The next morning Bree woke up and, after threatening to break Lavender Brown for saying that Bree, Cedric and Harry were lying about Voldemort, went down to the common room and was just in tim to hear Hermione say 'Oh for heaven's sake."

She was staring at the common-room notice board, where a large new sign had been put up.

GALLONS OF GALLEONS.

Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold? Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs. (We regret that all work is undertaken at applicant's own risk.)

"They are the limit," said Hermione grimly, taking d own the sign, which Fred and George had pinned up over a poster giving the date of the first Hogsmeade weekend in October. "We'll have to talk to them, Ron."

Ron looked positively alarmed.

"Why?"

"Because we're prefects!" said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. Once they were gone Bree pulled out another sign and pinned it up before heading down to the great hall.


History of Magic, double Potions, Divination and double Defense Against the Dark Arts. That was Bree's schedule for the day.

"I wish Fred and George'd hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted…" Ron stated.

"Do mine ears deceive me?'" said Fred, arriving with George and squeezing on to the bench beside Harry. "Hogwarts prefects surely don't wish to skive off lessons?"

"Look what we've got today," said Ron grumpily, shoving his timetable under Fred's nose. "That's the worst Monday I've ever seen."

"Fair point, little bro," said Fred, scanning the column. "You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like."

"Why's it cheap?" said Ron suspiciously.

"Because you'll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven't got an antidote yet," said George, helping himself to a kipper.

"Cheers," said Ron moodily, pocketing his timetable, "but I think I'll take the lessons."

"And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes," said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, "you can't advertise for testers on the Gryffindor noticeboard."

"Says who?" said George, looking astonished.

"Says me," said Hermione. "And Ron."

"Leave me out of it," said Ron hastily.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

"You'll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione," said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. "You're starting your fifth year, you'll be begging us for a Snackbox before long."

"And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?" asked Hermione.

"Fifth year's OWL year," said George.

"So?"

"So you've got your exams coming up, haven't you? They'll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they'll be rubbed raw," said Fred with satisfaction.

"Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to OWLs," said George happily. "Tears and tantrums… Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint…"

"Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d'you remember?" said Fred reminiscently.

"That's 'cause you put Bulbadox powder in his pajamas," said George.

"Oh yeah," said Fred, grinning. "I'd forgotten… hard to keep track sometimes, isn't it?"

"Anyway, it's a nightmare of a year, the fifth," said George. "If you care about exam results, anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow."

"Yeah… you got, what was it, three OWLs each?" said Ron.

"Yep," said Fred unconcernedly. "But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement."

"We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year," said George brightly, "now that we've got-"

He broke off at a warning look from Harry, who knew George had been about to mention the Triwizard winnings he had given them.

"- now that we've got our OWLs," George said hastily. "I mean, do we really need NEWTs? But we didn't think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world's biggest prat."

Bree winced at the mention of Percy.

"We're not going to waste our last year here, though," said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. "We're going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from a joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, then produce products to fit the demand."

"But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?" Hermione asked skeptically. "You're going to need all the ingredients and materials - and premises too, I suppose…"

Harry deliberately dropped his fork and dived down to retrieve it. "Ask us no questions and we'll tell you no lies, Hermione.C'mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology." Fred said.

Harry emerged from under the table as Fred and George walked away, each carrying a stack of toast.

"What did that mean?" said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron to. "'Ask us no questions… ' Does that mean they've already got some gold to start a joke shop?"

"You know, I've been wondering about that," said Ron, his brow furrowed. "They bought me a new set of dress robes this summer and I couldn't understand where they got the Galleons…"

Harry decided it was time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters.

"D'you reckon it's true this year's going to be really tough? Because of the exams?"

"Oh, yeah," said Ron. "Bound to be, isn't it? OWLs are really important, affect the jobs you can apply for and everything. We get career advice, too, later this year, Bill told me. So you can choose what NEWTs you want to do next year."

"D'you know what you want to do after Hogwarts?" Harry asked as they left the Great Hall shortly afterwards and set off towards their History of Magic classroom.

"Not really," said Ron slowly. "Except… well…" He looked slightly sheepish.

"What?" Harry urged him.

'"Well, it'd be cool to be an Auror,'" said Ron in an off-hand voice.

"Yeah, it would," said Harry fervently.

"But they're, like, the elite," said Ron. "You've got to be really good. What about you, Hermione?"

"I don't know," she said. "I think I'd like to do something really worthwhile."

"An Auror's worthwhile!" said Harry.

"Yes, it is, but it's not the only worthwhile thing," said Hermione thoughtfully, "I mean, if I could take SPEW further…"

Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other.

"What about you, Bree?" Ron asked, wanting to get Hermione's mind off of SPEW before she started lectureing.

"Ah well, my Aunt says she has a posistion for me in her company, but Alice had this neat idea and if it works then we wouldn't really have to work 'cause we'd have all the money we wanted, but Aunt Lisa's company is kind of fun." Bree answered.

"Who's Alice?" Hermione asked.

"My cousin. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Vince adopted her over the summer. We get along really well." Bree answered, glad that she didn't have to lie about Alice, well not this time anyway, but so long as no one actually met Alice...


History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by wizardkind. Professor Binns, their ghost teacher, had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes, or rather, gazed sleepily into space. Today Bree was absentmindedly doodleing in her notebook, or at least she thought she was. She looked down and realized that she had actually been scrawling the same two words across the pages.

Bree sighed and wondered if she had wrote the words because of a fit of boredom or because the words were echoing through time and space. Probably a bit of both. The words wouldn't have been in her head in the first place if they hadn'y been scattered. Bree wondered if she could use this for divination, probably. In fact there were a lot of things floating in her head that she could turn into a prophecy, and no one would believe her but Trelawney. Bree smirked and went back to writing BAD WOLF in her notebook.


"Settle down," said Snape coldly, shutting the door behind him as he walked into the potions classroom.

There was no real need for the call to order; the moment the class had heard the door close, quiet had fallen and all fidgeting stopped. Snape's mere presence was usually enough to ensure a class's silence.

"Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure."

His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped.

After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."

His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled.

"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students.

"Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing." On Harry's left, Hermione sat up a little straighter, her expression one of utmost attention. "The ingredients and method -" Snape flicked his wand "- are on the blackboard -" (they appeared there) "- you will find everything you need —" he flicked his wand again "- in the store cupboard —" (the door of the said cupboard sprang open) "- you have an hour and a half… start."

Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant he could find nothing to criticize.

At Harry's cauldron, however, Snape stopped, and looked down at it with a horrible smirk on his face.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

"The Draught of Peace," said Harry tensely.

"Tell me, Potter," said Snape softly, "can you read?"

Draco Malfoy laughed.

"Yes, I can," said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

"Read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter."

Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multi-colored steam now filling the dungeon.

"'Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.'"

His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.

"Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?"

"No," said Harry very quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No," said Harry, more loudly. "I forgot the hellebore."

"I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco."

The contents of Harry's potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

"Gonna do the same thing to Goyle's? 'Is is sputterin' purple smoke. 'E must've dun somthin' really wrong." Bree said, her voice sounding odd.

Snape turned to look at her. Her potion was giving off the same silver vapor as Hermione's, but their was still something off with her potion.

"Smith, what do you think you are doing?" Snape demanded.

"Fishin'" Bree replied in the redneck accent she had used before while pointing the the pockect fishing rod that that had it's line in Bree's caldron.

"Detention Smith."


644. Not allowed to fish out of my caldron during potions.


"Good-day," said Professor Trelawney in her usual misty, dreamy voice at the begining od Divination. "And welcome back to Divination. I have, of course, been following your fortunes most carefully over the holidays, and am delighted to see that you have all returned to Hogwarts safely - as, of course, I knew you would.

"You will find on the tables before you copies of The Dream Oracle, by Inigo Imago. Dream interpretation is a most important means of divining the future and one that may very probably be tested in your OWL. Not, of course, that I believe examination passes or failures are of the remotest importance when it comes to the sacred art of divination. If you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little. However, the Headmaster likes you to sit the examination, so…"

Her voice trailed away delicately, leaving them all in no doubt that Professor Trelawney considered her subject above such sordid matters as examinations.

"Turn, please, to the introduction and read what Imago has to say on the matter of dream interpretation. Then, divide into pairs. Use The Dream Oracle to interpret each others most recent dreams. Carry on."

The one good thing to be said for this lesson was that it was not a double period. By the time they had all finished reading the introduction of the book, they had barely ten minutes left for dream interpretation. Bree had paired up with Neville, who immediately embarked on a long-winded explanation of a nightmare involving a pair of giant scissors wearing his grandmother's best hat.

"What do you suppose it means?" Neville asked when he was done.

"That you're scared of your grandmother." Bree answered flatly.

It was very dull work looking up bits of dreams in the Oracle and Professor Trelawney set them the task of keeping a dream diary for a month as homework. Bree planned to turn in her notebook that had BAD WOLF scrawled on all the pages, unless she actually dreamed something interesting. When the bell went, Harry and Ron led the way back down the ladder, Ron grumbling loudly.

"D'you realize how much homework we've got already? Binns set us a foot-and-a-half-long essay on giant wars, Snape wants a foot on the use of moonstones, and now we've got a month's dream diary from Trelawney! Fred and George weren't wrong about OWL year, were they? That Umbridge woman had better not give us any…"

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher's desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. It looked like a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.

The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled "good afternoon" in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order "wands away" had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Bree put away her wand and pulled out her ballpoint pen that looked like a quill and some paper. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defense Against the Dark Arts A Return to Basic Principles

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centerd, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by: Course Aims:

1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

Bree opened the book, but instead of reading looked back at the course aims and frowned. It didn't seem like the toad woman was going to let them use magic in class.

Bree looked at the other students. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air. Hermione had never neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose.

Harry had noticed this as well and looked at Hermione enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. -?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but -"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way -"

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a -"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free."

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but -"

Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said,an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever -"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just -"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practicing them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough -"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

Professor Umbridge looked up.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, yeah?" said Harry. His temper was reaching boiling point.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Wendigos." Bree interjected before Harry could say somthing stupid.

"What was that miss...?" Umbridge inquired.

"Smith. And I said wendigos. Also rugarus, crocottas, shtrigas, vampires, and wraiths. Just to name a few of the creatures that have been known to kill and or eat people, oh and let's not forget the danger that humans pose to each other, and I don't just mean your petty crime, I'm talking about unstable killers like BTK, Son of Sam, the Green River Killer, the Zodiac Killer, and the Boston Strangler. And that's just a few of the ones in America, in England you have the Moors Murderers, Dr. Death, as the name implies he was a doctor who killed his patients. He was convicted for fifteen murders but is thought to have killed hundreds more. Let's see there's also Palmer the Poisoner, another Doctor, The Teacup Poisoner, and who can forget Jack the Ripper." Bree replied, grining.

"The world is a dark and dangerous place, it contains many evils campaining for our deaths. If you're not prepared it will eat you alive." Bree stated darkly.

Umbridge seemed rather shell shocked, but she quickly composed herself. "Yes well, we hardly have to worry about those in here. The classroom is perfectly safe and the exam-" Bree cut Umbridge off.

"Is about preparing us for the future when we won't be protected by this castle, which has hardly proven to be a safe place, and every summer we are out there in the world, exposed to it's dangers. Just this summer I was attacked by I dementor." Bree stated.

"Ten points from Gryffindor. I hardly have time for any of you lies, dementors are under Ministry control and it would not have sent a dementor after you." Umbridge replied.

"One attacked me too this summer." Harry interjected.

"The Ministry has no reason to send dementors after children." Umbridge insisted.

"They do if they want to shut us up about Lord Voldemort." Harry stated.

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool.

Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead -"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

'"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, Bree fought him!"

Bree covered her face with her hands. One facepalm just wasn't enough to express how stupid Harry was being.

"Detention, Mr. Potter, Miss Smith!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock."My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"So, according to you, Bree Crucio'd herself did she?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

The class, except for Bree who seemed to be trying to fuse her hands to her face, stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Bree Smith's injuries were a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"It was not," said Harry. He was shaking. "Voldemort attacked her and you know it."

Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear." Bree moved her hands enough that she could see what was going on.

Harry kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.

Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag, stretched it out on the desk, dipped her quill into a bottle of ink and started scribbling, hunched over so that Harry could not see what she was writing. Nobody spoke. After a minute or so she rolled up the parchment and tapped it with her wand; it sealed itself seamlessly so that he could not open it.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out the note to him. He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, not even looking back at Ron and Hermione, slamming the classroom door shut behind him.


After classes were finished Bree sent a letter to Uncle Vince asking for all the information he could gather about Dolores Jane Umbridge and some better books on defense with Aries. Then, with one of the schools many barn owls, she sent an order to Skeeter telling her that she was to write about the dementor attacks and to dig up everything she could about Umbridge and send it to Bree. Bree ran into Harry into Harry on the way to yhe Great Hall for dinner.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bree demanded.

"I was trying to help!" Harry exclaimed.

"What's the point of drawing attention away from you if you're just going to take it all back!" Bree snarled.

Harry opened his mouth to retrot angrily when Bree's words finally registered. "You were trying... to draw her attention away from me?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yes! I knew you would say something about Voldemort, and you knew you would get yourself into trouble so I cut you off before you could say something incredibly stupid, but it seems that my efforts were in vain!" Bree hissed.

"I only told the truth!" Harry hissed back.

"Umbridge doesn't believe the truth and not amount of yelling is going to convince her! Getting angry and shouting at people is not a good way of convinceing anyone of anythoing, no matter if what you're shouting is the truth or not! You need to learn to control your anger before you get in over your head." Bree retorted hotly.

Harry hung his head. "McGonagall told me the same thing, and now I've got detention with UmBridge for the whole week." he said.

"You should listen to McGonagall and don't worry about the god awful toad woman(Harry smiled a bit here), I have plans." Bree whispered.


After dinner Bree went to the common room and started working on her homework. Nearby Harrry, Ron, and Hermione were nearby doing the same thing. Fred, George and Lee Jordan were now sitting at the center of a knot of innocent-looking first years, all of whom were chewing something that seemed to have come out of a large paper bag that Fred was holding.

"No, I'm sorry, they've gone too far," she said, standing up and looking positively furious. "Come on, Ron."

"I - what?" said Ron, plainly playing for time. "No- come on, Hermione - we can't tell them off for giving out sweets."

"You know perfectly well that those are bits of Nosebleed Nougat or - or Puking Pastilles or -"

"Fainting Fancies?" Harry suggested quietly.

One by one, as though hit over the head with an invisible mallet, the first-years were slumping unconscious in their seats; some slid right on to the floor, others merely hung over the arms of their chairs, their tongues lolling out. Most of the people watching were laughing; Hermione, however, squared her shoulders and marched directly over to where Fred and George now stood with clipboards, closely observing the unconscious first-years. Ron rose halfway out of his chair, hovered uncertainly for a moment or two, then muttered to Harry, "She's got it under control," before sinking as low in his chair as his lanky frame permitted.

"That's enough!" Hermione said forcefully to Fred and George, both of whom looked up in mild surprise.

"Yeah, you're right," said George, nodding, "this dosage looks strong enough, doesn't it?"

"I told you this morning, you can't test your rubbish on students!"

"We're paying them!" said Fred indignantly.

"I don't care, it could be dangerous!"

"Rubbish," said Fred.

"Calm down, Hermione, they're fine!" said Lee reassuringly as he walked from first-year to first year, inserting purple sweets into their open mouths.

"Yeah, look, they're coming round now," said George.

A few of the first-years were indeed stirring. Several looked so shocked to find themselves lying on the floor, or dangling off their chairs, that Harry was sure Fred and George had not warned them what the sweets were going to do.

"Feel all right?" said George kindly to a small dark-haired girl lying at his feet.

"I - I think so," she said shakily.

"Excellent," said Fred happily, but the next second Hermione had snatched both his clipboard and the paper bag of Fainting Fancies from his hands.

"It is NOT excellent!"

"Course it is, they're alive, aren't they?" said Fred angrily.

"You can't do this, what if you made one of them really ill?"

"We're not going to make them ill, we've already tested them all on ourselves, this is just to see if everyone reacts the same -"

"If you don't stop doing it, I'm going to -"

"Put us in detention?" said Fred, in an I'd-like-to-see-you-try-it voice.

"Make us write lines?" said George, smirking.

Onlookers all over the room were laughing. Hermione drew herself up to her full height; her eyes were narrowed and her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity.

"No," she said, her voice quivering with anger, "but I will write to your mother."

"You wouldn't," said George, horrified, taking a step back from her.

"Oh, yes, I would," said Hermione grimly. "I can't stop you eating the stupid things yourselves, but you're not to give them to the first-years." Bree smirked, she could still give them to the first years, and so could Lee.

Fred and George looked thunderstruck. It was clear that as far as they were concerned, Hermione's threat was way below the belt. With a last threatening look at them, she thrust Fred's clipboard and the bag of Fancies back into his arms, and stalked back to her chair by the fire. Ron was now so low in his seat that his nose was roughly level with his knees.

"Thank you for your support, Ron," Hermione said acidly.

"You handled it fine by yourself," Ron mumbled.

Hermione stared down at her blank piece of parchment for a few seconds, then said edgily, "Oh, it's no good, I can't concentrate now. I'm going to bed."

She wrenched her bag open; Harry thought she was about to put her books away, but instead she pulled out two misshapen woolly objects, placed them carefully on a table by the fireplace, covered them with a few screwed-up bits of parchment and a broken quill and stood back to admire the effect.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

"They're hats for house-elves," she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. "I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more."

"You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?" said Ron slowly. "And you're covering them up with rubbish first?"

"Yes," said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag on to her back.

"That's not on," said Ron angrily. "You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be free."

"Of course they want to be free!" said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink.

"No Hermione. They really don't." Bree stated as she flipped through one of her textbooks. "God it's like you've never even talked to a house elf.;"

"Dobby wanted to be free." Hermione pointed out.

"Dobby worked for the Malfoys." Bree replied. "Instead of working on freeing them maybe you should be campaigning for laws mandating better treatment of the elves by their masters."

Hermione looked thoughtful as she turned and left for the girls dorm.

"Anyway…" he rolled up the parchment on which he had written the title of Snape's essay, "there's no point trying to finish this now, I can't do it without Hermione, I haven't got a clue what you're supposed to do with moonstones, have you?"

"You could look it up." Bree suggested dryly.

"Nah." Ron said.

"And that Ron," Bree said "is why we call you the place were brain cells go to die. Can you here them Ron? Screaming in agony as they rot from disuse? Can you?" Ron had backed away from Bree and was soon fleeing up the stairs to the boy's dorms.

Bree sighed and returned to her textbook. "This place needs Google." she muttered.


537. We do not call Ron "The place where brain cells go to die."


The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. Bree had accesorized her Gryfinndor uniform with her gold skull ring, studded leather choker, and silver bat earrings. Hagrid was still absent from the staff table at breakfast.

"But on the plus side, no Snape today" said Ron bracingly.

Hermione yawned widely and poured herself some coffee. She looked mildly pleased about something, and when Ron asked her what she had to be so happy about, she simply said, "The hats have gone. Seems the house-elves do want freedom after all."

"Don't count on it." Bree stated. "House elves can only be freed if their master hands them clothes. You aren't handing them anything and you aren't their master, so the most you're doing is giving them really ugly hats."

Hermione didn't speak to her all morning. Bree was okay with this.

Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall both spent the first fifteen minutes of their lessons lecturing the class on the importance of OWLs.

"What you must remember," said little Professor Flitwick squeakily perched as ever on a pile of books so that he could see over the top of his desk, "is that these examinations may influence your futures for many years to come! If you have not already given serious thought to your careers, now is the time to do so. And in the meantime, I'm afraid, we shall be working harder than ever to ensure that you all do yourselves justice!"

They then spent over an hour reviewing Summoning Charms, which according to Professor Flitwick were bound to come up in their OWL, and he rounded off the lesson by setting them their largest ever amount of Charms homework.

It was the same, if not worse, in Transfiguration.

"You cannot pass an OWL," said Professor McGonagall grimly, "without serious application, practice and study. I see no reason why everybody in this class should not achieve an OWL in Transfiguration as long as they put in the work." Neville made a sad little disbelieving noise.

"Yes, you too, Longbottom," said Professor McGonagall. "There's nothing wrong with your work except lack of confidence. So… today we are starting Vanishing Spells. These are easier than Conjuring Spells, which you would not usually attempt until NEWT level, but they are still among the most difficult magic you will be tested on in your OWL."

She was quite right; Harry found the Vanishing Spells horribly difficult. By the end of a double period neither he nor Ron had managed to vanish the snails on which they were practicing, though Ron said hopefully he thought his looked a bit paler. Hermione, on the other hand, successfully vanished her snail on the third attempt, earning her a ten-point bonus for Gryffindor from Professor McGonagall. Bree, on the other hand, was vanishing everything but the snail such as old quills, buttons, and her desk because McGonnagall failed to provid a satisfactory answer when Bree asked where the snails ended up.

After lunch it was time for care of magical creatures. Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid's front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

"Everyone here?" barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. "Let's crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?"

She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a buck-toothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter that turned almost at once into a scream, as the twigs on the table leapt into the air and revealed themselves to be what looked like tiny pixieish creatures made of wood, each with knobbly brown arms and legs, two twiglike fingers at the end of each hand and a funny flat, barklike face in which a pair of beetle-brown eyes glittered.

"Oooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender.

"Kindly keep your voices down, girls!" said Professor Grubbly-Plank sharply, scattering a handful of what looked like brown rice among the stick-creatures, who immediately fell upon the food. "So - anyone know the names of these creatures? Miss Granger?"

"Bowtruckles," said Hermione. "They're tree-guardians, usually live in wand-trees."

"Five points for Gryffindor," said Professor Grubbly-Plank. "Yes, these are Bowtruckles, and as Miss Granger rightly says, they generally live in trees whose wood is of wand quality. Anybody know what they eat?"

"Woodlice," said Hermione promptly which explained why the grains of brown rice were moving. "But fairy eggs if they can get them."

"Good girl, take another five points. So, whenever you need leaves or wood from a tree in which a Bowtruckle lodges, it is wise to have a gift of woodlice ready to distract or placate it. They may not look dangerous, but if angered they will try to gouge at human eyes with their fingers, which, as you can see, are very sharp and not at all desirable near the eyeballs. So if you'd like to gather closer, take a few woodlice and a Bowtruckle - I have enough here for one between three - you can study them more closely. I want a sketch from each of you with all body-parts labeled by the end of the lesson."

The class surged forwards around the trestle table. Harry deliberately circled around the back so that he ended up right next to Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"Where's Hagrid?" he asked her, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles.

"Never you mind," said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too. Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry and seized the largest Bowtruckle. Bree elbowed Draco in the gut, knocking the wind out of him before he was able to say a word to Harry.

"Oops. My arm slipped." Bree stated with a grin.


After Care of Magical Creatures was Herbology so Bree walked over to the greenhouses along with the rest of the class. The door of the nearest greenhouse opened and some fourth-years spilled out of it, including Ginny.

"Hi," she said brightly to Harry as she passed. A few seconds later, Luna Lovegood emerged, trailing behind the rest of the class, a smudge of earth on her nose, and her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head. When she saw Harry and Bree, her prominent eyes seemed to bulge excitedly and she made a beeline straight for them.

Many of his classmates turned curiously to watch. Luna took a great breath and then said, without so much as a preliminary hello, "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and I believe you fought him and escaped from him."

"Er - right," said Harry awkwardly. Luna was wearing what looked like a pair of orange radishes for earrings, a fact that Parvati and Lavender seemed to have noticed, as they were both giggling and pointing at her earlobes.

"You can laugh," Luna said, her voice rising, apparently under the impression that Parvati and Lavender were laughing at what she had said rather than what she was wearing, "but people used to believe there were no such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack!"

"Well, they were right, weren't they?' said Hermione impatiently. "There weren't any such things as the Blibbering Humdinger or the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Luna gave her a withering look and was about to leave when Bree placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you, Luna." Bree said kindly, a rare true smile on her face. Luna nodded and soon left.

"D'you mind not offending the only people who believe me?" Harry asked Hermione as they made their way into class.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, you can do better than her," said Hermione.

"Ginny's told me all about her; apparently, she'll only believe in things as long as there's no proof at all. Well, I wouldn't expect anything else from someone whose father runs The Quibbler."

Ernie Macmillan had stepped up to Harry.

"I want you to know, Potter," he said in a loud, carrying voice, "that it's not only weirdos who support you. I personally believe you one hundred percent. My family have always stood firm behind Dumbledore, and so do I."

Ernie's words had certainly wiped the smile from Lavender Brown's face.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout started their lesson by lecturing them about the importance of OWLs. Professor Sprout gave them yet another essay at the end of class. Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprout's preferred type of fertilizer, the Gryffindors trooped back up to the castle an hour and a half later, none of them talking very much; it had been another long day.

Harry and Bree were starving, and they had their first detention with Umbridge at five o'clock, they headed straight for dinner without dropping off their bags in Gryffindor Tower so that they could bolt something down before facing whatever she had in store for them. They had barely reached the entrance of the Great Hall, however, when a loud and angry voice yelled, "Oy, Potter!"

"What now?" he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper.

"I'll tell you what now," she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "How come you've landed yourself in detention for five o'clock on Friday?"

"What?" said Harry. "Why… oh yeah, Keeper tryouts!"

"Now he remembers!" snarled Angelina. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone! Didn't I tell you I'd booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you've decided you're not going to be there!"

"I didn't decide not to be there!" said Harry, stung by the injustice of these words. "I got detention from that Umbridge woman, just because I told her the truth about You-Know-Who."

"Well, you can just go straight to her and ask her to let you off on Friday," said Angelina fiercely, "and I don't care how you do it. Tell her You-Know-Who's a figment of your imagination if you like, just make sure you're there!"

She turned on her heel and stormed away.

"You know what?" Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. "I think we'd better check with Puddlemere United whether Oliver Wood's been killed during a training session, because Angelina seems to be channeling his spirit."

"What d'you reckon are the odds of Umbridge letting you off on Friday?" said Ron skeptically, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

"Less than zero," said Harry glumly, tipping lamb chops on to his plate and starting to eat. "Better try, though, hadn't I? I'll offer to do two more detentions or something, I dunno…" He swallowed a mouthful of potato and added, "I hope she doesn't keep me too long this realize we've got to write three essays, practice Vanishing Spells for McGonagall, work out a counter-charm for Flitwick, finish the Bowtruckle drawing and start that stupid dream diary for Trelawney?"

Ron moaned and for some reason glanced up at the ceiling.

"And it looks like it's going to rain."

"What's that got to do with our homework?" said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Nothing," said Ron at once, his ears reddening.

At five to five Harry and Bree bade their peers goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When Harry knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.

He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.

In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artifacts for the detection of wrong doing and concealment.

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognizable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolor kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter, Miss Smith"

Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"Evening, Professor Umbridge," Harry said stiffly. Bree glared.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing towards two small tables draped in lace beside each she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the tables, apparently waiting for them. Bree sat down, but Harry remained standing.

"Er," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge. Er - before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a… a favor."

Her bulging eyes narrowed.

"Oh, yes?"

"Well, I'm… I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night… instead…"

He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.

"Oh, no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly.

"Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr. Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry turned red in anger.

She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed them a long, thin black quills with unusually sharp points.

"I want you to write, I must not tell lies," she told him softly.

"How many times?" Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realized what was missing.

"You haven't given us any ink," he said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Bree and Harry wrote out "I must not tell lies."

Harry gasped in pain, Bree grimaced but made no sound. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of their right hands, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as they stared at the shining cuts, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where they had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.

"Yes?"

"Nothing," said Harry quietly.

He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.

Bree however, examined the quill with a calculating look and decided to conduct an experiment. She pressed the quill against the paper and found that when she pushed harder more "ink" flowed from the quill while the cuts on her hand became deeper and took longer to heal. Most people would take this information and write lightly with the quill, Bree had other plans.

She pressed the quill against the paper as hard as she could as she wrote out "I must not tell lies." After half an hour the cuts on her hand were open, bleeding, and not showing any sign of healing. Umbridge stopped Bree.

"Miss Smith, come here." the pink toad called.

Bree stood up.

"Hand," Umbridge ordered.

Bree extended it. Umbridge took it in her own. Bree frowned as Umbridge touched her with thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings.

"I seem to have made quite the impression," she said, smiling uneasily. "You may go. And don't think about going to the hospital wing, this is your punsishment after all."

"Yes Ma'am." Bree said, her face blank, but there was a glint in her eyes, a certain fury and malice along with the cunning and intelligence of an apex predetor.

Bree left the room and headed straight for Mamdam Promfrey's office. She didn't say a word when she showed the nurse her hand and got exactly the reaction she was expecting. Mamdam Pomfrey began ranting a raving about "blood quills" and began making floo calls while Bree watched from her spot on a cot, grinning.


So for any of you worried about Bree's mental heatlh, Bree only maimed herself so that she would have evidence to present.

Review Please! They motivate me, though I must warn you that I'm going to a convention this weekend so I won't be working on the next chapter those days so it might take a little longer for the next chapter to be out, but it's not like these updates are regular anyway.