Feel
By: Lady DeathAngel
Disclaimer: not mine, not profiting, 'nuff said.
Warnings: none
A/N: woohoo, another chapter! Enjoy the frequent updates while they last because who knows when my plot bunnies will leave me?
Somewhere in the Three Broomsticks a man and a woman were singing something in loud slurring tones and two tables over a suspicious bundle of robes was collapsed on the table top and snoring. Harry wasn't paying much attention to any of it, though. He was too busy eyeing the woman in front of him in apprehension and ignoring Malfoy who was taking random sips of Snape's firewhiskey.
He didn't know what it was that had him so apprehensive. Maybe it was the fact that of all the articles ever written about him by Rita Skeeter she'd only done one right. She was glaring at him, too, and drumming her long, acidic green finger nails on the worn wood of the table. In all honesty, she was just creepy. He appreciated her telling his story to the world, he really did. But once had been more than enough. It really had.
"Sorry, we're a bit late," a husky voice said from behind them.
Harry didn't turn to look as Remus pulled up a chair next to him and Hermione took her spot by Skeeter so that she could make sure she told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help her.
"A bit late?" she said with an arched eyebrow.
"Yes," Remus said with a cold glance in her direction. "But we can start now. If you're ready?"
She glared at him, her intense dislike for him apparent. But she didn't waste any more time, pulling out her quill and looking at both Malfoy and Harry.
"So, we'll start with what really happened when you two met at Diagon Alley."
The two boys nodded and after a shared look, Harry started. Once he got to the point where he'd run into Malfoy, the blonde took over.
"I didn't expect to see him there," he said. "I've only seen Potter outside of school twice and the first time he was just some scrawny kid buying robes . . . you were a complete nit-wit, you know," he told Harry with a smirk. "Didn't know a thing about anything."
"Obviously. I did spend most of my life in a closet you know," he said.
Malfoy shrugged.
"Whatever. Anyway, when I saw him I figured it was as good a time as any to talk to him. In fact, I figured it'd be better. At least then we'd be away from prying eyes."
"And look at how well that turned out," Harry muttered.
Malfoy shot him a look but continued.
"So I walked up to him and asked to talk to him and we went into the Leaky Cauldron."
"And what did you two talk about?"
"I called a truce."
Skeeter blinked at him and then shook her head with a smirk.
"Oh please! Even I don't believe that! I still remember you and your little friends from your fourth year, always salivating when the chance to bring down the Boy-Who-Lived presented itself."
"Well, sure. I mean, I don't like him or anything," he said nonchalantly, and Harry nodded his agreement. "But I've got too much to deal with right now. Adding 'humiliate Harry Potter without incriminating self, multiple times if necessary' to my list of things to do didn't seem prudent."
"And you?" Skeeter said, turning to Harry. "You believed him?"
"Yeah," he answered. "I did."
She rolled her eyes and her next question was asked with a derisive curl to her lips.
"Why would you believe your rival of five years would suddenly want to turn a new leaf?"
"Because he doesn't want to turn a new leaf, he just wants to grow up. And it's time we started doing it since we're in the middle of a war. And anyway, I could tell he meant it."
She snorted.
"Was it the 'look in his eyes'?" she asked in a mocking tone.
Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy and shrugged.
"Actually, yeah."
Skeeter shook her head and even Hermione, Remus and Snape were looking at the two of them like they had pus-oozing boils all over their faces.
"Right, well, onto the rest of this unbelievable story . . . what happened to you after the meeting?"
Malfoy frowned.
"They came to our house, Ministry officials and the odd Auror or two. Mum was scared. She didn't know what they wanted with us anymore. They'd been condemning our estates across Europe, not to mention most of our relatives' and they'd thrown my dad in Azkaban. What more could they possibly want, she asked them. They said they had some questions and that they needed to take me with them to a holding cell in Azkaban but that I'd only be there until I answered their questions.
A few of the House Elves protested it. They said it wasn't right, what they were doing to our family. Mum was furious. She yelled that I wasn't of age yet and that Azkaban wasn't necessary and that she'd fight them to save her family. They bound me and put a silencing spell on me and mum was crying and the House Elves were shrieking and they threatened to stun them all. I wanted to say something to her . . . anything to make her stop crying. I would have said anything to make it better." He paused and looked away. "I reckon," he said softly. "She was like that when they hauled my dad away. But this time it broke her. Or maybe it didn't. They won't tell me anything about her."
Harry watched as Malfoy and Snape shared an unreadable look and he heard Hermione sniffle next to Skeeter. He, himself, was reminded of his own mum's screams to save his life. It had to be the same, in a way. It had to be haunting and heart-wrenching to hear one's mother crying or screaming for her child.
A loud tap-tap-tapping slit through the heavy silence as Skeeter rapped her fingernails against her glass and Malfoy shot a glare at the journalist.
"After that," he said a bit more coldly than before. "They took me by portkey to Azkaban. I had wondered how they kept their prisoners in there with no Dementers to terrorize them into obedience and I'm still not quite sure how it works when they aren't in your cell every hour on the hour with Veritaserum and other means of 'making me talk', but it doesn't look good. It smells in there and the people are all screaming so loud you just want to join them to drown it out. They've only got a few wizards in there and if they don't get everyone their meals on time or remove dead bodies for a few days it's not their problem.
They beat me and didn't feed me and made me drink so much Veritaserum I didn't know which way was up or down or left or right. I was cold and numb and they just kept asking me questions. I told them the truth. That I hate Potter and I hate the Ministry and I hate Dumbledore and all of this idealistic peace and love fodder they feed us every day. I called them hypocrites and I told them that I hadn't talked to Potter about anything other than calling a truce." He laughed humorlessly. "Is it any wonder they didn't believe me?"
"And then?"
"And then Potter rode in on his white horse along with Professor Snape and former Professor Lupin, raised hell with Fudge, took me even though those Ministry hotshots wanted to keep me in government custody and here we are!" he finished brightly.
Skeeter sighed and shook her head.
"Can't ever be a normal story with you lot, can it? Not even I could have come up with something this ridiculous on my own."
"It's the truth," Harry told her coldly.
She nodded.
"Right, well, it'll be all over the Wizarding world by noon on Thursday."
"It'd better be," Hermione told her and they all stood to leave.
They left the pub in silence. There really wasn't much to say. They could only hope this article did its job.