Chapter Three: The Reporter

"Check the Chips," Mac called back through the door to the kitchen. Draco, just inside the storage room, put his guitar down and picked up his apron. He dutifully checked to make sure the Fish and the Chips were still fresh, not that he didn't know but because a stranger might happen to see into the kitchen. One of those strangers was Sirius Black, ordered to verify that his legal ward was indeed working. He went back with the confirmation that the owner of the pub made almost two hundred pounds from a certain birthday party.

"All good, Mac," Draco said as he walked out with a rack of clean pint glasses. Any casual observer would think that the boy had been working steadily all day. Any stranger would see a young boy performing his task. And only Sirius Black would casually ask if it was a trick. "I've never known Draco to do an honest day's work."

"No trick, Sir," Mac said politely. "All it takes is a firm hand and a kind manner, and the boy will do anything you ask."

Draco would frown as the two men laughed.

"Seriously . . ."

"Sorry, I thought your name was Sirius BLACK."

Even Draco had to groan at the bad joke.

His mind snapped back to the present as he finished stacking the pint glasses. He returned the rack to the kitchen and stayed there a few minutes. He stuck his head out the door and asked if he should put more fish up. The lady talking to Mac saw him. She pointed a red fingernail and asked if that was the boy.

Draco was surprised. The woman looked, not beautiful, but tantalizing. And not in the way the rich girls around Grimauld Square did. She had bejeweled glasses covering blue eyes. The jewels were probably fake and the curly blond hair was probably dyed but the three gold teeth she showed when she smiled were definitely real. She brought to mind a black widow spider looking at its mate. Just before she eats it.

"Draco," the woman drawled sweetly, "I need to interview you for . . ." She looked around deftly. ". . . a report I'm making for the Department of Education." As she was talking, she walked around the bar and directly to Draco. As she pushed him back into the kitchen, she smiled and said, in no uncertain terms, "it would be best if we talk privately."

"Fish and Chips," Draco offered as the woman looked around the kitchen in disgust.

"No house elves?"

"'at's me. Can Draco get Mistress anything? Food? Drink? Bo'le of Scotch?"

A large hand was held out for Draco to shake. And the woman introduced herself. Rita Skeeter. Reporter with the Daily Prophet. And she would love a scotch.

Draco went back to the door, opening it slightly. "Mac, a Dewers neat." A nod of his head told Mac and any curious patrons who it was for. He came back and handed Miss Skeeter the glass. "Draco is happy to serve."

Rita Skeeter drank the contents in one shot and handed the glass to Draco. She acknowledged that the muggle kitchen looked even worse than the muggle bar but the alcohol was potent enough. Then she opened her notebook and began to write. More correctly, the quill she brought out began to write as she dictated.

"I am interviewing Draco Malfoy, the twelve year old boy who . . ."

"Fourteen, I had a birthday."

"Then you should be thirteen."

"Unlucky number. I skipped it."

"Gooood line. Draco Malfoy, the fourteen year old boy who wowed the sports world a few months earlier with his textbook maneuver during a school Quidditch match at Hogwarts."

As she talked, Draco couldn't help notice that the quill continued to write, adding on its own the phrase 'an instant classic,' before the word, maneuver. Then she asked Draco her first question. What was he thinking?

The quill began writing, 'I was caught up in the moment. I knew I had to do something brash. Something bold . . ."

"Thinking? I jumped off me broom 'alf a K inna air. I was thinkin' that if I was right, I would make a lot of people happy and, considerin' me rep, If I was wrong, I'd still make a lot of people happy."

A glance at the Quill showed that it had tagged Draco's answer to the end of its own quote, and polished up the language. 'I could not help but think that if I judged correctly, I would bring joy to the hearts of many. But I also have a reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived. I knew that if I were wrong, I would still bring joy to certain people.'

"Nice Quill. Can I get one of those?"

"Maybe later. Draco, (May I call you Draco?) Our readers are dying to know all about you. The real you. We read all those torrid stories, but . . . that isn't you. Is it?"

"What's torrid mean?"

Rita Skeeter froze in mid smile. The quill also stopped. "Um . . . hot . . . in a literary sense."

"They write porn about me?" Draco couldn't believe it.

"I would call it an in depth analysis of what was suggested may have happened . . ."

"'tween me an' Ginny Weasley. Yeah, lady. (You mind I call you lady?) They write porn about me." Draco couldn't help thinking he should read the newspaper more often.

"I haven't," Rita Skeeter said forcefully. "Sex may sell a newspaper but it won't get your byline on the front page. I prefer bigger game. Give me an incompetent government official and I'll give you a month of headlines." She pointed to the glass Draco was still holding. "I could use a refill."

A short while later, the interview continued. There were a few questions about Quidditch. How did Draco develop his interest in the game? Was he a natural flier? Did he have an active girlfriend? When the quill automatically began writing an answer to that last question, Draco shrugged his shoulders. He was Draco Malfoy. He could have any girl he wanted. As long as he didn't want substance.

Draco didn't really say that. The quill simply wrote it. Nor did he object. He liked that sentence. It made him sound arrogant.

On the subject of girls, he was honest. He'd too many things on his mind to pursue any interests. And while he was old enough to think about it, he had little chance to do anything. The quill quoted him word for word. "I don't want a girlfriend just to have one. I'd want someone I know, someone I can talk to." On impulse he added, "like you. Talking to you is easy."

Rita smiled when he said that, and pointed out that she was older than he was. Draco blushed slightly and lowered his head as he said 'so was me mum'. A warm hand brushed against his cheek then pushed up on his chin to force him to look up. Rita was still smiling when she said, 'that was very convincing'.

"Meant that. Not that you're like me mum. More like a kindred spirit. You know, go for what you want and the rest be damned."

"Don't write that," Rita told the quill. "Just remember, Draco. I have more experience. And if you get in my way, I'll run right over you."

"Don't want to get in the way. Jus' want to tag along for a bit. Might be fun. First, I would like to know why you're interviewing me. I already guessed that the Ministry don't know you're here."

"Victor Krum."

"Who?"

Rita's jaw dropped. "Please tell me you are joking."

It was to Rita Skeeter's credit that she did not immediately ask for another drink. She asked politely when Draco was free. They definitely had to talk. Draco admitted he would be finished in a few hours.

After Draco had finished his day of work and music lessons, he stepped from the Anglian Pub to find no one waiting for him. Shrugging his shoulders, he set off down the road. The most pressing thought on his mind was if he should stop by Ephram's on the way. Janice would know what he did if he didn't appear by a certain time.

It was a quiet stretch of the road when a familiar hand grabbed his shoulder. Rita Skeeter was suddenly behind him. She looked around carefully and told Draco to grab her hand. Then she took a curious step. The street disappeared and a fancy restaurant lobby took its place. In a thrice, Draco was led to a private room.

Rita was being overly polite and Draco knew why. She had her hands on a big story. Best of all, she was going to explain why he played such a big part in it. That it had to do with Quidditch was a plus.

First off, Draco was quizzed about what he knew about teams. First off, really, Rita Skeeter ordered drinks and placed their menu order. Then she asked about Professional teams. He admitted he had heard of them but he only knew of Puddlemere, because Oliver Wood had once mentioned one of their scouts was in the stands. There was also the Chuddley Cannons, Ron Weasley's favorite team. He knew a bit more about them. Their uniforms were orange and they hardly ever won a match.

Then he was asked about the World Quidditch Cup. That was easier to answer. He heard about it. He assumed it was like the World Football Cup and had been told once that he was correct as far as how often it was played. He even heard about one of the recent matches, Greece beat Mexico by a close score.

Rita smiled at him. She paused as the discrete waiter delivered her cocktail and gave Draco a butterbeer. Once the waiter left, she began her explanation by telling him that Greece was defeated last month. By Bulgaria, who now face Ireland in the final match. It seems that Bulgaria have the highest ranked Seeker in the sport. Draco returned her smile and said, "Victor Krum".

"And he did something surprising to catch the snitch. He jumped off his broom, then remounted in mid-air. And he did it in a manner to show that he had practiced. The extra speed he gained gave him a clear advantage in catching the snitch."

Draco nodded. "And, what's your point?"

Rita laughed. Then she paused as dinner was served. Veal medallions in a honey glaze, she explained. With vegetables in a wonderful white wine and mustard sauce. Once they were alone, she laughed again.

"You, my little cretin, were the first to use that maneuver. That's my point. And now it has been used in a Quidditch Cup match. And it was the deciding factor. That makes you very popular."

Draco nodded. It was time to remember his fancy voice. "You have been informed about the Minister's decree. I am not allowed to associate with anyone in the magical world until I return to school." He paused to put a piece of veal in his mouth, and made approving noises as he chewed. "You do know that even this meal is a violation of his orders."

Rita waved her hands to show that was why they were in a private room. Then she noted that going in that muggle pub was not only repugnant but also against the Minister's orders. That was why she chose to break the law in more comfortable and pleasing surroundings. Draco nodded and repeated his question. What was the point? He did something stupid and someone else turned it around into something useful. How could an interview with him possibly be important? On the other hand, he managed a fancy meal.

"You don't know," Rita Skeeter said with a strange voice. As though she were confused and excited. "Do you know when the World Cup match is being played?" Draco shook his head. "Do you know where?" Again Draco shook his head. "On Monday. And not very far from where I found you."

She gave him a very sinister smile. "Are you interested in going?"

"Ain't allowed."

"I didn't ask if you were allowed to go. I asked if you wanted to?"

Draco returned the smile. "Why? Are you going to invite me?" He concluded his question by stabbing the last green bean with his fork, rubbing it in the remaining sauce on the plate and eating it. "Are we having dessert?"

"And you're only fourteen. " Rita flicked her wand. A waiter shortly appeared, removed the plates, and paused as an order was placed. Draco licked his lips in anticipation as a blackberry crumble was ordered. As quickly as the waiter left, he returned with the dessert. Draco tried to keep from drooling. This wasn't only a crumble. The oats and nuts in the topping made that obvious. It was going to be the best he ever had. As the reporter watched him, he took the dessert fork and began. After his first mouthful, he promised to do whatever Rita wanted.

Rita's plan was simple. Despite no one telling him, Draco had been invited to the World Cup. By the Bulgarian Ministry. At the request of the Bulgarian Quidditch Team. At the insistence of their seeker. It would be a simple matter for Draco's acceptance to be forwarded. And that would mean that a certain reporter would have access to the hottest story of the year.

Draco was surprised. He understood what she meant. If he appeared at the World Quidditch Cup despite the Minister's express order, it would be a direct slap at the government. And that would make front page news.

"Minister didn't tell anyone I can't go?"

"Only those involved in watching you."

"And they're making excuses?"

"My sources say you will try, but personal circumstances may prevent it."

Draco hesitated long enough to fill his fork. "Yeah, I'll go." He then proceeded to clean his plate.

After the dinner was over, Draco found himself back where he had been. On a quiet section of road with no one around. He walked home with a satisfied grin. At Janice's quizzical look he explained that he had already eaten. Then he mentioned Quidditch. And the Quidditch Cup. And that he had an invite. Janice, to her credit, did not laugh when he said he had to call Hermione. She patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck on sneaking in.

"You're smart," Draco said into the phone. "You can do it. Let them know I can go but I have no way of getting there. They can send someone to pick me up."

Hermione was horrified at the thought. For Draco to attend was a blatant violation of the Minister's orders. The Minister would do something about it. All he had to do was wait until after the match. When no one, least of all the Bulgarians, would care what happened to a boy of fourteen, regardless of how blond he was.

Draco had to ask why his being blond might make a difference. He actually heard Hermione scowl. She told him she was trying to make a point. Then she showed she was thinking about it when she asked how he knew he had been invited. Draco replied as clearly as he could by saying, "Um . . ."

Hermione said she would think about it and call him back. That meant she was going to do her best to find out what was going on. He looked at the pickle watch. It was late enough that he could go to bed early claiming he was tired. That way, if anyone came calling, he might not have to deal with it. On the other hand, whoever came would probably be more than happy to wake him up.

Andrew began crying. Thus ended his one plan to escape the questioning he knew would come. But it didn't happen that night. It happened on Saturday. At the pub. Before it opened.

Draco was walking to the door to knock when a car pulled up next to him and parked. The woman who was driving smiled at him as Sirius Black exited. He frowned at Draco and knocked on the door. Mac showed little surprise that Draco would have company.

Sirius never introduced the woman, although she did follow them inside. A tall woman, maybe even as tall as Sirius, her short brown hair contrasted with Black's dark locks. But she did have a way of standing that told anyone smart enough to notice that she could take care of herself.

Then Sirius Black gave the reason he had come. The Bulgarian Minister contacted him, personally, on how to make arrangements to pick up a certain young man and escort him as their guest to the World Quidditch Cup. He was delighted that circumstances permitted Draco to attend after all.

Draco explained that he did not know anything about it, that he was very much surprised.

Sirius Black explained that he had already confronted Hermione Granger about it after the Minister's aides confirmed that it was indeed her that had sent them the owl informing them whom to contact.

Draco lied. He didn't know anything about it, but he had heard that someone tried his trick in a professional Quidditch match. He did have a birthday party, he reminded his guardian.

Sirius Black turned to the woman. "Do you see? Do you see what I have to deal with?" He turned back to Draco. "That match was held the day after your birthday. You couldn't have heard about it unless Professor Trelawney was there. And even then she'd probably tell you that someone was going to die."

Draco shrugged, but he also gave his best smile. "'ave to go wit'" He cleared his throat. "I will have to claim it is a professional secret. I may have to use it again." He gave a polite bow to the woman. "You do understand, my dear."

While the woman smiled in amusement, Sirius found himself with Mac's arm on his shoulder. He nodded and took a deep breath. The boy showed him too many times he knew how to make him angry. "I promise you, Malfoy. I will make the arrangements. And I will also make sure that something happens that means you won't be able to attend the match. If I need to, I will personally chain you to a wall before I leave for the match, myself."

Sirius smiled at Mac. "I'll leave you the key and let you know when you can release him." With that, he turned to the woman and suggested they leave. She gave him a smile as they turned and walked out of the pub. Mac patted Draco's shoulder and told him it couldn't be helped. Draco nodded his head as he went to start his morning chores to help set up the place for opening. He had already decided. He would ask Tonks for help. He called Hermione as soon as he had the chance.

Tonks wouldn't help. Apparently, Sirius Black had talked with several people about what Draco was planning. He wanted to insure that Draco did not get any help. Those people included Rodolphus Lestrange. It also included another conversation with Hermione Granger. That was when he found out how closely related people were in the world of magic. When Draco called, Hermione's parents answered. She had already left for the Weasley household. But she did leave a phone number to call in case of an emergency.

Draco called. A woman answered. It was a shot in the dark. "Tonks?"

"Draco?"

"It is you!"

"Sorry, no. Let me get Sirius for you." Draco heard the woman say, "It's him. You were right."

Admittedly, Draco was confused. Wizards and witches rarely understood muggle artifacts. He even had to explain to his godfather, at his birthday party, what Justin meant when that noise went off and he said it was his cell. And his godfather proved his intelligence when that Dolores lady appeared. He made a deliberate reference to cell phones in his retort, making him seem a muggle. Draco coined a new phrase. He showed muggle awareness. He was muggly aware. He was muggleable. Then Draco laughed. It sounded like any stranger who wandered into his old neighbourhood.

"Draco," Sirius said loudly, the woman told him to talk normally. "I've already been assured by Rodolphus Lestrange that no one in his family, including his niece, will help you. Thank you for calling." His voice was heard in the background. "How do I stop this?"

The woman's voice was heard. "Just close it like -"

Draco was undeterred. He called home. Janice was amused. And Draco knew why. He had been challenged. He was told he couldn't do something. He was told that he couldn't do it because they didn't want him to. And he was determined to do it just because.

"Janice, do you mind?"

"Whot you plannin' now?"

"Go to London. There's a magic inn there. Good chance someone's stayin' there who can 'elp. It's a long shot."

"Stop in to see Miss Carmichael on your way. Let her know I'm posting some prints."

"Right. An' if it don't go off, I'll stop an' see Nigel. He'll put me up."

He hung up the phone. "Mac?"

"I'm not giving my permission."

"Only got a week left anyway. "

Draco hesitated. Mac was someone different in his life. Not someone special. He was Alastor Moody's best mate when they were growing up, and his sounding board for many of the cases he puzzled over. Mac probably knew more about the wizarding world than any muggle. And that was saying a lot. If he disapproved then it was clearly a bad idea, and not only a foolish one.

The first thing Mac pointed out was that they would stop him. Draco was only a boy and they, an unknown number of wizards, knew what he was planning on doing. They would know how to stop him and where to stop him. And where to stop him was most likely to be where they felt like.

Then he asked Draco's plan. The boy admitted that all it amounted to was going to the Leaky Cauldron and seeing if he could find anyone who could help him. Not a great plan, but it was all he had.

"It pays to have a complete plan," Mac told him. "Do you have anywhere you can stay in London? Give them a call. You're taking the train to school next week, so plan on staying in town. Bring everything with you that you need for school. When your plan falls through, which it will without a barrel full of luck, you won't be left high and dry." He put a hand on Draco's shoulder, and his voice became softer. "Give them a run for their money, then visit your friends. It's only a week, but I know you can make a full holiday of it."

And there it was. A complete plan. Use the excuse of trying to get to the Quidditch match as the means to spend a week visiting friends. Noontime found him disembarking the train in London. He had his backpack with everything he needed, and his guitar case. He also had two packages of prints he now had to hand deliver (one to Miss Carmichael, one to Detective Givens). Nigel had already told him he was welcome to stay. He even talked to Dudley. They would get together at some point. It would be a great week.