Small pops whirled around the head of her bed. Ellie groaned mercilessly into her pillow.
‘Too early,†she muttered, fogged with sleepiness.
She began to daze back into oblivion when the small popping noises started to explode into mini-fireworks. With her face still securely cemented to the pillow Ellie reached over to the nightstand for her wand. She picked around, grabbing deodorant, a magazine, and a quill until she finally had to sit up and physically turn herself towards the table to look at it properly. The mini-fireworks were going completely bonkers, until Ellie was actually able to reach the wand and cast the charm causing them to disappear.
‘What ever happened to alarm clocks?’ Ellie grumbled aloud.
But Ellie knew exactly what had happened to alarm clocks; they had become obsolete, along with every other item she deemed normal up until she was 11. But there was no time to think about such things now, for she was already much too late for work.
She picked up a skirt off the floor. It was wrinkled, but Ellie didn’t care much since she pulled off the just rolled-out-of-bed look quite well. She stared in the mirror for just a moment. Her blonde hair hung to her shoulders in messy waves of layers and there were increasingly dark bags under her hazel eyes. Her mum used to say, ‘Darling, you could be so pretty if you only tried.’
With her mother’s constant nagging in the back of her head, Ellie put on a dab of lipstick before she picked up her heels and half-sprinted out the door. She would have full-sprinted but Ellie was not a runner, and refused to be. This was probably a contributing factor as to why she was always late.
Here was a prime example of one of the problems that arised when one did not have a fireplace in a flat. Every morning Ellie had to run down to the coffee shop across the street to use their fireplace in order to floo to work. The other problem with not having a fireplace was that Ellie freezed her arse off in the winter. She was able to fix that however with a few simple charms and a Muggle invention called a snuggie.
Ellie entered the shop and was almost knocked over by the warmth that radiated throughout the place.
‘Hello Ellie, how are we this fine morning?â€
–Late as ever Ed,†she replied, and with that Ellie threw the Floo powder into the fireplace and took a step.
Ed and Marge were the couple that owned the coffee shop, Merlin’s Brew, and were most likely the sweetest two people Ellie had ever known.
‘You need some meat on your bones deary,’ Marge always said.
‘Sorry Marge,†Ellie had told her the day before. –All work and no play makes me super skinnayy.’
‘Oh Ellie, you and your rhymes,’ she said with an affectionate smile.
‘Yes Marge, you know me, the aspiring rapper,’ Ellie deadpaned.
‘Aspiring what?’
‘Never mind, it's a muggle thing,’ she sighed.
Her quick sarcasm, lost on yet another wizarding soul.
Ellie stumbled out of one of the multiple fireplaces at the Daily Prophet. She breathed in deeply, as she did every morning. She took in all the sweet journalistic smells: stale coffee, sweat-stained reporters, the printing press. This is what she lived for.
In the two years since she left Hogwarts, Ellie had worked at The Prophet, taking on every useless story they thrust in her direction, and still she was the unappreciated junior reporter.
For as long as she could remember Ellie had wanted to be a journalist, always craving the latest news, all the excitement engulfing her. Ellie still remembered how pleased she was when she learned that even the magical world had journalists, for when she first found out she was a witch, she feared it would jeopardize her dreamed career path.
Ellie acknowledged that, in all honesty, she hadn’t been with the Daily Prophet very long at all, considering she was only twenty, but she knew for a fact that her work was damn better than that of the staff surrounding her.
â€Davis! Hey Davis!â€
She was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by her editor, Ernie MacMillan. Ellie thought him such a sad little man that she usually just pitied him.
‘Clarke wants you in his office,’ he said bluntly. ‘Now!’
But she sure didn’t feel sorry for him at that very moment, that was for damn sure.
‘Sorry for the outburst Davis,†he uttered in his usual feeble voice. ‘I had a rough weekend.’
And, just like that, Ellie began to pity him again.
‘Um, that’s all right,’ she mumbled. ‘Thanks for passing on the information.’
MacMillan grunted a little and hobbled away. Ellie was taken aback at first. Why the hell would the editor-in-chief want to meet with her?
She slowly started to walk towards his office, which was conveniently located on the completely opposite side of the building. Ellie began to rack her brain for all the possible things that she had done wrong since she started working here’.
Ellie arrived at the door to his personal office. It seemed like a heavy door, the kind that one definitely did not intrude on. She interlaced her fingers and tried to take a deep breath, but it came out more like a choke for help. She stared at the door some more and it appeared to stare back.
She lifted her hand and tapped on the wood, the sound that emanated barely audible.
–Come in,†called a voice from the other side.
Ellie wondered if that was his voice. She couldn’t distinctly remember hearing his voice before, and she had only seen him walking around the office a few times, appearing out of no where like a phantom.
–Well, are you going to come in or not,†said the now slightly more agitated voice.
She opened the door.
The room was spacious compared to the cubicles the journalists had to work at. There were heavy curtains covering what she assumed was a large window directly behind the oak desk. An awfully patterned couch sat off to the side looking stiff and untouched, and right in the corner was a fully stocked bar. She guessed the man liked his firewhiskey.
Clarke sat at his desk, leaning as far back in his chair as physically possible, while his hands remained spread wide on top of a pile of papers covering his desk. His round face might of had the possibility of looking jovial, if a smile had ever crossed his lips. Fat sideburns ran down his face distracting onlookers from his overly bushed eyebrows. His hair was graying, but one could clearly see traces of where he tried to magically color it. This was Mr. Ewart Clarke, the editor in chief of the Daily Prophet.
–Elizabeth Davis is it?†he asked skeptically while he continued to look down at the papers in front of him.
–Yes, sir,†Ellie murmured. –Well... I go by Ellie sir, but you may call me Elizabeth, sir, if that’s what you want to call me...sir.â€
He raised an overgrown eyebrow. Eventually looking up from the desk he addressed her:
–Well, take a seat.â€
She looked around the room. The only seat possible to take was the couch over to the side. Ellie walked to it and hesitantly lowered herself to its level. The couch squeaked.
–Right, well, now that you are comfortable let’s get down to business, shall we?â€
It wasn’t a question; they were getting down to business.
–Yes, sir,†Ellie swallowed.
–Davis, I have been reviewing your work and I must say it is--â€
Holy mother of Salazar, Ellie fought to maintain her composure. She could barely remember to breath. Finally she inhaled a sharp intake of air.
–--it’s quite good stuff,†he stated.
She breathed out and it felt like she had been holding her breath for an eternity and just now knew what sweet, sweet air tasted like.
Ellie was stunned.
–Th-th-th-thank you sir,†she stumbled.
–Yes, now down to why I called you in here,†he said with a clap of his hands
Ellie had to remind herself that the man wouldn’t just call her into his office to compliment her, there must have been a reason. Her breathing intensified once more.
–As I’m sure you know the twenty-fifth anniversary of the fall of Voldemort is upon us next week.†He gave her a stern look before continuing. –You also are probably aware that the Daily Prophet is producing a special issue in remembrance of the end of the second war.†Again he looked at her. –What I need is, an interview with Harry Potter.†He paused to smooth down a side-burn before continuing, –And I need you to get it for me.â€
Ellie’s mind went blank. But if there had been anything occupying the empty space that was her head it would be a neon sign flashing the words: ‘You’re in deep shit now.’
She no longer could look in Mr. Clarke’s direction and instead turned her eyes downward and stared into her hands yearning to look at something familiar. Such scrawny little hands. Had they always been this small?
At last she realized Clarke wanted a response.
–But sir, with all due respect sir, well...Harry Potter...he doesn’t do interviews,†she said, her voice cracking in the middle.
–You think I don’t know that? The git hasn’t granted us an interview since the end of the war!†he spat. –Twenty-five bloody years and he has never agreed to a bloody article!â€
He took a deep breath much like Ellie had been doing throughout their interaction. –Which is why we need one now.â€
There was a long pause while he stared down at his desk, as Ellie’s eyes darted around the room searching for an escape. The only door was the one she came in, and Ellie was pretty sure he was seated closer to it than she was. And once again, Ellie was not a runner.
He walked over to the bar and poured himself a tall glass of fire whiskey. He turned the crystal glass over in his hands, staring at it aimlessly.
–I don’t mean to be blunt,†he stated, ruining the silence. –But your job is on the line here, Davis. You don’t get the interview, you don’t move up at the Daily Prophet. And I know, trust me, I know, that you are not satisfied being a junior reporter,†he sighed. –Nobody is.â€
Tears were welling up in Ellie’s eyes.
She had wanted this job for so long, and now it felt like it was slipping out of her hands before she even had a proper chance to prove what she was capable of.
God damn it, Ellie thought. Why was she crying, when she had never before been the crying type? Why then, in front of that god-awful man, must she show weakness? She choked back a sob as he downed his glass. Not here, I will not break down here, she vowed.
–That’s all for now, you can leave,†he said returning to the papers on his desk. It seemed the fire-whiskey had already begun to soak into his system.
Tears streaked her face as she paced out of Clarke’s office. Ellie felt a tightness in her throat as she tried desperately to hold back a sob that had started to take form at the bottom of her chest. This place was constricting her, she was being eaten alive. Having no visual in her mind Ellie turned on the spot and Apparated out of the Daily Prophet’s Office.
As a young child she had been prone to panic attacks but it had been ages since she last had one. Entering the wizarding world had acted like a weak sedative on Ellie. It had calmed her, showed her the reasons behind why she had been so different as a child. But none of that was any concelation now as she slipped back into the heavy breathing that always signaled another attack was about to rain down on her.
Ellie opened her eyes, though her vision was clouded by the over-brimming tears. At first she was confused as to where she was. It looked like it was some type of alleyway, and to her right sat a scrawny black cat.
She stepped back towards the brick wall hesitantly. It was hard, good for supporting her weakened body. She was not only emotionally exhausted, but physically as well. Her knees buckled beneath her as she felt gravity take hold of her small frame and drag her downwards. Now sitting on the ground she pulled her knees up next to her closely, wrapping her frail arms around them. She felt so small, so insignificant, a blemish on the face of the greater world. Ellie let her head rest against the wall behind her, slowly closing her eyes, exhaustion taking hold of her.
She let her mind drift in and out of conscious thought until she came to a memory that stuck.
It was September 1st and she was eleven years old.
She stood at the front of the Great Hall with all her fellow first years. On a stool sat an old hat, one that looked like it belonged to a Halloween costume. She had read of the four different houses, but it wasn’t until she heard the Sorting Hat’s song that she knew what house she desired.
Slytherin. Ellie breathed deeply, slowly gaining her composure. Slytherin, she thought. Ellie had been placed into that great green house for a reason. She could still recall the Sorting Hat’s voice in the back of her mind, tucked away like a lucky card that could be played over and over again for reassurance.
‘I sense a great deal of desire in you. Yes, yes, you my dear girl have tremendous aspirations to be successful.’
Ellie had possessed ambition back then, and hidden down deep inside of her she knew she still did. She had a drive in her that was unexplainable, a thirst, a desire to move up in the world.
Ellie Davis was not a runner, and most days she was not a cryer. But Ellie Davis was a fighter. And she would fight for this position tooth and nail because there was nothing she desired more than to be a head journalist at the Daily Prophet.
Ellie placed her small hands down on the cold ground and slowly started to stand back up. She felt disoriented at first, most likely from all the crying she had done. Once standing she readjusted her skirt properly and pulled out her wand to touch up her now blotchy face, and disorderly hair.
‘Venusa satis,’ she murmured quietly while aiming her wand upward towards her face. Her hair instantly shone as if it had just been brushed, while her face no longer felt sticky from her recently shed tears. Ellie did not have to look in a mirror to know that her minimal makeup had been touched up as well. She took a deep breath and headed down the alleyway towards what looked like a main street.
She stumbled out of the small side alleyway and into the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley.
A tad disoriented, Ellie turned around looking for some type of recognition as to where on the crowded street she was. To her right was Flourish & Blotts, conveniently one of her favorite shops. Having only an hour until her lunch break, Ellie decided to treat herself to some retail therapy and return to work later in the afternoon.
A bell chimed above the door as Ellie entered Flourish & Blotts. The scent of new books crashed into her as she walked farther into the store. She inhaled deeply, loving the aroma she was greeted with. She set her sights on a stack of books in the back corner of the store. It was more dimly lit, and to the ordinary shopper it was not at all enticing, but it beckoned to Ellie. The first book she picked up off the top of a stack was entitled, Who Am I? by Gilderoy Lockhart. She glanced at it apathetically before placing it aside. As she placed more and more dim-witted books on the floor she started to encounter a darker series of texts. One was entitled, The Dark Arts for Dark Souls. Another book covered all the curses used in the first war, and instructions on how to perform them.
Feeling a shiver course down her spine, Ellie was about to move onto another shelf when she picked up a clearly-used book. It was an autobiography of Bathilda Bagshot, written in 1987. The name sounded familiar to Ellie, but it wasn’t until she saw the list of Bagshot’s other works that she realized why. Bathilda Bagshot had written A History of Magic.
Ellie had read A History of Magic religiously while at Hogwarts. Having been the only
Muggle-born Slytherin in her year, Ellie had read up all she could on everything magic, so she wouldn’t seem so clueless to the other students.
She gingerly turned the fair sized book over in her hands. Emblazoned on the back cover was a picture of Ms. Bagshot which stated: ‘The magical history of a magical historian.’ Ellie looked closer at the picture of the aging woman. The picture did not seem to move much like most other magical photographs. Only her eyes showed any sign of motion. They seemed to look up at something, or someone just behind the photographer. She did not smile, but she did not seem unpleasant, simply aged, like she had seen and done a great deal of things in her lifetime.
The tattered book highly intrigued Ellie, and she left Flourish & Blotts completely satisfied with her new purchase.
Despite the air being quite brisk outside, it was a pretty day. All the wind had blown the clouds east so the sky was a subdued blue. Ellie didn’t feel like retreating to her flat yet, so she decided to warm up with some good old-fashioned butterbeer. She casually walked towards The Leaky Cauldron, all the while observing individuals go about their busy day.
People watching was a habit of Ellie’s. She would pick one person out of a crowd and follow all their actions. Who they talked to, little quirks they had, where they went. It had come in handy in her journalistic career, but it was more than that. People interested Ellie, especially witches and wizards.
She made her way to the entrance of The Leaky Cauldron. She was hit with a burst of stale air as she stepped inside. The place was not as packed as Ellie thought it would be during lunch hour. Only a few tables were populated while the bar contained a small handful of sorry looking men in suits. Ellie decided to take a seat near the front entrance next to a window that faced out towards the street. She sat down, taking a moment to collect her thoughts, and then pulled out Bathilda Bagshot’s autobiography. Having not even gotten to the bottom of the first page, Ellie was interrupted by small continuous taps sounding above her. She looked upward only to be greeted by a curvaceous blonde wearing a flowery smock.
The woman continued to tap her quill against a stiff piece of parchment in anticipation. Finally the lady spread her lips into an inviting smile and nodded down at Ellie.
–What can I get for you, love?†she chimed.
Ellie realized she hadn’t even picked up one of the menus that was sitting on the table, and smiled up apologetically at the woman.
The waitress had a slight twinkle in her eye as she stared at Ellie’s small hands methodically folding the corner of the first page in the autobiography.
–If you’re not ready to order dear, that’s quite all right,†she stated kindly before continuing. –But I will recommend some of my delicious treacle tart.†She paused to wink at Ellie. –Just came out of the ovens.â€
Ellie smiled in spite of herself, for clearly this lady’s love for pastries almost rivaled her own.
–You know, nothing sounds better in the world right now than some treacle tart,†Ellie sighed.
The woman gave a warm smile.–Tough day?†she asked, her voice laced with compassion.
–One of the worst,†Ellie replied before even acknowledging what she was saying. Ellie usually did not share her feelings with random strangers.
–All, right then one treacle tart, on the house,†declared the woman.
–Oh, no you don’t have to do that,†Ellie protested.
–Love, we’ve all had those days. It’s the least I can do.†And with that she turned around and sashayed her hips all the way back to the counter.
Despite receiving free treacle tart Ellie wasn’t completely comforted. She thought she had spruced herself up back in the side alleyway, but clearly she hadn’t done a good enough job. Even a complete stranger could tell her day had been shitty.
He was sitting at a table near the end of the bar when he saw her come in. Not believing his eyes, he had to blink to make sure it wasn’t some sort of mirage. After all he had been sitting there for hours studying lines of international wizarding law. Every half an hour Mrs. Longbottom would bring him a butterbeer to refresh his senses.
It wasn’t his imagination though, not this time. She walked in, her ashy blonde hair in an unkempt updo, looking worn, but striking none the less. Last time he had heard anything she was working for the Daily Prophet, and by the looks of her, the job was taking its toll.
He hadn’t actually seen her for about seven months, since he spotted her in Gringotts. It was foolish really, what boy holds onto a childhood crush for five years? But it could not be helped; he still thought she was one of the best looking witches he had ever seen. He watched as she gave her order to Hannah, giving slight smiles, but still her eyes seemed distant. Finally he resolved that he would walk over and introduce himself properly. He was no longer some small schoolboy, and he saw no reason why he couldn’t just ask her out like any self-respecting wizard would do. Standing up, he gulped down the last of his butterbeer and started to walk off in her direction.
Ellie was back immersed in Bathilda Bagshot’s book when she was forced to halt her reading. There was someone standing behind the chair directly in front of her. She lifted her eyes to meet the figure intruding on her reading.
He was a tall boy, or man, she couldn’t quite decide. He was a boy-man. He had dark hair, and gray-green eyes, and altogether he was quite aesthetically pleasing.
After staring him down for an uncomfortable moment she finally grasped that he was far to nervous to say anything, so she initiated the sound off.
–Can I help you?†Ellie asked pursing her lips, but not in an altogether harsh way. She resolved to let the poor boy-man down gently.
His eyes darted around, as if he were unable to look at her directly.
–Hi, I was just...um...what is that you’re reading?†he finally finished.
–This?†Ellie questioned as she looked down at the book in her hands. –Its an autobiography of Bathilda Bagshot. Have you heard of her?â€
His eyes lit up like a doorway to an awkward-free conversation had just been opened.
–Oh, yes she’s the author of A History of Magic.â€
Finally looking comfortable in his element, he asked boldly, –Do you mind if I sit down?â€
–Look, I’m sorry, but I really just came here to read for a couple minutes...†The end of her sentence lingered in the air, and she hoped he got the hint that she wanted to be alone at the moment.
–I understand,†he said looking away again. –Um, well if I see you here again maybe we can--â€
–Yeah maybe, all right,†Ellie said trying to end the conversation as quickly and painlessly as possible.
–Okay then, I guess I’ll see you later then, or then again, maybe not,†and the boy-man began to turn from the table.
He almost had his entire back turned to Ellie when he whipped back around to face her as if he forgotten something.
–I’m Albus by the way. Albus Potter,†he said with a quiet smile.
And with that he began to turn back around. Ellie was quicker however, and before he was even a meter from the table she called after him.
–You know what, I think I might want some company after all,†she stated with a flirtatious grin.
Maybe getting an interview with Harry Potter would be easier than she originally thought.
The Only Exception by Dragon_Lily
Story Notes:
This story shares the same name as the song 'The Only Exception' by Paramore. If you haven't listened to it you should. Your ears can thank me later. Furthermore I acknowledge that I am not JK Rowling. I don't even have the letter 'J' in my name. Or 'K' for that matter.
Chapter Notes: A big thank you to welshdevondragon for betaing this for me and making it slightly more readable.
Chapter Endnotes: This is my first chaptered fan fic ever! So please please review, because at this point I'll find any comments extremely useful. :)