"This is ridiculous," Ginny complained, shoving the Daily Prophet under Harry's nose. "Don't you think?"

Harry scanned the article and stifled a groan. "Who cares if Hagrid's got giant blood? He's worked here for fifty years and nobody's ever cared before. I mean, Rita Skeeter's young enough that he'd have been working here when she was at school."

"She was in Slytherin," Ginny pointed out, adding a ridiculous amount of sugar to her porridge. "Hagrid's not one for Slytherins, I think you'll have noticed."

Harry snorted. "I don't blame him. They're all prats. I mean, it's a bit much to say there's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin, but …"

"He really said that?" Ginny said, wrinkling her nose. "My grandmother was in Slytherin."

"Was this the same grandmother who got kicked out of the Blacks for marrying your grandfather?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded. "Grandmother Cedrella. Oh, Hagrid's going to be so angry. Do you want to go to the library before lessons?"

At dinner that evening, Demelza Robins told them that Hagrid had apparently locked himself away in his cabin and been replaced by an elderly witch who delighted in the unfortunate surname Grubbly-Plank, and Dumbledore had been observed to be in great distress somewhere near the Owlery. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, was rumoured to be down in London, giving the editor of the Daily Prophet a piece of her mind, and people were saying Luna Lovegood's father was going to put out a special edition of his magazine in support of Hagrid.

"Oh, yes, I heard that too," Michael Corner said, at this point, depositing himself between Ginny and Colin Creevey. "We can ask her not to if you like."

"Don't be stupid," Harry said uncomfortably. "We want people to support Hagrid. He's part of the school. He belongs at Hogwarts."

Michael shrugged. "Have it your way. So, pretty girl, do you have a date to Hogsmeade next Saturday?"

"No," said Ginny, who had gone bright red. "Unless – Harry, is there anything we have to do? You're meeting Rita Skeeter, right? Did you want me to come along?"

"Not if you don't want," said Harry. He flattered himself he could deal with Rita Skeeter on his own; besides, he was also planning to meet Sirius, and he hadn't got around to telling Ginny that Sirius was an Animagus.

Michael frowned. "Are you two walking out together?"

"What?" Harry said.

"He's asking if we're dating," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "No, we're not. We're just friends. You don't really think I'd be so awful as to snog you while I was dating someone else, do you?"

"I don't know the first thing about you," said Michael frankly. "But you're a Gryffindor, so I suppose the answer must be that you don't think you're that awful. Who knows if you actually are?"

Harry glared. "She isn't that sort of witch."

"She's right here," Ginny said tartly. "I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you, Michael. Thanks ever so."

"Excellent," said Michael, smiling. "I'd like it if you joined me and my friends in the library tonight."

"I'm coming too," Harry said, at once. He wasn't sure he liked Michael's smile, and he definitely didn't like thinking about how Michael had made Luna Lovegood leave him alone. Luna Lovegood, after all, hardly seemed like the sort to let a stern talking-to distress her.

Michael blinked at him. "As you like. I warn you, we're boring."

"I don't think so," said Ginny.

Harry, though, was forced to disagree; he had never in his life met anyone as boring as Michael and his two friends, Anthony and Terry. Anthony and Terry were also in Ravenclaw, also dark-haired, and also mildly unsettling. The three Ravenclaws spent the entire evening earnestly debating the minutiae of some complex philosophical issue, complete with quotations from various religious books; at one point, Michael even produced a Bible from his bag and read out the entire book of Proverbs from start to finish. It was worse than a History of Magic lesson.

"Do you get it?" Harry asked Ginny, as they traipsed back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Ginny shrugged. "Some of it. I'm sure I'll pick it up eventually."

"He creeps me out," Harry confessed. "I mean, has he told you what he did to Loony Lovegood to make her stop?"

"I thought you didn't like Loony being all bitchy," said Ginny.

"Yeah," said Harry, "but – he has to have done something a bit nasty. I mean, this is Loony Lovegood we're talking about. She isn't going to be dissuaded by earnest proclamations that she's making me uncomfortable."

Ginny snorted. "Loony lives to make people uncomfortable. Why else do you think she's all loony? To be honest, I think she needs to be sat on, hard. Michael's good at that sort of thing. You notice how he just completely shuts down arguments he doesn't like? Imagine that, but done in a dark corridor, just him and Loony Lovegood. Knowing Loony, he probably just had to hex her a bit."

"What sort of hexes?" Harry asked.

"Nothing too awful, or she'd go to Madam Pomfrey," said Ginny sensibly. "Although, I mean, people nick her shoes and stuff, and she never tells about that. Some people are so obstinate."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, stomach churning. "I – shouldn't we tell someone? I hate her as much as the next bloke, but people shouldn't be stealing her shoes, right?"

Ginny shrugged. "Save your compassion for someone whose idea of a Christmas gift isn't a bunch of strangers saying what a bastard they think you are."

The next weekend, Harry accompanied Ginny, Michael, Anthony and Terry down to Hogsmeade. On the way, he spotted Viktor Krum diving into the lake, but he paid it no mind; Durmstrang pupils, by popular consensus, were masochistic lunatics.

"So," said Michael, when they came to the Three Broomsticks, "is this where we part ways?"

"Indeed it is," said Terry. He and Anthony went off together, whispering; Harry distinctly spotted a Bible being produced.

"I don't know," Harry said guardedly. "Are you going in? I'm meeting Rita Skeeter in there, so …"

Michael shrugged. "I was thinking Madam Puddifoot's. Or we could walk out to see the Shrieking Shack."

"Because that's romantic," Harry said sarcastically, heart racing. If Michael and Ginny were out by the Shrieking Shack, he wouldn't be able to meet Sirius. "We've got our own poltergeist at school, and if you like screaming I'm sure all you need to do is throw a spider at some first-year Hufflepuffs."

"It's history, Potter," said Michael. "A generation which ignores history has neither past nor future."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, Hermione says that too. Well, she did before we fell out, anyway. Are you two going in, or not?"

"Not yet," Michael said, slipping his arm around Ginny's waist. "Come on, pretty girl, let's see if I can't buy you half of Honeydukes."

Harry watched them head off down the street and into Honeydukes, laughing and joking like they'd known each other forever. Without Ginny, he realised, he was looking forward to a very dismal and lonely outing. How had Ginny, who in previous years had done nothing more than squeak and blush and put her elbow in the butter, become his best and only friend?

"Oh, right, because I'm an arse," he said to himself, and drifted into the Three Broomsticks for his interview with Rita Skeeter.

"Hello, Harry," cooed Rita, Quick-Quotes Quill already in hand. "So, your friend Mr Hagrid. Tell me about the man behind the unfortunate heritage, the big heart behind the blustering exterior, the gentleness belied by his giant blood."

Harry groaned and opened his Butterbeer. "Can I ask you a few questions first?"

"Do you trust me to answer them truthfully?" Rita asked.

"No," Harry admitted, "but I have to ask them, at least. First – how did you find out?"

Rita shrugged. "Trade secret."

"Why did you publish it?" Harry pressed.

Rita shrugged again. "It's news, Harry. In my profession, you need to keep churning out the news, or you find yourself unemployed. I'm sure if you ask Mr Hagrid, you'll find that public sentiment is very much towards him – he's been at Hogwarts since the twenties, after all, and there's not a witch or wizard in Britain who doesn't sometimes wish to be back at Hogwarts."

"I don't blame them," said Harry, taking a sip of Butterbeer. "Hogwarts is my home."

"Join the club," Rita said. "Right. Any more questions?"

Harry swallowed. Did he dare … no, he decided, he didn't quite. There was nothing wrong with being a bit creepy, or at least nothing so wrong that all mildly creepy people deserved their affairs in the newspaper. "No. Not yet. If I have questions … later … can I write to you?"

"You can certainly try," said Rita. "Why, what kind of questions might you have later that you don't have now?"

"Depends how Ginny's date goes," Harry said evasively.

Rita smirked at him. "Jealous, are we?"

"Worried," Harry corrected, glaring. "Ginny's thirteen, and I don't like her date. Can we get on with the interview now?"

Rita's smirk widened. "Of course."

The interview was, as ever, gruelling. Harry got through three Butterbeers, and Rita drank five glasses of some bubbly purple concoction which stank of alcohol.

"Where to now, Harry?" Rita asked, as she packed away her Quick-Quotes Quill and her notes.

Harry made a pretence of thinking hard. "I might go to the Shrieking Shack. I like it out there. It's quiet."

Rita raised her eyebrows. "And let me guess, a certain Miss Weasley and her swain just so happen to be heading there?"

"Maybe," Harry said sheepishly, "but that's not why I'm going."

"You just keep telling yourself that," Rita said, with one of her wicked grins. "If you come across Miss Weasley and her swain in flagrante delicto … well, I'm sure you'll owl me."

Harry mooched out of the Three Broomsticks and up to the Shrieking Shack. To his relief, Michael and Ginny were nowhere in sight, but Sirius was, albeit in dog form.

"Hey, Sirius," said Harry.

Sirius turned back into himself. "Hey, Harry. C'mere."

Harry stood there and let Sirius embrace him. It was different from the hugs Mrs Weasley gave him; Sirius wasn't quite as thin as he'd been in June, but he was still appallingly bony.

"You've grown," said Sirius, into his hair. "You – I saw that interview you gave Rita Skeeter. How're Ron and Hermione?"

"They found out," Harry said.

Sirius let go of him. "And they didn't take it well, I presume?"

"No," Harry said miserably. "They're not speaking to me. Nobody is, really – well, except Ginny."

"Where is Ginny?" Sirius asked, glancing about as if he expected her to jump out from behind a tree.

Harry shrugged. "Some Ravenclaw git's taking her around the village."

"You're jealous," said Sirius, grinning madly. "You sound just like Prongs did when Lily wouldn't date him. Padfoot, why didn't you tell me Evans is going out with Dearborn? Don't talk to Evans, Moony, she'll get ideas. I saw Meadowes and Evans together in the library last night; weren't you saying Meadowes is a lesbian, Wormtail?"

Harry stared. "I'm not jealous! I'm just – worried. He's creepy. He offered to silence this girl who's been annoying me, and – well, she isn't the sort to just stop if she's asked nicely. I'm not sure she is stopping."

"Some people don't," said Sirius wisely. "Creepy doesn't always mean bad. Mad-Eye Moody – he's teaching at Hogwarts this year, the papers say – is a bit creepy, isn't he? He's alright. And there's always been something a bit off about Dumbledore, and nobody's calling him the next Gellert Grindelwald. You'll be glad of friends like that in years to come, Harry, you mark my words. One friend who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty is worth a million Galleons."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked.

Sirius' mouth twisted. "Peter."

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "Um – um –"

"What's going on here?"

It was Rita Skeeter, who had appeared from thin air.

"Fuck," said Sirius, paling. "Fuck, I forgot –"

"Sirius Black," Rita breathed, smirking. "As I live and breathe. This is –"

"You can't tell anyone," Harry broke in. His stomach was churning, and his face felt like it was about to burn off. "You can't, Madam Skeeter. Please."

Rita raised her eyebrows. "Why shouldn't I?"

"I'm innocent," said Sirius raggedly. "We can't really prove it, but –"

"We can," Harry said, hope rising like a flood. "Peter Pettigrew never died. He's hiding out with Voldemort. Somewhere in England, I think. If anyone can find him, you can. It's the scoop of the century, Madam Skeeter, and all you have to do is keep your mouth shut for a few weeks. Please. Please, Madam Skeeter, he's my godfather. He's the only real family I've got left."

Rita blinked several times. "Did I not hear a rumour you lived with Muggle relatives?"

Harry's stomach dropped. "Leave the Dursleys alone, alright? If you stick your nose in –"

"Don't worry, Harry, they won't see me," said Rita dismissively. "What kind of reporter would I be if Muggles could catch me? Very well, I'll give you two weeks and if I've got nothing by then, well, I'll find something else to write about. Toodle-pip." She sauntered off, whistling.

"That was close," Sirius said, scowling. "Too close. You should head back to the village before anyone thinks to wonder what you're doing up here on your own."

"Yeah," Harry said, stomach sinking. "Yeah, I probably should."

Sirius sighed. "Sorry. It's just – who is that, anyway? A reporter?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Rita Skeeter. She writes for the newspaper, mostly, but sometimes she writes for the Quibbler."

Sirius embraced him once more, turned into his dog form, and shot off across the fields. Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets and meandered back into Hogsmeade, wondering if any of the other champions had worked out the egg clue. If they had, he was pretty sure they wouldn't tell him; they'd tell each other, certainly, but they all seemed to think it was his own affair if he wanted to go about trying to get himself –

"Morning, Harry!"

It was Hagrid, armed with a handkerchief the size of a kite. Beside him was Hermione, wearing the earnest expression she always wore when trying to comfort people. Hermione had never been good at comforting people, to Harry's mind, but she was very good at the comforting face.

"Morning, Hagrid," said Harry, forcing himself to smile. "Hermione."

Hermione scowled at him. "Morning, Harry. I was just telling Hagrid nobody cares he's got giant blood."

"I certainly don't care," Harry said, at once. "C'mon, Hagrid, let's go and have a Butterbeer and we'll see how many people tell you to shove off."

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "I don't think –"

Harry shot her a glare. He'd been practising his glares on Luna Lovegood, who didn't seem to have been much discouraged by Michael Corner's methods and probably wouldn't have been discouraged by a basilisk's glare, so they were getting quite good; Hermione shrank back, stopped talking, and helped him pull Hagrid towards the Three Broomsticks.

To his joy, his guess proved right; Hagrid's entry to the Three Broomsticks was immediately followed by cheering and clapping. Half the pub were on their feet, Theo Nott amongst them. Nott, to Harry's surprise, wasn't sitting with Daphne Greengrass; he was sitting with Rita Skeeter and a tall blond man who greatly resembled him.

"Who's that?" he asked Hermione, under cover of the applause.

Hermione gave a tight shrug. "How should I know? You – you can go, you know. I can handle it."

Harry gratefully slipped away and made his way over to Nott's table. "May I join you?"

"I'd rather you didn't," said Nott.

"Now, Theo, don't be rude," said Rita. "Sit down, Harry, dear. I was just telling Hermes – do you know Hermes Selwyn? – that he might want to be on his toes."

Harry sat down. "Why?"

Selwyn shrugged. "The Wizengamot are cracking down on smuggling. I don't smuggle myself, of course, but …"

"Yeah, right," said Harry. "Aren't you a Death Eater?"

"Shut up," Nott snapped. "It was thirteen years ago, and he was under –"

"Quiet, Theo," said Selwyn, laying a meaty hand on Nott's arm. "He's not interested." He held out his other hand to Harry. "Hermes Selwyn. Pleasure."

Harry ignored the hand. "I am interested, actually. Under Imperius, right? I bet that's what they all say. Where's Greengrass, Nott?"

"She's not my keeper," Nott said, in a small voice. "She's over by the bar, if you must know. With her dad."

Harry glanced over. Daphne Greengrass was, indeed, sitting near the bar, having lunch with a rotund man in scruffy robes. "What's he doing here?"

"Visiting, I presume," said Selwyn. "I know you don't get many visitors, Mr Potter, being an orphan and all, but some of us like to visit our young relations, don't we, you lemon-faced cow?"

Rita laughed. "I'll be going. Scoops to write, research to do, nephews to interrogate … don't you worry, Harry, nobody's ever caught me and they aren't going to start now." She picked up her bag and flounced out in a swirl of banana-yellow robes.

"What've you told her?" Nott asked urgently.

Harry knew at once what Nott's concern was. "I didn't tell her that, you idiot. Why would I? He won't want you. You're a useless, self-righteous little git."

Nott glared. "There's no need for that sort of language, Potter."

"Yes, mind your tongue," said Selwyn, smirking, "or you just might lose it – oh, Luna, dearest, come here and give your Uncle Hermes a hug. Goodness, you've grown. But look at you! You look just like Dora did when she was your age. Didn't I always say you'd be happier if you engaged in some nice therapeutic despising?"

Luna Lovegood let Selwyn embrace her. She was paler than usual, and the baggy Hobgoblins T-shirt she was wearing couldn't hide the truly horrendous bruises on her forearms, but she didn't appear to be actually injured, which was a relief; Harry had been coming up with all sorts of awful scenarios.

"Mind if I sneak off before she starts flogging her magazine?" Harry asked, and fled without waiting for an answer. He bought himself some sweets from Honeydukes, walked past Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, trekked out to the Shrieking Shack again, and, having exhausted all the places he thought Ginny and Michael might be, headed up to the castle, wishing more than ever that he'd never entered the Triwizard Tournament.

When he got back to the castle, Dumbledore was waiting for him.

"Hi, sir," Harry said, staring down at his feet.

"Hello, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore amiably. "Would you like to come up to my office?"

Harry swallowed. "I – I was hoping to wait for Ginny. She's on a date with Michael Corner."

"In that case, I might wait with you," Professor Dumbledore said. "He is, in fact, part of the reason I wish to speak to you."

Harry's stomach sank. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly what this was about. "Alright."

It seemed like half of Hogwarts streamed past before Michael and Ginny finally arrived, arm in arm and grinning like lunatics. Dumbledore stuck out his arm across their path.

"Evening, Professor Dumbledore," said Michael, still grinning.

Professor Dumbledore frowned at him. "Would you like to join me and Harry in my office, Michael?"

"Do I have a choice?" Michael asked.

"No," Harry advised. "I think we're in trouble."

Ginny threw her arms around him. "Don't get expelled."

"I won't," Harry promised, closing his arms awkwardly around her. "Stay safe, alright?"

He squeezed, hard, then released her and followed Dumbledore and Michael up to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyles didn't seem in much of a mood to talk today; maybe they didn't talk when Dumbledore was so obviously disappointed.

"Won't you take a seat, boys?" Dumbledore asked, once they were safely in his office. "The chairs don't bite, you know."

Harry seated himself gingerly on a chair. Michael dropped carelessly into the seat beside him and sat with his arms crossed and legs akimbo, looking indolently bored.

"Sit up, please, Mr Corner," said Dumbledore, eyes hard as flints as he lowered himself into his own chair. "You are not in your living room, and you have not done anything to be proud of. And unfold your arms, if you would be so kind."

Michael unfolded his arms and sat up straight. "What's this about, Dumbledore? Only there's a study group I'm going to be late for."

"Then you will be late," Dumbledore said impassively. "Professor Flitwick has asked me to speak to you two about Luna Lovegood – more specifically, the odd bruises which have been appearing on her person since the Yule Ball, the persistent hexing, the outright thievery of her valuables, the strange disappearance of all of her undergarments, the thumb-tacks which have been found in her shoes, the holes which have been made in her dragonhide gloves, the itching powder spelled into the water while she showers, the scorpions that were found in her bed this morning … but I see you are looking horrified, Mr Potter."

"I am horrified," Harry insisted, turning on Michael. "I thought you were just going to drop a few hints, throw your weight around, maybe hex her a bit, not – not steal her underwear and stick scorpions in her bed."

Michael made a face. "Scorpions? I don't know about any scorpions."

"Is Loony alright, sir?" Harry asked. "I mean, I saw her in Hogsmeade and she seemed fine, but scorpions?"

"Luckily for Miss Luna Lovegood, she is an early riser," said Dumbledore. "The scorpions were found by Miss Merrythought, who was attempting to give her an apple-pie bed."

"A what?" Harry said, staring.

"An apple-pie bed," Dumbledore repeated. "You fold over one of the sheets so the occupant can't stretch out their legs … children don't do that anymore? How sad."

Michael cleared his throat. "I don't know what Miss Merrythought was doing in the third-years' dormitory. She's in the sixth."

"Miss Metharme Merrythought," said Dumbledore, sighing, "as I assumed was obvious in the context. I didn't think you were one to let yourself be blinded by such tired old rules, Mr Corner. Now, I'm sure all three of us can agree that Miss Lovegood deserves an apology. Bullying is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

"Yeah," Harry agreed miserably. "I – I really didn't think it'd go this far."

Dumbledore looked him up and down. "Indeed you did not. And that is why I shall be contenting myself with taking thirty points from Gryffindor. I shall take – ninety is nice and round, don't you think? – from Ravenclaw, and Mr Corner will also be serving some very unpleasant detentions with Mr Filch, who I believe is rumoured to have a soft spot for Miss Lovegood. Mr Potter, you may go. Mr Corner, stay a moment, if you would. You and I need to have a very serious talk about appropriate behaviour."

Harry got up.

"Oh, and Mr Potter," Dumbledore added, "at Hogwarts, we do not call people rude and unpleasant nicknames. You will see Professor Flitwick for all-day detention tomorrow."

Harry left the office, closed the door behind him, and muttered an amplifying spell. Ginny had insisted on him learning it, back before they'd found out dragons didn't speak Parseltongue and weren't actually all that bright.

"You aren't allowed to do this," Michael was saying sulkily. "It's against the rules to interview me without my Head of House present."

"Are you sure you wish me to summon Professor Flitwick?" Dumbledore asked. "I have it on good authority that Miss Lovegood is one of his pet students."

Michael snorted. "Aren't you going to get Anthony and Terry in here too?"

"Thank you for naming your accomplices, Mr Corner," said Dumbledore, sounding amused. "I did wonder whether they were the only ones. No, I am not going to invite your accomplices up to my office. The people who come to my office come in full knowledge that they have done something very wrong. I don't quite think Mr Boot and Mr Goldstein are convinced of that, do you, Michael? You've led them quite the pretty dance."

There was a short pause.

"You're putting words in my mouth, Dumbledore," said Michael, in a very cold voice. "You shouldn't be so familiar with me. That's against the rules too."

"I think we both know you're the last person who has a right to complain about rules being broken, Michael," Dumbledore said, his voice correspondingly colder. "I am the headmaster of this school and will address you as I please. You are a pupil at this school and will treat me with more respect. I will not waste my time telling you to cease your repellent extracurricular activities, since we both know full well you won't give it the faintest thought. You may wish, however, to consider that neither Professor Flitwick nor I can give you a good reference, which will not serve you well in the future."

There was another short silence.

"I don't care," said Michael. "I'm going now. Goodbye, Dumbledore."

Harry hurriedly tiptoed down the stairs and round the first spiral. The door slammed, and Michael came storming down the stairs.

"Hi," Harry ventured. "How'd it go?"

Michael fell in with him. "Badly," he said, his voice very much warmer than it had been in Dumbledore's office. "He knew I was the ringleader. Do you want me to lay off Lovegood?"

"Yeah," Harry decided. "If hitting her doesn't work, she's not going to stop. You have been hitting her, right? I saw her in Hogsmeade, and she's black and blue."

"Don't be revolting," said Michael, scowling. "I don't hit girls."

"Do Anthony and Terry?" Harry asked.

Michael laughed. "Yes, but we've not been hitting Lovegood. We aren't Hufflepuffs. Sometimes she tries to be rude, though, and leave before I'm done talking. So the boys have to hold her still. They don't know their own strength, and Lovegood's not exactly robust."

Harry admitted that if he hadn't known Luna Lovegood went to Hogwarts, he would have thought a light breeze could blow her over. Nobody who got blown over by light breezes would find Hogwarts very pleasant, though; it was always very blustery outside, and often inside. "So, you'll leave her be from now on?"

"Alright," said Michael, looking rather disappointed. "It was getting a bit tiresome, to be honest. She just doesn't notice. It doesn't help that half the time whatever we booby-trap gets stolen. Damn, I forgot to say we didn't steal her underwear."

"You didn't?" Harry said sceptically.

Michael made a face. "We aren't perverts, Potter. I had Terry put sand in her underwear drawer, but one of the third-years must have got at it too. Perhaps we should have discussed it with them … no matter. I think here is where we part ways … before we do, though, Potter, I want to ask you a question."

"Ask away," Harry said.

"May I carry on seeing Ginny Weasley?" Michael asked.

Harry stared. "That's – that's between you and her, I'm afraid. She'd hex you if she knew you'd asked, and she'd hex me if I answered anything other than the answer I've just given you."

"Are you sure, Potter?" Michael pressed. "I don't plan to ever pay attention to your opinion on this matter again. So. Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

"I'll hold my peace," said Harry quickly. If Michael and his friends could get into the girls' dormitories to bully Luna Lovegood, they were probably more than sneaky enough to find out the password for Gryffindor Tower and bully him. "And don't call me Potter. I'm just Harry."

Michael smirked and headed off. Harry returned to Gryffindor and found Ginny waiting for him just inside the portrait hole.

"Have you been expelled?" she demanded.

"No," said Harry. "Lost thirty points, though, and I've got detention with Flitwick tomorrow."

Ginny made a face and dragged him towards their usual seats by the fire. "What for?"

"You know Michael promised to get Loony Lovegood to stop being such a cow?" Harry said. "Well, it got a bit out of hand. Dumbledore was just disappointed in our general direction. Then he sent me out and was more disappointed at Michael. The detention was for calling Loony that in front of Dumbledore."

"But everyone calls her Loony!" Demelza Robins objected.

"I don't," said Colin Creevey, from behind Numerology and Grammatica.

Ginny snorted. "That's because you have a crush, Colin."

Colin flushed.

"Are you in trouble, Harry?" Demelza asked, returning her attention to her homework. "Ginny's not even told us how her date went, she was that worried."

"There isn't much to talk about," said Ginny, who had gone pink. "We went to Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft's, we did some sight-seeing, we visited the Shrieking Shack, we had lunch in the Three Broomsticks, he made me wait outside the Hog's Head for an hour and a half, we had tea and cakes at Madam Puddifoot's, then we came back."

Harry stared. "He didn't kiss you?"

"I didn't say that," Ginny said. "It was brilliant. Just like in books. There were fireworks and everything. He's rich, you know. Like Davis rich. Like Malfoy rich."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley rich?" Demelza asked, giggling.

"Anyway," said Colin, his voice suspiciously light, "so what exactly did Michael Corner do to Luna?"

Harry swallowed. "It's – nothing serious. He says she didn't even notice."

"I don't know," said Demelza, frowning. "Peggy Avery says Metharme Merrythought told her Loony's all over bruises."

"He's been hitting her?" Colin squeaked.

Ginny glared. "Don't be stupid. He's far too refined. He just … doesn't know his own strength. Look." She took off her jumper. Beneath it, she was wearing a Weird Sisters T-shirt; her pale, befreckled arms bore the same purple bruises as Luna Lovegood's.

"He's been hitting you," Colin breathed, paling. "We can get help for you, Ginny. I'm sure Professor McGonagall –"

"Michael's never hit anyone in his life," Ginny snapped.

Demelza raised her eyebrows. "It's still abuse, Ginny. You're all over bruises. That doesn't happen by accident."

"Abuse?" Ginny repeated, deadly quiet. "Don't be ridiculous, Demelza. Abuse was when my grandmother got beaten to within an inch of her life for falling in love with my grandfather. Michael just doesn't know his own strength."

"Mm," Harry said, and set quill to parchment. Dear Madam Skeeter, I don't approve of how Ginny's date went. His name's Michael Corner. Embarrass him, please. HP.