The Day the Quibbler was Right

"BLOODY HELL!"

Four days and several hours later, Ron Weasley spat out a mouthful of butterbeer over all the Malfoy case files spread across his desk in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. In his hands was the Daily Prophet, freshly delivered. Across the top of the page, large bold letters spelled out the improbable headline, "THE QUIBBLER WAS RIGHT."

The door cracked open and an amused, green-eyed, bespectacled face peered in. "Someone murdering you, Ron?" Harry Potter inquired mildly.

"Shut it, Harry. Come look at this!" Ron waved the (slightly butterbeer spattered) Daily Prophet at his best friend in an agitated manner. A large, colorful photograph twinkled beneath the headline, something within photographic view glinting purple.

Harry crossed the office and took the Prophet. His eyes widened at the image on the front page. The picture took up nearly half the page, a wide shot, taken at night, of an elegant garden. The article's focus stood in the center of the photo. A real, documented family of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks frolicked merrily around a half-dressed witch and wizard who were paying much more attention to each other's lips than, well, anything. "Bloody hell. Is that . . . they . . .ha! We have to tell Hermione" Harry said, articulate as always.

"Harry, mate, you should have gone into public speaking," Ron announced, snatching a piece of parchment and scribbling on it with his quill. "Luckily, I've been stuck with you long enough to speak fluent 'Harry.' And I'll send her a memo. Hermione Granger, S.P.E.W. Office, third floor," he instructed the parchment as it launched into the air. "Hurry!" The memo-airplane flapped dutifully off in search of Hermione.

"She's got nice knickers though, eh?" Harry remarked, eyeing the photo.

"Hmm. Neville seems to think so," Ron replied, watching Photo-Neville's hands drift Southward. "Can't say I blame him, though."

"Aha, but you turned her down sixth year, remember? You had your chance with Luna and threw it away," Harry teased.

"Harry, I was at their bloody wedding. I know she's taken," Ron retorted.

The door of the office burst open and a frazzled looking Hermione Granger strode in. "What is it?" she demanded, "What's going on? Have you found something?"

"No," Harry interjected, cutting her off before she worked herself into more of a state. "Breathe, Herm, we just wanted you to see something."

Hermione stalked over to the two men at the desk. "Well, you could have put that in the memo, couldn't you? I thought . . ."

"Look," Ron instructed, holding up the Prophet.
". . . and I--bloody hell, Neville looks good."

"Hermione!" Ron and Harry exclaimed in unison.

"He does."

"Hermione!"

"Oh, hush, you know it's true," she told them absently, skimming the article. Ron made a small noise, but Harry shushed him with an expertly administered elbow to the stomach. "So, Luna finally found her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks."

"And?" Ron prompted.

Hermione glanced up. "And what?"

"You said they didn't exist," Harry put in.

"You were wrong," Ron concluded helpfully.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And you two are expecting a big, dramatic reaction because Luna Lovegood proved I was wrong about something I said to her seven years ago?"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other rather sheepishly. Ron shrugged, and Harry looked at the floor.

Hermione laughed. "Nonsense. I'm happy for her."

"Really?" Harry asked. Ron looked skeptical as well.

"Really. Luna's a wonderful girl; she deserves to have at least one of her little fantasies realized. Actually . . ." Hermione's eyes flicked back to the Daily Prophet picture. Photographic Luna rested her head on Neville's chest, smiling as he toyed lazily with a strand of her hair. "I'd say Luna's had more than one of her dreams come true."

"Yeah," agreed Ron, angling the paper for a better view, "and she's got great knickers."

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The End