A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta spellmugwump97!

General Disclaimer: Did Harry sue Skeeter for libel? No? Guess I'm not Rowling then. Or making money from these writings or any lawsuits.


"Harry Potter thought he was an ordinary muggle boy—until he was rescued from his abusive relatives, taken to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, learned to play Quidditch, and did battle in a deadly duel. The reason? He was a wizard, the BOY-WHO-LIVED, and a tragic hero who strode the line between good and evil!

"A story of twisted adventures, dark pasts, and dangerous temptations: Mr. Potter's first year at Hogwarts was extraordinarily magical."

—Official summary of R. Skeeter's The Rise and Fall of Harry J. Potter.


Rita Skeeter smiled from posters fluttering all over Diagon Alley: on rooftops, doorhandles, banners waving from Daily Prophet's headquarters, to one stuck on the brick three up and two across from the dustbin in the back of The Leaky Cauldron. Tom had spent all morning trying to hex the last one off to no avail. The photo continued to smirk, wink, and point her poison green Quick-Quotes Quill down to the advertisement:


'The sensation sweeping the nation,

the first of Rita Skeeter's biographical series on the Man Who Conquered!

Victim or Villain?

Lion or Snake?

All secrets will be uncovered in:

The Rise and Fall of Harry J. Potter

Get your copy of Book One, The Sorcerer's Stone, NOW at Flourish and Blotts!'


Finally acknowledging the futility of his current occupation, Tom turned the screeching photo's hair neon pink and let it rest. For the rest of the week, the advertisement would be the focus of a surplus of curses and counter-curses as the restaurant's disgruntled patrons waged a silent war of Skeeter vs. Potter supporters—though all would scoop out their galleons and head to the nearest bookstore.

But, for this first day, barely the start of the oncoming storm could be felt. The average wizards merely noticed the posters and considered buying the biography in case it was a good read. Some witches and wizards, looking forward to new gossip, took to the stores in droves to get the crisp new hardcovers. A third group took to glaring at the advertisements (though Neville Longbottom and a few others felt it was more prudent to simply incendio the things), remembering Skeeter's smear campaign against the man with the lightning bolt scar. A good portion of this final group bought the book grudgingly and in trepidation. Oddly, these were the people most likely to be seen on this first day with their heads arched down, noses practically touching the page, snorting in disbelief but devouring chapter after chapter.

It was thus that Bill Weasley clumsily made his way down Diagon Alley. He had already bumped into two witches, a low-flying tawny owl, and a grumpy wizard who had carried bottles of potions ingredients. A part of him knew he should care that his robes were now covered with matted ice cream, sticky feathers, and dripping aconite fluid, but that and the echoing screams of annoyance barely registered. For his eyes were trained on the 'now-rather-dirty-but-still-legible' book, scanning line to line as his horror skyrocketed.

Bill tripped over a mewing goat, apologised to the cursing bearded owner without looking up, scooped the biography back into his hands, and hurried on with barely a pause. He flicked through the pages—already having scanned them—but stopped towards the end and backtracked in spotting a particularly insane passage:


"—as we have seen from the Mirror of Erised debacle, his heart's desire was for a family of his own. One who would hug rather than harm; sweetly reassure rather than shout and swear; kiss rather than attempt to kill.

Harry could feel the last of his emotions swelling within him, so much so that he could hardly breathe. A hope that he hadn't realised he still held blossomed out of hiding. So when You Know Who offered the return of his parents in exchange for an allegiance, there was only one answer the abused boy could make:

'…yes.'"


"That b—h." Bill stiffened before slamming the book shut. "Rubbish. Absolute rubbish."

A witch cackled as she passed the tall redhead. "First sign of madness? Talking to yourself, dearie."

Bill scowled at her back, then transferred the dark look to the accursed biography. The photo of Harry on the cover raised an eyebrow at this, though seemed to understand. The real man gave a humourless snort, swinging the book up to get a better view. "You're going crazy being on the cover, aren't you?"

Photo Harry sighed, his expression stating that Bill was an idiot for even having to ask.

"Figured as much." The wizard knew it was pointless to talk to a massively produced photo, as with each reprint less and less of the original person was copied. Still, even if this was just a silent shadow of his brother-in-law… "On a scale of one to ten," he said with forced nonchalance, strolling down the street and keeping an eye out for a particular (unmissable) store, "how pissed off will your real self be at Skeeter?"

The photo sent him an even more incredulous look, tossing his arms up in lieu of an answer.

"Yeah, I knew that." Bill nodded, not disagreeing and not really minding the stares he was getting for talking to a book (odd even in a magical community, for there were typically more interesting objects to chat to). "But what I want to know is how homicidal Harry will be. Ginny will definitely go on a rampage, but I'd rather not get in both of their ways. So. Murderous or no?"

Photo Harry gave a deep exhale, mouthing something Bill didn't catch. Realising this, the cover paused, thinking. With an impatient scowl, he ran a finger across his neck.

"Ah." Bill understood that one, though it made him fairly uneasy. He ignored a few giggling teenagers as they passed by. "Towards everyone or just Skee—no, wait, too hard to answer. How 'bout this: if Skeeter's the only one in danger, mime killing her."

Photo Harry simply stared at him, mouthing something with clear incredulousness. Bill blinked, not getting it at first. The photo sighed and repeated: 'Are you serious?'

"Very." Bill scratched the nape of his neck. "Especially now, since you aren't answering. S'not a good sign."

The photo continued staring in disbelief. But he then groaned, rolled his eyes, and mimed strangling someone. Stopping quickly, the pictured hero raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Only Skeeter then." Bill had to repress a chuckle at the ridiculous miming, though he was relieved at this assurance. "Sorry mate, but your real self's a mite scary riled up. I mean, not like the 'Dark Lord Potter' nonsense in here. Though that's a fair question. Do you know what's written in the book?"

The photo nodded reluctantly.

"Don't worry about it." Bill tried to sound reassuring. He knew it was a bit silly to try and cheer up a photo, but it was better than doing nothing. "Everyone knows this is trash. Like anyone would believe you secretly joined Voldemort! This won't be taken seriously. Not even the parts about…you know. About the Dursleys. Sure, it's more believable, and I have some questions about it, but…ah…"

If anything, photo Harry seemed more depressed as the statement went on. Rubbing his faded scar in a reflexive habit, the entire picture seemed to droop with his shoulders.

"That came out wrong." Bill felt a tug of guilt. Yet his spirits rose in seeing the colourful shop he'd been aiming for. He made a beeline for the door. "I only meant that real you doesn't mention them much. I'm sure Skeeter heard a humour about that and—oh shit!"

Bill automatically raised the book as a cartwheeling firework attacked him, not able to last a moment in his brother's shop without being attacked. As the startled man gingerly lowered the biography, the blindingly bright sparks disintegrated. Blinking to get rid of the light, he let out a soft curse of realisation and flipped the text around to look at the damage. The back cover was charred, and though the rest was undamaged the photo on the front seemed a bit shaken. "Sorry 'bout that. You okay?"

Photo Harry was regaining his balance, not looking considerably worse for wear. Straightening up he caught Bill's gaze and shrugged, as though saying he was fine with the book being damaged. The photo then pressed his lips together as a beam of epiphany lit his face. Talking excitedly, the actual wizard was quickly lost.

"Hold on there." Bill held up a hand to halt the silent exclamations. Glancing around he saw that other fireworks were exploding amongst the products and excited customers. Though chaotic and noisy, they weren't doing any damage, and he could hear George and his employees hollering as they raced about to contain the satisfied the shop wasn't about to explode, he turned back to the cover to find that the photo was impatiently tapping his foot. "Mouth it slowly. Or pretend it's charades and…"

Bill's statement dwindled off as Photo Harry made a ripping gesture with his hands, miming setting something on fire. The Weasley stalled, caught between confusion and repressing a snigger at the odd movements.

"You…want to set Skeeter on fire." Bill squinted at the exasperated photo, failing to decipher the message. He didn't pay much attention to the people racing back and forth, either to escape the madhouse or to 'play' with the sparking fireworks. "On a stake? Touch harsh. Only a touch, mind you."

Photo Harry let out an obvious, albeit silent shout of annoyance. Taking out his wand he magically drew words in the air, before rethinking the length of this and erasing it with a huff.

"You can do magic?" Bill all but gaped at the cover. He remained focussed on the photo as it conjured a small book and held it up with an unimpressed scowl. "Okay, ignoring that. But now you have a book. What—"

Photo Harry made a shushing motion. Gripping the miniature text he ripped its cover off. Tucking the front safely away, the rest of the book was hit with an incendio.

"Ah." Bill watched as the charred remains of the small book were vanished. He didn't pay attention to another group of people heading his way. "You want me to cut out your photo and destroy the book."

Photo Harry let out a silent whoop, happy to at last be understood.

"Yeah, no problem." Bill easily agreed. "Can't say I blame you."

"Bill!" George's exclamation interrupted them, and it was only then that Bill noticed that his brother and a younger man were swinging around a swelling crowd of customers near him. "Sorry 'bout that, you know how touchy fireworks ar—" skidding to a halt he properly caught sight of the slightly charred book, "—ah. Damn. You have it?"

"Who doesn't, but hold on a sec." Bill said, turning his attention back to the cover photo. "Like I was saying, no worries. I'll cut off the cover when there's no threat of attacking fireworks, alright?"

Photo Harry gave a cheery wave at this. George eyed them as his amusement and eyebrows rose.

"No more loose fireworks, and there's no explosions planned for at least an hour." George cut in nonchalantly, glancing around his store's once-again organised chaos. "More importantly: making friends with the biography? Adorable."

"It's a duplicated photo." Bill spun the book around to show him, not concerned that more than a few people were actively listening in. It wasn't like this was a particularly private conversation. "I was wondering how angry Harry would be, so I asked. Glad I did. Turns out the photo's pretty magical, understood a lot of what I said."

Photo Harry seemed affronted at this, turning to glare at the offending brother.

George chuckled. "Seems like you're understating it. Hi, mini-Harry! How idiotic is Bill being?"

The photo rolled his eyes, annoyance still brimming. He rapidly mouthed words…words that George easily followed.

"Uh huh, making you mime things, yeah, gotcha." George nodded along, sending smirks Bill's way every few moments. "Asked insensitive questions, jostled you around like a rogue broom, convinced your real self's going on a mass killing spree, attacked you with a firework…I hear you. To be fair, the last's partly my fault. Sorry about that; Euan accidentally let a few out." He gestured to the assistant standing a bit behind him, mainly still there because he was unapologetically listening in.

Photo Harry sighed before waving the apology off.

"Yeah, so," George then addressed Bill, "here's what I'm wondering. If you're going to go ahead and talk to a book, why didn't you read his lips?"

"I'm…uh…" Bill rubbed his head, not wanting to admit that he was being a bit lazy and that, mostly, it was just hilarious to see any version of Harry frantically miming, "…not great at that. He was talking too fast."

"Sure." George said without believing it, knowing how useful reading lips (and deciphering mix-moshed English) was at mealtimes in the Burrow. Setting this aside he just grabbed the book. With a quick cutting charm, the cover was separated from the rest. "Right then. Better, mate?"

It wasn't necessary to read lips to tell how thankful Photo Harry was. Nor was it difficult to realise that the photo was pointing at the rest of the book with a passionate desire to see it burn.

"Yeah, course…after I properly read it." Bill replied, putting the now protesting photo back on top of the biography (albeit remaining detached). Refocusing his attention on George, his expression grew serious. "About the actual book. I haven't been to see Harry or Ginny yet, thought I'd check with you or Ron first. How much of this rubbish is true?"

"Hold up. The other stuff was one thing, but here's not the best place to talk." George eyed the shoppers milling around them then turned to eye his blatantly listening assistant. "Euan, take over the front. I need to talk to my brother—and keep a better eye on the Fizzing Whiz-bangs, will you? Seems they don't like the glow-in-the-dark powder much."

"Right-o." Euan looked on curiously as the Weasleys, with the offending book, headed out to the workshop (past the (roaring, crowing, or hooting) customers, the overflowing shelves with bright and colourful goods, and a winding register where the cashiers were—for whatever undefinable reason—honeybadgers).

Entering the back room, the two Weasleys realised this area was even more filled with explosions than usual. Indeed, the noise levels almost rivalled that of the main shop. Even more impressive, most of this sound came from a single, ear-shattering argument:

"WHAT'RE YOU DOING?" Fred Weasley raged, watching the ruckus helplessly from the wall. Neither of the two occupants noticed George's and Bill's entrance. "YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE THE SHOP DOWN!"

Angelina Weasley jabbed the potion ladle furiously at the portrait. "IT'S CALLED ANGER MANAGEMENT!"

"ANGER MANAGEMENT?" Fred shouted back, watching with heightening panic as the explosions from the volatile potion destroyed precious products. "WHAT THE HELL ABO—" he caught sight of his brothers and gave a sigh of relief. "GEORGE, THANK MERLIN! YOUR WIFE'S GONE MAD!"

"YOU'RE ONE TO TALK!" Angelina shouted at the offending painting, tears glistening in her eyes.

"I NEVER THREW A BLOODY BOOK INTO AN EXPERIMENTAL POTION! ALMOST WRECKED THE DAMN PHOTO AS WELL!" Fred raised his painted arms in exasperation, so caught up in the argument that he only belatedly noticed his brothers' spinning into motion to take out the fires, explosives, and general noise and mayhem. The offending biography and detached photo was flung onto a table, joining another cover that had been not-as-neatly ripped off. The two Harries eyed the mayhem, shrugged at each other, and sat back to watch the chaos. "PICTURE RIGHTS, EVER HEARD OF THEM? COURSE NOT! SO LET'S JUST COMMIT PHOTO-CIDE WHILE BLOWING THE SHOP UP! OF ALL THE STUPID, MORON—ah." The portrait's statement trailed off as he noticed he was shouting into a no longer noise-filled room. "Right, well then. That's better. But Angie, you're still mental."

Angelina just growled, crossing her arms and glaring at the vanished potion as though it'd done her a personal wrong.

"You're back from Hogsmeade?" George said as he cautiously approached his steaming wife. "I guess you've skimmed it."

"What was your first guess!" Angelina looked up angrily. "How dare that, that person say those things about Harry. What has he ever done to her?"

"New rumours or something?" Fred piped in curiously, a bit behind on the news. Though he still sent disbelieving groans at Angelina. "That's what the book's about?"

"Rita Skeeter wrote a biography about him." Bill told him simply, wanting answers himself. "Lots of details and, y'know, scandals."

"Scandals? Scandals?" Angelina cried out. "Skeeter claims he was abused!"

Silence blanketed the room after her outburst.

"What?" Fred said, eyes widening as he met his twin's gaze with a bit of horror. The two Harries also glanced at each other, biting their lips and gesturing. "Hell, the bars."

"Bars?" Bill suspiciously eyed the portrait. The photos were forgotten. But seeing as neither were likely to communicate an answer, this was perhaps for the best.

"Yeah, I know." George said shortly, ignoring the questioning looks Bill and Angelina sent him. "It was the first thing I thought of."

Fred looked a bit sick, pacing up and down his painting. "Then why didn't he tell us? What about Ron and Hermione? Ginny?"

"How am I supposed to know!" George said, his exasperation showing through. "I'd guess they know, but then again, it's Harry we're talking about."

"What are you talking about?" Angelina's eyes narrowed at the implications. "Don't tell me you actually believe Skeeter's rubbish. It's cruel libel."

Her husband hesitated. "What she says about his adventures are—generally—accurate. Really roughly, mind you."

"That doesn't mean anything." Bill cut in. "Everything's been exaggerated. Last I heard, Quirrel didn't leave a trail of dead students in his wake and Harry never had ambitions to be a Dark Lord."

One of the Harry photos stifled a snigger while the other dropped his head into his hands.

"There is that." George answered with a partly amused groan, not noticing the photos. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to believe it. But I keep thinking back to things that happened. Honestly? Some of Skeeter's remarks makes sense. Emphasis on 'some'."

Angelina twitched. "What things that happened?"

"What bars?" Bill asked again. Fred and George, though not looking at each other, shared the same apprehensive expression.

"Summer before the Chamber of Secrets fiasco," Fred said slowly, "Ron, George, and I rescued Harry from his relatives."

"Wait," Bill waved his hand to stop him, gawking disbelievingly, "you three actually flew dad's car to Surrey? Merlin's left toe, I thought that was fake!"

Fred looked at Bill in surprise until George muttered, "It was mentioned as a sneak peek for the second biography. A few pages at the end."

"The car doesn't matter." Angelina stepped in swiftly, sending her husband a piercing look. "Don't tell me you found Harry locked in his room, bars on his window, school supplies locked in that broom cupboard, starved with a broken arm and leg, AND DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING?"

"We did say something! Wait—hold on, no, what? That's not what happened." George protested while Fred mumbled 'Broom cupboard? Why's Angie upset at a cupboard?' "He didn't have any broken bones and he was skinny, not starved! Still, it was pretty unreal with the bars and all. We told mum about it but she didn't believe us."

"YOU SHOULD HAVE TRIED HARDER!" Angelina yelled, before her eyes widened in true realisation. Her shout turned into whispered shock. "It's true. Flying harpies. It's, it's all true."

George, ignoring the potential danger, wrapped his wife in a half-hug. "Come on Ang, don't cry. Not all of it's true. It's fine."

"But at least parts of it are real?" Bill looked around at the others, feeling useless amidst a growing apprehension. "Can't believe Harry didn't say anything. Though look, what about now? What are we supposed to do? This book's already popular."

"Dunno. Mum mentioned Hermione sent Ron into the line of fire. In-between her crying about, 'That poor boy, no wonder he was so shy!'" George said with a hint of amusement. Still, he had yet to let go of the upset Angelina. "My guess? Harry's trying to stop Ginny from committing homicide. So maybe we should avoid Godric's Hollow for a bit and then figure out what's what."

"Going to Privet Drive sounds good." Angelina said harshly through her hiccoughs.

Bill pulled a hand through his hair, tempted to grab his wand and follow his sister-in-law's suggestion. But he finally sighed. "It'd be pointless. Harry mentioned once that his relatives' house is under a protective ward. Don't know what possessed him to put it up, but knowing him we won't be able to easily break it. We could head to the Burrow? Fleur's there with mum, dad, and the kids. I know Percy and Audrey were going over as well, and maybe Andromeda and Teddy."

The floo suddenly lit up and Ron tumbled out, putting an end to this line of conversation. He looked around madly.

"Have you seen Harry or Ginny?" Ron said quickly, an edge of desperation in his tone. "I've tried Godric's Hollow, Grimmauld Place, the Burrow—"

"Slow down." Fred interrupted, still getting his head around what was happening. "You're trying to find them for the book?"

Throwing himself onto a chair by the potions-splattered table, Ron let out a loud groan. "Hermione found out about Skeeter's new text and sent me to warn Harry." He paused when there were no more questions flung at him. Fred's words then caught up to him. "Hold on. All of you know about it?"

"Everyone knows." Angelina rubbed her eyes, getting a handle on herself. "It's all over Hogsmeade, Diagon, and who knows where else. I've only had a chance to skim it, but it's… it's…"

Ron glanced at the covers apprehensively. "I've been racing around, haven't had a chance to look at it. But Hermione said Skeeter talks about the Dursl—"

"Don't say that name." His sister-in-law said steely. "If half these things are true, they'd better be chucked in Azkaban!"

"It's that bad?" Ron said weakly. "Even if it's not true, this will be a nightmare to deal with."

Bill shook his head. "Main problem here. Do we know if Harry and Ginny have heard about this?"

"Probably not." George shrugged. "Ginny mentioned they both had long weekends and were taking the kids off somewhere. I'd thought they might still be home, or that Hermione had a way to contact them."

"Apparently she doesn't." Bill tapped his hand on the table in thought. "So we have no idea where they are and they're going to explode when they hear about this?"

"Sounds right." George looked at the book, contemplating the very many ways he could creatively destroy it. "Floo's out, apparation's out, Kreacher's still annoyed about the flaming hinkypuff incident…"

"George, shut up." Fred said from the wall, his attention on the two photos. He gestured towards their waving figures. "They're trying to say something."

For a few seconds Ron had no idea who he was referring to. But in stepping forward, he eyed the cover photographs of Harry in dawning, uncertain realisation. "Really? Are they magical enough to—"

One of the Harries made a shushing motion, putting a finger in front of his mouth. He then pointed at the other cover. This second Harry had already drawn his wand. After a flick and a silent spell, a silver stag appeared.

Ron's jaw dropped at the unimpressed photos. He then groaned, smacking his forehead. "A Patronus message. Of freaking course. I could've been done ages ago—Expecto patronum!"

A silver Jack Terrier swirled out from Ron's wand. He knelt down to speak to it. "Harry! I need you, Ginny, and the boys to come to Diagon Alley's WWW right now. Drop everything and come here! Everyone's safe but we have a situation. Don't go anywhere else first! Come straight to the back room. Oh, and take away my sister's wand. Keep her away from any weapons or pointy things, too. Trust me on that. Cheers. Hurry up!"

The Harries glanced at each other, raising identical eyebrows as the Patronuses faded from existence or raced away. Scandals or no, they couldn't believe Ron was so distracted that he was risking Ginny's wrath.


The floo flared up and four figures clumsily got out.

"HI HI!" The toddler shot out of his father's arms, jumping excitedly over to his uncles and aunt. A toy hippogriff was flung about as the young boy happily made it 'fly' around.

"Jamie's fond of his new word." Harry chuckled weakly, helping his wife with the baby as she found her balance. "At least it isn't a curse. Now, what's going on?"

"What I'm interested in," Ginny growled at her siblings as she held Albus to her tightly, "is why you interrupted our break when I finally got Harry away from work. Or what possessed you to try and get him to nab my wand!"

Ron took an involuntary step backwards at his sister's glare. "Ah. You heard that?"

"Of course I heard it!" She exclaimed. "We were in the same room. How could I have bloody well not heard it!"

"Ginny, language?" Harry said amusedly, even while he noticed his siblings-in-law's depressed expressions. His smile became a tinge forced, yet still more curious than apprehensive.

"Shut it." Ginny said simply, before noticing her toddler had wandered off. "Jamie, don't touch anything. Who knows what might explode?"

"'s fine." Jamie said. Three adults and a portrait realised too late that the young boy had put his Potter and Weasley genes to good use by finding the most explosive thing in the room. "'s da da. Two da das. Hi hi!"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a fondly bemused glance. The Weasleys became horrified and all who could hurriedly backed away, not needing Divination to foretell the impending chaos. Fred, wholly unembarrassed, darted behind the frame of his portrait.

"Munchkin, those are books." Harry said, walking over as the hippogriff butted against the covers. "I'm da da—oh. Oh damn."

The photos of Harry shrugged, looking up apologetically. But most of their attention was spent making funny faces at the delighted little boy.

"Language." His wife said with a roll of her eyes, this being a common enough reminder on both sides that neither felt it hypocritical.

Harry was so busy staring at the biography covers that he was even less concerned about a swear than usual. "Gin? How about you give Al to someone else for a sec."

"What? Why…" Ginny began to protest, but Angelina had already taken the baby in her arms (and quickly retreated back a safe distance). Mrs. Potter blinked in astonishment, not sure what had just happened but knowing she wasn't going to like this, "what's going on?"

Harry sent another look at the covers before, leaving the photos to amuse Jamie, took the biography itself and turned to the back to read the blurb. His expression darkened with each passing line, until he finally closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. "I guess Skeeter's back in Britain."

"What was your first clue?" George said drily. Harry reopened his eyes to stare at his siblings-in-law with sudden understanding.

"That's why you're upset." He spotted the tears on Angelina's cheeks and bit back a groan. "Alright, who's read it?"

Four of the Weasleys raised their hands, momentarily acting as though they were back at school. Fred sauntered out from behind the frame to shrug, still out of the loop.

"Hermione found out this morning." Ron spoke up hesitantly, acting as though his best friend had been transfigured into an Erumpent Horn. "By this point, I think everyone in the family's skimmed it—'cept me, since I've been running around trying to warn you lot."

"What am I, the next-door neighbour?" Fred muttered, flinging his painted arms up. Ron sent him an apologetic glance.

"Most of Wizarding Britain must know about it by now. It's a miracle you haven't heard." Bill awkwardly explained, also with an air of apology as though his knowledge made him guilty.

"I was in Hogsmeade when I found out." Angelina adjusted her hold on the youngest Potter. "It was all over the Prophet. The whole village was abuzz."

"I'm pretty sure the other aurors were hiding it from me this morning." Ron grumbled before paling. "That'd explain the looks, I must be in it too! Blimey, if Skeeter included the wingardium leviosa bit…"

"Harry," Ginny said with narrowed eyes, sending quick glares at her siblings and sister-in-law for good measure. She'd only followed parts of this, and was torn between paying attention to the 'mystery', or to the photos of her husband on detached book covers that were silently distracting Jamie, "what's going on? Please tell me that book isn't written by Rita Skeeter. Are those magical photos of you? Are they, are they sentient?"

"Err," Harry hesitated, silently pleading with the others to help, "I'm assuming they ripped the photos off. Maybe sentient? It looks like they're on the covers of Skeeter's…new biography about me."

"That bug!" Ginny exclaimed. "What rubbish has she written this time?"

"Wha'?" Jamie tilted his head, only understanding enough to know his parents were upset. He glanced down at the photos but they seemed uneasy with even attempting to answer. A look was then given to his hippogriff, but the stuffed animal was likewise clueless.

"It's sort of accurate overall, but the details I know about are all wrong." George spoke up. "She's only covered Harry's first year at Hogwarts so far."

"Seven books." Ron held up his fingers, whether to denote the number or to calm an imminent explosion was anyone's guess. "She's planning seven books, each one covering a year at Hogwarts. Hermione's already trying to shut them down, so they shouldn't be a problem."

Ginny let out a curse quiet enough that the puzzled Jamie couldn't hear it. The little boy was back to being distracted, anyway, as he was now giggling as the Harry photos conjured up differently shaped and coloured bubbles in their covers.

"Maybe, except for this one." Bill spoke up drily, sending a pointed look at Harry as the latter became more irritated by each piece of news. "Skeeter makes a lot of accusations. Most are nonsense—about you going dark, hidden killings, what have you—but there's one thing everyone wants to know about." He at last hesitated, knowing how potentially delicate this line of questioning would be. "Since Ron and Hermione didn't know about the Dursleys…"

A flush swept over Harry's face at the last words, his eyes widening in surprise. As he opened his mouth to either confirm or deny, Ginny snatched the book before anyone could stop her. She stole a quick glance at the title page before, like her husband, immediately moved to the back summary. Her expression didn't change as she mouthed the words.

The entire room grew still around her…until she flung the book to the ground with a thud. She spun to meet her husband's gaze. Without needing to say a word, his unsettled expression was all the answer to the silent question that she needed. Loosely hugging her belly, her gaze darted about to assure herself that both of her sons were safe. Everyone—even the photographic Harries—had paused to watch her.

Ginny again locked her ashen gaze with Harry's far more reluctant one. Her mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the words. "Is it, is it true?"

"About the Dursleys?" Harry's eyes widened as he rapidly shook his head, echoing Ron by making a pacifying waving gesture. "No, course not. Skeeter's making up a story."

"A story." Ginny stepped up close to him as he shifted his eyes away. Her tone remained soft but stubborn, her demeanour only becoming more porcelain. "Is any part of this true?"

It was Harry's turn to stumble for words. He kept his gaze locked on his puzzled son. "I, I haven't read the thing."

"Harry." Ron gritted out, frustration apparent amongst his worry.

"We've never gotten along." Harry at last sighed, arms falling to his sides. "Mutual irritation towards each other. It's not that complicated." He wrenched his gaze away from his wife to meet the stares of his family, mouth quirking up in black humour. "You said this is all over Britain? Fantastic. Bloody brilliant. Almost surprised Skeeter didn't publish something like this before."

"'Irritation'?" George spoke up in slight disbelief. "You can't stand your aunt and uncle."

Harry fidgeted, not able to deny this. "We don't get along. Dudley's alright, and he—"

"You hate them, they were awful to you." Ron cut in, staring at him with a rare sense of perception. His brow scrunched up. "Harry, is some of what Skeeter wrote true?"

"I don't know what she's claiming!" Harry exclaimed. He remained focussed on Jamie, who was back to clapping his hands as the photographs made funny faces. "Yeah, alright. Fine. They hated me and I hated them. Happy? If Skeeter said that, she's right."

"Hating you and, and abusing you," Bill said in a sickened, quiet voice, "are two different things."

"I wasn't abused!" Was the immediate answer as Harry angrily turned to his brother-in-law. "Skeeter must have exaggerated things. But for the last time, I haven't read the book! My childhood wasn't wonderful, sure, but it wasn't horrific. It wasn't 'abuse' or whatever the he—" he shifted words, considering his impressionable son's presence (distracted or no), "—heck you're on about."

"Really?" George voice raised in annoyance. "So that means you weren't locked in a broom cupboard, repeatedly starved, treated like a House Elf, given 'interesting' nicknames, bullied by your cousin, or got used to hiding broken bones and bruises as a kid? What about the bars and locks on your bedroom second year?"

The photos paused, giving identical winces. Thankfully, no one noticed this but a puzzled Jamie.

The real Harry's reaction was harsher. Head jerking up, he stared at George. Shock and doubt filtered over his expression, making all those watching cringe from the implications. When he finally spoke his words were soft and disbelieving. "What did you say?"

"Just repeating what Skeeter wrote." George's arms remained crossed, though his irritation had become diluted in seeing his brother-in-law's reaction.

"She wrote that?" Harry said numbly, gaze shifting down to the book. But he then realised what he was implying and whipped his head back up, flinging his hands out. "No, no! What you said, some of it's true—but not really! There were no 'broken bones and bruises', least not like you said it. No 'starvation' either! Missing a few meals, that was it, and I had some chores around the house. It was normal! It wasn't a big deal!"

"So for setting a snake on your cousin," George said bluntly, not taking his gaze off of the bewildered Harry, "you're saying your bloated walrus of an uncle didn't beat you then lock you in 'your cupboard' for a week? All while starving you?"

One could have heard a pin drop.

The only sounds were Jamie's giggling at the photos, and Al's sleepy murmurs in Angelina's clenched arms.

"Excuse me?" Ginny's eyes narrowed at George, her husband too shocked to respond.

"Yeah, what?" Ron's gaze tugged between an unapologetic George and a gaping Harry. "The fuc—oh shit, Jamie's here. I mean, oh damn, Jamie's….screw this. Harry, George: what the hell?"

"Putting aside the uncle bit," Fred called out from the wall, painted features scrunching in confusion, "you set a snake on your cousin? Hah! Brilliant, wish I could've seen that."

"It wasn't on purpose." Ron automatically corrected before Harry could, knowing at least part of this story. He still watched his stunned best friend. "That was parseltongue and accidental magic. Back to your uncle?"

"No wait, hold on." Bill stepped forward. "The boa constrictor bit was true? I thought Skeeter had for sure made up that entire—"

"Why are you talking about the snake!" Angelina cried out, glaring around at them before her pitying gaze met her still-frozen brother-in-law. It seemed as though the words had been struggling to burst out of her, and she partly awoke the half-slumbering baby in her arms with her raised voice. "Harry, I'm so sorry! What those monsters did to you is horrendous. No wonder you set a snake on them, I want to do far more!"

"He accidentally released the snake." Ron repeated, eyebrows narrowing at Harry's continued silence. "Think so, at least. It was like the thing with blowing up your aunt? Which, hold up, what's the full story behind that one?"

"You blew up your—"

"SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON!" Ginny cried, spinning around to each of them in turn. Jamie looked up at the shout, thumb in his mouth and beyond confused. She froze in noticing this and hearing Al's fuzzy cry in being jerked awake. Murmuring a small curse at her forgetfulness, she took her baby back from Angelina to calm him down. Though she continued in her line of questioning, it was in a far quieter and calmer voice. "Harry, tell me what they're on about."

"That…that didn't happen." Harry at last spoke, Ginny's frustration pulling him out of his shock. He slowly looked at each of his relatives, voice tight. "Yes, I accidentally vanished the glass on a snake's cage. Long story, but it didn't attack Dudley. My aunt was terrified and my uncle was furious, and he made an empty threat that he'd lock me up for weeks. An empty threat, got it? I only missed dinner and the cupboard was unlocked, like always." He paused, as though not believing he had to say the next part. "My uncle never laid a hand on me. He wasn't…pleasant…but I wasn't abused! Do I have to spell this out?"

"What. Cupboard?" Ginny said just as tightly as her husband, expression scrunching further at the winces this produced from around the room. She rocked Al as he quieted, holding him close to her chest.

"Good question." Ron and Fred nodded in agreement. Jamie also nodded, confused about all of this. But, with no answers forthcoming, the little boy went back to playing a game where the photos of his dad sent out sparks of light within the covers. The toy hippogriff merrily hopped around.

Bill, George, and Angelina exchanged a look, none of them wanting to answer about the cupboard. So it was that the man of the hour sighed and took another not-so-proverbial bullet.

"A cupboard under the stairs was my bedroom growing up." Harry stated thickly, not meeting their gazes. Frustration wove around his tone. "That's in the book as well? Brilliant. Just brilliant!" He shoved his glasses up, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know how she found out, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't."

"HOW DOES THIS NOT MATTER?" Angelina cried out, finally losing it and pouncing over to a stupefied Harry's shoulder. "I should have noticed! Bloody well saw you enough at Quidditch. But I never, ever thought it'd be too much for an eleven year old. But then with seeking and Wood's insanity on top of that…and the Mirror of Erised! Was that really the first time you saw your parents? You poor thing!"

"Seeking? The Mirr—'poor thing'?" Harry mouthed in bewilderment. Yet he awkwardly patted his sister-in-law's back as she cried. "Angie, calm down. Are you telling me Skeeter wrote about the Mirror…you know what, never mind. It wasn't that bad, it really wasn't. But I've always loved Quidditch! I mean, come on, it's Quidditch. What's the problem?"

"WE PRESSURED YOU TOO MUCH!" Angelina continued to sob, tightening her grip around the perturbed Wizarding Saviour. Al, hearing this new shout, protested over his mum's reassuring coos. "The hero, the Quidditch prodigy, no one ever noticed you! Everyone overlooked that you were an orphan, that you were too skinny, that you didn't care about your health, or that Dumbledore was a manipulative old coot! For all I know there was clear evidence of physical abuse!"

"Are you kidding me?" Harry gritted out, jerking back to free himself from the hug. His gaze darted around with a dumbfounded yet angry expression. "For the last bloody time, there wasn't any abuse! But what's this about Dumbledore and, again, what's wrong with Quidditch?"

"Da da?" Jamie focused on his dad's raised voice, distracted from the game. Said father sighed and cooled his temper. Picking his son up, he sent a strained yet grateful look at the helpful photos.

"Everything's fine." Harry gave a forced smile as he bounced the delighted boy up and down. He snuck a quick glare at his relatives. "We've just gotten some bad news. More than that, your aunt and uncles are being idiots."

"I'iots!" Jamie exclaimed, much happier now that he'd learned a new word and could play with his real dad's glasses. The older wizard, as his son busily tried to poke him in the eye, returned to frowning at the rest of his family.

"Nothing like that happened. Do you hear me?" Harry said firmly, leaving no room for argument. He plucked his glasses back from Jamie before setting him down and conjuring some colourful bubbles for the boy to gleefully pop. "Skeeter's looking for controversy where there's none. The Dursleys weren't nice but they were nowhere near that bad. I don't know what's in the rest of this book, but I'd bet anything it's nonsense as well. That's that. Stop overreacting."

Angelina continued glaring at him. She also, paradoxically or not, seemed moments from pouncing him with another hug.

"Don't mind Angie." George broke into the tense silence, trying to insert some humour into the situation. "Her hormones have been acting up lately and, wait. Bugger. Is this your way of telling me you're pregnant?"

Thus defusing the conversation, the others watched or chuckled while Angelina unceremoniously attacked her husband. Jamie looked up at the disruption but, seeing regular adult insanity, returned to bursting the brightly coloured and sparkling bubbles. The photos exchanged a relieved look, happy for a return to what this family called normality.

The real Harry had likewise just begun to relax, when he caught sight of his oddly silent wife's unconvinced stare.


A/N: Yes, I made Fred a portrait. It had to be done.

So it's perfectly clear, this fic's backstory is wholly canon. This means no crazy physical abuse, no evil Dumbledore, no Dark Lord Potter, and no bashing of any 'good' characters. The Weasleys are just worried that Skeeter might be telling the truth, and Harry's in denial that neglect and emotional/verbal abuse counts as abuse when it's applied to himself.

The last bit's one of my pet peeves with a lot of fanfics, because there's no need to exaggerate how terrible the Dursleys were to Harry. Fics taking the physical abuse to an extreme (not to mention adding in sexual abuse or making Harry crack under the pressure) almost downplay how horrible the events portrayed in canon really are. The Dursleys tried their best to shun Harry into a dark corner, stamp out his happiness and magic, keep his past from him, make him feel like a burden, and drive away any who could help him. Even without the bullying, attacking dogs, thrown kitchen pans, starvation, and the cupboard under the stairs—if child services had been notified, the Dursleys would have gone straight to gaol. So, sure, canon more than hinted at physical abuse. But I think debating that is rather beside the point. Words, after all, can leave more scars than stones.