32. Rita Skeeter.

The show-down against Umbridge remained the gossip of the castle for weeks afterwards, the ferocity of which it was discussed challenged only by the news of the Azkaban mass breakout. Names which remained unfamiliar to those of Muggle families were whispered throughout the castle's corridors, the lips baring them almost quivering in fear in some cases. Though the Slytherins seemed mostly unconcerned about this development, the rest of the castle was the closest it had ever come to an all out panic, the escape and appearance of Sirius Black never far from anyone's mind.

Added to that was a large workload as Quidditch practice dominated the lives of those who remained on the team, in addition to the frequent DA meetings. The Room of Requirement was more often than not a buzzing hive of activity as both Muggle and magical defence methods were learnt together, the members more anxious than ever to learn how to defend themselves. Some moves had even been used on the Quidditch pitch, much to the general suspicion of the Hogwarts staff, when disputes over practice times broke out between house teams.

With all of this going on at once, it was hardly surprising when February 14th rolled around quickly, yet another long awaited Hogsmeade weekend. The atmosphere was therefore an excited and relieved one as everyone clamoured into the Great Hall for breakfast, the worry of school work for once not present in their minds.

"Right," Fred said to announce his presence as he sat at the Gryffindor table that morning, "here's to our first day out in years."

"Yeah," George added, sitting beside his brother, "and we expect everyone to stock up on merchandise for us to examine."

"We need to keep developing our own inventions, you see," Fred added.

"And it always helps to keep an eye on the competition."

"I can't..." Ron muttered morosely, "I'm meant to go to Quidditch practice."

"Not to worry little bro, I'm sure Harry'll help us out, right Harry?"

"Actually, George," Harry said, not looking up from his spoon, "I probably won't be buying anything."

"He's got a date with Cho Chang," Hermione explained.

Fred's face split into a wide smile. "Our little Harry's finally all grown up!"

"Yeah," George chuckled. "We were getting worried, you know, what with the lack of clamouring girlfriends..."

"Shut up," Harry muttered in reply, though his voice was without sting.

"Ooo!" Fred and George chorused.

"So what's that you're doing there then," Fred said, nodding at Harry's spoon, which was beginning to reshape itself as Harry prodded it absentmindedly with his wand, "are you making her a gift?"

Harry seemed to realise what he was doing at exactly the same moment as everyone else did. "Er..."

The spoon had warped and twisted until it was unrecognisable as anything but a mini replica of the Star Ship Enterprise, spinning lazily in mid air. Kirk and McCoy gaped.

"That's a perfect replica..." Kirk said in awe, reaching out to pick it up and twirling it almost lovingly in his fingers.

"You can have it," Harry said, sounding slightly surprised that he had managed to shape something so intricately when he was really no better than Ron at Transfigurations or Charms.

Hermione was examining it curiously as Kirk held it in his hands, her expression bemused. "What is it?"

"The perfect gift for Cho," Ron snorted.

"It's the Enterprise," Kirk whispered, unable to tear his eyes off what had once been a spoon.

Everyone turned to stare at Harry, who looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Er...is it?"

"That," Ron exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the object, "is what your ship looks like? A warped spoon?" He started laughing.

McCoy bristled. "Technically," he replied over the amused chuckling breaking out amongst the group, "the warped spoon looks like the Enterprise, not the other way around."

"Does Star Fleet have the entire drawer?" Ron continued to snort, almost choking himself on his eggs in the process. "There's nothing better than a Fleet made of steel."

"Alright, alright," McCoy snapped.

"How did you know what it looks like?" Kirk asked quietly, staring almost right through Harry.

"I..." Harry stared down at his hands as though looking for an explanation, "I'm not actually sure."

"Obviously this was no accident," Hermione interjected practically. "Did you dream it?"

"I must have done..."

"Do you know what this means?" McCoy asked in shock. Everyone except Kirk stared at him cluelessly. "He saw into Spock's mind!"

"It's not exactly surprising though, is it," Ron pointed out, "since Spock was shielding Harry's mind from You-Know-Who."

"It's more than that," Hermione said slowly.

McCoy nodded. "I've heard about cases like this. Apparently, when Vulcan Healers mind meld with their patients, they have to take extra care to keep their mind closed in order to avoid a deep bond."

"Bond?" Harry repeated.

"Bones," Kirk said quietly, so that everyone else had to strain to hear him, "he can't be..."

"It's not that type of bond, Jim," McCoy said gently, so that only Kirk could understand. Raising his voice, he added, "it's a faint link, weakened by Spock's own mental shields, but inevitable."

"So..." Harry said slowly, "you're telling me that I'm now reading Spock's mind as well."

"That depends on the strength of the link," McCoy replied. "It could be that you picked out that image from Spock's mind when he mind-melded with you, but it could also be possible that there is a growing link between you, which might get stronger as time goes on, if the visions continue."

"How do you know all this, Bones?"

"I'm a Doctor," McCoy said simply, "it's my job to research."

"Can it be broken?" Harry asked.

McCoy shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Harry, you'd have to ask Spock about that one. Do you want it to be broken?"

"I don't know...I haven't felt it at all so far."

"It could be useful in danger," Hermione added. "If it strengthens, I mean."

"We'll have to ask Spock whether or not he's noticed it," Kirk pointed out. "He'll know more about this than us."

"Hopefully," McCoy muttered.

"Looks like it's time for us to go," Hermione observed, looking around the rapidly emptying Great Hall. "Good luck, Harry."

"Yeah," the Weasley siblings all added at once, giving each other a weird look before the twins walked off and Ron spoke. "Don't forget the spoon, mate."

Meeting back up with Spock, they filed through the front entrance to Hogwarts slowly, as Filch was currently subjecting every student to heavy security checks, despite the illogic in doing so before they purchased anything. Once they were outside the castle, the Slytherins nodded to Spock before moving off in a different direction, though they looked slightly put out at the fact that the Gryffindor group was favoured over them.

Ron, looking distinctly unenthusiastic, headed off to the pitch with the rest of the team, Kirk giving them a brief wave as they left.

Harry met up with Cho and immediately attempted to plunge into awkward conversation with her, which amused everyone else to no end, though they pretended not to be listening as they walked a few steps ahead. Nobody noticed the young and inconspicuous first year, whom had just been given detention along with his friend by Snape for voicing unsuitable plans, following them.

"So..." Harry said, voice nervous and fumbling, "great weather for today...Valentines Day, I mean. It really captures the – er – mood of the season..."

"It is, isn't it?" Cho continued, probably to spare Harry the embarrassment of the remark going ignored. "I thought that we'd have to walk around in the rain, from the look of things last night."

"We'd have been a bit wet," Harry replied intelligently, giving a short laugh. There was an awkward pause. "So, are you planning on buying anything?"

"I might take a look around, see what I can find," Cho said non-comitally, "but I know a great cafe of sorts where we can have a drink, if we get too cold."

"Madam Puddifoot's," Hermione explained. "It's meant to be really romantic for couples."

"And bright pink and full of doilies," Fred added. "Not that I've seen it, of course..."

There was a roar from the Quidditch stadium, and they heard Cho's voice drifting towards them, quiet concern aimed at Harry. "You really miss it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry replied wistfully, "I do."

"Remember the first time we played against each other, in the third year?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled. "You kept blocking me."

"And Wood told you not to be a gentleman and knock me off my broom if you had to. I heard he got taken on by Pride of Portree, is that right?"

"Nah," Harry said. "It was Puddlemore United; I saw him in the World Cup last year."

"Oh, I saw you there too, remember? We were on the same campsite. It was really good, wasn't it?"

The group in front smiled, glad that Harry had gotten over his apparent awkwardness and finally managed to engage Cho in a meaningful conversation, even if it was about Quidditch.

"Potter and Chang!" A sickly girlish yell exclaimed, announcing the arrival of Pansy Parkinson and several of her comrades, giggling insanely. "Urgh, Chang, I don't think much of your taste...at least Diggory was good looking!"

There were expressions of shock all round that even Parkinson could stoop so low as to insult a recently ex-student, but before anyone could retaliate she had skipped off, laughing at the top of her voice.

Hermione looked murderous. "The insensitive little-"

"Hey," Harry called out, "er, we'll see you lot later..." his gaze darted from Cho to the Gryffindors, apparently slightly nervous at being left alone.

Hermione, her rant interrupted, nodded. "We'll be in the Three Broomsticks, Harry. It looks like Spock's getting cold..."

While this was a subtle way of reminding Harry of their pre-arranged meeting, it seemed to be true. Spock was beginning to shiver in the breeze, his ears uncovered and exposed to the harsh elements. The tips were turning a decidedly unhealthy colour.

"Alright," Harry replied. "Will he be-"

"He'll be fine," McCoy said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Go and enjoy your Valentines Day, both of you."

Giving a nod, they both began to walk up the other end of the High Street, battling through the crowds of cold students in search of shelter.

"WHY THE HELL," McCoy exploded as soon as Harry was out of ear shot, dragging Spock to the nearest building, "AREN'T YOU WEARING THE HAT OR JUMPER MRS WEASLEY GAVE YOU?"

Spock actually winced. "Leonard, there is no need to reach such excessive decibels..."

"I'm your doctor, damn it, and I'll shriek as loud as I like when you ignore my advice!"

"Leonard, you did not advise me to-"

"Fine, fine!" McCoy said over the top of the Vulcan, who was being pushed unceremoniously into a seat at a free table. "Why aren't you wearing them, anyway?"

"I no longer possess the hat."

"Why the hell not?"

"At most recent observation, I believe that the House Elf named Dobby was the new-"

"Doesn't he have enough hats?" McCoy interrupted yet again.

"I believe that he merely appreciated the texture and design of my hat," Spock said simply.

"You need that!"

"I am aware."

McCoy sank down into the seat next to him. "Great. Fantastic. And your warm jumper?"

"I deemed it to be inappropriate for the occasion."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You can't walk around in just a t-shirt and a coat, Spock, you need a jumper underneath, especially because you feel the cold more."

A small youth sidled unnoticed behind a table at the other end of the room and began watching them.

"It is inconsequential."

"This," McCoy spat, jabbing Spock so hard in the chest he left a bruise, "is your health you green blooded idiot!"

Someone standing above them cleared their throat, looking slightly annoyed. "Are you going to order anything?"

McCoy blinked. "What?"

"If you've simply come in here to argue and aren't going to buy anything then I must ask you to leave," the man said sharply, arms crossed over a work apron. "You're starting to scare away customers."

"Scare away customers?" McCoy repeated incredulously. "We're having a debate not a blood bath!"

"I must insist-"

"Alright, alright," McCoy said, caving in. "Where are we, anyway, and what do you sell here?"

The man stared at him. "Sir, do you need me to call St Mungo's?"

"What? Why?"

"I think you've been Confunded..."

"Or," McCoy said pointedly, "I walked in without looking where I was going!"

"We're in the Three Broomsticks," Hermione explained quickly, before a fully fledged argument could erupt. "Don't worry, I'll order..." She jumped up and went to the bar, Fred and George following her.

McCoy immediately turned back to the Vulcan. "You need to take better care of yourself!"

"Leonard, I am doing so-"

"No, you're not! You throw yourself into these things like a-"

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Like a Gryffindor!"

The youth at the other end of the bar smirked, seemingly entertained by the show.

McCoy seemed to realise what he'd just said because he blinked and shook his head slightly. "This place must be getting to me."

"Indeed. You appear to have a natural flair for this lifestyle."

McCoy snorted. "I can't even do magic, let alone understand half of these customs!"

The youth's face tightened as he recognised several curious stares in the form of non-students being directed at the Doctor, who remained oblivious.

"Nevertheless," Spock continued, "you have adapted remarkably well."

"I've had more time to adapt. Every other planet-side mission, we were being chased or attacked. At least this time we have room to think."

The youth's expression was now positively murderous.

"Indeed."

"Here," Fred said, plonking down several large cups on the table. "This'll warm you up."

"Fred," Hermione said sternly.

The twin assumed his most innocent expression. "It's the warmest drink they have."

Hermione settled into her chair, looking thoroughly displeased and sipping her own drink, which was identical.

"What are the ingredients?" Spock asked hesitantly.

"Just drink the damn thing, Spock," McCoy snapped. "It's Fred; he wouldn't exactly try to murder you, would he?"

"I might," Fred responded jokily, "if I was wearing Polyjuice..."

"That's not funny," Hermione snapped, "it's a very real danger."

Cautiously, Spock pulled it closer to himself, sniffing it delicately before taking a sip. And another. And another.

"Blimey," George said, winking at Hermione, "he's downing that quickly."

Spock surfaced momentarily, a moustache firmly in place. "It is of an agreeable temperature."

McCoy snorted. "Spock, you've got a little mous – how do you do that?"

"Have we missed something?" George asked Fred.

"I was in full rant and you tricked me into stopping!"

"I did nothing deceitful, Leonard; you merely allowed the conversation to gravitate in this direction."

"How convenient. Like a true Slytherin."

Spock finished his drink. Fred eyed it in astonishment. "I'm amazed."

"Me too, Fred," George agreed, also staring at it.

"Why?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

George and Fred shifted slightly. It was Hermione who answered, disgust and disapproval written across her features. "They heard that Butterbeer made elves drunk..."

"I am not an elf," Spock said slowly, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"We knew that," George defended, "but we wanted to see if it would work anyway."

"Vulcans are immune to the effects of alcohol."

"Anyway," Hermione added, "there isn't much in these Butterbeers. He'd have to drink a whole barrel to even start to get tipsy. There's a reason they're a students' drink."

Fred shrugged. "Worth a try."

"What does get you drunk then," George asked curiously.

"I do not believe that it would be wise for that information to be made public knowledge."

"Aw," Fred said, "you know us; we'd promise to stop that from happening."

Spock's lips twitched. "That is precisely my cause for concern."

"You can trust us," George said.

"I think not."

George sighed. "Trust these days, Fred, no one has it."

"I couldn't agree more, George," Fred replied, putting on an insulted air as he drifted back to the counter to get another few Butterbeers.

For a few moments the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, the only sound the slight slurping noises made when the twins took gulps from their cups, always spontaneously, grinning like mad. McCoy suspected they were doing it on purpose.

The door opened and with it, a cold breeze slunk quickly into the room, shutting out almost as suddenly as it had come, and Harry Potter sat at the table, looking distinctly shell shocked.

"You're early!" Hermione exclaimed, preoccupied with wiping off her foam moustache. "I thought you were with Cho, I didn't expect you for another hour at least. Fred, George, we're going to have to go over there...Len, Spock, you need to come with us..."

At a table slightly further away was Luna Lovegood and Rita Skeeter, engaged in slightly awkward conversation. Rita looked slightly bemused as she nodded along to Luna's ramblings about Snarkle Flies. The youth at the table tilted his head only slightly so that he could watch unobserved.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down along with McCoy and Spock.

"I suppose I'm allowed to talk to them, am I?" Rita asked nastily, glaring at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose so," Hermione snapped back.

"So," Rita said, pushing her unkempt hair off her face and surveying Harry through winged glasses, "I hear you're in love, Harry."

Harry glared at Luna, who looked back vaguely.

"Pretty girl, is she?"

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," Hermione said.

"What deal?" Rita asked irritably. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up."

"That's the letter you wrote?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"Oh," Rita continued, oblivious to the interruption, "one of these days..."

"Yes, yes," Hermione said impatiently, "one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me. Fine someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help. How does that make you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply but Hermione beat him to it. "He feels angry, of course, because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He Who Must Not Be Named is back?"

Spock surveyed her calmly. "To deny the facts would be illogical."

"And you are?"

"Spock."

"Spock what?"

"Merely 'Spock'," Spock replied.

"How...unusual," Rita sniffed, before dismissing him and turning back to Harry. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?"

"I wasn't the sole witness," Harry snarled.

"Then of course there's his so-called disappearance..."

"We're living proof of that," McCoy protested.

"As for Voldemort's return," Harry said hotly, ignoring Rita's wince, "there were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

"I'd love them," Rita said softly, quill suddenly appearing at the ready. "A great bold headline: 'Potter Accuses...' A sub-heading, 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, 'Disturbed-"

"Harry is not disturbed," McCoy growled.

"- teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters...'"

The Quick Quotes Quill twitched in the air before she suddenly seemed to lose all enthusiasm.

"But of course," she glared at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," Hermione retorted, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."

Luna, oblivious to the sudden tension, sang under her breath and sipped her cocktail.

"You want me to report what he says about He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"And," Hermione added, "what these two," she indicated the two officers, "say about seeing him."

"We saw him disappear," McCoy pointed out. "Having us give statements won't achieve anything."

"Unless your statements are only vague accounts supporting what Harry saw."

Rita stared at Hermione. "With all that twisting of the truth, you could be a journalist, Little Miss Perfect."

"I think it's a horrible way to earn a living," Hermione said coldly. "There's no virtue in it."

"You'll do the article?" Harry asked.

Rita nodded. "But the Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock – and – bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional."

"Perhaps because of how people like you portray it," McCoy snapped.

Rita ignored him. "We need a good story, so perhaps if you let me write from the delusional angle-"

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!" Hermione retorted. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

"There's no market for a story like that."

"Because Fudge squashes it," McCoy said.

Rita seemed to see McCoy for the first time. "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet," she admitted, "but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."

"It is imperative that they are informed nevertheless," Spock said quietly.

"Since the Prophet's useless," Hermione said, "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. The Quibbler will be publishing it."

"The Quibbler?" Rita cackled, spraying drink everywhere. Several people stared. "You think people will take them seriously if it's printed in The Quibbler?"

"Some people won't," Hermione conceded, "but the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it."

"Like how Bellatrix Lestrange managed to escape, when she's already on the Enterprise," McCoy provided.

Hermione nodded. "I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative news story available, even if it's published in a – in a-" She glanced at Luna, "-well, an unusual magazine, I think they might be rather keen to read it."

"All right," Rita said, "let's say for a moment I'll do it. What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," Luna said vaguely. "They do it because it's an honour and, of course, to see their names in print."

Rita gaped. "I'm supposed to do this for free?"

"Well, yes," Hermione replied, unfazed. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban."

Rita looked murderous. "I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" She raised her quill once more and dug around for parchment.

"Daddy will be pleased," Luna said.

"Ok," Hermione said, turning to Harry, McCoy and Spock, "ready to tell the public the truth?"

From his corner table, the youth continued to watch, taking a short swig from a flask.