When All is Lost, One is Found
Author: Rinoaebastel
Chapter 142: Telling Their Story
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and gain no profit from this fanfiction other than writing practice. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.
AN: This story may contain scenes taken from the Harry Potter movies and books, but it's not exact dialogue, just rewording of dialogue or omission. It is not marked.
April, 1999
He'd been in the headmaster's office through the years more times than he could count, but the chairs had never felt so uncomfortable. Despite the ill feelings, he didn't let his features deviate from his normal stern look. Hermione could read him almost as well as a book, so she'd see his nervousness if he weren't careful. She was sitting upright and her hands gripped the chair arms so tight her knuckles were white. If she saw him nervous, her tenseness would increase.
If someone had just kept their mouth shut and minded their own business, this could've been avoided. Ron Weasley caused all of this. He put effort into making as much trouble as he could for them because she rejected him.
Wesley's expulsion had been reversed since it was just his first offense, so Minerva had no choice but to accept the decision. That created anger from not only the staff but also most of the students. Casting an unforgivable against a fellow student should've come with a harsher penalty.
Fortunately, Weasley avoided Hermione and her friends as if they had a contagious disease. Most of the students avoided him as well. Miss Dutchess and Miss Bastel "accidentally" caused him to temporarily lose his hair. He didn't see (the entire) event occur, so he couldn't just dish out punishments to them.
But he could issue bonus points.
At first, Weasley tried to stay around Potter, stupidly thinking he would take his side, but Potter was smarter than that. The young man had told him in no uncertain terms to sod off. The only one he'd seen talking to Ron had been his sister, and those moments had been brief and he could feel the hostility wafting off her. Talking to him was a family requirement for her. Nothing more.
The owls still brought many letters, still in the dozens and many of them still hate mail. Since they were interrupting everyone else's meals, he and Hermione had taken to having most meals in his quarters. As a result, the owls delivered their letters to a special place Minerva set up for them. They picked them up every evening and went through them.
The tiny owl that had befriended him before Dumbledore's death had become a familiar and now stayed with him most of the time. It'd become common for it to sit on the blackboard in his classroom and watch the students as they worked. One time it even caught a student cheating. He glanced at the corner where it was sitting near Fawkes.
He took a deep breath and focused back on the scene he found himself in.
If this idea of McGonagall's didn't work out, he wasn't sure what they could do. Hermione and he agreed that breaking up and saying it never happened wasn't an option. Both said they'd leave before that happened. They were both extremely smart, so they'd manage to make a good living. Though he didn't like this method, he found himself grateful for her help.
If the journalist were honest, and if they told the story themselves, the truth would be out there. He knew some wouldn't believe them, but it might calm the current events brewing involving them. Hermione needed the calm even more than he did. She had important tests and decisions to make.
He looked down when he felt a hand on his. She smiled at him. "It will be fine."
That was just like his witch, always trying to comfort him rather than worrying about herself.
"Yes, it will be," he said. And he found himself truly believing his words. If he had her, he had all he needed. "If it doesn't, we can always escape to the United States. They have quite a unique world."
"Let's keep that on the table," she said and laughed.
The office door opened and McGonagall entered with another woman.
The woman was significantly taller than McGonagall and appeared to be about as old. She wore silver round rimmed glasses and had long gold hair. When her eyes fell on their joined hands, she smiled, laugh lines appearing at the corner of her eyes.
"Good evening, Professor Snape, Miss Granger," the woman said. Other than Hermione, he'd never seen a woman smile so brightly before. Her entire persona screamed kindness, but he wouldn't let his guard down.
"Please have a seat, Madam Hatchgon," McGonagall said and pointed to one of the two free chairs in front of them. She walked around and sat on a chair next to her desk instead of behind it. It made the situation less tense if she didn't display her authority. He knew that was her intention. "Shall we begin? I am sure we have a lot to discuss."
"Certainly." She took a seat across from them, her smile never leaving her face. She reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and quill. She opened the notebook and scribbled in it for a few seconds.
He tensed and thought about what she was currently writing and what she would write overall about them. Journalists had a way of twisting things to make it much worse than it was. He assumed they were all taught to do that.
Minerva had assured them that this journalist didn't spread rumors or defame the way Rita Skeeter did in her work for the Prophet. How he hated that woman. He received some strange fan mail because of the outrageous book she wrote about him. Hero or Villain she had called it. He wished the wizard world had slander laws like the human world. If they had then he would've sued her to the point she'd be begging for paper scraps on the street for her next gossip fix.
He had suffered, yes, she got that part right, but the rest was fiction. He hadn't given information about Lily directly; he just passed the prophecy to the Dark Lord. He caused her death, but it hadn't been because he was jealous or as vengeance from unrequited love. The way she wrote it sounded as if he killed her directly. Fortunately, most people knew that the Dark Lord killed Lily.
He didn't continue being a spy for the glory of ruling under the Dark Lord, and he wasn't playing both sides. She even wrote that he was still a spy. Whom the hell would he be a spy for? The next thing he knew she'd be saying the Dark Lord wasn't dead, and they'd be some idiot that believed it.
The whole book, as Hermione had called it, was pure garbage.
The Headmistress started serving the tea. "You two don't be nervous." The soft order made Hermione relax and she laced a finger with one of his. He remained stoic. His eyes fixed on the journalist. "Madam Hatchgon is a complete professional, unlike another journalist we both know."
"Please, Minerva, don't call that woman a journalist. She's a loud mouth hag who only feels important by putting down others. I would say she did other things to get her position, but no one is that desperate."
He almost laughed, and he heard Hermione make a small sound. This woman just earned a bit of his trust. A very slight bit, but it was there.
Madam Hatchgon took her quill with a firm grip, and her eyes fixed on them. "If you want the truth out, you will have to be clear on your statements and be sincere. I will not change any of the content or leave out anything you've told me. If you are convincing, if you convince me, I'm sure the majority of the readers will understand. Our readers are nothing like the Prophet's customer base."
"Very well," he said.
"So, shall we start?"
He looked at Hermione.
A silent exchange of words and worry passing through their gazes. Then, a smile came to her lips. Both of them turned to face the journalist together.
AN: I hope you liked it and let me know what you think. See you on Saturday with the last chapter before the epilogue. I know that Ron deserved more punishment, but the world isn't fair.