Book III:
Chapter 11: The Phoenix King
Far away, across the Channel, an elderly wizard stared out from a run down, but quaint little shop. From this particular window he could stare out at row of muggle restaurants, cafés, and boutiques covered in snow and Christmas decorations. If he went to another window he could stare out at an almost identical row of buildings inhabited by witches and wizards with their own brands of holiday decorations. He liked this particular shop because when ever he held meetings, the men and women who gathered there could look out with him, and see for themselves how both peoples were as human and beautiful and flawed as the other.
It was an important reminder, for him as well as they, exactly what they were fighting to preserve.
Days like today made theses reminders necessary.
"You have read the papers? The English ones?"
He half turned to acknowledge Tonks, noting with some amusement that her hair was flaring red with her bad temper. Tonks was one of the youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix, but also the most zealous and proactive. She had only been a child when her family fled England, but she was old enough to know what was being lost and why, and the years she had struggled as a refugee in the elitist German school system had hardened her resolve. He had picked her up at a wizarding university, intrigued by the woman's student movement for the liberation of Britain and sympathized with her frustration at everyone's lack of interest. Were they really so naïve as to think the Dark Lord would be satisfied with only Britain?
"I have read them, Miss Tonks. Paint a rather poor picture of us, don't they?"
"It's ridiculous the lies this creature can spread about. I'm surprised he doesn't blame the German Minister and declare war!"
"We're lucky he did not," he said, stroking his beard. "Or perhaps unlucky. I fear what he will be capable of once his military is fully organized. The Germans are playing a dangerous game waiting for him to attack first. They assume their allies will come to their aid, but we thought that too, didn't we? And look what happened?"
Her expression was so clearly frustrated, but she couldn't say anything. What could she say that he didn't already know? Their silent tension was broken by the tinkling of a bell from the down stairs as someone entered and was followed by a quick "'ello!"
"We're up here, Gilfred," Tonks called out. A handsome man in his mid-thirties came up the stairs, followed by a younger man with a severe countenance. The handsome man immediately greeted both, while his dour companion remained near the stairs, watching both the door and a window for signs of their companions or potential danger.
"Hello, Lovely and you too Tonks," he smiled, earning him an eye roll from his partner.
"Not now, Gil, I'm not in the mood."
"Well, that makes two of you. Johnny has been in an outright snit all morning. And considering how he normally is, it says something that I am able to even tell."
"Mein Name ist Johan, nicht Jonny, Sei Idiot!"
"See what I have to put up with?"
There was another ring of the bell, followed by a burly young man who looked as if he should be in school still and a raggedy looking woman, so dirty it was impossible to tell her age.
"Timmons and Fredric took another lap," the boy said, his English through his heavy Bulgarian accent. "Fredric thought he saw something."
"Are the pigeons after him again?" Johan asked nastily, falling into English now that his temper was in check.
"That's enough of that," Dumbledore chided. "How are you Viktor? Phoebe? I'm sorry to bring you out in this cold weather."
"It is a fine spring day in compared to my village," Viktor said. His home town was a quaint little settlement hidden between two alpine mountains, renown for the quality of its brooms and the abundance of bears.
"Speak fer yerself, sonny. I can't feel me toes," his companion huffed.
"Come and take some tea," Dumbledore offered. "It will occupy us while we wait for the others."
They all gathered around the table at the center of the room, except for Johan who remained stubbornly guarding the door, and poured themselves and each other tea. There was a pile of newspapers in several different languages at the table as well, and a few of them shifted through the stack, but most knew what they would say already.
The British paper went on a verbal rampage against Dumbledore's latest attacks on the peace of a recovering nation, going so far as to attack school children to invoke a response. Pictures of Hogwart's quidditch stadium partially demolished and some of young Harry, dressed in his Quidditch robes and a layer of dirt from the explosion and then later ones of him, bruised and battered as he stood between his werewolf bodyguards, chatting easily.
The German papers had a counter rampage of their own, accusing the British of manipulating events that were of their own making and incompetence, and blaming it on Light wizards in order to finish off the last of the Dark Lord's opponents. They had pictures too, smuggled out of Britain over the years through hijacked newspapers and illegal missives. One was of Moody's before his incarceration standing proud in his Auror robes and another of his wanted poster, looking deranged after ten years of incarceration. There were a few of Harry as well, one from the year before after the attacks at Hogwarts and another of him talking to the Dark Lord outside of some Court building.
The French papers lamented the lack of intergovernmental cooperation, pointing out the war had been over for ten years and that it was a time for restoration not antagonism. So condescending in their righteousness.
The Spanish paper had only a brief blurb about the recent incidents in Britain on the third page, but for the most part were keeping their heads buried in the sand.
Austria, Hungary, and Bulgaria were clueless, but who knew what they'd end up printing over the next couple of days? Likewise, the Eastern European countries were tentative about putting anything in their paper, afraid of contradicting or conflicting with their neighbors, and Italy was keeping with its stance that Britain belonged to the devil and shouldn't be spoken of let alone spoken to.
It seemed things were beginning to stir again, and Dumbledore wondered if that was bad or good. On one hand, this was likely the precursor to much more serious events. On the other hand, it might also mean Europe would quit twiddling their thumbs in regards to the Voldemort issue. War had its horrors and left its wounds, but this willful complacency had a rotting affect that was just as devastating.
"They're here," Johan said, and a moment later the bell rang. Timmons, fatter than was strictly fashionable for a middle-aged man, came up first, huffing and puffing.
"I tell you, why in Merlin's name did you drag me around the block again? I could have gone with the Gil and John."
"It's JOHAN! What is with you English wizards? Must everyone use your silly names?" the dour man grumbled, but was ignored.
"Sorry, but that cat really did look suspicious. Besides, you could use the exercise," said Fredric, an elderly gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache and beard.
"Welcome, my friends," Dumbledore greeted. "Come have some tea. We have matters to discuss."
"You mean this 'assassination' rubbish?" Fredric said. "Nasty trick the Dark Lord pulled there. Has the Minister of Magic confronted you about it?"
"Yes, but only to reprimand how badly it was botched. I already informed him of what we intended to do. I needed his approval to bring Potter in Germany after all. This is the only country that wouldn't extradite him right back. Everyone else is still afraid of instigating war."
Tonks snorted.
"Yes, if you'd brought him to France, they would invited the Dark Lord to tea before they sent both of them on their way."
Phoebe let out a snort of her own.
"Don't get all indignant Miss Rainbow. The aristocrats might control the paper, but you better believe the proletariat knows whats what. France got all them refugees to remind them of all the tricks You-Know-Who used to tear down the Ministry."
Dumbledore nodded.
"You're both right, my dears. The general public is suspicious and fearful of Voldemort and we shall find many allies amongst them. However unlike most of the wizarding world, France is still governed by an aristocracy and, however unofficially, they have come to see the Dark Lord as a king rather than a dictator. It will be difficult to convince them to help overthrow a government that most resembles their own. We must tread cautiously there."
"So what do we do now?" Timmons asked, "Quick failed miserably and we've compromised our people in Britain. The Dark Lord is probably laughing at us right now."
A despairing silence threatened to descend, but Dumbledore was quick to rally them again.
"Mansfield is already in Spain. I pulled him out as soon as Harry failed to show at the rendezvous point. He's the only one who can connect Quick with the others, so they'll be safe for now. It's imperative that we get the boy out of Britain though. I've left orders for our people to try again as soon as they are able."
Viktor pulled out a paper from the pile, staring at the picture of the boy they were risking so much for and wondered why. This particular picture showed him talking to the Dark Lord, confidently, as if to friend or family member.
"He does not appear to need our assistance," Viktor said, scowling with disapproval. "He is the Dark Lord's protege, a dark wizard by all accounts. What do you want from this little viper?"
Dumbledore smiled a bit.
"It is true, young Harry has fallen under the influence of Voldemort, but I think it is rather unfair of you to judge him a 'little viper' from across the sea. He's just a child. Without family to look after him he is vulnerable to manipulations from others, particularly for someone as skilled at manipulating as Voldemort.'
'But I have hope for him. His parents were very good people, I knew them well, and as he was sorted into Gryffindor I would say he is inclined to resist corruption where he sees it. It's a gamble, but even so that boy cannot remain in Britain. He's already being used shamelessly to gain national support for Voldemort and his cause. With a little freedom and a more rounded view of the situation, I hope Harry might have a change of heart and aid us of his own free will."
"And if he doesn't?" Viktor persisted.
"Then at least he will be removed from a position where he can aid our enemy."
The young Russian let the subject drop. The meeting moved on to other things; new political allies and hurtles in various countries, the current state of their spy network in Britain, the counter-intelligence they were running against Voldemort's spies and Sentinels, and suppositions on when it would all come to a head. There was a great deal to discuss, but their meeting was called to an abrupt end by Johan.
"Someone is coming."
Several of the group immediately went to the window, and sure enough there was an elderly woman on the wizarding side of the building. She was shabbily dressed, clearly too poor to be shopping the district, and yet she begged no money of those that passed her. It appeared she was meandering here and there at first, but it soon became apparent she was heading straight for them.
Dumbledore sighed, and nodded to the others.
"Take the muggle street exit. I will send you all coordinates for our new meeting place in a couple of days. Johan, Gilfred, would you both deal with our visitor? Nothing too violent, please. She may just be a reporter."
They all readily agreed with his plan, and went about doing as he said. While Dumbledore cleared all evidence, physical and magical, of their presence in the house, the rest left quickly through a different door than the one they had entered.
Johan and Gilfred stayed behind. They pulled from their pockets a black scarf and a tiny wizard's hat that grew to the appropriate size when they shook it. They used these to disguise themselves, the enchantment on the items distorting not only their appearance but their voices and magical signature as well.
"I'll leave the rest to you, gentleman," Dumbledore said, removing his hat and turning his robed inside out so that appeared as nothing more than a muggle trench coat, and strode out into the cold.
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To Harry's amusement and dismay, his newly acquired protectors proved a bit overly efficient in their job. Not only were Sirius and Remus effective at keeping assassins at bay, they kept away just about everyone else as well. Greystoke and Parker both kept a healthy distance from the men who seemed to know their every move, regardless of how stealthy they thought they were. Unfortunately, so did most of his friends.
His godfathers didn't hover like Draco's goons usually did, keeping a typical distance of some twenty or thirty feet ahead of and in back when he walked the halls and sat outside the doors when he had class. They spent about five minutes during lunch sniffing his food for potions and poisons, before meandering out of sight.
This was enough for Harry not to feel crowded, but also enough for his friends to feel spied upon. Draco took one look at them, and they took one rather unfriendly look back, and quickly headed in the other direction. Natalie, usually so outgoing, just... wasn't, but she still might have been waiting for a moment alone with him that didn't seem to be coming. Ginny had been avoiding him already. The Weasley twins took it as a challenge, attempting to grab Harry and run off with him as a bit of sport. They soon learned their mistake when Remus demonstrated that he could in fact use a wand and Sirius dropped them out a second story window and into a snow bank.
"They're really rather... forward," Hermione said, as they ate breakfast. Sirius and Remus had just left to, quite literally, sniff around for potential threats and left them alone for a few minutes to talk in semi-privacy.
"Yeah, that's a nice way to say it," Harry said, a bit amused. She was his only friend who hadn't fled from the werewolves or been driven off, but even she was a bit intimidated. They had done nothing to make themselves more approachable, their every move and manner laced with predatory grace and precision, and while Harry was immune to it he recognized it for what it was.
"I don't think they like me."
Harry chuckled.
"Actually, they do. They just don't like your brother."
"Oh."
For once, she didn't seem to know what to say. This wasn't the sort of situation they covered in etiquette lessons. Harry took pity on her.
"I'll talk to them later about lightening up. They're just a bit on edge with everything that's happened. They're really quite laid back once you get to know them."
Hermione didn't looked convinced. In fact, she looked a bit nervous. She had respect and curiosity when it came to werewolves, and had always wished to see and learn about them. However, when she had thought about how she would go about doing that, it was usually from a safe distance or with some sort of barrier between them. Harry's almost reckless disregard for the harm they could do, however unintentional, was a bit worrisome.
They finished their breakfast in silence, despite everything Hermione wanted to say and the only opportunity for privacy they'd had since Monday. When they were done, the werewolves appeared out of no where and escorted them to their first class. It was History of Magic and as Toure was out and the werewolves remained outside, the rest of the students in the class quickly huddled in close to Harry.
"Bloody hell, are those guys really werewolves?" Finnegan asked, obviously the question everyone was most interested in. Harry's reply was matter-of-fact, hoping to keep the sensationalization down to a minimum.
"Yes. The dark one is Blackbone and the other is Slivermoon. They're protecting me until Moody is caught... at least I think that's how long they're staying."
It didn't work. Everyone was amazed to have the truth confirmed. A few were actually angry.
"What were they thinking? Sticking werewolves in a school? That's fucking retarded," a rather belligerent Ravenclaw boy snarled.
"What if they bite someone? I mean, have you seen them? They barely look human."
"I'm going to write to my father about this. There's no way let-"
Harry slammed his hands down on his desk, and stood abruptly.
"How can you all be such stupid bloody cowards?!" he snarled, shocking everyone into silence. "They're not animals, they're people. People I trust to protect me and you and this school. And since I'm the only one out of any of you who have actually spoken with them, eaten with them, fucking lived with them, I think you can all shut up and keep your ignorant load of tripe to yourselves. Good god, you're the future of this country?"
Harry was not a violent person. He wasn't really a very intimidating person either. There were a few instances where he was known to get snippish or grouchy, but no one had ever seen him direct his temper at the world in general. So whether everyone was suitably chastised or just stunned wasn't entirely clear.
Regardless, before anyone could even think to say or do anything in response to his outburst, Professor Toure walked in and ordered everyone to their seats. Hermione herself was glad she was sitting already, or she might have keeled over. Even in her vaguely dazed state, it didn't take long for her to notice several whispers drifting through the class, as their professor began to lecture. Harry remained stubbornly focused on what Toure was saying, but Hermione found her attention drifting to the gossip floating about.
"What's got Potter so defensive? Does he actually like werewolves? How weird is that?"
"He said he lived with them, how does that work? No one is allowed to live with werewolves unless they are one already."
"Do you think he really knows them? That's bloody awesome!"
"The Dark Lord works with the werewolves a lot, maybe he introduced Potter?"
"I bet we don't know who his parents are because they're werewolves. Why else would he care?"
"I wonder if Potter got lycanthrosis and is covering it up?"
And so it went through the entire class, until at last Toure dismissed them. Harry was up and stalking through the door, leaving Hermione rushing to catch up. By the time she spotted him again in the hall, Sirius was leaning over him, talking quietly. After a moment, Harry replied loud enough that the werewolf and everyone else in the hall could hear.
"Let them make up stories until they're blue in the face. I don't care. I'm not ashamed of you."
It sparked a flash of guilt in Hermione. She might not have been as vocal about her misgivings on Harry's relationship with his godfathers, but she had been guilty of the same prejudice. Her friend had perfect faith in these men, did she have the right to question it? He deserved her support more than anything. So, stiffening her back, setting her shoulders, and swallowing her anxiety, she marched right up to the nearest werewolf, who happened to be Remus.
She was glad it was him, for he was definitely the less intimidating of the two. He tended to guard the back rather than lead upfront, and from this she gathered that he was the submissive of the pair. Nevertheless, he was very strong in appearance with muscular arms and a bit hairier than most of the wizards she had met, emitting an animal-like vibe whenever he moved..
"Ah, excuse me, Sir."
He looked at her blankly for a moment, then around him as if suspecting a trap, then back to her again with a little trepidation.
"Yes?"
She tried to remain calm and keep herself from fidgeting or stuttering, and it took all of her Malfoy decorum to keep herself under control.
"I... Well, Harry is my best friend, so I thought it would be appropriate to introduce myself to you. I'm Hermione Granger of Malfoy. Pleased to meet you."
She held out her hand. He stared at it curiously, then moved his gaze to study her face. He smiled, without a trace of the usual aggression, and took her hand. She noted that he wore gloves, just like his companion, despite the warmth of the castle and wondered if it wasn't a precaution to prevent accidental scratches with their claw-like finger nails. Rather than shake like she thought he would, he actually kissed her hand, sending a bolt of anxiety through her at having her bare skin so close to his teeth. She ruthlessly crushed the irrational fear.
"Charmed. I am Remus Slivermoon of the Goddess Clan."
Now she was stuck. She hadn't thought about what to do after introducing herself.
"... We should probably catch up with Harry," she said, and hurried along, followed closely by a very amused Remus. They caught up at the DA&D classroom, but before she could introduce herself to Sirius, the man had disappeared. When she turned to ask Remus where he had gone, she found him missing as well. Perplexed and vaguely relieved, she entered the classroom.
Harry wasn't in his usual seat near the front of the class, but the one closest to the door.
"What's up, Harry? I hope you're not trying to pass notes to your bodyguards during class," she teased.
"Don't worry about it," he said, making an effort not to be snippish towards her. He had seen her talking with Remus, and was touched that despite her nervousness she was making an effort to get to know them. "I just... don't feel like sitting up front today. You can if you want to. I'm not going to be good company for a while."
She wasn't sure what to make of this latest bit of weirdness, but decided she'd have to wait until after classes to get any answers and not to push until then. Professor Larousse also seemed a bit disturbed by Harry's movement, but he was pointedly not looking in her direction.
Her friend's reclusive behavior lasted through the entire class. Normally eager to volunteer for demonstrations or to answer and ask questions, he remained strangely reserved, not looking up from his notes or his text books even when his name was called. It could have been the whispers from the last class following him to his next that left him so guarded, but that didn't seem quite right either.
When class was over, her chance to speak with him was denied by the professor, who told him to stay after class for a moment. In the hall, both Sirius and Remus had reappeared, disturbing the flow of the students who took great pains to avoid coming in contact with the savage looking men. The werewolves ignored them, however, in favor watching the door, perhaps even listening in the conversation occurring within. It was not a good time to introduce herself to Sirius, she decided.
Something clearly had him agitated.
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"What is the matter, Harry? You've been acting strange all class period," Larousse began, once the rest of her students had left the class. Harry stood, looking ready and even eager to leave, and still refusing to look at her.
"Professor..."
There was a moment's hesitation, in which his expression darkened considerably.
"Do you want to kill my godfathers?"
She was stunned. His question came out of nowhere. Why would he think that? Even if it was true, why would he... Oh, no. He had been speaking with the mongrels. With them so close by they must have found the opportunity to spread tales of her exploits, biased and maligned to make her appear some sort of monster. She would have to undo the damage somehow.
"I only want to protect you."
"And would you think killing my godfathers would do that?" he persisted.
Smart boy.
"... You are too careless with each other. Too rough. I doubt they wish to harm you, but it would only take one scratch, one nip, one accidentally shared cup of tea and you would be undone. Everything you are and could be destroyed by your trust in them."
Harry still wasn't looking at her, and his expression had not softened at all. If anything it had grown more resolved. His eyes suddenly met hers, such brilliant color she would have thought him a werewolf right off the bat, if she hadn't known they had always been like that.
"They are my family. They are protecting me, putting their lives on the line to do so. I will not hesitate to do the same for them, regardless of who their enemies might be."
She could only stand there, stunned by his threat and by the resolve he had shown in making it, as he stalked out of the classroom.
Now what?
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Horace McGunny, school newspaper editor, Ravenclaw, and all around hard-ass was giddy. Giddy. He hadn't felt this pleasantly excited over anything since he'd first received his invitation to Hogwarts. He had received a Court Owl at breakfast, and with it was an invitation to interview one Harold James Potter. He had forced himself to confirm this with Professor Toure before he let himself get carried away with what might be a Weasley prank. But no, it was authentic and scheduled for Friday, a mere two days away.
He called an emergency staff meeting.
The rooms they used to organize the paper was a strange mixture of business office meets factory meets medieval castle meets study hall. Their printing press, a very old but fine machine capable of printing three hundred pages of magically enhanced print and pictures an hour, looked more like a giant factory loom that spanned the entire thirty feet of the back wall. For safety reasons, they put up a cast iron gate, specially warded so that only Professor Toure or McGunny could unlock it. On the other side of the gate were several cubicles, and in each cubicle was a small wooden table with a type writer. Every member of the newspaper go their own cubicle, regardless of their job, and what they did there was represented by the state of their assigned space.
Colin Creevy's cubicle was lined with photographs, mostly his own, but a few he had collected from elsewhere. Hermione Granger's cubicle was a perfectly tidy little space, with appointment calendars, academic schedules, files for articles she had completed and ones she was working on, and various other knickknacks. Ron Weasley's work station existed only in myth, hidden in the realms of absolute chaos beneath his piles of notes, interviews, old papers, paper planes, photos, and probably homework that was months overdue.
For the meeting, McGunny decided to keep it brief, and so let everyone stand in their cubicles, while he stood in the hall where everyone could see him.
"Alright, everyone I've got an announcement," he said, keeping his expression serious, when all he felt like doing was giggling. He held up his letter. "We received an invitation this morning to attend a small press conference Friday evening in London with five of the leading newspapers in Britain."
Everyone looked surprised except for Granger, but that was hardly unexpected, and then the questions started.
"What's the conference about? Who's going to go?" Weasley shouted out first, above everyone else's confused murmuring.
"Harry Potter has finally agreed to an interview."
There was a stunned silence, followed by a hoot of joy from Parker.
"Finally!"
"We have to go all the way to London for that? What the fuck?"
"Watch your mouth, Weasley," McGunny snapped. "It's for security reasons. They won't allow the press into Hogwarts after what happened with Quick, so they're holding it in the Iron House. This is big news, after all. All of Britain wants to know about these attacks, and this isn't the first time Potter's name has ended up in the paper. This will be the first time he's answered questions directly. Considering how many things have gone unanswered since he's gotten here, I think we need to exploit this opportunity for everything we can. I want a special edition out by Sunday."
There were numerous protests.
"That's a week ahead of schedule! I don't have my articles ready!"
"I can't proofread an entire edition in four days! I only have half a paper's worth to begin with!"
"It's a Hogsmeade weekend! I've got Christmas shopping to do!"
"Why don't we just drag Potter in here and get the interview now?"
"But what about my interviews?"
"How come-"
"That isn't-"
"No way-"
"SHUT UP!"
Everyone immediately silenced under McGunny's harsh command. He glared at all of them, disgusted.
"What is wrong with you all? This isn't a crisis! The best in the business are going to handling this thing, and we've just been handed the opportunity to count ourselves among them. You should be proud. You should be excited. This is the real thing! We've got a classmate in this school making history as we speak and we don't know a damn thing about him. Our school has been attacked by an escaped convict and foreign terrorist group, and we don't know why. Every student in Hogwarts deserves to know what is going on, and it is our responsibility to inform them. So I don't what to hear anymore whining about how inconvenient it is or how hard. Lets pull together like the professionals I know you can be and get this thing done. What do you say?"
A resounding cheer, and this time even Granger and Weasley seemed enthused. Satisfied that he had rallied his troops, McGunny moved on to more practical matters.
"Good. I want all of you to write a list of questions you would like to ask Potter and submit them on my desk. I'll sort through the ones I think relevant, and bring them to the interview. Creevey, you'll be going with me as the photographer, but go easy on the flash, will you?"
"Wait a minute!" Parker interrupted, "What about me? Potter is mine!"
There was a scattering of giggles, and she turned a bit pink.
"That's not what I meant and you guys know it. The Potter articles are mine."
"You said they were mine now," Greystoke pointed out, crossing his arms and glaring at her.
McGunny shook his head.
"The gossip column belongs to you both, but this isn't going to the gossip column. This is front page material. It's also a risk. I'll be traveling with Potter to London, and the possibility of another attack is high, so I'd rather go myself than risk one of you. Creevey's already proven himself willing to come under fire, which is the only reason I'm bringing him."
He made a good point, and since the only person there brave (or just plain rude) enough to contradict him publicly was Weasley and he didn't want to go, no one argued. The truth was less selfless. He wanted to go. He wanted to sit down and talk to Potter one on one, and learn for himself what made him so special. Why had the Dark Lord picked him? What, exactly, had he picked him for?
There was an aura of purpose that surrounded Potter, as if his existence held a destiny beyond that of normal people. McGunny had heard of such people before, but the closest he had ever come to seeing one himself were brief glimpses of Britain's dictator. He had never thought he would meet for himself such a person before their significance became known to the rest of the world.
So now was his opportunity. If he was very careful, perhaps he could gain some trust from Potter. When he graduated from Hogwarts at the end of the year and took up journalism in university, he might just be able to continue a repertoire with the Gryffindor. People like Parker and Greystoke were too hungry, too aggressive in their pursuit and it didn't surprise McGunny a bit that they hadn't gotten anywhere with the boy. Yet, Granger was a trusted confidante, despite her position in the paper, and guarded his secrets savagely.
He wanted something in between. He was not expecting Potter's darkest secrets, but he wanted to be trusted with his truths. Trusted not to distort what ever Harry said into something sensational for the sake public appeal, and in turn told openly and honestly what could be said.
He wanted to write history as it happened.
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Natalie had hoped to find Harry alone, but with his two new pets following him about, that was impossible. So after dinner, she waited for him by the stairs, and when he finally arrived she pulled him aside in full view of the werewolves and put up a silencing spell so they couldn't hear.
"You've been avoiding me," she said right off the bat, and Harry looked momentarily embarrassed before shaking his head.
"No, I've just been busy and I've had a lot on my mind."
From over Harry's shoulder, she could see both of his guards watching intently and gave them a rather nasty look. The lighter one had the decency to look elsewhere, but the darker just grinned at her toothily.
"I don't suppose I was one of those things on your mind?" she said, smirking a bit. She stopped when he didn't say anything. He wasn't looking at her anymore. That was definitely not a good sign.
"Harry?"
"Natalie... you know I like you, right?"
"Sometimes I wonder."
"Don't. I do like you. I like you a lot, but... I can't... I can't be with you right now. Too much is happening and we're both so young, and I don't-"
The slap cut him off effectively. Which was good, because she couldn't stand to listen to him awkwardly rambling on about how he loved her and couldn't be with her. She didn't want excuses. She left him standing stunned, and stalked past two equally stunned men as she made her way to the dungeons. Her eyes were burning and her teeth were clenched, but she would hold back her tears until she safely out of view of everyone.
She'd be damned if she started acting like Ginny.
