The Quibbler
"Morning, sunshine," Hermione looked up from the day old paper she was reading at the kitchen table and greeted Harry congenially as he shuffled into the kitchen of the flat they shared. He stared blearily at her through the lenses of his glasses for a moment, making her smile. It usually took him a while to wake up all the way. He couldn't really function properly until after his first cup of tea. She watched as he shuffled over to the counter by the sink to fix himself a cup from the pot she'd left steeping on the trivet there. It was a good job he liked it really strong. He'd no other choice, really, as Hermione was usually up a good while before him to fit in her daily quota of reading. Her mantra was still 'so many books, so little time', even with the Wizarding population's extended life expectancy factored in to the equation.
The trio had moved in together the summer after leaving Hogwarts, as a better way to manage costs while they pursued their respective careers. Ron had been scouted as keeper by the Wimbourne Wasps and had kicked off his professional career within a month of leaving school after sitting his N.E.W.T.s. Harry had been drafted into the Aurors as soon as Voldemort had been defeated and, as he had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near the Dursleys ever again if he could help it, started his training before the summer was over.
Hermione, surprisingly enough, had been the one without an anchor or direction for the longest. She spent a year or so trying a number of different careers on for size before settling finally on becoming a liaison in the Ministry of Magic's Diplomatic Corps. While it had seemed like an unlikely career choice for her to Ron or Harry at first, they soon realised she was perfectly suited for the job. An accomplished Muggleborn witch was the perfect go-between when it came to the British Muggle Government and the Ministry of Magic. She was a quick study, absorbing knowledge like a sponge and applying it on the fly with ease. What's more, with international Wizarding relationships also being handled by her office, she had an amazing opportunity to study and observe other cultures as well as learn their languages, something that appealed to the scholar in her.
Their cozy arrangement as flat mates had been interrupted last year when Ron had finally married his girlfriend since sixth year, Luna Lovegood, and moved out – unapologetically saddling his friends with his share of the rent and bills.
Harry and Hermione had managed without Ron, although they missed seeing him as often as they once did. But even as they missed him they came to realise that, without Ron there to round out their circle of friends, they made a very good couple. Their relationship had been slow growing, however, as they were afraid to jeopardise the friendship between them, but it had recently come to the point where they had finally admitted they were in love with each other.
"Hermione, Love, did you look outside at all this morning?" Harry asked as he stirred his tea, a frown forming between his brows as he stared out the window.
"No, why?"
"Do you think there's any chance the neighbours won't notice we've got about a hundred or so owls perched on the washing lines down in the quad?"
"What?" Hermione asked shrilly as she hopped out of her chair and came to stand next to Harry. She stood on her tiptoes, braced herself on the counter, and leaned forward to look out the window and down into the quadrangle below. Harry hadn't been kidding, there were literally over one hundred owls perched on the washing lines that crisscrossed the quad. And to make things worse, they were all staring up at the windows of their flat.
"It's not going to be Remembrance Day any time soon, is it? People always want interviews and favours from you then."
"No, that's still almost two months away. I wonder what's up."
"Well, let's find out then." Hermione opened the window up and stepped back, waiting for the first owl to swoop into the kitchen.
One hour and a number of angry owls sent off without a treat later, Harry and Hermione sat looking at the pile of letters on the kitchen table between them. Harry reached out and picked one that was addressed to him off the pile, breaking the seal and unfolding it. He looked puzzled as he perused its contents.
"What's that one say?" Hermione asked.
"Naughty, naughty, I knew you had it in you. Reginald Sneesby," Harry read the message out loud, "I haven't a clue what it's about at all. What about reading us one of the stack addressed to you?"
Hermione opened one of the letters with her name on it and Harry watched her eyes widen in surprise as she scanned what was written in it. "It's hate mail, I can't believe it!" she exclaimed, handing the parchment over so that Harry could read the contents without her having to tell him what it said.
"Who the hell is Florence bloody Tipping and where does she get off sending you something like that?" Harry growled as he crumpled the letter and tossed it towards the bin in the corner of the room. "Bitch!" He picked another letter with his name on it from the pile. This one turned out to be a request for an interview that could be broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless Network.
"It looks like I've got one of those too," Hermione held up an identical envelope with a WWN seal, not bothering to open it to see what was inside.
Harry opened another one, his eyebrow rising as his eyes flicked back and forth over the text. "This is priceless, listen... 'I don't give a toad's warty arse if it was prophesied before you were born. Who bloody cares? The way the pair of you were all over each other is not something anyone needs to see.' Hmm, it's signed by a Calliope Horslip. Ever heard of her?" Hermione shook her head. "Me neither."
Half an hour later they had the mail read and sorted into three piles, congratulations, insults and requests and they still weren't exactly sure what was going on. Thankfully, due to the nature of Howlers and how they tended to self-destruct after delivering their messages, there were only three piles. They weren't sure they wanted to experience the incoherent ranting they'd been subjected to in the past ten minutes ever again. Hermione picked up various letters from the insults pile and glanced over them again. "You know, Harry, I've just thought of something. Do you remember back in fourth form when the Triwizard tournament was going on?"
Harry smirked, of course he remembered. "I do... I was in it if you recall?" Hermione reached across the table and swatted him in the arm. "Ow!"
"Do you remember that I got some choice mail then too?" she prompted, watching as it suddenly dawned on him what she was talking about.
"You don't think Rita Skeeter is at it again, do you?" He asked, lifting one of the more cryptic letters off the table and reading over it again, trying to make sense of it. Hermione shrugged and shook her head in the negative. She didn't think so but she couldn't be sure. Maybe a little visit with the animagus in question was in order.
Harry began to quote from the page he was holding in an indignant falsetto. "I can't believe that they gave you precedence over the discovery of the sacred burial grounds. Who cares what you randy youngsters get up to on a Saturday night?"
"Ooh-kay, this is nuts," Hermione shook her head in an effort to clear the headache that was starting to nip at the edges of her brain, "it sounds like someone's not taking their tablets." She felt sick to her stomach. Something just wasn't sitting right with all of this.
Harry had cleared all the letters off the table and into the bureau, out of harm's way, before heading for the shower. An irate Hermione had decided to close the kitchen window as having it open for a few hours on a cool spring morning had chilled the flat noticeably. As she leaned over to grab the handle of the window she noticed a small owl flitting around the quad, looking a little lost. She couldn't help grinning. Pigwidgeon was still almost useless but he was so very sweet. She placed her thumb and forefinger into her mouth and let out a very shrill, loud and unladylike whistle that caught the bird's attention.
"Over here, Pig!" she called out of the window as the owl changed direction and made for the flat. Hermione was already digging in the fridge for titbits by the time the little owl had perched on the back of a chair of the kitchen set.
"What have you got there?" Hermione asked as she exchanged the envelope in his claws for a sorry strip of dried and overcooked bacon from breakfast a few mornings ago.
You've got your floo blocked, connect it and come see us. It's really important. P.S. Don't go out today, at least not until you've dropped by here first.
It was unsigned but as it was written in Ron's untidy script and delivered by Ron's owl she knew who had sent it.
"Alright then, what's all this about? You know something, don't you?" Hermione accused Ron as she stepped out of the fireplace and into his living room. He flushed guiltily, right to the roots of his hair, as she dusted the soot from her robes and her suspicions were confirmed.
"What did you do, Ron?" Harry asked as he stepped through behind Hermione, knowing the look on his friend's face meant trouble.
"Maybe you'd like to join us in the kitchen. I've got some tea on the go and I think you should both come sit down first," Luna interrupted before Ron could answer and he looked relieved that she had. Harry and Hermione nodded and followed her into the kitchen.
"Spill it," Hermione demanded, once the social niceties of sharing a cup of tea were out of the way.
"I've got something to show you. It has nothing to do with Luna, either, for the record." Harry and Hermione stared at him expectantly and he continued, "I opened my big mouth a couple of weeks ago when we were having Easter dinner with Luna's dad and said something I shouldn't have."
"What did you say, Ron?" Harry had a bad feeling about this and was dreading the answer.
"I let it slip about you two," Ron looked sheepish as he confessed.
"Bloody Hell! We weren't in the market, Ron," Hermione scolded, "we trusted you to keep your trap shut."
"So what's the damage?" Harry asked, cupping his face in his hands as he realised the implications of what Ron had just told them.
"This," Ron cringed as he set the glossy tabloid magazine on the table in front of them.
"Oh fuck, Ron!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed in unison, horrified by what he'd revealed.
"Tell me my eyes are deceiving me, please," Hermione begged as she stared at the cover of the most recent edition of The Quibbler. There, in brilliantly charmed technicolour was a Wizarding photograph of herself and Harry, slow-dancing in the Muggle nightclub they'd visited a couple of weeks back. And then there was the headline screaming out, 'Platonic? Not on your life!' and the promise of more sordid evidence inside.
"Bugger," she swore as her eyes came to rest on a photograph of Sybill Trelawney tucked into the lower left-hand corner of the page. The colour drained from her face when she read what was written next to the photograph. "Hidden Potter/Granger prophecies?" her voice cracked with disbelief and the look she turned on Ron made him flinch. He could practically see the steam venting from her ears as if she'd just downed a Pepper Up potion.
"I think you'd better run and hide, Ron," Harry told his friend in all seriousness. Looking at the gathering storm clouds, Ron thought it was a great idea and bolted from the room. As Hermione went to give chase, Harry reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her fast.
"Sit!" It wasn't a request. Hermione sank back into the chair and buried her face in her hands.
"How the hell can you be so calm, Harry?" she asked in a muffled voice after a few moments.
"They've been printing all kinds of stories on me—from long before I even knew I was the 'Boy Who Lived'. I'm used to it. Maybe we should see how bad the damage is before you hex Ron's balls off."
"And I'll have you know before you do it that I'm rather attached to those balls," Luna added with a grin.
"Thanks so much for the visual, Luna, I really didn't need that image in my mind at all." Harry looked a little green around the gills as he replied and Hermione managed to crack a half smile at their exchange.
"You know, if you're going to be hexing anyone, it should be my dad," Luna reasoned, addressing them both, "after all, Ron tends to forget about him running The Quibbler and it was a slip of the tongue. If he'd been thinking, he'd never have said a word. And Dad should never have acted on that information. Ever! What we talk about at the dinner table should be left at the table."
"True," Hermione conceded.
"We sent him quite the Howler this morning when we found out what he'd done."
"Really?" Hermione dropped her hands to the table and looked up at Ron's wife. Luna stared back at her and reached out to take her hand.
"Really." She squeezed Hermione's hand in sympathy. "If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep a low profile for the next few months."
"Who's the photographer, Luna?" Hermione asked, steering the conversation back to the magazine on the table between them. Luna looked a little uncomfortable at the question.
"If you're of a mind to ruin them, I'm not going to say." The answer came after a stretch of silence.
"It's Colin, isn't it? Who the hell else has a camera grafted onto his hand and would be willing to follow us into a Muggle nightclub in Soho on a Saturday Night?"
Luna nodded. "It's Colin," she conceded. "Promise you won't do anything to hurt him."
"I'm not sure I can make that promise, Luna," Hermione answered, staring at the cover of the tabloid once again before reaching out and stabbing a finger at the picture of Hogwarts' Divination professor and getting a sense of grim satisfaction as the photograph glared angrily at her for the assault. "We're talking Trelawney here and you know how I feel about that woman. I can just imagine how bad the story inside is. Understand?"
"I'm sorry Hermione," Luna told her in a voice that was no more than a whisper.
Hermione felt guilty all of a sudden. It wasn't Luna's fault after all. It was Ron's fault and Mr Lovegood's fault and Colin Creevey's fault. Most of all it was Colin's fault for taking the pictures and supplying the Wizarding World with concrete evidence of their romantic relationship. It was one thing for people to gossip about what they thought went on behind closed doors but it was another thing entirely to have their private lives exposed in such a lurid and sensational way. She was going to wring Colin's scrawny, bloody neck the next time she saw him.
Hermione had gone to her parents' place after work to take in the mail and water the plants. They were off in Majorca on the first holiday they'd taken in years and she had promised to look after their place for them. It was so easy to apparate into the back garden and slip in the back door. After giving the place the once over to make sure everything was fine, she'd ended up sitting in her old bedroom, reminiscing about her childhood and the various holidays she'd spent at home during her years at Hogwarts. Her parents hadn't changed a thing since she'd left—it was eerie, like she'd used the time-turner from her third year. She felt sixteen again and smiled as she opened the wardrobe and stared at the row of clothes hanging there, preserved under the local dry-cleaner's plastic garment bags. The faded smell of the pomanders tickled her nose as she began to push the hangers along the pole to get a better look. One outfit in particular caught her eye, a lovely, timeless, knee-length red dress her mother had bought her on her sixteenth birthday. She wondered if it would still fit.
An hour later Hermione, grinning like a fool, apparated to an alleyway near the Ministry of Magic and made her way to the floor where Harry's office was located. She knocked and poked her head around the door when a voice called out for her to enter.
"Oh, hey, Phileas," Hermione greeted the man sitting with his feet up on his desk, "is Harry around?"
"He's in a debriefing with Tonks but it should be over any time now. Would you like some tea while you wait?"
"That sounds lovely. How are the wife and kids doing?" Hermione asked as she took a seat and settled in to wait.
Harry walked in to the office ten minutes later to find Hermione, swathed in her heaviest cloak, chatting amiably with his partner, Phileas Farrell. When she looked up at him and gave him the most radiant smile, he felt his heart skip a beat.
"This is a surprise," he told her with a grin, trying not to seem too eager. "To what do I owe the honour?" They made a point of it not to look like a pair of lovesick fools in public. There were always too many eyes watching.
"Are you working overtime tonight?"
"No, actually, I'm not."
"It's knocking-off time," Phileas interrupted, "I'll not be seeing you 'til Monday, Harry, if all goes well."
"Bye, Phileas," Hermione added, "and thanks for the tea."
"So?" Harry asked, after the door shut behind his partner.
"Want to go dancing?" Hermione asked. She stood and opened her cloak up to reveal the Muggle dress and heels she was wearing underneath. Harry gave a low wolf-whistle.
"Wow, you look fantastic! What's the occasion?"
"Boredom, and the fact that I just spent the afternoon in my old bedroom trying on everything in the wardrobe. And I love this dress, look how nicely it still fits," she rolled her hips and struck a pose for emphasis, "and I've only ever worn it twice before today, which is an absolute shame. Besides, we've never gone to a Muggle club before and just think about the fact we won't have to be sneaky at all. Humour me?"
"What's in it for me?" he asked cheekily, unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face.
"Everything," she answered softly, her voice seductive.
The pictures were turning out to be everything Hermione dreaded. You could feel the pheromones wafting off the pages like a haze off the pavement in August. She looked up from the spread and met Harry's eyes. He'd been reading over her shoulder and didn't seem as upset as she'd thought he'd be.
"I'll go talk to Ron," he told her. "You keep reading and see if there's anything in there that's worth beheading him for."
"But, Harry..."
He'd disappeared before she could say anything more. She wondered for a moment if it was deliberate before turning her attention back to the tabloid.
"Ron, it's Harry, open up," Harry called as he rapped the door with the back of his hand.
"Promise not to hex me first," Ron answered in a small and petulant voice that made Harry grin.
"I promise that I won't hurt you, Ron, I just want to talk." Harry leaned his forehead against the door for a moment as silence stretched between the friends for a good minute.
"Is Hermione with you?" Ron finally broke the silence.
"No, she's still reading the fruits of your fuck up. Luna's keeping her company." The door opened a crack as Ron surveyed the hallway beyond Harry. When he saw his friend was on his own, he opened the door wide so Harry could come in and join him. Once Harry was inside the bathroom, Ron closed and barred the door again, leaning against it heavily for a moment as if he thought Hermione would try to batter it down any second now.
Harry took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and after a minute Ron put down the lid of the toilet seat and sat down himself.
"I'm sorry for causing this trouble, Harry," Ron apologised, "I really didn't mean to let it slip, you know?"
"I know, mate, but it's Hermione you'll have to convince, not me. While I wish it hadn't come out in The Quibbler the way it did, it had to come out sometime."
"Wow, you're taking this a lot better than I thought you would," Ron observed.
"I'm not ashamed of us," Harry retorted.
"That isn't what I was implying and you know it."
"I know. Is it wrong for me to feel relieved that the lid's been blown off our relationship?" Harry looked over at Ron beseechingly.
"It's not wrong but it's going to be hard to be in the public eye, you know." Ron dropped his face into his hands and found it necessary to apologise once more, "I'm so sorry for blabbing, Harry. They're going to be on your every move like vultures on carrion. Are you two strong enough in your relationship with each other not to be torn apart by that?"
"I'd like to think so," he replied, adding after a moment of reflection, "God, I hope so."
"You've been friends for eleven years, but you've only been together romantically for the last six months. Heck, Luna and I have been together since Hogwarts and we've had rough patches thanks to stupid stories printed in the sports pages about the behaviour of some of my team-mates, especially our idiotic Seeker, Malfoy, who can't keep it under his robes to save his life. Guilt by association, you see."
"I'm afraid to think what they'll print about us next, actually. The Prophet and Witch Weekly have to play catch up, not to mention the international Wizarding press."
"You've learned how to roll with the punches already, mate, you've just got to learn how to do it in tandem and still maintain your dignity."
Harry responded by laughing out loud. "Would you like to go back into the kitchen and roll with Hermione's punches while trying to maintain your own dignity, Ron?"
Ron grinned widely back at him. "Maybe I should cast a good cushioning charm on my face?"
"Wouldn't be a bad idea," Harry answered, still laughing, "but you might want to protect your balls too. She's out for blood." He sobered at the thought and when he spoke again all the humour was gone from his voice. "You want to have heard some of the Howlers we received this morning, Ron, they were ridiculous and the majority were aimed at her, not me. I'm the bloody golden boy, but a lot of Wizarding folk out there still can't get past the fact that the brightest witch of our generation is Muggleborn or that she's the one I've chosen to be with."
"They're being stupid," Ron retorted, a little upset at what Harry had just told him.
"Not all the mail we received was negative. Some of it was congratulatory, but we'd no idea why we were being congratulated until we got here. Some of it was downright bizarre too, but we're talking the readership of The Quibbler here, so I shouldn't be so surprised. The Wizarding Wireless Network requested interviews from us."
"Maybe that's the way to go, Harry. Grant them an exclusive interview and set the record straight before any more blind speculation can hurt you."
"Maybe."
The music was loud and the bar crowded. It was obviously a popular place. Harry and Hermione had managed to grab a small table not too far from either the bar or the dance floor and were surprised at their luck. A waitress came around and they ordered a couple of the bar 'specials', tall, tropical, rum and iced fruit juice cocktails, complete with umbrellas.
"Mmm... this is wonderful," Hermione commented after taking a long sip through the straw. "The Three Broomsticks would make a killing on weekends if it served up something like this."
"I suppose Rosmerta's drinks menu is a bit boring compared to what they offer here," Harry acknowledged as he scanned down the list of cocktails in the small plexi-glass menu set in the centre of their table. He started to laugh at the name of some of the shooters. "I don't think I could keep a straight face or stop myself from stammering like an idiot while asking the bartender for a 'Long slow screw against the wall'. I mean, really," his ears reddened and Hermione grinned as she looked over at the hulking brute mixing drinks behind the bar.
"I can see why. Doesn't he remind you of Gregory Goyle?"
"Could you have given me any worse of a visual, Hermione?" Harry shook his head to clear the image that had formed there of him coyly propositioning Draco Malfoy's goon, while Hermione's tinkling laughter rang in his ears. "Bloody hell!" He had to shake his head a second time as the image was stubborn and was promising to pop back into his mind without warning for the next few days. Hermione shrieked with laughter again at the look on his face and raised a hand to gently cup Harry's cheek.
"That's what I love about you, Harry, you make me laugh." The mood turned from amusement to tenderness and the look Harry had given her in return had sent shivers up her spine.
Hermione looked up from the photograph of herself stroking Harry's cheek. Her breath hitched in her throat as she realised the very private and loving moment had been captured and peddled to the insatiably curious masses.
"That's my favourite photo of the whole lot, you know," Luna chirped, breaking the silence. "There's no mistaking how you feel about each other. It's lovely."
"Really?"
Luna turned the magazine around and studied the photograph for a moment. "Really. You'd have to be blind or an idiot to not see it. It's so obviously written all over you both."
"That makes me feel a bit better. Thanks, Luna, I was thinking having the picture published for all and sundry to see cheapened it."
"How can you say that? Just look at how radiant you are and how tenderly Harry's smiling at you."
"I know, but it's the thought of the absolute shite Sybill Trelawney has come up with in conjunction with the photos that's worrying me."
"It's actually not too bad, Hermione. Well, as far as Trelawney's concerned, that is."
"The woman is embarrassing, Luna. She's had, what, two whole accurate visions in her entire life?"
"I'm sure it's more than that and anyway, the ones she has had have been doozies. Would you like me to give you the abridged version? I can fill you in if you can't bring yourself to actually read the article."
Hermione frowned, knowing that Luna was pushing her buttons, goading her into actually reading what Trelawney had to say about her relationship with Harry. They hadn't become friends until after Hermione and the lads had left Hogwarts. In the beginning, Luna had rubbed Hermione the wrong way. Hermione had thought she was the Queen of Gullibility, but Luna had turned out to be more than that. She saw things from an entirely different perspective, preferring to rely more on her sixth sense than the logic Hermione valued. But this was the Wizarding World and logic didn't always cut it. Just then, Harry returned with Ron in tow. He came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders gently. She looked straight up at him and smiled as he leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead.
"Doing better, Love?" he asked her, glad to see she had calmed down a bit from the time he'd left the room five minutes ago.
"A little," she admitted, "but I'm having trouble with the Trelawney article. I can't bring myself to read it, I'm afraid to say."
"Do you need me to read it?"
"Only if you read it out loud," Luna answered, smirking as she butted her way into the conversation, "Hermione should know what the article says, and it'll be very entertaining to watch."
"You're enjoying this far too much, Luna Weasley," Hermione glared across the table at her.
"See what I mean, Harry?" Luna asked, "you couldn't ask for better entertainment value than Hermione's reactions to all this." Harry nodded but didn't say anything. He gave Luna a quick smile as he sat down next to Hermione.
"Do you want me to read it to you?" he asked her softly, picking up her hand in his own and pressing the back of it to his lips.
"Please," Hermione answered in a small voice.
All right then, here we go," Harry told her as he released her hand and pulled the tabloid over and picked it up to skim the story – an amused frown creasing his brow as he perused what was written there.
"What's so funny?" Hermione asked him.
"I thought it would be worse than it is, if you must know. It's almost sensible and that's amazing for Trelawney."
"You're having me on, aren't you?"
"No, listen to this bit. 'The day Harry Potter and Hermione Granger came into my divination classroom for the first time, I knew they were fated to be together. I could see the threads that tied them together so clearly.'"
"Well, of course she's going to say that, isn't that how she operates? She always says she knew from the start after everything's all played out." Hermione waved a hand dismissively.
"Ah, but there's more, Love. She refers to a prophecy she made back when we were both in fourth year that's been logged with the Ministry. She says they'll confirm its authenticity."
"Oh, really now?" Hermione was still completely skeptical. "And what is the gist of this prophecy, then?"
"The one who was least precious will supercede the first,
bringing love into a life that 'til now had been cursed.
Bound by love and laughter and memories that are gold,
she'll banish desolation, solitude, and warm the cold.
She'll temper all the nightmares with her presence strong and bold,
and fulfill all the prophecies we've been handed down of old."
"Good God, Harry, that has to be the worst prose I've ever heard," Hermione complained, burying her face in her hands.
"And it's only the first verse. Are you picturing the horror?" He grinned at the look she gave him. "You just have to hear this one... ready?"
She nodded, bemused by the persona he'd assumed these past few minutes. He was enjoying himself immensely and she couldn't help be swept away in his good humour in spite of the inherent horror she felt deep down at everything that was happening right now.
Harry was enjoying this immensely. With each verse he revealed, Hermione became more indignant. He knew his calm demeanour was infuriating her all the more and he relished the thought. He loved how beautiful she was when she was all fired up.
"Eleven kids?!?" Hermione was hyperventilating now. "Do I look like a brood mare to you?"
"Are you saying you don't want children, Hermione?" Harry asked, biting his lip to contain the grin. "Trelawney could be talking about goats, you know. I've always wanted to live on a farmstead in the country, haven't you?"
"Oooh... you're enjoying this, aren't you?" Hermione sputtered.
"What? Watching you have a fit?" His comeback earned him a glare. He smiled as he watched Ron -- standing on the other side of the room, behind the chair where his wife was sitting – draw his thumb across his throat.
"Don't think I didn't see that, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione snapped. Ron reddened and his actions earned him a smack from Luna.
"Ow!"
"Now, Love, calm down," Harry began, surprised to see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She had moved from almost calm back to frustrated in the time it took him to read Trelawney's article to her. He reached out and wiped the tears away with his thumbs, using a hand to raise her chin so that she was looking into his eyes. "Where's the tenacious and unflappable woman I know and love?"
"I don't know, Harry," Hermione admitted with a sniff, "I think I left her back at the flat, buried under all those letters."
"Do you want to go back home and dig her up? I could really use her help in sorting this mess out and I think our best bet would be to give that interview to the WWN. What do you say?"
"Sounds like a plan."
A/N - If anyone wants to see the artwork I did that inspired this fic, you can find it here at www . artwanted . com / imageview . cfm? id79328 (just cut and paste and take out the spaces and it should work)