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Women. he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. What did she want to talk about Cedric for anyway. Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe. He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He knew he was too early to meet Hermione, but he thought it likely there would be someone in here with whom he could spend the intervening time. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked around. Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose. Hi, Hagrid. he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him. Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognized him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises. Oh, its you, Harry, said Hagrid. You all righ. Yeah, Im fine, lied Harry; in fact, next to this battered and mournful- Apex pro mini prisjakt Hagrid, he felt he did not have much to complain about. Er - are you okay. said Hagrid. Oh yeah, Im grand, Harry, grand. He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry did not know what to say to him. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, In the same boat, you an me, aren we, Harry. Er - said Harry. Yeah. Ive said it before. Both outsiders, like, said Hagrid, nodding wisely. An both orphans. Yeah. both orphans. He took a great swig from his tankard. Makes a diffrence, havin a decent family, he said. Me dad was decent. An your mum an dad were decent. If theyd lived, life woulda bin diffrent, eh. Yeah. I spose, said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood. Family, said Hagrid gloomily. Whatever yeh say, bloods important. And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye. Hagrid, said Harry, unable to stop himself, where are you getting all these injuries. said Hagrid, read more startled. Wha injuries. Apex pro mini prisjakt those. said Harry, pointing at Hagrids face. Oh. thas jus normal bumps an bruises, Harry, said Hagrid dismissively. I got a rough job. He drained his tankard, set it back upon the table, and got to his feet. Ill be seein yeh, Harry. Take care now. And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched and then disappeared into the torrential rain. Harry watched him go, feeling miserable. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on. But before Harry could think about the matter any further, he heard a voice calling his name. Harry. Harry, over here. Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way toward her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realized that Hermione was not alone; she was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermiones least favorite people in the world. Youre early. said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. I thought you were with Cho, I wasnt expecting you for another hour at least. Cho. said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. A girl. She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. Its none of your business if Harrys been with a hundred girls, Hermione told Rita coolly. So you can put that away right now. Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again. What are you up to. Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione. Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived, said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. I suppose Im allowed to talk to him, am I. she shot at Hermione. Yes, I suppose you are, said Hermione coldly. Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, Pretty girl, is she, Harry. One more word about Harrys love life and the deals off and https://godeddaddygogogo.cloud/pubg/pubg-erangel-secret-basement-key-map-unlock.php a promise, said Hermione irritably. What deal. said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. You havent mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days. She took a deep shuddering breath. Yes, yes, one of these days youll write more horrible stories about Harry and me, said Hermione indifferently. Find someone who cares, why dont you. Theyve run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help, said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, How has that made you feel, Harry. Betrayed. Distraught. Misunderstood. He feels angry, of course, said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. Because hes told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Ministers too much of an idiot to believe him. So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back. said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. You stand by all this garbage Dumbledores been telling everybody about YouKnow-Who returning and you being the sole witness -. Jacket duty image of call wasnt the sole witness, snarled Harry. There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names. Id love them, breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. A great bold headline: Potter Accuses. A subheading: Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us. And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you: Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Whos attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters. The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face. But of course, she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, Little Miss Perfect wouldnt want that story out there, would she. As a matter of fact, said Hermione sweetly, thats exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want. Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang, Weasley Is Our King dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick. You want me to report what he says about He-Who-Must-Not-BeNamed. Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice. Yes, I do, said Hermione. The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. Hell give you all the details, hell tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, hell tell you what Voldemort looks like now - oh, get a grip on yourself, she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for at the sound of Voldemorts name, Rita had jumped so badly that she had slopped half her glass of firewhisky down herself. Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, The Prophet wouldnt print it. In case you havent noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks hes delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle - We dont need another story about how Harrys lost his marbles. said Hermione angrily. Weve had plenty of those already, thank you. I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth. Theres no market for a story like that, said Rita coldly. You mean the Prophet wont print it because Fudge wont let them, said Hermione irritably. Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a businesslike tone, All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They wont print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. Its against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just dont want to believe You-Know-Whos back. So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it. said Hermione scathingly. Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of firewhisky. The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl, she said coldly. My dad thinks its an awful paper, said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eyes. He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesnt care about making money. Rita looked disparagingly at Luna. Im guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter. she said. Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale. No, said Luna, dipping her onion back into her gillywater, hes the editor of The Quibbler.

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