CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A/N: Wow, it's been like two years since I updated this story. Well, I haven't forgotten about it, or my 55 loyal followers. My last update mentioned my pregnancy, and I had myself a little baby girl who was unfortunately born sleeping in Jan 2014. No clear cause as to why she died, and my heart hurts every day. I never stopped writing, but I was mostly writing about my grief and trying to work it out. Only recently I got back into fiction, and I won NaNoWriMo last November. So it gave me the confidence to come back to this story, which I have always really enjoyed writing.

So… if it's been a while since you read the story, here's what you may have forgotten. Surely you remember the premise - Skeeter takes advantage of a private, purely heterosexual moment between Malfoy and Potter, and convinces the entire wizarding world that they are a couple. Malfoy, cleared of all war crimes, is a newly enrolled Auror thanks to the Ministry's relaxed hiring standards. He is also currently the prime suspect for leaking important documents to the press, but he is totally innocent, having turned over a New Leaf and everything. Here we find him, spending his Saturday investigating this crime, before Weasley has had enough of him and rats him out to the Ministry.

The warehouse door opens with a whine, and the hush inside is stale and oppressive.

"Yes?" Barks the Hogwarts librarian impatiently, before my eyes even adjust to the sudden darkness.

"Uhm, I'm looking for… old copies of the Daily Prophet." I say, blinking and realising her desk is right in front of me.

"1800 through present, to the left, third row back. If you see daylight, you've gone too far." The librarian says harshly, but seems amused by herself.

I go towards that general direction. The aisle starts with the very earliest papers, yellowing and curling, so I start on the other side and grab an armful of the latest papers, what I judge is about two month's worth.

Sitting down at a nearby table, I methodically start with the first one mentioning Potter and I – the ridiculous bathroom incident. After about three paragraphs and a 20% raise in blood pressure, I push that one aside. I don't need to read all the grisly details of Skeeter's fantasy world, do I?

No, but I should read them anyway. Especially if she is the one publishing the leaks. She could know who is behind this whole thing, so I need to keep abreast of everything she's written. Plus I can't keep burying my head in the sand. If I know what she's written about me, I can better plan my next move. Especially since the public takes this stuff as gospel.

So I keep reading. Page after page of mine and Potter's 'dramatic' love affair. Me hugging him with relief after he 'rescued me' from Azkaban by speaking in my defence. But honestly, the photo just showed me desperately yanking Potter's sleeve over and over. Since when does that constitute a hug?

A couple of 'newsless' weeks go by, wherein Potter is the only one photographed, and they analyse his outfit, hair, scar colour (honestly), and they just stick a stock photograph of me as an insert with some caption about how we can't be seen in public together for one reason or another. But every day they throw in a lie about how Potter 'misses' me, according to a 'close friend' of mine (a title which Skeeter presumably bestows upon herself). The stories are getting pushed further and further back in the paper, going from front-page news to practically a caption on page 13, next to the legal notices.

But one of the legal notices jumps out at me, because it has Skeeter's name in it too. It's a paragraph about Skeeter being an illegal Animagus. Her punishment was a fine of 1,000 Galleons, this public notice of her ability, and being put on the 'restricted registered' Animagus list, which is usually for the newly qualified, wherein they can only transform in the sight of a Ministry worker, who must note the date and time of each transformation, and note down any markings of the Animagus.

Which is no punishment at all really. If you're a bigger animal it might actually work – a bear or a griffin can't roam the streets after all – but there's still nothing stopping Skeeter from transforming into a bug at home and flying anywhere she wants to eavesdrop.

She should be in Azkaban right now, I think, clenching my fist uselessly. But, in reality, Azkaban couldn't hold a human-beetle for very long, and its cells are probably full anyway. Plus Skeeter is the number one reporter for the Daily Prophet, a company who still carries a lot of sway over the top-dogs at the Ministry. Not many people were displaced after the war. A lot of figureheads changed, but the people who do the day-to-day work, above and below the table, are still running the place. A fact my mother is very happy about, because it means that we didn't entirely lose the Malfoy family network of connections.

Taking a deep breath and continuing to read, I pick up the next paper and realise we're back on the front page. It seems the photographers were snapping shots of me while I walked around the grounds of the Manor, through some lens that zoomed in on me from far away. I look all blurry, but there I am, wandering the grounds, kicking at stones, yelling at staff. They've even titled it 'Housebound and Potterless', and can't stop going on about how depressed I am without Potter, who is pictured next to me, yelling and looking enraged. The latest gossip was that he dumped me, and I was depressed and suicidal about it.

Oh, crap. This one even quotes Mother, "He hardly leaves his room, the poor thing, but I'm sure Potter will come around."

Honestly, the only thing Skeeter could come up with as a good enough reason for Potter to dump me was the Weasley girl, whom Skeeter never calls Ginny, just various red-haired themed nicknames throughout the article, like 'fire-haired girl' and 'redheaded temptress'. Skipping to page 3, the story continues with pictures of him and her holding hands, sharing ice cream (ugh, unhygienic), and window shopping in Diagon Alley. The pictures show them lovey-dovey with each other and annoyed with the camera-man by turns. Quotes galore come from various never-named 'friends' of Weasley and Potter, saying those two belong together and I was simply a good-looking but evil blight on Potter's track record.

The next few weeks continue this trend, going so far as to list the 'top ten rebound relationships' for me to potentially get into, featuring both men and women. I glance a few of them over, including an especially inviting-looking blonde girl who I vaguely recognise from Hogwarts. Each picture comes with a paragraph detailing why I should go on a date with them, most of which I skip over.

Then comes our 'reconciliation' page, which I've already seen, so no need to relive that night, thankfully. After that it's my initiation into the Auror ranks, which Skeeter clearly knows nothing about, but she has it on 'good authority' that the interview process is 3 weeks long and requires a 4-hour long interview with a Truth Potion. Which I apparently only skipped out on because Potter 'pulled a few strings' and got me accepted with no fuss. The mentions of the Weasley girl have dropped to zero by this point, as if Skeeter has completely forgotten she exists. Hopefully that pissed the Weasley off.

Becoming so absorbed in the dramatic story of mine and Potter's made-up lovelife, particularly what we must be getting up to all day at the Ministry together, I almost miss the first discreet mention of the Ministry leaks, in the guise of a news story about imports and exports to and from Great Britain. The borders have been strengthened ten-fold over the past few months and the cost of transporting items in and out of the country has not only risen dramatically, but it's also become a perilous endeavour, particularly on the East side of the country, which faces the North Sea. Seems innocuous enough, but I can read between the lines.

So basically, in summary, the Dementors have been removed from Azkaban, and it's taking vast resources and manpower to keep them out of England. And Shacklebolt has no idea how to control them. And the import/export department of the Ministry is taking the brunt of the cost and passing it along to the wizarding community.

The reason such an bland article – the price of import, border control, red tape – jumped out at me was the quote from an 'inside Ministry source'. "We can't get recruits fast enough to keep up with demand, and hiring standards have clearly been relaxed for the time being."

I'm sure all the Ministry departments have relaxed their hiring standards right now, so it hardly narrows down my field of suspects. But I'm positive the leak is coming from the Auror department. So really, I doubt I've gotten much out of all this reading after all. There isn't even any author credit given to the article. It could been Skeeter or anybody. But at least I know what I'm up against.

I continue reading up until yesterday's paper, catching more stories like Shacklebolt's plan to 'forcibly retire' the heads of all Ministry Departments who claimed to be under Imperius during the war, citing no comment on his part. My guess is that they were all faking it, despite not being named. I remember all sorts of them coming and going from our Manor at will. And I'm sure Shacklebolt knew it too, and wanted his plans for them to be kept private.

All in all, the stories aren't sensationalised much, just slanted enough to make you slightly uncomfortable with the current state of affairs. The angle is, Shacklebolt has too much power, and may not be wielding it as well as the public expects. The fact that they never quote a comment of his gives off the impression that he's a far-away, silent-dictator type. It's quite cleverly done.

And, quite obviously, not done by Skeeter. She'd have had the colour of his boxers as the front page spread with a question about whether men in purple underpants could successfully rule an entire Wizarding community.

So not only do I have no idea who is leaking the information, I have no idea who it is being leaked to, so I can't even interrogate them. So this whole exercise has been pointless.

Leaving the pile of newspapers on the table – at least I smoothed and refolded them as I went along – I get up and stomp out of the pathetic makeshift library, muttering "thanks for nothing" to the librarian on my way out.

As I walk through Hogsmeade, I work myself into a lather. I'm not going to be the scapegoat for this, when the dung hits the fan. Obviously the new anonymous journalist doesn't have much for information, that's why their articles are shoved all the way in the back of the paper. But when they have been leaked something really juicy, it'll explode onto the front page and I'll be sacked at the best and thrown in Azkaban at worst.

I won't let it happen. I need to do some sleuthing, if outright interrogation of the journalist isn't possible. I know I haven't had my Stealth and Tracking lesson yet, but I might have to snoop around inside the Prophet building and see if I can find out who's writing those bloody articles. It might involve peeking inside people's desks, so I'll need a way to hide myself.

Perhaps I can use a Disillusionment Charm. I've been practicing them at home, and can practically walk around the Manor undisturbed if I'm quiet enough. Though everyone ignores me round there anyway, so I don't know how much of it is actual skill.

Either way, I don't have much choice. I decide to pop into The Three Broomsticks and Disillusion myself in the bathroom, then come out and use the fireplace to go back to The Leaky Cauldron again, since the Prophet HQ is on Diagon Alley. And the good news is, I won't have to see the Aurors in the pub again and have them wonder where I'm off to.

It turns out, getting through The Three Broomsticks and into the bathroom was easy enough, despite the raging crowd, but getting out is a different matter. People are bustling in and out, and I don't want to bump anyone. And there's a giant crowd by the fireplace, and they're seeing their friends off and welcoming people who arrive. I doubt I'll make it unseen, since they'll see the flames go green and I'll have to shout where I'm going to.

So I ditch the Disillusionment idea for now. I can cast it when I'm at The Leaky Cauldron, and sneak out that way.

Stepping out of the fireplace at The Leaky Cauldron brings me face to face with the Auror crowd, who look like they're just leaving, heading into Muggle London, looking drunk and daring. Well, good luck to them.

"You coming, Malfoy?" Call a couple of people, waving their arms to beckon me over.

"I'm going to pull a Muggle girl!" Says another.

"Oh, no, I'm going – I've got things to do." I mumble, pointing to the Diagon Alley exit and trying to duck away.

But I'm followed, by Weasley. He's not very stealthy about it either. Just stomping up behind me and tapping me on the shoulder.

"Where are you sneaking off to, Malfoy?"

"I'm just, I'm running errands. Malfoy business." I say, lifting my chin up at him.

"Yeah right, you ran off right after you found out stuff was being leaked to the Prophet, probably to go protect your sources!"

Okay, Weasley sounds – and smells – a bit drunk.

"Firstly," I say, holding up a finger, "I knew about the leak a while ago, so I didn't just find out about it."

Weasley looks dim and shocked, and it reminds me of when I told Goyle that you shouldn't eat flobberworms.

"Secondly," I add, "you have no evidence against me, so until you get some, which you won't, I'd like you to keep your trap shut."

This makes Weasley's mouth actually close for once, but he crosses his arms and says. "Fine. I don't have any now, but I'll get some. You're not leaving my sight."

"What?" I splutter. "You can't just follow me around!"

Weasley smirks. "Actually, yes I can. I'm officially putting you under surveillance. One of the perks of being an Auror. Let's see if you're really running errands."

Ugh. Fine. Change of plan. I'll have to pretend to run errands until Weasley gets bored, or it's dinnertime or something. Once he gives up, then I'll slip into the Prophet building.

So Weasley tails me, not quite walking beside me, but not staying far enough out of my way to lose him, either. I take a leisurely walk over to Gringott's, and step through the shiny new face of the building, so recently fixed after it was mysteriously destroyed during the war. Some people say Potter flew a dragon out of here, but others claim it was just a flock of enchanted umbrellas.

Anyway, I step inside, and make my way over to the Goblins. Weasley steps a little close, so I shoo him away, hissing that I need privacy for my financial transactions. His ears shine scarlet and he takes about four large paces backwards.

"How can I help you, young Mister Malfoy?" Croons a Goblin. They've always been alright, Goblins. Unless you owe them something. But when they have your money, they're fine.

"Well, yes, I'd like to check on my accounts." I say, with what I hope is quiet authority, and not a hoarse whisper so Weasley doesn't hear me.

"You'd like to visit your vault?" The Goblin clarifies. "You'll need your key."

"Ah, well, no," I stutter. "I don't have my key, and I don't want to go down there. I just… I want you tell me what our current balance is."

The Goblin pulls a face. "You want me to travel down there alone, count all your coins, then come back up and report them to you?"

"Uh, well, is that possible?" I stammer. I infer from his grimace that it's a no. "For a Malfoy?"

"When you put it that way," the Goblin replies, suddenly smirking, "absolutely not. NEXT CUSTOMER."

I do an abrupt turn and stalk away, embarrassment radiating from me. Weasley stops staring at the ceiling and hurries to follow me.

"What happened?" Weasley asks with a grin, once we're outside. "Got no money left?"

"Don't be silly. I forgot my key, that's all." I snap, still feeling my cheeks burning.

"Well, I have a few tips for frugal living, if you're interested."

Weasley thinks he's so bloody funny, and he goes on for about ten minutes, cracking himself up picturing me darning my own socks, and wearing outfits twice in a row.

I desperately want to snap something horrible about him, his stupid face, or his fat mother, but I know that provoking him would mean he'll renew his determination to follow me for even longer. Or renew his determination to beat me up.

So I strike upon a genius idea, and head towards the ice cream shop.

"I fancy a 99." I remark airily, though I'm sure my sudden directional change and increased speed is betraying my veneer of spontaneity a bit.

I stomp down the street until I reach the shop, and open the door. In another strike of malevolent genius, I open the door wide and gesture for Weasley to enter first. He looks bemused.

I order us an ice cream each, despite Weasley protesting that he'll pay for his. He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out what's probably his last Galleon in the world.

"Don't be silly," I say with a smile, plucking our ice creams from the serving girl and handing one to him. "This is my treat."

Weasley scowls at me. "What are you playing at, Malfoy?"

"Nothing, Weasley." I reply, all light and innocent. "But we might as well try to be friends, right?"

Either something just crawled up Weasley's arse and died, or he's not so keen on this idea. I sit down at a nearby spindly-legged table and gesture for Weasley to sit opposite me. He does so stiffly, clearly struggling with repulsion. I try to quell my laughter.

"What's really going on, Malfoy. And no dung." Weasley says through gritted teeth.

"I just decided, what's the point in hiding the truth from you, if you're going to follow me, you'll find out eventually." I say, with my most conspiratorial tone. I even lean on the table towards him for effect.

He subconsciously mirrors me, leaning closer. "What's the truth? What are you really up to?"

"Well, I suppose you've heard about Potter and I." I say bluntly.

Weasley's eyes go wide. Brown, I notice. He seems excited but wary. "Go on."

"Well, I…" I trail off, as though admitting this is difficult or embarrassing. "I know he doesn't want to be seen with me, so he's been covering up our relationship as much as he can."

Bug-eyed and slack-jawed, Weasley is listening.

"Well I was just about to Floo right to his place and tell him I'm finished. I'm tired of being ridiculed in the papers for nothing!" I exclaim, clutching my chest, trying to channel Skeeter. "Do you know how it feels to think someone is ashamed of you?"

Completely absorbed in my story, Weasley nods slowly and looks at his knuckles. "Yeah… Kind of."

"And anyway, I've had my eye on someone else." I say, in a low voice. "And don't ask who. It will never be, between him and me."

I pause for effect, to let Weasley's curiosity sink in, and he looks up at me. Then I deliver the final blow, making sure to lock our eyes intensely. "I just thought, if I could spend some alone time with him, he might see me for who I really am."

Weasley's curious gaze snaps into one of horror in a split second, but he can't take his eyes off me.

"Malfoy, what are you – are you serious?" A red flush is creeping across his face, from chin to forehead.

I take the opportunity to clutch his nearest hand with both of mine, ice cream long forgotten. "Ron, don't say you haven't thought about it. About us. Hermione would never have to know—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE MALFOY." Weasley roars, and tips his chair back with the force he uses to get up and storm out of the shop. I hear him ranting and raging about how he's 'not that way' and I'm 'not right in the head'.

Leaning back in my chair, taking a victory lick of my ice cream, I feel supremely victorious. Lost him.