In The End ⁂ H. Potter Twin

Like the World's on Fire

"You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. "I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another half-hour at least!"

"Cho?" said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. "A girl?— And what about you, Iris? Anyone special?"

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. Iris blanched at the blatant nerve of the writer.

"It's none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls, and don't even think about asking about Iris' relationships again," Hermione told Rita coolly. "So you can put that away right now."

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again. Iris' chest had begun to seize up but she forced herself to take a deep breath, silently thanking Hermione for having her back.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Iris and Hermione.

"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived," said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to them, am I?" she shot at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose you are," said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, "Pretty girl, is she, Harry?"

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," said Hermione irritably.

"What deal?" said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you 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, Iris, and me," said Hermione indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

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

"They feel angry, of course," said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. "Because they've told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe them."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting the twins to a piercing stare while 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 two being the sole witnesses — ?"

"We weren't the sole witness," snarled Harry. "There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

Iris had stilled in her seat, paling. She did not want to think about that night.

"I'd love them," breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: 'Potters Accuse...' A subheading: 'Potter Twins Name Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you two: 'Disturbed teenage survivors of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry and Iris Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters...' "

The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face.

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