Two

"I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart"

Keane, "We might as well be strangers"

Lavinia

"Orion Yaxley, I'm here representing the Daily Prophet. Do you mind me starting with the questions?" He holds out his hand, but all I can do is stare at him, feeling like I'm going to explode any minute. He's got to be joking. At first he dares to ask me in front of Merlin knows how many other reporters about… my husband's death and now he pretends not to know who I am?

I don't even wait for him to sit down again to start my tirade. Really, I've had it now. So I take a deep breath and then say: "Merlin, stop the pretence, Yaxley! And what where you thinking when you of all people asked me about… about… Tony" – even after five years I'm still choking slightly at mentioning his name, but what happened then was just… is still unbearable – "in front of all those… press vultures? Ah, bloody hell, why am I asking anyway? You are one of those vultures. And it's just like back in School, isn't it? When all that counted for you were your ambition and your career and your appearance."

I want to go on with my ranting, but I suddenly realise something rare in Orion Yaxley's face: Utter confusion. I blink. What the…? "Do we actually know each other, Mrs… McNeil? Because I seriously have no idea how you could get these ideas about me, and why you would start making these… assumptions about my character.", he says, obviously using my moment of perplexity to cover up his own befuddlement. I blink again. Either he has grown into an even better actor than he was at School or… no, I'm just too full of anger to think about the other possibility.

"Do we know each other? Do we… Yaxley, if this is one of your stupid Slytherin jokes, it's definitely not funny. I mean, it's not even… Merlin, what am I doing here? This is a pointless waste of time, and I really have better things to do than let myself being fooled by you. If you'd excuse me now…", I say, already standing up and moving to brush past his chair and rush out of the door.

But he's not finished, obviously, as he suddenly stands up as well and says: "I don't think so. I'm here because I promised my colleague – who is incapacitated at the moment – to get the best story possible. And what is better than an interview with England's star… uh, what position are you playing actually, Mrs McNeil?"

For a moment, all I can do is stand there and try to hold myself back from actually lashing out to him – and I'm not a violent person, being a Hufflepuff to the heart and all that. Then I catch myself and start ranting again: "Okay, Yaxley, I knew you weren't interested much in Quidditch back in School, but you should have heard at least once in the last ten years about me and my position! Merlin be damned, we were friends, Yaxley. Did that ever mean anything to you? Did it?" He is obviously still pretending to draw a blank because the face certainly looks like it. Bloody bastard. "No… no, I suppose it didn't… you'd have had the guts to stop sneaking around and make it public at one point if it had had any meaning for you."

I'm a little surprised at myself now, because all of a sudden I don't sound angry anymore, but… resignated. Quiet. Like I certainly donot want to sound in front of anyone anymore. But then something only centimetres short of a wonder happens. Something that looks suspiciously like a flicker of recognition in his eyes... Huh?

Orion

Just when I started to doubt her mental health it suddenly dawns on me. We were friends. Never public. At Hogwarts. It can't be – she can't have become a Quidditch-star, can she? This is surreal. It's my turn to stare at her, if only for a moment before I get back into my usual bearing. Lavinia? Lavinia McBean – Hufflepuff, notorious do-gooder has become famous without me noticing?

I look at her and it all comes back to me. She's older, less shy, a lot tougher seemingly, but underneath it, she still looks the same, kind of. I try to fight off the images that rush through my head at the mere thought of her name. She had been the first dead body – well, it had turned out to be just a full-body-bind – I've seen in my life. The picture of her lying at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, stiff and motionless, had haunted me for a long time, even after I began to report on the war and death was omnipresent. That's why we had become friends and started meeting in the broom closet. I had saved her life that night. Not for her sake, naturally – it was more of an accident. But it had created a bond that had lasted two years.

I hate awkward silence. But this is what's just happening. I don't know what to say. It's been 10 years; 10 extremely eventful years. Why does she expect me to recognize her? It's not just her name that has changed. I get angry at the thought. After all, why should this be my fault?

"You haven't exactly cared about keeping in touch, either – Lavinia", I tell her, a bit more aggressive than I wanted it to sound. "And as for the rest of your accusations: No, I didn't recognize you – obviously. I have a lot of work to do and use my spare time productively. I don't care for Quidditch and it's a regrettable mistake that I'm even here today. I meet a lot of people on my job – don't expect me to remember each and every one of them. Even if it touches your ego – I haven't heard of you as a Quidditch-player and I don't care about the position you play, except to help out my car-" I realize what I'm about to say just in time to correct myself: "my colleague. So, do you want to do this bloody interview or what?"

She stares at me like she wanted to strangle me any moment. It's actually quite scary. What did I do? "Should I feel honoured that you even remember my name, you idiot? If there is an ego too big for itself in this room, it's yours! I'm not someone you met at your job. We were friends! At least, I thought we were – but it's obvious I was wrong." She's furious but she can't hide the bitterness underneath her words. I catch her trying to storm out of the room and draw my wand to magically lock the door before her. She's too surprised to draw her own wand and looks back at me puzzled. I need this interview and I won't loose my face in front of my colleagues over some old friendship.

"Wewere friends – but that was ten years ago, for heaven's sake! Ten years is a long time. You know as well as I that it wasn't possible to make it public. This doesn't mean it hadn't meant anything to me. You didn't want it public then, either!" That's true – though I had to make an effort to convince her. Our lives were in danger. There was the war, after all and I was always aware of the risk; much more than she was. I suddenly remember who her husband had been – and who his murderer. It's likely that I would be as dead as he is if I had publicly admitted to be friends with her. So what does she want from me?

A/N: At first: thanks from both of us to Queen Nagini. We hope you stay with this story :) Secondly: All others, please drop us a review if you like the story. And if not, do it all the more, because constructive criticism is much more likely to improve a story than saying nothing.