Disclaimer:Harry Potter and all it's characters, ideas and places belong to JK Rowling.
This fan fiction is copyrighted to ChaoticL. This fan fiction may not be reproduced under any circumstance except for personal or private use. It may not be used for profit or by any commercial entity. It may not be placed on any web site, magazine or otherwise distributed publicly without fully crediting its author. Use of this work in such a way is a violation of copyright and is strictly prohibited.
Rating:M (for later chapters)
Summary:As Harry and Ron, now working for the Ministry as Aurors, try to stop corruption in the Ministry of Magic, they find themselves at the center of an international wizarding conspiracy.
Genre: Adventure/Mystery
Pairings:All pairings are true to cannon
Rules for Commenting:Please post what you think and what you want, but refrain from derogatory remarks about me, the story or others who may have commented. Feedback is greatly appreciated, and I will make every effort to directly answer questions posed to me. That said, I will keep to a strict policy of non-disclosure regarding any spoilers.
Chapter 14: First Impressions
After an entire week of investigation into Rita Skeeter, not even the slightest hint of evidence had been uncovered. In fact, because the assignment was unofficial it was very difficult if not impossible for Harry and Ron to make real progress. Discretion was of the utmost importance, and so they could not interview her, or the Prophet's Head Editor. Search warrants for her personal files and her home were unobtainable, and the only means of discovery that they had available was by covert means.
They had exhausted their leads and utilized every method of surveillance available to them. Extendable ears planted at her desk at the Prophet turned up nothing except for the scratching of her quill on parchment, and they had no means to access her home, which proved to be a minor fortress of protective charms and wards. They could have broken in if they had wanted to, but to do so would have been a massive undertaking, and they were not ready to take such a drastic measure without more evidence. Books of Daily Prophet articles that had been written by her revealed nothing except for a dislike of the Aurors. The only information that they could find was a confirmation from the Spanish embassy that Rita Skeeter had never visited the ambassador, or stepped foot in his office; and that information only hurt their case.
Harry had tried to tail Rita Skeeter three times with the invisibility cloak, but she had evaded them each time. Every time he lost her, it seemed as though she had vanished or turned to dust. He was careful to watch for beetles in case she had morphed into her animagus form, and checked each time for use of the time turner; both searches proved fruitless each time. How she had been disappearing was a new mystery to him. Harry tried one more time to tail her through Diagon Alley as she left work on the Friday after Christmas, but he lost her in the crowd.
Another opportunity presented itself though. At first, he thought that he had found Rita Skeeter again, but he soon realized that it was not her, but her younger doppelganger. He had seen the younger Skeeter once before at the first public demonstration of the time turners, but he had forgotten about her uncanny resemblance to Rita until now. It was then that a new possibility occurred to him: what if he was investigating the wrong Skeeter?
Harry followed Rita Skeeter's daughter into Eyelop's Owl Emporium. The smell of owl droppings flooded his senses as he entered and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting. The younger Skeeter had been talking with the old shopkeeper by the register, but Harry had interrupted them. The old man glared at Harry as he entered, and Rita's daughter did not seem to know what to think. Regardless, Harry felt unwelcome.
"Sorry, but you're going to have to come back tomorrow, sir," the shopkeeper said. "We appreciate your business but we've closed five minutes ago."
"I'm not here looking for an owl, actually," Harry said to the shopkeeper. "I was wondering if I could have a word with the young lady."
"Sir, we're closed," a fierce voice said from the shadows and a tall specter of a man emerged from the depths of the shop. He was dressed in grimy work clothes and wore heavy gloves for handling the owls, which added gruff to his already intimidating stature.
"Angelo, Duncan, it's all right," the younger Skeeter said. "If the man wants to talk to me, we can go outside."
"It's much too cold outside, Melissa," the shopkeeper said and turned to his register. "Use Angelo's room instead. I'm sure he won't object, right Angelo?"
"Sure," the tall man said. There was a disagreeable scorn in the man's voice that made his objections clear enough. The man said nothing more; however, and he must have known the futility of a clash with his employer that.
"No, Duncan it's fine," Melissa said. "You worry too much. It's not as cold today as it has been, and I can't imagine we'll be very long."
Before the shopkeeper could protest further, Melissa Skeeter had buttoned up her coat and opened the shop door. She led Harry outside into the cold and then gasped as she realized who he was.
"Oh, you're Harry Potter, aren't you," she said and extended a gloved hand toward him; her right hand. "It really is a pleasure to meet you."
"Melissa Skeeter, is it?" Harry asked. He shook her hand, taking careful note of her wrist. There was no time turner attached to it. He considered the possibility that she was not wearing it at the time, but he wanted check her left wrist. He decided to keep an eye out for an opportunity to do so without it seeming invasive. "I have to say that you look a lot like your mother, Rita."
"Thank you," Melissa said and smiled. "I think my mother is rather beautiful, so I appreciate your saying so. Anyway, what can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"
"Well, I saw you in the streets and I thought I'd introduce myself," Harry said, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation in a direction that might advance his investigation. "I've read your articles and they're very good. In particular, I think that the sources you use are amazing. How do you find such detailed accounts of the subjects you write on?"
"You're all compliments, aren't you Mr. Potter. Can I call you, Harry?" Melissa asked and Harry nodded his tacit permission. "Well, Harry, I select my sources carefully and offer guarantees of anonymity so that they can be sure they won't face repercussions for speaking to me. After all, the nature of many of the columns that I write is such that my sources could very well be in danger for leaking information to me."
"I can understand that," Harry said. Her explanation seemed plausible, but generic and it almost seemed rehearsed. "Obviously I would not expect you to reveal everything about your sources. I was merely curious."
"Am I under investigation?" Her straightforwardness caught him off guard and he was unsure how to respond to it.
"Investigation?" Harry tried to play dumb, but Melissa saw right through him. Her eyes hardened against him as he tried to stammer his way back into civil conversation. "What do you mean by that?"
"You are an Auror, yes, Harry? Why else would you be questioning me about my sources? If there is an article that I wrote that you have questions about, ask me directly, but I can't just give you my sources. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes, I understand the need for secrecy on occasion. I don't have any specific questions for you at this time. But I swear you aren't under investigation. I was merely curious." Her eyes betrayed her doubts and Harry realized that he was not going to get anything out of her now.
"This is an investigation. You're making it as obvious as a giant in a crowd of Muggles. Unless I am being charged with something, I'd like to leave, sir." Melissa turned to walk back into the owl emporium.
"Thank you for your time, Ms. Skeeter," Harry said. "Like I said, I'm an admirer and I hope that you keep writing quality articles."
Melissa stopped and stood with her feet cemented to the snow as if she was contemplating something; a consideration so deep that it drove her conscious mind from her body and into a sort of daydream. When she turned to face him, her rigid defensive posture had vanished and her eyes were lighter with something that seemed to resemble pride. "Look, I'm sorry. That was cold of me," she said. "If you have any specific questions about an article, you can come see me at the Prophet's offices sometime next week. I don't always use all of the information my sources give me and I might know something relevant to your investigation, whatever it is."
"Well thank you, I appreciate the offer," Harry said. "I very well might be in to see you next week to ask you some questions." He did not know if asking her about her articles would be very helpful at all, but he agreed to return her politeness.
Melissa smiled and opened the door to the owl emporium. Harry raised his left hand to wave good-bye, and she did as well. Her left sleeve dropped just below her wrist, confirming that she was not currently wearing a time turner. On the other hand, the facts of the case still pointed to her. She was a reporter for the international column, and would have more reason to break into the Spanish Ambassador's office than her mother if she was hunting for a scoop. The fact that she was not wearing the time turner was troubling; however, simply because it was such an important magical item. She would have wanted to keep it close, or she assumed it would be safer elsewhere.
He decided that he would discuss a plan with Ron after the weekend, but for the moment, he had to begin his commute home.
When Harry opened walked into his apartment, he took off his coat and draped it over the sofa, only to have Ginny come up behind him and throw it back on him.
"Ginny, what are—?"
"—Put it back on, Harry, or we're going to be late!" Ginny said and went over to the kitchen. Her high heels clacked across the floor as she walked. She grabbed a mint from the counter, tore the wrapping off and plopped it into her mouth. Then she pulled a tube of red lipstick out of her bag and began to smear it across her lips. "Come on, Harry, we don't have all night."
"What's going on, Ginny?" Harry asked as he put his coat back onto the couch.
"You forgot, didn't you," she said as she yanked the coat back off of the couch and threw it into Harry's arms. "I told you you'd forget. I told you so, but you didn't listen and write a note for yourself like I told you to. It's New Year's Eve and we're going out with Gwenog Jones tonight, remember?"
"Right, I remember." Harry had completely forgotten. He slipped his coat back on and stood by the door ready to leave. Ginny dropped the lipstick back into her back, walked up to him and pursed her lips. Even in her massive platform heels, she was still about an inch shorter than he was.
"How do I look?" Ginny asked. It was the death trap question. Had he been truthful, he would have said that her lipstick ran over her lips slightly, and that it looked like she was trying too hard to impress Gwenog in her shiny dress, leather jacket and massive heels, but instead he told her that she looked amazing, as that answer was the lesser of two evils.
The restaurant where Gwenog had chosen to dine was located on the thirty-first floor of a London skyscraper. To Muggle eye, it appeared like any other office space, drab and boring like those cluttered around it. The sign read Drewberry and Co., and it could have been any other Muggle insurance company or tax analyst. Passerby did not care. In reality, Drewberry and Co. was a trendy bistro that had made a name for itself by preparing world class cuisine with a modern English flair.
The dining room was decorated in a contrast of reds and whites, and terraced seating areas assured that every seat could take advantage of the view. Surrounding the restaurant's dining room were magnanimous plate glass windows that looked out onto the breathtaking scenery of the London skyline and the Themes. Along one of the side walls, the kitchen was visible through a series of windows where patrons could watch their food being prepared before their eyes with meticulous detail. Each chef was showing off a different unique technique for their audience, but even so, more skill and perfection went into their cooking than spectacle.
Harry and Ginny were met at the hostess stand by Katie Burr and her husband who introduced himself as Jim. Gwenog appeared to be running late, and when their reservation time came, Katie told the hostess to seat them anyway. Their waitress arrived seconds after they had been seated to collect drink orders, and the couples got to know each other.
Both Katie and Jim were younger wizards; neither of them was over twenty seven years of age. Jim worked for a small firm of private legal advocates for witches and wizards who thought they had been discriminated against in the work place. He had taken several cases before the Wizengamot and won several notable trials, including a few cases involving Muggle-born wizards and a squib. Wizarding lawyers had first been popularized in the United States where they ruled the wizard courts with an iron fist, but in England they were still a novel concept. While popularity was growing, Jim worked for only one of five firms in England that employed more than three lawyers.
Katie's story was less interesting. Like Ginny, she had tried out to play professional Quidditch the same year that she graduated from Hogwarts. She played first as a reserve chaser for the Appleby Arrows her first year on the field, only playing one game. That one game happened to be against the Harpies. Two years later, Gwenog Jones came to see her and made her an offer to play for the Harpies as a starter; an offer that Katie could not refuse.
"I'm glad to see that the four of you started without me," a familiar voice said from behind. It was Gwenog Jones. She had a skinny and timid man in tow that Harry assumed was Chandler, Gwenog's boyfriend. She never bothered to introduce him. As Gwenog took a seat at the table, Chandler hung close to her as if he were a child hiding from strangers behind his mother's leg, and Harry wondered how a woman like Gwenog Jones would ever fall for a man like that.
"Dare I ask what kept you, Gwenog, or do I even want to know?" Katie asked.
"You can ask," Gwenog said with a smile. She snapped her fingers in the air to summon the waitress, who arrived in an instant. "My companion and I will each have a Bavarian Starburst to drink along with two glasses of sparkling water, and if you could bring two orders of the pot stickers for the table."
The waitress disappeared into the kitchen and Gwenog turned back to her company. Her scarlet red dress broke just above her breasts and seemed to want to display a statement of her brazen femininity, but Harry was distracted by a mole that sat on the brim of her neckline. "I just wanted to say, Gwenog, thank you for inviting us to dinner with you," Ginny said with the same goggled eyes that she wore when she first met Harry. He used to be her mysterious celebrity, but now he was her normal mainstay.
"It's for my pleasure entirely," Gwenog said. "And don't any of you think about sneaking the bill. I've already prearranged with the manager to have it paid on my tab. I make more in a week than all of you combined make in a month, so let me be the generous one."
"Your gratuity never ceases to amaze," Katie said and raised her glass to Gwenog with a smirk. "If only everyone were as generous with their galleons as you, we might not have child poverty." Harry wondered how much less Katie was paid than Gwenog. Sure, Jones was the captain of the team and the celebrity player, but Katie was also integral to the performance of the team. As a chaser, she was matched by only a few in the British and Irish leagues and any team would be willing to pay a shiny sickle for her talents.
"Charity is not unheard of these days, but it is exceedingly rare. Very few real witches and wizards need charity, and those that do probably don't deserve it," Gwenog said.
"Not true," Jim said. "We get clients every day with worker discrimination cases. Some witches are living in destitute poverty because the work force is male dominated."
"You know I'm all for girl power, dear," Gwenog said to Jim, "but wage discrimination primarily occurs in lower wage jobs."
"I suppose," he said. "What's the connection?"
"As women, we can only prove that we are better than men by being better than men in every way," Gwenog said. "The woman you're referring to are a waste of fine feminine genes. If they couldn't take the time to learn a real skill to prove their worth in society, they should be destitute."
"I suppose we fundamentally disagree on who is deserving of assistance, Gwenog," Jim said as he retreated behind his beverage. The pot stickers arrived and he was the first to sample them. "Very good appetizer choice, Gwenog."
"Are the six of you ready to order dinner?" the waitress asked.
"Start over there," Gwenog said, pointing to Ginny. "I haven't looked at the menu yet."
"How is the bombarda chicken prepared?" Ginny asked.
"Take a guess," Gwenog said and laughed.
Ginny smiled and handed her menu to the waitress, "I think that sounds good."
"Would that be minima or maxima on the spice?" the waitress asked.
"She'll take the maxima. Get me the dragon pie, but hold the carrots, and Chandler here will be having the house salad; he needs to slim down." Gwenog said, and turned to Ginny. "Trust me on the spice level. You're a fiery girl, and I know you're going to love it."
"Would that be horntail or ridgeback meat in your pie, ma'am?" the waitress asked.
"Get me horntail meat," Gwenog said and handed her menu to Chandler. "I prefer it because it's got more flavor, even though it can be a little tougher. I don't mind fighting with my food."
The waitress turned to Harry who followed Chandler's lead, ordering a salad. Katie and her husband ordered Minotaur steaks and the waitress left the table to take the ticket to the kitchen.
"But if we help those in need, who's to say that one of them won't turn out to be the next Dumbledore," Harry asked, coming to Jim's rescue, "or for a female example, the next Rita Skeeter."
"I thought you hated Rita Skeeter, Harry," Ginny said. She was right, and as Harry thought about it, he could not figure out why he used Rita Skeeter as his example.
"Some may, but most won't," Gwenog said and took chunk out of one of the pot stickers. She chewed her food and swallowed before continuing her argument. "But a mere ten or fifteen percent of people with potential does not justify any sort of aid program or mass charity to the whole of the population, especially when the rest of that population won't effectively utilize the resources you've given them."
"And you don't feel bad for that ten or fifteen percent of people who will never have a chance?" Katie asked.
"Regardless of them, if you saw the destitution that some of these disenfranchised women have to live through day in and day out, I imagine you might change your mind," Jim said. It seemed that he had regained his confidence now that others were supporting his side of the argument.
"It's horrible, yes, the conditions that some people live in, but I have to agree with Gwenog," Ginny said, though Harry could not imagine that she actually believed that. "What do you think, Chandler? You've been rather quiet tonight."
"Well, I suppose, I, uh, agree with you and Gwenog," Chandler said, stammering over his words. He looked surprised that his opinion was even paid notice to.
"Katie, I understand if you and your husband wish to try in vain to help the helpless. That's your prerogative," Gwenog said. "Just don't try to force me into feeling sorry for people I will never meet or care about. I'm paying for your dinner because I know and respect you, not because you need my help. There's a distinct difference."
With that, the conversation took a suicidal dive out the window and was replaced by small talk dispersed by nervous sips of water. After a while, a much awaited dinner arrived and everyone turned their attention to their plates. Harry's salad greens were the freshest he had ever had set on a plate in front of him and the vinaigrette was the perfect mix of sweet, sour, and tang. He devoured it until all that remained were a few loose leaves and a small streak of dressing.
Ginny on the other hand seemed to be having trouble with her chicken. She had cut the meat into thin strips that she ate one at a time with large forkfuls of rice. Harry asked her if it was okay, and she replied that it was, but he could guess her real opinion by the beads of sweat congealing across her forehead. She gave up half way through her plate.
"Is that all you're having, Ginny, love?" Gwenog asked from across the table. "It wasn't too spicy for you, was it?"
"No, I'm just saving room for dessert," Ginny said. She slid her napkin up to her face to wipe off the sweat, but also utilized it to secretly peel the last piece of chicken out of her mouth.
"I know the perfect place," Gwenog said.
"Why can't we have dessert here?" Harry asked.
"We could, Harry, but I know a better place," she said and finished a last bite of her dragon pie.
"I can't imagine how any place could be better than this one, but if you say it is, then let's go," Ginny said.
Once everyone had finished, Gwenog paid the tab and led the group outside. Katie and Jim made an excuse to leave, which left Harry alone with Gwenog and two yes-men. Gwenog seemed to enjoy playing the dominant alpha role and Harry was growing less fond of her by the moment. Harry only stayed for Ginny's sake. She was Gwenog's puppet and did everything her master asked or suggested, while basking in her supposed magnificence. If dinner was any indication, Gwenog was not so much concerned with Ginny's well-being as she was focused on having her own fun. This worried Harry and he wondered what strings the puppeteer planned to pull next.
Gwenog led them through the streets of London until they arrived at their mystery destination. They stood in front of a warehouse that had been converted into a Muggle nightclub called the Cupcake House. The steel paneling of the warehouse had been painted over with massive murals of cupcakes of all kinds with frothy looking frosting, and the large industrial windows sprayed multicolored strobe lights out onto the streets. Music was blaring from the entrance louder than Harry had ever imagined it could be played and the pounding of the base threatened to burst the lining of his ear drums, spilling blood and puss out onto the ground.
"Why are we here, Gwenog?" Harry said, trying to shout over the strength of the music.
"You've never been Muggle watching before?" Gwenog asked and Harry shook his head. He did not know what the term meant, but it was easy enough to assume. "You're in for a real treat. Muggles are filthy and insignificant creatures, but they sure know how to throw a party."
Gwenog led her three followers over to the entrance. A fat bouncer cut her off and extended his hand to collect the cover charge. Gwenog slid her arm around the bouncer and pulled her wand from the back of her pants. Harry thought that he saw her mouth the word 'Imperio' but he could not be sure with all of the noise. The bouncer waved them into the club and Gwenog grabbed Ginny's hand, pulling her inside. Harry and Chandler followed them into a grotesque mass of Muggles grinding into each other on the dance floor. Many of them were topless under the flashing strobes and their movements seemed erratic like pigeons walking across hot gravel.
"Would you boys like cupcakes?" a voice said from behind them. Harry turned around to find himself face to face with two breasts bulging out of a small slit in a latex cooking apron. The cupcake women held a platter of chocolate and vanilla cupcakes all covered in the foamy fuzz from the murals that appeared to be icing. "It's five dollars for one."
"We'll take four," Gwenog said and flicked her wand at the stripper. "Your manager has the money."
The stripper handed them the cupcakes and strutted away through the crowd. "Gwenog, you can't do that to Muggles, it's against the law," Harry said.
"Who's going to stop me, the Aurors?" Gwenog said and laughed. "If you breathe a word of this to any of your superiors, I'll make sure Ginny is cut from the team. Just relax and try to have fun, you dull stiff."
Gwenog began to lick the icing off of the cupcake and Ginny and Chandler followed her lead. Harry put the cupcake to his nose, and it smelled of large doses of concentrated liquor. The icing covering the cupcake must have held no less than two shots of scotch and he also detected a slight hint of other, more nefarious substances. He began to eat it anyway, trying to ignore the heavy flavor of booze, but it was impossible and he decided to hold his cupcake until he could find somewhere to ditch it.
Ginny was first to finish hers and took Harry's from his hand and ate it as well. Harry stared at her, wanting to protest, but did not.
"What?" Ginny asked him. "I'm hungry, okay?" Harry nodded and she continued to stuff the cupcake through her lips.
Gwenog steered them over to the dance floor where she grabbed her partner by the waist and began to graze his body with her own; Ginny took the cue to do the same to Harry. She stared up at him with longing, stoned eyes as she straddled her curves up and down his chest. The heat of the room was intense and growing and Harry felt warm with the passion of the crowd around him and his girlfriend on him. She turned and began to grind along his nether regions; the peaks and troughs of her curves did sinful, pleasurable thing to his body and mind. She stretched her head upward to kiss Harry with an extreme ferocity that caught him. He wanted her tongue to curl around in his mouth forever, but the moment was broken. Gwenog had interceded and was making out with his girlfriend before his eyes while her arms were still wrapped around him. A deep chasm opened in his stomach, releasing a rush of fluids through his body and shaking his heart with their surge and waves.
Harry stopped dancing and stared at the scene; all of the passion and heat that had built up inside had evaporated. He turned to Chandler in horror, but he found that Gwenog's boyfriend was drooling with wistfulness and it was obvious that he wanted to join them. Ginny turned back toward Harry and gave him a small peck on the lips.
"What do you say the four of us get out of here?" Gwenog asked. "I've got a few rare bottles of champagne at my apartment, and we can give the New Year a banging send off, if you catch my meaning."
"That sounds like a great idea, Gwenog," Ginny said and smiled coyly. "Harry would love to come too."
"I would?" Harry asked. "No, I wouldn't. Thank you for the invitation, but I think Ginny and I should be leaving."
"I think Harry's a bit uncomfortable with the idea, Ginny, love," Gwenog said as she stroked his girlfriend's hair. "Is it Chandler? Bringing him might make things a little weird. In fact, I've decided; beat it, Chandler."
"But, but, I," Chandler said, "I want to come too!"
"Go home, Chandler, before I break your nose through to the other side of your face," Gwenog said and as commanded, her companion left in a mild hurry.
"So what are we going to do when we get to your apartment, Gwenog?" Ginny asked. Harry noticed that Gwenog had begun holding Ginny's hand. His girlfriend's hand! The thought of the union of their fingers, molding onto each other was too much for Harry to bear. He turned to leave.
"Come on, Ginny, let's go," Harry said. "We're leaving."
"We should tie him to my bed and do naughty things to him."
"Ginny, let's go," Harry said again.
"That sounds like fun. He likes it when I get on top of him."
"Ginny," Harry said, tugging at her free hand.
"He'd like two on top more than the one, and that would give us an open field to play on."
"Come on, Ginny!" Harry was getting desperate.
"Hold your broomstick, Harry. Let the beautiful woman finish deciding what naughty things they want to do to you," Ginny said.
"No!" Harry said. "I'm not going to Gwenog's apartment."
"Fine, have it your way," Gwenog said. "Ginny and I can go by ourselves. You should just disappear."
"Harry, come with us," Ginny said. It's gonna be fun and you'll enjoy it."
"No, Ginny," Harry said and grabbed her by the arm. "You're coming with me."
He tried to pull her away from Gwenog but she would not come. His girlfriend stood like a statue on the dance floor, immovable by brute force alone. She looked to Gwenog as if to ask her for permission to leave with Harry, but the alpha shook her head. "Harry, run along," Jones said. "I think Ginny wants to stay with me tonight."
Harry let go of Ginny's arm and it fell limp at her side. Gwenog lifted it up and began running her lips across Ginny's fingertips. Harry left them alone on the dance floor, apparating to his apartment as soon as he got outside. He wondered if stealing Ginny from him had been Gwenog's plan all along. It must have been. She knew there were alcohol and drugs in the cupcakes, she's the one who picked the club, and she's the one who kissed Ginny.
Harry burst into his apartment and smashed the first lamp he saw, sending pieces of ceramic flying into the floor. He went into the bedroom and watched with excitement as his hands sent Ginny's jewelry box tumbling to the ground as conspiracy theories flew through his head. Her clothes were next and he grabbed each of her favorite tops and ripped them apart, spreading threads of silk and cotton across the room. When he was through and the anger began to subside, he collapsed onto the bed and passed out.
Harry woke up in the morning to a mess of a room and a pain in his chest. The fact that Ginny was gone had settled as he slept, but he turned to her side of the bed anyway and hoped that she would be there, lying next to him. The bed was bare, and he saw only the hole in the sheets that he had torn the previous night.
As he got out of bed, he heard the tapping of an owl at his window. He let the bird in and untied the parcel it carried on its leg. In the parcel was a newsletter from the Holyhead Harpies for the team's season ticket holders. He laughed at the irony of the letter and took the insult in stride, before letting it settle on the injuries that the team had caused him. The newsletter contained the team's roster for the New Year and it announced that Ginny Weasley would be a starting chaser for the first game of the season, and would continue in that position for the foreseeable future. Harry crumpled up the newsletter and threw it at the open window, but he missed and the letter hit the sill, bouncing the paper back into the bedroom. Harry sighed, knowing that Ginny had gotten everything that she had ever dreamed of by leaving him with nothing.