CHAPTER 21: THE SAVIOR
Bright glares flashed in O'Bannon's eyes as he Disapparated. He blinked a few times until the building in front of him took shape. It was dark red with silver trim and encrusted with rows of what looked like shiny diamonds. A huge picture hung above the door of a heavy-jawed woman with curled, bright blond hair and wearing a yellow robe with glittering sequins. He crushed the tabloid in his hand as he glared at the image of Rita Skeeter.
He'd been on the receiving end of her poison pen before at Hogwarts. The hag had written a couple of unflattering pieces about him and his reasons for organizing the Triad/Slytherin hockey game. But that stuff he and his friends had been able to laugh off.
Not this. Lying about what he did in the war, lying about his motivation for reconciling with his friends, taking his words out of context regarding George, sabotaging his attempts to patch things up with him. The bitch had no right to do any of that.
O'Bannon started toward the door when he heard a crack behind him. He whipped his head around and saw Mireet.
"Don't even try to talk me out of this, Mireet."
"I have no intention of doing so." Her eyes narrowed and her lips compressed into a thin red line.
He could tell she was just as pissed as he was.
Giving her a brief nod, he stomped up to the door and pushed it open. A horseshoe-shaped desk sat a few feet away. Behind it was a hefty young witch with short dark hair and an eternal pout on her fleshy face.
"Where's Rita Skeeter!" he shouted.
"Who wants to know?" The witch snapped at him.
O'Bannon opened his mouth to respond, then froze. His eyes widened in recognition. "Aw, no friggin' way."
Of all the people who could have been Rita Skeeter's receptionist, he never imagined it would be Millicent Bulstrode. She had been one of Draco Malfoy's sycophants at Hogwarts, and had also taken part in the Triad/Slytherin hockey game five years ago.
"Jimmy O'Bannon." She tried to give him an evil grin, but it wound up looking like a scowl. "I guess you didn't enjoy Ms. Skeeter's little story about you."
"It was atrocious." Mireet stomped up to the desk. "It was nothing but lies."
"Oh look." Millicent sneered. "You brought the tall French tart with you."
O'Bannon clenched his fists until they shook. He so wanted to hex this cow, was seriously considering it, when Mireet asked in a low, ominous tone, "Where is Rita Skeeter?"
Millicent hesitated. "She's not in."
"Bullcrap!" He lunged forward, his twisted face inches from Millicent's. The witch didn't budge. "You think she can print this crap about me and get away with it? I want to see her and I want to see her now!"
"You can't. As I said, she's not in."
"I don't believe you."
"That's not my problem."
"Where is she!" O'Bannon bared his teeth.
"She's out."
"Where?"
Millicent bit her lip. Her eyes flickered in all directions, except his. "Um . . . she's out, getting an interview."
"Bullcrap." He looked at the twisting staircase to his left. "Is her office up there?"
Millicent didn't answer.
"Thanks." He headed toward the stairs, Mireet right behind him.
"Stop!" Millicent ordered. "You can't go up there. I said stop!"
She dug into her robes for her wand.
O'Bannon quickly yanked out his wand. "Expelliarmus!"
Fueled by his anger, the spell not only shot Millicent's wand across the lobby, it also spun her around. She lost her balance and landed hard on the floor.
Giving a satisfactory grunt, O'Bannon pounded up the stairs and onto the second floor. At the end of the hall was a large, ornate oak door with a polished brass knob. Gleaming rubies made up the words RITA SKEETER'S OFFICE – KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING.
Oh, I'll knock all right.
He marched up to Skeeter's door. Sucking down a breath, he raised his foot and kicked out. The door flew open with a horrendous crash. He heard a feminine yelp. A tea cup flew from the hand of the middle-age witch, spilling light brown liquid across the desk she sat behind.
"What's the meaning of -" Rita Skeeter cut herself off as O'Bannon stomped up to her desk. Instead of looking frightened, she put on a sickeningly sweet smile. "Well, well, well. Look who it is. The famous Jim-"
"Shut up, you slimy hag!" He slammed his mangled copy of The Scandalous Sorceress on her desk. "Where the hell do you get off printing this crap about me?"
Skeeter's eyes sparkled. "Oh, you saw my article. I must say I'm quite proud of -"
"Don't screw with me!" He banged a fist on the desk, causing Skeeter to flinch. "You have no right to do this!"
"On the contrary, Mister O'Bannon, I do. Because of that hockey game and your war record, you are a public figure, whether you like it or not."
"This is all personal stuff." He stabbed his finger into the crumpled up tabloid. "It's no one else's business."
"Really?" Skeeter feigned shock. It took all that remained of O'Bannon's self-control to not slap that look off her fat, ugly face.
She continued. "If it is no one's business, then why hold conversations with your friends in public places, like a pub? Specifically, The Leaky Cauldron."
O'Bannon's brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Oh, a certain incident between your girlfriend," Skeeter nodded to Mireet, "and one Lee Jordan some weeks ago. All the patrons had a front row seat for his little outburst, including a certain employee of mine. Someone I assume you met on the way up here."
O'Bannon's eyes widened. "Bulstrode?"
"Oh yes." Skeeter leaned back in her seat, grinning. "As soon as Mister Jordan was done with his tirade, Millicent snuck out the back and came right to me with all the juicy details."
"Merlin's beard," Mireet whispered. "I remember. There was a witch I noticed exiting the back of The Leaky Cauldron. So it was Millicent."
"I tried to get a quote from Mister Jordan, but he brushed me off, and rather rudely at that." The grin on Skeeter's face widened. "But Angelina Johnson was most anxious to tell me in great detail how much she dislikes you. It just added to the overall liveliness of the article."
"Liveliness?" Incredulity crossed O'Bannon's face. "It was one big lie!"
"Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. What does it matter, so long as it sells copies?"
"It matters to me!" He jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb.
"Mireet. Jimmy. What is going on here?"
O'Bannon froze in shock for a moment. He then turned around. His eyes widened when he noticed Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and Monique standing in the open doorway.
So they followed me here, too. Terrific.
He took a few breaths, trying to calm himself. He turned back to Skeeter, his voice softer, but no less menacing. "Now you listen to me. You are going to print a retraction to this story. You're gonna tell everyone that everything you wrote about me is a lie, and you're going to leave me and Mireet alone. Got it?"
Skeeter chuckled softly. "Oh Mister O'Bannon. You must realize that with fame comes a price. Those who seek the accolades of the public must also endure the slings and arrows of people like me. Perhaps you should have considered that before you tried to pursue a life of fame and fortune."
"I didn't do what I did to become famous!"
"Oh please. Being around Harry Potter for a year, hearing about all his exploits, it's only natural that you'd want to experience some of that fame for yourself. And given the fact you signed on to fight Lord Voldemort before you even graduated from Salem, one can only assume you couldn't wait for your chance to become a war hero yourself and get medals and -"
"Shut up!" O'Bannon swept his arm across the desk. Quills, ink bottles, parchment and various other items flew through the air and onto the floor. "Shut your friggin' mouth! You don't know shit, you stupid bitch! I didn't fight because I wanted to be famous. I fought because I didn't want a psycho dark wizard ruling the world! What did you do during the war, huh? You just sat on your fat ass, peddling a book that smeared Albus Dumbledore, while other witches and wizards were out there fighting and dying, including friends of mine!"
Skeeter sighed, an annoyed expression showing through the heavy make-up on her face. "Mister O'Bannon, I have been more than generous in allowing you your little tantrum. But if you insist on doing damage to my office, then I'm afraid I must ask you to leave immediately."
"Leave? You want me to leave?" O'Bannon shook his head. "Oh no, it doesn't work that way. You don't get to say crap about me then kick me out of here."
Skeeter's eyes narrowed behind her red, horn-rimmed glasses. "Now see here. This is my building. I own it, and if I tell you to leave, then. . . you . . . will . . . leave."
"I'm not going anywhere until you agree to print a retraction."
"Well that's not going to happen. That's how life is when you're famous, so deal with it."
"You are a despicable woman!" Mireet lunged toward Skeeter's desk. "Why must you print lies about people? What has Jimmy ever done to you to deserve your scorn? Is your life so empty and pathetic that the only thing that brings you joy is trying to ruin the lives of witches and wizards better than you?"
Skeeter tilted her head and gave Mireet a dubious look. "And do you truly believe you're better than me, dear? Given your past that's saying something."
"Just what are you insinuating about my daughter?" Mrs. Miradeaux glared at Skeeter.
"Oh come now, Mrs. Miradeaux, don't play the innocent with me." Skeeter gave Mireet's mother a knowing grin. "Surely you remember a dashing young Frenchman named Marc-Andre Groleau."
O'Bannon drew his head back. Why was Skeeter bringing up Mireet's ex-boyfriend?
"How do you know of Marc-Andre?" Mireet tensed.
"Oh, I have my sources in your country. The Groleaus are a very influential family in Wizarding France, are they not?"
"Oui," Mrs. Miradeaux replied in a cautious tone.
"Yet here you lot are. The Miradeauxes, a somewhat old, but only moderately successful, pureblood family. So imagine how little – well, perhaps not so little – Mireet must have felt when a handsome young wizard from a well-to-do family paid her some attention." Skeeter's eyes locked on Mireet. "You were so desperate to be part of a family of great importance. And with your looks, it was easy to seduce Marc-Andre, make him fall in love with you, hoping to leech on to some of his family's wealth and power."
"That is a lie!" Mireet scowled. "I truly did love Marc-Andre. He broke up with me -"
"Yes!" Skeeter cut her off. "He broke up with you because he saw through your façade. Saw what a power-hungry temptress you were."
"How dare you!" Mr. Miradeaux charged at Skeeter, his face blazing red. "How dare you insult my daughter like that! Marc-Andre Groleau was an elitist bastard who broke Mireet's heart because he found her mother's interest in Muggle things unseemly!"
"Oh, quite brave you are against a simple reporter, Mr. Miradeaux. Where was that bravery all those years ago during the first Big War, when that giant attacked the market place you and your family was visiting, and you cowered in terror and let your young son be killed -"
The room erupted in shouts, some in English, some in French. Wands came out. Rita Skeeter backed up against the wall, hands crossed in front of her face.
"Nobody move!"
Silence suddenly blanketed the room. O'Bannon looked over his shoulder. Two wizards stood in the doorway, one stout and bearded, the other paunchy with receding brown hair. He noticed the wand and shield emblem on the left breast of their robes.
They were aurors.
XXXXX
O'Bannon glared at the thick iron bars of the cell in one of the sub-levels of the Ministry of Magic and shook his head. "I can't believe this is the second time in the last six months I've been arrested."
"You were not the only one who was arrested."
He sighed and turned around. Monique stood a few feet away, arms folded, her burning eyes aimed at him.
He shifted his gaze to the floor. The five of them had been in this cell for, what? It had to be over an hour. Maybe two? The aurors, whom Bulstrode no doubt contacted after she recovered from O'Bannon's spell, had relieved all of them of their watches, as well as their wands and everything in their pockets. Guilt squeezed his insides. He glanced over at Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux and suddenly wanted to shrink away into a deep hole. He'd been getting along with them so well these past few days. Now in one instant, he likely destroyed all that good will.
A guy who runs away from the Wizarding World, becomes an alcoholic, and gets them all thrown in jail. Oh yeah, they must think I'm the best boyfriend Mireet could ever have.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to get all you guys in trouble, too."
"And you think saying you're sorry is going to make things better?" Monique drew a slow, deliberate breath before she continued. "My parents are officials with our Ministry of Magic. Now their jobs could be in jeopardy. It is even possible their imprisonment could become an international incident. And it is all your fault."
O'Bannon's shoulders sagged. He lowered his eyes to the ground, knowing he couldn't argue that point with Monique.
"Stop blaming Jimmy," Mireet told her sister. "He had every right to be angry after what that filthy harpy Rita Skeeter said about him. And what about what she said about me, and our father?"
"It may not have gotten that far had your boyfriend not acted like a madman." Monique glared at him, then turned back to Mireet. "This man has brought nothing but trouble and heartbreak into your life from the day you met him."
"Um, hello." O'Bannon waved to Monique. "I'm still in the room, here."
She ignored him, her attention focused on Mireet. "You should have heeded my advice long ago and simply forgot about this American the moment you left Hogwarts."
Mireet's eyes narrowed at her sister. "Were it up to you, you would lock me in some tower away from any man for the rest of my life."
"Forgive me if I only want to protect you from being hurt again."
"You are trying to protect me from being happy."
"And are you happy now? Look around you." Monique swung her arm around. "You are in a jail cell, all because of this idiot American."
"All right, that's it." O'Bannon's foot slammed down on the stone floor as he stepped toward Monique. "You've been dumping on me since you first set foot in this country, and I've had it. I'm sorry I haven't been the perfect boyfriend for your sister, but I'm doing the best that I can."
"And look where your best has landed us. In a jail cell. My family would be better off with you out of our lives."
"And maybe I would be better off without you in my life." Anger lines etched deeply in Mireet's face as she glared at her sister.
Monique's cheeks reddened. She opened her mouth to respond.
"Enough! All of you!" Mrs. Miradeaux's voice echoed through the cell. She fixed a harsh stare on all three of them. "This situation is bad enough without you three yelling at one another."
Monique scowled at her mother and snorted. Both O'Bannon and Mireet did their best to avoid Mrs. Miradeaux's harsh gaze.
A minute of silence passed before Monique huffed and strode to the other side the cell. O'Bannon and Mireet sat on the old, chipped wooden bench attached to the stone wall and held hands. Mrs. Miradeaux kept a watchful eye on them. Mr. Miradeaux leaned against the wall in the corner of the cell, brooding. Probably thinking of what Skeeter said about him and his son, O'Bannon thought, shaking his head in disgust. That bitch.
No one talked much for the next . . . well, however much time passed. O'Bannon just sat on the bench lost in his own thoughts. He ran down the list of charges against him. Assault. Trespassing. Threat of violence. What sort of punishment was he looking at? What about Mireet and her family? Dammit, why did they have to follow him to Skeeter's office? Why didn't he tell them all to go away and let him handle it?
He heard the door leading to the cell block open. The five of them walked over to the bars. O'Bannon watched as the bearded auror, Gillencrest, strode up to their cell. His stomach collapsed into a bottomless pit. Was this where they learned their fate?
"Well, you lot certainly are lucky," Gillencrest said. "Got friends in high places, don't you?"
O'Bannon cranked an eyebrow as Gillencrest swished his wand. The cell door opened.
"You're all free to go, all charges dropped."
He almost staggered from the shock. He couldn't talk, couldn't even blink.
"You are serious?" Monique gaped at the auror.
"Quite, Miss. Your belongings are waiting outside. If you'll follow me."
O'Bannon hesitated. This just couldn't be. They were free? All charges dropped? Just like that?
He forced himself to step forward and exit the cell, followed by the others. Gillencrest led them out of the cell block and to a storage closet, the inside of which was pitch black. He used a Summoning Charm to retrieve everyone's things. The group then took the elevator to the Aurors Office. O'Bannon mulled over Gillencrest's words. "Friends in high places." Who could he be talking about? Mr. or Mrs. Infante? Did the American Secretary of Magic and Director of the US Aurors Bureau already know about his arrest? A surge of relief was soon replaced by a sense of unease. Mrs. Infante had already got him out of one jail, a Muggle one in Fort Wayne a few months ago. He could only imagine the earful he'd get from her over this incident when he returned to The States.
The elevator jerked to a halt. They stepped out into a lobby with some chairs, couches and brightly colored potted plants, one of which softly hummed something that reminded O'Bannon of Muggle easy listening music. A statue floated above, a group of stone aurors, wands at the ready, surrounding a rotating globe of the Earth.
"Here they are, Sir." Gillencrest stepped aside.
O'Bannon's eyes widened at the sight of the young man before him. Behind him, he heard awed whispers in French from both Mr. and Mrs. Miradeaux.
"Hello, Jimmy. Mireet," said none other than Harry Potter.
"Harry?" O'Bannon's face scrunched in astonishment. "You sprang us out of jail?"
"That's right."
"Why?"
Harry's brow furrowed. He stared at O'Bannon like he'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. It took a few moments for him to regain his composure. "Well I couldn't let you guys just sit there in a jail cell, could I?"
"I . . . er, thanks, man." He scanned Harry's face for any sense of anger, of resentment, of betrayal, like he'd gotten from George and the other Gryffindors.
There was none
"Yes, thank you very much, Harry." Mireet strode up to the savior of the Wizarding World - and their own personal savior - and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Oui. Thank you ever so much, Monsieur Potter," Mrs. Miradeaux said in an awed tone. "My family and I owe you much."
"That's all right." Harry smiled at her. "I was glad to do it."
"How did you know we had been arrested?" Mireet asked.
"Well, when the Aurors Office found out who you two were," Harry's eyes flickered between O'Bannon and Mireet, "they immediately alerted the Minister of Magic's office. I mean, it is a big deal when two decorated war heroes like yourselves get arrested."
O'Bannon winced at being called a war hero.
Harry continued. "When Minister Shacklebolt heard that you got into it with Rita Skeeter, he contacted me, since I knew you both and had my own . . . dealings with Skeeter. I read her article about you and saw your quotes. I knew Skeeter took them out of context, and had an idea how she got them from you. Tell me, Jimmy. Did you happen to see any bugs crawling around the inn you and Mireet are staying at?"
"Yeah, a few times. Of course, it's not the fanciest place in the world, so . . ." His voice trailed off as the realization hit him. He thought back five years ago, the return trip on the Hogwarts Express. He'd walked into the compartment shared by Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred and George just as the bushy-haired witch showed the twins a glass jar with a beetle inside. She had told them the insect was in fact Rita Skeeter in her unregistered Animagus form, which she used to sneak onto Hogwarts grounds and eavesdrop on people.
"Son-of-a-bitch." His face tightened in anger. "She was sneaking around our hotel as a bug the whole time."
O'Bannon's headed trembled in rage. He wanted to scream and hit something. How many times had Skeeter been in their room when he and Mireet spoke to one another in confidence? Had she watched when Mireet cried into his shoulder after the fight with her sister? Had she spied on them when they were being intimate?
"I figured as much." Harry's voice cut through O'Bannon's red haze of anger. "When I confronted Skeeter about it, I told her she was going to have to make a deal unless she wanted me to bring her in as an unregistered Animagus. Since she wasn't too keen on going to jail, she agreed to print a retraction to her story in her next issue of The Scandalous Sorceress, which I told her I'd better see on sale by noon tomorrow. She also agreed to leave you alone during the rest of your stay in Britain, and to drop all charges against you."
O'Bannon let out a breath of relief, as did Mrs. Miradeaux.
"Merci, Monsieur Potter," she added. "You are indeed a great and kind wizard."
Harry's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "Uh, thanks."
"Hey, man. Thanks. Thank you, big time." O'Bannon clasped Harry's hand and shook it. "I owe you."
"No problem, Jimmy. But . . . um, well, there are some conditions to this deal on your end."
His cheek twitched. "Okay? What are we talking about here?"
Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Well, first off, you have to pay for the damage you did to Rita Skeeter's door."
"All right." Much as he detested the idea of doing anything for Skeeter's benefit, it was a small price to pay for staying out of jail.
"And . . . um, well, you need to apologize to Millicent Bulstrode for knocking her down with that Disarming Spell."
The corners of O'Bannon's mouth twisted. Apologize to a stinking Slytherin? Especially one as unpleasant as Millicent Bulstrode? The mere thought of it made him want to spit. I'd rather lick a Blast-Ended Skrewt's ass than apologize to any Slytherin.
"Jimmy, I'm sorry," Harry said. "But it's part of the deal."
He sighed loudly. Scowling, he gave Harry a sharp nod. "Fine. I'll do it." But with my fingers crossed.
Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. O'Bannon figured if the situation had been reversed, Harry would be just as revolted as him.
"Well, now that everything's settled, why don't I see you all back to Diagon Alley?"
The five showered him with more "thank yous." Mrs. Miradeaux even kissed Harry's cheeks. Before he got to the door leading out of the Aurors Office, O'Bannon called out, "Harry."
He stopped and turned around, "Yeah, Jimmy."
O'Bannon slowly worked his jaw back and forth. "Um . . . uh . . . why?"
A quizzical look came over Harry's face. "Why what?"
"Why did you help us out? Help me out?"
"Why wouldn't I? You're my friend."
O'Bannon scoffed. "Seriously? After everything I did, you can still call me that?"
Harry frowned. "Yeah, I heard what happened with you and Ron and George at the shop the other week."
"They were ready to hex the living hell out of me. I could see it in their eyes. They hated me. And why shouldn't they? I left the Wizarding World and tried to forget about Fred. After everything he did for me at Hogwarts, I tried to put him out of my mind forever. So yeah, I fully expect the whole Weasley family to be pissed at me. But you're not? I mean, you're practically a Weasley. So how come you're not sitting somewhere, smiling and saying, 'let O'Bannon rot in that cell?'"
Harry sighed, staring at the floor. Shoulders slumped, he shuffled closer to O'Bannon. "If I felt that way toward you, I think that would make me a hypocrite."
A perplexed look came over O'Bannon's face. "What are you talking about?"
"You think I never had any thoughts about leaving the Wizarding World? I couldn't stop thinking of all the people I cared about who died, died for me. Sirius, Dumbledore, Professor Moody, Professor Lupin, Tonks, Dobby . . . Fred. When I was staying at The Burrow after the war, every time I saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley or Ginny or Ron or any of them, I couldn't help but think they blamed me for Fred's death. And why shouldn't they? I blamed myself. I still blame myself. I can't tell you how many times I thought they'd be better off if I just left."
"But you didn't," O'Bannon said. "You stayed, and you have more right to up and leave this world than anyone. I mean, I never lost my parents when I was a baby. I never had some dark wizard gunnin' for me since I was in diapers. I never had to live with an aunt and uncle who were total rat bastards. I never had an entire government try to shut me up. I never had the fate of the whole friggin' world on my shoulders. Despite all that, you stayed. I was the one who left."
"And you think I should hate you because of that? Everyone suffered during the war, and everyone dealt with it in different ways. Jimmy, Fred was one of your best mates, and Tonks . . . I know how much she meant to you. And all your other friends you lost back in America. Sure, you left. But you came back, and somehow I doubt you forgot about everyone here when you were back in the Muggle World."
"No, I didn't."
"Then as far as I'm concerned, I have no reason to hate you."
O'Bannon's chest tightened. A grateful feeling spread through his insides.
Then he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling stupid. Harry. Why didn't I think to go to him first? He knew the answer. He assumed, given Harry's closeness to the Weasleys, that The-Boy-Who-Lived would be just as pissed off at him as George. But hadn't Harry forgiven Snape for the way he treated him at Hogwarts after learning everything he'd done to combat Voldemort? Hadn't he saved Draco Malfoy, Draco Friggin' Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, from being killed by Fiendfyre? If Harry could do that, then why wouldn't he forgive someone like him?
"Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it." He stuck out his hand. Harry smiled and shook it.
"You're welcome, Jimmy."
"I wish things with George could go this easy."
"If you want, I could talk to him." Harry looked from O'Bannon to Mireet. "Maybe we can all talk to him."
"I think that is a good idea," Mireet said.
O'Bannon looked to her, then back to Harry, and nodded. "Ditto here."
"Brilliant. So when do you want to do this?"
A determined look came over O'Bannon's face. "Now's as good a time as any."
TO BE CONTINUED