Sorry this one took so long! I've had to study for exams so the writing had to come to a halt. I had so much fun writing this chapter, especially with the Hermione/Skeeter exchange. Siriusly, I'm so in love with Hermione! Okay, without any more ramblings, enjoy! Again, reviews would be very much appreciated. :)
After the funeral, George returned to his usual self; pranks, his running footsteps and Mrs Weasley's bellows once again filled The Burrow. Harry, Hermione and Ron, however, became more and more anxious as the date of their interview with The Daily Prophet neared.
They'd gone through it over and over again: Harry was to start with telling the truth about Snape and the other two will follow in their confirmation and input about Snape's character, especially his contribution towards the Order. Then, they were going to suggest a list of people who the Prophet can approach to retrieve extra information, namely the members of the Order. It was a good plan, one that was revised countless times by Hermione's cold logic and yawned over by Ron. Nevertheless, they all became increasingly nervous as Thursday neared.
The time of the interview was at ten o'clock in the morning, and it was to be conducted in the Fortescue café. Harry and Hermione had both objected to holding the interview in The Burrow, fearing that the reporters would find reasons to conjure untrue stories using The Burrow as their stimulus material. Instead, they decided on Fortescue café, formerly Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, which was reopened by Mr Fortescue's niece, Flora Fortescue. Harry told Hermione that it reminded him of the first time he went to Diagon Alley. Hermione had smiled, silently revelling in the symbolism of it all.
Going back to where it all started.
Hermione remembered her first trip to Diagon Alley. Her parents had been terrified of yet captivated by the moving bricks and the crowd of pointy hats and swishing robes. She had visited the richly decorated and highly attractive ice cream parlour of Florean Fortescue's, and had pored over her first copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, while holding an autumn-flavoured ice cream. She remembered asking Mr Fortescue what autumn-flavoured meant; he replied: "It's whatever autumn tastes like to you, lil' miss." She remembered how her parents threw the old man curious yet slightly perplexed glances, not quite sure whether to be fascinated or frightened by the old wizard.
For the past few days, it seemed as though every little memory would remind her of her parents. The socks that her mum made her for her first Hogwarts Christmas, the necklace that her father bought her for the Yule Ball, the beaded bag they bought her in the summer of her sixth year. Their absence haunted her, robbing her of a piece of herself everytime she was reminded of them. She desperately wanted to share with Harry and Ron her troubles, but she knew that when she did, she'd have to also tell them her fears about something going wrong with the memory alteration. She was nowhere near ready to say that out loud, because it was as if that idea would begin to exist as soon as she said it out loud. So, she decided to push those thoughts away, keep her thoughts silent and prepare for the upcoming interview.
Before long, Thursday arrived. It was very early in the morning, before the sun decided to peek over the horizon. Hermione lay wide awake in her bed, not able to fall asleep again. Anxiety levels were escalating exponentially, and she decided to drink some warm milk to calm herself down. Now that she was back in Bill's room, she didn't have to worry about waking Ginny by walking across the bedroom floor.
With a warm cup of milk in her hands, she stepped out into the grass, feeling cold, still air envelope her. Usually, the strange mixture of warm milk and cold air would help her regain her calm mind and logic, but not today. Today, faced with perhaps one of the most important interviews she would sit in her life, there seemed to be no remedy for her fluttering stomach.
"I think flying would do the trick," came Ron's voice, softly yet firmly, from behind her. She turned around and saw that he, too, was still in his pyjamas, obviously sleepless.
"Can't sleep, eh?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "Me too. Bloody hell, I wish we could just shove the memory at them and tell them to read it themselves... Yes yes, I know, they would misinterpret it either unintentionally or deliberately and then write a huge fancy emotional story about how greasy Snape the Underdog fell madly in love with Lily Evans, the beautifully talented witch, who was swept away by James Potter the Mischievous Great. Merlin's underpants, Hermione, you didn't have to give me that glare." She kicked him lightly on the foot, yet silently glad that he was finally fully back to his usual self. Truth was, sometimes she felt the same way too. It would have been so much easier if they'd just give the reporters the memory; but she knew that it was wrong. Snape had intended for Harry, and Harry alone, to see that memory; no one else should access the details of his memories without his consent. So all they could do was help circulate the truth to the wizarding community and hope to do justice to his sacrifices.
The troublesome thoughts began to plague her mind once more, making her fidgety. Ron, seemed to have notice this, for he took hold of her free hand and led her to the broomstick cupboard. He grabbed two brooms and held one in front of her, gesturing for her to take it. Violently shaking her head, Hermione backed a step, the milk in her hand threatening to spill. "Hermione, come on. You'll be safe. These brooms may be old, but they're reliable. It's the new ones that you have to watch out for throwing tantrums."
"Ron, you know I don't fly."
"Blimey Hermione, you have no idea how great it is! Once you're in the air, it feels… it feels like you're free. Free from everyone's expectations, free from shadows, free from the bloody world and its responsibilities. Come on, just give it a try."
"No."
"How about if you sit in front of me and we'll fly together? That way, if you panic, I can take over." Hermione looked hopeful at this idea, but still terrified.
"If I fall off the broom, I'll make you noseless like Voldemort." Ron laughed at this, put her milk on the ground and pulled her on to the broom, seating himself behind her.
"Fair enough."
The first five minutes were sheer torture. She'd never been fond of heights, but now supported by nothing by a broomstick and forty feet above the ground, she was terrified. It felt as though all her insides had shrunk and were shaking, the way she felt her tummy muscles twitch. Ron was oblivious to her pain, thinking her scrunched up face merely a sign of nervousness. He was, of course, the one handling the broom; Hermione's attention was completely focused on staying alive. She secretly cursed as Ron threw cheers into the air, completely immersed in the ecstasy of flight. If she could, she would have pinched his arm; but she didn't dare lift her fingers from the broomstick.
At last, Ron seemed to realise that he was the only one enjoying the flight and he turned his attention to the shivering being in front of him. "Hermione, are you alright?"
"Ronald Weasley, do I look like I'm alright? We're fifty feet off the ground with nothing but a broomstick supporting us!" replied Hermione through gritted teeth.
"Oh loosen up! I told you, these old brooms are reliable. When Charlie, Bill and dad took the other three, Fred and George had to share this one and it never failed them." In the midst of her fear, Hermione noticed that this was the first time Ron had mentioned Fred's name without hesitation, wincing or a pause. Ron seemed to have noticed too, for he became silent. Wanting to break the silence, he removed his left hand from the broom and encircled Hermione's waist with it. Then, he placed his right hand over Hermione's hands, now white from gripping too tightly. "Deep breath, Hermione," he whispered beside her ear.
She felt a chill running over her that had nothing to do with the morning air. Taking a deep breath, she let herself fall back into Ron's chest. Her pounding heart calmed and she breathed a little easier; the height didn't seem so frightening now. Feeling a slight pressure on her hands, she felt Ron directing the broom with her hands, and she felt a stream of warmth coursing from her core, through her fingertips and on to the broom.
She was flying! For the first time in her life, she was actually controlling a broom. She had been so annoyed that she wasn't doing well in flying classes in first year that she dropped it as soon as possible. Now, she was flying. She felt the wind glide over her face, the strange sensation of changing altitudes and the pure joy derived from speed. "It's bloody brilliant, isn't it?" asked Ron. She nodded. She could only nod.
As the sun rose, they decided to return to the ground. Descending, Ron threw the broom aside and pulled at Hermione's hand, running towards the top of the small hill. They laughed with the wind, with the singing of the ghoul-turned-mockingbird, with the sunrise. Then, collapsing onto the grassy hill, their hands locked in each other's, they let the sun wash over them. Contentment welled within them, warming them in the core.
"It's nice like this, isn't it?" – without Voldemort, without fear, without Death Eaters, without death, without worry. Hermione left those words unsaid, because she knew that he understood. He said nothing, but turned his head and buried it in her hair. She felt him breathe his reply into her hair, smiling at the feel of his breath against her hair, her skin. She felt alive. In less than three hours, they were to tell the story of a dead hero to the world; but right now, she was part of a living story. Submerged in a sea of gratitude, she squeezed his hand and turned her head to face him. The blue of his eyes seemed to pierce through her, quickening the beat of the mass inside her chest. They both smiled, no Horcrux to cloud the clarity of their feelings, no imminent death to render this an act of desperation. It was just pure contentment and happiness, and the gratitude that it was simply that.
When the morning dew began to seep into their clothes, they finally decided to rise from the ground and head back into the house. Once inside, they lost no time in noticing that Harry and Ginny sat in the living room, the latter's head resting on the former's shoulder and their fingers entwined. Hermione gave him a little pinch in the palm when Ron growled at the sight of his little sister and his best friend. Hearing this, Harry turned around and, together with Ginny, rose to see their friends. Asked whether he was alright, Ron merely mumbled, "Just hungry, 'is all."
Sensing the apprehension the three had for the looming interview, Ginny voluntarily stepped into the kitchen to make breakfast. After a quarter of an hour, Ginny stormed out of the kitchen with a heavy smell of burnt pancakes and snarled for Hermione to go into the kitchen with her. Suppressing a laugh, Hermione followed. Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were much more public with their amusement. When at last the pancakes were ready, it was already nine o'clock.
Hermione, thanks to the cooking, did not have time to fidget. Ron, on the other hand, displayed every sign of anxiety; Harry simply looked annoyed. Mrs Weasley, by this time, had already gotten out of bed; she was, however, refused entry into the kitchen by her daughter and was told to remain outside her usual territory until the pancakes were done. Despite Mrs Weasley's bellows and constant attempts to enter, Hermione's shield charm proved effective. Eventually, Hermione had had to cast a shield charm around Ginny as a precaution before they left the kitchen, for Mrs Weasley looked ready to curse. When it was sure that Mrs Weasley would not leave the kitchen any time soon, Hermione dropped the shield charm and joined the others for breakfast.
They revised their plan, and ran through again the list of details that should not be revealed to The Prophet, such as the specific events of conflict between James Potter and Snape. When these preparations were completed, they got dressed and disapparated to Diagon Alley.
They apparated just beside the entrance that led from Leaky Cauldron. Fortescue Café was just up the hill, a few shops before Gringotts. Since they were quarter of an hour early, they decided to stroll on the busy street, reliving their childhoods. All the shops were up and running again: Madam Malkin's was decorated with beautiful travelling robes that waved to passers-by, Amanuensis Quills was still much too flamboyant in its choice of colours, Broomstix was once again showcasing the latest broom design (of which, only after Hermione's almost too violent pulls, did Harry and Ron take their eyes off), Eyelops Owl Emporium's display window was dominated by a beautiful brown owl, Flourish and Blotts was showcasing a new book about a witch's adventures when trapped in a dragon's nest, Ollivander's was reopened and the faded purple cushion once again occupied the front window, and most spectacular of all, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was open once again. The joke shop was, to the expectation of all three of them, filled with customers ranging from three-year-olds to 17-year-olds, and they could just discern the silhouettes of George and Angelina inside the shop. It was indeed an impressive feat, reopening within such a short time and returning it to its former glory.
Though they itched to visit the joke shop they had once stayed in for an entire afternoon, the interview could not be avoided. Treading on, they were stopped by Harry just twenty feet from the café. "What's Skeeter doing going into the café?" hissed Harry, a look of horror on his face.
"Are you sure it was her, Harry? Maybe all the reporters liked to dress like her…" whispered Ron, as though talking too loudly would reveal their presence to Skeeter, who was already inside the café. Hermione rolled her eyes incredulously at Ron, and asserted her views.
"There is no way Skeeter is in that café at this time on this day for no reason. Harry, here, take this Galleon – it's our DA coin! Merlin, you can be really daft sometimes. Ron and I will go in first, and when it's time for you to enter, you'll feel the coin heat up. Oh and here's an Extendable Ear. It'll come in handy. Ron, let's go."
When they entered, all eyes turned around and focused on them. Few whispers were exchanged, confirming that these two really were Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Ron seemed beside himself, never really having had this much attention concentrated on him and no one else – well, nearly. Ms Fortescue instantly greeted them and led them to their table – where Skeeter sat, her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill swishing its feather about her. Her three gold teeth shone as she threw them an exaggerated smile, and as she stood to observe the pair, Hermione thought she heard Ron make a gagging noise. "Why, if it isn't the hero and heroine of the Battle of Hogwarts, Mr Weasley and Miss Granger. Now, tell me; where is your friend? Surely, the trio does not break up after such a year of adventure? Hmm?" Her sickly sweet voice made Hermione almost nauseous; but she knew that she had to maintain the upper hand in this.
"It is certainly a delight, Miss Skeeter, to meet you again. Could I just ask for the reason for Mr Fermore's absence?" asked Hermione, determined not to answer Skeeter's questions until absolutely necessary. First, she must buy some time to figure out why Skeeter had the nerves to come back to interview them when it should be impossible for her to forget that Hermione knew her darkest secret. She could see Harry's Extendable Ear hanging dangerously close to Skeeter's chair, but was determined not to look that way, in case Skeeter followed her line of vision. Skeeter's smile widened, if that was at all possible, before she replied:
"Dear Barry was sick today, Miss Granger; that's why I am here instead of him." None of them believed her words, but they simply accepted it. Hermione raised her eyebrows – it was useless trying to be civil about her facial expressions.
"So I'm assuming that your quill and you will be interviewing us today?"
"Of course, Miss Granger; and we are delightfully willing to do so," replied Skeeter, the dangerous sweetness still syruping her voice. Hermione itched to take a look at Ron to see just how deep in despair he was, she restrained herself. Instead, she subtly reached into her beaded bag and rummaged around for a little bottle, whilst saying to Skeeter: "Very well then; looks like we have no choice but to oblige." Found it. She gripped the bottle in her left hand, whilst her right twisted the cork free. Now, to notify Harry. Touching the Galleon in her pocket, she felt it heat up and instantly, the door to the café opened to Harry Potter.
Every eye in the café turned to stare at the Chosen One, as he stood at the door, including Skeeter, who looked ecstatic at the view of Harry. She hastened towards to the door to usher Harry in herself, and Hermione, using this moment of disorder, emptied the little bottle of clear liquid in her hand into Skeeter's drink. She knew that three drops should be enough, but against Skeeter, she had to take precautions. When Skeeter returned to the table with a disgruntled Harry, Hermione had resumed her seat, looking expectantly at the former. Sitting down, Skeeter took a sip of her drink whilst readying her quill to begin her interview. Not knowing if that was enough of a dose to make the potion work, Hermione muttered a spell under the table, with her wand directed at Skeeter. "Merlin, I'm dreadfully thirsty today." At this, Skeeter downed the whole cup.
Hermione waited. She waited for signs of any change in Skeeter's countenance, in order to begin her own questioning. This was surely not allowed, but she had to find out. Her silence and resolute look perplexed Harry and Ron, who were staring at her in curiosity. Hermione ignored them, and continued to observe Skeeter carefully. After about ten seconds, Skeeter's smile faded, replaced by an empty look. Knowing that this was the moment, Hermione muttered "Muffliato". To Harry and Ron's inquiring looks, she answered: "Veritaserum. Now, before you two judge me, I just want to say that I'm doing this for a perfectly legit…"
"Hermione, you're a bloody genius," interrupted Harry, who now looked at Hermione with awe and wonder. Ron wore the exact same expression on his face. She blushed at this, and turned back to Skeeter. "Ready?"
"Never been more ready than now," was the reply from the other two.
"Rita Skeeter, what is your animagus form?"
"A beetle." Skeeter's voice was monotonous, without any intonation.
"Why have you come today to interview us?"
"A story of the Trio on the Second Wizarding War would earn me a great promotion, perhaps even become editor of The Prophet."
"What I meant was, why have you the nerve to come interview us, when you know that I can just threaten to reveal that you're an Animagus and force you to write the truth, unlike your usual practice?"
"I confessed to my editor a year ago, telling him that I'm an Animagus. Collins said he would protect my job, as long as I keep writing good, selling stories. He went to speak to the Minister of Communication and Media about it and somehow convinced the Minister to keep me unregistered and unpunished. So even if you try to reveal my Animagus status, the Minister herself would block the news."
Here it was. The truth of her presence here today instead of Fermore; though the dimensions of this story was deeper than Hermione had imagined. The Minister of Communication and Media covering for her! She knew that she had gotten all the information she needed, so she handed the antidote to Skeeter, who, thinking that it was water, downed it in one go. A smirk was present on all of their faces as they watched Skeeter came back to awareness. "Ms Skeeter, I believe that you now are absolutely obliged to write your article exactly as we have answered, rather than your own variation."
At this, Skeeter hissed: "How dare you, you little minx! The use of veritaserum is forbidden unless you are authorised!"
"Dear Ms Skeeter, I believe that you, yourself, are an active user of this potion. So, you do not stand any ground in criticising me. Now, if you do not write as we say, then we have three different memories here that are presentable to the Minister of Magic. Yes, we do personally know Kingsley Shacklebolt. So I would be not be attempting any memory alterations if I were you. I have been called the brightest witch of my age by five different teachers, including Charms teacher, Professor Flitwick. So, if you attempt anything at all to disrupt this interview, I can swear on Merlin's name that you will not be spending the rest of your life in merriment," said Hermione in a dangerously calm voice, her eyes never leaving Skeeter's.
In an effort to preserve her own dignity, Skeeter straightened in her chair and, still wearing a murderous look, prepared to begin the interview.
"Oh and just thought I should mention, you'll not be interviewing about us. We're here to reveal the story of Severus Snape." Skeeter looked as though her eyes were going to shoot fire.