A/N: well, here's the next chapter like I promised! Thanks again for the reviews, they really make my day! Crosses fingers that everyone likes it!
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, only my plot line.
WARNING: Signs of Fluff!
DMRS- Chapter 2- The Daily Prophet
Harry sighed as he was awoken by the incessant tapping of something on his window, which held no respect for the wee hours of the morning. He reached over to his nightstand to retrieve his glasses and wand. After pressing his spectacles upon his face, he took his wand, and, pointing it nowhere in particular, muttered, "Tempus". It was officially 8:03 a.m. Wonderful.
Once he was sure his mind had finally taken its leave of the world of dreams, Harry forced himself out of his bed in a way that would make a zombie mother proud.
Harry trudged mundanely over to the window and quickly found out that an owl carrying the Daily Prophet was the perpetrator to the agitating sound. When Harry opened the window, the owl nipped at his fingers for making it wait outside for as long as it did. "Sorry," Harry mumbled sleepily, shaking the pain out of his hand.
He quickly paid the aggravated bird after that, and then bid it a not-too-fond-farewell.
Harry haphazardly threw the morning paper on his bed where it almost fell into the Disintegrator Trash Bin, while he made his way out his door to the bathroom across the hall, in order to get ready for another day at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Once he was refreshed and ready to face the new day and whatever it planned to throw at him, he made his way downstairs to eat breakfast and finally read the Prophet. His friends were staying in his house over the summer to bond. When he appeared in the kitchen, he found out that he was the only one currently awake in the house. Well, aside from Kreacher, that is. The elf had apparently heard him while he was out-and-about upstairs, for he had made Harry his breakfast. Nice, steaming, hot, scrambled eggs, with some bacon, and 2 flap-jacks that had a mound of melted butter sliding its way down the mini-slope. A delightful pool of syrup surrounded the meal, causing Harry's sweet-tooth to kick into gear, revving to get a move on. He quickly sat down, and began to tear into his food with ravenous bites that would put a starving hyena to shame.
Harry was sub-consciously aware of Ginny entering the dismal kitchen, her hand brushing against his back. Harry quickly swallowed, and, beaming up at her, he said, "Hello, Ginny. Lovely day, isn't it?" Harry made this statement, even if he hadn't yet looked outside once that day. Every day was lovely, as long as he had Ginny in his presence.
"'Morning, Harry." Then, while laughing, she smugly noted, "Harry, is it, or is it not raining outside?" Harry blinked. Harry blinked again. Harry thought for a moment.
"Well, it's a lovely day for the dehydrated plants and animals then," Harry stated, point blank. Ginny proceeded to roll her eyes, and commenced eating her own breakfast, which Kreacher had brought in the second that Ginny walked through the kitchen door. The elf left the kitchen after hearing their interesting word swap, chuckling and muttering to himself about how dull lovers' quarrels are now-a-days.
But the fact was, Ginny and Harry weren't lovers. There was definitely love, just not love in that respect. During the war, and their time apart, Ginny had found someone else who made her heart sing and feel complete.
He was the one, and only, Neville Longbottom. To his friends, he was known as Neville. To people of higher regards, and the people who wanted to tie him down, and kill him ten times over, he was Longbottom. He was also Harry's pal who took control of the DA, alongside Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, in his absence. Neville was a good person and you'd have to have no compassion and a deep dark abyss where your heart should be, not to forgive Neville, no matter what he did. And that's exactly what Harry did, after Neville took Ginny away from him, he forgave him. Well, Harry did break up with her, but that was only to protect her from Voldemort; they would get back together after the war, or so they had planned. It had taken Harry a month to forgive Ginny and move on, but he did. They were now just close friends in a sister-brother relationship, even if they both still hold that little candle for each other, both apparently unaware of its existence not only in the other, but within themselves.
About a quarter hour later, Ron and Hermione decided to join Harry and Ginny in the kitchen, which also now held their breakfasts as well, courtesy of Kreacher. When Ron saw his meal, he swiftly began to transport it from his plate, to his stomach. Hermione sat squashed between Ron and Harry, a slight smirk slowly making its home on her face. "Ron, if you don't slow down with all of that eating, you going to choke on a piece that hasn't been chewed properly!" Hermione's voice was full of scorn, but if one knew how to listen suitably, they would hear the underlying affection in her voice.
"Awww, but Hermione, with you here~ you being such a great witch and all~ it wouldn't be possible for me to choke in your presence. You'd know what do." Ron then added, for good measure, "After all, you always do."
"Ron, stop trying to soften me up with flattery. It won't work," Hermione said this as she was ducking down her head to keep her face out of view, to hide the slight blush flourishing on her cheeks. Obviously, it was working.
After that, Harry and Ron got caught up in a discussion about Quidditch, which Hermione tuned out of (If the glazed over look in her eyes was anything to go by), and which Ginny, eagerly joined in. About a half hour later, George decided to join the party, and, to Hermione's great dismay, also leapt into the Quidditch conversation.
Even though George and his brother of late, Fred, owned a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley, George had been staying over at Harry's place to help cope with the shock and stress of not only losing his twin, but his closest friend. Fred's death was a sickening weight in them all, but especially Harry, who couldn't help but feel guilty himself, for the loss of the great jokester. But George had been slowly healing, the wounds would never completely heal, and there would still be scars left over, but healing nonetheless.
It was George's idea to go outside and play a game of Quidditch in the rain, instead of just talking about it. But Hermione was quick to try to beat down the idea. "But it's raining outside! You'll all get soaked, catch a cold, and not be able to go anywhere for a month! Why not wait until the storm has passed over? Then you'll be able to play in nicer weather."
"But Hermione, isn't it obvious why we should go out now?" George waited for Fred to finish the thought for him, but then, he remembered Fred wouldn't do that, ever again. "It will be more fun and challenging in the rain. Help sharpen our senses, ya know? Also, in a real Quidditch match, you've got to play, no matter the weather conditions, or just forfeit.
"Plus, we've played in the rain before now, and the only problem we'd had, was seeing, and Harry getting attacked by dementors. I assure you all that there are most likely no dementors out there in the back woods at the moment, presently. It is quite safe," George finished his statement less enthused then when he had first started his argument. Everyone in the room could feel George slowly slipping into the claws of depression again, and no one else dared to try to argue against his idea twice; they were all now too caught up in trying to get George feeling happy again, even Hermione bit back her rebuke, and they all hustled outside. Harry never did get to read the paper that morning.
When they all finally came back in, calling them wet would be an understatement. Big time. That was how drenched they were. But they all came in with beaming faces and their looks were ones of accomplishment.
Everyone then commenced to settle by the fire, with steaming hot mugs filled to the brim with hot cocoa, reliving the action of their game. While everyone else was discussing their game, Harry, chuckling to himself, finally decided to read the issue of the Daily Prophet he'd received that morning.
Harry had just taken in a rather large sip of his drink, when his eyes processed the words forming the title on the headline page, and delivered them to his brain. All in one motion, Harry simultaneously dropped the Prophet onto his lap, swung his arm holding his mug around, to place it on the little table next to his armchair, to keep it from spilling, and began to spew out his drink on whatever was in front of him. Sadly for Hermione, she was said something. Harry then proceeded to go into a coughing fit.
Ginny was there in an instant, slamming her hand against his back to help him stop choking on whatever part of his drink that was still left in his mouth. When he could properly breathe again~ with a hurting back in the bargain~ he forced himself to calm down.
"Harry, what on Earth happened?!" Hermione demanded to know, trying to dry herself off.
"Nothing," was Harry's immediate response. Apparently, his mouth decided it no longer wanted to take orders from his brain.
"Oh come off it, Harry," George scoffed. "No one just suddenly decides to spit out a perfectly good cup of hot cocoa on my Ronnykins's girlfriend, and then choke on it, for 'nothing'." Then, George mused, "Well, no one I've met yet, anyway."
George would have continued wandering off in his own thoughts, had it not been for Ron, practically begging, "Come on Harry! Tell us, tell us! Pleeeeeeease!"
Harry's face was chalk white as he flashed them all the headline:
Malfoy Death Eater Trial in 5 Days!
The cheery mood quickly evaporated as they all gathered around Harry. As one, they read the article:
Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, supporters of the finally vanquished You-Know-Who, after almost three years after the end of the war, and their capture, they will have their Trial. Those disgusting murderers don't have a glimmer of hope of escaping the Dementor's Kiss, writes Rita Skeeter, especially going in without a Defendant!
These Death Eaters were the cause of many a death during the horrifying rein of You-Know-Who, including the beloved Albus Dumbledore, the late Headmaster of Hogwarts, along with many innocent others. Torturing and murdering are obviously the only things they know. I'm even allowed to reveal the fact that, even before the supposed return of You-Know-Who, Lucius had been using his status of being a Death Eater to hold over the poor citizens of our Wizarding World, who dared to cross his path. He even, apparently, threatened to curse the families of the Board of Governors, if they did not support his 'request' to have Dumbledore removed from the post of Hogwarts Headmaster in its greatest time of need. Narcissa Malfoy helped to plot dear Dumbledore's death, while her vile son carried out the deed. It is also rumored, that, they even offered You-Know-Who houseroom!
Alas! I am not sure if this is true or not, but have no fear, for I, Rita Skeeter, will be attending said Trial, and I will be taking notes, and digging up all the dirt you all are so eager to be burrowing into. There will be an article next week describing all of the Malfoys' dirty little secrets and crimes. I am so privileged to be able to go, due to the courtesy of our beloved Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who will be the chief warlock in this Trial, just like all the others! At times like these, one often wonders where we would now be, if Harry Potter had not saved us all! ~ for more on the destruction of You-Know-Who, turn to page 5. For more on our prized Minister, page 10. For more on the outcome of previous Death Eater Trials, page 13. For more on Harry Potter, page 19.
The room was deathly silent.
A/N: I know this was shorter than last time, and lacking in action, but I am only setting up the stage for my story! Next chapter will hopefully be longer and go into the plot more.
Last time I kept my promise, and updated! Now let us see if we can get a repeat of this action, and review!
Next Chapter: Harry's gang's reactions, and more…