Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.
Hogsmeade
"So, are you going to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked during Arithmancy two days later.
"Yes, of course. You think I'd stay here with Umbridge for company?"
"That's not what I meant. Are you going with him?"
"With… oh." Ryua paused, looking down at her paper. "I… I guess I should, eh?"
"Maybe. I mean, most people do… but you're trying not to brandish this about right?"
"Yeah. Maybe we should just meet up there, or I could go with you, and meet Harry there…"
"Well… I actually did want Harry to do something… so that would work, sure. We're supposed to get some information for Arithmancy anyway, and we'll probably get extra points for doing it in Hogsmeade."
"Sounds good then. Let Harry know, and I'll meet you in the Great Hall at ten."
Ryua was looking very forward to the Hogsmeade visit before long. It was incredibly difficult to find a time when both she and Harry could go anywhere without arousing suspicions. Between the frequent quidditch matches, homework, and classes, neither of them seemed to have a common night off. And the DA meetings were having troubles getting scheduled for the same reasons. So by Friday night, she was going slightly mad.
Saturday morning dawned (at least she assumed it did, it was hard to tell in the dungeons) and as usual, Ryua was up well before everyone else. She had a shower, to clean off any dirt from the quidditch practice she'd missed last night, and sorted through her clothes, looking for something warm. Logically speaking, Ryua knew that many places got very, very cold in the winter, places like Canada or Sweden where temperatures of 40 degrees below the freezing point weren't at all uncommon. However, Britain's milder winters were still cold enough for her, and she had a multitude of warm wool and fleece clothes. A thick, light blue sweater, warm, soft navy blue pants, and a fur-lined cloak overtop went on today.
Once, Lucius had considered sending them to Durmstrang, simply because of the higher Dark Arts courses. Luckily, Narcissa had convinced him not to. Ryua would have probably frozen solid by now, even with their thick fur cloaks. And anyways, hers was much nicer than the school standard, and she doubted it would feel as warm on a mountain somewhere inland.
She did some homework, whiling away the time until they were supposed to eat, then meet for Hogsmeade. Luckily, Cassie got up not too much later, and they played a few rounds of wizard chess, as the DADA homework was just boring her to tears. They chatted brightly about quidditch and Hogsmeade, and then got too hungry and went upstairs for breakfast.
After eight pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and a handful of grapes Cassie insisted she eat to prevent scurvy, Ryua walked over to where Hermione was going through her Arithmancy homework. "Are you honestly going to pack all that with you?"
"Of course, we're supposed to do homework."
"But, all we should need is the actual assignment sheet, right? And a quill to write some stuff down with. We could do the bookwork once we get back, and not have to carry those textbooks…"
Hermione looked both scandalized and hopeful all at once. "Well… we should take them along just in case…"
"Hermione, listen to me. We're going to Hogsmeade. This is supposed to be fun. Hauling textbooks around is not fun. So, we're leaving the textbooks here, and we'll go have fun. Without the textbooks."
"Ohhh, fine. I'll leave them in the library on our way out."
"That's my girl. You have to learn to relax more. At this rate, you'll look as old as McGonnagall before you're twenty."
"I would not! And she looks great."
"Yes, for someone who's well over sixty. When we're all sixty, we can hope we'll look so good. Until then, we want to not look like that, understand?"
"Fine, fine…" Hermione grinned as the students started to file out. Harry and Ron were off to Zonko's or something with Fred, George, and Lee. Ryua, with the usual Malfoy arrogance, kept their carriage empty. Mostly, she just glared at anyone who looked like they were going to open the door. "You know, someone else could sit here…"
"Eh, I guess. But, apart from the fact that we can talk easier alone, I just don't want anyone to open that door."
"You're cold? With that much warm clothing?"
"I'm always cold. I don't know why, but I find it really, really hard to stay warm jus about everywhere."
"Just about? Where aren't you cold then?"
"The Dominican, by the end of a really long, hot shower, sometimes the kitchens…"
"Wherever Harry happens to be…"
"… well, maybe… Why are guys so warm?"
"It's like, the most basic attraction. It's the reason we snuggled up to them in the caveman days, because they're warm."
"Oh, good. I thought I was just weird. I mean, it seems kind of strange to like someone just because they make you warm…"
Hermione looked out the window at the snowy landscape going by. "No, I don't think so. Warmth is an important part of comfort, and comfort is one of the main reasons for liking someone. Actually, being comfortable can make you feel warm too, so maybe that's part of it. I don't mean to be rude, but you don't seem comfortable with a lot of people."
"No… I never really have been. It's kind of a new thing, I'm not very good at it yet."
"Well, the only way to get better is to practice. I'm sure Harry wouldn't object to being a guinea pig…"
Ryua did her best to act offended, but the effect was spoiled by the errant grin that managed to slip through. And the stifled giggle, which set off Hermione, which made Ryua giggle back…
By the time they'd reached Hogsmeade, they'd managed to calm back down again, although they were both prone to laughter from strange things. Hermione did force them to pick up some weather information for Arithmancy, but other than that, the two of them did absolutely nothing useful all day.
"Are you sure your Father won't mind us buying all this stuff?"
"Mind? Of course he'll mind, that's the idea. Until he shuts me out of the family account, I plan to get every benefit to being a Malfoy. Ooooh! Did you know they could make ink this color? And this one?"
"No… which one are you going to get?"
"Both, of course. So… when did you say we were supposed to be at the Three Broomsticks?"
"Hmm? Oh! Um, like two minutes, sorry…"
"S'okay, as long as we aren't late. Let's charge this stuff and go."
At the pub, Hermione led the way to a table for five, and ordered them both huge hot chocolates. "And now we wait."
"Wait? When did you tell them to meet us?"
"Oh, just Harry's coming, Ron's staying with his brothers. But, he's not coming for another fifteen minutes or so."
"So why are we here now?"
"We're waiting for Rita Skeeter."
Ryua looked up from searching for the cherry that she knew had to be hiding in the whipped cream. "Skeeter? That nasty little rat that wrote so much garbage for the Prophet last year?"
"Yes. And we're waiting for Luna Lovegood too."
"Lovegood? Isn't her dad the owner of the Quibbler?"
"Yes. Since the Prophet won't publish the truth, we'll get the Quibbler to, under Skeeter's oh-so-venerable name."
"I see. That's good. I guess it's been getting worse for Harry, everyone thinks he's a nutter." Ryua laughed and took a sip of her hot chocolate. "It's weird. In my House, where everyone hates him, no one thinks he's insane or lying. Too bad he wasn't in Slytherin…"
"You want to know something weird? The hat tried to put him there. Might have gone for it too, if your brother hadn't been so…"
"Malfoyish?"
"Yeah. Bizarre, eh?"
"No kidding. Hey, there she is." Ryua pointed to the door with her spoon. Sure enough, Rita Skeeter stood there, looking around disdainfully. She walked over to their table with a rather ugly expression on her face.
"Well, little miss perfect, I'm here. Now, what do you want?"
"Have a seat, Rita. The others will be here soon."
She sniffed, and bent down to sit down, leaping up in surprise a moment later. Luna Lovegood was in the chair, calmly stirring a strawberry lemonade. "When did you get there?" she snapped.
"Oh, just a second ago. Hello, Hermione, Ryua…"
"Er, hi. How did you do that?" Ryua asked.
"Do what?"
"How did you get here without… ah, never mind."
Rita sat down, and ordered a firewhisky. Harry arrived moments later, and from the look on his face, Hermione hadn't told him what to expect at all. "Have a seat, Harry," she said, gesturing to the last chair.
"Alright, we're all here, Granger. Do you plan to tell us why?" Rita asked, taking a swig of her firewhisky.
"Rita, you're going to take an interview. Luna's father is going to publish it."
"Harry's interview? Well why didn't you say so? I can just see it now; 'Dumbledore's protégé, nutty as ever…'"
"No, Rita. You're going to publish the truth, exactly as Harry says it."
"The Prophet will never print that story, you stupid little girl."
"I know that," she said serenely. "That's why Luna's here, if you'll think a moment. Her father owns the Quibbler."
"The Quibbler? You've got to be kidding me."
"No. People will be looking for an alternate story, because the one the Prophet's put out leaves some pretty gaping holes. Even if it's in an… alternate sort of newspaper, people will want to read it."
"So, how much am I getting paid for this?"
"Well, usually Daddy runs the articles for free," Luna said, spinning her straw around and around her glass.
"Free? You expect me to do this for free?"
"Of course. Or I'll spill the beans about you." Hermione said calmly.
"If you do, you still won't get your story. I want to get paid for this."
"I told you, my Daddy doesn't pay his journalists."
"No, he doesn't," Ryua said, "But I do. You write this story, and I'll add a side story of my own, under anonymity, and pay you three hundred for the lot."
It was obvious Rita was used to much more, but it was also obvious she was running very low on cash. "Fine. Harry, you first, dear." She pulled out an acid green quill, balanced it on the paper, and looked up at Harry. Ryua listened carefully, as it was the first time she'd heard the entire story start to finish. By the end of it, only Rita was wincing at the frequent repetitions of Voldemort, although Ryua did notice that the quill censored it out.
When he stopped talking, Ryua leaned forward. Oh, man, I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Someone's going to kill me over this… "Now, Rita, I'm sure you read the Daily Prophet. I doubt you read the obituaries, however, so I'll fill you in on a little background. This summer, a very short paragraph was run on a pureblood witch, tragically killed by a hippogriff. I was there, and it was no hippogriff. It was the middle of the night, and she and her husband, a high-ranking Death Eater, had a check-up visit from Lord Voldemort." She forced herself to say it, and squashed any shudder that even thought about escaping. "Now, they had children, teenagers, to be precise; old enough to have their first… evaluation, you could say. So, they were summoned downstairs, and met the Dark Lord, the one person in the world their father would bow to. One of them was smart, kept his mouth shut and his attitude respectful. The other couldn't swallow her pride, and really pissed him off.
"Now, I'm pretty sure you haven't ever been tortured by Voldemort, and I hope for your sake that you never do. The mother was forced to stand there, and watch him curse her daughter, over and over. She couldn't stand it, and attacked her husband, using his wand to burn the Dark Lord off of her daughter. The deep lacerations across her body, and the broken ribs and back? Those were from shielding her children when part of the room exploded from his wrath, not talons.
"Her daughter… her daughter wanted her to be remembered as a woman who all her life had been brought down, who had had every bit of her power taken away, but at the end had the strength to rebel against the worst of enemies, to stand up. And she gave her children the chance to live free for a few more years."
The room was silent when she stopped talking. Ryua took a drink of hot chocolate, swore, cursed it with a fire charm, and took a much-improved warm sip. Rita sat there, vaguely petting her quill. Apparently it hadn't handled so much real, awful information in one sitting before, and it was trembling slightly. "And should I ascribe a name to this mysterious woman?"
"I suppose you should, yes. Narcissa Black Malfoy. And I have something to go do. Give this note to any Gringotts goblin, and they'll give you the gold." Ryua wrote a short notice telling Gringotts to give Rita Skeeter the proper amount of Galleons, left a tip for Madam Rosmerta and left.
Ryua wandered around Hogsmeade, not really paying attention to where she was going, just away from people. "I can't believe I just did that," she muttered, turning onto the road to the Shrieking Shack. "I'm going to get killed over this…" Just then she heard footsteps behind her in the snow. She bit down some rather nasty words, and concentrated on walking just a little slower than before, slipping her wand out of her pocket. Didn't expect to get killed this quickly…
As the steps got within a few feet, she whirled around and lunged at her pursuer, knocking him into the snow with her wand dug into his throat. She looked up from a neck wrapped in a Gryffindor scarf into startled green eyes and groaned. "Oh, Harry, don't sneak up on me like that, I was ready to kill you!"
"Yeah, I kinda noticed… thanks for waiting a split second though."
"Heh. Sorry… reflex action. So, what are you doing out this far?"
"Following you."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you if you let me up. I've got snow melting into my clothes…"
"Oh, sorry…" she got up, brushing snow off her sleeves.
Harry pushed himself out of the bank with a little shudder. "So, why didn't you tell us that's what happened over Christmas?"
"I… I don't know. It's not the kind of story you share, you know; 'I got a new broom for Christmas, what about you?' 'Oh, I got tortured and orphaned, cool, huh?'"
"Okay, I guess it's a little unusual." They walked along the road, turning off onto some trails, where they were less likely to be seen. "But still, we're your friends, you can tell us this sort of thing. I mean, family stuff's huge."
"Can't imagine why." Ryua said bitterly, rubbing the quill scars on her palm. She then looked up, suddenly contrite. "Oh, I'm sorry…"
"No, don't worry. If the rest of your family is like Draco…"
"He's the best of the lot…"
Harry winced, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. "And I thought the Dursleys were bad. I can stand neglect, starvation, living in a cupboard…"
"A cupboard?"
"Yeah, the cupboard under the stairs. I lived there until I turned eleven and the wizarding world started caring that I existed again. When I did something really bad, like magicking myself on top of the school roof, or setting a boa constrictor on my cousin, they'd lock me in there for weeks, no food."
"No wonder you're so thin. Strange, how both of us can have such awful home lives, and almost nothing the same about them… Your arm's still over my shoulders, by the way."
"Do you mind?"
Ryua smiled. "No, not really. You're so nice and warm." Without actually meaning to, she'd managed to snuggle right into his side, all the better to soak up that lovely warmth. "You know, I've got one thing better in my home life."
"Hmm?"
"I get to curse my problems. You have to just take it."
"Heh, yeah, I'm supposed to anyway. I blew up one of my aunts once… and I did charm some dementors over the summer."
"You blew up an aunt?"
"Yeah. She was making cracks about breeding dogs and my mother… and I kinda lost it. Luckily, that was the same year Sirius escaped, so Fudge was so happy to see me alive after I ran away that he didn't bother to even reprimand me."
"Nice. Fame works just as well as a rich bank account, I see."
"Yeah. Until someone like Skeeter gets a hold on you and makes your life a living hell…"
"If it's any consolation, the entire Slytherin house believes you're perfectly sane. Well, except for the whole part about actually rebelling against the Dark Lord anyway."
"Just what I always wanted. My worst enemies are the ones who trust my mental state."
Author's Note: Umm, sorry for the long wait. I've been running nonstop for two weeks now, and working some evenings, which kills the internet access, and for that matter, the access to my computer at home to write the stuff.
Or draw...
I have an artist account at www . mediaminer . org. Go to fanart, and search in Harry Potter for Artist Name: Ryua. I love it when people leave reviews there too...
