A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to insignificant little me.

I want to thank everyone for reviewing and to reiterate that reviews are always welcome, so long as they are respectful and pertain to the story or my writing.

•~0~•

Monday night, Genevieve, Fred, and George returned to the common room from watching what had been a thoroughly tragic and, frankly, depressing Quidditch practice.

"Ron and Ginny not here?" Fred asked as they sat down at a table with Harry and Hermione. Harry shook his head no. "Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."

"No, Katie's really good," Genevieve reminded him. "It's just . . . most everyone else."

"Come on, Ginny's not bad," George pointed out. "Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us . . ."

Genevieve snorted. "You were prats, all right, but Ginny's smarter. She found a way."

"She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms in turn when you weren't looking," Hermione explained in greater detail without looking up from her stack of Ancient Rune books.

"Oh," George said, pleasantly surprised. "Well — that'd explain it."

"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" Hermione asked.

"Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," Fred said. "So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday."

"But he can be really good when he's on form," Genevieve said optimistically. "It's just nerves."

Fred stood up and stared out the window.

"You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for."

Hermione glared at him reproachfully. "You've got exams coming!"

"Told you already, we're not fussed about N.E.W.T.s. The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it . . ."

"Can't you wait it out till the end of the year?" Genevieve asked hopefully; her best mates abandoning her didn't seem like an ideal situation.

"Dunno," George said. He steered the discussion back to Quidditch. "I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself."

"Kill him, more like," Fred corrected.

"Seconded," Genevieve said.

"That's the trouble with Quidditch," Hermione said offhandedly, "it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the Houses."

Genevieve gaped at her. She'd never played it, heaven forbid she ever did, but she loved the game, and this comment not only offended her, but Fred, George, and Harry as well.

"Well, it does!" Hermione insisted. "It's only a game, isn't it?"

"Hermione," Harry said with exasperation, "you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch."

"Maybe not, but at least my happiness doesn't depend on Ron's goalkeeping ability."

Genevieve sighed and shook her head. As she and the twins headed to their respective dormitories, she turned back.

"You're not really thinking of leaving, are you?" Genevieve asked quietly.

Fred shrugged. George looked down. "What've we got to stay for?"

"Katie!" she exclaimed. "Lee! Taking down Umbridge! Dumbledore!"

Fred continued to look unconvinced. George didn't meet her eyes.

"Me," she added more quietly.

They looked up. "Yeah," George said. "I reckon we could stay a few more weeks at least."

"After all," Fred smirked, "what would you do without us?"

Genevieve smiled slightly, but still was worried. They really were taking leaving seriously . . .

The Quidditch match was an absolute nightmare, bordering on traumatic for any Gryffindor who showed up. At least, Genevieve thought, there was only twenty-two minutes of torture. And she had counted, precisely, wanting to look anywhere but the field and instead anxiously glaring at her watch.

Ginny had saved them all. As the Seeker, she caught the Snitch and Gryffindor lost by only ten points. The common room was depressed enough to look as though a mass epidemic had killed half their parents. Ron, who had allowed the Quaffle to fly past him a record fourteen times, sulked in the corner.

Genevieve, Fred, and George approached Harry and Hermione again. Fred spoke first.

"I haven't got the heart to take the mickey out of him, even. Mind you . . . when he missed the fourteenth . . ."

Fred flailed his arms wildly.

"Well, I'll save it for parties, eh?"

"Supposing he lives that long," Genevieve said, looking at Ron sympathetically. "Can someone die of shame and depression?"

"For once, I hope not," George said.

•~0~•

Monday morning, Fred and Genevieve looked up from breakfast to see Hermione, Harry, Luna, and Ron ripping open a mess of letters, more and more owls surrounding them.

"I'm guessing the newest edition of The Quibbler came out," Genevieve said.

They exchanged grins and rushed over, helping sort through the letters.

"This one's in two minds," Fred said. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now . . . Blimey, what a waste of parchment . . ."

"Hang on," Genevieve said enthusiastically, flipping through a long response, "I've got someone who . . . admits you seem sane enough but thinks you're making it all up for the attention and . . . some other not-so-nice stuff . . ."

"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. " 'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly . . . Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth . . .' Oh this is wonderful!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," Ron said, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero — she's put in a photograph too — wow — "

"What is going on here?" A sickeningly familiar voice asked. Genevieve turned around. "Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge pressed on.

"Well, you see," Genevieve explained with a condescending air, "people take that thingy — you know, the writing thingy? I believe you call it a quill — and they scratch it on some paper, and words come out. It's rather amazing."

Umbridge glowered at her. "I repeat, why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?"

"Is that a crime now?" Fred demanded. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Miss Snow and Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you both in detention. Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry paused, then answered, "People have written to me because I gave an interview. About what happened to me last June."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "An interview? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Harry said in the same manner Genevieve had spoken just before, "a reporter asked me questions and I answered them. Here."

He tossed a The Quibbler at Umbridge, who caught it and, upon reading the cover, turned a shade of violet even Tonks wouldn't try for her hair.

"When did you do this?" she demanded.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend."

She gave him a withering look. "There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter. How you dare . . . how you could . . . I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

She stormed away.

Before lunch, countless signs had been posted all over the school announcing that anyone found to have The Quibbler would be expelled.

Genevieve laughed when she read it.

"She's the biggest imbecile to walk these halls in a long time," Genevieve told Katie. "All she did was ensure that everyone would read it."

And they did. Many students seemed to have it memorized, even. When Umbridge forced them to show her the contents of their books and pockets, they disguised their copies or wiped them. Genevieve herself bewitched her copy to appear to be an excerpt from Hogwarts, A History.

People were flooding Genevieve and the lot of her friends with questions about Harry and his interview. To Genevieve's amusement, Fred and George had hung an Enlarged front cover of The Quibbler in the common room that spat out phrases like, "The Ministry are morons" and "Eat dung, Umbridge."

At long last, people finally seemed to believe Harry once again.

•~0~•

Genevieve had just been finishing dinner, and studying with it, when a scream echoed through the Great Hall, coming from the entrance hall. She rushed out.

A woman she only assumed could be Professor Trelawney was standing in the center of the entrance hall, looking particularly distressed. Her trunks lay before her.

"No!" The woman protested. "NO! This cannot be happening . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realize this was coming?" Umbridge's voice sounded. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c-can't! You c-can't sack me! I've b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!"

"It was your home," Umbridge said with sickening pleasure, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

Professor McGonagall strode up to the sobbing Trelawney and comforted her. "There, there, Sybill . . . Calm down . . . Blow your nose on this . . ."

McGonagall produced a handkerchief. "You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts . . ."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" Umbridge challenged. "And your authority for that statement is . . . ?"

"That would be mine."

Dumbledore entered the hall.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" Umbridge laughed. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position. I have here" — Umbridge withdrew a scroll from her robes — "an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

Dumbledore smiled. "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

Professor Trelawney looked up at Dumbledore from her hysteria. "No — no, I'll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere — "

"No," Dumbledore said almost forcefully. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill."

Dumbledore addressed McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course. Up you get, Sybill."

With Sprout and Flitwick's help, McGonagall and Trelawney walked by Umbridge, Flitwick levitating the trunks, and up the staircase.

"And what," Umbridge said acidly, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore spoke so conversationally it was as though she had just asked his opinion on the weather. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found — ? You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two — "

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one," Dumbledore completed. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?"

A centaur with white-blond hair and almost mesmerizingly blue eyes galloped in.

"This is Firenze. I think you'll find him suitable."

Umbridge simply stared. Though shocked, Genevieve smirked. Umbridge had sacked a human and gained a half-breed. Karma worked wonders.

•~0~•

Classes continued to get increasingly stressful as N.E.W.T.s drew nearer. Genevieve found herself studying in nearly all of her free time. Fred and George continued to sell their merchandise. Umbridge continued to give useless lessons. The D.A. became Genevieve's main escape from life, a way to leave her world and worries behind.

Genevieve closed her eyes in concentration. She thought of meeting Charlie, of discovering the Marauder's Map and its uses with Fred and George, of her father. She thought of every happy memory she could remember and focused on it.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Instead of the usual silvery wisp, something else erupted out of her wand. It flew around the room, flapping its magnificent wings, and doubled back to her. Genevieve beamed. Soaring her way was a snowy owl. It circled around her.

"I always did think of Hedwig and I as kindred spirits," Genevieve joked.

Behind her, the door opened. Genevieve lowered her wand as she saw who had entered. A house-elf hurried straight up to Harry.

"Hi, Dobby!" Harry greeted. "What are you — what's wrong?"

Every person in the room watched Dobby without talking, without breathing. The Patronuses faded into darkness.

"Harry Potter, sir . . ." the elf gasped out, shaking, "Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been warned not to tell . . ."

Genevieve flinched, for at that moment Dobby made a break for it, zooming into the wall. Harry grabbed him to prevent the elf from hurting himself further, though the numerous hats on his head seemed to have protected him.

"What's happened, Dobby?"

"Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . ."

Dobby punched himself. Harry gripped his free hand.

"Who's 'she,' Dobby?"

Dobby mouthed something to Harry.

"Umbridge?"

Dobby nodded, but before he could harm himself, Harry seized him more tightly.

"What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?"

Genevieve watched with horror, unable to move.

"Is she coming?" Harry whispered.

Dobby wailed, "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Harry stood up from his crouch. He eyed the students urgently.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? RUN!"

Her feet came unglued from the floor. Genevieve and the twins dashed away, somehow making it out amidst the chaos. They made a quick nod to each other and hid behind the closest secret door in the castle. Genevieve silently vowed to thank Lupin and Sirius later; it was their map that taught them.

Genevieve didn't know how long they stayed there, not saying a single word, not making a single sound. When they finally agreed it was safe to leave, the hallway was deserted. They made their way back to the common room and to their dormitories as quickly and quietly as they could.

Thoughts kept racing through Genevieve's mind as she climbed into bed. Had everyone managed to get away? How did Umbridge know? What would be the consequences? What now?