A/N: Hello! I'm seeing that people are viewing the story, which is really exciting, so yay! I'm trying to keep updating so that it stays at the front of the list so that people can see it. I know the pairing isn't common. In face, I put it in the filters and only my story popped up. So yay for originality. So here's the next chapter. I hope that there are readers out there and if you're reading, drop a review and let me know. I love seeing the reviews in my email.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"What in the bloody hell is that?"

Romilda Vane groaned as she burrowed deeper into her sheets as the tapping continued. She knew exactly what that was. It was a bloody owl. As the tapping continued, she burrowed further and further into the warmth of her bed hoping that the owl would just give up and go away. Maybe it would think that she wasn't at home. However, she knew that wouldn't happen.

After another minute or so of the tapping, she groaned again and reached her hand from under the comforter and towards the bedside table. After a few failed attempts she finally placed her hand on the object that she was searching for: her wand. Lazily, she flicked it towards the window, causing it to open and the owl to fly in. The bird flew around her room several times before landing on her bedside table.

Romilda poked her head from under the sheets and exhaled slowly. She took the letter from the owl. Before she could open the drawer on the table to pay the bird, it flew back out of the window. The raven-haired woman propped herself up on the pillows around her, briefly glanced at the clock on the wall, 10:11, and she opened the letter.

Ms. Vane,

The first interview seems to have gone well. No mention of the fiancée?

Daniel Keegan

Editor of the Daily Prophet

Romilda tossed the letter on her bedside table. It was always something with him. She pushed the comforter off her body and stretched. Gently, she swung her feet on to the floor, a chill running up her body as her barefeet touched the hardwood floor. After her body adjusted to the chill of the hardwood, she stood and grabbed her towel off the chair beside her bed and then moved towards the bathroom.

The response to the editor could wait. She would see him when she got to the office.

Before Romilda went into the office, she stopped by a coffee shop. There was no way that she could go into the office without a cup of coffee. The shop where she stopped was her usual place. Normally, she was there much earlier than she was now. The barista even commented on it.

"It's unusual to see you here so late, Ms. Vane," the woman said to her as she started to make her usual drink: a chai latte.

"I know," the raven-haired girl said as she reached up to ran her fingers through her curly hair. "Late night last night, so I took the liberty of sleeping in." She reached into her shoulder bag and placed two galleons on the counter.

"I see," the woman responded as she lidded the hot beverage and placed it on the counter. "Thank you, Ms. Vane."

Romilda nodded and started out of the door. As she opened it, the little bell over the door jingled, signaling her leaving. She looked downward to close her shoulder bag, when she ran into someone. The woman jumped backwards to avoid her wasting the hot drink on her green shirt and black pants. The beverage cup fell to the ground in front of her, spilling over the cobblestone between her and her assailant.

"Watch where you're going!" two voices snapped at the same time, in the same venomous tone.

Blue met hazel.

"Ms. Vane," the man before her drawled.

Romilda brushed her hand down the front of her green shirt making sure there was no moisture on it. "Mr. Nott, thank you for making me drop me drink."

"I believe that it was you that looked down while she was walking," he pointed out as he watched her actions through his hazel eyes. "I assure you there is nothing on your shirt." He was teasing her again. However, unlike yesterday, she seemed to notice it.

She rolled her icy blue eyes and snorted. "Thank you for that observation. However, if you had seen me looking down you should have stepped to the side."

"Everyone knows that the fastest way to get somewhere is in a straight line," he countered.

Romilda glared up at him and he glared back. This was unusual. Usually when she turned her icy gaze to someone with such intensity they looked away. However, he did not. He held her gaze, glaring back just as intensely as she was. It made her feel a little uncomfortable. Of course, what else did she expect from an alumnus of Slythrein house? However, she was not going to give him the pleasure of winning this contest. It seemed that he was not going to look away either.

Eventually they both looked away.

"I was actually going to send you an owl later today," he told her after he cleared his throat.

Romilda, who had looked down to hide an unfamiliar heating sensation in her cheeks, looked up towards him again. "Read the paper, did you?"

The man across from her shrugged. "It gets delivered to my flat every morning. So yes, I did. Bletchley can sure write a good sports report."

He was teasing her again, and again, she responded.

"Bletchley," she said slowly, bringing her index finger to the corner of her lips and turning her icy gaze upwards. "Not quite sure who you're talking about. His writings must come after mine in the paper."

"I suppose that they do," he answered.

There was a brief pause in the conversation.

"So," Romilda prodded as tucked a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. It was rare that she got to talk to a person after she'd interview them.

Theodore looked down between them at the cup on the cobblestone walkway. "Let me buy you another cup of," he paused, "whatever it was that you had. If you're not in a rush, Ms. Vane."

Keegan could wait.

"No, I'm not in a rush."

The two settled down at a small round table in front of the coffee shop. The barista was surprised to see Romilda come back into the shop, after she had just left. However, before the barista could comment on her return, Theodore walked in behind her. The barista had never seen Romilda with a man. Not that Romilda wasn't pretty enough or anything. Romilda was stunning. She had just never come in with a man before. The barista knew better than to question Romilda about the man. Instead she took their orders, he wanted a coffee, black, and of course she wanted a chai latte. However, before the barista could start their orders, Romilda stopped her.

"Green tea latte," Romilda said.

Something different. Again, the barista didn't question her. She simply made the beverages, took the money that he gave her, and kept her mouth shut. She then watched them, Romilda and that man, walk out of the shop.

Odd.

"So," Romilda said again as she looked upwards towards the sun. It was a warm morning. "You read the paper?" She crossed her legs under the small, round white table and brought her drink to her lips.

"I read the paper," he confirmed.

This man was frustrating.

"And," she continued.

"I've found that you have actually writing talent," he told her. He watched as her icy eyes narrowed. "Do I offend?"

"No," she replied as she brought the cup from her lips.

"The article wasn't half bad," he told her.

"I'll accept that half assed compliment."

"You were right. I didn't expect you to be able to weave such an interesting story with the limited material that you got."

"It's not always about what you say," she stated calmly. It was only about 50 percent what the interview said. The other half was what they did. How they acted. How their eyes moved. While it seemed that Romilda was much occupied with her note taking, she was actually taking in everything. Every pause. Every twitch of the eye. She was very good at her job, and people always underestimated her.

"I see."

There was a quiet moment between them as they sipped their coffee.

"You know that this is all on the record?" she questioned.

Romilda Vane was never off the record. Which was why she spent a lot of her time alone. Knowing that anything that was said in a conversation could end up in a gossip column didn't really make people want to talk to her. Which meant that she had very few friends. She understood that. So whenever she was just sitting around talking to someone, which was very rarely, she felt the need to let them know. She was always on the record.

Theodore looked over at her as he sipped on his coffee. She was a piece of work. He brought he cup down to the table and shrugged. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

That shocked her. So much that she stopped the motion of reaching for her cup on the table and glanced over at him briefly. Blue meeting hazel. She looked away, and wrapped her fingers around the cup in front of her. Most people once she told him that, didn't really stick around to talk, and if they did it was because they wanted an interview with her. They wanted to have their name in the paper. So what was his goal? She had already put his name in the paper. He was already well known. What did he want? She was even tempted to ask him what it was he wanted, but she opted out of it.

"What brings you to my favorite coffee shop?" she questioned.

Her gazed over at her briefly. "I like coffee."

"There's a million coffee shops in London," she stated.

To that he shrugged.

"What was your owl going to say?"

"Nothing as flattering as what I said to you earlier," he answered with a smirk.

Romilda decided that she liked his smirk. It was soft on his hard features.

"That was your version of flattery? It seems that you'll remain the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor for a while if that's what you think of as flattery,' Romilda snorted.

Theodore laughed. Laughed fully and wholeheartedly. "Most eligible bachelor?" he asked though his laughter.

Romilda scrunched her nose at his laughter. "What are you on about?"

"Is that what they are calling me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How do feel about that?" Always in reporter mode.

Theodore shrugged again, he shoulders still shaking with the remnants of his laughter. "Well, that titles comes with the news that Mandy and I broke off our engagement. Bittersweet, I suppose."

Mandy.

"Brocklehurst," Romilda said suddenly. Theodore glanced over at her. "She was a Ravenclaw in your year, wasn't she?"

He nodded. "I didn't realize that you weren't aware that they were one in the same."

Romilda shook her head, her curly raven hair swaying with her action. "I just, she's a Ravenclaw."

"I quite enjoyed her quick wit," he told her as he looked away from her. It seemed that he found something very interesting in the clouds floating by. "She kept me on my toes."

"She's a half-blood," Romilda countered.

"You sound like my mother, Ms. Vane," he commented. "Yes, she is a half-blood. She's also rather intelligent."

"Sounds like you enjoyed your time with her," she said, making mental notes of his words. As well as his posture. The way that her refused to make eye contact with her, meant that he was hiding something. The way that he leaned away from her, also showed him hiding something as well as a want to distance himself from her.

"Yeah," he answered.

"You have a game this weekend, Saturday afternoon, right?" she said. For some reason, she didn't want to make him talk about his past relationship if he did not want to. So unlike her.

"I do," he said, his hazel eyes meeting hers again. "Against the Wasps."

"That sounds exciting," she teased. "Looks like it will be an easy win."

He chuckled. "I suppose so." The Quidditch player paused. "Who is the prophet sending to watch the game?" He placed he now empty cup on the table.

"Bletchley, probably," she said with a shrug. "He's the sports reporter."

"Of course."

Theodore looked down at his watch, something she had not noticed until then. With a sigh, he stretched and started to stand. "Well, Ms. Vane, you are welcome for the coffee," he told her.

"You are welcome for the company," she countered.

"Until we meet again, Ms. Vane," the man said quietly, before he stepped away from the table and on to the cobblestone pathway.

After sitting at the table for a moment longer, Romilda decided that it was indeed time to head into the office. The woman stood, and pulled her wand from the pocket on her bag and gave it a flick. She appeared at the door of the editor. Without knocking, she twisted the door open and walked in.

"Ms. Vane," he greeted without looking up from the papers on his desk. "Take a seat."