"Do you mind if we take some pictures, Minister?" Rita cooed, flipping her blonde hair in hand, as the cameraman stepped forward, taking another picture without asking or waiting.
"Of course not, Miss Skeeter," Fudge responded quickly, already moving into position and clapping Harry on the shoulder like a grandfather figure.
...
Several minutes passed as a series of photos were taken before Rita suddenly left them, withdrawing back into the crowd. "Let me give you some advice, my boy," Minister Fudge urged, patting him on the shoulder in the same grandfatherly type of way, turning him around to look out on the floor and then discreetly pointing out his reporter, dressed in the same tasteful red ball gown he had seen her in only a couple of nights ago.
"That woman there, the reporter, Miss Skeeter, is nothing but a headache. Nothing short of a parasite, if you ask me. Mind her quill; she has destroyed the careers and lives of many fine, promising individuals with it. Stay on her good side."
"Thank you for the advice, Minister. I will certainly take it to heart," Harry expressed seriously, fighting off the urge to chuckle at the Minister's advice and warning about his reporter. "I'll be extra mindful when dealing with her."
"You're welcome, my boy." He again patted him on the shoulder, which seemed to be his signature move when dealing with younger people. At least he hoped so... an equal opportunity lecher was not desirable considering how often he'd be forced to deal with the insufferable man. "Please enjoy the rest of the ball," he said, dismissing him as several other prominent guests approached the Minister.
He left the Minister with a genuine smile forming on his features; he was sure that he had made a positive impression on the man. That would serve his interests well. He was half tempted to check on Sirius to make sure his godfather was behaving himself, but he had more pressing matters, like Rita... Walking over to the feared reporter, he quite enjoyed the feeling of power he had at controlling the woman the very Minister of Magic feared.
He approached the reporter, who seemed to be hovering nearby, discreetly waiting for him. "Miss Skeeter, what an unexpected pleasure? I must say that you look exquisite this evening; the color red really suits you," he observed, playing the role of 'charming young Lord,' whilst silently asking the question of why she was here and not with her boyfriend Malcolm like she had wanted.
"My..." she started, stopping herself mid-sentence from saying 'My Lord' in such a public venue. When he took up his Lordship publicly, it wouldn't matter anymore; people would just assume that she was using his correct title. "Mr. Potter," Rita amended while quickly regrouping. "It is a pleasure to see you again," Rita answered, almost purring. "I'm with Witch Weekly tonight, not the Daily Prophet."
"Oh? What is Witch Weekly's interest here tonight?" he enquired, wondering what the gossip magazine wanted.
"This is a rather big social event, Harry. So many new couples, so many custom-made outfits, so many single men and women to learn more about, such as yourself and your godfather, Lord Black," Rita voiced. "So much gossip to be had, a reporter's dream come true... who will get with who tonight? Who will get drunk and start a scene?" Her eyes scanned the room before resting on him again. "Do you mind giving an interview? My editor will be most pleased if I did, and I'm sure it will be positive."
Looking around the hall, he liked the idea of getting some good publicity. It could only help him as his various business projects came together. "Of course, my dear, as long as it is quick and you go easy on me. The Minister is quite scared of you, you know," he said, agreeing to her request. Her lips curled up in amusement at his remark about the new Minister fearing her.
"Trust me, Harry, you're in excellent hands," the infamous reporter assured, leading the way across the hall towards an empty table, idly noting that the ice sculpture was of an owl with a paper, so clearly this was designated as the reporters' table. Lowering himself into a nearby chair, he noticed how comfortable it was even with its rigid design, as a cushion suddenly appeared supporting his back perfectly for his height and stature. He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his lap as he mentally prepared for the interview, even if he knew that he would be visiting Rita in the next few days to look over the article for himself despite the oaths placed upon her. Her quill appeared, signaling the interview had begun.
"Harry? Can I call you Harry?" Rita asked, acting the part of a simpering reporter eager to make their interviewee comfortable and thus share more than they had intended to.
"As long as I can call you Rita," he replied easily, as several people walked by and easily recognized what was going on, attracting even more interest from Britain's most powerful families. The young Potter-Black heir would be the topic of conversation in many manor homes in Great Britain over the next few days.
The next couple of minutes passed in a veritable deluge of questions on everything from the tailor he used tonight to his favorite hobbies and subjects at school, to his life goals and ambitions, what it was like living with his godfather, and how he felt being his heir. No sooner had he answered one question than another one was asked. After a good ten minutes of questioning, his virtual interrogation came to an end.
"Thank you for your time, Harry," she cooed, the notepad seemingly disappearing into her small handbag. "Now I just need to find your godfather; then my editor will be most pleased."
"You're welcome, Rita. I trust that you'll have a productive evening," he offered, also reminding her of her secondary job for him since she was already here.
Leaving the reporter to her own mischief, he noticed how she immediately headed in the Minister's direction with her cameraman in tow. He could already see Fudge was going to get an interview he would never forget from the reporter. Picking up his glass and sipping its contents, he enjoyed how the bubbles popped and fizzed on his tongue. He scanned the room, but unfortunately, due to his height, he was rather unsuccessful in spotting his godfather.
Moving around the hall in a clockwise search pattern looking for his godfather, he expected to find him at one of the many tables talking to someone, probably a beautiful witch... Looking around the hall, he still hadn't spotted anyone suitable to set Sirius upon to fulfill the challenge. He then spotted Madam Bones standing in a corner talking to a fellow auror. 'Maybe,' he thought with a grin.
During his search, he came across Neville standing rigidly next to his grandmother, his robes straight and pressed, almost standing at military attention as his grandmother spoke to another couple. His eyes, though, gave him away, showing that he was thoroughly bored and utterly uninterested in the ongoing discussion.
Nodding politely and silently to Neville as he went past, the bored second-year returned the gesture with his own respectful nod to Harry before turning his attention back to the discussion. 'It's a shame he can't always be like that,' he noted as he continued his search for his errant godfather, spotting Draco in the distance lurking next to his father, his strikingly beautiful mother standing nearby, acting both stuck up and superior, just like her husband.
Nodding to a couple of acquaintances from Hogwarts that he recognized, he continued walking around the hall but did not stop to chat since they were all in the upper years, before finally spotting someone of interest to him, though whether it was Padma or Parvati, he couldn't tell at this distance. Finishing off his glass of champagne, he left it on a nearby table for a waiter to collect rather than carry it around with him.
Looking over her Indian-style gown, he found it quite striking, its rich bright colors easily standing out amongst the other more mundane outfits around them. 'Damn, she's cute,' he noted, already seeing that the twins were well on their way to looking like their extremely beautiful mother.
...
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