Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 25- Career Advice Amongst Other Things

— 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.

The notices had gone up all over the school overnight, but they do not explain how every single person within the castle seems to know that Dumbledore overcame two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape. No matter where I go within the castle next day, the sole topic of conversation is Dumbledore's flight, and though some of the details may have gone awry in the retelling (I overhear one second-year girl assuring another that Fudge is now lying in St. Mungo's with a pumpkin for a head), it is surprising how accurate the rest of their information is. Everybody seems aware, for instance, that Harry, Marietta, and I were the only students to have witnessed the scene in Dumbledore's office, and as Marietta is now in the hospital wing, Harry and I found ourselves besieged with requests to give a firsthand account wherever we go.

"Dumbledore will be back before long," says Ernie Macmillan confidently on the way back from Herbology after listening intently to Harry's and my 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 drops his voice conspiratorially, so that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I have 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 smirks. "Apparently she had a right little tantrum . . ."

I smile at that, for it is one of the only good pieces of news that I've heard. Ariana has been a little lifeless today. After hearing about what happened to her grandfather, she had broken down into tears, but that was all. She pulled herself together and told me in no certain words that she was going to oust that vile toad even if it was with her last dying breath, for it would be what her grandfather would want.

I'm happy at least that she doesn't blame Harry and me. We both tried apologizing to her but she firmly glared at the pair of us, and said that there was nothing that we could have done. Pansy Parkinson even had a bloody nose mysteriously by the time that breakfast came around.

"Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Head's office," says Hermione viciously, as we walk 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 has slid out from behind the door, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face is alight with malice.

"Afraid I'm going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he drawls.

"You can't take points from fellow prefects, Malfoy," says Ernie at once.

"I know prefects can't dock points from each other," sneers Malfoy; Crabbe and Goyle snigger. "But members of the Inquisitorial Squad —"

"The what?" says Hermione sharply.

"The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger," says Malfoy, pointing towards 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, hand-picked 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. . . . Oh yeah, I forgot, you're a Mudblood, Granger, so ten for that . . . and you Pendragon I'll take another five just because I can… and Dumbledore ten points for being related to the old Head."

Ron pulls out his wand, but Hermione pushes it away, whispering, "Don't!"

"Wise move, Granger," breathes Malfoy. "New Head, new times . . . Be good now, Potty . . . Weasel King . . ."

He strides away, laughing heartily with Crabbe and Goyle. Ariana glares after them, and I grab her hand quickly to stop her. She looks at me with flashing eyes, and I shake my head softly. "He's not worth losing more points Ari." I tell her softly.

"He was bluffing," says Ernie, looking appalled. "He can't be allowed to dock points . . . that would be ridiculous. . . . It would completely undermine the prefect system . . ."

But Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I turned automatically towards the giant hourglasses set in niches along the wall behind us, which records the House points. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were neck and neck in the lead that morning. Even as we watch, stones fly upward, reducing the amounts in the lower bulbs. In fact, the only glass that seems unchanged is the emerald-filled one of Slytherin.

"Noticed, have you?" says Fred's voice.

He and George have just come down the marble staircase and joined Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ernie, Ariana, and me in front of the hourglasses.

"Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points," says Harry furiously, as we watch several more stones fly upwards from the Gryffindor hourglass.

"Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break," says George.

"What do you mean, 'tried'?" says Ron quickly.

"He never managed to get all the words out," says Fred, "due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor."

I smirk at that and Ariana nods happily.

Hermione looks very shocked though.

"But you'll get into terrible trouble!"

"Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him," says Fred coolly. "Anyway . . . we've decided we don't care about getting into trouble anymore."

"Have you ever?" asks Hermione.

"'Course we have," says George. "Never been expelled, have we?"

"We've always known where to draw the line," says Fred.

"We might have put a toe across it occasionally," says George.

"But we've always stopped short of causing real mayhem," says Fred.

"But now?" says Ron tentatively.

"Well, now —" says George.

"— what with Dumbledore gone —" says Fred.

"— we reckon a bit of mayhem —" says George.

"— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves," says Fred. I grin a little maniacally and nod my head earnestly. Ariana finally seems come to her senses out of her small rage.

"No Jamie. You're only in fifth year. You can't help them with anything." She tells me seriously. I deflate a little at that and look at the twins sadly.

"No worries Jame, you'll have plenty more time to cause mayhem." George says agreeably. I smile at that.

"You mustn't!" whispers Hermione. "You really mustn't! She'd love a reason to expel you!"

"You don't get it, Hermione, do you?" says 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 checks 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?" says Hermione anxiously.

"You'll see," says George. "Run along, now."

Fred and George turn away and disappear in the swelling crowd descending the stairs towards lunch. Looking highly disconcerted, Ernie mutters something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and scurries away.

"I think we should get out of here, you know," says Hermione nervously. "Just in case . . ."

"Yeah, all right," says Ron, and the five of us move towards the doors to the Great Hall, but I have barely glimpsed today's ceiling of scudding white clouds when somebody taps Harry hon the shoulder and, turning, he finds himself almost nose to nose with Filch, the caretaker. He takes several hasty steps backward; Filch is best viewed at a distance.

"The headmistress would like to see you, Potter," he leers.

"I didn't do it," says Harry stupidly, thinking of whatever Fred and George are planning. Filch's jowls wobble with silent laughter.

"Guilty conscience, eh?" he wheezes. "Follow me . . ."

Ron, Hermione, Ariana, and I look after Harry worriedly. My hands are shaking at my sides. I don't like the fact that Harry is going alone to deal with Umbridge one little bit. Ariana pats me on the arm, before muttering goodbye to go and sit with the rest of the Hufflepuffs.

Hermione, Ron, and I sit down at the Gryffindor table. I slide into place next to Ginny and she looks at me sadly. "You know?" I whisper. She nods sadly and lets her head fall to my shoulder. I squeeze her hand before putting some food onto my plate before eats all of it.

The four of us talk in hushed voices for a few minutes before a giant BOOM sounds out. I'm out of my seat before anyone can say anything, I race up two flights of stairs and stop dead at the sight.

Somebody (and I have a very shrewd idea who) has set off what seems to be an enormous crate of enchanted fireworks.

Dragons comprised entirely of green-and-gold sparks are soaring up and down the corridors, emitting loud fiery blasts and bangs as they go. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter are whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars are ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers are writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers are exploding like mines everywhere I look, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seem to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer I watch.

I see Harry and sneak my way over to him. He raises an eyebrow at me and I shrug my shoulders, who would seriously want to miss this?

Filch and Umbridge are standing, apparently transfixed with horror, halfway down the stairs. As Harry and I watch, one of the larger Catherine wheels seems to decide that what it needs is more room to maneuver; it whirls towards Umbridge and Filch with a sinister wheeeeeeeeee. Both adults yell with fright and duck and it soars straight out of the window behind them and off across the grounds. Meanwhile, several of the dragons and a large purple bat that is smoking ominously take advantage of the open door at the end of the corridor to escape towards the second floor.

"Hurry, Filch, hurry!" shrieks Umbridge. "They'll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!"

A jet of red light shoots out of the end of her wand and hits one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it explodes with such force that it blasts a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she runs for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door, where a couple of wizards playing cards stand up hastily to make room for her.

"Don't Stun them, Filch!" shouts Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it was his suggestion.

"Right you are, Headmistress!" wheezes Filch, who is a Squib and can no more have Stunned the fireworks than swallowed them. He dashes to a nearby cupboard, pulls out a broom, and begins swatting at the fireworks in midair; within seconds the head of the broom is ablaze.

Harry has seen enough, he motions for me to follow him. Laughing, we duck down low, run to a door we knew is concealed behind a tapestry a little way along the corridor and slip through it to find Fred and George hiding just behind it, listening to Umbridge's and Filch's yells and quaking with suppressed mirth.

"Impressive," Harry says quietly, grinning. "Very impressive . . . You'll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem . . ."

"That was brilliant you two!" I whisper throwing my arms around both of them.

"Cheers," whispers George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next. . . . They multiply by ten every time you try . . ."

The fireworks continue to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they cause plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers do not seem to mind them very much.

"Dear, dear," says Professor McGonagall sardonically, as one of the dragons soars around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. "Miss Brown, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?"

The upshot of it all is that Professor Umbridge spends her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seem able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rings and the students are heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, I see, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick's classroom.

"Thank you so much, Professor!" says Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. "I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn't sure whether I had the authority . . ."

Beaming, he closes his classroom door in her snarling face.

Fred and George are heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fights her way through the excited crowd around them to congratulate them.

"They were wonderful fireworks," she says admiringly.

"Thanks," says George, looking both surprised and pleased. "Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we're going to have to start again from scratch now . . ."

"It was worth it, though," says Fred, who is taking orders from clamoring Gryffindors. "If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it's five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe . . ."

Hermione returns to the table where Harry, Ron, and I are sitting staring at our schoolbags as though hoping our homework might spring out of it and start doing itself.

"Oh, why don't we have a night off?" says Hermione brightly, as a silver-tailed Weasley rocket zooms past the window. "After all, the Easter holidays start on Friday, we'll have plenty of time then . . ."

"Are you feeling all right?" Ron asks, staring at her in disbelief.

"Now you mention it," says Hermione happily, "d'you know . . . I think I'm feeling a bit . . . rebellious."

I widen my eyes in disbelief at that. "Who are you and where is my Mione?" I demand poking her arm, while she tries to slap my hand away.

I can still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when Hermione and I go up to bed an hour later, and as we get undressed a sparkler floats past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word "POO".

That night after a few hours asleep we're all woken up by another loud BANG! The door to our dorm bursts open and an over excited Ginny dashes in, flying onto my bed practically knocking me off. "What?" I grumble.

"Look! Look! Look!" She squeals shaking my shoulder as a sleepy Hermione slides out of bed and pulls aside the curtain we fashioned over the window.

Glittering, pink-and-silver winged piglets are now soaring past the windows of Gryffindor Tower. Lavender and Parvati join the three of us at the window so that we can watch the piglet fireworks. Well this certainly has been a good night.

"But why haven't you got Occlumency lessons anymore?" says Hermione, frowning.

"I've told you," Harry mutters. "Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now I've got the basics . . ."

"So you've stopped having funny dreams?" says Hermione skeptically.

"Pretty much," says Harry, not looking at her.

"Well, I don't think Snape should stop until you're absolutely sure you can control them!" says Hermione indignantly. "Harry, I think you should go back to him and ask —"

"No," says Harry forcefully. "Just drop it, Hermione, okay?"

It is the first day of the Easter holidays and Hermione, as is her custom, has spent a large part of the day drawing up study schedules for the four of us. Harry, Ron, and I let her do it — it is easier than arguing with her and, in any case, they might come in useful.

Ron is startled to discover that there are only six weeks left until our exams.

"How can that come as a shock?" Hermione demands, as she taps each little square on Ron's schedule with her wand so that it flashes a different color according to its subject.

"I dunno . . ." says Ron, "there's been a lot going on . . ."

"Well, there you are," she says, handing him his schedule, "if you follow that you should do fine."

Ron looks down it gloomily, but then brightens.

"You've given me an evening off every week!"

"That's for Quidditch practice," says Hermione. The smile fades from Ron's face.

"What's the point?" he says. "We've got about as much chance of winning the Quidditch Cup this year as Dad's got of becoming Minister of Magic . . ."

Hermione says nothing and I play with my quill bored. She is looking at Harry, who is staring blankly at the opposite wall of the common room while Crookshanks paws at his hand, trying to get his ears scratched.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"What?" he says quickly. "Nothing . . ."

He seizes his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and pretends to be looking something up in the index. Crookshanks gives him up as a bad job and slinks away under Hermione's chair.

"I saw Cho earlier," says Hermione tentatively, "and she looked really miserable too. . . . Have you two had a row again?"

"Wha — oh yeah, we have," says Harry, seizing gratefully on the excuse.

"What about?"

"That sneak friend of hers, Marietta," says Harry.

"The sneak." I say making a face at that.

"Yeah, well, I don't blame you!" says Ron angrily, setting down his study schedule. "If it hadn't been for her . . ."

Ron goes into a rant about Marietta Edgecombe. I turn it out for the most part and continue doodling in my sketchbook, allowing my mind to drift.

The weather grows breezier, brighter, and warmer as the holidays pass, but I'm stuck with the rest of the fifth and seventh years, who are all trapped inside, traipsing back and forth to the library. Harry and the rest of the fifth years are all in a perpetual bad mood. The stress of exams is really beginning to get to us.

"Harry, I'm talking to you, can you hear me?" Ginny says having suddenly appeared in front of the two of us at our table in the library.

"Huh?" Harry says, and I set down my quill to give the girl my attention. I needed a break anyway.

Ginny, looking very wind-swept, has joined us. It is late on Sunday evening; Hermione has gone back to Gryffindor Tower to review Ancient Runes; Ron has Quidditch practice.

"Oh hi," says Harry, pulling his books back toward him. "How come you're not at practice?"

"It's over," says Ginny. "Ron had to take Jack Sloper up to the hospital wing."

"Why?" I demand not liking that practice had ended this early again.

"Well, we're not sure, but we think he knocked himself out with his own bat." She sighs heavily. "Anyway . . . a package just arrived, it's only just got through Umbridge's new screening process . . ."

She hoisted a box wrapped in brown paper onto the table; it has clearly been unwrapped and carelessly rewrapped, and there is a scribbled note across it in red ink, reading INSPECTED AND PASSED BY THE HOGWARTS HIGH INQUISITOR.

"It's Easter eggs from Mum," says Ginny. "There's one for you, you too Jame. . . . There you go . . ."

She hands him a handsome chocolate egg decorated with small, iced Snitches and, according to the packaging, containing a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Harry looked at it for a moment, then, looks like he's going to cry, as Ginny says that she'll give me mine later. She's going to hold it hostage until I help her with her Charms homework like a promised. At least it will be a little different than the kind of studying that I was doing before.

"Are you okay, Harry?" asks Ginny quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," says Harry gruffly.

"You seem really down lately," Ginny persists. "You know, I'm sure if you just talked to Cho . . ."

"Yes I've seen her around looks miserable." I mumble under my breath so as to not upset him. Harry has already snapped a few times this vacation.

"It's not Cho I want to talk to," says Harry brusquely.

"Who is it, then?" asks Ginny. I watch the two of them and the unbidden thought that the pair would make a cute couple comes over me.

"I . . ." Harry glances around to make quite sure that nobody is listening; Madam Pince is several shelves away, stamping out a pile of books for a frantic-looking Hannah Abbott.

"I wish I could talk to Sirius," he mutters. "But I know I can't."

Harry unwraps his Easter egg, breaks off a large bit, and puts it into his mouth.

"Well," says Ginny slowly, helping herself to a bit of egg too so I steal some as well, "if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it . . ."

"Come on," says Harry hopelessly. "With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?"

"The thing about growing up with Fred and George," says Ginny thoughtfully, "is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."

I grin at her knowing that that is very much true, and I've only lived with them for two years.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?"

"Oh damn," whispers Ginny, jumping to her feet. "I forgot —"

Madam Pince is swooping down upon us, her shriveled face contorted with rage.

"Chocolate in the library!" she screams. "Out — out — OUT!"

And whipping out her wand, she causes Harry's books, bag, and ink bottle to chase him, Ginny, and me from the library, whacking us repeatedly over the head as we run.

Needless to say that that night I take my egg from Ginny by force, since I now have a book shaped red mark on my forehead.

As though to underline the importance of our upcoming examinations, a batch of pamphlets, leaflets, and notices concerning various Wizarding careers appear on the tables in Gryffindor Tower shortly before the end of the holidays, along with yet another notice on the board, which reads:

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.

I look down the list and find that I am expected in Professor McGonagall's office at half-past one on Monday, which would mean missing some of Divination. Harry is to go right after me. The fifth years spend a considerable part of the final weekend of the Easter break reading all the career information that have been left there for our perusal.

"Well, I don't fancy Healing," says Ron on the last evening of the holidays. He is immersed in a leaflet that carries the crossed bone-and-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?" says Hermione absently. She is poring over a bright pink-and-orange leaflet that is 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," says Harry darkly. "Good sense of when to duck, more like . . ." He is 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 Curse-Breakers for thrilling opportunities abroad . . . ' They want Arithmancy, though. . . . You could do it, Hermione!"

"I don't much fancy banking," says Hermione vaguely, now immersed in HAVE YOU GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO TRAIN SECURITY TROLLS?

I sigh. I've read a lot of these pamphlets and none of them have really jumped out at me. They sound fun but the courses needed to take them are numerous and challenging. Again the feeling that my future lies outside standard jobs floats into my mind. At least Arthur told me before that I can do whatever I want despite the lack of prestige.

"Hey," says a voice in Harry's ear. He looks around; Fred and George have come to join us. "Ginny's had a word with us about you," says Fred, stretching out his legs on the table in front of us and causing several booklets on careers with the Ministry of Magic to slide off onto the floor. "She says you need to talk to Sirius?"

"What?" says Hermione sharply, freezing with her hand halfway towards picking up MAKE A BANG AT THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL ACCIDENTS AND CATASTROPHES.

"Yeah . . ." says Harry, trying to sound casual, "yeah, I thought I'd like —"

"Don't be so ridiculous," says Hermione, straightening up and looking at him as though she can not believe her eyes. "With Umbridge groping around in the fires and frisking all the owls?"

"Well, we think we can find a way around that," says George, stretching and smiling. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"

"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" continues Fred. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do."

He gives Hermione a sanctimonious little nod. She looks rather taken aback by this thoughtfulness.

"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," Fred continues briskly. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?"

"Yes, but still," says Hermione with an air of explaining something very simple to somebody very obtuse, "even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?"

"Umbridge's office," says Harry quietly. I raise my eyebrow at that.

"That's her den Harry, I'm not sure if even I would want to go there." I say nervously.

"Are — you — insane?" says Hermione in a hushed voice.

Ron has lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and is watching the conversation warily.

"I don't think so," says Harry, shrugging.

"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?"

Harry is ready for this question.

"Sirius's knife," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock," says Harry. "So even if she's bewitched the door so Alohomora won't work, which I bet she has —"

"What do you think about this?" Hermione demands of Ron, and I am reminded irresistibly of Molly appealing to her husband.

"I dunno," says Ron, looking alarmed at being asked to give an opinion. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," says Fred, clapping Ron hard on the back.

"I'll have your back Harry. Everyone needs a good look out." I say with a shrug.

"Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors — Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office — I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?" he says, looking at George.

"Easy," says George.

"What sort of diversion is it?" asks Ron.

"You'll see, little bro," says Fred, as he and George get up again. "At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow."

Well that sounds like a plan to me.

Hermione spends most of the next day trying to think of ways to discourage Harry from going through with his plan of talking with Sirius at five. For the first time ever, she is at least as inattentive to Professor Binns in History of Magic as Harry, Ron, and I are, keeping up a stream of whispered admonitions that Harry tries very hard to ignore.

". . . and if she does catch you there, apart from being expelled, she'll be able to guess you've been talking to Snuffles and this time I expect she'll force you to drink Veritaserum and answer her questions . . ."

"Hermione," says Ron in a low and indignant voice, "are you going to stop telling Harry off and listen to Binns, or am I going to have to take notes instead?"

"You take notes for a change, it won't kill you!"

By the time we reach the dungeons, neither Harry or Ron is speaking to Hermione any longer. Undeterred, she takes advantage of their silence to maintain an uninterrupted flow of dire warnings, all uttered under her breath in a vehement hiss that causes Seamus to waste five whole minutes checking his cauldron for leaks.

My appointment is half way through the lesson, so I finish my Invigoration Draught, and go up to the front to hand it in to Snape. He raises an unimpressed eye at me. "Career Advice." I say simply in explanation. He nods his head and places it on a shelf behind him.

"Might I suggest not going for Potions Master." He drawls. Malfoy snickers along with Pansy Parkinson at that comment. I turn around and roll my eyes at the ground.

"Wasn't planning on it anyway." I mumble.

I quickly pack up my stuff and make my way up to Professor McGonagall's office. I knock on the door before entering. "Come in Pendragon." Her voice calls out and I open the door, freezing the moment I see the vile pink creature sitting in a chair in the corner.

Professor Umbridge is sitting there, a clipboard on her knee, a fussy little pie-frill around her neck, and a small, horribly smug smile on her face.

"Sit down, Pendragon," says Professor McGonagall tersely. Her hands shake slightly as she shuffles the many pamphlets littering her desk.

I sit down with my back to Umbridge and do my best to pretend I cannot hear the scratching of her quill on her clipboard.

"Well, Pendragon, 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," says Professor McGonagall. "Have you had any thoughts about what you would like to do after you leave Hogwarts?"

I shift nervously in my chair and Umbridge coughs. Professor keeps her gaze focused on me though. "Well I don't know, I looked at all the pamphlets that were laid out, and none really caught my attention." I admit shakily. Something akin to a smug cough comes from behind me, that is if a cough can be smug.

"What about the Pendragon position held open in the Wizengamot for your family?" She asks me staring directly into my eyes, which unnerves me slightly.

I shake my head firmly at that. "No. Luka is the one who is better for the family position. He actually likes politics, and wants to do our parents proud with that. I'm much… simpler in my desires." I say with a sheepish smile. Surprisingly McGonagall doesn't look disappointed in me. I was not really expecting that. Not many people understand why I don't want to take over my family's seat.

"So what exactly do you see yourself doing Jamie?" She asks me then. I fidget in my seat again not liking that I have to expose my innermost thoughts with Umbridge there. She would like nothing more than to lock me up and throw away the key.

"Well… I like using my hands. I'm advanced in my Charms work." I say with a shrug. There another cough from the toad.

"Would you like a cough drop Professor Umbridge?" McGonagall enquires with a glare.

"No, no, carry on…" She says with a smirk on her face that makes me feel smaller than I ever have in front of her.

"Well there's absolutely nothing wrong with that Pendragon. There are a lot of fields out there that are respectable but are outside traditional job prospects." I can't help but smile at that.

Professor McGonagall pushes a sheet of paper in front of me and I look down a long list of jobs that don't deal with the Ministry and I could easily do. "I think it safe to keep you on your current classes except for possibly Divination that subject is not required for any of the jobs on those lists, we could possibly replace it with another extracurricular. Think on it Jamie, with you desires you have time to decide." She says. I nod my head and clutch the sheet of paper a little tighter in my hands.

"Figures she would not be fit for greater things." Umbridge mumbles but I hear her. A pang of pain runs through me, and I curse myself not for the first time that I even care anything about what she says.

"Miss Pendragon is an exemplary student Professor Umbridge, in all her years at Hogwarts she has kept every grade around Exceeds Expectations, and the only grade currently lacking this year is yours, but that may be explainable by your subpar levels of teaching instead of her capabilities." Professor McGonagall says with a steely glare.

"You are dismissed Pendragon, if you see Potter send him in please." McGonagall says still locked in a heated glare with Umbridge. I scurry out of my seat and the office without a second glance back. That was one of the most uncomfortable situations that I have ever been in before.

As I was getting out of the room Harry was running up to it. "Good luck, you're going to need it." I mumble clutching my list tighter in my hands. I don't know what's up with Professor McGonagall and her being nicer to me, but I'm not going to turn down this unexpected niceness.

Professor Umbridge is breathing as though she has just run a race when she strides into our Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that afternoon.

"I hope you've thought better of what you were planning to do, Harry," Hermione whispers, the moment we have opened our books to chapter thirty-four ("Non-Retaliation and Negotiation"). "Umbridge looks like she's in a really bad mood already . . ."

Every now and then Umbridge shoots glowering looks at Harry and then me. I wonder what exactly went on during Harry's meeting. All I got out of him is that he's planning on becoming an Auror. I think that's a great job for Harry, and there would honestly be no one better at that.

"Harry, don't do it, please don't do it!" Hermione says in anguished tones as the bell rings at the end of the class.

He does not answer. He looks to us. Ron seems determined to give neither his opinion nor his advice. He will not look at Harry, though when Hermione opens her mouth to try dissuading Harry some more, he says in a low voice, "Give it a rest, okay? He can make up his own mind."

"Yeah it is your choice in the end, but know that whatever you decide, I will stand by you." I tell him seriously, placing my hand over the folded piece of paper in my cloak that holds actual options for my future.

My heart beats very fast as we leave the classroom. We are halfway along the corridor outside when we heard the unmistakable sounds of a diversion going off in the distance. There are screams and yells reverberating from somewhere above us. People exiting the classrooms all around us are stopping in our tracks and looking up at the ceiling fearfully —

Then Umbridge comes pelting out of her classroom as fast as her short legs will carry her. Pulling out her wand, she hurries off in the opposite direction: It is now or never.

"Harry — please!" says Hermione weakly.

But Harry has made up his mind — hitching his bag more securely onto his shoulder he sets off at a run with me behind him, weaving in and out of students now hurrying in the opposite direction, off to see what all the fuss was about in the east wing. . . .

When we get to her office Harry works open the door with Sirius' knife, and glances back at me.

"Go. It's your conversation Harry. I'll keep watch here. Make it quick, and even more, make it count." I say seriously, as I plant myself on the doorjamb glancing cautiously down the corridor on each side. If I get caught now I'm sure to be expelled and then Molly will kill me for sure. I was lucky that we didn't get in trouble the first time, but that was because Dumbledore sacrificed himself for us.

Time seems to crawl as I stand guard listening to Harry's soft words to Sirius and Lupin in the room, and to the still distant screams.

Suddenly Filch turns the corner, and I quickly rap my knuckles on the door, glad to see Harry diving for his cloak. Filch glares at me as he sees me standing across from Umbridge's office.

"What are you doin' here?" He growls.

"She wanted to see me but she's not here." I say quickly. Filch doesn't seem to care too much though, for he just goes into the office.

"She's out dealing with a mess, and I'm for once going to get my due!" He cackles. I feel the air shuffle beside me, and I quickly start down the hall with what I'm sure is an invisible Harry.

One landing down from Umbridge's office and Harry thinks it is safe to become visible again; he pulls off the Cloak, shoves it in his bag and hurries onward. "See I came in use after all." I say with a grin.

Harry rolls his eyes at me and we hurry on. There is a great deal of shouting and movement coming from the entrance hall. We run down the marble staircase and found what looks like most of the school assembled there.

It is just like the night when Trelawney was sacked. Students are standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, I notice, covered in a substance that looks very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts are also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers are members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who are all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who is bobbing overhead, gazing down upon Fred and George, who stand in the middle of the floor with the unmistakable look of two people who have just been cornered.

"So!" says Umbridge triumphantly, whom I realize was standing just a few stairs in front of us, once more looking down upon her prey. "So . . . you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," says Fred, looking back up at her without the slightest sign of fear.

Filch elbows his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness.

"I've got the form, Headmistress," he says hoarsely, waving the 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 says. "You two," she goes on, gazing down at Fred and George, "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school." She plans on whipping them? Over my dead body will that happen.

"You know what?" says Fred. "I don't think we are."

He turns to his twin.

"George," says Fred, "I think we've outgrown full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," says George lightly.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?" asks Fred.

"Definitely," says George.

And before Umbridge can say a word, they raise their wands and say together, "Accio Brooms!"

I hear a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Looking to my left I duck just in time — Fred and George's broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge fastened them to the wall, are hurtling along the corridor towards their owners. They turn left, streak down the stairs, and stop sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred tells Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," says George, mounting his own.

Fred looks 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' Wizard Wheezes," he says 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," adds George, pointing at Professor Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" shrieks Umbridge, but it is too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closes in, Fred and George kick off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looks across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

And Peeves, whom I have never seen take an order from a student before, sweeps his belled hat from his head and springs to a salute as Fred and George wheel about to tumultuous applause from the students below and speed out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset. I applaud along with everyone else, but can't help but heel a little sad that I'll never see my favorite pair of redheads in the halls at school ever again.