Harry Potter and the Sorceress of the Stars

"It's nearing lunchtime," said Oleandra, as she checked her pocket watch. "We might as well drop in for dinner, but we could always skip on Hermione, you know?"

"I wouldn't mind going," said Tracey. "I'm rather curious to know why she'd want to see you— it's not as if you know each other that well."

Daphne had been Hermione's friend, while Oleandra had most often run into Ron and Harry in her adventures. Oleandra's and Hermione's relationship could be summed up as them being friends of a mutual friend— but not being friends themselves. As a result, Oleandra was never quite sure which degree of familiarity she was supposed to employ with the girl genius, making their interactions quite awkward.

At any rate, since Tracey didn't mind Hermione inserting herself in the middle of their date, Oleandra and Tracey slowly wended their way back to the Three Broomsticks and entered the inn, squeezing their way past the jam-packed tables to Hermione, who was sitting in the back with Luna Lovegood and a woman that had her back to them.

"Rita Skeeter?" said Oleandra in astonishment. "What in the world are you doing here?"

The female reporter had written a few nasty articles on her when she'd been Triwizard Champion, the previous year. Come to think of it, it had been a while since Oleandra had last seen the woman's name disgracing one of The Daily Prophet's hit pieces…

"How should I know?" the woman grumbled. "Little Miss Perfect's been holding out on me, saying she was waiting for you and Harry…"

"So, Hermione calls, and you just come running?" asked a bewildered Tracey.

Rita shot a warning glare at Hermione, but Hermione remained aloof, unbothered by the daggers being stared into her skull. It had to be said that Rita didn't look especially intimidating, with her unkempt hair and her fading manicure. She looked like she had been sleeping outside…

"Something like that," said Hermione, as she impatiently stood up to peer over the other patrons' heads. "Where is Harry, he was supposed to be here ten minutes ago!"

"Time is money," said Rita Skeeter irritably. "Clock's ticking. Tick-tock."

"Daddy says that money only attracts Wrackspurts," said Luna Lovegood with a look of utmost seriousness. "That's why he doesn't pay his contributors."

"Well, as you've probably guessed," said Hermione as she slumped back into her seat, "I've called you here to interview Harry and Oleandra about Voldemort's return. You'll be writing for The Quibbler, which is why I've called Luna here as well— her father owns the paper."

Luna's father owned The Quibbler; a small, self-published newspaper that liked to think it was competing with The Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. It was full of conspiracy theories, wild stories and alternative facts, so nobody took it seriously.

"Daddy's also editor, contributor, researcher, fact-checker, journalist and writer," Luna chimed in.

"The Quibbler? You can't be serious," said Rita coldly. "Nobody will believe anything written in that rag. I'd be throwing away my reputation if I wrote for that— and for free, if I'm to believe this Loony girl's words."

Hermione calmly reached into her bag and put an empty bottle on the table— and for some reason, Rita visibly blanched. Just what in the world had happened between these two?

"Er…" said Oleandra hesitatingly. "While we're waiting for Harry to arrive, why don't we order something to eat…?"

…

Half an hour later, the girls had picked their way through a large plate of chips drenched with gravy and curry sauce, leaving Rita watering at the mouth at the sight of their feast.

"Hope we didn't keep you waiting!"

Oleandra raised her eyes from the food, only to be met with the most horrifying sight she had ever beheld: Harry and Cho Chang snuggling against each other, with their arms locked together. Had someone cast a Hip-Joining Jinx on them, or something?

"Not at all," said Hermione with a strained smile.

Upon seeing what looked like juicy gossip, Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up, and she began slowly reaching into her bag for her Quick Quotes Quill… but Hermione made sure to put a stop to that.

"Not a single word about Harry's love life, or the deal's off," said Hermione sharply.

"Then how about yours, Little Miss Perfect?" said Rita snarkily. "Is it just me, or am I sensing some unresolved tension between the three of you? Don't tell me— another love triangle? Perhaps you'd like to share?"

Rita Skeeter hadn't just gone after Oleandra with her nasty articles last year; she'd also gone after Harry, and she'd been especially hard on Hermione, claiming that she'd been two-timing Triwizard Champions, among other things.

And she had clearly hit upon Cho's insecurity about Harry having such a close female friend…

"I'd rather we didn't," said Hermione frostily.

"I would, actually," said Cho nonchalantly.

The two girls glared at each other, and Harry was now looking extremely uncomfortable. He looked in Oleandra's direction pleadingly, squirming where he stood.

"Cho— Hermione's obviously in love with Ron," said Oleandra, rolling her eyes. "They keep bickering like a married couple— it's obvious to anyone who has eyes. It's Ginny I'd be worried about, honestly."

Whoops.

Perhaps it hadn't been that obvious; Harry was looking utterly gobsmacked to hear of his best friends' secret infatuation with each other.

"Oh, this is brilliant!" said Rita, laughing. "I have to take notes— there's so many people in your love triangle that I'm losing count!"

"You will do no such thing!" screeched a red-faced Hermione, in that high-pitched voice she used whenever she was unnerved. "I will seriously go back on our deal, do you understand?"

"Oh, fine," said Rita, rolling her eyes. "Then let's crack on, shall we? But first, I do believe that some drinks are in order… to loosen the tongue, you understand."

Butterbeer did have trace amounts of alcohol in it, but nowhere enough to cause inebriation. And by virtue of birth, Britons had a fairly good resistance to alcohol— not quite on the level of that of Balkaners, but still!

And so, after much prodding and protestations, Harry finally began recounting in great detail the tale of what had happened on the night of Voldemort's revival, and when at last he was done, it was Oleandra's turn.

Tracey squeezed Oleandra's hand under the table, and Oleandra began giving her account of the facts. Strangely enough, talking about it now felt somehow therapeutic, and by the end of her story, the darkness weighing down on Oleandra's heart had finally been lifted.

After suffering in silence for so long, all she had needed to do to free herself was sharing her pain with her friends…