Measure for Measure
Chapter II: Report
I stumbled out of the fireplace and promptly fell on my ass. At least some things don't change, no matter how hard you try.
I had really tried to land on my feet this time, not for appearances, but to make a speedy getaway. Brushing my pants off, I hauled myself up and made quickly for the door. Although the fight had happened quite a ways from the Cauldron there were bound to Aurors coming. I had started the fight, so unless the Ministry decided to stow their newfound hate for me, I was finished. My arm burned where I was cut, and the actual burn on my other side was giving me problems. I definitely couldn't fight them. My hand had scarcely gripped the old cast iron doorknob when someone grabbed my shoulder and roughly spun me around. Not good. As I caught sight of the woman who grabbed me, the bottom of my stomach dropped out.
"Harry Potter," Rita purred. Oh, hell, not her. Rita Skeeter, forty-three year old reporter for the Daily Prophet. She had made what little bit of a social life I had last year miserable. Telling lies about my relationships, ruining the reputations of my few close friends, and spinning elaborate yarns about my feelings surrounding everything from breathing to Quidditch. Although, luckily we had caught her spying and found out her secret. She was an illegal animagus. Hermione had forced her to tell the real story behind her fake ones, else we'd rat her out to whoever was in charge of Animagus Registration. There wasn't much she could do now, hopefully.
"Rita," I said blandly. Her eyes sparkled.
"Oh, so familiar are we? Then I suppose I'll call you Harry, then!" she attempted a smile, but it came out as a rather vicious smirk. Almost like a panther about to pounce on some poor lunchtime creature. It was definitely a bluff; she really couldn't cause me any harm.
"Well, it's more like I'm familiar with you, dear. You can call me one of five things," I replied holding up my closed fist. Her eyebrows shot up, and her hand went to her purse.
"Mr. Potter," I said raising my index finger, "Sir, Mr. Potter, Potter, or King of the Badger Hutch. You get to choose." I raised another finger with each name. She looked at me, astonished.
"You really are crazy, aren't you?" Her fingers found her quill, but I was happy to note it was a normal self-inking one, not the Quick Quotes Quill she had used last year. I smiled happily.
"Of course I am," but then added in a whisper, "Aren't you happy I let you know first?" She nodded rapidly and a predatory grin rent her face.
"I am quite glad, Har—King of the Badger Hutch. But, you do realize that you said Mr. Potter twice, right?" I nodded my head. Her journal was in her hand and she was scribbling things down quickly.
"Yes quite." She glanced up from her work, eyebrow raised. I said nothing.
"So, what do you have to say about that duel you were involved in with Mr. Avery?" Nothing like getting straight to the point, eh.
"Sorry?"
"Your fight," she flicked her wand, "with Mr. Avery," here she sneered. After I nodded her face returned to normal. Wasn't much better but still, I'd rather her not look completely hideous all the time. Now that the duel was the subject, I sobered up. I looked into her eyes, making her flinch slightly.
"Now that the question of my sanity is out of the way, I hope you remember the deal we have." She nodded, but flicked her quill impatiently.
"True, Mr. Potter, but this really happened. I'm just accurately describing the event as per one of the combatants," she raised her eyebrow in challenge. I didn't have time to waste with her. The Aurors would be here any moment, and then my sorry arse would be in jail, until they decided I deserved a trial. On the other hand, I may be arrested, but if Rita got hold of Avery he would spin the greatest tale of how the Boy-Who-Lived snapped and attacked him. Letting out a slow breath, I took the lesser of the two malignancies. My hand reached out and turned the door knob, while the other grasped the front of Rita's robes and pulled her out along with me. Sometimes I think it would be best for me not to get up in the morning. Scratch that, it's actually most of the time.
Rita gave a sharp huff at being pulled roughly out of the inn, "What, are you doing, Potter?" I looked at her blankly.
"Giving you what you want. You want an honest interview; I'll give it to you. Fire away." She looked surprised that I would actually give her an interview, before setting her face and poising her quill over the parchment.
"How did the duel start?"
"I thought he was stealing my wand."
She quirked her eyebrows up, "He stole your wand?"
"No, no he didn't. Although it was a good thing I thought he did. I didn't realize it until a few moments afterwards, but he had his wand pressed against my back, that's why I thought he was robbing me."
"I see, so you two fought over nothing then?" A smile tore at her face. I shook my head while keeping pressure on my wound and leaned against the wall.
"No, I didn't know why he was fighting seriously, until I wounded him. My spell tore his sleeve." She said nothing, so I glanced at her sideways. The woman had an expectant look on her face.
"He had the Dark Mark," I said, "That was enough reason for him to attack me, I suppose."
"And why would that be?" I could tell she had believed me about Voldemort's return, but was just going along with the Ministry. People like her would never speak out against them.
"Not too hard to comprehend, really. If you don't believe what I say about Voldemort retuning, there's always the fact that I snuffed his boss the first time." She flinched at his name, but replied anyhow.
"Ah, but Mr. Avery was acquitted of any wrong doing the first time."
"I'm sure you're old enough to know that. My point being, they toss Sirius Black in jail for murder without a trial, because he couldn't pay off the judges. But they let people like Lucius Malfoy and Avery off because their gold fills the Ministry's coffers," I held up one hand to forestall her comments, "I have nothing but respect for Mr. Malfoy, a sneaky bastard he may be. The fact remaining, if you give them what they want, you get left alone. It's like that with everything. Hence, why I'm even talking to you in the first place. Avery might have been innocent, might've not. Maybe he wanted to off me for another reason. I found a wand to my back, and an adult firing lethal curses at me, I defended myself, end of story." She looked perplexed, before asking me one final question.
"Why were you in Diagon Alley in the first place? Legend has it that Dumbledore doesn't let you out much over the summer."
I chuckled a bit, "I thought legends were for dead people? No, I just stopped by to get some food and my school books."
"School texts, already?"
"I've been busy. I figure if no one's going to help me stave off Voldemort, I might as well start on my own," let out a frustrated sigh and looked at her, "Only there's so much to learn before I'm even capable to make breakfast with magic. I had never really thought about what it would've been like if I was raised by wizards, but now I'm starting to think it would have worked out much better than this shit. Mind you, I'm only telling you this because you're the almost only decent conversation I've had all summer."
"I'm the only decent conversation you've had? What about your guardians?" Her face had concern, pity, and ambition written all over it. I supposed that she couldn't be rotten to the core. No one lives forty years without being a complete badass, or having some sense of humanity about them. However I didn't want her pity or concern. Getting back to her question, I let out a quiet and surprisingly bitter laugh.
"I'd rather not go there, Rita. I'd really rather not," I closed my eyes for a moment. I had at one point, wanted the Dursley's attention, but I had grown out of that at a young age. A few years back, realizing I was a wizard, I had wanted nothing to do with them. But now that they were completely ignoring me I felt… I felt that maybe them belittling and harassing me was better, because at least then I existed. My eyes opened and I made a decision.
"Listen, if you publish my story, I'll give you interviews anytime you want. I'm, not to sound all ego-whatever or anything, bound to have more interesting and news-worthy things happen to me. This way you get a long term deal out of it." I offered her my hand as a way to seal the arrangement. I needed her story to be shown, I couldn't survive in Azkaban, but I could weather through a little more criticism. I knew that much. Nodding once she accepted it.
"Thanks," I said quietly and turned to leave. I glanced at her one more time as she reentered the pub, then continued on my way.
I returned to Little Whinging late. It was dark outside and a few small bats were fluttering about the streetlights. I'd put it at roughly eleven at night or so. I hadn't called the Knight Bus for a ride back, and I had only taken the muggle bus when I realized I wouldn't make it back by morning on foot. Walking was good for the soul; the bus had dropped me off in front of my current place of employ, The Convenience Store. Pardon the pun, but it was pretty convenient. I entered and asked my boss for some bandages and antiseptic after showing him my arm. Mr. Singh glared at me suspiciously before tending to the wound.
"I'm not your freaking nurse, kid. Where did you get these?" Mr. Singh rarely pried into my life, if I didn't answer it'd be fine by him, although one rarely refuses to answer.
"In a fight," I answered suppressing the urge to whimper as he cleaned the gash in my arm.
"You don't get burned in normal fights," He said looking at me strangely. I shrugged my free shoulder. He finished his task and sent me off to Number 4 with a Coke and a bag of crisps. Thank God for small favors, I was hungry and tired and sore. I had forgotten the books I had bought and my arm was sliced up. So far it had been pretty spectacular day. Note the sarcasm.
I arrived at Number Four Privet Drive in roughly fifteen minutes and proceeded to go around back. The Dursleys preferred I not enter through the front. Slipping my key into the lock I entered and noted the darkness that was in the kitchen. Flicking on a light, I read a note that was left on the counter.
Boy,
Gone for the weekend. Sandwich in the fridge. Don't touch our things.
Vernon.
I walked to the front and looked out the window. They had indeed left, the car was gone (surprisingly I hadn't noticed) and everything was shut, the windows, the armoire in which the television resided and the cupboard under the stairs. I swiftly opened the lock with key hidden on the bookshelf; they were a bunch of idiots really. I had known they hid the key there, but at least one of them was always in the room. I pulled out my trunk that was filled with the majority of my magical gadgets; the only things that were upstairs were a few homework texts, parchment, quills, ink, and Hedwig. Grabbing it, I tugged it roughly up the stairs and entered my room.
It was small, but it was clean. There was nothing better to do on my off days than clean and read. Outside wasn't a very welcoming place when Ickle Dudder's gang was about. I settled the trunk at the foot of the bed and opened the window, before letting my owl out for the night. She left quickly, in a flutter of white feathers and scent of unclean pigeon. Eh, maybe I should bathe her once in awhile. I'm not sure I was supposed to, but it was worth a shot. I left the window open and headed back downstairs. Food was calling, or so my tummy said.
Before I entered the kitchen I heard sounds. Sounds of the human variety, or more precisely someone eating. Drawing my wand quickly, I entered the kitchen and saw a robed figure in the fridge. I coughed loudly. The sounds stopped and a young, attractive witch peered over the door. However much I would like to see young, attractive witches in my fridge, there was just one problem. She was eating my dinner. She had her mouth around my Coke and my sandwich in one hand, which was bad for several reasons, most of which involved the different shades of pissed off I was in. Seeing my wand pointed steadily at her must've freaked her out a little, for she ducked behind the door again, before slipping away and setting down her—my food on the counter.
Then the strange witch turned slowly, before running over and attaching herself to me. I stood there stiffly.
"Oh, Harry you're all right!"
"Yes, quite."
"We'd thought you were hurt somewhere." Oh, really. I felt like asking if she didn't see how hard I beat his ass, but suppressed it. Instead I felt her chest.
"Your chest is firm, yet still supple."
She squeaked and backed up a bit, "Hey paws off!"
"You grabbed me. I'll ignore that, for now. Who are you and why are you eating my dinner?" Her cheeks reddened before she calmed herself enough to answer.
"Err, I'm Tonks. I'm your guard, I'm sorry for eating your dinner. I'll make you something else?" Well, pink hair, Auror robes, and blue Ministry badge on her chest, either she was really one of Dumbledore's 'old crowd,' which I doubt, or she was an Auror. The old guy couldn't possibly afford her services. I lifted my wand and gestured to the door.
"Right, Tonks the guard, get out. I've already fought one idiot; I won't hesitate to fight you as well."
"I said I was sorry and Dumbledore said to come here," she pouted and thrust her bottom lip out at me. I've seen worse things, and it was quite a bit more appealing than Voldemort's lack of nose. Curse my teenage hormones. Deciding to hear her out, I folded my arms over my chest.
"It's the principle of the thing. Now go make me a sandwich and explain yourself." Male dominance at its best. She kept her pout up while making the food and setting it before me. At least the sandwich looked better than what my Aunt had made. As I was eating she noticed the bandages on my upper arm.
"You were hurt! Let me see." Without waiting for a reply, she grabbed it and peeled back the bandages that were a little crusted with dried blood. It wasn't as bad as I had originally thought. She let out a small gasp and an almost pained look of concentration came over her face as she attempted to heal it. It worked a bit, not as well as Madame Pomfrey, but the wound was closed and the flesh around it was tender.
"Thanks."
"No problem," she chirped, "Now finish up before I give you the news from Dumbledore." Nodding, I wolfed down the sandwich, eager for news from the Headmaster. I might be getting out of here soon. It would put a damper on my muggle income, but Mr. Singh would understand. He always did. Er, either it was that or he didn't particularly care.
"Ok, shoot."
"Well, he said, 'stay inside'." I looked at her expecting more.
"That's it."
I sighed before smacking my head on the countertop, "Screw you guys, you can go away now." She placed her head alongside mine.
"No, I can't."
I looked at her sideways, " and why not?"
"Erm, well, your Aunt is gone and Dumbledore told me I have to keep watch until Sunday when the rest of the guard comes." She reached into her robes and produced three letters, "I have to give you these, too." I groaned and sat up. I had a pretty good feeling about what those were. Reaching over I plucked the letters out of her grasp and noted the first one had the Ministry's crest on it. Oh, joy. I skimmed it.
Dear Mr. Potter,
We have received intelligence… A multitude of lacerating spells, shield charms, a summoning charm and one bludgeoning hex… Hearing on August 12… Ministry officials calling at your residence to destroy your wand…
Sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
As expected, they were going to snap my wand. Folding the letter up carefully, I reached for the next one.
Dear Mr. Potter,
The Ministry, at the behest of one Albus Dumbledore, has decided to reconsider the destruction of your wand and retract your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… August 12… An official descion will be made… suspended from school… Charges from one Mr. Thomas Avery…
Sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
This was slightly better, but at least I had a chance now. Opening the final letter, I recognized Dumbledore's handwriting.
Harry,
Stay inside. Do not surrender your wand, if worse comes to worse you may defend yourself, but only after escaping to Arabella Figg's house is no longer an option. There will be a guard stationed in your home to help protect against any repercussions your actions today have caused
- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
I glanced back at Tonks who was going over the letters I had replaced with a sad look on her face.
"Mrs. Figg is a witch?" Tonks looked up startled.
"Oh, no she's a squib. She's been trying to keep an eye on you." She returned her gaze to letters.
"Well I'm gonna take a shower and head to sleep. Amuse yourself." I took my plate and glass over to the sink and washed them. Putting them to drain, I slouched upstairs and got ready for sleep. I tucked my wand under my pillow and locked my door.
Hopefully Tonks wouldn't get killed me by morning.