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The Daily Prophet
The Brightest Witch of her Age…Or the Boldest?
GRANGER'S UNHOLY TRIAD REVEALED: NECROMANCY, INFIDELITY, AND A GROWING SCANDAL!
By Rita Skeeter
For years, the wizarding world believe that Hermione Granger was the paragon of virtue—Golden Trio's moral compass. She followed every rule to the letter. But Miss Granger has spent her adult years rewriting the rules of decency entirely.
In a display of moral bankruptcy Granger abandoned the traditional values for a domestic arrangement that can only be described as a depraved fantasy.
Sources confirm the "Brightest Witch of Her Age" is entwined in a scandalous triangle with two men, neither of whom can offer devotion a respectable women requires.
First, Sirius Black. Now thirty-seven, Mr. Black was legally dead. In display of hubris, Miss Granger decided that the laws of nature were merely "suggestions." Through questionable necromancy, Granger had dragged Mr. Black back from the beyond. Love, or a pathological need for control? To resurrect a man to satisfy a romantic whim in not "brilliant" —it is ghoulish.
As if one resurrected ex-fugitive weren't enough, Granger ensnared Charlie Weasley, thirty-one. The former Dragon Tamer, now Hogwarts professor, who forgotten that "sharing" is a virtue reserved for sweets, not partners.
The trio is nothing short of grotesque. Is this the "modern" woman we are to admire? A woman who views monogamy as an outdated textbook and chooses instead to live in a state of perpetual, libertine confusion?
However, the most damning evidence was captured by this reporter's own keen eye during a recent sighting in Diagon Alley. There, beneath a flimsy linen dress was a visible, unmistakable baby bump.
The wizarding world now asks the question: Which one is it?
Is the child the product of a forbidden dance with the undead, or the result of a frantic liaison with the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures? Or perhaps, in a quest for "innovation", Granger has found a way to complicate the paternity even further?
The tragedy, of course, is the fallout. The Weasley family must be reeling at the knowledge that their son is playing a part in this ménage à trois. One can only imagine the horror on Molly Weasley's face as she realises her daughter-in-law-to-be treating her son like a shared piece of furniture.
Hermione Granger spent her youth lecturing us on the "correct" way to do things. It seems she finally found a subject she is truly passionate about: the total dismantling of public propriety. We can only hope the child is born with more discretion than its mother.
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Hermione's eyes had gone comically wide as she read the Daily Prophet. The ink seemed to vibrate on the page, the words leaping out to slap her in the face. A low growl exited her as she slammed the newspaper on the kitchen table, the sound echoing through the small, cosy space.
"How dare she?" Hermione screeched, her voice hitting a pitch that was piercing.
Both men by the stove cooking breakfast whipped their heads in her direction. Charlie was holding a spatula, mid-flip with a pancake, while Sirius had his arm draped loosely around Charlie's waist, leaning to whisper something that had made the younger man chuckle. The domestic peace vanished in an instant.
"Hermione, love, what is wrong?" asked Charlie, as he set the kitchen utility down. Sirius's eyebrows rose, his grey eyes flickering from Hermione's flushed face to the crumpled paper.
Hermione did not answer, she just pointed a trembling finger at the headline, her breathing shallow and fast. She felt a hot prickle of tears, not because she was sad, but because sheer audacity of Rita. She shifted her weight, the fabric of her dress clinging to the curve of her stomach, a physical reminder of the very thing Skeeter was using as a weapon. Hermione felt a sudden, sharp kick from within, as if the baby was equally offended. Her hand immediately went to rub circles over the bump.
Sirius stepped forward and reached for the paper. He skimmed the article, his eyes narrowing as he read the words "unholy triad" and "ghoulish". A slow, dangerous smirk began to spread across his face, though his grip on the parchment tightened. He barked a laugh. "Well I've been called a lot of things in my time, but 'undead' is a new one. I think I'm actually flattered that she thinks I'm that versatile."
"Sirius, this is not a bloody joke!" Hermione snapped, though she softened as she sank into one of the wooden chairs, her shoulders slumping. She rested a hand on her stomach, her fingers splaying across the fabric of her yellow sun-dress. "She is calling me a necromancer. She is calling our relationship deprived. She is telling the world you are some kind of zombie puppet and Charlie is a piece of furniture."
Charlie mouthed to Sirius "really", which earned him a nod and then he moved toward Hermione. Charlie knelt beside her chair, his large, calloused hand covering hers. He looked up at her with those warm, brown, almost yellow, steady eyes. "It is Rita, baby. She lives for this. She has spent her entire career turning people's lives into tabloid fodder ." He paused, leaning his forehead against her knee. "Dose it actually bother you, or is it just the fact she is wrong about the delates?"
Hermione ran her hand through Charlies messy tangle of ginger curls and sighted, a long sound that seemed to drain the tension from her spine. She looked over at Sirius, who was now leaning against the counter, still holding the paper with a look of detached amusement. "It is everything. It is the way she talks about our baby. 'Which one is?' as if we're some sort of abnormal puzzle. It is invasive and cruel." Hermione chewed her lip, her mind already racing through a dozen different ways to write a formal rebuttal, though she knew that would only feed the fire.
Sirius walked to the bin and dropped the newspaper into it with a satisfying thud. Then he joined both Hermione and Charlie, reaching out to tuck a stray curly behind her ear, his touch lingering on her cheek. "Let her wonder," he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that always made Hermione's hear flutter. "The world is boring, my sweet girl. They still see a girl who followed every rule and they can not handle the fact that she grew up and decided she wanted more then the standard package. A bad reputation is what makes us more interesting, my love."
Hermione leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but the presence of two of them—their warmth, their scent of cinnamon and baked apples—began to drown it out. She thought about the months of secret research, the desperate, forbidden magic she had used to pull Sirius back form the veil. It hadn't not been about control or hubris, as the hag claimed. It had been about Harry and the refusal to accept that Harry had no family left. The magic had been violate, but seeing Sirius breath again had been the only thing that mattered. The love they now share came much later.
"I just hate that people will look at our child and see a scandal," Hermione whispered. She shifted in her chair, trying t fine a comfortable position as the weight of the pregnancy began to pull at her lower back. "I want this child to be loved, not debated in a pub over a pint of butterbeer."
Charlie squeezed her hand, his thumb rubbing circles into her sun-kissed skin. "Oh Merlin, Hermione, our child is already so loved. Your parents did not even blink an eye when we told them, your mother hugged you and sobbed how her baby is having her own baby. My mum will probably send Rita a dozen Howlers when she sees what bullshit the old bat had written, because she loves you. Because she loves me and most importantly she loves our baby more then anything in this world. Molly is absolutely obsessed with this baby, regardless of who the father is." He gave her a small, encouraging smile. "Besides, the kid is going to have the best protectors in the world. A brilliant witch, a dragon-tamer a man who literally cheated death and about dozen of aunts and uncles who would hex anybody for speaking ill about their niece or nephew. That's a pretty decent start in life."
Hermione let out a small, watery laugh. "You are both infuriatingly optimistic."
"It is a survival mechanism," Sirius joked, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "When you have spent a decade in Azkaban, you learn to appreciate the absurdity of life. Rita bloody Skeeter is a fly in a fancy dress. She is nothing." He kissed the top of Hermione's head, his stubble scratching her scalp, missing that his soon-to-be-wife eyes went wide again.
At the mention of the word "fly", something in Hermione's brain seemed to clicked. Hermione shot up form her chair with such a sudden, violent force that she practically launched her self into the air, catching Charlie completely off guard. Her knee collided with his shoulder, sending him sprawling backwards. He landed hard on his bum with a startled "Off!". The movement was so fast is startled Sirius too. He jumped back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his witch sprang form the chair like a bullet. He stared at her, blinking slowly, wondering if he just witnessed a spontaneous combustion of temper.
Hermione did not seem to notice the chaos she had caused. She pointed a finger directly at Sirius, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across her face.
"Thank you, my love," Hermione said, a terrifying sort of glee humming from her voice. "Rita is a fly. Literally. And in my fourth year, I kept her in a jar for four months just to teach her a lesson about writing crap."
Her grin turned feral and her eyes glinted madly, that had Sirius's eyebrows rise up and for him to take a step back. Hermione then proceed to twist her body and turn on her heel, the yellow fabric of her dress swirling around her ankles. "I still have the bloody jar," she announced, echoes of her voice vibrating through the kitchen. Without another word, she marched out of the room. As she disappeared down the hallway, they could hear her muttering to herself about sending an urgent owl to Molly and having a proper crack at Skeeter's wings.
Sirius and Charlie stayed exactly were they were for a moment, completely stunned. Charlie was still on the floor, staring at the ceiling while he pushed a stray curl out of his eyes. Then he popped himself on his elbows and looked over at Sirius, who seemed genuinely rattled.
"I am sending a Patronus to Harry and Ron," Sirius said, his voice sounding a bit tight." He didn't move form his spot, eyeing the doorway as if it might snap at him if he got too close.
Charlie let his head fall on the floor again and let a wheezing little laugh. "She is going to be the death of us," he murmured. He sounded beat, but there was a clear undercurrent of affection in his voice.
Sirius finally stepped over and hauled Charlie up with a grunt. He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking it over. "I am too old for this shit. Let's just let our mad girl loose and blame the hormones. Hopefully the Ministry never finds that jar."
"I HEARD THAT, SIRIUS BLACK!" Hermione's voice boomed through the house.
Both wizards jumped, colliding with each other. Then, the front door slammed shut with a bang. In the sudden quiet, smelling of burnt pancakes, Sirius and Charlie shared a look, they Adam's apples bobbing as they swallowed. Rita Skeeter was officially doomed.