CHAPTER 48: THE INTERVIEW WITH A GODFATHERLY TWIST

The throng of witches and wizards in bustling Diagon Alley swept past the venerable facade of Ollivander's wand shop, their vibrant robes and wands aglow in the pale sunlight. To the right of Harry and Fleur, crimson umbrellas danced in a faint, refreshing breeze.

Fleur's delicate fingers squeezed Harry's hand, and her voice was a soft whisper. "Mon Cœur?"

Harry inclined his head slightly, his emerald eyes focused. "This way," he murmured, his tone low and confidential. "Skeeter's cunning, you see. She resides right in the heart of London, where her scathing articles can't be openly challenged without risking a heavy toll with the Muggle authorities."

Fleur couldn't help but emit a disgruntled huff against Harry's neck. "She's not cunning; she's a resentful little scribe armed with a pen and an axe to grind."

Amused, Harry chuckled, leading Fleur away from Ollivander's and into the bustling realm of Muggle London. "Well," he said, "she's going to get her comeuppance soon."

Navigating through the bustling throngs of oblivious Muggles on the pavement, Harry kept an eye on the street names to his right as they progressed.

Fleur's voice, filled with uncertainty, reached Harry's ear. "She won't be there when we arrive, will she?"

Harry shrugged subtly. "I'm not entirely certain." He expertly evaded the enthusiastic swing of a tourist's arm and gently tugged Fleur aside. "Did you catch the street name?"

Fleur's pointed finger guided his gaze. "There," she hissed, her features etched with determination. "That's where we're headed."

Harry couldn't help but snicker softly, mindful of their need for stealth. "Remember, we're under the Invisibility Cloak, Fleur."

Her frustration at her oversight was palpable. "Eleven o'clock, right. And please stop laughing at me; I've got enough to worry about."

Harry placed his free hand over his mouth, stifling his amusement, and proceeded toward Rita Skeeter's street. Now, he thought, where was that elusive number five?

The number five was discreetly displayed on the lime-green door of a quaint house several houses down the identical row. A meticulously maintained lawn encircled a small, weathered stone birdbath, while potted shrubs and vibrant flowers graced the neatly trimmed lawn, adding a touch of color beneath the white-painted window sills.

Harry carefully withdrew the Invisibility Cloak from within his robes, covering both himself and Fleur. He then opened the garden gate and silently treaded along the flagstone path leading to the front door. Leaping over the weathered step, he paused just before the entrance. Muttering the incantation 'Diffindo,' he gently ran the tip of his wand along the door frame, causing the lock to release with a barely audible metallic click.

Pushing the door open, he swiftly cast a revealing charm. "Nobody's home, but stay under the cloak just in case, mon Rêve," Harry whispered.

Soft, lush carpeting stretched across small, impeccably decorated rooms adorned with cozy, colorful furniture, and the stacks of magazines and papers indicated a prolific writer's abode. Framed articles were proudly displayed on every wall.

Fleur's voice beckoned him. "I will go this way."

Harry dropped the invisibility charm and explored the lower floor while Fleur ventured upstairs. The kitchen cupboards revealed a chipped, yet still usable set of china, and a tantalizing tub of cake sat beside the sink.

"Harry," Fleur hissed suddenly, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

He turned, locking eyes with Fleur, the source of her amused laughter. "What is it?"

"I found a whole cabinet of files upstairs. Come see."

Following the sound of her footsteps, Harry ascended the stairs, entering a short corridor with a small, crackling fireplace nestled between a well-lit office and Rita Skeeter's bedroom.

Fleur's footprints came to a pause beside a towering cabinet. "It was well-warded, but not well enough to keep me out."

Harry began rifling through the drawers, uncovering an endless list of names and thick, meticulously organized folders. He selected Lucius Malfoy's file and flicked through it. "Perfect."

Fleur, her eyes gleaming with mischief, offered a suggestion. "Make her write an article about all the Death Eaters in here."

Harry considered her idea, his mind racing. "She'd never agree, not if she believed it would see the light of day."

But if it didn't...

He turned to Fleur. "I'll have to—"

A burst of green light flared from the corridor. The Floo network! Panic gripped Harry's heart in a vice. Nobody could discover Fleur's presence here.

'Go!' Harry hissed urgently, his voice laced with concern. 'Go, Fleur. I'll rendezvous with you in a few minutes in France. Please, go now.'

The Invisibility Cloak gracefully glided to the floor as Fleur revealed herself. Harry retrieved the cloak, folded it neatly beneath his robes, and stepped out into the corridor. He leaned against the wall, squelching his fading panic. He summoned the memory of Katie's teary-eyed pleas and allowed the icy ball in his chest to constrict.

Rita Skeeter emerged from the Floo network, brushing off soot from her lime-green jacket and cream blouse.

"Rita," Harry greeted her with a small, disarming smile. "Welcome home."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone measured. "Mr. Potter, this is most unexpected. And illegal."

Harry continued with his easy smile. "Now, now, Rita, don't throw stones from your glass house."

"Muggle phrases," Rita replied, her confusion evident. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Harry's smile broadened a tad. "I believe they send unregistered Animagi to Azkaban, don't they?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You must have proof to make such an open allegation, Mr. Potter, and not fear being further ridiculed."

Harry lied smoothly, "I wouldn't be here if I thought it might go wrong. I was hoping we might come to an arrangement."

Rita's lips thinned. "What sort of arrangement are you suggesting?"

"The kind where you write a highly controversial article, and I keep your secret," Harry proposed. "This article will actually be based on the truth for once, a novel experience for you, I'm sure. The novelty may amuse you, Rita."

Her interest was piqued. "Whom would you like me to expose to my readers, Mr. Potter?"

"There's a treasure trove of intriguing files in that cabinet," Harry said, feigning reluctance. "I had a brief look, and I think Mr. Malfoy would make an excellent subject for your next piece."

"No, definitely not," Rita Skeeter shook her head. "The risk isn't worth it for me."

Harry frowned, setting the bait. "How about you write the article, and I, in turn, will swear an Unbreakable Vow never to mention your little secret again before I leave. Does that assurance hold value for you?"

Rita Skeeter's eyes gleamed with cunning as she swiftly crossed over to catch his hand in hers. "We have a deal. I certainly have no desire to spend any time in Azkaban."

'I've heard it's an unpleasant place,' Harry remarked casually. 'Now, the article?'

"Of course," Rita replied. Her smile transformed into a wolfish grin, and her acid-green quill emerged from the pocket of her jacket along with her notepad, swiftly beginning to scribble away. "Perhaps you'd like some cake while I write?"

"That would be lovely," Harry said, following Rita to the kitchen. "I fear I'm slowly developing a sweet tooth."

"Pound cake," Rita announced as she cut a generous slice and placed it on a small plate. "A personal favorite of mine, actually."

Harry took a bite and savored the sweet sponge melting on his tongue. "It's very good. Is it homemade?"

Fleur would enjoy this, he mused.

"Yes," Rita confirmed with a touch of genuine pride. "I always wanted to be a baker, you know, but there's not much of a market for simple cakes in the magical world."

"I'm impressed," Harry chuckled. "Seems there's a hidden side to Britain's most feared journalist."

"To you as well, it seems, Harry," she observed, her gaze curious as she watched him finish his cake. "How did you manage to get in undetected?"

"Now that would be telling," Harry responded cryptically. "Rest assured your wards aren't flawed; I simply found a way to bypass them. There aren't many wards that can keep me out if I genuinely need to get in."

Rita, her intrigue piqued, mused, "How fascinating." Her quill gracefully wrote on paper with the Daily Prophet's heading. "Almost done, Harry."

"May I see?" Harry inquired.

"Of course," Rita obliged. She waited for her quill to finish its line before handing him the sheet.

Harry perused the article, which was a scathing exposé involving Death Eaters, the Imperius Curse, murder, rape, and torture. He set it down and brushed the remaining crumbs back onto the plate. "This will do just fine."

"Now for your end of our bargain, Harry," Rita said, her eyes gleaming. "You owe me an oath."

Harry finished his cake and placed the plate down. "My house-elf will serve as an intelligent magical witness. He'll be indirectly bound by my oath as well."

Rita's grin broadened. "An excellent idea."

"Dobby," Harry called.

With a loud crack, Dobby materialized. "Master Harry Potter, sir?"

"I need you to witness an oath for me, Dobby," Harry explained. "It's of great importance."

"Dobby will not disappoint Master Harry Potter."

Harry handed his wand to Dobby. "Just hold it there, Dobby. I'll take it from here. Now, what are your terms, Rita?"

Rita reached forward, clasping Harry's right hand with hers. "Will you, Harry Potter, agree to never speak of my Animagus abilities again?"

"I will," Harry affirmed.

A tendril of white magic emanated from the tip of his wand, encircling their joined hands. A cold shiver trickled down his spine as the magic constricted around him like a noose. He closed his eyes, envisioning their magic intertwining, forming a binding oath like threads weaving together to create a rope.

Rita continued, "Will you, Harry Potter, pledge never to break into any property I own or any place that contains my belongings?"

"I will," Harry vowed.

second tendril of magic joined the first, sealing the binding oath between Harry and Rita. She released his hand, satisfied. "That's sufficient. You have your article written, and I have my assurance."

"I'll be leaving, then," Harry announced. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Rita's grin widened. "Goodbye, Harry. Keep an eye on the paper tomorrow. I believe the article will be a fantastic read."

Harry chuckled, his amusement genuine. "Yes, I have a feeling it will be, Rita." He discreetly drew his wand. "However, there's one last thing... Morsmordre."

The Dark Mark, a serpent and skull, tore through the top floor and roof of the house. Tiles, wood, and stone rained down onto the kitchen floor, shrouding the room in a thick cloud of dust.

Harry effortlessly swept the debris away with a flick of his wand. A smoky serpent slithered through the vacant eye sockets of the skull, casting an eerie green light in the sky above.

Rita gasped, her voice trembling. "The Dark Mark..." Her eyes darted between the article and Harry, her face turning an ashen white. "Wait!"

"Wait?" Harry inquired.

"Your vow—"

"Will bind me as long as Dobby lives," Harry interrupted, his tone icy. "Perhaps you should have chosen your words more carefully, Rita." He offered her a thin, cold smile. "But then again, that's precisely why I'm here, isn't it?"

You shouldn't have written such malicious things about Fleur or Katie.

Frantically, Rita scrambled for her wand.

"One perfect wish," Harry whispered to himself. He envisioned the French sunset beyond the leaves of a willow tree and embraced the icy resolve within him. Pettigrew's vacant eyes drifted through thoughts of the French sun, and his wand grew warm in his hand. Whatever it takes.

"Avada Kedavra," he intoned softly.

A brilliant green flash illuminated the kitchen, and Rita slumped to the floor. Her lime-feathered quill floated gently down to rest upon the tiles.

Harry gazed down at Rita's lifeless, blank eyes and waited for a surge of emotion, but he remained strangely detached. His stomach remained still, and his heart's frantic rhythm gradually returned to its normal pace. She had caused so much pain to countless people. Like Fleur said, she deserved whatever she got.

Closing his eyes, Harry listened. Whispers surrounded him, a soft susurration of muted screams. In every pair of cold green eyes reflected in his mind, the crimson sun sank below the horizon.

"My perfect wish," he exhaled deeply. "And my soul's healing, so I can no longer be a Horcrux."

"Fleur's going to be angry," Harry muttered to himself. He surveyed the kitchen and then summoned the plate of pound cake. "Perhaps the cake will buy me a head start."

Loud cracks reverberated from the street below. Aurors. Harry envisioned the willow tree and twisted the world back around him until he stood beneath its branches.

Fleur dangled her legs from one of the lower branches.

Harry looked up into her pitch-black eyes and couldn't help but mutter, "Merde."

"Merde indeed," she hissed.

Harry winced and held up the plate. "I brought you cake?"

Fleur's eyes narrowed, but then she extended her hand. "Give."

Harry levitated the plate up to her.

She vanished the plastic wrap and then took a massive bite from the remaining slice of pound cake. Crumbs cascaded down her chest and fell onto the gnarled roots of the willow. "It's good," Fleur remarked, her eyes shifting to a deep blue as she finished it in small, swift bites. "But you're not forgiven, mon Cœur."

"I'm sorry," Harry admitted, his voice earnest. "I panicked."

Fleur huffed and brushed crumbs from her fingers. "You panicked," she reiterated, her voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement. She dropped from the branch with a soft thud. "I faced a dragon. You think some spiteful reporter scares me?"

"No, I know she doesn't," Harry admitted. He sighed, his expression softening. "I just don't want anything to happen to you. I couldn't bear it." His stomach churned, and a lump lodged itself in his throat. "I'd give up an arm or more if it meant I could stay here with you forever."

Fleur scowled. "You'll need both your hands to beg me for forgiveness, mon Cœur."

A chuckle escaped Harry's lips. "I daresay I'll need a lot of cake."

"It will take more than cake," Fleur declared, her eyes smoldering. "A lot more."

"Marzipan?" Harry inquired, watching the blue in her eyes lighten.

Fleur playfully turned up her nose. "You'll have to find out," she teased, but her expression softened. "Not for a little while, though. My suspension ends soon, and I need to focus on my exams. I won't fail. Fleur Delacour doesn't fail."

"She's perfect," Harry whispered. He pressed his lips to Fleur's forehead. "As always, non?"

"As always," Fleur agreed, her smile hidden in the crook of his neck. "I forgive you," she whispered. "But I won't keep forgiving you. You're my dream, too, mon Cœur, and I refuse to be a mere bystander in it."

Harry's heart swelled, and a warmth pricked at his eyes. "I'll try to stop making mistakes. I will."

"You better," Fleur warned, her fingers threading into his hair, causing a faint twinge of pain. "Or I'll have to think of some cruel and unusual punishment for you."

"Cake-bearer?" Harry suggested.

"Human torch," Fleur replied, her grip on his hair relenting. "Now, what did you do after you sent me away?"

Harry swallowed hard, his heart pounding. "You'll find out as soon as you see the paper tomorrow," he admitted. "I have to tell you, or you'll be even angrier."

Harry attempted to quell the fear and anxiety churning in his gut, but a tight grip of dread clung to his heart. "I promised her an Unbreakable Vow to keep her secrets if she wrote the article," he confessed, his gaze fixed on the blue sky above Fleur's head. "Rita agreed to the deal, but I didn't ask her to publish it. Then I killed her and cast the Dark Mark over her house. Everyone will see it and know that Voldemort has returned, especially with the article and that filing cabinet."

Fleur's voice was calm and steady as she responded, "It's a long way from arm-twisting to murder, mon Cœur. You said nothing about killing her."

Harry continued to stare at the ground, his voice low. "She deserved it. You said so yourself."

Fleur gently slid a finger under his chin, lifting his face to meet her gaze. "I don't care what happens to selfish little girls who provoke dragons. I care about you keeping secrets from me. Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't like it? That I'd run away and leave?"

Harry whispered, "I didn't have time to tell you. I only thought of it as she arrived, and then I panicked."

Fleur's blue eyes bore into his, and a small smile slowly graced her lips. "But you tried to tell me, non?"

He nodded earnestly. "I did. I did."

"Bonne." She kissed him. "Now, since I must return to Carcassonne before Beauxbatons, is there anything you want from Maman's shop?"

"I assume I still have to pay?" Harry teased.

Fleur's response was lighthearted. "Maman is more fond of you than she was before Christmas, but not that fond of you."

Harry mentally reviewed a list of potions, contemplating which ones might be useful. "Polyjuice Potion?" he suggested.

"What are you going to do with it?" Fleur inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Harry's grin widened. "I'm going to steal one of your sister's hairs and pretend to be her evil twin for as long as I can."

Fleur laughed. "Gabby will be the more evil twin. Seriously?"

"It might be useful," Harry explained. "I might need to pretend to be someone else at some point."

"I'll send it to you," Fleur offered. "Now, we have an hour or so of the evening left before I need to be back at the chateau."

"Paris?" Harry suggested. "Gabby seemed lonely..."

A soft, warm smile graced Fleur's lips. "That's a very good idea." She brushed the cake crumbs from her front and even plucked one out of her cleavage. "You can pay for us, cake-bearer."

Harry playfully groaned. "Poverty beckons."

Fleur smirked and interlocked her fingers with his. "What good will gold do you, mon Cœur? I am all you will ever need."

Harry's gaze drifted to the setting sun, filtering through Fleur's cascading silver hair. "You're all I'll ever want, mon Rêve."

Beneath the sprawling willow tree, its verdant leaves draping gracefully over the glistening waters, a symphony of summer sunlight danced on the surface. The gentle caress of a zephyr stirred the emerald grass, rippling like a vibrant sea from the distant shore to the swaying grove atop the hill. It was a picturesque scene, heightened by the soft, sweet fragrance of marzipan wafting through the air and beckoning Harry's senses.

In the midst of this idyllic tableau, the name "Fleur?" slipped from Harry's lips, a note of longing and uncertainty hanging in the air. It was as if he had ventured into an ethereal dreamscape where reality was malleable.

Yet, a surreal transformation swept across the landscape. Bare and ghostly branches stretched towards the heavens, their once-vibrant leaves now withered and crumbling away from lifeless bark. The brilliant summer sun metamorphosed into a fading orb of crimson haze, while the once azure sky turned a dark and foreboding gray, akin to cold steel. Distant thunder grumbled like an awakening titan, and shadows converged beneath the decaying roots of the ancient willow. They swirled and twisted around Harry's feet, like a sinister vortex of dark pitch, slowly seeping into the sapphire waters of the river.

"Fleur," he called out, and there she stood, an apparition on the far bank, her hand tightly clasped with that of a tall and enigmatic shadow. The hot wind tousled her silver hair, casting it across her face in an otherworldly dance. Her voice, when it reached him, carried a weight that struck his heart like a knife plunged into its very core.

"I'm leaving," Fleur declared, her words like an icy dagger piercing through Harry's emotional armor.

Harry's heart constricted, gripped by a pain that felt as if she had indeed twisted a knife within it. "Why?" he choked on the word, a surge of liquid heat stinging at his eyelids and a lump forming in his throat. "You promised."

The encroaching darkness had reached Fleur's feet, where it devoured the once-lush grass, turning it a lifeless brown. It advanced relentlessly, like an omen, until even the distant copse of trees yielded their leaves to the searing gale. As lifeless fronds shriveled into the unforgiving mud, a river of shadows yawned open between them, plunging into an abyss of despair. A thousand faces, pale and insubstantial as the morning mist, flickered through the inky depths. Among them, Rita Skeeter's visage appeared fleetingly at the center of the current, and a bolt of lightning streaked across the grim sky, casting a faint, eerie green light.

"I would've done anything for you," Harry murmured, his voice trembling with anguish. "Anything."

"Perfect wishes don't come true, Harry," Fleur replied, leaning her head onto the shoulder of the enigmatic shadow beside her as thunder crashed. "Did you forget? You know you shouldn't forget."

"You just repeat your mistakes if you forget," Harry whispered, his voice filled with a profound sadness. "But you promised you were different."

'"Nobody's ever really different, mon Cœur," Fleur's words lingered in the air, like a bittersweet melody, as she extended her small, soft, warm smile to the shadowy figure by her side. Then, as if dissolving into the very essence of the twilight, the pair wavered and vanished, leaving Harry standing alone in the surreal, shifting landscape.

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