A/N: Perposterice thing again. Title/prompt is from a list of common eggcorns (g'wan, use Google), and was part of a challenge.
Malice of Forethought
soberloki
"Ron? Have you got my – what are you doing?" Harry yelped, spotting Ron on his knees next to the sofa.
Ron held up a sheet of parchment. "Planned, all of it. Planned. He knew she was going to be there, found the man and gave him the potion… it wasn't random," he gurgled, and Harry saw that his best mate of almost fifteen years had been crying. And from the smell he'd just noticed, throwing up.
"What? What is it? She, who? He, who?" Harry snatched the parchment and scanned what it contained, then threw it on the floor, away from himself, taking a step back.
From the shadowed curl of heavy, smudged, printed material, Hermione stared glassy-eyed and barely moving from a Daily Prophet photograph, the famous one that had been everywhere for a month after the attack.
Beneath it, in neat, hideously familiar script: A gift – Cheers, DM.