Warning: Mentions of torture, war, two attempts on a life, and a panic attack in Lavender's part! Ends at 'Dennis...' Stay safe, lovelies.

The Daily Prophet

September 7, 1991

Finding freedom–divorced and happy about it!

By Rita Skeeter.

My dear readers, do I ever have a scoop for you! Recently I have discovered that in the last week there have been not one but two pureblood divorces. As we all well know, divorce is blessedly rare in the Wizarding World. Out of respect for the sacred nature of love and marriage, we wizarding folk hold fast to our bonds of partner. However, readers, we also well know that some sins are truly unforgivable.

In the case of the startling and stunning divorce of Lord Arthur Weasley Prewett, who as of Friday morning left Molly No-Name (once Prewett), the sin in question is undeniably clear: love potions, my dear readers. After a brief hospital visit following an accident in his home workshop, the diligent staff of St. Mungo's confirmed the presence of large amounts of Amortentia in Lord Weasley Prewett's blood. Upon running samples to find the invoker, aurors discovered a match in his (now ex-) wife. Medical experts concluded that Molly No-Name had been drugging Lord Weasley Prewett since his late teens. To many, I am sure that the circumstances of their infamous union now make perfect—if horrifying—sense.

When I discovered this crime, readers, I was shocked and outraged. Not just on the behalf of the kind and noble Lord Arthur Weasley Prewett, but on the behalf of Love itself! Love is sacred, and as grand as magic is, love should never be manipulated by our gift. To do what Molly No-Name did is disgusting. Was she so horridly ugly that she couldn't get a man without the use of potions? Well, perhaps. But that does not excuse her! She should be tried with the full force of the law for her crimes.

As I am sure my readers well know, Amortentia is no gentle spell. The effects are hard on the body of the consumer, leaving them pale, gaunt, ill, and withered. Beyond the obsession inspired by the invoker, continued use leaves the person blurry-minded, confused, muted, subdued, and altogether unlike themselves. School friends of Lord Weasley Prewett, who describe him as "sharp-tongued, clever, creative, and always curious," bemoaned the sudden shift in his character at the time. Now, they kick themselves with the guilt of not seeing the whole picture.

In reaction to this terrible turn of events, Lady Thessaly 'Tessie' Weasley also expressed apologies to her nephew. "I never would have thought," the 102-year-old Arithmancy Mistress confessed tearfully during an interview. "I should have, though. Arthur never was the same after that b*tch got to him. My poor Arthur."

Since the interview, Lady Weasley has removed the infamous ban on Lord Weasley Prewett's inheritance, allowing him to claim his lordship. In addition, Lady Muriel Prewett has given the Prewett title into Lord Weasley Prewett's hands and has removed Molly No-Name from the Prewett family. This was done as a reparation to Lord Weasley Prewett, whose youngest son, Ronald, will now inherit the title, following the Prewett inheritance charter. William Arthur Weasley, Lord Weasley Prewett's oldest, will inherit the Weasley title.

Miraculously, Lord Weasley Prewett is slated to make a full recovery from his trauma. In addition, being the honorable, loving (though heart-broken) man that he is, Lord Weasley Prewett does not wish to press charges against the woman who gave him such wonderful sons. Lord Weasley Prewett has decided to take full custody of all his remaining school children, except his youngest, Ginevra. Sources say that the girl refused to go into the loving and protective custody of Lord Weasley Prewett—choosing to, believe it or not, my dear readers, stay with her despicable mother.

It was a sad day, readers, for Lord Weasley Prewett when after discovering his wife's treachery he then had to face the vindictiveness of his own only daughter. Yet, cry no longer Lord Weasley Prewett, we at the Daily Prophet are behind you one hundred percent! As if to prove that our faith is wisely placed, Lord Weasley Prewett is currently in the process of sponsoring Slytherin House's newest newbloods, Dean Thomas, first year, and Lee Jordan, third year.

Presently Lord Weasley Prewett and his eldest two sons, William and Charles, reside with Lady Weasley at the unplottable Merriweather House, the ancestral Weasley estate.

At the beginning of this article, my dear readers, I spoke of sins that could not be forgiven. In the next stunning case, I speak here of the sins of the father. Or, rather, the entire last generation. As all readers should remember, it was only in the early seventies that arranging a marriage without the consent of the perspective spouses was officially made a punishable crime in Wizarding Britain. In the precedent-setting case of Black v. Black, Mrs. Andromeda Tonks (nee Black) and her legal counsel successfully proved that a forced marriage between wizarding folk is not only mentally and physically harmful, but magically, as well.

However, there are always those who seek to break the rules—no matter the cost to themselves or their children.

"I was fourteen when my father told me I would marry Lucius," Lady Narcissa Black Malfoy explains. Her smile is rueful. "I don't know why he felt the need to tell me so formally. I had known what was expected of me since I was a little girl." Beside her, the illustrious Lord Lucius Malfoy is the picture of a supportive friend. Together they are dignified in a way no one going through such upheaval would be expected to maintain.

You see, dear readers, the Malfoys—like many young purebloods of the past—were forced into their marriage. To today's modern youngling, the idea is horrific. How could you be expected to love with no choice? How would your magic know to entwine with that other person's. How could you bond?

"It was rather like a business deal," Lord Malfoy answers. "For a very long time, I thought that was what love was." Lady Black Malfoy nods in agreement.

"If it had been anyone but Lucius… I cannot imagine the nightmare. As it was, we were quite lucky," the Lady confides. "That was why, when many others in our position were separated by the summer of 73', we held back."

"I felt like I had dodged a spell, honestly. Narcissa has been my most trusted friend since our first year. With the War ripping Wizarding Britain apart, I could not imagine putting our position in jeopardy. Especially when Narcissa and I were… not happy, as such, but content," Lord Malfoy adds.

Lady Black Malfoy continues. "Draco came not too long after. How could we divorce with a child so young? It was not as though we could not stand each other or that there was anyone else. We were two dear friends with a child. Why complicate the situation?"

"So, why now?" I ask, eager to understand. The Malfoys have long been the standard to which wedded wizarding spouses have measured themselves. Even if there was no true love between them, what could have sparked them to end their perfect arrangement? The answer, my dear readers, is… love.

It is Lord Malfoy who answers me, with a smile that is softer than anything this reporter has ever seen him show. "As Narcissa said, for the longest time there was no one else for either of us, and now…" Ex-husband and wife share a look that can only be described as mischievous. I cannot help but smile, too. In love or friendship, let it never be said that the Lord and Lady Malfoy are anything but complimentary.

"Now," Lady Black Malfoy finishes, "There is. For both of us."

This concludes our interview. Soon, Lord Malfoy leaves for the Ministry. Lady Black Malfoy walks me to the Floo, the perfect hostess to the last. As we chat, she reveals that following the divorce Lord Malfoy claimed her as a sister within the Malfoy House. She also maintains a set of rooms in the east wing of Malfoy Manor, as she has since moving in. Needling to find out the respective sources of the Malfoys' new loves is met with tinkling laughter and good cheer. I Floo to my office utterly charmed.

My dear readers, if you ever do (Merlin, prevent it!) find yourself caught in a divorce, I pray you proceed as a Malfoy would. Never have I seen such love at the end of a marriage. Never have I seen such friendship.

On further news concerning the Malfoy family, Lord Malfoy would like to announce that he has taken custody of Harry James Potter! Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, is son of the tragically deceased Lord James Charlus Potter and Lady Lily Potter (nee Evans). Young Master Potter will be living with his distant cousin Draco and family at the unplottable Malfoy Manor after being rescued from his horrifying Muggle relations. In response to the deplorable treatment of his nephew and our saviour, Lord Malfoy has put forth and seen passed into emergency law a new bill: the Magical Children's Act (for more information, turn to page 11). The Act's implementation is strongly fought by Light Leader Albus Dumbledore for reasons unknown to this reporter. Ask yourself this question, readers: if it was your child so endangered by Muggles, would you stand for it? Yet, since it is not your child (thought it very well could be; turn to page 12 to find out how), ask yourself this: reader, what will you do about it?

Welcome Back Harry Potter!

I would personally like to welcome back Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Saved Us All. It is a new year and a new time, Harry, and I believe you and your friends are going to make the best of it. However, if you need anything, Harry, do not hesitate to write me! I am just a buzz away!

Your friend,

Rita Skeeter.

Lavender put down the Prophet with a smirk. Rita, her beloved mentor, was back and she was already causing a stir. The Magical Children's Act was the perfect first strike. As bad as it sounded, Harry's rough childhood made the perfect fire for reform. If there was one thing Rita had taught her, it was to strike when the iron was hot.

Lavender's smirk wilted, a swarm of old memories dulling her satisfaction. Rita had taught her so much, given her so much. Without Rita Skeeter, Lavender doubted she would have survived. There hadn't been much of her left to survive on, following the Second Wizarding War. It had left her in ruins.

Closing her eyes to the warmth of the Slytherin common room's fireplace, she let the memories wash over her.

The deconstruction of Lavender Brown had started with her parents. They had been Light, bitterly so. A pair of aurors. Her mother had died hunting the escaped Bellatrix Lestrange, and by November of 97' her father had disappeared. Without siblings to worry about, Lavender had thrown herself into Dumbledore's Army.

Eventually, that had meant throwing herself in the way of the Carrows.

Crisscrossing her old body were dozens of scars. They had filled her up like marker in a child's coloring book, chaotic and eager. By the time Greyback had her during the Battle, Lavender hadn't thought there had been anything left of her to take. She was Lavender Brown, known only for her stupid crush on Ron Weasley. Certainly, she couldn't be hurt any more. There wasn't enough depth in her personality.

She was wrong.

So. Terribly. Wrong.

From a logical point of view, Lavender could understand Fenrir Greyback's motives. He'd had his back to the wall, the defender of a persecuted people, so on and so forth. However, he had still joined the Death Eaters. He had still attacked a school. He had still allowed hundreds to meet a horrible end. He had still found her on the battlefield and he had still nearly killed her. If it hadn't been for Bill Weasley, she didn't doubt he would have. Cut, bruised, and battered, Bill Weasley had seen her being mauled and launched a series of hexes she'd never even heard of. Greyback, enraged, had changed targets in the nick of time.

Lavender came away with a face split in half: one side perfectly lovely, the other misshaped by a set of long slashes. They came down diagonally over her throat and through her chest, as though Greyback had been trying to claw out her heart. No healer had been able to fix them, only hand her a long list of glamours and tell her she was lucky.

No, Lavender had wanted to scream. Lucky was finding out that the monster you pissed off was your life-mate. Lucky was having the Boy Who Lived broker a deal that let your mate out of Azkaban in return for complete cooperation hunting rouge Death Eaters. Lucky was being Bill Weasley, shyly kissing someone else's monster at the 1998 Wizarding Warriors' Gala.

Lavender had been crying in the bathroom, mid-panic attack, when Rita found her.

"'Oh, no. This just will not do.'" By the end of the hour, Lavender had found herself in a sleek living room, Firewhiskey in hand.

"'You're not lucky, darling. You're just not dead yet.'" Lavender had kicked off her heels and sat with her toes curled under her. There was a new bottle of Firewhiskey on the living room table. Rita was smoking and Lavender was mesmerized by the grey curls against the ceiling.

"'No one's listening? Of course not. They won't listen unless you make it about them.'" Rita was a Muggle-born. Once, a man had told her she deserved to die for it and nearly shown her how her death would go. Now she buried anyone who mentioned her blood status. Lavender listened and learned how.

'"Tell me, sweet. When you look at yourself in the mirror, do you want to die?'"

"'No. I wouldn't mind if someone else did, though.'"

A high, cackling laugh. "'You're clever. Naive, but that's curable. Tell you what: you survive a week as my assistant, I'll offer you an apprenticeship.'"

Lavender had lasted three years. She would have lasted longer, but no one could make it to work the day after they died. Her last memory was holding Dennis Creevey's hand as the executioner took the floor out from under them.

Dennis… they'd called themselves married, but there had never been time for a ceremony. They'd fallen into each other while they were on the run, desperate for something other than misery. He'd been the first relationship Lavender had invested in since Ron Weasley. In the week they'd spent returned, she'd yet to receive a letterfrom him. Eyes drifting open, Lavender absently twirled a blonde lock around her manicured finger. She'd begun to accept that she never would. That, like Susan, Lavender had returned without the man she loved.

Lavender curled her hands, wishing absently for a Firewhiskey, if just for the familiarity. She could feel the sorrow nipping at her, but she pushed it down. Susan hadn't lost herself to the grief and neither had Percy Weasley, who'd similarly returned alone. However, Lavender knew her strong front wouldn't last. She needed a way to purge herself of the emotions she felt shaking her apart. Lavender needed to write. She didn't much care where or what, but she felt the itch under her skin. But she was only eleven right now. Much too young to write for the Daily Prophet, or even Witch Weekly! She was a child.

Lavender nearly whined, but Slytherins didn't whine. Slytherins came up with ideas. So, Lavender brainstormed.

There was always fiction, she supposed. But there was no dirty thrill to that. No triumphant crescendo of having all the pieces of a story first, free to spin however you liked. Lavender wanted to write for a newspaper the same way normal people wanted to breathe air. Something that didn't just put her thoughts in the spotlight but what was happening around her. What was happening at Hogwarts. Who would read that?

The parents would and, of course, the students, too. Information was always so sparse in this place of learning. Most of the 'facts' came from rumor mills. Lavender grinned. An actual Hogwarts-centric newspaper would be genius. Blast the inner goings-on of Hogwarts to the students and the parents. Though, slightly alter the parents' version. Couldn't have them knowing everything, could they?

All of it would have to be charmed extensively, but that was no biggie. Glamours were Lavender's specialty.

Humming happily, Lavender smiled her way through the rest of the Daily Prophet, editing the layout in her mind. Seamus, who sat across from Lavender, eyed her warily. After a minute or two of the smiling, he'd had enough. "Stop that," he snapped. "I'm starting to get paranoid."

They were lounged about in the Slytherin common room, spread across the couches. Dinner had ended an hour ago and they were all enjoying the last of their lazy Saturday. From beside Seamus, Dean chuckled. "Give it up, Lavender, before Seamus pulls out his wand and starts blasting suspicious-looking students."

As one, the assembled non-returned Slytherins shifted nervously.

Lavender gave Seamus a vicious smile and laughed when he reached for his wand. "I'm kidding!" she giggled. Pitching her voice to carry throughout the room, Lavender put on her most devious smirk. "I was smiling because I have an amazing idea."

Sensing an opportunity, the room turned to covertly listen in. Lavender twirled her hair as if she hadn't noticed her new audience at all.

"And this idea is?" Harry asked, playing at boredom. Apparently, in Slytherin it was 'uncool' to be immediately interested in the words of you friends. Harry thought it was all a rather lot of effort. However, to be a good sport, on he went with the game.

"A newspaper!" Lavender beamed. "A hidden newspaper, one that the teachers couldn't read."

The air of listening in the room immediately jumped to one of intense interest. Softened by various privacy charms, little conversations began to spring across the room. Lavender tossed her hair proudly.

Looking up from the game of wizard's chess she was playing against Millicent, Susan cocked her head thoughtfully. "It would be charmed with secrecy spells, of course?"

Lavender grinned savagely. "The best in my repertoire."

"The entirety of Hogwarts would be informed of all they needed to know," Percy mused. Noticing how members of several courts had gathered around the couches, other Slytherin elite had also taken a place by the fire. Currently, Percy was sandwiched between Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague.

Come to think of it, Percy reflected, that was often the case with him…

On the couch opposite him, Fred gave a devilish smirk. "Or all they should know."

"I suppose this would be something to do," Celeste Yaxley, seventh year Queen of Slytherin, said. "If only to pass the time." She sent a searching look around the room, her narrowed eyes encouraging everyone who met them to hastily agree.

"Pulling something on Dumbledore is enticing," Terence Higgs put in. He couldn't help a disappointed frown when neither Weasley twin so much as glanced at him.

"A paper that would be a tell-all," Daphne added, grinning wickedly. "Expose exactly what our beloved headmaster is doing with our school."

All around her, the Slytherin Elite murmured agreement. Lavender grinned to herself. This discussion was going even better than she had thought it would!

Now, if she could just convince one of these rich kids to fund the project, they could really get started…

Uncaring that the Slytherin Elite was in deep conversation, Pansy Parkinson strutted up to the assembly. Dodging the various chairs and couches, she sidled up to Draco, who was doing his best to try and make Blaise laugh. Placing that day's copy of the Daily Prophet down in front of him, she grinned. "Hello, Drakie."

As one, the Slytherin Elite turned to eye the brash creature who had dared to approach them. Even before the arrival of the new, intimidating first year court, no one had just come up and intruded on an Elite conversation. It just wasn't done. Let alone addressing a Malfoy so familiarly, as though there was a contract between them.

With a few well-pointed glances, Celeste Yaxley signaled the elder courts to stand down. Let this be a test, she thought. If the first years can handle this satisfactorily, then we'll really know if their bite is equal to their bark.

Inwardly, Draco groaned. His first real break since his death and, of course, Parkinson was there to ruin it. Putting on his coldest expression, Draco didn't even bother to stand and greet her. "Parkinson," he acknowledged frigidly, "Please remove yourself at once. This is an Elite matter."

Anyone with an ounce of social grace would have taken that for the dismissal it was and left. However, even as he turned to draw Blaise back into conversation, Draco knew he wasn't that fortunate. Pansy, the ladder-climber she was, would never go down that easily. It would almost be a credit to her character if she weren't so fucking annoying.

"I'm sure," Pansy purred, "I just wanted to say how sorry I was about your parents' divorce." She placed a gentle hand on Draco's shoulder, her fingers curling into his skin. To anyone else, it would have seemed sympathetic. To Draco, it felt like an assault.

Beside him, Blaise made an enraged sound. Draco put a staying hand on his thigh. When people said Draco was the possessive one, they were right. However, they usually hadn't seen Blaise jealous, either.

"I mean, it must terrible, to watch them be so disgraceful," Pansy breathed, lips pouted, oblivious to the tension. "The Prophet did a nice job of dressing it up but anyone with eyes can see the truth."

Draco shrugged her off. In one seamless move, he rose to his feet and took a threatening step toward her. Pansy skittered back awkwardly, her eyes wide. Tilting his chin, Draco sneered. "And what might that be?"

"Well, that someone cheated, obviously," Pansy balked, "Not that I would ever think you would, Drakie—"

Draco's wand snapped out and silenced her.

Oh, shit, Millicent thought. Across the chessboard, Susan snarled and pulled out her own wand, keeping it just below the table. Swallowing, Millicent put on her most impressive scowl. Draco and Pansy's exchange obviously wasn't just a little tiff anymore.

Sending a covert glance to Susan, who gave her a tiny nod, Millicent cracked her knuckles. She was determined to help her new friends in any way they needed. She grinned. Especially if that meant getting Parkinson back for being such a bitch.

By this point, the Slytherin common room was entirely silent. Most glared icily or just stared at Pansy, horrified. She dare imply that the Malfoys, of all families, would be anything less than loyal to each other…? Was she insane? Everyone knew that House Malfoy valued three things: family, beauty, and cunning. Everyone also knew that, much like the dragons on their family crest, the Malfoys guarded those three things jealously. Accuse a Malfoy of betraying you, lying to you, or otherwise being awful, sure—their lawyers would prove you wrong, but it wasn't an insult. Accuse them of betraying their family… now, there was an action that could get you lost in the mashes, so to speak.

"You dare to presume," Draco hissed, "That you know me or mine?" Absently, he flicked a hand, gesturing for his court to stand down. He was pleased to see that they did so without hesitation, though their wands remained visible. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who would like to put Parkinson in her place. "Well?" he sneered. "Have you no defense? Or are you simply so weak that you cannot throw off a low-level silencer?"

Pansy's face was turning purple with the effort of trying to do just that. Typically, Pansy would have managed it easily. Like all Dark children, she had been taught that magic was simply a battle of wills. The strongest will won. She had been raised accordingly and never had her personality failed her. However, trying to fight Draco's magic was like trying to breathe underwater.

Behind her, Pansy could hear the first year court chuckling menacingly. Fighting the tears she could feel welling, she gave up battling the spell. Draco smirked at her.

"Just as I thought," he snickered, "A weak will to go with a weak mind." Abruptly, his expression turned cruel. He took a step closer to her and Pansy felt a cold chill run down her spine. Certainly, Draco had always been closed-off to her but never had his presence felt so dangerous.

Pansy felt a tear escape down her cheek. She'd known Draco for years, been in every playgroup with him, attended every function. Their families did business together, and it was no secret that her family hoped for a contract between she and Draco. Something is wrong here, she thought. Draco had always been a little mean, with a quick temper, but never had he been so controlled about it. She'd thought that she could simply needle him into a breakdown, then offer a consoling shoulder after she established dominance. That had been her mother's advice. What did I miss? She thought hastily, Oh, Merlin, what did I miss?

"I won't bother demanding an honor duel of you, Parkinson," Draco said, dragging her back to the present. "You are too pathetic to waste the magic on. Take it as a show of pity and crawl back to your hole. If I ever hear such an insult from your lips again, I will not be so kind." Turning on his heel, Draco released the spell.

As though someone had snapped the strings holding her bound, Pansy found that she had her voice back. She gasped, her face paling at his threat. "But, Draco!"

There were groans among the Elite. This girl just didn't learn.

Not bothering to turn back to her again, Draco instead sat back down. He lounged purposefully, as though Pansy were of no more notice to him than a particularly irritating fly. From the corner of his eye, he could see the elder Slytherin courts watching him approvingly. "Avoid speaking to me as well, Parkinson. I deal with you in class only because I have to, so please banish any thought that I would ever be involved with you otherwise." Pansy flinched at his words.

"Now, Draco, don't be mean," Susan giggled. "Pansy knows good and well that Malfoys value beauty." Susan's smile turned bloodthirsty. "So it must have crossed her mind that a Malfoy would never fall for someone so displeasing."

The ruling girls tittered approvingly. Celeste nodded once in Susan's direction. Just what she liked to see in her Princesses—an appreciation for the sweet and vicious.

Harry, whose tension had gone unnoticed in the clamor, fingered his wand and smiled. If this was how Parkinson saw fit to react to Lucius and Narcissa acting outside of social norms, he could only imagine what she would have to say about Remus. Best to nip her influence in the bud before she had the chance to have any. With a flick of his wand, Parkinson's hair puffed up like she had been electrocuted, her front teeth jutting forward cartoonishly. A curly pug tail pushed out from under her skirt.

Parkinson shrieked. Looking pleased with his handy-work, Harry joined the gales of laughter. On his left, Neville gave him a knowing look. Grinning innocently, Harry settled to enjoy the rest of the show.

Ron feigned a yawn as he eyed the transformed Pansy Parkinson. The minute he had seen the curly tail, he had known Harry was behind her makeover. Honestly, Ron was proud of Harry's restraint. The last time Harry had felt threatened, the three auror units in question had found themselves in pieces on the Ministry's front steps.

"Parkinson," Ron drawled, playing at being bored. "You have no reason to be still standing here. All of us are already embarrassed for you. Leave and try not to make it worse for yourself."

Daphne and Parvati giggled. "Too late!"

Sobbing and humiliated, Pansy turned on her heel and ran. The Elite watched her go, savoring their win, before turning back to the newspaper. With an approving glance at the first year court, Celeste offered to have her father fund them. Lavender smiled to herself as, so not to appear poor, other students also began throwing around their family names.

By the time the fire had a chance to grow low, Lavender Brown had founded a newspaper. Feeling more peaceful than perhaps she ever had, she accepted Daphne's hand up and returned her dorm. She had a letter to pen.

Whatever happened after that, well. Lavender was sure she would be prepared for it.

After all, what did she have to lose?

So, firstly: I am terribly sorry for how long this took. This chapter has been driving me crazy for the better part of two weeks. Absolutely ridiculous how long this thing took, and I still don't like it very much *glares at word document.* I was also supposed to fit the flying chapter in here, but timelines kicked my ass, so next chapter! Gah.

Moving on!

Reviewers, give yourselves a big round of applause! You people are bloody magnificent and the reason updates happen! I think I got back to all of you, but if I missed you know I adore you and am extremely appreciative!

Edited 8/13/2022

Sincerely,

BlackRoseGirl666