They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Remus, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Harry, Ron, Ellen, and Hermione arrived there next morning. The adults seemed to have been midway through a whispered conversation when the door opened; all of them looked around hastily and fell silent.
After a hurried breakfast they pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly gray January morning. Ellen had to swallow the lump in her throat to finally say goodbye to Sirius. She kiss him quickly on the cheek and leaned forward to murmur in his ear. "Keep your ring on at all times. We need you safe."
Sirius nodded and slid the ring on his finger. He moved on to Harry, pressing a terribly wrapped package into the boy's hand. Everyone went around saying their goodbyes, tears were shed and hugs were all around. They finally found themselves ushered out into the biting cold.
The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them, leaving them alone with Remus and Tonks. They followed Remus down the front steps. "Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better," said Tonks. Remus flung out his right arm.
BANG.
A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backward out of its way.
A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down onto the pavement and said, "Welcome to the —"
"Yes, yes, we know, thank you," said Tonks swiftly. "On, on, get on —
They all crowded onto the bus, taking their seats in the assortment of mismatched chairs scattered across the bus. They spread out across the entire thing, Tonks with the trio in the front, the remaining Weasleys in the middle, and Ellen and Remus alone in the very back.
It was entirely awkward. She and Remus had not spoken since the incident over the summer and with the arrival of Tyki at Grimmauld Place she had avoided the werewolf altogether.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?" She blurted out, cringing at the overly cheerful tone of her voice.
Remus looked at her oddly. "Is that really what you want to talk about?"
"No, it isn't." She sighed. "Remus..."
"I'm assuming he's back for good now." Remus spoke stiffly, his face guarded. "That's it then."
A spark of irritation flickered through her. How dare he just dismiss her that way? "Remus, you knew that whatever happened wasn't going to last. It was war. People do stupid things, they cling to people that they shouldn't just because it makes things better in the moment."
He looked at her with sad eyes. "Then why even start it?"
She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You have the same eyes as him. I never told you that, but it's true. Yours are darker but they're still the same beautiful yellow. That's what drew me to you. But in the end, you aren't him and I realized how wrong it was to use you as some sort of shallow imitation."
"You know," He started. "I kept hoping that he wouldn't come back. If he would just stay away, maybe you would have at least given it another chance."
Remus laughed bitterly, the sound so unlike him that it broke her heart. "But I guess we'll never know."
"What do you want me to say Remus?" She said exasperatedly. "Did you expect me just to leave him and run into your arms? That's never going to happen."
"Was it ever real? Did you ever love me?"
Her heart clenched at the pain in his voice. "Of course I did. I loved you the only way that I could. But in the end, my heart will always belong to him."
"You deserve someone that can love you." Ellen whispered. "You're a good man Moony, no matter what you tell yourself. There's someone out there for you, but that person isn't me. I'm sorry."
A few minutes later the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until —
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. She caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head down its side street, the severed boar's head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Remus and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage and then got off to say good-bye. "You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. "Have a good term, okay?"
"Look after yourselves," said Remus, shaking hands with everyone but Ellen, stopping to say something in Harry's ear. The seven of them struggled up the slippery drive toward the castle dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime.
The next class day passed uneventfully for Ellen. She somewhat separated herself from the trio to spend the afternoon with Tyki and Albus, catching up on what the other Noah had been up to since their departure from Grimmauld Place. By the time she arrived in her dormitory she was so tired that she didn't even register her head hitting the pillow before she was asleep.
It was the next morning when Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived at the table. She smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, and then gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.
"What?" The other three said in unison.
For an answer she spread the newspaper on the table in front of them and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.
Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at them, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.
Augustus Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
But all Ellen could stare at what that picture of the witch. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though the last time Ellen had seen her it was sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at her through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Her once beautiful face was haggard, insanity playing at the edges.
Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Ellen finally glanced away from the witch to look at the headline, anger filling her entire body.
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS "RALLYING POINT"
FOR OLD DEATH EATERS
"Black?" said Harry loudly. "Not — ?"
"Shhh!" whispered Hermione desperately. "Not so loud — just read it!"
The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening, and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals. "We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals and beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."
"There you are, Harry," said Ron, looking awestruck. "That's why he was happy last night..."
"I don't believe this," snarled Harry, "Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?"
"What other options does he have?" said Hermione bitterly. "He can hardly say, 'Sorry everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort' — stop whimpering, Ron — 'and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out too.' I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?" Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside.
Ellen could barely breathe she was so angry. Bellatrix, the woman she had fought so hard to get put away, was free just like that. And not only was that monster free, but they were blaming the escape on Sirius. Every time she closed her eyes she saw images of the night she fought Bellatrix, remembering the rage and helplessness that she felt knowing that even if she killed the witch it would never bring her friends back.
She looked up at the staff table to see Albus and McGonagall in a serious conversation, their heads bowed together. Her eyes swept down the table until they met Tyki's, who subtly motioned to his own eyes then pointed down. Fear gripped her heart when she looked down at the nearest reflective surface and bright yellow eyes started back at her.
With a clatter she rose from the table and began to leave, mumbling an excuse under her breath. She could faintly hear her friends calling her name but her mind was so clouded with anger that she could not make herself care. Ellen walked straight to where the Room of Requirement was, pacing back and forth in front of the tapestry. She needed a place to let her anger out.
Ellen must have spent a good hour in the Room just destroying everything with the power of the Fourteenth. Anything that she touched simply found itself disintegrating, dust settling where it once stood. It took a great amount of willpower for her to leave the room and go about her classes as if everything was normal.
But the problem was, nothing was normal.
Everyone who lived in the castle was affected by the news in one way or another. There were students that had family killed by those that had broken out, people whose best friends were suffering because of it. It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.
"They obviously can't talk freely in the staffroom anymore," said Hermione in a low voice, as they passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. "Not with Umbridge there."
"Reckon they know anything new?" said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.
"If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?" said Harry angrily. "Not after Decree...What number are we on now?"
For new signs had appeared on the house notice boards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:
— by order of —
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information
that is not strictly related to the subjects they are
paid to teach.
The above is in accordance with
Educational Decree Number Twenty-six.
Signed:
High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge
While the decree had been the subject of a large amount of jokes, it was something that was also causing people to suffer. Anyone who happened to make some type of remark about the decree to Umbridge found themselves in one of her now infamous detentions.
They had all hoped that the news of the breakout would make the woman see what was really important, but it just managed to make her even more controlling. The woman was apparently tormenting the Divination teacher and it was more likely than not that she would be at the Care of Magical Creatures lessons with some type of scathing comment to make about Hagrid assisting Tyki.
With so much to worry about and so much to do — startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth years working until past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and regular meetings with Tyki— January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before anyone knew it, February was there and the second Hogsmeade visit was with it. Harry seemed to be excited about his upcoming date with Cho on Valentine's Day, though it was a rather glum day for the rest.
It had not been something that people really celebrated when Ellen and Tyki were first married, but now that they were together in modern times it was frustrating that they would not get a chance to spend such a lovely holiday with each other. But all thoughts of not being with her husband were driven away when Hermione showed up the day of the visit with a letter. She turned to them with a pleased look on her face, her eyes mainly on Harry.
"Listen, Harry," she said, looking up at him. "This is really important...Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"
"Well...I dunno," said Harry dubiously. "Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do."
"Well, bring her along if you must," said Hermione urgently. "But will you come?"
"Well...all right, but why?"
"I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly —"
And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of uneaten toast in the other. "Are you coming?" Harry asked Ron, but he shook his head, looking glum.
"I can't. I've got Quidditch practice." He heaved a great sigh. "I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign..."
"What about you Ellen?" Harry asked, turning away from Ron in irritation.
She pressed her lips together grimly. "I'm probably just going to track down Hermione. I'm sure Rhode will find her way out of the castle, so at least I'll get to see her..."
" 'm sorry," Harry flushed. "Decree's making it hard on you two, isn't it?"
"I survived almost two hundred years without him, I can survive the rest of the school year." Ellen waved him off. "Well, I'm going to go find Hermione and see whatever plan she's cooked up."
Much to her dismay, Ellen did not find Hermione for quite some time. She ended up making the trek to Hogsmeade of her own, grumbling to herself the entire time. When she finally found her friend, she was surprised to see her with Luna and some blonde woman with an absolutely awful crocodile-skin handbag.
"Hermione!" She called out, jogging to catch up to them. "I've been looking for you all morning."
The other witch smiled despite herself. "Sorry, I've been busy. Ellen, you know Luna."
"I see you left your shadow behind today." Luna said dreamily. "Does it not like the cold?"
Ellen blinked in confusion. "Er, I'm not sure?"
She simply shrugged and went back to staring up into the sky. Hermione looked at the girl with annoyance before looking back to Ellen. "This is Rita Skeeter." Hermione motioned to the woman with the terrible taste. "She's going to be helping us today. Oh! We really need to get to the Three Broomsticks, Harry will be there soon."
The four women made the walk to the pub and squeezed through the crowd to find a quiet table near the back. It was awkwardly quiet for a moment until Hermione perked up and started waving. "Harry! Harry, over here!"
Ellen looked to see Harry making his way through the pub. surprise written on his face. "You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. "I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!"
"Cho?" Skeeter turned in her chair to stare at Harry. "A girl?"
She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. "It's none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls," Hermione told Skeeter coolly. "So you can put that away right now."
Skeeter had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.
"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down and staring from person to person.
"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived," said Skeeter, taking a large slurp of her drink. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?" she shot at Hermione.
"Yes, I suppose you are," said Hermione coldly.
She took anothergreat gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, "Pretty girl, is she, Harry?"
"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," said Hermione irritably.
"What deal?" said Skeeter, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days..." She took a deep shuddering breath.
"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me," said Hermione indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"
"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help," said Skeeter, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, "How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"
"He feels angry, of course," said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. "Because he's told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him."
"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" Skeeter asked. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness — ?"
"I wasn't the sole witness," snarled Harry. "There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"
"I'd love them," breathed Skeeter, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: 'Potter Accuses...' A subheading: 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you: 'Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters...' "
The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face. "But of course," she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"
"As a matter of fact," said Hermione sweetly, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."
Ellen felt her jaw drop slightly and knew that she was not the only one wearing an expression of pure shock on her face.
"You want me to report what he says about He-Who-Must-NotBe-Named?" Skeeter asked Hermione in a hushed voice.
"Yes, I do," said Hermione. "The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now — oh, get a grip on yourself," she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for at the sound of Voldemort's name, Skeeter had jumped so badly that she had slopped half her glass of firewhisky down herself.
Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, "The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle —"
"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!" said Hermione angrily. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!"
"There's no market for a story like that," said Rita coldly.
"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Hermione irritably.
Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a businesslike tone, "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."
"So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?" said Hermione scathingly.
Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of firewhisky. "The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl," she said coldly.
"My dad thinks it's an awful paper," said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eyes. "He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money."
Rita looked disparagingly at Luna. "I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?" she said. " 'Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale?"
"No," said Luna, dipping her onion back into her gillywater, "he's the editor of The Quibbler."
Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked around in alarm. " 'Important stories he thinks the public needs to know'?" she said witheringly. "I could manure my garden with the contents of that rag."
"Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?" said Hermione pleasantly. "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it."
Rita stared at them both for a moment and then let out a great whoop of laughter. "The Quibbler!" she said, cackling. "You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler?"
"Some people won't," said Hermione in a level voice. "But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a" — she glanced sideways at Luna, "in a — well, an unusual magazine — I think they might be rather keen to read it."
Rita did not say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side. "All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it," she said abruptly. "What kind of fee am I going to get?"
"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna dreamily. "They do it because it's an honor, and, of course, to see their names in print."
"I'm supposed to do this for free?"
"Well, yes," said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban..."
Ellen snorted into her firewhisky, earning a glare from the writer. "What?" She asked. "I'm just here for back up, don't mind me."
"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.
"Daddy will be pleased," said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.
"Okay, Harry?" said Hermione, turning to him. "Ready to tell the public the truth?"
"I suppose," said Harry, watching Rita balancing the QuickQuotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.
"Fire away, then, Rita," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of her glass.
Luna said vaguely that she did not know how soon Rita's interview with Harry would appear in The Quibbler, that her father was expecting a lovely long article on recent sightings of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "And, of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry's might have to wait for the following issue," said Luna.
They entered the Great Hall for breakfast at exactly the same moment as the post owls on Monday morning. Hermione was not the only person eagerly awaiting her Daily Prophet: Nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught.
Ellen picked at her breakfast dully. Harry had been forced to continue on with Occlumency lessons with Snape and it was honestly killing her that there was nothing she could do about it. Despite the fact that Rhode had offered to help, the other Noah still insisted that Harry wasn't ready for the training that she could give him. She was yanked out of her thoughts at the sound of Hermione's voice once again.
"Harry!" said Hermione breathlessly, pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "I think I know what this means — open this one first!"
Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across his picture were the words:
Harry POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:
THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED
AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN
"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."
"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly, "Harry, d'you mind if we — ?
"Help yourself," said Harry, looking slightly bemused. Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.
"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," said Ron, glancing down his letter. "Ah well..."
"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.
Ellen reached out to grab one for herself when an owl dropped a lime green envelope on her plate. She turned it over with shaking hands, looking at the St. Mungo's seal in wax. Before she even thought to open it in front of everyone she shoved it into her bag and turned her attention back to where Harry was reading more of his letters.
"This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!"
"This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter opening with enthusiasm. "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..."
"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" said Hermione excitedly. " '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," said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder, "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?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry.
"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" she asked slowly.
"Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"
"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge. "Well, Mr. Potter?"
"People have written to me because I gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June."
"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"
"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here —"
And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet. "When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.
She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. "There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter," she whispered. "How you dare...how you could..." She took a deep breath. "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."
"You can't do that!" Ellen finally blurted out. "He didn't do anything wrong!"
"The Ministry put its faith in you, Miss Walker." Umbridge smiled mockingly. "Such a shame..."
She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her. By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.
— by order of —
The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts
Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler
will be expelled.
The above is in accordance with
Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.
Signed:
High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge
For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.
"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked her.
"Oh Harry, don't you see?" Hermione breathed. "If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!"
And she was right. It seems that every student was discussing the Quibbler in some way. They hid copies all throughout the castle, disguising the magazine so that they could read. This seemed to infuriate Umbridge who made it her personal mission to confiscate every copy that she could.
The incidents in the castle only seemed to escalate from there. With he firing of the Divination professor and subsequent hiring of a centaur to teach the subject, the castle was abuzz with all types of news and rumors.
Meanwhile, as the teachers and Hermione persisted in reminding them, the O.W.L.s were drawing ever nearer. All the fifth years were suffering from stress to some degree, but Hannah Abbott became the first to receive a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey after she burst into tears during Herbology and sobbed that she was too stupid to take exams and wanted to leave school now.
The D.A. lessons were the only thing that most of them had to look forward to. As Harry had been mentioning for months, they were finally starting to work on their Patronuses. Everyone was delighted to learn, but they were soon discovering that it was much more difficult than they had believed.
"You have to think of your happiest memory," Harry explained that night as he walked them though the spell. "It can be anything, it just has to be powerful enough."
Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor.
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the room. "They're so pretty!"
"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Harry patiently. "What we really need is a boggart or something; that's how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —"
"But that would be really scary!" said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. "And I still — can't — do it!" she added angrily.
Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip.
"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded him.
"I'm trying," said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat.
Ellen walked over from where she had been watching everyone cast. She shooed Harry away and pulled out her own wand with a small smile. "It doesn't have to be a memory." She murmured quietly to Neville. "Memories can be tainted. You can think of an idea or a dream, it just has to be happy."
She flicked her own wand, breathing out the incantation. "Expecto Patronum."
Her own tiny butterfly Patronus fluttered around them before landing on the tip of Neville's wand. She let her voice drop to a whisper. "I like to think about my love." She admitted. "I imagine us together safe, after all of this is done. It works."
The room fell into a hush as a house elf entered and made a bee-line for Harry.
"Hi, Dobby!" Harry said. "What are you — what's wrong?"
"Harry Potter, sir..." squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, "Harry Potter, sir...Dobby has come to warn you...but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..."
"What's happened, Dobby?" Harry asked, grabbing the elf's tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself.
"Harry Potter...she...she..." Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist: Harry seized that too.
"Who's 'she,' Dobby?"
"Umbridge?" asked Harry, horrified.
Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off Harry's knees; Harry held him at bay. "What about her? Dobby — she hasn't found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?"
"Is she coming?" Harry asked quietly.
Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor. "Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"
Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"
They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through; Harry could hear them sprinting along the corridors and hoped they had the sense not to try and make it all the way to their dormitories. It was only ten to nine, if they just took refuge in the library or the Owlery, which were both nearer —
"Harry, come on!" shrieked Hermione from beside Ellen and Ron. She watched the boy tell that house elf something before taking off in a run, hoping that Harry would catch up with them.
Her hopes were crushed when she heard someone that sounded like Harry yell out. "AAARGH!"
Ron looked as if he was going to run after his friend when she grabbed him by the wrist tight. "If we get caught, this is all for nothing!" Ellen hissed, pulling him along. "We have to get out of here!"
The three of them ran to the common room at a breakneck speed, a ball of dread firmly in their guts. Something terrible was about to happen.
— by order of —
The Ministry of Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor)
has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight.
Signed: Minister of Magic
The notices had gone up all over the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape. Ellen was completely numb from the entire situation. Albus Dumbledore, her oldest friend and confidant, was no longer at Hogwarts and there was nothing that she could do to change it.
"Dumbledore will be back before long," said Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology after listening intently to Harry's story. "They couldn't keep him away in our second year and they won't be able to this time. The Fat Friar told me..."
He dropped his voice conspiratorially, so that the four had to lean closer to him to hear, "...that Umbridge tried to get back into his office last night after they'd searched the castle and grounds for him. Couldn't get past the gargoyle. The Head's office has sealed itself against her." Ernie smirked. "Apparently she had a right little tantrum..."
"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall. "Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old —"
"Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?" Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice. "Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he drawled.
"It's only teachers that can dock points from Houses, Malfoy," said Ernie at once.
"Yeah, we're prefects too, remember?" snarled Ron.
"I know prefects can't dock points, Weasel King," sneered Malfoy; Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad —"
"The what?" said Hermione sharply.
"The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger," said Malfoy, pointing toward a tiny silver I upon his robes just beneath his prefect's badge. "A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, handpicked by Professor Umbridge. Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points...So, Granger, I'll have five from you for being rude about our new headmistress...Macmillan, five for contradicting me...Five because I don't like you, Potter...Weasley, your shirt's untucked, so I'll have another five for that...Walker's a filthy Beast, another five for that...Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that..."
Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, "Don't!"
"Wise move, Granger," breathed Malfoy. "New Head, new times...Be good now, Potty...Weasel King..." He strode away, laughing heartily with Crabbe and Goyle.
"He was bluffing," said Ernie, looking appalled. "He can't be allowed to dock points...that would be ridiculous...It would completely undermine the prefect system..."
But they had turned automatically toward the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind them, which recorded the House points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw had been neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as they watched, stones flew upward, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seemed unchanged was the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.
"Noticed, have you?" said Fred's voice. He and George had just come down the marble staircase and joined them all in front of the hourglasses.
"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upward from the Gryffindor hourglass.
"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," said George.
"What do you mean, 'tried'?" said Ron quickly.
"He never managed to get all the words out," said Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."
Hermione looked very shocked. "But you'll get into terrible trouble!"
"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," said Fred coolly. "Anyway...we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."
"Have you ever?" asked Hermione.
" 'Course we have," said George. "Never been expelled, have we?"
"We've always known where to draw the line," said Fred.
"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," said George.
"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," said Fred.
"But now?" said Ron tentatively.
"Well, now —" said George.
"— what with Dumbledore gone —" said Fred.
"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —" said George.
"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," said Fred.
"You mustn't!" whispered Hermione. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"
"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" said Fred, smiling at her. "We don't care about staying anymore. We'd walk out right now if we weren't determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway," he checked his watch, "phase one is about to begin. I'd get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can't have had anything to do with it."
"Anything to do with what?" said Hermione anxiously.
"You'll see," said George. "Run along, now."
Fred and George turned away and disappeared in the swelling crowd descending the stairs toward lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie muttered something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurried away. "I think we should get out of here, you know," said Hermione nervously. "Just in case..."
"Yeah, all right," said Ron, and the three of them moved toward the doors to the Great Hall, but Harry had barely glimpsed today's ceiling of scudding white clouds when somebody tapped him on the shoulder and, turning, he found himself almost nose to nose with Filch, the caretaker. He took several hasty steps backward; Filch was best viewed at a distance.
"The headmistress would like to see you, Potter," he leered.
"I didn't do it," said Harry.
Filch's jowls wobbled with silent laughter. "Guilty conscience, eh?" he wheezed. "Follow me..."
The rest of the afternoon went off with a bang, so to say. The twins had released a load of fireworks into the hallways and that was only the beginning truly. The next days were filled with all types of disorderly contact from the Weasley twins and Ellen loved every moment of it.
It was things like that that made the time up until Easter holidays so much easier to deal with. It was not until Harry had announced that he was done wit Occlumency lessons that Ellen began to truly worry again. Rhode still insisted that Harry was not ready for what she was going to teach him and if Harry only knew the basics, that was going to be a whole load of trouble in itself. But with exams coming up and everything, it was impossible for her to even get Harry to speak about any of it.
As though to underline the importance of their upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices concerning various Wizarding careers appeared on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which read:
CAREER ADVICE
All fifth years will be required to attend a short meeting with their Head of House during the first week of the Summer term,
in which they will be given the opportunity to discuss their future careers. Times of individual appointments are listed below.
Ellen grimaced when she realized that she was actually going to have to participate in the advising. It was ridiculous and she was not afraid to let her friends know it either.
The other fifth years spent a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the career information that had been left there for their perusal.
"Well, I don't fancy Healing," said Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He was immersed in a leaflet that carried the crossed boneand-wand emblem of St. Mungo's on its front. "It says here you need at least an E at N.E.W.T. level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I mean...blimey...Don't want much, do they?"
"Well, it's a very responsible job, isn't it?" said Hermione absently. She was poring over a bright pink-and-orange leaflet that was headed so you think you'd like to work in muggle relations? "You don't seem to need many qualifications to liaise with Muggles...All they want is an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies...'Much more important is your enthusiasm, patience, and a good sense of fun!' "
"You'd need more than a good sense of fun to liaise with my uncle," said Harry darkly. "Good sense of when to duck, more like..."
He was halfway through a pamphlet on Wizard banking. "Listen to this: " 'Are you seeking a challenging career involving travel, adventure, and substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses? Then consider a position with Gringotts Wizarding Bank, who are currently recruiting CurseBreakers for thrilling opportunities abroad...' They want Arithmancy, though...You could do it, Hermione!"
"I don't much fancy banking," said Hermione vaguely, now immersed in yet another pamphlet.
Ellen tossed the one she was holding on the ground with a loud groan. "I don't even see why I have to do this! I'm older than half these positions!"
Ron patted her on the back understandingly and passed her another one.
Her 'career appointment' arrived much sooner than she expected and she surprisingly found herself in Mcgonagall's office one afternoon. Umbridge was there next to her friend, her faithful clipboard on her knee and a smug look on her face.
"Sit down, Walker," said Professor McGonagall crisply.
"Well, Walker, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue into sixth and seventh years," said Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"
Ellen blinked in confusion. "Well, I was thinking about finally settling down?"
The sound of scratching filled the air as Umbridge wrote something down on that infernal clipboard. "You'll still need to get at least four N.E.W.T.s," McGonagall said. "I'd say Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. You'll want to have something to fall back on if you decide to work."
"Hem, hem." Umbridge coughed, causing McGonagall to raise her eyebrow.
"Do you have something to add, Dolores?"
"I just wondered whether Miss Walker has the qualifications for any career?" said Umbridge, with that simpering laugh.
"Whatever do you mean by that?" McGonagall gritted out.
"Well, I noticed that Miss Walker has no prior record before attending Hogwarts." Umbridge smiled cruelly at Ellen.
Ellen snorted despite herself, looking up at the woman like she was crazy. "Of course I don't!" She said incredulously. "Do you know how old I am? Women couldn't even go to school when I was born!"
Umbridge's face puckered unpleasantly. "I doubt that anyone will hire a Beast anyways." She said nastily.
It took everything in Ellen not to reach across the desk and slap the bitch as hard as she could. "Classifications change every day, Professor."
"That concludes our career consultation, Walker." McGonagall said quickly, all but rushing Ellen out of her office. The Noah was fuming the entire afternoon and the idea of even going to DADA made her mood even worse. Luckily, the class period did not seem to last long at all. It was not ten minutes into the lesson when a loud BOOM! shook the room.
They all took off running out of the class to investigate. She barely had time to notice Harry running off in a different direction before she was swept up in the crowd. What they found was absolutely amazing.
The entire corridor was covered in what looked like a swamp. Students were shrieking with laughter while Umbridge and her cronies struggled to regain order. Fred and George came stepping out into the middle, looking surprisingly guilty for once.
"So!" said Umbridge triumphantly, "So...you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"
"Pretty amusing, yeah," said Fred, looking back up at her without the slightest sign of fear.
Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness. "I've got the form, Headmistress," he said hoarsely, waving a piece of parchment. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting...Oh, let me do it now..."
"Very good, Argus," she said. "You two," she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."
"You know what?" said Fred. "I don't think we are."
He turned to his twin. "George," said Fred, "I think we've outgrown full-time education."
"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," said George lightly.
"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asked Fred.
"Definitely," said George. And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, "Accio Brooms!"
Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs, and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.
"We won't be seeing you," Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.
"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George, mounting his own.
Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd. "If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," he said in a loud voice. "Our new premises!"
"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.
"STOP THEM!" shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd. "Give her hell from us, Peeves."
And Peeves, who had never taken an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset.
Things are finally starting to pick up. The next few chapter will be the biggest changes to canon so stay tuned!
And PLEASE review! I want to hear what all of you think of it and it really does mean a lot when I get reviews. It lets me know that there are people that actually do enjoy my writing :)