||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 39

Harry looked up irritatedly from his table to see who was knocking in such an ill-mannered at the door.

"Ron?" he raised his eyebrows.

Ron barged in and threw a newspaper on his face.

"What is this rubbish?" he snarled.

Harry glanced at the paper.

The front page had a large picture of Hermione and Ron, standing in a dingy corner of what looked like a bar Knockturn Alley, engaged in a heated kiss. The headline read in big, bold letters: Power Couple Back Together Again?

He skimmed through the article before tossing the paper aside. Throwing a withering glare at a Ron, he stood and made his way to the door. Of course, he knew Ron may have no hand in this at all, but it was a large possibility. Harry couldn't bring himself to forgive Ron, no matter what the circumstances. Ron angrily made to follow him, but Harry turned around abruptly at the door, causing Ron to walk right into him.

"Listen," Harry said, looking him straight in the eye with his face devoid of any expression, "I hope now you know that all these lies are being spread for a reason. Hermione was pulled into this. As if she would risk being out in the open now, with oy of all people. It's all bullshit. And, believe me or not, Malfoy isn't guilty either. They are both part of something we don't know about, and I'm going to help them, whether you like it or not."

Ron stood and glared for a few seconds. Harry noticed the tips of his ears turning as red as his hair as his fists balled themselves.

"I don't want lies about me to spread," Ron said, pointing a finger between Harry's eyes, "I'm doing it for myself, not her."

"Lie to yourself all you want, I don't care," Harry turned and left, leaving Ron sputtering and furious in his office. It probably want such a good idea, but he didn't care.

Now he was very sure that someone at the Prophet was deliberately making these lies. And someone was impersonating people. Pansy's death had turned up on the front page as well, with a photograph, even though Theodore said he hadn't told anyone else. Things were finally falling into place, and although glad, he didn't like the way they were going.

It seemed as though someone was trying to get revenge. As usual, it was the sole purpose of the impersonator. He or she wanted revenge.

To be completely honest, he knew why. Many had died in the war, and while few had respected their departed loved ones and the cause, some hadn't been so subtle. There were still many out there who were bitter towards him for even existing. After all, if not for him, the Battle wouldn't have happened.

He laughed mirthlessly. The easiest solution to this seemed to plain as day: just die.

On the other hand, he knew that just because it was easy didn't mean it was the right thing to do.

He ran a hand through his hair in his frustration.

He'd get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did.

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Hermione had gone off somewhere the previous evening, after they had returned from Podmore's, saying she had some work. She had returned a little before dinner, saying that there were things they needed to discuss in the morning. Draco had been unsuspecting and had, of course, agreed.

But now, as he read the Prophet, his blood boiled. The larger than necessary picture looked very real. His bunched fists crumpled the paper. By the time he was done, he had managed to make his face a cold mask of indifference.