seamus or someone else Polyjuiced. I'm still waiting for your face to melt off."
Neville shook his head. "Don't try to joke anymore, because you just can't cut it. The last two you said were horrible! And that old joke about the broomstick riding? They're worse than the ones Flitwick tried to tell us when we were leaving Hogwarts!"
Harry almost snorted when the awful memories of those horrible puns hit him once more. Ron gasped theatrically, grabbing at his heart. "Oh, you do me wrong!" He exclaimed. They broke out into skittish laughter, then went quiet.
They continued down the tunnel in a tensed silence, a tension created by years of neglect and politely ignoring each other at public functions. Each kept his own thoughts to himself, wondering about a few things that were closer to the others' thoughts than they would have guessed. The black BMW moved briskly through the tunnel, lit hauntingly by the occasional yellow halogen light dangling from the ceiling. The silence grew longer; the tension became as palpable as a hazy fog, enveloping everything in the car.
Then, like a boon given by the gods themselves, the tunnel finally ended. The dreary repetition of flickering lights gave way to the welcome light of the sun, bathing them all in its golden light. The three blinked simultaneously, and Neville flipped down the sun visor quickly. The car sped up a little, no longer confined within the narrow walls of the exit tunnel.
There was a visible change in those old friends. A slight relaxation of the shoulders, a leaning back in the chair, an uncurling of the fingers; they were all insignificant nothings, below the notice of everyone else. But still, those nothings began the healing process, the process to heal the gap that had been laid between them by the years of adulthood. Neville changed lanes quickly and expertly through the traffic, and finally arrived in the left-most lane.
Harry leaned forward and pressed a button on the dashboard, and instantaneously the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra filled the air. Harry sank back into his leather chair, and turned his head. "You remember, Ron, when we knocked Snape across the room together with our spells?"
Ron laughed out loud. Leaning forward enthusiastically, he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "Or when we Body-Binded poor old Neville here? Now that was funny!"
Neville took his right hand off the wheel for a moment and hit Ron on the top of his head, but he was smiling as he did so. The car swerved slightly, but returned to normal as soon as Neville put both hands back on the wheel.
The car sped along towards the heart of Los Angeles in the carpool lane, blazing past the countless cars stuck in the jam that epitomized Los Angeles traffic.
"So," Ron said, "What are we going to do?" Having just stepped out of Harry's BMW, he shut the door and stretched his arms.
Harry turned to face him and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean? After all, you're the one who wanted to meet me. Don't have anything planned?"
Ron shrugged carelessly. "No, not really. I didn't have anything specific to tell you, really. I was in the area, and I know that we haven't been exactly the best of friends lately. I just wanted to spend some more time with you." Something in his face changed slightly, and he looked more serious. "I rather wish that I hadn't sided with Hermione so quickly, that I hadn't talked to you in so long. I'm sorry for that."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a little bit as both Harry and Ron chewed over that statement. Neville stood to the side, uncertain whether he should intrude on this scene.
Harry moved his head slightly, and he smiled brightly. "Well, that's all in the past now. I'm sure we can get our friendship back to what it was. And to tell you the truth, Ron, I hadn't really planned anything. I'd sort of thought that it was all your show. I was just going to enjoy seeing my former best friend again."
Ron smiled back, then shrugged his shoulders. "Hmm… how about the three of us spend some time at our old haunts? Go to Hogsmeade, or to Diagon Alley. I know you haven't been there too recently. I think you spend just way too much time on your job! Live it up! Have some fun!"
Harry squirmed inside, feeling guilty for keeping some secrets from his friends. Unbeknownst to all his friends, Harry had actually been in Diagon Alley only a few days earlier, eating at a café with Hermione.
Before he could say anything to the contrary, Neville spoke up. "I think that's a great idea. We'll go to all the old places we used to go as teenagers. Maybe the Drunken Sailor, too?"
Harry smiled. "I could go for that. Just Apparate to London, meet at the front of Diagon Alley?"
Ron grinned very widely, which Harry instantly recognized as a "show grin", or a grin used by many celebrities when meeting the press. It always seemed so horribly fake to Harry, and he hated it. (He saw it as one of the reasons why Hollywood was so horrible: everyone was so fake. Harry had sworn to himself after attending his first Academy Awards night to never use such a smile.)
Ron and Neville agreed, and soon they were on their way to London.
That day, Harry broke the Apparating regulations for the first time in seven years. A young man on the Memory Squad assigned to the Southern California area noted the illegal procedure and noted that it was Harry Potter and Ron Weasley that were breaking the rules. He sent a discreet phone call to his contact in The Wizarding Enquirer, who paid dearly for any news on Harry. Satisfied, he then sent the standard call to the rest of his teammates, and they left to clean up any trace of magic residue left in the area.
Harry met Neville and Ron just outside the entrance of Diagon Alley and entered together.
They started walking forward to mingle with the crowd. As they walked forward, Harry drew a pair of black sunglasses from his jacket to attempt to become more anonymous. Ron shook his head at the move.
"What? I don't want to be recognized!" Harry protested. Ron laughed.
"Harry, my friend, they'll know who you are even with those glasses. You aren't exactly a John Doe. Your features are pretty distinguishable."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumbled, "I know that. Still doesn't mean I have to flaunt the fact that I'm here. I like to be just one of the guys, you know what I mean?" Ron and Neville stopped in front of a wooden door, and Harry stopped also, puzzled. He looked up to see the sign of the establishment. He was bewildered to find that no such signs existed. "Ron? Neville? Where is this?"
Ron smiled. "It's the Three Broomsticks."
Harry frowned. "That's owned by Madame Rosmerta, and it's in Hogsmeade. It has no business doing anything in Diagon Alley. Is it lost or something?" All three of them pressed closer to the wall to let an unusually large wagon to pass by.
It was Neville who answered him. "It's Rosmerta's sister's place. Rosmerta passed on a few years ago, and Ashleigh moved it here. She likes the city a bit more than Hogsmeade."
Harry nodded. "Rosmerta's gone… has it really been so many years? Where did our youth go?"
Ron shrugged. "Who knows? For me, it's been a decade of doing the three things I love the best: playing Quidditch, earning money, and meeting some fine young ladies, if you get my drift." He winked. "But I like this life. For once in my life, I actually have enough Galleons to do whatever I want to do. I don't have to count every single Knut to make sure I don't have to buy second-hand robes."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but a shriek cut him off. All three turned to look at a young girl who was shocked at meeting not only one celebrity, but two! "Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley!" She screamed again, getting the attention of everyone walking by. The door of the Three Broomsticks slammed open, and a crowd of unbelieving wizards and witches began to draw close.
Harry sighed inaudibly, and walked forward into the shop to greet his fans. They enveloped him quickly, thrusting pieces of parchment and pens at him. They shouted at him to sign them autographs and get pictures taken with them. Harry knew then that his afternoon was finished, that he would spend the rest of the time that he had meant to spend with Ron to satisfy the public.
As he signed those autographs and smiled, and gave comments to his fans, he glanced at Ron standing next to him. Harry was immediately startled at how at-ease he looked. Ron seemed in his element, signing shirts and napkins and pieces of parchment. It seemed as if he knew what to say when to say it, how to connect with those faceless fans that awaited him.
He's changed, Harry realized. He's always loved attention, of course; I remember in our third year of Hogwarts, when he was happy to be out of my shadow. He's always loved the crowd, and always loved being unique. He's almost the exact opposite of what I am.
He's become Hollywood. He's embraced everything that comes with being famous and rich, and he loves every bit of it. He's become as fake as the rest of them, and he doesn't seem to notice how much he's changed.
And Harry realized at that moment that he and Ron would never be best friends again. They had both changed too much for them to fit as well as they used to. This Ron wasn't the same Ron that had gone with Hermione and him to find the Philosopher's Stone, and Harry was no longer the same Harry that had stood by and watched as Ron attempted to have a relationship with Hermione.
Nothing, not even friendships, could turn back the hands of time. Of course, he'd still be friends with Ron, and would try to accept him for what he had turned into, but the sad truth was that they no longer had anything in common. All they had left together was the past, but the past grew further and further away by the moment. All in all- they couldn't relate to each other anymore.
Harry didn't smile much for rest of the day.
There was a serenity that came with being alone with one's thoughts. Harry Potter stood in front of his bed in his suite, the half-full suitcase lying open on it. He took the shirt that was in his hand absently, and expertly folded it into a neat square. He could have charmed the suitcase to automatically pack everything he needed, asmost people did, but he liked destroying personally thehomes he hadcreated for himself. He didn't have to worry about appearances in his own suite, the one he had lived in for three months. Putting away the personal items that had made it his room was a sad affair, just as packing up to move from a home would be. It had to be done with a solemn ceremony, and it came from the attention he paid to every picture, every shirt.
He thought of nothing at all, and he thought of everything. He smiled at the bittersweet memories the items drew out from the crevices of his mind: the first train ride, Hedwig, the graduation, the first kiss with Hermione, the Fight, when Harry's wand had snapped, along with Voldemort's.
He was almost always constantly moving because of the different shoot locations, and the flat he owned in London-if he could really call it his home-was as impersonal as any hotel room. He hated it.
He always packed in silence, and today was no different. So, even though the bedroom was two rooms away from the door, Harry immediately heard the telltale slam of someone entering his suite.
He was up and next to the bedroom door in an instant. He looked frantically for his wand for a tense few seconds before he remembered where he was once more. He was usually able to overcome his old wartime reflexes, but sometimes it still managed to get the best of him.
Shaking his head ruefully, Harry Potter walked through the bedroom door to greet whoever it had been that had opened the door- most likely Neville, who was one of the only two that had the keys to his apartment. His guess had been correct- Neville stood in the middle of the living room, striding back and forth, a newspaper in his hand.
Harry grinned. "Neville, what's up? Here to escort me to the airport? I'm just about fini-" Neville cut his greetings off with a sharp gesture, and Harry stopped, startled. Neville was never impolite.
"Harry, did you reply to Hermione's letter that she wrote to you a month ago?" Neville asked. Harry searched Neville's expression, looking for clues, but his mood was as unreadable as a statue's.
"Err… let's make up a hypothetic situation here and say that I did. What of it?" Harry responded cautiously.
Neville frowned. "Did you then continue to have any sort of extended correspondence with her, exchanging several letters, possibly containing romantic undertones?"
"I can't say the romantic undertones were mutual, but-I mean, that's quite possible. What's this all about?" Harry asked, looking slightly flushed from the interrogation.
Neville refused to give up his questioning. "And if we follow this train of thought further, could the two of you have spent some time together in London and Wales, enjoying the sites, drinking tea together, and going to the Library of London? Only in this unlikely scenario, of course."
Harry gritted his teeth. When Neville wanted to, he was damn good at sarcasm. "All right, come off it. I admit that we've spent some time together. How'd you know all that much, anyway?"
Neville shook his head sorrowfully at Harry's apparent lack of concern. "Harry, I know I support you in most of what you do, but… I think this time, you might have made a horrible, horrible mistake."
Harry stared at him, mouth agape. "Wha- what? You told me to answer her. You told me that to get the old friendships back together would be amazing! What's this going right back again and telling me that I made a mistake?" He narrowed his eyes, and he raised his chin slightly, challengingly. "I don't agree with you at all, Neville."
Neville took a deep breath. After he released it, he was visibly calmer. "I'm sorry about that. I don't mean to insult you or your friendship with Hermione. I'm still a bit shocked myself at what's happened. It's going to be very bad for you for the next couple of weeks." Neville raised his hand towards Harry, and held out the newspaper for Harry to take.
Harry reached out and took the issue of Wizarding Enquirer from Neville and glanced at the front page. His eyes bulged slightly in shock, and he grabbed the offending news with both hands. His hands shook as they tightened around the page.
The title, brazenly spread out over the front page in large, blinking letters, was: Who's Harry Potter's New (Old) Love? Harry read on, his mouth set in a grim line. As his eyes scrutinized the article, the frown that had shown up on his face grew bigger and bigger.
The first things to catch his eye (after the garish title, of course) were two pictures, both enlarged to fit half the page (celebrities as big as Harry Potter of course warranted such coverage). One, placed on the second page of the article, showed Harry and Hermione walking in the streets with dark glasses on, laughing and talking silently to each other. The other, placed on the front page, showed Harry and Hermione sitting at a café talking to each other. The photo-Harry and Hermione smiled at each other, laughed silently, stared into each other's eyes, and under Harry's disbelieving eyes, leaned over the table and held each other's hands.
Even more troubling was the content of the article. Some of their oldest friends had been interviewed, including Dean, Parvati, and Oliver Wood, all saying that "they had been a perfect couple, and I was always sure they'd get together." Rita Skeeter had somehow also managed to get a copy of all the letters that Harry and Hermione had sent to each other. The more sensational sentences were sprinkled into the article. Sentences that were burned into Harry's brain, such as 'I felt like weeping, laughing, and screaming at you, although you wouldn't have been able to hear me' from the first letter that she had sent him. Harry's 'because here's the big crazy revelation: I can't live my life without you' from the first letter he had sent, and many more snippets which made it seem as if they were completely in love with each other. The article ended with a quote from Hermione:
But I promise you; I will be there to hold your hand when you need it. And I hope you'll be there to hold my hand too.
Harry looked up at an equally-worried Neville. "So," Harry muttered, "Rita Skeeter did have a plan in mind."
"I'm afraid so." Neville said. "We'll have to work quickly to minimize the horrible exposure this will put on you and Hermione."
Harry nodded. "All right. First thing, I'm Apparating to the London Wizarding Hospital and explaining to her what's going on. She deserves at least that much from me before the everything hits the fan." He threw the wizard newspaper to the floor, and turned to do as he said. Neville stepped in front of him quickly.
"No!" Neville shook his head vigorously. "You can't act as if this allegation is true! We just have to keep to your normal schedule and get you to Australia as soon as possible. That should make it easier for us to deny this and hope it blows over quickly as horrible gossip."
Harry frowned again. "Fine, fine. Doesn't mean I have to like all this crap. I'm going to write her a letter, trying to explain what all this is. I hope all the media exposure doesn't overwhelm her. I'd hate for that to happen to her." Harry caught Neville's eyes with his own. "Make a statement for me. Try to contain this, okay?"
Neville nodded solemnly, but Harry didn't see it. He turned around without waiting for a response, his mind spinning with incomprehensible thoughts. He looked around for a pencil, a pen, a quill, anything to write with. He went to his bedroom where his half-packed suitcase awaited him. He began to frantically take out the carefully packed shirts, the toiletries, searching for it. A hand touched his shoulder and he spun around quickly, knocking the hand away from it. "What?" Harry said harshly.
It was Neville, of course, holding the quill that Hermione gave to Harry a long time ago. "Harry… calm down. Here's a quill. Sit down, take a few deep breaths, think a while about what to put in your letter. Here, go," he said, shooing Harry to the living room, "there's some parchment in my briefcase. Take it and write. I'll finish packing for you. Don't worry about what's to come- we'll take care of it together."
Harry yielded to Neville's pushes and let himself be guided out of his bedroom. He stopped for a moment and dragged his hand through his still somewhat-unruly hair. He took the quill out of Neville's hands and took a few deep breaths.
He glanced at Neville and gave him a haggard smile. "Thanks Neville. You're a great friend. It's just… I don't want anything to harm Hermione, ever." Harry closed his eyes briefly. In a much softer voice, he continued, "I love her so much."
Neville smiled kindly. "Don't forget to put that in the letter."
A/N - The link is to the Pumpkin Cafe, my Yahoo Group. For those who don't want to go to the hassle of joining, it's just a short article written by Rita Skeeter.
2 Chapters left!