Tapestry

Chapter Eight

As one of the longest-working and most successful writers of her generation, Rita Skeeter was amongst the most well known and most recognisable people in the Wizarding World. Even though she was fast approaching sixty, she retained a certain energy and vivacity that belied her advancing years. This image of her standing at the front of the class, however, was in stark contrast to James's expectations. For a best-selling author, political commentator, hard hitting journalist and Witch Weekly's favourite Agony Aunt, James would have thought Rita would be elegant, intellectual and respectful. This flaky, over made-up diva searching for her lost youth was certainly none of those things.

She swanned around Professor Binns' table, milking in the appreciative gasps coming mostly from the girls in the class. James imagined that each and every one of them had probably followed Rita's fashion tips, or bought her recommended perfume, or followed her advice on relationships. It was a startling thought as he wondered whether Celesca had sought such guidance, regarding their situation, from the figure standing before them.

Quite what she had to do with a History of Magic class was an equally as perplexing thought. James swapped confused looks with Richard as they both watched Rita nattering with some star struck girls in the front row. It was a full minute before she finally returned to a position where she could see and address everyone.

“Settle down, children, settled down,” she said, which James thought was an odd thing to say to an already still classroom. “I realise what a great excitement this must be for all of you, having a celebrity in your midst. I just want to assure you I am not an unapproachable monster, just a normal, honest witch.”

James and Richard threw each other disbelieving glances.

“Ah, I look around your fresh, young faces,” Rita continued fondly. “So bright eyed and innocent. So unaware of all that awaits you, or of all that surrounds you now.”

Barely audible, paranoid muttering broke out among the class and James watched it all with a comical sense of incredulity. Rita's words and expressions were so over dramatic that he couldn't fathom how anyone was taking her seriously. Richard gave a mock yawn and pretended to try and sleep.

“If my years of experience have taught me anything it is never to blindly accept the obvious,” said Rita, still ludicrously theatrical in her delivery. “I have dug, I have delved, I have unearthed some of the most shocking truths and penned some of the most sensational stories - for full details see my published works, a catalogue of which can be collected at the end. But for now, suffice to say, if you scratch at the surface who knows what you might discover.”

As her last words rolled out Rita's eyes fell right upon James and the look she gave him was one of utmost elation, as though her birthday had come early. James couldn't help but feel uneasy; her words, largely ignorable, had hit home in her last sentences. Whether it was by pure coincidence, or whether she'd intended to look at him (however unlikely he thought this to be), James had a horrible feeling that it was aimed at him.

“Can it be?” Rita Skeeter exclaimed, her wide eyes still fixed on James. “My, my I think it must be. How can it not - if only you had a horrid scar on your head you could be the boy himself, sitting before me as if it were twenty years ago.”

James went from being mildly interested to totally alert in a flash. The way this batty old woman was talking, she recognised his father just by looking into James's own face, as if she'd known it personally. This wasn't a new thing; but for a woman who had suggested so much by a simple look, this apparent confirmation was greatly surprising.

“You are the son of Harry Potter?” asked Rita, looking earnestly at James.

“Yes, I am,” James answered.

“Wonderful!” said Rita, beaming. “I'm sure you have a host of questions for me about your father; I imagine you've read the stories I wrote about him many times. He was a fascinating subject - so many levels, so many angles. He was a dream for a journalist. I'll put aside some extra time for you when you come up for an autograph later.”

James felt more bemused than ever. This woman did know about his dad, something juicy and gossipy, no doubt. The content of her works James couldn't guess at; he'd always thought of her as the Agony Aunt incarnation, as her regular Witch Weekly column was her only contribution to the Wizarding media these days. He hadn't a clue that she'd ever written anything about Dad. What bothered James was that she seemed to think he'd want to know what she'd written; was there something in there to stir trouble or cause doubt? She seemed the kind of person to revel in such chaos.

In such a troubled state of mind James found he couldn't concentrate on much of what Rita was lecturing about. He picked up some references to things at Hogwarts being secretive and hidden, which James knew anyway and counted as one of the things he loved most about the old school. He heard Albus Dumbledore's name mentioned several times and linked to various deceptions, but Dad revered Dumbledore more than any other wizard and James's opinion of his father's old mentor was set in stone. It was when Dad, himself, was mentioned that James's attention peaked again.

“Of course, Dumbledore is just one of many famous names connected with Hogwarts,” Rita was saying. “Equal to, or perhaps even greater than him, is Harry Potter, though I doubt I need to give much of his history, especially with his son around. His exploits here, which involve theft of a magical object leading to the death of its owner at just eleven years old; breaking into and then damaging a valuable underground network, causing considerable disruption to the school's plumbing system and incurring a high repair cost footed by the Governors; aiding the escape of a known murderer, freeing a condemned dangerous, beast and even defying the Ministry of Magic, including two, yes TWO, successive Ministers themselves, on numerous occasions. But this tells only a fraction of Potter's tale. There was a darker side, an unseen side which only first-hand testimony can reveal. But, I don't want to give too much away! I'll never sell one copy like that!”

James was given plenty to think about and he tried to order it all in his mind as Rita rambled on. He wondered if there could be any truth in her words; Dad rarely spoke of the Second War or anything before it, so for all he knew there could be some truth in what Rita had claimed. Aside from Quidditch stories, Dad had just as few things to say about his time at Hogwarts as he did the War. Now that it occurred to him, James realised that he was almost completely ignorant of Dad's past after the day he married Mum. This new knowledge, combined with his already concerned state regarding Dad and Aunt Hermione, made James more than a little eager to hear what Rita Skeeter had to say.

So it came as something of a minor shock to Richard when James announced he was going to hang around after the class to get an autograph. Richard gave him the most peculiar, and worried, look that James could remember and he had to take it; he'd not imparted his fears about Dad, Aunt Hermione, their relationship or any of it on Richard and this didn't seem the best time to bring it up. He had to say he was getting the autograph on behalf of Lily and hope it was a believable enough excuse.

James dutifully, and with a startling level of humiliation, stepped into the queue to see Rita. Only one other boy was stood in line and there were unusual rumours about him after a stick of lipstick and some mascara was found in his dorm cabinet. It wasn't the best sort of company to be seen with. James waited with his head bowed, listening to the silly girls ahead of him pouring compliments onto Rita, who lapped them up with aplomb. He was trying to think of the best question to ask first when a voice spoke behind him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Celesca, you scared me,” said James, colouring at what Celesca must be thinking seeing him lining up to see Rita Skeeter.

“Sorry, you just seemed in a world of your own, I thought we'd lost you there for a second,” said Celesca. “I didn't think you'd be the sort to want an autograph from Rita.”

“Neither did I.”

“Is this about what she said, about your Dad?” Celesca asked cautiously.

“Am I that easy to work out?” asked James, slightly overwhelmed at how much Celesca understood him.

“Well it isn't hard - she claimed some pretty extraordinary things,” said Celesca. “I'd want to know if it were me.”

“It's just that, well, Dad doesn't talk much about his youth,” said James. “He never likes mentioning it.”

“I can't say I blame him,” said Celesca. “If there were horrors like that in my past, if I'd been through some of things he has, I'm not sure I'd be too quick to talk about it either.”

James pondered Celesca's words. He'd never really thought about it like that, thought that there were good reasons why Dad simply wanted to forget the past. The problem for James was that his curiosity was now aroused and he couldn't help but wonder whether Dad was not only hiding the horrific elements of his past, as Celesca had put it, but other elements too. Dad's experiences would provide an unchallengeable smokescreen if there were other aspects of his past that he'd rather were kept quiet.

“So you're a fan, are you?” said James, turning his attention back to Celesca.

“Not really,” said Celesca, quietly. “I think she's a bit pretentious, actually. A lot of her work is highly questionable; sensation and scandal is her forte, not actual hard stories. But I am interested in what so-called secrets are in her book. Besides, it was a good chance to chat to you.”

James smiled and shivered at the same time. In all the melee of thoughts vying for priority in his head he had almost forgotten what had passed between Celesca and himself that day. Now that she'd brought it up he felt all the anxieties of it creep up on him again. He couldn't understand it.

“What did you want to chat about?” he asked stupidly. Celesca looked hurt and the sight of it caused James pain, like being skewered in the chest. “I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, Cel, this is just so unlike me.”

“It's okay,” she said, smiling again. “It's something of a compliment, I think. If this is because of me it must be a good thing, right?”

She looked hopefully into James's eyes. “Yeah, it must be. I just hope I can get over it soon.”

“Don't try too hard, its sort of cute,” said Celesca coyly.

“Looks like I'm up next,” said James, nodding to the line, which was practically at the front desk now. “What shall I ask?”

“Ask if she really knew your dad,” said Celesca. “Then let her take the lead. She loves the sound of her own voice so I'm sure she'll oblige you.”

“Thanks, I think that's what I'll do,” said James.

“Um, James,” said Celesca nervously. “Do you, um, want to wait for me when you're done? We can walk up to Gryffindor Tower together if you like?”

James could see her shaking and imagined how scared she must have been to even think to ask that question. He wondered if anyone else could see it - they might think she was having a fit.

“I'd love to,” said James. “I'll wait outside for you.”

Celesca grinned widely and James drank it in. Not for long though.

“Ah, didn't I say you'd want to come to me? I amaze myself sometimes.”

Rita smiled her toothy smile at him; teeth so white and so straight that James thought they could have been chiselled from a single piece of enamel. He tried not to laugh as he imagined a team of sculptors hard at work on Rita's oversized mouth.

“Here's lets take a seat for this, shall we?” said Rita. She brandished her wand and summoned a chair from across the room. It banged repeatedly on the back of James's knees until he sat. “So, come to find out what I've uncovered, eh?”

“Excuse me?” asked James.

“Come now, Mr Potter, can I call you James? It'll make things ever so easier.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You'd be amazed at the things I know,” said Rita, her voice still melodramatic even on a one-to-one basis. “So what do you want to ask me first? My opinions on his strange relationship with the half-giant Hagrid, the secret room where he's hidden a book of Dark Magic spells he invented or do you merely want to know how has controlled every Minster for Magic since Cornelius Fudge?”

“My dad's done none of those things!” James exclaimed. He could feel anger stirring in him.

“Of course he has, my dear boy,” said Rita, cajolingly. “He wouldn't tell you, of course, but there is conclusive proof. Records at Gringotts Bank and a host of goblin testimony support the claim that your father made flagrant use of the Imperius Curse. He controlled several innocent wizards going about their banking to rob a high security vault. The records are there. You didn't think your father was an angel, did you? Have I burst your bubble?”

There was something manic in Rita's eyes as she spoke and though James knew he was being baited he couldn't help but take it.

“You're full of lies!” James cried.

“You don't sound convinced,” Rita taunted. “Doubts? Worries? Have I hit a nerve? How does that make you feel?”

The odd nature of the final question made James pause from the rant he was about to launch into. The break gave him time to hear a strange scratching noise from the desk. He looked down to see an acid green quill furiously writing on its own across a notepad.

“Just ignore the quill, dear,” said Rita following James's line of sight.

“What is that?” James asked. He heard a sarcastic cough to his left and looked up to see Celesca looking down at what the quill had been writing.

“Yes?” asked Rita, bluntly.

“Um, I don't think James is `welling up at the mention of his father's crimes' or that his eyes are `filled with self doubt as he faces up to a life full of untruths'. That quill doesn't tell the truth, does it?”

Celesca and Rita exchanged a look of pure dislike. “That quill,” Rita said, “is far more insightful than you, though you are both proficient at poking into other people's business. Who are you anyway, and what does it matter to you?”

“It matters because James is my -” Celesca paused briefly, “friend, and I don't think you should be telling lies about him.”

“You know, you remind me of another interfering little busy-body, who was an accomplice of Harry Potter,” said Rita. “She was always sticking her oar in, too. Mind you, she did break poor Harry's heart, and gave me a good run of stories in the process.”

This threw James for a loop. Was that the reason Dad never talked about the past? Had his heart been broken, and broken so badly that he never wanted to think about it again? It would explain why he'd never speak of it in front of Mum.

“You know, you two remind me of those two,” Rita said. “Tell me, are you close? Are you really friends or is there really more to it?”

The quill started sneakily moving again and James could imagine what embellishments it was making now. Rita, thinking perhaps that she'd gone too far, whipped both quill and notebook away, hiding them safely inside a crocodile skin handbag which shut with a snap. It must have been a magically-modified bag, James thought, as he could hear the muffled scratching continuing inside.

“I think you should give that to me,” said Celesca, nodding towards the bag.

“And I don't think I'm going to do anything you tell me, missy,” said Rita dangerously. “I've had quite enough of bossy know-it-alls trying to dictate to me. You may be Potter Jnr's little lady friend but that's where the similarity between you and Hermione Granger ends.”

James laughed out loud. “Hermione Granger? She's the one you're on about? She broke Dad's heart! What a load of rubbish! You're nothing but an old hack.”

“What do you know about Hermione Granger?” asked Rita, taking her turn to be surprised.

“Well, let's see,” said James sardonically. “First of all, she's my Aunt and I've known her all my life; second, she's the kindest person I've ever met and third, she is married to my dad's best friend - there is no way that could have happened if she and Dad had gone out.”

“Listen to me kiddo,” said Rita, lightly. “Whatever you think you know doesn't matter. I was there when Miss Granger played off your father against Viktor Krum for her heart. Played them both like lovesick puppets, only to break both their hearts and marry that non-entity she ended up with. All for personal gain; fame, celebrity, and no doubt this helped in her questionable rise to Head of the Magical Law office.”

“You're a dirty liar,” said James.

“And you're a naïve, pampered prima donna,” said Rita. “Your father was at least polite, and he went through things you couldn't even have nightmares of. And what did he get for it? Heartbreak from an ambitious, devious, manipulative siren. Mark my words, if this one is anything like Granger, you'll go the same way. They're both evil cows.”

That was enough. James jumped up and pointed his wand right between Rita's eyes. “Don't you ever talk about her like that again!”

“Which one?” said Rita calmly.

James was stumped for a moment. Who did it hurt to hear insulted more - Celesca or Aunt Hermione? The answer came surprisingly quickly.

“Celesca,” said James. “Don't you even mention her name again or I'll curse you to oblivion.”

“I doubt it,” said Rita, standing up and collecting her things. “I'm sorry to burst your bubble, again, but this isn't the first time I've been threatened at wand-point. Now if you don't mind, you impudent little boy, I have autographs to sign. You can leave by your own accord, or be escorted out.”

She inclined her head towards two hefty security trolls brandishing blunt, heavy clubs near the door. They stared menacingly at James, who thought it best to back down. He and Celesca made for the door but James couldn't resist a passing shot.

“This isn't over, you old bag,” he said, not really sure how he would go about continuing his dispute with Rita.

“On one point we agree,” said Rita, sweetly. She patted her bag affectionately. “No, Mr Potter, I daresay we'll have more to do with each other, and with you, too, Miss Celesca - thanks for the name drop by the way, James. I`ll send you a copy when the Prophet snaps up this little gem. I wonder if they'll give me my old column back…”

James stormed into the corridor, infuriated that anyone could be so deceptive and horrible. Celesca was close behind but it took a while for her to build up the courage to speak.

“James, are you alright?” she asked timidly.

“Alright?” he cried incredulously. “No of course I'm not bloody alright! I've had to stand there and listen to her throw insults at people who are important to me and now it sounds like she's going to write trash about me to sell to the Prophet. Mum and Dad will go ballistic if they see my name in the papers. And what about Lily and Albus? They'll have to put up with it too. So, no, I'm not flaming alright.”

Later on James would appreciate how well Celesca took his rant. Unfortunately she wouldn't be speaking to him after what he said next.

“Look,” she said calmly. “She hasn't been in the Prophet for years and I doubt they'll take her back now. And even if they do buy this one story, we'll get through it and it'll die down in the end.”

“We?” said James. “What's this `we' stuff? This hasn't got anything to do with you; this is about me and my family. Unless Rita was right and you really are trying to get close to me to boost your own reputation.”

Celesca looked as if she were about to cry and James felt afterwards that she probably did.

“That hurt, James,” she said miserably. She turned and walked quickly away from him, leaving him hating himself in the corridor.

James skipped the rest of the classes that day. He spent the afternoon on the far side of the Great Lake, away from everyone, just thinking. At first he was too angry to consider that anything Rita had said was true. She was a filthy liar and that was all there was to it. But when he began to calm down he started to think on some of the things she'd said.

Without doubt, the things she'd said about Aunt Hermione were the worst of her lies, but James didn't want to think of that because it led him to think of Celesca and how he'd spoken to her, and this made his chest constrict horribly and gave him the urge to feed himself to the Giant Squid. Then there were Rita's claims about Dad and Aunt Hermione, which were laughably ludicrous and had no basis in anything James had seen between them. Even in their current state of distance there was nothing to suggest that they'd had a past love life that ended badly and even if they had, Rita's version of events would surely have seen Dad and Aunt Hermione part ways forever. Whatever had happened between them surely it wasn't that.

But then James got to thinking about Rita's claims about Dad alone. Although they seemed utterly far-fetched and embroidered, James couldn't deny that there seemed to be a grain of truth there. Dad always had enjoyed great pull with successive Ministers and though James put it down to his father's status in society it certainly wasn't impossible that it could be something else. Dad was certainly powerful enough to do it and was so secretive about his work that none of the family would ever guess. And as for what had happened during his time at Hogwarts the possibility of Rita telling the truth was even greater. James had asked, and been told not to ask again, for Dad to tell him stories about his school years. As such, James knew little about them other than he had been great friends with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, had revered Dumbledore, had endured undescribed run-ins with Lord Voldemort and had met Mum. Rita suggesting that she had the knowledge to fill the gaping holes in James's understanding of his father's past had certainly stirred doubts.

It was getting dark when James decided he had better return to the castle. Heavy mist was descending fast and James felt the moisture of it clinging to his skin as he made his way up the sloping lawns and into the warmth of the Entrance Hall. There was a light clatter of cutlery on dishes drifting from the Great Hall and James knew that dinner would probably be almost over. He felt to rotten inside to eat anyway and so made his way up into the Common Room, where he found Richard and Cassie near the fire.

“Here he is, the pig of Hogwarts,” said Cassie acidly. “Got out of class to be nasty to some first years, did you?”

“Give him a break, Cassie,” said Richard. “At least give him a chance to explain.”

“Thanks, Rich, but shut up,” said James. “Go ahead Cassie - I deserve worse than anything you're going to say to me.”

Cassie went to speak but closed her mouth again quickly. “Well, there you are, at least you're big enough to admit you were a moron.”

“I can think of better words,” said James glumly. He slumped down on the floor. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, crying her eyes out,” said Cassie. James felt sick. “I can't get her to come out.”

“She probably won't speak to me again,” said James.

“Which is what you deserve,” said Cassie. “Why are boys so thoughtless?”

“If I had a thought, I could tell you,” said Richard.

“Ha ha, very amusing,” said Cassie.

“I blame the girls, you're all too sensitive,” said Richard. “I bet James didn't do anything that bad, did you?”

“No, I was bad,” said James. “Celesca's right to be angry with me. If she hates me, I won't blame her.”

“She won't hate you, dopey,” said Cassie. “But she is upset and hurt.”

“Stop saying that,” said James. “Once was enough.”

Cassie looked at him with a much softened expression when she could see that he was genuinely hurting as well.

“If she won't see me, just tell her I am really sorry and I didn't mean it,” said James. He turned over and faced the fire, watching the flames and feeling about as awful as he thought he ever had.

* * *

James didn't see Celesca the next day. She wasn't in any of her classes and had a note from Miss Evesham, the school nurse, to excuse her. James wondered miserably whether a broken heart was actually a real illness and if that was the real reason that Celesca was missing. If it were he thought about applying for a sick note himself. He busied himself by visiting the library during his free time and looking up old articles written by Rita Skeeter. James still had exceptional doubt that there was any truth in any of the things Rita had claimed, but if he wanted to prove her stories wrong the first thing he had to do was read them.

So he spent all of his lunch time, his morning free period and an hour before dinner poring over old copies of the Daily Prophet stored in the library archives. He realised quickly how long this was going to take; Rita had been a prolific contributor to the Wizarding newspaper and the amount of editions featuring her work was vast. James knew he'd never be able to read them all so he narrowed his search to the years Dad had attended school. This made the pile smaller, but it was still large enough for James to think he'd be Rita's age by the time he'd read them all. He comforted himself that by that time Celesca might have forgiven him.

This pattern continued for several days. Richard refused to help, fearing that James harboured an unhealthy obsession with Rita and that his present course was not good for him. James, unable to correct his friend and enlist his help, soon grew frustrated with the situation. On top of this, Celesca still hadn't emerged from the girls' dormitory. James had spent any time he had away from the library waiting in the Common Room for her to come out, thinking he'd accost her on the way to the bathroom and profess his shame and sorrow and beg forgiveness. This didn't work, though, and James grew more despondent the more his eyes spent away from her face.

On the evening of the third day since seeing Rita, James was to be found stomping back to Gryffindor Tower in a foul mood. He'd finished the entire pile of Rita's work dated from Dad's first year at Hogwarts and found nothing about him, before being kicked out by the Librarian. James had found a few stories about bumblings in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry and a fairly long piece about the Minister appointing someone called Delores Umbridge to his secretarial staff. Apart from that there was little else of importance and no mention of Dad or Hogwarts at all.

When he entered Gryffindor Tower his mood was thunderous. He moved straight to the chair by the fire and threw his school bag angrily into it. There was no-one else in the room, but the noise James had made woke someone who'd been sleeping in the chair. It was Celesca and she woke with a start, took one look at James and made for the staircase.

“Celesca! Please wait,” said James quietly.

Celesca stopped, went to turn, seemed to think better of it and moved again.

“Celesca, please,” James pleaded.

This time she did stop. Turning to face him, her expression stern and voice harsh she spoke. “What do you want?”

“Just to tell you that I'm really sorry,” said James, moving to her. “I was an idiot, I was complete pillock and even if you don't want to speak to me ever again I just want you to know that. I didn't mean any of it; I was angry and frustrated and I took it out on you when you didn't deserve it and you were there offering to stand by me. I'm so ashamed of myself.”

“You should be,” said Celesca, her voice a shade nicer and her eyes softening.

“Is there any chance you might let me make it up to you?”

“I don't know, James, what you said really hurt,” said Celesca. “That you'd think those things about me, about why I…”

Her voice trailed off and James pounced on the pause.

“I didn't, I don't,” he said earnestly. “It was that blasted woman. She put ideas in my head and I was a fool and let them get to me. I know you were standing up for me to her and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you.”

Celesca's face lost all pretence of anger and she looked at James with such warmth that he felt light-headed.

“You don't have to deserve me, just stop pushing me away,” she said gently. “I'm here for you, to help you, to defend you if she tried to say anything bad. All you have to do is let me in.”

James could resist no more. He pulled Celesca to him and hugged her deeply, feeling her warmth and breathing in her scent. He'd wanted to since the day on the train back to Hogwarts and now that he was holding her he didn't think he'd want to let her go.

“I'm so sorry,” said James. “I didn't mean it.”

“I know,” said Celesca, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him back.

“I've missed you so much,” James heard himself saying. “I don't want to lose what we have.”

“You won't,” said Celesca, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. “I'm not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that for some time and James was in a world all of his own. All he could think of was Celesca, the feel of her, the smell and touch of her. All other things were utterly redundant. There would be other days for Dad, Aunt Hermione, Rita Skeeter, anything - right now, all that mattered was him, Celesca, and holding this embrace for as long as they could.

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