CHAPTER 24
NORAH had never exactly appreciated the use of the word ''hag' to describe an older witch whom she was not particularly fond of, though staring at Rita Skeeter now, she could think of no better description than just that. A wretched hag. One glance over at Pansy was more than enough, Norah thought.
Her cousin was just as surprised to see Journalist Rita Skeeter standing in front of them.
The furrow of confusion between Pan's brows was evident, and Norah was sure it matched her alarm at Rita Skeeter's unexpected and unwanted presence. She'd not even heard the witch Apparate, so how on earth could she have snuck upon them in the manner that she very clearly had?
The witch's clipboard hovered in midair, just near her right earlobe, her infamous black Quick Quotes Quill poised to write down and take any notes on their private conversation that the older witch had eavesdropped on.
Norah's blue eyes narrowed as she silently seethed and brushed at the front of her sweater to smooth down the wrinkles, reaching up a hand to tuck at a wisp of her blonde hair back behind the curve of her ear where it belonged. She stalked her way towards Rita Skeeter, quietly ignoring Pansy's protests to stay put, that she in her current physical condition was in no way able to deal with Skeeter right now and to later her handle that. Bugger that. Skeeter's presence here outside the Burrow was not at all wanted, she was trespassing upon private property and attempting to interfere in her family's eyes, judging by the mischievous glint in the older witch's eyes.
Though as she approached Skeeter, with Pan trailing close behind at her heels, there was more than a small part of her conscience that was screaming at her not to engage with the witch with a penchant for poison pen stories.
However, considering her current emotional state and how perhaps she was still not in the best sound mental state while recovering from her fever and her body's ordeal, Norah ignored her conscience in favor of confronting the witch who seemed hellbent on destroying her family's already damaged reputation.
It was true, she had caught her and Pan's hug on camera, and while there was nothing she could admittedly do, save for grab the witch's camera and smash it to pieces, she had no doubt in her mind the moment would be printed anyway in whatever horrid book she was writing on Ollie.
His murky past, coupled with the recent demolishing of the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic following his outburst, had to have been the reason she had come here, seeking him out to get a quote.
Norah was about to tell the witch where she could stick that poisonous quill of hers, though before she could utter the first syllable, the tabloid reporter spoke first, shattering the silence.
"Oh, Mrs. Brennan, isn't it? Wonderful, I'd hoped I would find you here, what a truly delicious surprise," she chuckled morosely in a honeyed tone that was too high-pitched to be anything genuine, Norah thought bitterly.
She was somewhat reminded of Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, considering the two witches laughed similarly, in a way that stuffed the chills down Norah's throat. She frowned.
She wouldn't be surprised to learn at some point throughout her life that the two witches regularly met throughout the week for lunch and gossiped over a cup of tea and pound cake.
"Though I must confess, you look a bit peaky, dear thing…"
She let her voice trail off as she clucked her tongue in mock disappointment, letting her eyes rake over Norah's blonde hair that was windswept thanks to the breeze, the dark circles underneath both of her eyes, and how pale and clammy her skin was still.
Norah's gasp split the silence, though it wasn't caused by her shock.
The sudden rush of blood in her veins had caused her body to react.
A sharp searing pain shot through her abdomen from within and she doubled over in pain, clutching onto her stomach with one hand and groped for Pansy's arm as she darted forward and clung to Norah's other arm.
A low groan rose from her throat, and she froze. She dared not move in case something was wrong with the baby.
Her concern registered on her face. Pansy grew more and more alarmed, not knowing what the bloody hell to do for her cousin, but she knew that such a sudden shock like the kind she'd just experienced could do more harm than good to an expectant mum, though Norah was only two months along.
She remembered the Healer's words about not letting Norah become too delved into anxiety and immediately felt anger and frustration bubble within her chest at Rita Skeeter's intrusion into Norah's life.
Her head whiplashed sharply in the direction of Rita Skeeter as she noticed the tabloid reporter taking a step forward, opening her mouth to speak.
But Pansy did not let her. Still keeping one arm wound around Norah, she fumbled for her wand around her belt and raised it to level with Rita Skeeter's chest as best she could.
"Don't come any closer," Pansy ordered in a shaking voice, her lined face instantly worried.
Norah took a staggering step backward, bringing Pansy with her, waiting impatiently for the pain to subside. In her mind, Norah frantically checked her body and the baby to be sure everything was just fine.
Finally, satisfied that she was strong, and nothing was wrong with baby Brennan burgeoning in her womb, she straightened her gait with Pansy's help and glowered at the tall tabloid reporter.
"Get behind me, Pan," she ordered in a clipped tone that warned Pansy not to argue.
She could only comply as Norah reached for her cousin and motioned empathetically as Norah stared angrily.
Pansy inched past her and darted behind Norah for cover.
"Norah?" Pansy whispered, for the first time since Rita's arrival, sounding nervous.
Though she fell silent upon hearing a low warning growl, a truly dangerous noise, emit from the back of Norah's throat, coming from somewhere deep within her chest.
"Please be quiet, Pan, and let me do the talking," she warned as she gritted her teeth, feeling the slender fingers of her wand dominant hand, her left, curl tightly over its handle. She was more than a little bit tempted to jinx this bitch into oblivion with a well-aimed Bat Bogey Hex. It was surely no less than Skeeter deserved.
However, she recognized she would only be making things worse for herself and Ollie down the line, and that, she couldn't let it happen. So, for better or worse, much to Pansy's amazement, Norah breathed out deeply through her nose to calm her temper, and slowly but surely lowered her wand and eventually gave it to Pansy to tuck into her belt.
"Hold onto that for me, Pan, I won't be needing my wand around her, she means us no harm," she murmured.
Pansy muttered something incoherently under her breath. Her cousin looked as though she did not at all agree with her decision not to jinx Skeeter where she stood but did not argue.
"I was hoping that your beloved husband would be about, Mrs. Brennan. Norah, if I could call you that?" she questioned. "Is he here?" Rita asked, craning her neck, and straining to see above the tall Veela's shoulder, as though she thought the act alone would be enough to let her peer into the windows of the Weasleys' home.
Rita Skeeter's voice was smooth and velvety, though nothing the gossip columnist ever said sounded genuine to her. Just her voice alone, excusing her penchant for writing slanderous pieces of trash, was enough to set Norah on the edge and every cord in her body pulled tight.
Rita Skeeter's hawklike eyes behind her crocodile frames narrowed as her eyes made a quick scan of the brunette behind her, recognizing the facial features of Percival Parkinson's wife, Petra.
"Parkinson's girl, I presume," Rita confirmed dryly, as she adjusted her glasses by pushing them back up the bridge of her nose.
Norah raised her chin proudly. "My cousin, Miss Skeeter," she confirmed, letting it be known that she would find as hard to protect Pansy as she would for her unborn child or anyone else she cared for. She stepped forward and shielded Pansy with her own body. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, sounding angry with Rita.
"To get a quote, dear, of course. Why else would I have come?" Rita chuckled as she regarded the pair of witches with bemusement, as though she would have thought her reasons for coming were obvious. "Your replacement at the front desk at St. Mungo's was only too happy to divulge information on your current whereabouts when I popped by to ask. You'd be surprised to learn what a fat bag of Galleons and a refusal to hear the word no for an answer can get you, Mrs. Brennan," Rita smiled, almost friendly enough, if somewhat a little bit too overdone.
"Norah?" Pansy whispered, for the first time since Rita's arrival, sounding nervous. Though she fell silent upon hearing a low warning growl, a truly dangerous noise, emit from the back of Norah's throat, coming from somewhere deep within her chest.
"Please be quiet, Pan, and let me do the talking," Norah warned as she gritted her teeth, feeling the slender fingers of her wand dominant hand, her left, curl tightly over its handle. She was more than a little bit tempted to jinx this bitch into oblivion with a well-aimed Bat Bogey Hex. It was surely no less than Skeeter deserved.
However, she recognized she would only be making things worse for herself and Ollie down the line, and that, she couldn't let it happen. So, for better or worse, much to Pansy's amazement, Norah breathed out deeply through her nose to calm her temper, and slowly but surely lowered her wand and eventually gave it to Pansy to tuck into her belt.
"Hold onto that for me, Pan, I won't be needing my wand around her, she means us no harm," she murmured.
Pansy muttered something incoherently under her breath. Her cousin looked as though she did not at all agree with her decision not to jinx Skeeter where she stood but did not argue.
"I was hoping that your beloved husband would be about, Mrs. Brennan. Norah, if I could call you that?" she questioned. "Is he here?" Rita asked, craning her neck, and straining to see above the tall Veela's shoulder, as though she thought the act alone would be enough to let her peer into the windows of the Weasleys' home.
Rita Skeeter's voice was smooth and velvety, though nothing the gossip columnist ever said sounded genuine to her.
Just her voice alone, excusing her penchant for writing slanderous pieces of trash, was enough to set Norah on the edge and every cord in her body pulled tight.
"You can cut the formalities, Miss Skeeter, you don't have to play nice around me. I certainly don't plan on it," Norah sneered. "Politeness was never a skill that suited you, Rita," Norah snapped as she shot Pansy a look as Pansy stepped forward, looking like she wanted to say something, but didn't. "What sort of quote were you looking for? I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you've come a long way for nothing," Norah exclaimed sourly, the bitterness in her eyes evident as she glared at The Daily Prophet's popular gossip columnist.
The expression on the older blonde witch's face shifted from a look of false pleasantries to a heavy scowl. Her nose crinkled as though she'd just gotten a whiff of Stinksap.
Rita Skeeter sniffed haughtily as she gave her wand a sharp rap, her magic causing her Quick-Quotes Quill to furiously begin scribbling away on the steno pad she'd brought.
Whatever she was writing was kept out of Norah and Pansy's sight, both of which the witches knew spelled bad news. Norah and Pansy both secretly hoped it wasn't an ill omen of things yet to come.
Rita shot Norah a withering glower, her spiteful stare practically burning a hole straight through the Auror's wife. Norah all but squirmed under the intense scrutiny as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"Your husband's little outburst at the Ministry yesterday evening, Mrs. Brennan, would you care to comment on that? Surely, that alone warrants a quote from you, as his wife, dear," she asserted in a cold tone that was now devoid of her previous warmth.
She must have accurately deduced that neither Norah nor Pansy were going to cooperate with her to tell the story about the Brennans that she was so very itching to.
"No, I wouldn't, Miss Skeeter. What happened yesterday was an unfortunate accident, one that my husband had no control over," Norah Brennan heard herself bark at the reporter.
Norah frowned at the sound of eagerness that had seeped its way to the surface of the journalist's poisonous voice. It quickly became clear to Norah that she couldn't deny the obvious. She had no idea what had gone down when Ollie had gotten the news from someone here at the Burrow that Lestrange had taken her, but the destruction the Obscurial had caused was already causing tongues to wag, and the public was clamoring for justice to be served, as well as the truth.
She cringed, her hand instinctively settling over the pocket of her black lounge pants, where she'd safely tucked away the piece of paper bearing the name of the Ministry contact that Horace Slughorn recommended.
She had a feeling she would need to be writing to him tonight, as soon as possible, to arrange a meeting.
Norah frowned as she wondered if her temporary replacement had perhaps been put under the influence of the Imperius Curse to get her replacement at St. Mungo's to tell Rita where she and Ollie were temporarily staying.
She wouldn't put it past this witch to try such a horrible tactic. Skeeter had proven herself to be a witch over the years who would resort to any means necessary if it meant getting the exclusive scoop on a story.
At this rate, she thought that she could only do her best to lessen the damage done to Ollie, and perhaps to a lesser extent, maybe even herself, and most assuredly to Pansy, though at eighteen, her cousin had her slew of problems to deal with.
Norah lowered her head, unable to meet Rita Skeeter's eyes as a light pink blush speckled its way along her cheeks.
"I—I'm sorry," she managed to say in a voice as polite as she could manage. "But I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave. You're trespassing on a family's private property. Leave, before I file a restraining order, Miss Skeeter," she threatened, not even bothering to disguise it.
A heavy silence fell between the two witches as Norah left her threat hanging in the air, but Norah could feel the thick tension in how this reporter sees her. And she did not like it.
Rita Skeeter's cold eyes were masked with a smile but something inside her chilled Norah's insides to ice. Norah swore she saw the tightening of Rita Skeeter's jaw. Hatred. Loathing, and maybe even a little bit of…jealousy?
Whatever her reasons, Norah found herself swallowing. Rita clicked her tongue again, breaking the awkward pause.
"Well, then, when you put it that way, I suppose I should…get going, Mrs. Brennan." Rita Skeeter hoisted her green crocodile skin handbag over her shoulder, snapping her long fingers, and the black Quick Quotes Quill vanished. The journalist slowly turned her back to the witch and stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot, before I go, I just have one more thing to say to you, lovely Norah," Rita announced in a light chirp.
"Don't despair, Mrs. Brennan. We journalists have our ways of unearthing deeply buried secrets. Surely, you don't need me to tell you this, my dear. Well, then…I expect I'll be going now, but if you should change your mind…" She paused, snapping her fingers and a business card with her contact information appeared out of thin air. Rita held the card in between her manicured thumb and forefinger and turned on the heels of her dragonhide boots to hand the card off to Norah. "Call me," she simpered in a honeyed voice. "The world is clambering to know the story of the Brennan family, my dear. My editor has brought me to the task of writing a five hundred-page biography on Auror Oliver Brennan's family and his history. He's one of two adult Obscurials known to exist. Your family would be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. You'd want for nothing, and I suggest you consider my offer if you want to ensure your little bun in the oven has a successful future. Just think about my words, and I'm sure you and I will talk again soon, Mrs. Brennan." Rita watched her target frown and furrow her brows.
The ghost of a triumphant little smile tugged her painted red lips upward, though it took everything Rita had within herself to tamper it back from showing on her face. If this witch would not allow her near Oliver to speak with the wizard directly, then she supposed the wizard's wife would have to suffice, though worming information from Norah Brennan would prove to be tricky if what the other oh so delightful Welcome Witch at St. Mungo's told her about her was true, that the Auror's wife was prickly, she was a guarded woman, and private. The fact that she had managed to engage her in a conversation for this long was a miracle. But there was hope for this witch yet.
"What?" Norah exclaimed sourly as she glowered at Rita across the way with hardened, narrowed eyes.
Trying to ignore the fiery heat creeping to her cheeks as her blush caused her face to flush with color, she realized almost forgotten about Skeeter. She turned a cold glare towards Rita Skeeter.
Norah took in a moment's breath to steady herself, desirous of giving off the appropriate emphasis to the reporter with a penchant for writing her disgusting poison-pen stories.
Then her blue eyes turned steely, narrowing to daggers.
"You need to understand, and make it known to your colleagues at The Daily Prophet as well, that if you set one foot near this property again. Or our home for that matter, or anybody else that I tell you to stay away from me, Miss Skeeter…" Norah's cold tone left nothing to be misinterpreted. "Then you're going to wish that you had never taken up journalism as a career, Miss Skeeter, I'm warning you. By the time you finish with me, you'll wish that you were dead," she threatened, Norah's pale face never once changing from her mask of cold anger, as she turned on her heels and Disapparated, taking Pansy with her before Pansy could protest.
Rita Skeeter was left alone to sneer at the very spot where the younger woman had stood just moments ago but did not need to be told twice as she sensed that her job here, for now, was done, though she had a feeling this was not the least she would be seeing of the Auror's prickly little wife. She sensed that with what the Brennan family was hiding, she would have new stories to tell her adoring public all clamoring for fresh news before the year was out.
If only she could have known how right she was…
Rita Skeeter smiled to herself as she turned and followed suit, copying Norah Brennan's movements and Disapparated, already planning her next attempt to get the scoop.
She would get that story, one way or another, no matter what she had to do...
PANSY and Norah awkwardly sat at the kitchen table of the Burrow, each one of them holding a cup of tea, though neither witch made a move to drink the hot herbal Earl Grey in their cups. Pansy almost thought about asking what Norah intended to do to the journalist if Rita Skeeter attempted to make a move against her and Ollie again, though the withering look the blonde shot her across the table silently warned her not to ask.
She watched as her cousin struggled to reign in her emotions, keeping her hands wound around her cup of tea.
It seemed to take Norah an eternity to find her voice, though when she did, as she lifted her gaze steadily to meet Pansy's, the first words out of her mouth were not admittedly what she'd been expecting.
"Have you given George your present yet?"
"No, not yet," Pansy confessed, a pained look flitting across her features as she ran a hand through her hair in confusion. "I hope he'll like it, not that he can use it, but still…"
"He'll love it, Pan. You should give it to him. Tonight," Norah advised from across the kitchen table. "Why wait?" Her blue eyes softened considerably as she looked at her cousin, giving her head a little shake and trying to rid her mind of the sour encounter with Rita Skeeter that had occurred moments ago.
Pansy's expression became worried once more as she recognized that Norah was eager to talk about anything than what had just transpired outside between her and the poison pen tabloid reporter. Eager to oblige, she continued talking. "I want it to be just right. I don't want there to be any confusion as to its meaning," she stammered softly.
Norah shook her head decidedly. "George won't. He's a smart bloke. Intelligent enough. He will understand." There was a faint mischievous smirk tugging at the edges of her lips, her blue eyes taking on a twinkling sheen that Pansy could only imagine she must have learned from Ollie through the years. "Merlin, Pan, for as good as you are, I've seen you paint, you might even make the wizard cry," she predicted, jokingly so.
Pansy tried to smile, imagining George's reaction when he came back inside, and they could finally head back to her flat.
"I hope so," she told Norah, her brow furrowing in worry as she continued to study her cousin's crestfallen expression. "Are you…alright?" Pansy asked hesitantly, not sure if she should even ask. When Norah did not immediately reply, Pansy frowned as Norah steadily lifted her gaze to see some hostility forming in the blonde Veela's icy blue eyes.
She shivered, a shudder going down her back as she thought she saw her cousin beginning to transform into the monstrous harpy her species was known for, but just as soon as the look of anger flitted across her eyes, it vanished. Norah's face relaxed upon seeing the skin of Pansy's brow pulled taut and tight in worry and fear.
"I'm fine, Pan, but you're sweet to worry about me," Norah murmured.
It only suddenly occurred to her that she was no longer in the mood for polite company and rose to her feet.
Norah tried to vest herself to remain in one piece as she quietly excused herself and stepped outside for some fresh air, leaving Pansy to get up from her chair and stand by the kitchen window, leaving her watching her go.
Pansy smiled despite her worry for her cousin as she felt George snake his arms around her waist and press a gentle kiss to her temple.
She remembered Norah's words about not waiting any longer to give him the gift that she had worked so hard on. Her smile widened slightly, hoping that George would like it. Hermione and Ginny who had already seen it had assured her that he would. She hoped the girls were right. Pansy blew out a steadying breath and squirmed slightly, turning around so she was facing him fully.
"Ready to go home?" she asked with a bright voice, temporarily shoving aside thoughts of Ollie and Norah for now. "I…have something that I want to give you, I…I've worked hard on it, and I hope that you're going to like it. I could make up some dinner if you want. Oh, and Norah invited us to their place for dinner. She…she said she has a way to show me what—what happened. They've got a Pensieve," Pansy bit down on her lip and waited. "I told them we'd come. I hope that's okay, George."
He nodded, his smile faltering somewhat as he took hold of her hand and gave it a light squeeze.
"Of course," he muttered, reaching up a hand to swipe her bangs that had fallen across her face out of her eyes. "Do you want me with you by your side when you…when you see it?" George asked Pansy, quietly and concerned as he took her hand and began to lead her outside so that they could Disapparate.
She nodded, resting her head against his shoulder.
"Always. I think…that I would be lost without you, Weasley," she whispered in an affectionate tone, feeling him smile as she turned around to look at him. "Ready?" she asked, suddenly eager to present him with the present that she had worked so hard on for the last several days. Her smile widened when he returned her nod with one of his own.
George did not hesitate to pull her close, so she was flush against his chest, Disapparating back to their flat.
The one thought that permeated her mind more than anything at the moment as she allowed George to take the lead, was that she sincerely hoped he liked the present she'd made.
Pansy had hoped that her nerves would have calmed a bit once she set foot inside her flat, while George worked determinedly to ensure protective enchantments were set in place around both her and his flat, unsure of how Lestrange managed to Apparate in the middle of her living room. But that wasn't the case.
She stood, almost shaking, in front of the canvas that she had thankfully remembered to cover before George had whisked her away from her the other day. She almost jumped out of her skin as she felt George rest a hand on her shoulder, having finished casting the necessary enchantments.
She turned to look at him with her eyes brimming full of adoration and the beginning of happy tears.
"I'm…glad that you've given me so much. More than—than Draco ever did. I…I made this for you, and I hope that you like it." Pansy's trembling fingers gently removed the tarp over the covered canvas she'd painstakingly worked on the last several days, letting the tarp fall to the floor at their feet in a heap.
George's eyes widened in shock and awe, swallowing down hard at the lump now forming in his throat, as he stared into his twin's face. Fred was smiling approvingly at him, though his brother's likeness which had been animated to come to life like the portraits of Hogwarts, seemed a little bit confused to see him alongside Pansy.
His lip began to quiver as warm water brimmed in his eyes. The entire world beneath his feet seemed to swim in and out in waves beneath his as his brother's likeness opened his mouth and spoke up.
"Aren't you going to say hello, Georgie? It's quite rude, you know, not to say hello to your own flesh and blood," his twin joked. "Was I gone that long? You missed me that much?" Fred teased, flicking a curious gaze towards his creator who had given him life.
He stiffened for just a moment as the enchantment Pansy had placed over Fred's portrait began to take effect, and he realized that their former classmate had been the very same artist who had given him a new life.
Pansy hesitated, ignoring Fred's portrait's look.
"Do you like it? I-I thought, if you wanted, you could hang his portrait up in the shop, near the mezzanine on the stairwell, so it's one of the first things people see when they come into your shop."
George snapped his head away from his brother's animated portrait to see Pansy standing behind him, nervously chewing on her bottom lip and wringing together her hands, as though she were suffering from a near bout of anxiety. Which, knowing Pan and everything that had happened to her these last few days, the witch had.
George felt a building pressure in his chest, and not even caring that they had an audience if Fred saw, he pulled Pansy's hair away from her face, leaning down slightly and capturing her mouth without warning, giving his new girlfriend no time to think or react.
He tried to let his kiss show her without the need for words how much this meant to him, the gift she had given. It felt like a dam was breaking, he'd reached his limit and couldn't go on without going insane.
This witch, this celestial-like creature had him in a vice, and this was the only way he could show his love.
For a moment, it felt as though time itself had come to a halt, and the only thing that mattered was her. Until, at least, the moment was so rudely interrupted by Fred's portrait, barking a harsh quip.
"Oy! Can't you lot just…hold it in until after I've had a word with George? Look mate, I know I was always better looking than you, Georgie, but Parkinson, George? You're not that desperate are you, mate?" Fred's likeness scoffed, almost sounding offended.
Before George lost all of his sanity, George let go of Pansy, just in time to see her stalk out of the room, her cheeks flushed, and she was heavily panting, leaving the door wide open in her haste to flee, leaving George to angrily glower at Freddie's portrait before staring after his girlfriend. A heavy awkward silence now hung in Pansy's loft.
Fred was the first one to speak.
"….Was it something I said?"