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by hvgwcrts

by hvgwcrts

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
AND THIRTY NINE
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-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH HARRY AND
AVIANA ARRIVE AT MADAM
PUDDIFOOT'S

. . .

"Fucking hell." Harry couldn't help it, as he followed Aviana into Madam Puddifoot's. Instantly, he was assaulted by the sight of the almost entirely pink café interior, such an eyesore and so incredibly tacky, frilly and covered in oversized bows. Aviana's nose wrinkled, and certainly whatever she was thinking he agreed, because it reminded him far too much of Umbridge's office.

"Unfortunately, dearies, we're quite busy at the moment." An elderly woman, who Harry could only believe was Madam Puddifoot herself, said as she approached them, squeezing around tables and chairs, of which the café was stuffed with.

"We don't need a table." Aviana said. "As if I'd ever bring my boyfriend here willingly. No, we're meeting someone." She continued, and peered over the woman's shoulder. "Ah, there, come on, Harry."

Harry offered a small smile to Madam Puddifoot as he went after Aviana as she headed towards a corner of the café. His smile dropped when he saw who they were joining. Hermione looked up at they approached, as did Luna Lovegood on one side of her and Rita Skeeter on the other. "What are you doing?" He hissed to Aviana, as she waved her wand and two chairs appeared before them.

"You don't have to say anything yet." Aviana replied cryptically. "Me and Granger will handle it for a while."

"Punctual, as always." Hermione commented, as the pair took their seats. "Thought you two would want more time to yourselves."

"You two are dating?" Rita instantly perked up, snatching her crocodile-skin handbag and dug around inside it. "How interesting. A Rosier and a Potter-"

"It's none of your business." Aviana snapped at once. "Harry's love life is private. Considering the fact you were fired and your last few articles at the Prophet focused on their supposed relationship anyone with a brain would realise that any of your writing ability goes out the window when writing about romance. So get the hint and give it a rest."

"You're being aggressive again." Hermione added lowly, across the table.

"Not to worry." Rita made a face, and slowly put away the acid-green quill she had been extracting from her bag. "I have had... many encounters with Miss Rosier prior."

"Yes, I believe last time I almost stabbed you with a fork." Aviana hummed. "You were trying to quote me for that article you wrote at the end of the tournament. Do you remember? Do you remember what that conversation was about?" She asked, blinking innocently.

Rita snapped her bag shut, and placed it on her lap once more. "I suppose so."

"I thought so." Aviana nodded, and looked away. Harry was looking gormless. "Well, go on, or are you expecting me to explain everything else?"

"What are you two up to?" Harry asked, staring from Aviana, to Rita, to Luna then Hermione.

"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived." Rita replied, and took a large slurp from her drink. "I suppose I am allowed to talk to him, am I?" She asked Aviana.

"I suppose so." The red-haired girl replied primly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. Her hair, once set in elaborate curls, now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet polish on her nails was chipped and there were several false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another drink from her glass, eyed Aviana warily and leaned across the table. "Pretty girl, isn't she, Harry - but certainly an... odd choice." Rita began, in a conspiratorial tone.

"Fuck off." Aviana scowled. "Another word and the deal is off and I'll be contacting the Ministry to tell them about that tiny, little bug-sized problem of yours."

"You haven't mentioned a deal yet." Rita sat back up, and glanced between Hermione and Aviana. "Miss Prissy just told me to turn up. Oh... one of these days..." she took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and his love life." Hermione said indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help." Rita said, shooting a sideways look at the boy in question over the top of her glass and added in a rough whisper "How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

"He feels angry, of course." Hermione interrupted in a hard, clear voice. "Because he told the Minister of Magic the truth and he's too much of an idiot to believe him."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Be-Named is back?" Rita lowered her glass, which was filled with pink, awfully-sweet looking liquid. Her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?"

"I wasn't the sole witness." Harry snapped. "There was a dozen-or-so Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

"I'd love them." Rita breathed, now fumbling in her bag and gazing at Harry as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Aviana was glaring. "A great bold headline: 'Potter Accuses...' A subheading: 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you: 'Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, fifteen, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters...'" The Quick-Quotes-Quill was in her hand, halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face.

"But of course," Rita said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione. "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," Hermione said sweetly, "That's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."

Rita stared at her, as did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, was singing 'Weasley Is Our King' dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick. Aviana, too, looked slightly disinterested; this news clearly came as no surprise to her.

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