Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Author Note: Everything is going so well. Get-togethers with the Grangers, wedding plans, a strengthening of our couple's relationship… Until…

***

Chapter Forty-Four - Trips

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

WANTED: BRAINLESS WITCHES

{A moving photograph is positioned in the centre of the front page. It's of Hermione and Harry, but moreso Hermione, the focal point. Taken in the deluge of the Bulgarian-Lithuanian game, the reader can see her jumping for the Home team, but more importantly, the rampant sexuality from the wetness of her shirt, tight jeans, and her stomach showing. Harry can be seen in the background, an arm around Hermione}

Fathers, mothers, parents of girls and young women, this is their "idol". Long are the days of women being modest. As a strong supporter of uniforms in schools, and a believability of women being concealed, this is alarming.

Hermione Granger: look at her. This is a warning. It's already a struggle to keep children to stay children, the evident hyper-sexuality of our young girls brought up by personas in public forums like Shade Epsilon, which has sold enough of her new record to go platinum. I don't see many middle-aged folk scurrying to purchase Epsilon's lyrics; our daughters are the ones digesting the anti-feminine sentimentality. Do not forget those in magazines, too, which the Potter's-and I must say this bluntly for V-Day is coming for Savior-boy and his trophy-were said to have joined up with one such model to be exploited by her sexuality. Isn't this the same definition as "prostitute"? Don't prostitutes spend sexuality in order to gain monies? Shade Epsilon, her album's picture displays a so-called, "Lolita"-look. What is this? Are we headed for all girl's to be unclothed and walking the streets naked? This social pattern we must be vigilant of or face an honest consequence of all our youth succumbing to pornographic imagery. Hermione Granger used to be very chaste, a carbon-copy of pro-female. Now she's signed-on with a rising club of sexual attraction.

A bad example for all and another rotten apple from the tree of Life.

Potter, pick up a quill and write an apology to the Weasley's. You could have done better, dear.

In a recent poll done by our sister cover, Witch Weekly, the problem is greatly addressed by our public:

Do you believe social trends from our most famous overtly convey sexuality?

Yes - 47%

No - 39%

Unsure - 14%

Do you believe female socialites convey too much sexuality?

Yes - 61%

No - 31%

Unsure - 8%

The percentages speak for themselves.

Rita Skeeter

Chief Editor

Writer

Page 1

***

"Aw… Look at you two," Mum had her hands full of photographs I took while Harry and I were in Bulgaria.

Sitting with my legs underneath me, I held onto the portion of black sock outside a dark blue jean dress. I had my elbow on the back of the sofa, seated sideways, my fingers near the black band atop my head. The band couldn't keep the usual bits from falling over one eye, looking at mum pick one out and slide another picture behind the stack. My various black rubber bracelets had slid down from my wrists on that arm, the others still kept about my left hand.

We'd come over, something my parents wanted to happen more often by their vigorous, repeated calls. They weren't in fault for being too demanding, they just wanted to be within our lives. Besides, I was their only child, and a daughter to boot. Not that they needed to keep their eye on Harry-they acted as if Harry was one of theirs now, anyway-but, they were… Well, mum and dad, especially daddy and his protective paternal instinct.

Harry was outside with him and his love for automobiles.

"Wow, you guys are soaked to the bone here," mum showed me the picture I took after the game. Harry and I were still inside the arena, right there at the reserved balcony overlooking the pitch, and we were thoroughly drenched as pointed out.

Harry had his arms wrapped fairly securely around my chest whilst I held the camera facing us to take the snapshot.

"It was terribly hot," I replied, seeing mum exchange for the next in queue. "By the end of the day I think everyone was glad it rained and there were a lot of us. Frankly, I was surprised. I was expecting less than…there had to have been thousands."

"Your hotel suite was very pretty, and spacious for just the two of you. I like all the white and gold here. Did you use the kitchen?"

"No, we mostly ate out."

"Waste not…"

"Mum," I sighed, feeling mum go, well, motherly. "It was Harry's birthday. I wanted to get him the best I could afford…with him insisting to help fuel the charge… Beside the point, Harry deserved it."

"The landscape is gorgeous. This was the view?"

"Yeah, all of that," I pointed out the lake, the mountains, the sunset… I smiled. "That's what we had to wake up to. Fairly different than London, eh?"

"And there's Viktor."

"Mhmm…," Mum showed me the photograph of our group which was taken after breakfast. All of us were smiling, happy… You'd think these faces never saw the badness, living their lives carefree.

"He's still very handsome, I see." Mum knew who he was. Viktor being the first true time in my life that I was actually accepted as a woman, rather than "one of the boys," so of course she knew who he was. He was my first crush, and first kiss… A mother's intuition, even through the post, she knew I'd been struck by the lovebug at Hogwarts. He's one that I can count on, and someone who quickly established himself as one of my better friends on his mannerisms and respectability.

"Who is this hanging on his arm?"

"That would be Zuzanna," I had to switch legs around for one began to fall asleep. "His girlfriend. She's nice."

"She's very, very pretty," exclaimed my mother at the obvious.

"She is," I nodded in agreement. "And, she's going to a university in the spring."

"I wonder how that will come out with Viktor being on the road so many months."

"They'll make it work. They're happy, and I'm glad Viktor has someone so wanting to be with him for him, and not because he's `Viktor Krum'. They couldn't keep their hands off each other while we were there."

"Almost like another two I know," Mum leaned in and wriggled her brows.

"Oh, mum…," My hand went to my face and my nose scrunched up. I laughed a little and shook my head. "Heavens, I have no idea who those are at all. Quit being such a busybody!"

Mum gave a hearty laugh. "It's my job, dear."

Mum took a closer look at the photograph. "You know," she said tilting her head a bit to the side. "She sort of resembles you. A little taller… Yeah. Did I have twins?"

I snorted and nodded. "Yeah, Harry pointed the resemblance out when we left the first night we all got together. Maybe he fancies brunettes? Guys tend to follow patterns."

"Or," Mum's eyes widened, slipping the group photo behind the stack to take the next. "Maybe he still fancies you. He's a good guy."

"Harry's a perfect gentleman." I interjected.

"Well," Mum shook her head around. "I'm glad you're getting married to him."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Mum grinned, gazing at the new photo. "Because it seems like, if any other broad sunk her talons into Harry you'd kill `em."

I leaned my head back and laughed, shaking my head, those strands of saturated brown covering my left eye swaying. "Well, maybe not kill per se…"

"…Maim," I laughed, doing a little bounce with my head and shoulders. "Good chance."

I let out another laugh, and so did mum.

"You're hysterical," She retorted, then followed up by stating, "He would have been a good guy. Harry is the guy."

I smirked. "Right! There you go."

Mum went silent and immediately looked up from a following picture, a shot that I'd taken of these quaint alleyways we strolled through on our last day there. "Do you know what I just thought of?"

"What?"

She turned to me. "For someone who told me she, `never thought she'd ever find a boy,' boys have been at my baby's heels since she was born. What with Harry, and Viktor, and that… Ron fellow, and I'm sure you've had loads-"

"Mother!" I gasped. "You're making it sound like I'm some woman of the streets!"

"-And that Longbottom guy, wasn't he-"

"Neville's like a brother!" I said this quickly, slipping it in-between mum's grocery list of chaps. I made a face and stuck out my tongue. "Blah…"

Mum finally settled back into the sofa. "I told you how many times back then?"

"Well, I honestly thought I'd live the rest of my life on my own. I thought I was the worst!"

"Gotta listen to mummy every once and a while, kiddo," She was smug. "And now you've snagged quite the catch, and your father and I absolutely adore Harry. He's so very sweet, and kind, to you most importantly, and a respectful young man to everyone…"

I pushed on mum's shoulder. "You're simply terrible…"

"Well, I love you too, Cupcake."

I just smiled and shook my head.

The aroma of mum's cooking, of honeyed turkey, of a cheesy mixture of spinach and macaroni, of steamed cauliflower and buttery rolls, all mishmashed in the den. I had been helping her, doing whatever I could for dinner whether that be getting her spices or setting the table. We had tea or wine, and we waited for the men to come in from playing outside. And just when the television meteorologist started describing this afternoon's weather did we hear the thump-thump of boots on the wraparound porch.

I was the first to get up from the sofa.

"That would be your father," quoted mum, picking herself up from the sofa, too.

I hurried on over to the pentagon-cutout, a window in the door. Peeking out, not only could I hear Harry and daddy laughing, I could see them laughing, shaking off the rain, wringing out their sleeves. Nowhere near as wet as what we got in Bulgaria, Harry's mane still matted to his face, black curls at the back of his neck. I grinned, daddy and him talking away.

I skipped into the kitchen where mum wandered off into and began scooping and bring bowls and saucers out to the table.

Mum uncorked the wine and put the bottle on the table.

I heard our main door open, the growing rain, and daddy:

"…I drove on bald tires before a long time ago. Not something I'd ever do today. I'd be worried sick. So, if your friend says he's driving like that tell him it can cause him some serious trouble down the road, literally."

I glanced up, putting the spinach casserole on the table, both of my hands in mittens to keep from scorching, and smiled seeing daddy and Harry meander into the dining room.

Harry gave me a quick smile, but then looked back at daddy. "Yeah, he's new at vehicles and driving. He wouldn't know what a bald tire would even look like."

"He definitely needs some new ones," Daddy slipped behind mum as she was coming back into the dining room with the ham. She set the pan the turkey was in down at the centre of the table, standing back straight to be taken. I watched them kiss and began my trek to Harry, taking the mittens off and placing them on the table.

"Your wet, go away!" Mum chuckled and I heard daddy laugh.

Forever flirting, and in love.

"Get caught in the rain?" I asked Harry in a smile.

"A little," Harry jested.

We gave each other a peck-kiss.

"I'd give you a squeeze if it weren't for the…," Harry motioned at his wet shirt, long-sleeved with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

I noticed a smudge of grease, I supposed, on his shirt, too.

"Hey Harry," called daddy after his barrage of mother.

She escaped into the kitchen.

Harry glanced from me, "Yes sir?"

"I have several shirts and jeans upstairs if you really need to change. Probably a bit big on you."

"That's all right, sir," Harry smiled. "But thank you."

"Don't catch a chill, young man. It's not worth it." Daddy took his eyes away when mum strolled on by with a separate dish of melted cheddar and gave her bum a pat.

"Freddie!" resounded mum sharply and in a bit of a astounded laugh.

I just rolled my eyes.

"Hey!" Daddy caught my eye rolling. "We're still young!"

Harry chuckled into his fist.

"Nothing these kids wouldn't know…"

"Freddie…," mum scolded him, side-stepping for daddy tried again. She ran into the kitchen to escape again.

"This is the stuff I had to live with on a daily basis…," I covered my eyes.

I felt Harry's hand stroke my back, his body an inch or two away to keep from messing my attire.

"The deal is still on the table," said daddy as he crossed our paths on the way upstairs. He said this to Harry, looking at him. "Come on up if you want. I'll find you something to wear."

"Parents…," I was…slightly embarrassed.

I'm sure Harry could see the rose in my cheeks.

He smirked when I shot a glance at him askance.

"Freddie can help you if you're cold, dear," restated mum when she came back from the kitchen.

"That's all right, Missus Granger. I'm fine."

I put my hand on a place where the rain had gotten him good and felt the remnants icy to the touch.

I squinted my eyes at Harry and turned to mum, "Nothing a wand wouldn't take care of-we'll be right back."

I took Harry by the hand and pulled him up the stairs.

"Hurry back down soon, Cupcake!" rang mum.

We went over a creak in the wooden floor, a same old creak that had been there since I was here. The target was my bedroom, for privacy, for Harry wasn't going to get sick. I wouldn't have it. He tries to tough it out, and this might be trivial, but it'd take only a few minutes to dry off if he didn't want to put on a spare from dad, toss his in the dryer.

"I said I was okay, love…"

"And, I say you're not," I shut the door behind him when I'd gotten him into my bedroom. Unchanged, it still was very… "Hermione". Books spread throughout the room, and where there wasn't a book, music, art, or other hobbies of mine held its place.

"Strip," I demanded, my hand fleeing to a pocket on my dress in finding my wand.

Harry went to take his shirt off, but stopped at my word.

My mind was into my actions that when I finally saw him at a halt did I stop my actions, wand in-hand.

I paused.

"What…?"

"You always want me naked, but here?"

I had to rewind until I found…

I rolled my eyes. "Only you…"

I thought a moment. "I don't think I've ever said that to a boy in this room, nevertheless had one in here to say it…"

"Guess it had to be done at some point," I laughed in amusement. "How pathetic."

I heard Harry growl low.

My eyes went back to him.

"Down boy…"

He took off and I shrieked.

***

Harry stood beside me, down to his black, pin-striped shorts.

We had made it into my bathroom after he chased me around. I had his trousers on the counter, the tip of my wand tracing an outline of the rainwater stain in one spot, and then moving onto another one. Only the bigger patches I worried about; though, in reference, I think I had to worry about my fiance more. Harry had his arm about my waist, his hand on my hip. He moved into me, kissed the top of my head whilst I dried his clothes with a spongify spell and slowly would let slid his fingers along the closest buttock.

I had to swat his hand away when he lingered, giggling, snatching a gaze at him beside me only to find when he went back to my hip those curious fingers slide right back down.

I arched and squirmed from him, trying diligently to dry his clothes to be so rudely interrupted.

I smacked his hand away again.

He laughed and squeezed me, now that he could, in an embrace.

He had my eyes close, removed from my focus, when he kissed me.

When my eyes opened, barely, being pulled into another kiss, I saw me, him, us, his pectorals, his abdomen…

Hermione!

A voice inside my head screamed, "Foul!"

I smiled, feeling Harry's fingers lightly grip my hip harder, and had him slide his hand back down to my arse.

I reveled in this low, lingering arousal we always had when we were together.

He gave my bum a well-earned swat, and then rubbed the area with affection.

I stuttered a breath in our kiss.

"You're really warm…," Harry mouthed in whisper when he could.

Our kiss was tender, and gentle, and slow.

I stammered off his lips, eyes slightly aflutter and gave his chest a pat. "You, uhm… Heh…"

I breathed, audibly, calming my rising heartbeat.

"What's wrong?"

"Mum, daddy…," I had my eyes closed, my hands on the counter. I laughed a little through my nose, opening to see our reflection. "You better put your clothes back on."

"Oh," Harry, having stopped everything, merely laughed at his found answer. "Ohh, right. Mm…"

He turned my head, his finger at my chin, and lightly kissed my lips. "Thank you," he said when my sight returned, looking into my eyes.

My eyes widened, a withheld breath, and I let the breath out.

I grinned, arms crossed, my hip against my bathroom countertop, and watched Harry slip one leg into his trousers.

Even putting his clothes on I couldn't see anything that wasn't completely…sexy.

I laughed at myself, and how much time had changed me from a wee, `ittle bookworm to a woman with fulfilled…and fulfilling dreams.

***

"Thank you for the delicious meal, Missus Granger. Everything was really good."

We had our hands loosely together, fingers laced.

Our feet were together with my left calf over Harry's.

One wouldn't think anything had ever happened, now over a month ago: the dining room ground zero of destruction, chairs, the table, cabinets, the wall behind daddy and mum with family pictures in frames smoldering in flames. The chandelier, its many shards of crystal glass all as they were before, bright in colours of the rainbow by the candle-like bulbs. The team tasked in reconstruction really did well piecing the house back whole. I'd have to write to the Ministry and show them my gratitude, my family never knowing anything at all occurred-and thankfully.

"You're very welcome, Harry. Always a pleasure."

"Em, you and baby girl can get this?" asked daddy, putting his wine glass down from his lips. "Harry and I were talking outside before the rain came and-"

I cocked a brow at Harry, giving him a little tug to get his attention. When he turned to me his face didn't allow any reaction, to my discontent. What were they scheming?

"Yes, yes, go let out all the testosterone, please!"

Daddy laughed and gave mum a kiss, "We'll be sure to put the place back together after our wrestling match."

Harry smiled.

Moving to Harry's ear, I asked him, "What's this?"

"Come, Harry boy," Daddy pushed in his chair. "To the den."

"Yes sir," Harry started to get up and said to me, responding, "It's about the wedding…"

"What about the wedding?"

"Pounds."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm trying to get your father into letting me burden most of the bill."

I laughed, utterly amused. "That'll be quite an uphill battle. He's a staunchly one, won't budge, especially when monies are involved. You're going to have to learn when daddy says he'll do something, he'll want to do it."

"We'll just see…," He took my chin and kissed me, and then gave my head a pat. "I'm stubborn, too."

"Oh, how I know…," I sighed, rolling my eyes and watched my beloved go off towards father and the den.

***

Dishes removed, cleaned, spotless, and put away, all that was left was to pack Tupperware with excess for the both of us. Turkey sandwiches and spinach casserole for days to come, and by mum's prowess with the culinary no one complained.

"So, did you two slug it out then?" I'd come from the kitchen, around the sofa and plopped beside Harry. I imitated as if to look around the room, tucking loose strands behind my ear. "I don't see any blood stains."

"Nah, but your dad's about to throw something at the telly," Harry laughed.

I pulled my legs up onto the sofa, my knees touching Harry's thigh. He welcomed me in, arm upwards and then down, snug between the sofa and my middle. I found his empty hand and slid my fingers between his, playing with them subconsciously while looking over at father who shouted:

"Complete, and utter morons. It's like they can't spell for shite."

"Freddie!" scoffed mum, coming to sit on daddy's recliner armrest. "Language!"

They'd been watching some game show, the gist involving letters appearing at intervals with each new letter ticking off the total the contestant would receive if he had answered sooner.

"What? I said, `shite'," Daddy yanked mum down with him which gave me another eye roll instance. "You're so parental."

"And, you're so vulgar, I swear."

"Well, if they'd let people on with half a… The answer is `conservatoire'!" He yelled at the telly.

Harry laughed and I smacked his shoulder, "Don't egg him on!"

"But, it's hilarious."

"Buggers…," Father, remote in his hand, switched the channel. "There has to be something better on… Harry!"

"Yes sir?"

"What's on your mind? Thriller? Comedy?"

I laid my head against Harry's jaw and further snuggled into the shape of his toned figure.

"A comedy sounds good. Not so much a thriller fan."

"Sure," His surfing ended abruptly when he found… "There we are!"

"Oh no…," I hid my face.

"How many times have we seen this, Freddie?"

"What is it?" asked the befuddled Harry, outcast by the unknown by which was to come.

Daddy went to get up, having to adjust with mum half on him, his hands at the ends of the armrests to propel him forward. "What? You haven't seen Young Frankenstein?"

"No sir."

"It's one of daddy's favourites… He's seen it, we've seen it dozens-" I'd whispered to Harry by his ear, to be halted with daddy's voice.

"Then, you're in for a treat!" Daddy was up and headed towards the kitchen. "Going to pop some popcorn! Do you like butter on yours, Harry?"

"Yes sir," Harry nodded, feeling his jaw move against me.

I don't think I really cared what we watched in the long run… I'd become sleepy, the tryptophan kicking in with a warm pumpkin spice remedial sedative.

A two-hit KO.

***

"I can't believe that in a few more weeks you'll be starting Oxford," Harry had his hand inside my shirt, the cotton fabric of my sleeveless vest stretched, his fingers along the indent of my spine. I laid on his lap, my chest, my head on my arms, on his lounge trouser-clad thigh which I used as a pillow.

My eyes opened and closed with each rhythmic rub from his massage, my face towards him.

"My tiny genius."

I smiled amongst shutting my eyes. He'd hit a sweet spot on the upper reaches of my back, right where the blade of my shoulder lifted.

The television was on, but it was on low, intermittent flashes on our forms in a barely lit environment of Number Twelve. We left from mum and dad's, showered, changed, and Harry made us a snack of peanut butter and jam to tide us over until the morning…or afternoon, whenever.

Slightly turning to further face him, I questioned, "Today was good, yes?"

Harry grinned. "Fantastic. I like helping your dad on his old cars, hearing his stories. He gives good advice."

"He likes to provide tidbits of knowledge whenever he can…," I grinned, closing my eyes again to Harry's rub.

"I see how you've become my tiny genius with a family like yours."

I let out a contented sigh. "You're so good with daddy, mum… You don't know how much they tell me they love you."

"Father-in-law," I added.

"An excellent father-in-law," express Harry instantly. "And a mum-in-law."

I giggled and settled back with my cheek against his thigh.

"Hey…," His hand withdrew to the curvature of my side, rousing me to peek at what he was doing. "Let me run some soap and water over those plates and glasses, and then we can go to bed."

He helped lift me as I moved, sitting back on my knees to observe his figure leave the cushions. "Do you want me to dry?"

"No, no," he said in yawn, maneuvering around the sofa toward the kitchen all the while scratching his abdomen through a shirt. "I'm fine. Lie down, relax, chill. If you happen to fall asleep, I'll carry you up."

I smiled, flipping around, my hand going above me to fetch the remote on the stand behind the armrest. I flipped through the channels, all the while thinking… That month from Hell felt so far away. Ever since Harry came back it was…cloud nine. Mum and daddy accepted him with open arms, and with daddy's rigidity after the Ronald-debacle that soared points. This darker world, with hate, and evil, and disgust, all seemed to vanish. No Rita Skeeter. No Death Eaters. No mourning. I smiled. I laughed. I hadn't cried since Professor's funeral…since Harry came back.

The television became nauseating, the pit of my tummy gurgling, so I clicked it off. I took a magazine-I didn't care which, just to pass the time-and retrieved one of Harry's many Quidditch issues. I flipped a few pages and begun reading about how the snitch got started. Did you know there was once a day when there wasn't a snitch? How did the players end the game? When one of them practically fell off their broom, a game of endurance. An old match dated a century and more ago had a game lasing more than twenty-four hours. Talk about fatigue setting in…

I made an uneasy face, my lip quivering, my nose scrunching.

Something didn't feel right…

And then it hit me, like a punch to the centre of my gut.

My eyes shot open, and I tried to call out for Harry, but all that came was a dry heave.

I was back in the long, reflective corridor, my image three-hundred sixty degrees.

I rolled over on my hip, went to get up but fell on the floor.

I finally managed to get that damned door open, but to what cost?

I couldn't stand the sudden pain, clutching, as I dry heaved over and over, my stomach.

Beyond, Harry lay in the middle of a snowy floor, a murky pool of vibrantly fresh blood blackening as time passed. Blood poured from a gaping hole, a gash in his skull, his head all but halved. There over his body, Riddle, Voldemort, menacing, smiling, his wand still in his hand, a green flash uniting back into the tip. He was proud, an essence of triumph in his louring smirk.

On my hands and knees, I vomited, the acidic mess getting in any curls which draped.

Behind Riddle…

My vision obscured in-and-out of reality.

Albus…

"Harry…!" I finally could talk, struggling, and screamed him name loud.

I heard a scuffle from the kitchen, something crashing into the sink, something hitting the counter, and bounding footsteps of a hastened pace.

"Oh my God… What happened?! What's wrong?!"

I gazed upward, my elbows feeling weak, my knees wanting to give out…and apologized for throwing up, "I'm sorry…"

This…excruciating pain hit my stomach once more and I groveled, beads of sweat penetrating my forehead.

I wept.

It hurt.

Harry took me by my arms, and carefully, very carefully to not have me wade in whatever came out of me, and carried me off in his arms.

"I'm sorry…," I said, squirming, holding my stomach. "…It's getting on you…it's in my hair…"

"Hold on," said Harry with much authority.

One second we were in Number Twelve, the next second it all became white with a distinct smell of strong lemon cleaning fluids.

"I need a doctor over here!!" yelled Harry.

Through slits for eyes, I could see the inside of St. Mungo's… We were in one of their many waiting rooms.

What sounded like several thousand feet wooshed to our side, people in white robes, doctors, nurses, Healers, the St. Mungo's plum cross on their breast pockets.

One of them put a stethoscope on me.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She vomited and she's in pain."

"Can someone bring me a stretcher please?"

"Has something like this happened before?"

"She's been having headaches. They're not rare, but they're not common either-it's not a daily thing. Also, her heart-"

I tensed and held my stomach.

"Does she have a physician here?"

"Yes, Doctor Stevens."

"Yvonne, contact Doctor Stevens for me now."

I felt like I was going to toss.

"Yes, doctor."

All the various voices mixed as one, a concoction of varying degrees of echoes…which wasn't helping my stomach or my head, a nagging, rising headache induced.

"I'm going to be sick again…" I managed to get out.

"…Doctor Stevens, Doctor Stevens to the emergency desk. Doctor Stevens, paging Doctor Stevens to the emergency desk…"

I coughed, thinking something would come out.

"Everything's going to be okay, baby," I'd shut my eyes. Harry tried to soothe me, bundled in his arms. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Can someone bring me a damn stretcher for Christ's sake?!"

Albus vanished… Leaving Voldemort to taste the redness dripping from Harry's cracked cranium… The redness trickling down his cold-white fingers…

He showed me…

That something finally came out, a yellow-and-white stickiness now on Harry's shirt.

…Death.

***

The Quibbler

Honoring Britain's Best

Dear readers, it has been a long week this week hasn't it?

We bought shovels here at The Quibbler, but we didn't buy enough. And, the ones we did use weren't big enough for all the dishonorable injustice being flung around by the larger, "mainstream" media. I'll say, in all honesty, that I have to-unfortunately-crack open the stale pages of a Daily Prophet every morning. Why? To protect friends from Miss Skeeter and the noose she so readily throws around her victim's throats. Head of the Daily Prophet, Miss Skeeter has written books defaming Albus Dumbledore, but boasted praise for Tom Riddle. Can someone help me understand or can I point out the obvious? She and the Prophet systematically attack anyone who has done good for the country, its people, namely Miss McGonagall, Minister Shacklebolt, her "enemies" of the Order, Severus Snape… Hermione Jane Granger and Harry James Potter. Without the actions of these courageous people, we all wouldn't be here today. We all would be slaves hoping to die, and it's true. Even our previous Minister admin, with all its great flaws, tended to shield the common man and common woman from facing these evils headlong.

But, I as well as some on my panel were there, smelling the smoldering ash, the iron of fresh blood, and seeing lives lost left and right. Miss Skeeter wouldn't have a voice today was it not for the people she hates, and this… I will never understand.

It saddens and sickens me.

Hermione is a deeply caring, highly attractive female who is intelligent and humble. To say the least, if I ever have a daughter I'd be quite pleased if she looked upon my friend as her idol, Miss Skeeter. I'm happy to report that most young women and mothers see my perception the very same way. So, why are you attacking her? Why do you obsessively attack her? Do you fear her goodness? Are you scared what she, and others like her, could do to you?

Shade Epsilon uses her concerts to get awareness for heart disease and breast cancer, the two leading causes for death in women. She's thrown galas to promote education. She's presented material, liking to write a children's book one day and has talked openly to the press and in her personal life how she wishes she could do more for the people of Britain. Why do you hate her? It can't be because she sings, or her adverts, because you've aimed your sights directly on her and not the thousands of others. It can't be because she rakes in pounds when you rake in double. Is it because she's openly discounted The Daily Prophet, and you, calling it a "cross between fear-mongering and a bestial bigot"?

Shade, our panel loves you, and we think your shredded-Prophet dress and matching beret are hot. Keep up your brilliant work!

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

Writer

P.1

{Additional note: In the UK the term "vest" describes a "tank top". Don't ask me how "vest" transformed to that extreme. I'll use "vest" and "tank top" interchangeably.

Also, I've taken creative liberty with spells, namely the Killing Curse used here. I remember watching Order of the Phoenix and seeing Sirius get hit by an Avada, and it was a letdown opposed to how it's supposed to be the most frightening of all Unforgivable Curses, not to mention the power Bellatrix was supposed to wield. Moody's teaching of Cruciatus in Goblet felt more formidable. About a third of Harry's head was blown to bits, like it or leave it}

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