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.
The world never stops: living, breathing, and changing…
***
Chapter Forty-Eight - Dedication
***
THE DAILY PROPHET
NOLPHO BANISHED, THIRTEEN ACCUSED OF TREASON
"After thorough investigations," says Timothy Toulsen, Press Secretary to Minister Shacklebolt, "Several key figures ranging from inside the Wizenmagot to obscure occupations within the administration were banished from the Ministry. There have only been a few banishments before, and never on this level, but the administration's investigators have revealed some troubling news with these men and women. What the past has given us is that we cannot afford to let just the littlest of disproportionate nuances through. We are always on high alert. We wish there was some other way to conclude what we've seen and heard."
So much for "high alert" when Minister Shacklebolt has set off, again, to another country. This time he's headed to Moscow, leaving behind crises in the homeland. Apparently, to the Minister, other countries are on a heightened rung of his priority ladder. The United Kingdom evidently comes last on the ladder. We've seen this on countless occasions. Not to mention it's your taxes that pay for these rendezvous to the States, or wherever the Minister and his crooks decide to go to next. I guess his lavish estate here in London isn't enough. Maybe he's procuring other vacancies for his holiday pleasures? I wouldn't be surprised, and neither should you.
When asked for specifics of the investigation, and upon what purpose these fourteen were kicked from office, the Press Secretary shrugged the questions off with, "Commenting will only cause apprehension within our security measures."
Quincy Nolpho has been unjustly wronged, stomped over and wrung out to dry wet because he had a few words with Harry Potter at the trial where Harry Potter molested one of our dear reporters through filth and fisticuffs, something we'd only see in a lowly Neanderthals. The Ministry caters to Potter, or should I say, Potters, as no one in line with our Savior-boy can be discussed. Or, shall I say, discussed only if the Ministry deems the conversation worthy. Thus, when Mister Nolpho decided to engage Potter's past, his bi-polar outbursts, his tendencies to seek violence, he went straight onto Minister Shacklebolt's "Hit List". Every single person fired from these "thorough investigations," from Iaego to Muir, have been cited as using "disproportionate nuances"-QUESTIONING-the Ministry's involvement with Harry Potter and his pals, or Savior-boy himself.
It's a witch hunt unlike Salem. Most of these people have children and are now without their name. Being banished from Ministry follows you until death. Who will hire you with this scar on your forehead? Unless it's a lightning bolt, you're shit out of luck kids.
Angelica Teivel
Writer
Page 1 (cont. on pages 2 and 3)
***
The Quibbler
Memorialising the Past for our Future
Tomorrow, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will be unveiling their long-term construction of their founded Memorial Gardens. Any alumni can picture looking across a lush green field, the blue sky, white clouds and mountains in the distance reflecting off the lake. A walk through courtyard, redone with beautiful red-earth brick, displays a shining example of architecture: a statue of Albus Dumbledore, a hand in the air as if to reach for the Heavens above. Surrounding him, gardens spread with pathways and benches leading down to the lake. Enchantments have been put on the flowers, their rich, vibrant colours to never be worn from weather.
Albus Dumbledore's resting place was redone to be with his silent loved ones. Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, students too, given the right by their parents as an option, laid to rest within the hallowed Hogwarts grounds. The faculty of Hogwarts, then and now, loved ones, friends, colleagues from across nations will be there for the dedication with speeches to be given by Headmaster Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid, Poppy Pomfrey, Sybil Trelawney, and Harry Potter. Various family members of students are also encouraged to speak at the ceremony. News agencies and the media have been barred from the event due in practice of privacy for the grieving members.
The staff here at The Quibbler would like to extend their prayers for everyone.
Meygan Brookes
Writer
P. 1
***
September 16, 2000
7:13 AM GMT
Hogwarts Castle, Memorial Gardens
A gentle drizzle, the murky England sky, a suffocating grey from horizon to horizon mourned with the witches and wizards sitting in the Memorial Gardens. Juxtaposed, the rich colour of the white lilies and pink carnations held against the emotional catharsis of the morning like accidental paint spots splattered graffiti on a stand-alone wall. White fold-up traveling chairs were lined in rows, an aisle down the middle showcasing a lush lawn taken to with absolute care.
Some bothered with umbrellas, synchronized with their remorseful black garb. Myself, on the other hand, accepted the pitter-pattering tear drops. Mine were washed baptismally down my cheeks. I sat in the front with others I knew, Ginny and most of the Weasleys, Molly not here, Lee, Dean, Oliver, the faculty at Hogwarts, current students and parents of children who lost their lives in the War.
The sobs were a reminder, mine, everyone's, that Life came with a cost greater than anything else. Ginny at my shoulder, she had her face in the wool of my black trench coat. A stage had been made, several voices to be heard with none other than my beloved as its centerpiece. He looked so striking compared to the dismal state. He was talking at a low podium, painted white, pure, like the marble statue of Dumbledore behind him. Flitwick stood aside him, his hands folded, listening with his head bowed at Harry delivering his speech.
"…I thought I knew Severus, like I did so many others: Headmaster Dumbledore, Hagrid, Professor Sinistra, Professor Trelawney…even those not of Hogwarts, needing to be remembered too: Moody, Remus and his wife, Nymphadora, my godfather… I wish I could go back, we could go back. The things I've said, we said to them taken back. I wished to have known Professor, Headmistress McGonagall, had her over for Christmas dinner… Had her see my future children…"
Harry grinned at me as he paused, the drizzling rain having pressed and pulled his hair down on his forehead.
I smiled, tears at their ducts, overflowing and cascading over my cheeks.
I was supporting him, always.
This was hard for me, hard for everyone.
But, I knew it was ten times more difficult for him, so bold in the face of fracturing psychologies.
"…I didn't know Professor Snape, Severus, like I'd wanted to. In the final hour of his life, he told me things that dramatically changed him as a person in my life. Beyond teaching Potions and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, he secretly enjoyed a game of Quidditch. Who would have thought?"
Some in the crowd laughed a little at the revelation of someone so overwhelming could find relaxation in Quidditch.
"I would have liked to have tossed around a quaffle with him. Maybe race him around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch… Looking back, he could have been someone I could, we could look up to…like a father, someone like Sirius was in my life, and in all our lives…"
"…But, what I'd like for everyone to remember when they leave the Memorial today is not the tears we weep for those we love and lost, but the happy, joyful memories. We all were dealt a great deal of hardships in our lives… But it's their essence, in our hearts and minds," Harry patted his chest, and then touched his forehead. "Which will keep us strong and make us better people."
***
The drizzling rain picked up in pace, but not by much. The drops became larger in their radius, now splotching wet the sleeves of my coat, the black trousers on my legs. Ginny was wrapped around my right arm, leading her wherever I went without so much of a word. She'd told me in whisper how much stability I gave her, even by proximity without actually talking her up. I guess I got that part from being around Harry. Truly, I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind. I, too, sobbed. Maybe my tear ducts had dried, but my insides wrenched just as tightly in a knot as every other sad soul here.
My fingers easily slid across the alabaster masonry, the rain pooled on its sheen, white surface. The coffin mimicked so much of the Headmaster's beyond in the Gardens, but beneath this lay Severus. I felt Gin rub her face into my arm, squeeze my hand and hide in the material of the coat. I stood still, people coming up beside me, around me, as if in slow motion. The memory, in stills of a photography camera, all flipped forward in unison. I saw the past in a flash, seconds. For those seconds I wanted to keel over, if not for the staunchness in my knees, hurting when my mind reeled over them from how stiff I'd become. I could have been but another statue. With the rainwater making the marble glossy, the atmosphere so surreal, the fog a dreamscape…
I couldn't make heads nor tails of the matter. Up was down and left was right. This was a man I so readily hated, loathed. In one brief breath, the world changed; all that I knew vanished for a truth. The truth so drastically different I think I could have gotten whiplash. Severus had loved Harry. Surely, he hated him for his demeanor, but deep inside he protected him…protected him even from Dumbledore, where he could. To think I had more trust in the Headmaster than Severus…but, not even I, the know-it-all, the brains, could have concocted that conclusion. For the longest time, I thought Severus was the most obvious: a Death Eater, his target the embodiment of my heart.
I would have killed him without thought like any other Death Eater.
My, how change can cripple one's mind.
The pads of my fingers fell within the tiny indentations, ebony chipped into white:
Severus Snape
Strength to persevere and endure in the face of extraordinary obstacles
I laid my red rose at the foot of the coffin, Gin shuffling along with me into a nonpermanent partition. My eyes wandered the patronage, the individuals in groups by family, friends, faculty. I saw Luna with Alice, their hands, fingers intertwined. Alice had her back to me, softly chatting with people I'd never seen before. Walking by, Luna gave me one of her warm smiles. I'd always thought she was off, but I swear, the deeper I've gone into life, the more I realise she's been right. The pain I feel, the more I want to withdraw; Luna's taken her pain and returned from its depths for better.
None of the press was allowed for the event.
Luna had opted for The Quibbler to sit this out as well, even when the pressure fell heavily on the Prophet.
The Minister had been invited to show; but, I hadn't seen him in the crowd. If he did come, he came and went. No speeches. Typical, for the present's general malaise, he had enough of himself to share. I had no resentment other than his trifling with Harry's emotions. I was sure he didn't come off blank on purpose; though, I wish he'd show a little more feeling when extracting Harry's nightmares. It wasn't fair the slightest, and it hurt me in ways no one but Harry could ever see.
I smiled at Fleur, stepping my way around the Memorial with Gin still very attached. Fleur stood beside her love, Bill, with `ittle Dominique in her arms. It was quite incredible to see how she went from being obvious with pregnancy to her lithe figure once again. Dominique, the light ginger already appearing atop her tiny head, clasped at Fleur's blonde hair. She reminded me of Hope. Mister Weasley had his back to me, talking to a family.
The more I walked, the more everything went… Was I truly in a dream? I questioned every step. The last mile, would there be light at the end? The fog rolled in, like folding cloth, at the edges. I've had dreams about death, my death, and how it would be. The only concept concrete enough to keep me grounded was a certain pull, a gentle squeeze now and then by Ginny consciously or subconsciously. She had her head lying on my shoulder, eyes closed when I saw her from my right side.
"Ginny."
Someone called out, removing my liquefied trance.
I hadn't even remembered where I was going, where I was for that matter.
I saw something in the fog, my eyes re-focusing, and noticed a slip of white cloak vanish back into dense obscurity.
I felt Gin lift from me and look over, like I did, to see Neville with beverage in hand. Gin looked from him, to me, and back to him. Slowly her fingers loosened from mine. She glanced back at me, gazed at me in brief, and then nudged at my shoulder with her nose as if the very smell of me could let her leave my aura. She did, unwillingly by another look back halfway to Neville.
This would be the first time they'd talked, at least in my presence.
Alone, my eyes swept the room to find… Harry.
I saw him with Flitwick, Hagrid, and Madam Hooch. Flitwick was talking, and I wished to hear if not for a buzzing in my ears. I floated, high, the catharsis nearly unbearable. I wished to do a lot of things: cry, yell, light something on fire with my wand; though, none of it would have made me feel engaged with reality. I could hear myself breathe, feel my chest rise and fall. It really was slow motion, his upwards gaze, our eyes locking, how his remorse lightened into grin. He held his arms open and I fell into him, arms about his neck, his arms around my middle. I embraced him, and embraced him tightly. My face, my nose, lips at the crook of his neck, aside his throat, I smiled, smelled the pumpkin, and melted into his form like sugar to water.
"…Did I do well?" He asked silently in my ear.
"Brilliantly…," I confessed with ease.
***
September 19, 2000
8:36 AM GMT
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place
Tuesday morning.
I didn't set my alarm. Lesson was in, but I decided not to go. With an emotional rollercoaster over the weekend, an emotional ride for the past several months, I just needed some time for me, and for me and Harry. I hadn't an exam, no essay to turn in… I knew it wasn't me, per se; acting selfish, and it was my birthday. It was my birthday and I could cry if I wanted to! I hadn't enough will to cry, relaxing, intensely, until I woke from a shift in the mattress.
I felt Harry get up, move to his side of the bed, the part in the centre where his weight would push down lifting. Knowing I'd sleep in today, no work, just us, I drifted back to sleep. He probably went for the loo, maybe a drink of water, maybe to catch the post, check the weather on television… I don't think he knew I was even awake. I lay still before going off again, my head hiding halfway into the sheets, the comforter, from the cold air. He could have gone to light a fire! And then, he came back, inching his way against me, the sheets being pulled up and cool air rousing me to fidget.
Something was inside the sheets, or…at my arm, the purple-and-black plaid shirt catching on what felt of pecks, until I realised Harry's kisses, my upper arm, shoulder… I grinned, though I faded in-and-out of consciousness. He nuzzled my neck, lightly rubbing the stubble at the exposed parts of skin beneath my jaw. I put my hand on his cheek to show I was there, an "Mm…," moan, subtle, escaping. At my earlobe, in my hair, he explored by lip, taking me in. I could hear him breathe, hear him sniff, smell of me. He always enjoyed my smell, the natural vanilla for I hadn't perfume on. He found my hand beneath the sheets and brought it out, having to turn over, roll over, for him to caress the top, and then my palm, before placing a small, slender white-velvet box in my hand.
I blinked, unsure at first what was in my grasp. My eyes, squinted, stayed on what was given. Poised, I pushed up on my elbows and lay at an elevated angle on my pillow. Harry, scratching and massaging my head, combing my wild bed-hair with his fingers grinned on at the gift. His free hand, his arm, moved over and around me above the sheets as if I were his gift, too.
"What is it?" I exclaimed half-yawning, not fully attuned.
"Wouldn't possibly be fun to tell you what is in it now…," he chuckled, kissing my cheek, leaving his nose to linger at the side of my softened flesh. "Open it up, silly."
I did so, carefully, the box on a hinge. Inside, glittering gold on a pillow of ivory plush, strung out a necklace.
Its charm, its apex: a feather.
And, not just any feather…the feather, a cast in form of one of many a Hippogriff's plumage.
Buckbeak.
With contrast, and so like our Hippogriff, the gold was silvered, and white, to the small, golden chain.
In all the emotion, I couldn't help but shed tears.
"I love it…!" I threw my arms about Harry, hearing Harry laugh softly through his nose.
He tightened his arms around me, cradled me to him, saying with an emotional tinge himself, "Happy twenty-first birthday, my love."
***
LOONY'S CHALLENGE TO WITCH WEEKLY
Lovegood's Quibbler knows they're in hot water. With the Prophet turning profits, our media strengthening internationally, and a growing number of subscriptions inside the homeland, Lovegood's falling enterprise has took shot at an appendage of the Prophet. Witch Weekly, owned by the Prophet, has seen a double in sales these past few months since Rita Skeeter has taken over. More skepticism over Lovegood media, her extreme rhetoric of support for the Order, and mistakes in Minister Shacklebolt's administration, as well as support for Harry Potter, an outlet she and her media has decided to explore is suspect to be put on shelves starting in 2001.
Entitled, Q, the magazine is to be marketed similarly in comparison to Witch Weekly, demographically and logistically, ranging from adolescents and middle-aged persons. Though, as Witch Weekly caters to their audience, the Prophet sees Lovegood's venture as following The Quibbler's example. The magazine, we're sure, will glorify the means and processes The Quibbler already rectifies necessary. Expect more Potter transcendence to immortality and expect more excuses and apologies for what is the Ministry's thumb in each and every citizen's eye.
Our assumptions are products of rumors that Loony is looking to debut Q with Harry and soon to be wife, Hermione Granger. Nevertheless, we cannot wait to read the expected comics of Lovegood's structuralizing the Potter's in great aptitude, ranging from the probable look back in time, the present and future stakes for the Potter family.
Miss Skeeter has said to, "Look out for several surprises," around the time Q hits shop shelves.
Gus Perwinsky
Writer
Page 1
***
September 23, 2000
12:14 AM
Serendipity's, Violet Hill
A sandwich-board sign sits outside a pub, laughter and…awful lyrics coming from inside. Friday Night Karaoke is written in pink chalk within the black panel, with the winner(s) receiving a prize of 10 galleons.
Gin and I dragged Harry and Neville to the pub, a double-date. Gin and Neville had been having civilized conversations, at least; though, nothing as spontaneous as before. Gin seemed interested more in my and Harry's happenings as we ate. I'd bring Neville into our conversation if all else failed.
We were in a booth by ourselves, the homely bar warm from the cold. Harry and I shared a plate of chili cheese chips with butterbeer, my second. Harry had a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Gin ate some sort of fish sandwich, grilled tilapia, while Neville tore into spicy chicken wings.
Leaving obstacles behind, it was a dime a dozen to find time like this to see our friends. With me with school or part-time work, and Harry at Hogwarts, fitting in something after stumbling into Number Twelve took effort. If it weren't for my non-procrastination ways, studying early for next week's exam, I probably wouldn't have tallied Harry's remarks, strolling along with the plan for a get-together. Not that I, or we, didn't want too, of course.
Even after today, sitting back beside Harry, leaning against him and putting my head on his shoulder, I was a tad wilted. I wouldn't show it, putting on a smile, a face like Harry who was probably more in my boat than the talkative Ginny who had taken a temporary position at Flourish and Blotts. Neville took the night off.
Harry kissed the top of my head, and in listening to Ginny's description of new literature taken in by the bookshop, I heard her pause-we all did-but shook it off as if she were coughing.
She sneezed.
"Bless you," said Neville, handing Gin an unused napkin.
Gin, glancing at Neville from the side briefly, took the napkin and blew her nose. "Thanks."
"Blimey!" Gasped an astonished ginger-haired girl. She had a top hat in her hands, upside-down. The other pub patrons were putting their names in to participate. "It really is Harry Potter! And Hermione!"
"What! Where?!"
Neville, Gin and I laughed, Harry gazing about as if trying to find those the waitress spoke.
I wrapped my arms further around Harry, the table blocking the view of everyone.
And, Harry squeezed me in reply.
"My apologies! It's just…wow," Her "wow" was more of a peep than a word. "W-will you all be joining in?"
"I don't know-"
"Yes!" Gin and I piped together.
I wrote down Harry's name on a napkin, making sure he couldn't see it.
Gin did the same with Neville.
This was planned from the beginning!
Folding the napkin, I threw the paper into the hat with Ginny's and sat back down aside Harry.
Neville looked confused and Harry eyed the suspicion.
"What are you two girl's up to now?" asked Neville, brow raised.
"Was that my name?" questioned Harry, his arms snaking back around me, captured. "My name you just threw in there?"
"Absolutely not!" I answered…in a smirk.
"You know we'll drag you two birds up on stage if we get called…," Neville threatened in a glare. "I swear it. Right, Harry?"
"But it would be against the rules!" exclaimed Gin in a smirk of her own. She looked at me, then Harry, and then Neville on her left. "Our names aren't on there. And besides…"
She looked back at Harry. "Who else would be better than Harry Potter!"
She mimicked the same sort of exclamation as the waitress.
Harry picked up a peanut from the bowl in the middle of the round table and tossed it at Gin.
Gin ducked.
After so many…interesting…singles, and duets, Gin and I were overcome and doubled over when the pub owner, a wand to his throat, called out Harry and Neville's names. Gin prodded Neville to go, whereas I pushed Harry to get up. The crowd hooted and hollered, especially when the pub's owner rang aloud Harry's name once more, exalted in this society; though, tonight we made fun of it.
Maybe it was the butterbeer, or the dabble into Harry's stronger choice of drink.
Regardless, we got them from the table, giggling to ourselves as they wandered to the stage and stood like two deer caught in headlights. In front of them a prompter, a mix of Muggle and the wizarding world, the words appearing in the darkened atmosphere for the rest of us to sing along. They were given specialty wands, the sort made for amplification, microphones for "our kind".
Harry and Neville took a shot at one another, laughing, pushing each other's shoulders. They were obviously nervous, the spotlight on them. Gin and I were loud with our own laughs, squeals, my own when I recognized the song first by the lead, and then the lyric.
Harry and Neville first shuffled into the first stanza together, the audience having a chuckle as they both looked at each other to find who would start first, and Harry took over:
Harry, eyes wide at the prompter, sung, "Just a small town girl…living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train," He put his hand out and swept it across the room for dramatic emphasis. "Going anywhere!"
The party roared.
"Just a city boy…born in south Detroit. He took the midnight train," Neville closed his eyes, scrunched up and shouted, "Going anywhere!"
I cried, laughing so hard.
Gin was holding her sides, hitting the table.
Both Harry and Neville carried together:
"It goes on and on and on and on!"
"Strangers waiting!"
Neville pushed on Harry, laughing, missing a line in the song, "-shadows searching in the night!"
Harry's eyes went wide, "Streetlights! People!"
He pointed at me and Ginny, "Living just to find emotion!"
Neville picked up, bobbing his head, his eyes watching the scroll, "Hiding, somewhere in the-"
Harry broke in, and in a shrill, "-In the niiiiiight!"
He fell to the floor on his knees, his fists in the air, trying his best to pull his vocals to that height.
Neville put a palm over his face.
I held myself, tears streaming down my face, feeling Gin bounce into me as she tried her best to settle, but couldn't at the sight of our crowd-pleasing, goofy men.
Gin and I wrapped our arms around each other, foreheads together, and sung along with the boys, the entire pub.
***
The Quibbler
EPSILON'S SCARE IN RIO
Shade Epsilon, as I'm sure everyone knows, has been traveling below the equator with her Messy Wet Tour. She's visited Australia, South Africa, and while taking her music to Rio de Janeiro was swiftly removed by her security teams when the Dark Mark appeared overhead. The Muggles at her concert, who had no idea what was happening, merely stared at the phenomenon, mouths opened. Those who knew what was going on quickly fled the scene, one Epsilon fan stating, "I was afraid for my life".
Minister Shacklebolt and his administration have been in communication with Brazil's government, reports say. The Quibbler can also report that Aurors apprehended suspicious people for questioning and that Obliviators swept in to reassure the befuddled Muggle community. It was just another UFO conspiracy in the South American newspapers.
Shade Epsilon restored confidence in her fans by putting out a press release, quote: "I am fine and in great spirits, loves! Rio will experience what they've been waiting for! Viva Brazil!" Shade Epsilon's future concert dates have been changed under these new circumstances.
Worried fans worry not! Information given exclusively to The Quibbler, she will not be canceling any dates of her worldwide tour!
Rebecca Greene
Writer
P.1
***
October 1, 2000
10:07 PM GMT
Godric's Hollow
An unseemly cold and bitter night for west England, the earth sighing breaths of chill as the atmosphere raked softly, powder grains of light snow at our feet. The tiny wizard community was shut indoors by the temperature, by nightfall, with only a few crawlers resounding in the distance. The night was tremendously quiet, a swaying branch when the wind would blow the only commotion.
I could see our product, the synchronized white puffs from our distant lips, standing beside Harry with my arms wrapped around his left, my mitten-clad hands clutching his own mitten-clad hand. We were bundled, both in turtle-necks, both in coats and boots. The fringe of my salt-and-pepper coat would wave in the zephyr, longer than Harry's severely black which came just below his waist. His more thickly in comparison, I'd taken to be an Eskimo with my several layers, a forest-green beanie to match a forest-green jumper.
Standing in front of his mum and dad, I'd watch him stare on with a lack of emotion, a straight face, and tired. We'd come once a month, especially on holidays, to visit them. I'd listen to Harry talk to them as if they were here in the flesh, and I'd become so torn, heartbroken, and overwhelmed with tears. I'd come with him even when I was with Ronald after Hogwarts, after the War, before we were officially a pair. What was established never wavered, and in growing closer it never was an issue: I would be right there beside him no matter what. Any other circumstance took a backseat. He'd never do this alone unless he told me so.
He told me before we left, on a whim, really, as we were going to visit on the 31st in memorial, that:
"I need to see them."
We were sitting and relaxing together on the sofa, watching some sitcom on television. We had eaten, showered, started on about "Monday mornings" when he suddenly became quiet. I remember looking at him seconds before he said those five words, and…I won't say it scared me. How he stated it, low, blank, flat…
It horrified me…
My intuition told me it had to do with Kingsley's inappropriate push. Something triggered, unlocked a hatch to the basement in Harry's mind where I knew he suppressed any sort of feeling that might depress me or others. As much as I willed and wanted him to open up, and he has… He'd never quite fully reach, even though I could feel him wanting to, but hid, relapsed into past mechanisms for defense.
I'd ask nothing further from him, and would try and lift his spirits by changing to subject to something lighter in flavour to his taste.
Quidditch was always a good standby.
I laid my head on his shoulder, some flecks of white melting when my warm cheek leaned against his dark coat. I closed my eyes and let the silence engross the moment, Harry having given his hellos and nothing more, just a vacantly empty gaze at his parent's graves, at the words:
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death
When we were about to leave, I broke free of Harry's hand, his fingers to step towards the immaculately etched stone. I let slip my wand from my coat and so carefully and so very cautiously murmured an enchantment at the earth below, having stooped down in kneeling. Closing my eyes, I recited what I knew by heart, circling my wand to perfection, and then opening my eyes to see a wreath of red roses, flawless.
"Good night, Missus and Mister Potter… We'll see you both again real soon, promise."
I pushed from the knees and stood back up, dusting the frozen debris from my trousers. Turning around, I saw Harry having been watching me, his eyes never once looking away, a symbol of everything between us. I came to his front and waited to be apparated back to Number Twelve, my right hand joining his to see his hand slip to my cheek, beneath my eye where he…
I hadn't felt the tear I shed.
He kissed me, my eyes fluttering to a close…
…And we were gone; two souls of which no one in the small village would have ever known were there, the trace of our boot prints being faded away by sweeping powdered snow.
***
October 13, 2000
11:49 PM GMT
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place
For such a day for everyone else, Friday the thirteenth came and went without much of any surprise. Thankfully. I went to school, Harry went to work. I went to work, Harry came home and fixed a dinner of hot soup and toasted sandwiches, something I so desperately needed after being caught in the freezing windstorm outside. It'd stopped snowing, but that didn't mean it hadn't stopped raining. Wet and cold, suffice to say that I hadn't come down with the flu was an understatement. Then again, I had one good friend looking out for me at school and work, and a lover keeping his eye on me as much as possible.
Having a mobile was a brilliant idea.
I'd come from the kitchen with parts of the home not finding the roaring fire consuming the hearth. The bottoms of my feet were frigid, even with socks on! I wished I would have put trousers on, but knew after the business in preparing hot chocolate I would be set up cozy, beneath the Gryffindor quilt, with Harry. I'd already stolen his old Quidditch jersey, which was mine now, not his. It hung or was put away folded on my side of the wardrobe, not his, to his laughter. I'd commandeered quite a number of his shirts, to which he'd very well tell me when I'd go snooping in his clothes.
Not that he ever minded.
He said I was sexy in his shirts, and I told him he'd be sexy in mine.
…He nearly tore one of my shirts trying to get it over his shoulders.
I pulled a muscle laughing that night.
Rinsing out the pan I mixed the cocoa and milk in over the stove, I placed it aside to dry in the rack and flipped the light off over the range. Both hands on the cup, one securely on the handle, I sipped as I trekked back into the living area where I left Harry. He was watching the Wizarding News Network when I left him, to come back to see him having changed the broadcast to the Magical Sports Channel, the package I'd given him for Christmas many months ago. He was obsessed, the station most popular on the telly.
I rolled my eyes in a grin, stepping down into the den.
Harry turned his head back towards me when he heard my footsteps and smiled, resting with an arm on the backside of the sofa.
Coming around the stand before the armrest, I asked with a bit of chuckle amidst, "So, what happened?"
"The blighters began some pathetic story about `us'. Rumors-so what's new, eh?"
"Ah, yes-another rousing conspiracy theory? Defamation? Or, am I pregnant again? Damn, I get pregnant every month it seems! At this rate I hope there's enough left for when we really want to get preggers," I took the cup from my lips after another sip, Harry laughing, and handed it to him. "Sip, love? It's lovely."
His uninjured eye glanced down at the steamy cup, the dimmed light of the den shadowing the already darkened, damaged eye. He could still see out of it, albeit through permanent squint…a portion of the Ministry and Kingsley I could commend after the rubbish they'd put Harry through.
"I love how you're so casual," he mused.
"It'll be lovely," He added, taking the hot cocoa from me. He looked up at me. "You made it."
I smiled when he set it to his lips.
"I blew on it to cool it down a bit…," I went to escape into the quilt on Harry, to stop, to see my kitty blending in with the red-and-orange colours on Harry's lap.
"What is this then?" I put my hands on my hips. "Has he taken my territory…again?!"
I was being highly sarcastic in tone.
Harry played it off. "I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about."
Harry laid his hand on Crookshank's little head and scratched it. "What is she talking about?"
"Should I be jealous?"
"Absolutely."
I smirked. "I see how it is then…"
"…I'll just be off," I began as if to wander away. "Good ni-"
Harry caught hold of the back of his jersey, wrapped the cloth in his hands and systemically pulled me back to him. "You're not getting away that easily."
"Oh?" I stood aside the sofa now, my leg at the armrest. "How will this work when he's taken to you so fondly?"
I crossed my arms and observed Harry set the cup of cocoa down on the sofa stand. "We'll make room for you."
"Oh, is that it?" I snorted. "You'll `make room for me'? Is this how it goes now?"
"There will always be room for you."
All smiles through the banter. "I don't believe he'll listen to mummy right now. I'm sure daddy on the other hand…"
"Crookshanks…," Harry slid a hand beneath the orange fluff gently and picked him up. The lazy kitty merely meowed at him, a companion, something that if any other person besides him, and me, and Ginny, would have done would have easily found a feisty backhanded claw. Instead, Crookshanks just sort of eased into whatever Harry did. "Mum wants in."
"Mummy needs daddy, hun," I laughed through my nose.
Harry took up the quilt and I steadied myself, slipping onto his lap and getting into a comfortable spot for him to tug the quilt back over us. More of the fabric fell on me, his intention. I curled against him, cuddling, adjusting to his pockets. The telly low, our tiny laughs echoed over the volume. We nuzzled, a kiss or two, enveloping him those moments, feeling his hand slid over my bare legs, my knickers, stomach… He touched the necklace, the Hippogriff feather that will forever hang from my neck. I saw a bit of emotion spill from him, a quiver of his lip, a wetness in his eyes, and then a smile as he looked back into mine. Butterflies fluttered in my tummy, a chill ran up the length of my spine. I took him, kissed him with heat, all the while my ickle Kneazle climbed back atop, now, my lap upon the quilt.
"Aw…," I could hear Crookshanks purring, warm and safe. I looked from my kitty to Harry who watched me.
"Look at this beautiful family," I said rosy-cheeked with utmost delight.
The smile Harry carried double in size.
His focus never leaving me, he sighed, contently, and issued his happy reply, "Look at this beautiful family."
***
The Quibbler
BERLIN'S DEATH EATERS
Troubling stories are being reported from the Ministry. According to sources inside the administration, several raids occurred in Germany after their Dark Mark scare. This isn't new information. However, now the media knows snippets of what was found. One source called it, "A frightening hindsight," picking through the remains of newspapers, radio transcripts, television clips and literature detailing such important buildings as Hogwarts castle and Azkaban Prison. Included were Muggle sites like the Palace of Westminster, Buckingham Palace, and Tower Bridge. Rumors also have been floating around Ministry officials, but have not been confirmed, that Trafalgar Square and Violet Hill's Business District are targeted. Both of these see thousands a people pass through them on any given day. When told about the threat, Komli, the Violet Hill chief Gringott's Bank overseer, shrugged it off and said, "Human's are feebleminded creatures, but funny, nevertheless."
The Ministry has been in contact with the Prime Minister about the details.
Articles were also recovered at these Death Eater hideouts. Among gut-wrenching portraits of past, random murders, the source said that they found, "stacks of old anti-Potter Ministry propaganda, `Undesirable No. 1: 10,000 galleons for his head'".
Luna Lovegood
Writer
Chief Editor
P.1
***
THE DAILY PROPHET
QUINCY NOLPHO FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC
Rallied in the Ministry's atrium, in front of a glittering gold statue of magical creature and human, the Daily Prophet's Chief, owner, and lovely leader, Rita Skeeter, took Quincy Nolpho's hand to endorse Mister Nolpho's run to recall Kingsley Shacklebolt's position.
A mobile photograph is centred on the front page. Rita Skeeter, in her signature green pencil-skirt suit, is counter-balanced by Quincy Nolpho, in dress robes, a red tie, looking young and youthful in his late twenties. Surrounding them are people cheering, lenses flashing, a fresh gleam in the air.
"It is time for a new leader for our future!" said Miss Skeeter to the crowds. "It's time for us, the people, to take hold of the reins of our downtrodden land and seek new leadership! We have had enough, Minister Shacklebolt! And it is time for your holiday to end! It is time for you to step down!"
"Did you put him in?" Asked Mister Nolpho to the mass of media and Britons. "Who put him in? More cover-ups on cover-ups of cover-ups! I was inside! I can blow the whistle! The lies this Ministry and his admin have given you… I accept Miss Skeeter's endorsement for Minister of Magic and with you, and you, and you, and you, we all can take these liars and crooks out of office and put in decency and honesty-both of which this country so desperately needs in our time of catastrophe and economic crises!"
"The Minister has done nothing to create safety and to secure our countryside!" stated Miss Skeeter on Minister Shacklebolt's dismissive character. "Criminals-`demons'-run amuck with no soul stopping their antics! Albus Dumbledore, the Order, elevated this man, Kingsley Shacklebolt, to what he is today-what he is not! He is as false as the earth is flat! He must step down for our sake and our children's sake!"
"I will not sleep until I've taken it to the Minister, for you, and you, the children, and all of us!" Said Mister Nolpho, drowned out by the rousing applauses and chanting. "We can make a better future! I will make a better future! The recall of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and his administration is our first of many steps from a road to perdition!"
Fanfare music, the Ministry Court's anthem played at the end of Mister Nolpho's speech. The environment, ripe with moxie, felt like a page unfolding in the course of time. To bear witness to such an environment invigorated my very soul. I was left speechless and proud to be a part of our future.
Angelica Teivel
Writer
Rita Skeeter
Editor-in-Chief
Page 1 (cont. on pages 2, 3, and 4)
***
{Music Inspirations: lots, and lots, and lots of Audiomachine. Namely, Breath and Life, Final Hope, Out of Time, and one that was entitled, Death Eaters of all things. Also, for a bit of emotional relief, Journey}
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