Chapter Five
The Daily Prophet



It was half past six when Hedwig woke Harry with her loud hooting. He put on his glasses and got dressed quickly.

"It's about time to go, Hedwig," Harry told her.

Looking as anxious as Harry felt, she immediately hopped into her cage. Harry swung the door shut behind her then went downstairs for breakfast.

As he approached the kitchen, he heard low, worried voices coming from inside.

"...again this morning, Vernon. Don't you think it's strange that she suddenly shows up again after all these years?"

"How can you be sure it's her, Petunia? If it's really been almost twenty years..."

"It's her, Vernon!" Aunt Petunia snapped. I'd know that wretched face anywhere. Goodness knows as much as I saw her. Not that I had much choice..."

"Well I don't think there's any need to worry yet. Just as long as she doesn't come around here..."

Harry chose that moment to enter the kitchen. Aunt Petunia shrieked and dropped the skillet she had been holding. Uncle Vernon jumped up, glaring hard at Harry.

"Have you been eavesdropping, boy?!" he roared, his eyes bulging slightly.

"No," Harry replied innocently, fighting to suppress a grin.

Uncle Vernon continued to glare suspiciously at him as Aunt Petunia cleaned up the eggs from the floor.

"Where's Dudley?" Harry asked, noticing the considerable absence of his massive cousin.

"Golfing," Uncle Vernon growled, returning to his newspaper.

Golfing had been another healthy change for Dudley. Before this past summer, the most exercise that he had gotten was walking back and forth between the refrigerator and television. But he had come home from school this year, determined that he was going to be a golfer. Uncle Vernon had bought him a brand new set of clubs and ever since, Dudley had started going out golfing with his buddies a few times a week. Harry had been more than a little surprised, to say the least.

Harry sat down at the table but had just started on the eggs Aunt Petunia had set in front of him when there was a knock at the front door. Harry glanced up at his aunt and uncle but both looked as though they had been expecting it. Aunt Petunia hurried to answer it. Harry heard the door open then voices from the hall.

"Good morning, Gretchen," came Aunt Petunia's voice. Another softer voice replied with words Harry couldn't hear.

"Yes, he's ready. I'll go get him."

Aunt Petunia came back into the kitchen.

"Your ride's here," she snarled at Harry.

Ride? Harry stared blankly back at her.

"I didn't stutter, you ungrateful brat! Now get upstairs and get your stuff before she leaves without you, because we're sure as hell not going to take you."

Harry, still puzzled, went upstairs to his room. He had assumed that the Dursleys were going to give him a ride to the train station, but he figured he should have known better than for them to do something that generous for him. After checking to make sure he had everything packed, Harry dragged Hedwig and his trunk back downstairs.

The entrance was deserted.

"She's waiting in the car," Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen.

"Well, okay then, see ya," Harry called to the Dursleys. Then with his trunk and Hedwig, he walked outside.

A very old car Harry didn't recognize sat in the driveway. From where he stood, he couldn't see who was driving through the dark windows. With a slight shrug, he stuffed his belongings into the open, waiting trunk. After making sure it was closed tightly, he climbed into the passenger's seat and looked over to find...

Mrs. Figg.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted.

Harry was too shocked to answer. And it must have shown.

"Well, don't look so pleased," she added coldly, and after putting the car in gear, they were off.

"No, I-I just didn't think-" Harry stammered.

"I know what you were thinking," Mrs. Figg interrupted. "You're wondering why this bitch is taking you to the train station."

Harry stared at her, shocked. Mrs. Figg gave a humorless laugh.

"Don't worry, boy. I don't like this any more than you."

But something inside Harry snapped, and he was suddenly offended.

"Then why are you doing it? If you think you're just wasting your time, why are you doing it?"

Mrs. Figg looked over at Harry in mild surprise, as though not expecting him to answer back.

"It's a favor to someone," she answered shortly.

They sat in silence for a while. Harry stared out the window, hardly believing what was happening. This is unreal, he thought. Any minute he would wake up and realize it had all been a dream.

"I knew your mother, dear," Mrs. Figg said into the silence, causing Harry to look at her in surprise. "You remind me a lot of her. And of course, that's where you got your eyes from. You have your mother's eyes."

"Y-you knew my mother?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Why of course," Mrs. Figg looked over at Harry, her face expressionless. "You have her temper and sharp tongue too."

Harry, his disbelief quickly turning to anger, stared coldly back at Mrs. Figg. "You're lying," he said evenly. "You never knew my mother."

Mrs. Figg gave another sharp, humorless laugh. "You think I'm lying? You don't think I knew your mother? Well, I don't give a damn whether you believe me or not! But I don't want you having any false ideas about your parents. They weren't angels, boy. Far from it. Especially your mother. But I don't expect anyone's told you about that. I'm sure Dumbledore thinks your precious ears are too young to hear the truth. And of course, your parents were well-liked. But most people only saw their glittering exteriors. Didn't bother to look at what was underneath." Mrs. Figg was staring at Harry with something close to hate now, but he defiantly held her gaze. "Your parents didn't care who they had to walk over, as long as they got their way. And your mother, that dirty, traitorous bi-"

"SHUT UP!!" roared suddenly roared. "I don't believe you! Just shut up! You're lying!"

Mrs. Figg was now looking at Harry with cold amusement. "Listen to you. Defending your parents as though you actually knew who they were. You never them, boy. Did you hear me? You never knew your parents!"

"No," Harry muttered, shaking his head almost violently, willing the thoughts to go away. A rising fury was burning inside him now. But something else was there too. Fear. A cold, chilling fear that everything Mrs. Figg was saying was true.

But it couldn't be true, Harry thought fervently. It just couldn't. His parents had never done anything wrong...but another cold realization had dawned on him. Mrs. Figg was right. He had never known his parents. There was no way for him to know what they had been like. He had only been a year old when they were killed.

Surely Dumbledore would have told him if any of it were true...but Harry knew immediately that was wrong. Something came floating back to Harry from four years before, when he had just been finishing up his first year at Hogwarts...

..."I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day...put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older...I know you hate to hear this...when you are ready, you will know."...

The words had been Dumbledore's response to one of Harry's questions about the night his parents had been killed. And once again, he was left feeling as though he wished he knew more about his and his parents' pasts.

Fighting back the urge to shout back at Mrs. Figg, Harry forced himself to look out the window, his emotions turmoiling inside him. He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it...

The rest of the trip continued in silence and soon, they were at King's Cross Station. No sooner had the car stopped, then Harry muttered a quick thanks and was hurriedly getting his stuff out of the trunk of the car. But just as he was turning to go inside the station, he heard Mrs. Figg call out to him.

"There's something back here for you," she called.

Suspicious, Harry made his way cautiously back to the car, where Mrs. Figg was pointing at the backseat. He opened the door and saw two large shopping bags inside. But it was the writing on the sides of the bags that caught his attention. In big, gold letters they read: DIAGON ALLEY. It was his school supplies.

"Don't thank me," Mrs. Figg snapped as Harry looked at her in surprise and gratitude. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

Harry took the bags from the car and as soon as he had closed the door, Mrs. Figg left.

He made his way back over to his trunk, fetched a rolling cart for his things, then along with Hedwig, he entered the station.

Once inside, he made his way through the crowds to platforms nine and ten, ignoring the strange looks he and Hedwig were receiving. The Hogwarts Express left from Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It was hidden to Muggles, but the secret to finding it was to simply walk through the barrier separating platforms nine and ten.

Harry reached the barrier at a quarter to eleven, fifteen minutes until the train left. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him, Harry began to walk casually toward the barrier, not slowing down when he reached it, and...he was through.

The scarlet Hogwarts Express sat waiting, steam billowing from the engine. The platform was packed full of people, witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes. Hundreds of owls hooted at each other through the soft mist. Students were saying good-bye to their families and climbing on the train.

Harry made his way through the chattering crowd, keeping an eye out for Ron or Hermione. He passed an anxious-looking group of younger children, presumably first years, all chattering excitedly. Another group of students, a bit older, were all marveling over a new, sleek broomstick a brown-haired boy claimed was his.

"Wow, Austin!" exclaimed a blond-haired girl. "Where'd you get it?"

"My dad gave it to me for my birthday," Austin replied, blushing slightly.

"That is wicked, man," a boy with a buzz-cut proclaimed.

"Harry!" a voice yelled, causing him to look away from the conversation.

He looked up to find Seamus Finnigan, a sandy-haired boy also in the fifth year, and his friend Dean Thomas hurrying toward him.

"Hey, man," Seamus greeted, smiling, "what've you been up to this summer?"

"Not much," Harry replied.

"Have they made you a prefect?" Dean asked eagerly.

"Oh, yeah, they choose prefects this year," Harry remembered. "Well, I don't know. I never got my letter this summer."

"You didn't get your letter?" Seamus repeated.

"That's weird," Dean said.

"Yeah, I know, but Dumbledore said not to worry about it so I guess it's not that big of a deal."

"Maybe they made you a prefect and you just don't know it since you didn't get your letter," Dean suggested hopefully.

"Maybe," Harry said.

"Well, we better go and find ourselves a seat," Seamus said. "See ya around, Harry."

Harry continued to make his way through the crowd and had almost reached the train when another voice that he recognized immediately called out to him.

Hermione Granger, a broad smile on her face, was running toward him. Her bushy brown hair had been tied up at the back of her head although a few stray curls were hanging down across her face. Harry realized, quite suddenly, how pretty she looked.

As Hermione reached him, she dropped her trunk and flung her arms around him.

"Oh, Harry," she said into his shoulder, "I'm so glad you're okay."

"What?" said Harry, slightly confused but smiling all the same. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"It's just that with You-Know-Who back and all and I haven't talked to you in so long. I thought maybe..." she trailed off.

"Hermione," Harry said, straightening her up to look at her. "You didn't really think something had happened to me, did you?"

"Well, no, it's just that...after what happened to Cedric last year...no one's really safe anymore, and...what if He had found a way to get to you at the Dursleys?"

"Well, if that happened, they should wouldn't put up much resistance," Harry said laughing and causing Hermione to smile. "But here I am. And besides, I've got you to keep an eye on me now."

They stood there smiling at each other until Hermione seemed to suddenly remember something. "Oh, Harry, I almost forgot!" She reached into her pocket and dug out a shiny silver badge with the letter "P" on it. "They made me a prefect!"

"Wow, Hermione," Harry said, sounding impressed, "that's really a-"

"And you are too!" she interrupted.

"What?" Harry said, surprised.

"Yeah, didn't you know?" she asked sounding confused. "It should've been in your letter."

"Yeah, well..." Harry began but another voice interrupted him.

"Harry! Hermione!"

Both he and Hermione turned to look. A tall, thin boy with bright red hair and freckles was coming towards them. It was Ron.

Harry noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione nervously trying to fix her hair. It had slightly come out of place and she was frantically trying to tie it back up again.

"Don't mention the prefect thing to Ron," she added to Harry out of the corner of her mouth as she quickly stuffed her badge back into her pocket. "He didn't get asked to be one."

"Hey, Hermione," Ron greeted. "What's been going on, Harry?"

"Not much," Harry replied, as managed a weak "hi". "What's been up at the Burrow?"

"Oh, you know," Ron started in the most professional voice he could muster, "business as usual."

Harry grinned back at him. "Yeah, I bet. I'm sure you're right in the middle of all that Ministry business." He gave Hermione a wink. "We know how important you are and all, Percy."

"Hey," said Ron, faking a sudden look of seriousness. "I'm working on a proposal right now for the regulation and control of magical artifacts impoted from the republic of Gilbraltar. It'll change the world, it will. And perhaps you've heard of my legendary reports on cauldron thickness..."

All three of them laughed.

Percy Weasley was Ron's older brother who worked for the Ministry of Magic. Percy had been Head Boy when he graduated from Hogwarts two years ago. Although Harry was sure he meant well, Percy thought himself immensely important, was a bit fussy, and also devoted his entire life to his job. To say that Percy was the subject of many jokes would have been an understatement.

The train whistle blew once and students began hurrying onto it to find their seats.

"Come on," said Hermione, "or we'll be left behind."

The three of them quickly heaved their trunks up the steps and jumped aboard, just as the train began to move. They stood there in the corridor, sweating slightly but grinning at each other, as the platform sped from view and forests began to appear through the windows.

"I'll get us a compartment," said Ron as he disappeared into the back of the train.

Harry noticed that Hermione looked considerably more relaxed after Ron left, but she turned quickly to Harry and lowered her voice.

"I think we're supposed to sit up front, Harry," she whispered, looking up and down the corridor as though expecting Ron to suddenly appear again, "you know, with the other prefects."

Harry looked at Hermione. "Well, you can do whatever you want, but I'm going to sit with Ron. Besides," he added, "I never got my letter, remember? As far as I'm supposed to know, I'm not a prefect yet."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. She stood there, looking as though she was torn between two things she desperately wanted to do. "Oh, all right," she finally said. "Save a seat for me too. I'll be there in a little while, but first I just want to check in with the other prefects. Make sure it's all right," and she hurried away to the front of the train.

Ron returned a few minutes later. "Where's Hermione?" he asked immediately.

"She went up front to check on something, I think," Harry said.

"Oh...okay," said Ron, looking slightly disappointed. "Well there weren't any empty compartments, but Fred and George said that we could sit with them."

Harry and Ron gathered up their luggage and began dragging it to the rear of the train. But before they reached the compartment, they heard a drawling voice behind them.

"Well, if it ain't Potter and Weasley."

Harry knew who it was even before he turned around.

Draco Malfoy, flanked by his two cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, stood in the passageway. Malfoy was pale-skinned, whitish-blonde-haired, and about as pleasant as a large pile of dragon dung. Crabbe and Goyle were both enormous, nearly twice Harry's size, and stood there, flexing their powerful muscles menacingly, as though merely waiting for a reason to pound Harry and Ron through the train wall.

"Your dad made the paper, Weasley," Malfoy sneered as he brandished a newspaper and tossed it to Ron. "Seems like he couldn't take the pressure anymore. Or," Malfoy's eyes glinted evilly, "maybe he just got tired of being stuck at the bottom."

Ron didn't even glance at the paper but Harry took it from him, curious.

It was The Daily Prophet, the wizard newspaper. On the front page of the paper was a picture of Ron's dad, who was looking around defiantly at the group of reporters who were surrounding him. Arthur Weasley was a tall, thin man with balding red hair. There was an article next to the photograph:



MINISTRY WIZARD BAILS OUT

Arthur Weasley of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office has never had what you'd call a clean record. Three years ago he was found in possession of an illegal flying car and just last year, he was involved in a highly embarrassing incident with Muggle policemen after attempting to assist the ex-Auror Mad-Eye Moody. After his latest stunts, the humiliated Weasley finally seems ready to resign.
Recently, Weasley and the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, have been trading fiery arguments about the way the Ministry is run. The fierce debate has been nothing but a distraction to the other hard-working witches and wizards.
"I think everyone's glad to see him go," says Lucius Malfoy, a close friend and High Advisor to the Minister.
The whole debate began about a month ago when the Minister appointed Malfoy as his High Advisor, a position that had been added to the Minister's staff that allowed him more input and opinion on important decisions.
Weasley questioned Malfoy's appointment over more qualified witches and wizards. Fudge had responded that the statement was probably due to Mr. Weasley's frustration that he had failed to be promoted in his twenty-plus years at the Ministry.
"It was totally unexpected," Fudge had said. "I guess he was just mad and jealous at the fact that Lucius had gotten the appointment while realizing he himself had yet to receive a promotion."
Malfoy and Weasley have had their differences in the past. Three years ago, the two caused a disturbance in Flourish and Blotts when Weasley had suddenly and unexpectedly attacked Malfoy.
"I don't know why he did it," confessed Malfoy, when asked about the event. "He just started throwing punches. I even had to shield my son Draco from him. I always thought he was a bit mad."
The scalding comments continued when Weasley furthered accused the Minister of hiding information from the wizarding public, even going so far as to say that Fudge had been denying and ignoring reports of a return by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who everyone knows was defeated fourteen years ago.
"It's just absurd," says Fudge. "His stories just seem to get more and more far-fetched."
But it seems that now those stories will come to an end. The Ministry has finally rid itself of this longtime embarrassment.



Harry looked up to see Ron glaring at Malfoy, his face slightly red and his hands clenched into fists. Malfoy was smirking back at him.

"What, Weasley?" whispered Malfoy. "Do you want to hit me? It's not my fault that your dad's a bumbling, incompetent, ..."

Ron launched himself at Malfoy. They both tumbled to the floor in a flurry of fists. But Crabbe and Goyle were ready. Goyle immediately pulled Ron off of Malfoy and pinned both arms behind his back. Crabbe punched him hard in the stomach, and Ron gasped in pain.

Not waiting another second, Harry jumped at Goyle, causing him to release Ron. Goyle swung blindly at Harry but missed.

"Let's get out of here!" he yelled at Ron.

After one last swift kick at Malfoy, still lying on the floor, Ron scrambled to his feet, grabbed his trunk, and he and Harry raced from the corridor.

After a minute's worth of running to put some distance between themselves and Malfoy, Harry and Ron slowed again to a walk. Harry glanced over at Ron and saw that his face was still slightly red and was set in a stony expression of anger.

Soon they had reached Fred and George's compartment.

"Harry!" George cried as they entered.

"How's our favorite hero been doing?" greeted Fred.

Fred and George were Ron's seventeen year old identical twin brothers. They also had bright red hair.

"What's up, Harry," said Lee Jordan.

Lee was the twins' best friend and more often than not, their partner in crime.

Harry and Ron sat down and were immediately engaged in conversation.

"Have they made you a prefect?" Fred asked eagerly.

"Well," Harry began, then noticed Ron watching him closely, "I didn't get my letter over the summer so I really don't know. I doubt it, though. Not after as many rules as I've broken." Was that relief on Ron's face?

George snorted. "Rules you've broken? C'mon look who you're talking to. We practically wrote the book on rule-breaking."

"Well that's all right," said Fred. "After all, you really don't want to end up like Percy, do you?"

"Yeah," said George, "but I think Ron here does. Don't you, ickle Ronnykins?"

"Shut up," said Ron, although Harry noticed he was blushing.

"I think he was actually disappointed he didn't get made a prefect," said Fred, as though he was having a hard time believing it.

"Hey," said Ron, "just because you two don't care about what Mum wants doesn't mean-"

"What was that, Ron?" George interrupted, his voice suddenly severe. Harry noticed that the smile had also vanished from Fred's face.

"Nothing..." Ron muttered, lowering his head.

They sat in silence for a while, Fred and George still glaring at Ron, until Harry's mind flickered back to The Daily Prophet.

"So your dad resigned?" Harry asked suddenly.

Ron, Fred, and George all looked at him, their faces somber, and Harry immediately wished he hadn't said anything.

"Yeah," said Fred bitterly, "he did. He had to."

"He had to?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Don't believe everthing you read in the papers, Harry," said George sternly, "especially if that Skeeter bitch is writing it."

"Okay, it's like this," said Fred, seeing the confused look on Harry's face. "A few weeks after the end of school, Fudge decided that he needed an advisor, someone to help him on important decisions. It's little wonder, really, with You-Know-Who back and all. Of course Fudge still denies it, although I think he knows the truth. I reckon he just thinks that if he ignores it and doesn't do anything about it, You-Know-Who will just leave everyone alone and go away." Fred laughed grimly. "Fudge always was an idiot."

"Anyhow, Fudge appointed Lucius Malfoy as his High Advisor and there was a huge uproar in the Ministry. After all, Malfoy had been out of politics for nearly three years. People didn't think it was fair how he could just walk in and get the job, especially since there were more deserving people than him who applied. But even though everyone was upset about the decision, no one wanted to risk their job by speaking out against it. Except for Dad."

Fred grimaced.

"I guess Dad thought that he would gain some support if he said something. So he did. He criticized Fudge's decision, saying that there were more qualified witches and wizards for the job. Fudge was furious."

"He said Dad was just frustrated and jealous that Malfoy had gotten the job. His harsh reaction scared most of the other Ministry witches and wizards, and they quickly backed away from their previous protests. Dad was alone."

"I think that was when Fudge and Malfoy realized they could bring Dad down for good. The stories of Dad's previous trouble surfaced again and Malfoy changed the fight around in Flourish and Blotts to make it sound like it had been Dad's fault. They him into an enemy, and soon other witches and wizards in the Ministry were turning on him. Dad did the only thing he knew to do. He fought back."

"That may be when Dad made his biggest mistake. He started accusing Fudge of concealing information that should have been made public, such as You-Know-Who's return. Fudge denied it and said he was mad. The other Ministry witches and wizards also refused to believe him. Maybe they thought he was mad too. I think that most of them just didn't want to believe it was true. They didn't even want to consider a possible return by You-Know-Who."

"Even though hardly anyone believed him, I think Fudge felt threatened by Dad. I guess he reckoned that it was only a matter of time before Dad started turning some heads or, worse, he found actual proof to show everyone. So one night, Fudge came to the Burrow."

"He came to your house?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah," continued Fred, "but he wasn't alone. Lucius Malfoy came with him." Fred's voice began to falter. "They began arguing and Fudge told Dad in no uncertain terms that if he didn't resign immediately, there would be trouble. Serious trouble. Dad refused and threatened to go public with it. But then...then..." Fred was struggling to continue and Harry saw Ron bow his head. "Malfoy...that bastard...he-he put the Cruciatus Curse on Ginny...we all saw it...and-and she was on the floor...screaming...writhing in agony..." Fred's eyes became distant and began to tear up as though he was vividly seeing it happen again. He paused before continuing.

"Of course Dad had no choice. He told Fudge he'd resign so that Malfoy would stop torturing Ginny. Fudge said that the resignation was effective immediately and there was no need to come back to the Ministry. I don't think I've ever seen Dad look so sad..."

"Now he doesn't have a job and if he opens his mouth about what happened that night, Fudge says he'll send Malfoy back. Dumbledore knows what happened and has offered to help. I suppose we'll take it for now, until we get back on our feet. He's a great man, Dumbledore..." Fred trailed off.

Harry sat there, stunned, looking around at the glum expressions on the Weasleys' faces. He couldn't think of anything to say so they sat in silence.

Harry leaned his head back, a pounding in his ears. For some reason, he had thought that once he had come back into the wizarding world, everything would be okay again. But it was not. All of its trouble and problems had come flooding back and suddenly, it was all very real again. As Harry drifted off to sleep, he almost found himself wishing he were back at the Dursleys'.

No, he told himself fiercely, don't ever think that. There may be trouble and Dark times ahead, but he would be with his friends. And they would face whatever challenges and dangers lay before them, together. What was it Dumbledore had said?

..."...unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us."...

Yes, Harry reflected, Dumbledore had been right. United we stand, divided we fall. But Dumbledore usually was right. He was a great man...Dumbledore...