A/N Friendly reminder that I will sometimes use one-liners or short excerpts from the books or movies because either they're perfect as is, or there's no point in rewriting those elements just for the sake if it. Some lines in this chapter are verbatim from the book because they're just so perfect a they are and they fitted in well.

It was raining hard now and she was nowhere to be seen. He simply did not understand what had happened with Cho; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine.

He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of Zonkos. The shop floor was spattered in wet and muddy footprints, and so he made his way in and looked around for Ron, annoyed to not find him. Thankfully the shop was crowded with students avoiding the weather outside, allowing Harry to move around relatively unnoticed before departing again, still looking for Ron.

Trying the next best place he braved the weather again and headed to Honeydukes. He found Ron standing in front of a wall of colourful lollipops, hand reaching for one before reconsidering. Harry made his way through the busy shop, mentally preparing to explain the premature end to his date with Cho.

'You don't like the blue flavour,' he reminded Ron, who had selected some blue liquorice. 'You said it tastes like toothpaste.'

Ron looked around in alarm, immediately checking his watch to see what the time was. But when he realised Harry's date can't have gone well he did the right thing and didn't ask. 'I don't like the blue one?'

'No, you gave it to me, remember? And you're right, it does taste like toothpaste. What did you get at Zonkos?'

'Just some stink pellets. I was too late, they're almost cleaned out.'

Ron eyed him warily as they made their way around the shop, each of them taking some sweets to purchase and remembering to get some things Hermione liked. Ron almost hadn't made it that day, for Angelina wanted a full day of Quidditch training, and it had taken a longwinded talk from Hermione to convince her to let Ron out of it for a few hours. Hermione insisted that he had to come to Hogsmeade, that he be there with Harry when he went through with the Rita Skeeter meeting.

Though Harry would not have asked Ron to skip out on Quidditch, wholly supporting Angelina's manic insistence they train, he was relieved Ron was going to be there. But at the same time, part of him wished neither of his friends were going to be there, that he and Rita could just do this whole thing alone. Nevertheless he knew that Hermione had to be there for a reason, that she was more level headed and would keep things on their terms.

'So...how'd it go?' Ron quietly asked when they left Honeydukes, the rain having stopped for a few minutes.

'It was a complete disaster,' he said glumly, helping himself to a piece of chocolate. 'She only wanted to talk about Cedric.'

'Oh. She wouldn't come to this?'

'I didn't tell her.'

He'd been thinking about telling Cho what he planned to do, tossing around the idea of letting her in on the secret. But even if he had told her he wouldn't have let her come to the meeting with Rita.

Though they tried to delay until their agreed time, Harry and Ron made their way to the Three Broomsticks early, finding there wasn't really much else to do in Hogsmeade today, particularly when the rain began to pick up again. When they arrived they made their way through the busy tavern to the table at the very back, where Luna, Rita Skeeter and Hermione were seated and waiting for them.

Skeeter looked very out of place sitting between the two school students, sipping at her bright red drink while they waited patiently. She raised her gaze when she saw Harry approaching, her eyes lighting up excitedly upon seeing him. The noise of the Three Broomsticks died away as Harry and Ron took their seats, having entered the silencing charm they had all been learning over the last few weeks to guarantee absolute privacy. It was a lesson learned from their first DA meeting at the Hogs Head.

'You're early,' Hermione said in confusion, though tactfully she didn't say anything about Cho.

Ron shrugged, shaking his damp hair. 'Weather.'

'Well it's alright,' Hermione said. 'We've covered the terms of the agreement. Mostly covered, anyway.'

Harry had yet to say anything, sitting in silence while he held Rita Skeeter's gaze. She was giving him a sickly sweet smile, one that was similar to Umbridge's but spoke to a different kind of vindictiveness. Despite how keen he had been to do this, he still felt overly cautious of her. He might know information that could put her in some serious trouble with the Ministry, but he wasn't completely confident she was unwilling to self destruct.

'Hello, Rita,' he said cautiously, speaking first.

He had braced himself for the Quick Quotes Quill to launch into action and start writing, but the quill on the table was perfectly normal.

'Hello, Harry,' she said smoothly. 'That was a rather tantalising tidbit you wrote to me. But I'm not entirely sure I understand what you want me to do with it.'

'You'll find we've been perfectly clear,' Hermione stated. 'We want you to write Harry's story. His full recount of what happened to him, and what happened to Cedric.'

'So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?' said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. 'You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?'

'I wasn't the sole witness,' snarled Harry.

Hermione gently cleared her throat, giving him a look from the corner of her eye that clearly said let me do the talking. 'Yes. He stands by his story.'

Skeeter looked around at them as though they'd grown extra heads, and then to Luna who was day dreaming, stirring her drink with her cocktail onion. Skeeter was bewildered by the lot of them.

'You want his story, in print?' she asked Hermione.

'The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details. He'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now – oh, get a grip on yourself,' she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for, at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly she had slopped half her drink down herself.

'The Prophet wouldn't print it,' Skeeter snapped. 'In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. It's against the public mood.'

'We don't give a monkey's arse about the public mood,' Ron said brusquely.

Skeeter turned to him, raising her eyebrow. 'Well you of all people should. I know who your father is. And word is that no one believes his story about why he was in the Ministry so late at night last year. That, and his association with Potter here has him walking on very thin ice.'

Ron shifted uncomfortably, but he stood his ground. 'My dad doesn't care about losing his job. He cares about the truth being told.'

Skeeter sighed, shaking her head in exasperation as she sipped her drink. 'You children are not hearing me,' she started condescendingly. 'No one wants to read something against the public mood. It's a terrible downer. On the other hand, Harry Potter the delusional teen is far more interesting. If you'd let me write from that angle-'

Hermione interrupted her. 'Absolutely not. This is not to be a gossip piece, it's to be a factual article covering Harry's statement.'

'No one wants to read fact, missy. They want to read colour.'

'He'll give you colour, but it needs to be rooted in fact.' Hermione leaned forward now, giving Skeeter a strange sort of smile. 'Do you really want to be just a gossip columnist your whole life?'

'Gossip pays the bills. Gossip sells.'

Ron snorted in derision. 'I see you've been keeping your word about no gossip.'

Unable to help himself, Harry smiled a little. It was clear that unemployment did not suit Rita, whose once elaborate curls now hung unkempt around her face, while scarlet jewels were missing from her winged glasses.

'Rita, this is your chance to report on something important,' Hermione emphasised. 'Probably the most important news article of the decade. You can be the first person to truthfully report that Voldemort has returned. Your article is going to change minds.'

She eyes Hermione warily, taking a long sip of her drink as she then cast her wary gaze to Harry and Ron, studying them both.

'This will release me from our agreement, yes?'

Hermione laughed. 'No, it will not release you. And I'll be reading this article before you send it to the Quibbler, and if by any chance something slips in after I've approved it, I will do it. I swear Rita I will do it.'

Skeeter was outright glaring at her now, but it seemed the prospect of Harry's story was too much lure to resist. She couldn't help herself, and it was clear she didn't need much convincing in the first place, but rather just wanted to put up a little protest. She turned to Harry now and picked up her quill, ignoring Hermione all together.

'Well Harry, where shall we start? You said you gave a statement to the Ministry. Let's see it.'

With a little hesitation, for she seemed far too eager to get her hands on this transcript, Harry took the scroll from his pocket and charmed it back to the original size. For a moment he held it in his hands, fighting the urge to shove it back into his pocket and leave. It seemed he had underestimated how invasive this would feel - it would be like showing Skeeter a piece of himself, allowing her to intrude on the memories he wished he didn't have to carry. Letting Ron and Hermione read it had been hard enough.

The only reassurance was that this was all on his terms. He was the one putting this information out into the world. He was in control of this.

When he placed it on the table between them Skeeter's eyes bulged with eagerness. Beside her Luna looked at the scroll curiously, but seemed only mildly interested. Skeeter looked at it on the table, half expecting him to stop her when she reached out to take it, and once she had it in her hands she hurriedly unfurled it and began to read. But she faltered, her brow furrowing before she exclaimed -

'What's this rubbish? It's redacted.'

Harry nodded, having expected this reaction.

Skeeter sighed impatiently. 'Well, who was your interviewer?'

'I can't say.'

'I need to know, obviously.'

Hermione stepped in, taking the reigns once again. 'We've given this to you to save Harry from having to repeat himself. What matters is what he has to say, not who he said it to.'

Skeeter looked as though she was going to argue. Clearly she was unhappy, but she turned back to the transcript and began to read from the top. Waiting for her to finish Ron got up and went to fetch some more drinks, and Harry looked around the crowded pub. Separated by the silencing charm he couldn't hear the normally noisy pub goers, and they couldn't hear him either.

But people could see him, and a couple at a nearby table were watching curiously, though they were trying to hide it. He glanced further around, and his suspicions that the Order definitely knew what he was doing were proven correct.

Lupin was sitting across the pub, sharing a table with Hagrid and a blonde haired witch, whose bright smile and friendly wave indicated it was Tonks. He nodded in acknowledgement, not wanting to be rude, but then he turned away. Of course they were there keeping an eye on him, and he dreaded to think they had been witness to his disastrous date with Cho.

Though it was nice to see them, Lupin in particular, their presence there and knowledge of what he was doing frustrated him. Kingsley had been clear with him that he was going to tell Dumbledore about Harry's intentions, but it was Snape who truly bothered him. The upcoming meeting with Rita Skeeter had been on Harry's mind more than once during Occlumency, and no doubt Snape had rushed straight to Dumbledore to dob him in. It infuriated him that Snape could just invade his mind, that he breached his privacy without consequence or care.

It was only a small consolation that despite knowing what he was doing, Dumbledore hadn't tried to stop him.

Ron soon returned with warm Butterbeers, and they continued to wait in silence while Skeeter read, her expression going through the wild roller coaster of what happened. Her eyes narrowed in interest and then widened with excitement at times, and a satisfied smile had settled over her features as she continued to read. But then something changed, and she stopped at something near the end looking very uncomfortable.

Lowering the parchment she looked at Hermione in disapproval. 'I won't write about that,' she said, pointing to something. 'No one will print it.'

Hermione leant over and looked, and with a heavy sigh she gestured for Luna to do the same. Obliging, Luna tilted her head as she read whatever it was, but she didn't seemed concerned.

'We'll print it,' she said quite happily.

Skeeter looked completely aghast, glancing to Harry and then Hermione. 'I am not writing a snuff piece,' she whispered. 'Missy, even I have limits.'

'It's about Cedric,' Hermione explained to him.

He didn't need a reminder of what was in there about Cedric, particularly at the end. Scrimgeour had pressed him when he told them about returning to Cedric's body, and he had described how he found him, the leaves that covered his body, the ants crawling over his skin, the sight of which was a frequent haunt in his dreams.

'You can't leave Cedric out of this.'

Skeeter was still clearly uncomfortable, yet she went straight back to the same paragraph and read it again, almost as if she couldn't stop herself. Harry was determined that everything about Cedric be included. The way he was so abruptly murdered, and how his death was treated with such cruel indifference. No one had cared that he was there. The Death Eaters hadn't even bothered hiding his body to cover up his death. He had meant nothing to them.

A few minutes later Skeeter finished reading the transcript and then look a long drink, finishing it. 'Excuse me,' she said politely, ushering Luna to let her out of the booth. 'I'll need to refresh my drink.'

Taking her handbag with her she made her way up to the bar and placed an order, while Harry and the others waited in silence. He wondered if maybe she was shaken by his testimony, if she just needed a minute to collect herself before they continued. But he could see her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and it was clear to see that she was very pleased.

When she returned she settled in and looked at Harry for a few moments, thinking on what was to come next. 'I've got some photos for your consideration,' she said, unsnapping her handbag and taking out an envelope.

Dreading it, for he knew there had been at least one photographer at the Quidditch pitch when he returned, Harry opened the envelope and looked. They were as he expected, similar to what had been published in the Daily Prophet the day after, before Fudge starting censoring them.

Blessedly Cedric's body was blurred in every photo, affording him at least some of the dignity that had not been afforded to Harry. There were photos of Mr Weasley pulling him up to his feet, literally holding him upright as he struggled against shock and exhaustion. His white school shirt was dirty and blood stained, his left arm bandaged and bloodied. Beside him Ron too was looking at the photos, his face turning white the longer he looked.

'Why would someone photograph this?'

'It's history,' Skeeter said unapologetically. 'And whether we like it or not, history must be documented.'

'You turn it into gossip.'

'Not this time, apparently.'

He looked through the other photos, seeing the ones of him standing blankly by Mr Weasley's side, and sitting on the ground with his head on his knees, the Mediwizard looking him over. There was another of him walking away with Moody, the imposter, but that was the last one. Unsettled by what he had seen he returned the photos to Skeeter, taking out an envelope of his own photos Colin had given him.

'You're not using those photos,' he said firmly, about to pass her the envelope when she interrupted him.

'That will be for the editor to decide,' she said abruptly, clearly braced for this disagreement. 'And I've no doubt that an editor who will publish a crayon drawing of a Humpback Snuffleupagus won't shy away from publishing real, documented history.'

Hermione quickly intervened, making Harry immensely grateful for her presence. 'We will discuss the merits of your photographer later,' she said firmly, taking the envelope from Harry and passing it to Skeeter. 'But our photographs are to be most prominent. That's not negotiable.'

Giving her a sideways glance of explicit disapproval Skeeter petulantly snatched the envelope from Hermione, her sour expression indicating they would indeed discuss the merits of her photographer. Getting on with it Rita opened the envelope and began looking through the photographs, discarding them onto the table after a quick glance.

Two weeks ago Harry had joined Colin in the Third Year's dormitory, looking through the photos he had taken of Cedric's memorial. He had done an admirable job of documenting it, particularly the way it grew throughout the morning. The memorial itself had spilled out across the floor, ultimately leaving only a small space through which students could walk in order to reach the corridor to the Hufflepuff Common Room downstairs. There was a close up photo of the four house scarves on the table, Cedric's Quidditch Uniform hung on the wall, students laying wreaths and lighting candles.

'These are brilliant,' Harry had commented, sitting on Colin's bed and looking through the album.

'Thanks,' Colin beamed. 'I sent some to his mum and dad, I think they liked them. Look at this one,' he said, flicking to the back. 'I took it that night, when it was dark. It's my favourite.'

'It's beautiful,' Harry agreed, admiring the way the candles illuminated the memorial when night fell over the castle.

As Harry reached the end of the album Colin became a little apprehensive, and then from the very back he took out another photo, one that had been hidden. He sounded nervous as he began to explain it to Harry, fumbling over his words a few times.

'I like taking pictures of things that, well…that have a story. A-and that morning, well… I think I saw something that was special. Something important. Just, don't be mad. Okay?'

This was not reassuring. 'Don't be mad?'

Colin nodded, bravely showing Harry the photo. 'I took one of you. I know I promised I wouldn't, I'm sorry,' he apologised. 'But I just thought it was nice.'

With apprehension Harry looked at the photograph, but almost immediately breathed a sigh of relief. It was him from that morning, but it was immediately clear it wasn't exploitive. It wasn't about taking advantage of his misery, but rather documenting something that had held him together in those first few days.

The photo showed Harry sitting on the Entrance Hall stairs, shoulders hunched as he looked down at the memorial, unable to go any closer than he was. But surrounding him were his friends, who on one of the worst days of his life had been there for him without question.

Closest to him was Hermione who sat by his side, their arms entwined in nothing more than friendship, while Ron sat on the step behind them, leaning down to whisper something. A few steps below was Neville, a quiet but reassuring presence that spoke volumes of friendship. Sitting above them were Fred, George and Ginny who were talking to people, clearly the first line of defence in keeping them away from Harry and making sure no one bothered him.

His recollections of that day were vague at times, but seeing it documented so clearly by Colin's photograph brought it all rushing back, reminding him of how much he had needed his friends. During one of the worst days of his life, he had literally been surrounded by them.

'I'm not mad,' he assured Colin, still looking at the photo. 'Actually, I'd like a copy.'

Colin had copied that photo and a dozen or so of Cedric's memorial. By now Harry had come to terms with the photographs of himself that were already published, it was beyond his control to ever stop them circulating again. But this time the article was on his terms, and he got to decide what was on the front page.

Skeeter seemed unimpressed by Colin's work, and she gave a great sigh when she was finished looking. 'Is there one of you at the memorial?'

'No.'

'Why not?' she pressed in interest. 'Didn't you want to pay your respects?'

'I did pay my respects,' he insisted. He started to feel uncomfortable, like he needed to defend himself.

'But why didn't you go down, Harry? Tell me…'

His heart was pounding. He didn't want to answer, but he had to. 'I just didn't.'

'Mmm,' Skeeter murmured, holding his gaze until he was distinctly uncomfortable. But he didn't look away. 'It's astonishing, Harry. Truly astonishing. But I'm going to need more.'

Harry shook his head. 'You've got everything you need right there,' he said, gesturing to the transcript.

'I've got a factual recounting of the events, it will save us both a lot of time. But it's lacking the depth required for an article. Particularly an article that needs to have the effect you want. You want this to change public opinion, yes?'

'Yes.'

'Then it needs depth. It needs you,' she implored. She turned to the transcript and shuffled back to the top, scanning it, and then she stopped. 'When you ran for your life and they disarmed you, how did that feel? Tell me. What were you feeling in that moment?'

He simply stared at her, hating that she was asking this question. He shouldn't answer. His pounding heart and sweaty palms told him to put a stop to this right away.

'Afraid, obviously,' he said, hoping that would be enough. But it seemed not to be, and so he became a little more honest than he would have liked. 'I was terrified.'

When he finished speaking Skeeter's quill leapt up from the table and began scrawling on the parchment, and with an angry snarl Hermione snatched it away. Skeeter didn't protest, but merely looked at Hermione expectantly while she inspected what the quill had written. Hermione stared at the parchment, her gaze flicking upwards to Harry before returning the parchment back to the table.

'It's a scribe quill,' Skeeter said testily.

'I will be inspecting your notes,' warned Hermione.

Skeeter turned back to Harry now, her expression and tone becoming gentle in a way he'd never before associated with her. 'Of course, anyone would been terrified,' she said understandingly. 'But I need more. What was going through your mind?'

Harry became quiet for a few moments, thinking this through. He knew what she wanted from him, but this was more than he bargained for. The whole point of asking Kingsley for the transcript was that he wouldn't have to repeat anything for the article. It had been months since he had said any of this out loud. He had made a point of trying to put it out of his head, and there it mostly stayed until Occlumency began dredging it back up. But still…he did not talk about this to anyone.

He looked at Skeeter apprehensively, worried about her agenda, what she had up her sleeve next. But even if he let these last minute doubts take hold, what was he going to do? Walk away and leave it solely in her hands? Or…was he going to give it everything he had. Maybe Skeeter was right. He needed this article to change minds…maybe it did need a little colour.

White hot terror. Desperation. 'I felt like a failure.'

'Why?'

He paused again, the answer right there on the tip of his tongue. Now that he had started, having admitted to feeling like a failure, he felt ready. Somehow he was okay with having told her that. Because it wasn't her he was telling, not really. He was telling the world, and they needed to hear it. They needed to know.

'Because I didn't make it. Because without my wand I couldn't reach the Portkey and Cedric. I was going to have to leave him behind.'

Skeeter murmured in agreement, her quill writing down every word that was said while Hermione watched it closely. 'You still tried to get to the Portkey though, didn't you?' Skeeter prompted, glancing at the transcript. 'Even after they took your wand?'

'Yes. But it was already too late. They were surrounding me again.'

'And what were you feeling? What was going through your mind? Your heart?'

He tried to think, even though he hated to bring himself back to that moment. He was conscious of Ron, Hermione and Luna being there, wishing now that they hadn't come. But Luna appeared to be daydreaming again, and Ron and Hermione…if he couldn't do this in front of them, he couldn't do it at all. There was a reason they moved heaven and earth with Angelina to make sure they could both be there.

'I didn't want to die,' he admitted softly.

Skeeter held this gaze, but she seemed satisfied with his answers thus far. 'You were tortured by You Know Who? With an Unforgivable Curse…the Cruciatus.'

'Yes.'

'And Lucius Malfoy,' she pressed, and this time she was unable to hide the interest in her voice. 'He imprisoned you in his manor. He tortured you.'

'Yes.'

'Lucius Malfoy is a man of fine reputation. Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? Once the cat's among the pixies…'

'People need to know what he did,' he insisted. 'He was never innocent before, and he's not innocent now.'

She scanned through the transcript, looking for a certain passage which she proceeded to read aloud. 'He told me it was his job to make sure I was broken. That he would keep going until there was no defiance left in me. Until there was no me left.' Setting the transcript down she returned her gaze to him. 'Tell me about that, Harry. Tell me about what he did to you.'

Though before he had elaborated, this time he found himself falling short of words. What was he supposed to say? How could he explain that Malfoy rendered him so terrified he couldn't even kneel when told to?

'No.'

Skeeter tutted at him. 'Try to explain for me. For the readers.'

Ron shifted beside him, drawing a deep breath. 'He said no. So shut it.'

Skeeter ignored Ron completely, but Harry appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

'I want to know what it was like for you,' Skeeter pushed. 'Being tortured by Lucius Malfoy, upstanding pillar of society, accused Death Eater who already escaped punishment once before. What was that like, Harry?'

When Ron drew breath again Harry nudged him under the table, telling him it was alright. Taking a moment to sort his thoughts out he sipped at his Butterbeer, restlessly scratching the side of his head. The explanation in his head felt stupid…childish even. But he said it anyway.

'Voldemort tortured me, and it was bad,' he said awkwardly, feeling that didn't sufficiently sum up the horrors of it. 'But Malfoy actually made me wish I was dead. He was worse.'

'Why was his torture worse?'

Harry hesitated again, suddenly struck by a memory - the expression in Malfoy's eyes. The glint of enjoyment. 'Because he liked it.'

Skeeter's eyes flashed in satisfaction at this comment, and she pushed onward again. 'Explain the torture to the readers. What did the Cruciatus feel like?'

He shook his head, not knowing what to say. The agony was indescribable, the feeling of utter helplessness, the desperation for death that would bring relief.

'Tell me something.'

Impatiently he sighed, wishing they could move on from this already. He wracked his brains trying to think of something that would satisfy her. 'You think it's never going to stop. When it feels like it can't possibly get any worse, it does.'

'Yes? More, Harry. The readers need more.'

He strummed his fingers against the side of his Butterbeer glass, thinking of something to say. 'Most people who've never felt it don't know that the pain comes back. I could feel it for hours after,' he admitted. 'I had bruises all over, from myself - from trying to make it stop. And it left me hoarse.'

'Hoarse? From, well…'

'Yes,' he nodded, knowing what she was getting at.

To his relief she simply nodded to acknowledge his answer and then turned back to the transcript, skimming it again for another talking point. While he waited he glanced sideways at each Ron and Hermione, that latter of whose eyes were watering as she inspected Skeeter's quill again, making sure it was scribing accurately.

Having found her next talking point Skeeter was looking at him again, seeming almost a little wary, but still eager. There had to be no doubt in her mind now that this was to be the biggest article of her career.

'Shall we continue, Mr Potter?'

The whole thing had spiralled beyond what he had intended it to be, for he hadn't prepared himself to actually talk about what happened, particularly as in-depth as she wanted him to. But now he had stated on it, Harry was determined to finish. If Fudge got to say whatever he wanted in the media, then so too did Harry.

'Yes.'

A/N I hope you enjoyed my take on the Rita Skeeter meeting, I had a really good time writing this and getting to work with Rita's character. She was a lot of fun to write - please leave a review and let me know what you think.