A/N: thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially to Dreamer45 (you know, why.)
Maat: I'm happy that you think the characters stay in character – I really tried my best, and it's good to know that I succeeded.
Angelbabe: thanks for your compliments on my English: "…and whoever had a go at you because of your spelling is a dickhead." – I really appreciated this comment ;-) I'm fulfilling your desire to know about the inhabitants of Hogwarts getting rid of the nasty journalists in this chapter. Hope you'll like it.
Hermione Granger: not all chapters will have Ginny in them, neither will all of them have Harry, Ron and Hermione – but the trio and Ginny will remain the main characters all along, of course.
Cloe: I REALLY don't mind your reviewing again! Please, DO review as often as you can!
All right, people, have fun!
Chapter 12
De-journalisting
"I hope you know this means war!" Rita Skeeter turned to the other journalists in the middle of a meadow, about ten miles from Hogwarts. "This time Dumbledore has gone too far. Treating sentient beings like this is just unacceptable!"
Emeline Bacon nodded, rearranging her rock after the ten-mile-run. "He threw me out of his office and didn't let Timmie make pictures of Harry!"
"Yeah, and he sent that Bobby or who to loosen the ropes in our tents, and they fell on us while we were sleeping!" a scruffy looking guy, wearing a tent hanging from his waist, added.
"And my camera broke when our tent collapsed on us." a reporter of The Diagon Alley Journal complained.
"But the attack of those Martians was the last straw! I'm going to the Court of Justice!" a high-pitched voice, belonging to the cameraman of The Hogsmead Times, shrieked.
"Oh, shut up, Janson!" Rita yelled. "The Court is full of bunglers, it cannot and will not help us! Not against Dumbledore, that is. We have to help ourselves… and take revenge on that wretched headmaster of Hogwarts!"
"But how are we going to do that, Rita?" Tim, Emeline's photographer, asked.
"We are gonna dig up some stuff from his past, guys." Skeeter grinned. "Even he cannot be as 'white' as his name tells. So, are you ready for another great scandal?"
"We are always ready for that!" the editor of Witch Weekly shouted, her voice full of hopeful anticipation.
"Okay, then. Let's start collecting information… but be as inconspicuous, as you can. I know it's hard, since we are journalists, but this insult of Dumbledore's calls for blood! His blood! So, who's with me?"
"Me!" the whole crowd of journalists cried in unison. Rita gave them all a huge, satisfied smirk.
* * * * *
"Wow, that was terrific!" Parvati yelled admiringly. "I've never seen anyone run this fast!"
"I've always wanted to see freaking journalists! They looked cool!" Seamus Finnigan shouted.
"Did you see Rita Skeeter with her cloak on fire?" laughed Dean.
"My twin brothers will be broken-down when they get to know that they missed such a spectacle!" Ron added.
"And what about that guy who couldn't disentangle himself from his tent and pulled it with himself while running through the park?" Justin Finch-Fletchley chortled.
"Yea, but that was nothing compared to Bacon's underwear!" a Rawenclaw commented.
"Sure, she didn't have time to dress up!" Lavender was choking with laughter.
"What do you think, Herms? Wasn't it cool?" Ron turned to his girlfriend.
A smirk appeared on Hermione's usually strict face. "I've never laughed this much. Rita Skeeter looked just liked Professor Snape in first class, when I set his robes on fire."
"I wish Harry could see this!" Ron sighed. "He would have appreciated it very much."
"Yes, he has no idea what he missed." Ginny nodded. "I hope at least he misses me."
Ron put a hand on his little sister's shoulder. "Of course he misses you, sis. But don't worry, he'll be back soon now. The journalists are gone. I'm sure that Dumbledore will send him an owl telling him to come back. He might already have done so. Harry might be with us right tomorrow morning."
Ginny's face lit up with joy. "If only you were right, Ron!"
"Have you ever known me to make a mistake?" her brother grinned.
"Well… I could think of a couple of times, I guess." Ginny giggled. "Let me think… there was that case eleven years ago in the toilet, when you…"
Ron clamped his hand on Ginny's mouth. "I never thought you had such a good memory." he whispered to her, turning crimson.
"Why? What happened in that toilet?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Nothing!" Ron snapped. "And you, my little sister, should mind your own business. For example go and eat something. My nephew needs some nourishment."
"Your niece, you mean." Ginny corrected.
"Nephew." Ron replied.
"Niece." Ginny retorted.
"Nep…" Ron was stopped by Hermione's hand on his mouth.
"Enough of blabbering, guys. Ron, I think you haven't written that essay of yours to Professor Trelawney, have you?"
"No, but…"
"Then go and get down to it."
"But that's crazy, Herm, how could I write an essay on my freckles?" Ron whined.
"Easily." his girlfriend answered. "Have a look at yourself in a mirror."
"But how could I know how I'll remove them, for You-Know-Who's sake!" Ron was getting more and more annoyed by the second.
Hermione knitted her eyebrows, clearly thinking.
"But that's easy, brother!" Ginny cut in. "You just have to write that Fred and George will invent a cream with the name… Freckle Vanisher, and you'll use it."
"Not a too interesting idea." Ron remarked. "But lacking a better…"
* * * * *
Harry was sitting in his room – Dudley's ex room (full-comfort) – writing his essay for Professor Trelawney. The following day was the time limit to hand in their essays to the Divination teacher.
Harry had a hard time trying to find out what the heck to write about his manner of death.
*Well, okay, let's say…*
Voldemort is standing at the end of Hogwarts' Great Hall, his wand held at the ready, wanting to strike me down with the Avada Kedavra. I am close to fainting, leaning to a gargoyle-like statue of…
*um, who? Oh, yeah…*
…Professor Snape. (He dies a month before Voldemort attacks the castle, and Professor Dumbledore decides to erect a monument to his memory in the middle of the Great Hall.) So, I am trying to get a grip – to no avail. My scar is hurting beyond imagination, and I'm sure that I'm balancing on the edge of my grave. Voldemort is laughing with a malicious glee, his red eyes glinting with perverse pleasure. His whole serpent-like face contorts into a spitting image of…
*What?…*
…my cousin, Dudley.
*Maybe I shouldn't write something that terrible…*
No, it doesn't mean that Voldemort starts to wear a blond wig, or puts on sixty kilos - not at all. I just mean that he looks uglier than anything I have ever seen.
He is cackling, making flipping movements with his wand to threaten me, and finally he ejects a green stream of light that hits me in the stomach. In the meantime, he yells 'Avada Kedavra!' I am aware that nothing can save me now. There's nothing left between life and death, but the howling laughter of Lord Voldemort. Then everything fades… and I find myself among the clouds…
*Oh, my, isn't this too silly? Prof. Trelawney will think that I'm so stuck-up that I think I'll go into heaven… oh, well, what else could I write? I'm not going to hell that's for sure. If someone, then Voldie goes there, not me…*
So, I'm in the clouds, flying upward, up, up, up… then a strange light surrounds me, and I almost get blind. A voice (whispering and loud at once) tells me that I'm home. Suddenly, I catch a glimpse of Lily and James Potter, my parents. I'm really home.
*Okay, finished. Quite crazy, but finished. I'm wondering what Ron writes about his freckles.*
Harry felt a great temptation to add a 'THE END - read and review' at the end of his composition, but was sure that the professor wouldn't appreciate it.
He stood up and stepped to the window. Ron promised him to send him an owl that evening, so he could send his essay to Trelawney.
He didn't have to wait long. Pig arrived only four minutes later with a letter from Ron, and left with Harry's composition. Harry unfolded the paper and with great interest he read Ron's detailed report on the de-journalisting. Harry couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Hagrid's Martians bombarding Rita and her fellows with their extremely smelly spit, that – according to Ron – smelled worse than a dozen skunks put together.
Harry was just about to go downstairs for dinner when there was a knock on the window. Another owl arrived, carrying a letter with the Hogwarts crest on it.
Harry saw that the poor bird was totally worn-out. It must have been an express-message, he thought. He took the letter then gave the owl some water. While it was drinking, the boy sat down on the bed and started to read.
Dear Harry,
I have good news for you: the journalists are away. As Ron might already have let you know, Hagrid's new pets, the Martians have reached the age of uncurling, and Hagrid managed to train them how to drive our unwanted guests crazy. I'm sure your friends will report you about the flight of Rita Skeeter and her colleagues. It was a sight.
So, you can return to Hogwarts anytime now. I suggest that you come in the morning – don't disturb poor Mrs. Figg at such a late hour.
See you tomorrow!
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry's heart leapt. He could leave the Dursleys! At last! Although the last three days were quite enjoyable, he knew that his so-called family didn't do anything for him of their own free will. They were simply afraid – and Harry didn't want to be swarmed around by people who didn't like him. He hated hypocrisy.
He was extremely relieved to be able to go back to school – his eagerness to see Ginny made him decide to disturb Mrs. Figg that very evening against Professor Dumbledore's advice. He just couldn't wait to see his fiancee…
For he missed her more than anyone else in the world.
It was not only the prospect of seeing Ginny that made him eager to get back to Hogwarts: he badly needed clean robes, too. Harry reached into his pocket to make sure that he had his wand with himself, then ran out of his room.
* * * * *
As he went downstairs, the first thing he saw was Dudley scrubbing the floor. The fat boy was humming some melody, that in Harry's opinion could either be the Star Wars fanfare or the main theme of Dallas – but he couldn't decide which one, since Dudley was singing totally out of tune.
Harry found it quite strange to hear his cousin hum while doing his chores. (Dudley having chores was strange enough in itself.) Inexplicably to him, Harry had a certain premonition, as if something was about to happen. The thought of himself going back to Hogwarts cheered him up, but there was something in the air… something bad. *That is what you get when you make up stories about your own death.* he scolded himself.
"Oh, Harry, nice to see you!" Dudley greeted him and put the mop down. "Do you think the kitchen floor is clean enough? Or should I continue?"
"It's perfect, Dudley." Harry replied.
"Oh, come Harry, dear, dinner is ready!" aunt Petunia yelled. "What would you like to eat? I have made fudge pudding and a chocolate tart with strawberries and whipped cream. Which one do you prefer? Both, maybe? Oh yeah, why not? They are both delicious! Come and sit down, sweetums!"
*Sweetums? She has swung to the other extreme.* Harry thought. "Thank you, Aunt Petunia, but I'm not staying for dinner. I'm going back to Hogwarts."
"But dear, I've made all these just for you! You cannot go without tasting them!" she pleaded.
"Ah, all right." Harry sat down, and Petunia put a bowl full of pudding and a plate with a big slice of cake on the table.
"Enjoy your meal!" she beamed.
"And Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, holding the tart in his left hand, spooning the pudding with his right one.
"He has to stay longer at Grunnings. Some business talk, you know." his aunt answered.
"I see." Harry nodded and swallowed a big chunk of cake. Dudley followed suit – but he didn't gulp only one chunk at once, but at least three.
"Oh my, I'm so thirsty." Harry said and stood up to fill the jug with water.
"You don't want to drink water, do you? Something that common… Harry, Harry, you deserve something better." Petunia asked and gently pulled him back into his seat. "I'll pour you some Coke, or would you rather have some orange juice?"
"No, thanks. Just water."
"I'll get him a glass of water, mom." Dudley offered.
"Thank you, dear." Petunia gave her son an approving smile. *Dudley has finally understood what we all have to do to make Harry like us and not transform us into dung beetles.*
Dudley stepped to the sink with his back turned on his mom and Harry. He turned on the tap and filled his cousin's glass with water.
'…and remember, this potion is only effective when added to clear water. No syrup, no tea, no cocoa, only water. Understood?' Draco's words echoed in Dudley's ears. He reached into his shirt, pulled out a small bottle of translucent liquid and poured it into his cousin's glass.
*Ready. You'll pay for everything, Harry, and Millicent will be MINE!* he sneered, then returned to the table with the 'manipulated' H2O liquid and waited until Harry drank the whole content of the glass. *Gotcha.*
A/N2: yeah, a nasty cliffie. Sorry about it… (oh no, in fact I don't feel sorry, lol. I'm wicked, I know ;-)
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