Chapter Two: Nothing But Facts

The next morning found Neville at the Gryffindor table, reading the latest edition of The Quibbler over toast. He was a Quibbler man through and through ever since the shameful coverage of Voldemort's return by the Daily Prophet in fifth year and now refused to read anything else. Resources and staff for The Quibbler had shot up since the infamous Harry Potter interview had been published, and even journalistic quality was improving slowly over time.

FENRIR GREYBACK SENDS HOWLER TO DOLORES UMBRIDGE?

Staff and visitors at the Ministry of Magic were subjected to a loud, unidentified disturbance orriginating from the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management occurring at approximately 10:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning. Ministry officials explained to its confused denizens that the noise was the result of a work crew finishing a phase of renovations in the rapidly-expanding department.

BUT WAS IT? (Despite everything, the tone of The Quibbler hadn't changed much.)

An anonymous low-level Ministry employee confides to The Quibbler that the noise was actually the result of a poorly-concealed Howler from none other than Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf, to Dolores Umbridge, Minister of Magical Creature Resource Management. Madame Umbridge has been hard at work lately drafting revisions to her seminal anti-werewolf legislation, which are expected to be completed sometime this week. Our anonymous source was in Madame Umbridge's outer office when the Howler was deployed. "It was definitely from Greyback, and he was definitely angry. He threatened werewolf resistance action if the revised legislation goes into effect, and stated very clearly that he is not above terrorist acts."

Greyback was a suspected Death Eater under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and remains at large. Rumours have abounded in recent weeks that Greyback is attempting to organize all magical creatures, werewolves in particular, under a common banner against what he deems to be oppressive edicts of the Ministry. Representatives of the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management refused to comment for this story.

"Incredible!" Hermione Granger cried from her seat across from him, shaking her head at the Daily Prophet. "What are they thinking? The goblins won't stand for that kind of interference!"

A delivery owl swooped over the table and dropped a package in front of Ginny. She tore it open with an expression of mild curiosity to reveal a posy of stately purple flowers. From where Neville sat, he could barely hear sound emanating from the blossoms, sweet and clear. "Sighing irises!" he exclaimed in surprise. "I've never seen them before!"

"Who gave them to you?" Andrea Sandmeyer, a sixth-year, asked as Ginny opened a piece of accompanying parchment. "A secret admirer?"

Ginny folded the parchment calmly. Neville noticed that her cheeks were suffused with colour that hadn't been there a moment ago. "No," she answered. She gathered up the flowers and left the table without another word, not meeting anyone's eye.

"Who could possibly be that insensitive?" Hermione breathed as Ginny disappeared from the Great Hall.

"What do you mean?" Neville asked, confused.

"Harry's only been…gone…for a month," she hissed under her breath. "And he could get better at any time."

Harry Potter was in the long-term spell damage ward at St. Mungo's from injuries sustained during the final battle. Neville had seen him fall, but the current condition of the Boy Who Lived was closely guarded. "But Ginny said it wasn't a secret admirer."

"Oh, Neville, isn't it obvious?" Hermione murmured, her eyes boring into him. "She knows who they're from."

Neville frowned. "Oh."

"Yeah." She stared at him a moment longer, then turned back to the Prophet. "So," she asked him, "is there anything in The Quibbler about the Department of Magical Creature Resource Management trying to bind the goblins in new legislation?"

"Not that I've seen," he said, pushing his copy over to her, "but does theProphet have anything to say about this?"

They were interrupted by a shrill squeal from across the Hall. Pansy was bouncing in her seat with a gleeful smile on her face, waving a parchment in Greengrass' face. Hermione rolled her eyes and devoted her attention to Neville's magazine and Neville tried to re-immerse himself in the conversation, but he was intensely curious what could possibly make Pansy so happy. News travels fast, especially when it's bad; he scarcely had to wait five minutes before it percolated from the Slytherins over to the Gryffindor table.

Draco Malfoy had been released from Azkaban and was claiming his own.

Neville massaged the small leather bag in his hand. The material was thin and supple, butter-smooth, and he could feel the reverberations of the flat stones inside every time they collided with a dull clink. Pansy, he thought, and once he felt that his mind had achieved some level of calm, he drew runes. Naudiz – need. Fehu – wealth. Ihaz – ice. Kaunan – light. Need to freeze money in the daytime? Must pay to freeze fire? Something to do with melting, maybe, with the fire and ice so close together? Or was it cold light – the cold light of truth that he needed to…be rich? It made no sense. Then again, neither did Pansy. She hadn't even looked for him on the Hogwarts Express, and not only had she not approached him since, but she seemed determined to avoid him altogether. Every time he tried to get near her, she vanished into the crowd – and there was always a crowd. He couldn't seem to catch her alone. The only way the situation even began to make sense was to incorporate Malfoy into it. Malfoy had owled Pansy, and now Pansy was avoiding Neville. Then again, she was ignoring him even before Malfoy's owl and she'd seemed surprised to hear from him. Neville had hoped he would be able to circumvent the whole Malfoy problem because of the other boy's conviction and imprisonment, but it seemed that not even prison could stop his malevolent influence.

He sighed and dropped the runes back into the sack. Using runes in this manner was a lost cause, far too close to Divination in Neville's opinion. He was much more interested in the application of runic symbols for channeling magic in the environment, which, coincidentally, was the topic of the work he was supposed to be doing at the moment. Beside him, Hermione looked up from the preservation sphere she was creating. "Neville," she whispered, "did you send those flowers to Ginny?"

Neville started to chuckle, but quickly stifled the sound at her stern expression. "No."

"You knew what they were."

"I've read about them. But why would I send them to her?"

"I thought you might like her," Hermione answered, looking very clinical.

"What?"

"Well, you asked her to the Yule Ball-"

"That was three years ago!"

"Okay! It was just a theory!"

"I didn't mean to snap at you," Neville said apologetically. "She's a nice girl, but I don't like her in that way."

His aplomb was flustering Hermione. "I didn't mean to – well, I – I didn't mean to imply that you're insensitive or unthinking or-"

"I know," he said, but he hadn't considered that possibility until she mentioned it and it hurt a bit. Did Pansy think he was insensitive or unthinking? He supposed a letter wasn't a very good Christmas present, but he didn't know her well enough to get her anything that would suit her. Well, regardless of whether or not she was mad at him, they had Herbology together next and she'd have to talk to him. They were working together on a project that was due at the end of the week. The project was great - identification of hybrid plants Professor Sprout had created – and working with Pansy was fantastic, but it was all coming to an end shortly.