All the Wrong Things

Chapter 4

Monday, September 13, 1999

Skeeter says I have to be at the Ministry early for a photoshoot. I almost hang myself with my old Hogwarts tie right there.

And when I enter the Atrium and Potter is there... well, icing on the cake.

He's eyeing me while Skeeter bounces around, snapping at her photographer, and touching both of our shoulders and chests far too much.

I thought she'd get the shot of me arriving through the fireplaces and walking to the lifts. I had no idea she'd want me to stand here and be greeted by The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Died-And-Lived-Again.

Catchy, Skeeter.

Skeeter walks away, saying she's going to ask someone about adjusting the lighting in here. Good luck with that. It's an underground tomb.

"Are you ready for this?" Potter asks.

I glance at him, and he's trying so hard to be a friendly presence, but I see right through him.

"I suppose so."

We're turned, facing the Atrium, watching Skeeter drag a maintenance worker around pointing at lighting fixtures. We're shoulder to shoulder.

"Gowain Robards is quite excited to meet you," he says. "Head of the Auror Department. He's a pleasant fellow. Appreciates hard work."

I nod.

"You'll remember Goldstein. He's up there." Potter shifts next to me. "And I should tell you that Katie Bell is up there too."

Bell. Wonderful. I feel my stomach twist. Why did everyone have to go work for the fucking Ministry.

"You'll have your own cubicle, but you'll probably get dragged into team meetings, and brainstorming sessions, and the like. Oh, and there's a café on this level, just around the corner. Excellent croissants."

And a familiarity sweeps over me. The two of us, shoulder to shoulder. We might as well be standing on footstools, getting our robes pinned. Only this time it's Potter talking nervously, and instead of bragging like I did, he's trying to teach me, trying to make me feel comfortable.

I remember seeing Hagrid out the Madam Malkin's window, and thinking I'd get a laugh out of this boy. I had already known back then that picking at the weaker or lesser was a talent of mine, and perhaps I'd make a friend if he thought I was funny.

I blink to clear my head as Rita claps her hands, shouting at the photographer.

"Thank you for speaking on behalf of my mother, Potter." I feel him turn to look at me. "I'm... very grateful that she didn't have to endure Azkaban for long."

"Of course. Yes," he says. "She saved my life once. Thought it best to return the favor," he says with a smile.

Before it crosses my mind to thank him for speaking at my trial, Skeeter is back. She's telling us to stand in front of the fountain, face each other, and shake hands.

And maybe it's the memory of Madam Malkin's, or it's the absurdity of all this, but Rita sets us up and Potter reaches out his hand, and I say, "Merlin, Potter. Took you eight years to finally shake my hand."

I clasp his hand, and the camera flashes, and Potter snorts. He's hiding a smile when he says, "Think of all the unpleasantness we could have avoided."

I chuckle. Rita asks us to try it again, and then I hear, "Miss Granger!"

I knew I would see her today. But I still feel unprepared for the possibility of spending most of my days with her and Harry Potter.