Chapter 17 – Getting ready for the interview

That evening and the next day passed in a frenzy of excitement from Ginny. She couldn't concentrate on anything, and Harry had never seen her so agitated over something.

It had its advantages surely. She was very affectionate and sweet, and the pretty blush was there ready to spring out any second but, on the downside, she was spending a ridiculous amount of time with her head in the fire speaking with Molly, Hermione and even Luna at one point. That one however, didn't last that long and didn't go exactly as Ginny was expecting. Harry was reading the newspaper in the kitchen when Ginny, unable to contain herself, after having finished a preposterous long call with Molly, stuck his head again in the fire calling for Luna.

Harry halted his reading curious to know how the news was going to be received.

Ginny's excited voice filled the kitchen 'Luna, I'll be on Witch Weekly's cover next week!'

A long paused followed 'What do you mean with "What's Witch Weekly?"? The magazine, Luna!'

Harry, bringing back his attention on the newspaper, sniggered relieved to know that at least somebody, who always surprised him with her absurdities, this time didn't surprise him at all.

He was anyway bewildered by the volume of chat she managed to have in the space of a day and a half. What were they talking about? The interview hadn't even happened yet. He asked Ginny on Thursday night. He was sitting on the bed watching her removing make up. She replied 'Well, all the preparation connected to it'.

'What preparation?' Harry asked perplexed.

'You know, how to do my nails, which kind of face mask to use, if I should wear some kind of makeup, the same for the dress…'

'Ok, ok, I got it' Harry interrupted thinking how stressful it could get being a woman, however for mysterious reasons, Ginny seemed to enjoy it greatly.

She started to rub her body with some oil, usual evening practice since the discovery of her pregnancy 'What are you going to wear?'

'Me?' Harry answered absent minded; he was thinking about many things looking at her smearing her beautiful skin with oil and none of those was about what to wear the next day 'Jeans and t-shirt, if you leave it to me'

'I thought you could wear a shirt for a change'

'If you let me smear that oil for you, I'll wear whatever you ask me to' he said standing up and getting the bottle from her hand.

Unfortunately, she took it away from him apostrophising 'Harry, tonight you'll stay very far away from me. I want to have a fresh rested face tomorrow and you know I cannot sleep well. I want to get as much of it as I can!'

'All right, all right' he answered disappointed returning to lay down on the bed 'So then don't do that in front of me'

'Are you going to wear a shirt?' she asked hopefully while disappearing in the bathroom. They had en-suite which was very handy, that meant that Harry couldn't see her, but they could keep on talking, and he could carry on imagining whatever his fantasies suggested him.

'I'll wear whatever you like…'

'Are you going to shave?'

'If you want to, I will.'

'Yes, I'd like you to'

'Ok, I'll do it tomorrow morning' he answered his mind still very far away from these trivialities.

She appeared from the bathroom in her nightshirt in all her lovely roundness, her hair sleek and shiny and her smooth skin slightly glossy because of the oil.

'You look beautiful' he told her uncapable of keeping his eyes away from her.

She smiled 'Thank you, but that still doesn't change the fact that you will stay on your side of the bed'.

Harry snorted thinking, as Ginny but for different reasons, that the morrow couldn't come fast enough.

It did come quickly enough however and when he was back from work, he found Ginny welcoming him in a flutter, waving a fresh laundered white shirt under his nose 'Eat something, get a shower and wear this. Quick, I don't want to be late.'

'All right' he answered grudgingly 'Where is this place anyway?'

'Not far, we'll get the bus. The kids are at the Burrow, and they'll sleep there tonight so we don't have to worry about being late.'

When ready to go, Harry wore a cap and sunglasses as an added measure not to be too recognisable, having anyway many doubts about the efficiency of this measure, especially because Ginny wasn't adopting any. However, perhaps because they worked or more probably because they didn't encounter any witches or wizards on the way, they got to the address undisturbed.

The building was a very posh complex in west London. Six floors high, walls of dusty pink colour and abundance of gold trims. At the entrance there was a wide, well build man in a black uniform scanning severely anyone approached the stairs.

Ginny took out from her purse a shiny business card and showed it to him. He perused it quickly and, with a nod, let them pass.

From the glass door a fancy staircase with a red carpet could be seen but once they pushed it open the view that presented to them was totally different.

It was a proper messy, busy, noisy office. The walls were exactly the same shade of the building outside, all the desks very elegant, made of glass and quite modern, cluttered by piles of paper, quills, empty paper glasses and magazines. People were running back and forth from one desk to the other, all busy and seemingly in a hurry.

There were many big fireplaces scattered in the whole room. Some of them were different from normal fireplaces though: they were circular and raised a few inches from the floor, in front there were some chairs occupied by one or two people with their heads stuck into the fire, intent in speaking with somebody on the other side. Witches were tapping rhythmically on parchments that would fly on the numerous mounts scattered around the room.

On one side there was a big window door and through it was possible to see many white owls with a gold "W" drawn on their chests. Just beside there was a lift.

Form that one a tall woman, extremely bony, with a lilac muggle business suite, emerged. She had a very fancy look, not too young but not very old either. Probably a few years older than them. She was overflowing style and confidence and had a broad smile stamped on two painted pink lips. It was obvious by her demeanour that she couldn't be any other than the boss in there.

She greeted Ginny as if she was a very old friend kissing her twice on every cheek. She received this effusion very timidly. Harry was just wondering where his fiery wife had disappeared, when the woman turned her attention to him.

'Hello Harry, can I call you by your first name, can I?' she didn't' even let him answer that was already ranting on 'I'm so honoured that you chose our magazine to give an interview, we can actually say the first since you were fifteen! I can just say that you chose well.' Harry tried again to speak but she continued with the same speed 'We will treat you both very well. We can easily say that your wife is charming, and we cannot wait to take some wonderful pictures of the Potter couple'

As she uttered the last sentence an unnatural silence fell in the room. It seemed almost as though Hermione had casted her time stopper spell; he could see every man and woman froze in their task looking at them.

He felt suddenly awkward. The woman in front of him, on the other side, looked completely at ease and didn't even seem to notice. She extended a hand to him 'I'm Margaret Skeeter'

He took it and, while shacking it, a doubt appeared in his mind 'Skeeter? Are you by any chance…?'

Not letting him finish she made a soft coquettish laugh 'Yes, I am. I'm the cousin' but seeing Harry appalled expression, she added quickly 'Don't worry, Harry. I'm very different from her' she said tossing her long ponytail with a very contemptuous expression 'She is so vulgar'

Harry threw a filthy look to Ginny on his side, she couldn't not now. She knew it and purposely kept it hidden from him. She studiously avoided his gaze confirming his suspicion.

'And anyway, writing that book about Dumbledore really marked an end to her career. A drop in style I must say. You know the way she wrote about you and him. Despicable.' She said studying her lilac painted nails attentively and just as Harry was starting to think that this woman could actually revealing to be a good kind of person after all, she continued 'She should have known how the tide was going to turn'

No, they are quite the same. Blood always tells.

When everything with Voldemort had been over, he had read the whole book and getting to that chapter he had grown so indignant and offended that he grasped the first reporter he could find and told him quite clearly that the book was a pile of rubbish and he despised it whole heartedly.

The next day it had been retired from the market and Skeeter had disappeared from the journalist's circle.

And it had been for the best under Harry's point of view.

As this was going on, the people in the room hadn't retrieved their occupation. They were still staring at them and slowly, it seemed, they were getting closer like if a game of grandparent's steps was going on. Every time he looked at the multitude, they were immobile but a bit closer. Still a few glances and they would be upon them.

Margaret finally acknowledged their presence 'Staff, today, as I told you, we will have here Harry Potter and his wife.'

Harry felt a pang of annoyance. Ginny had a name! And a very beautiful one at that. His sons had names too but all the time an introduction was going on it was always Harry Potter and his wife or Harry Potter and his sons like if they didn't matter at all and they were living just to be an appendix of him. He didn't let this one go.

'Ginevra Weasley' he interrupted her ranting.

She faltered and looked at him enquiringly 'I'm sorry?'

'Her name is Ginevra Weasley'

Margaret simpered as Ginny slid one of her hands around his arm as a gentle reproach, but Harry didn't care. He wouldn't allow this woman to boss them around with her unstoppable talk. 'Of cooourse' she cooed soppily and then resumed her tirade as fast as before 'Well as I was saying, we will have the honour of guesting them for today. Whatever they will need we will be at their disposal, is that clear?'

The group nodded slowly without taking their eyes from his person and just occasionally shifting it to his forehead.

He had never cut his hair short to avoid people staring at his scar, but it had never worked. No matter how his wild hair was covering it, all the glances of the magical community were always going there. He fought the impulse to flatten it on the scar.

'I dare say we can start. Would you like something to drink before to go?'

The sentence wasn't at an end that in a bustle of movement at least ten paper cups with different contents were offered to him by the same number of expectant hands.

'Ergh… No, thank you'

He avoided, whenever he could, to accept any food or drink from strangers. And when he was forced to, despite the risk to be impolite, he checked with a spell if it was safe. It was even too easy for anybody to slip some potions inside, the danger was always present one couldn't be too careful, especially in his situation.

'Let's go then' she said marching in front of them to the lift with a steadfast business-like step. They followed her and Harry was glad when the lift's door closed to be divided from the employees' hungry stares, tired already by all this attention.

Margaret filled them in with the day schedule while they were walking through a long corridor. Big rooms with glass doors were on both sides. Some were empty conference rooms, in some others there were employee working frantically as downstairs and some were shooting sets. Inside those a lot was going on. Many people were gathered in a bustle of activities. They passed in front of one where an unbelievably thin witch with very long black shiny hair and a fitting endearing red dress was smiling alluringly to many photographers. Ginny, seeing it, whispered to him excitedly 'That's Camilla Briand!'. Harry frowned, he had not the remotest idea of who she was but decided not to ask, not particularly interested. Margaret in the meanwhile had informed them that they would go for the interview first followed by the shooting afterward. They would choose one of the pictures taken to be printed on the front cover (at the mention of those two words Ginny beamed delighted).

Ginny ought to go for hair and makeup. Harry submitted passively to every decision hoping that everything would be over soon. His mind started to wander on what they could do during the weekend, if there would be any chance to go somewhere nice, the lying in that was waiting for him the next morning, the cuddle before to sleep, the boys not at home… When Margaret voice caught his attention '….and of course, Harry, you can sit for the hairdresser as soon as our Madeleine is ready…'

He stopped 'Excuse me?'

'We will need to fix your hair. It's a bit wild' looking back with sufficiency.

Harry shook his head smirking 'Nice try. You are not going to come ten feet from me with a comb'.

Ginny and Margaret opened their mouth at the same time to retort, he didn't leave them the chance to do so 'I said no' he uttered.

And it was said with such a finality that neither Ginny nor Margaret tried to oppose any resistance even if obviously very tempted.

They reached a room with many mirrors and white ugly oval plastic chairs positioned in front.

On both sides of the space there were long racks charged heavily with clothes of any kinds, the sober muggles on one and the colourful wizarding on the other. A young witch with dark hair adorned by flaming purple locks was waiting for them with a glowing countenance and her wand ready in her hand. A brief introduction revealed that this was the Madeline in charge of hair and makeup.

Margaret made Ginny sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs 'We will make her look stunning Harry; you won't recognise her when we are done!' she said winking.

Harry frowned; he liked his wife exactly as she was.

Seeing Ginny so excited and, with a thorough confidence, letting the young witch approach her, he took a resolution. It is true he never gave any interviews and tried to keep away from that world of gossips and magazines, but he had a feeling that he understood much better the hypocrisy behind it. Perhaps because he had experienced it many times on his skin. Notwithstanding how sweet and caring this Margaret was behaving toward Ginny, Harry could see what was hiding behind. And he didn't want Ginny to suffer from it.

'Could I talk to you for a moment alone?' he said to Margaret interrupting that non-stop buzzing.

She was taken aback but sing-songing an assent beckoned him to follow her.

He leaned close to Ginny to whisper in her ear 'I'll be back soon. Don't let this people put too much rubbish on your beautiful face, I like you just as you are', she simpered pleased and gave him an affectionate peck.

He followed Margaret in a small room adjacent. It was full of clutter of any kind, clothes, technical equipment disused, some old furniture. The room was dark, with only a tiny window on the far end. She turned an oil lamp on and leaned against a wood chair looking at him expectant.

'So, we are alone. What do you want to talk about?' she asked changing completely demeanour, from the chatting box to the self-assured businesswoman.

Harry allowed at that moment his inner dangerous self to raise on the surface, just a little bit, just enough to let this woman understand he meant business, he wanted her to see it in his eyes. He smiled, his intimidating smile and moved two intimidating steps toward her.

'I just wanted to warn you. I know what your kind of people is capable of' he started in saying not dropping his ominous smile 'Let it be clear that you can torment me as much as you want today with your questions. I know how you are willing to forget that people like me are made of flesh and blood like anybody else and I accept it, I knew it before to get into this. But' and telling this he got even closer to her, even more menacing 'if you make my wife shed even one single tear, if you make her suffer for the sake of selling few more copies of your magazine. You'll answer to me. And I'm not as good as I look like, all right?'

Margaret was taken aback, the smile had dropped already long before the end of his speech, there was only disquiet remaining on her face. She blinked and nodded. After a moment where her mouth couldn't emit any sound, she said 'Of course, Harry. I had no intention whatsoever of paining her with unfeeling questions'

'Good. No problem then. And I don't want any funny business with strange quills either. You will report what we say. Not a word more nor one less.' He concluded remembering Rita Skeeter's quill.

He wasn't anymore a young and inexperienced boy of fifteen, without anybody sticking up for him, that could be manipulated. This time, everything was going to be on his terms.

He grinned, this time friendly, letting his doppelganger sink in the deep of his being.

He opened the door and walked out. After a second, he heard some scribbling coming from the room. Margaret was scratching out something on paper. Very well. He was glad to have made a point.

Remembering about the aim of the interview though, he stuck his head in the room again addressing her a last time 'I expect you to ask me about Ronald Weasley' and marched off without waiting for an answer.

He got back to Ginny. Madeleine was still working on her using alternatively wand and brushes in a coordinated ballet. When he appeared on the side of the young witch, however, she startled skipping a beat and blushed furiously in finding him so close to her.

Seeing her hesitation, he told her 'Don't mind me, you are doing a great job'.

It was true, she hadn't smudged Ginny's face with tons of make up as he was fearing. She had a very natural one that only enhanced her delicate features, her skin was radiant, her lips sensual and glossed and her hair had been straightened and put into shape by Madeleine expert hands, they looked even sleeker than usual.

She resumed her work rolling Ginny's hair on a round hairbrush and pointing her wand on it that was puffing out some white steam.

'Wouldn't you like me fixing your hair, sir?' she asked with a squeaky voice.

'You can call me Harry and no, thank you. I can see you are talented, but I'll keep my untameable hair'

'Certainly si… Harry' she corrected herself quickly 'If I'm allowed to say so, I think they suit you anyway' she added somewhat flustered working studiously on Ginny's hair who looked through the mirror in his direction grimacing teasingly.

'Thank you, Madeleine' he answered prodding Ginny jokingly, unspotted by the young witch, with comb and wand in her hands, all lost in her embarrassment.

'And…' she said hesitantly

'Yes?' Harry encouraged her.

'Could I have an autograph?' she let out all in one breath.

'Sure' he answered laughing as Madeleine flew away excited to get the necessary.

Despite it happened quite often to be asked for it, he wasn't accustomed yet. He just couldn't understand why they wished for it, what was the importance. It was just his signature on a piece of paper. A totally useless untidy scribble. However, because especially young witches seemed very keen on it, he never refused despite the awkwardness felt.

She got back with a quill and a card, one of those chocolate frog ones.

The day after the Hogwarts battle, twenty years previously, in a mass, journalists had heaped to the spot. Harry, and everybody had participated in the battle, was still there. They had occupied the Hufflepuff dormitory as it was the one (excluding the Slytherin's obviously) that had been less damaged being in a more enclosed position than the others. The injured, who couldn't be moved, were camped in the dining hall where Madame Pomfrey and healers from St Mungo's worked tirelessly all night to help them.

After having spoken to Dumbledore he felt drained and longing only for tranquillity and repose. Exhausted in body and spirit; he had slept for fourteen hours straight, a long rest without dreams. Ron and Hermione had taken turns to guard his repose to make sure nobody would disturb him.

When he woke up the next day he was starving. After a fulfilling huge breakfast served by a very proud Kreacher all his body immediate needs were satisfied, he had then time to think about what to do next, that made him feel uneasy straight away. For all his life he had this mission to accomplish to determinate all his actions and thoughts, he never really planned the "after" because he had never been sure there would have been a "after". Probably he never halted to think about it not to admit to himself that his life could have been ended in the pursuit of Voldemort. He had fulfilled his job now; he was still alive, but he didn't have a place to go or a family who would welcome him. He only had Hermione and Ron.

He didn't feel like sharing his worries, especially with Ron. He didn't want to burden anymore his family with his presence, they had had a lot to bear because of him during the years and he couldn't face them with Fred's death hanging over his head. It was his fault if he had died, he hadn't surrendered to Voldemort. He was scared to be blamed and shunted out. And again, it had been Hermione who understood his internal preoccupation. He had convinced him to go the dining hall where the Weasley family was aggregate, devastated from Fred's death, and all his fears proved to be wrong, they enclosed him in their grief, allowed him to participate like a member of their family. They didn't let him in doubt about his future, they invited him straight away to their place. Ron had shared happily his family with him back then.

And journalists had stormed in, giving Harry the first glimpse of what his life was going to be. They harassed him with questions to which he didn't feel like answering to, they had taken pictures. Pictures of a seventeen years old boy who had just lived an ordeal, dazed and confused. Still with the same clothes of the battle, torn and dirty. Arthur had intervened to keep them far but one of those pictures had been printed, without his consent, on a new edition of the chocolate frog card. It had become one of the most sought after and it was the item he had to sign most often.

He looked to his seventeen years old self, ragged, dirty with that discouraged look, who stared at him for a moment then scowled and turned away. Poor kid. He felt very much all the time he saw that picture, remembering with clarity all the emotions of that time. 'Don't worry, the worst is gone. You'll be happy now' he felt like telling him every time. But now, after Christmas, it had changed, it wasn't an assurance he wanted to convey but a warning 'Brace yourself, in nineteen years you'll suffer much more than you ever suspected possible'.

He took the quill the young witch offered and, as usual, he marked his initials.

Madeleine was over the moon, she thanked him and fell in a reverie observing those two letters, that made that simple card turn in something like the holy grail. She folded it reverentially in a silk scarf and stored it away in her purse.

She resumed coyly her job on Ginny's hair who was by now smirking openly at the scene.

Madeleine, as before the autograph but even more faltering, pronounced a new 'And…' slowing her mouldering.

'Yes?' Harry repeated amused wondering which kind of request was going to follow the autograph. Shake hands? Take a picture together?

'I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry for what happened to your daughter. I cried when I read it on the paper' she murmured looking crestfallen.

Both Harry's and Ginny's smiles vanished quickly. Harry felt the usual stranglehold on his heart and the usual heaviness oppressing his chest that made breathing hard. It was still difficult for him to answer to condolence, especially if, like this one, were sincerely offered.

He felt Ginny's hand slipping in his own. He clenched it and it was Ginny who replied, saving him the pain of speaking.

'Thank you, Madeleine'

She nodded biting her lips.

At that point they heard Margaret voice approaching them.

'Madeleine! Are you done? Chop-chop! We need to go! No time to lose!'