The Half-Blood Princess

Five Years Later...

"No."

"But you are in such high demand, Ms. Snape."

Harley sighed, wishing she could chop this infuriating woman's head instead of her potion ingredients.

"Regardless of the fact that I consider Witch Weekly to be a bunch of nonsense and waste of trees and ink, I'd not be interviewed by you even if it meant I'd lose my career for it. Now get out before I hex you...or get Hermione Granger to trap you in your Animagus form again."

She watched as Rita Skeeter--who now worked for Witch Weekly instead of the Daily Prophet after her vilifying articles about Harry Potter all turned out to be rubbish--slunk away like the insect she was.

Harley supposed she should be pleased that her products had gotten her in such high demand that the women's magazine wanted to feature her. However, she would not demean her worth by going on record with any of their ridiculous, over-exaggerating reporters.

Once her shop had been fully repaired, she'd begun to get back to work, mainly because she needed a distraction. The following months made her realise another reason why her father had loved brewing: it took up so much of your time and concentration, there was little time left to think.

Since the memorial, she had not seen or spoken to Harry Potter. Hermione occasionally wrote, and she still did regular business with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes (every time she saw that replaced apostrophe in their name, her heart began to break anew), which meant regular correspondence with George and his new wife, Angelina Johnson. They avoided anything personal. It was as if they had never knew each other.

The reason for that had been mutual: they could not be friends or even see each other because it hurt too much. They reminded each other too much of what they had lost, and the pain was too great to bear. Harley wondered if they'd ever get over Fred's death, but it was a fleeting thought. Her always pained heart knew that that would never happen. Because she spoke to George and Hermione, she wound up with news of Ron by default. It was never anything personal, more like writing a vague childhood acquaintance than old friends and family.

Harley even heard from Neville every so often. He was traveling with his wife, Hannah Abbott, and he occasionally sent her rare herbs and things he found in far-off countries. She supposed they'd be around more, now that they'd purchased The Three Broomsticks from Madam Rosemerta, just a few shops down the way from The Potion Master.

Minerva McGonagall also wrote often, and she saw many of the school's professors every Hogsmeade weekend. She was still the school's prime supplier of ingredients and supplies.

The person from the past Harley saw most often was Draco Malfoy, who had regained his good-standing and lost his bad attitude once his father had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. He had taken a shine to Harley for some reason, and they met twice a month to just sit and talk.

In the five years since the war had ended, the only person Harley had never spoken to again was her very own brother. And she didn't mind that one bit.

Compared with others, hers was the life of a hermit. But no one had expected much differently of her. She had never had a wide circle of friends, and those she did care about had been killed. She'd not been to any public events since her father was given a posthumous Order Of Merlin, First Class, about three months after the war had ended.

So why was Witch Weekly hounding a reclusive potioneer with an admitted bad attitude? Because of the Magical Veneer Makeup line Harley had released a few months ago. She'd given an early version of the products to Ginny and Hermione in Christmas of ninety-six, but had much improved and expanded them.