Chapter Fifty-One
The Serpent and the Snake
Tempted as she was to skive off Transfiguration to spy on Umbridge as she spied on Hagrid's first class back, Alex didn't want a detention so close to Christmas. She stayed put in her seat, fidgeting so restlessly that Grant threatened to turn her into a cockroach instead of the bobby-pin they were working with. Alex Vanished his pin for that.
Come lunchtime, Alex was already seated at the Gryffindor table, staring unblinkingly as she waited for the trio to wander in. More than a few students shot her odd looks as they shuffled past, but she didn't care.
When they finally trickled in, Alex relaxed slightly; they didn't appear too devastated, which was a good sign. Right?
Harry answered her before she could even open her mouth. "It went okay," he said, sitting down on the bench opposite her. "Hagrid brought a bunch of kneazles to play with, which delighted most of the class."
"But?" she asked, shoulders tensing.
"But Umbridge treated him like vermin the entire time."
Hermione speared a roast potato with such force that Ron flinched from beside her. "That disgusting woman!" she seethed. "Just because Hagrid's mother is a giantess is no reason to treat him like a brain-dead troll. Oh, Alex, you should've seen her – she kept using that slow, loud voice that emphasised everything she said whenever she spoke to Hagrid. And then she interviewed Malfoy and Parkinson about Hagrid and his lessons, and of course they didn't say anything flattering—"
Ron cut in with a humourless snort. "That's putting it lightly," he muttered, pouring himself some pumpkin juice. "I find it difficult to understand Professor Hagrid half the time," he said in a high-pitched voice that was meant to be a mimicry of Pansy Parkinson. Alex thought it rather accurate herself. "It sounds like he's simply grunting."
Harry shook his head in disgust. "She tried to interrogate Lavender and Parvati as well, but they were too scared of us to say a single bad word against Hagrid. They prefer Grubbly-Plank, says Hagrid's classes are too dangerous."
"Sounds like they're in the wrong House," scoffed Alex, glancing at the oblivious girls down the table. They grumbled and griped for a few moments more before their first bite of food hit their stomachs in a comfortable manner. Their mood lightened the more they ate, and soon they moved onto happier topics.
"What are you guys doing for Christmas?" asked Alex, her greasy fingers plucking another chip from her plate. Nothing warmed you up better than hot chips on a cold winter's day.
Hermione straightened, an excited grin lighting up her face. "I'm going skiing with my parents! There's a resort just a few hours' drive up from my house. It's going to be so fun."
Ron pulled a face. "Skeeing? What the bloody hell is that?"
"It's like skating, but on the snow instead of the ice, and you have two thin, wooden boards strapped to your feet instead of skates."
"That sounds stupid."
Harry rolled his eyes as his two best mates began to bicker. "I'm going back to… yeah," he said in lieu of Grimmauld Place. "You guys gonna drop by?"
Ron abruptly stopped mid-sentence, turning away from a scowling Hermione to gape at Harry. "Oh, that reminds me. My mum wants to spend Christmas there too."
Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her meal, but Harry looked ecstatic. Ron turned to Alex, the question in his eyes unspoken but easy enough to understand.
"I'll drop by too," she promised him. "I'll even drive there."
Ron grimaced. "Maybe don't. My dad'll want to fix it up like that Forb."
"Ford," corrected Hermione.
As it turned out, Mr Weasley was in no condition to fix up anything come Christmas time.
The attack occurred the night before Christmas break. Harry had dreamt that he had been biting Mr Weasley, not as himself but as a snake – Voldemort's snake. He awoke, scar burning, and was rushed off to Dumbledore's office in the dead of the night with the help of Ron and Professor McGonagall. Somehow, Dumbledore figured out where Mr Weasley was and, with the assistance of portraits in his office, got him to Mungo's. Harry and the Weasley children were sent to Grimmauld Place immediately via Dumbledore's hastily made portkey, leaving Alex and Hermione thoroughly confused the following morning. The former pieced together what she could from the portraits and ghosts who managed to catch wind of what had taken place, while the latter simply went to Professor McGonagall for answers. Being the teacher's pet really had its perks.
Since Harry kept his mirror on him at all times, they couldn't use it to communicate with him. Even the floo was out of reach, as all channels save for Dumbledore's were being monitored by Umbridge, which was a total violation of their privacy, but apparently Fudge didn't really care about that. They could've asked to use the headmaster's...if they wanted to tip off Umbridge. She was probably on high alert as it was, so Alex and Hermione were forced to remain in the dark until the winter holidays began.
Alex explained what happened to her parents during the car ride home. From the rear view mirror she could Dad frown in concern, while Mum's hands gripped the steering wheel like she was about to rip it right off.
"The atmosphere at work has been odd lately," she said, and then refused to elaborate. Alex caught her drift, though; she was almost certain Mr Weasley had been attacked inside the Ministry itself.
Alex didn't get the chance to drop by Mungo's until Boxing Day. Although her parents probably would've been fine with it, the idea of ditching them right after she got back from school rubbed her the wrong way. As she and Hermione had decided back on the Express, Alex drove the half-hour it took to get to hers before switching routes for Mungo's.
Hermione spent the first few minutes of the drive marvelling at the old Fortescue sedan while making small talk. Once that was out of the way, she said, "So, I've been thinking. St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is named after its founder, Saint Mungo Bonham, who looks a bit like my father actually…"
"That's nice?" replied Alex, eyes glued to the front.
Hermione shook herself out of it. "Right," she continued. "He's anomalous, not just because he founded the first and biggest hospital in magical Britain, but because he's also religious. Hence the title of Saint."
A thoughtful hum courtesy of Alex filled the silence (the radio was broken, had been since she was born) as she contemplated Hermione's words. Alex could count with a single hand the number of witches and wizards she knew who followers of the same religions as muggles were. The fact that Mungo's was a practitioner of a muggle religion must've been a big deal centuries ago when his hospital was first built.
"D'you think it was more common back then for magical folk to follow muggle religions?" wondered Alex as she kept an eye for a spot to park. "Or was he a heretic?"
"He can't have been seen as a heretic," Hermione dismissed, frowning. "He wouldn't have been allowed to have a hospital named after himself otherwise."
"Maybe," allowed Alex. "Or maybe he was just that good of a Healer."
"That person's leaving," pointed out Hermione.
Spotting the opening, Alex flicked her indicator and lined up her car. She glanced at her passenger. "Ready to see the smooth reverse parallel parking job you've ever seen?"
Hermione laughed.
She wondered how suspicious they appeared to the muggles outside: two seemingly straight-laced teenagers entering an abandoned building that used to be a department store called Purge and Dowse, Ltd. Perhaps they were used to seeing weirdos in outdated dresses come in and out of here that it was no longer anything to write home about. At least she and Hermione were less conspicuous in their muggle-wear.
Much like the barrier at Kings Cross, they walked through a brick wall that separated the mundane from the magical. Of course, there was nothing really noteworthy about a hospital waiting room regardless of what world you were in. The walls were an innocuous shade of eggshell white, decorated with moving posters advising people how to conduct themselves to prevent injury and thus less the workload of the weary workers here. They didn't seem too effective, judging by how many people were waiting to be seen by a Healer.
There was a queue at the receptionist's desk. Alex and Hermione joined the end of the line, the latter doing her best not to be too obvious in her gawking of the magical maladies in the room. When they finally reached the front, Alex said, "We're here for Arthur Weasley."
The receptionist didn't even bother peering up from the long list hovering beside her. "First floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn ward."
"Thank you."
Their short walk to Mr Weasley's ward was decorated with portraits of famous Healers, most of whom had worked in this very building. Every now and then they could hear distant wailing, which was a little freaky, to be honest.
"I think I hate hospitals," announced Alex as Hermione shuddered.
They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words Dai Llewellyn ward: serious bites. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck, Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye.
Alex grimaced as she entered the ward. Small and dingy, the only window the room afforded was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. One of the panelled oak walls was decorated with a portrait of a rather vicious-looking wizard on the wall, captioned Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612–1697, inventor of the Entrail-Expelling Curse. A uniquely interesting spell, if she did say so herself.
Mr Weasley was the only one awake of the three patients in the cramped ward. He was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling onto his bed. He looked around as they walked toward him and, seeing whom it was, beamed.
"Hello!" he called, lowering the Prophet.
"Hi, Mr Weasley," said Alex, easing into one of the empty chairs by his gurney. "You're awfully chipper for someone who looks like a mummy."
Hermione flicked her shoulder.
Mr Weasley laughed, as she knew he would. "Why, thank you, Alex. The Healers here patched me up as well as I could hope for. Unfortunately, the venom from the snake bites won't close, so the bandages are here to keep me from bleeding to death."
"Ah," she said in the ensuing silence. "Best keep the mummy costume on, then."
"It's unfortunate you had to spend Christmas here," Hermione pointed out sympathetically.
"Not to worry," chirped Mr Weasley. "They all made sure to keep me company."
"Oh, that reminds me," Alex murmured, digging into the pockets of her jeans. Since they were enchanted to carry more than they should, it took her awhile to locate what she was searching for.
Hermione's eyebrows almost met her hairline as she watched Alex take out and open a small cloth bag.
"This is for you, Mr Weasley," Alex declared, handing it to him. "I was walking around one of the markets in London and thought you'd like it."
Like an eager child, Mr Weasley accepted the bag and opened it, revealing the cheap trinket within. "Fascinating," he said, holding it up and gazing at it from several angles. "What is it?"
"A mood ring. It's a muggle toy that supposedly changes colour to reflect the wearer's mood, when all it really does it react to shifts in temperature." Alex waved a hand dismissively, not caring to delve into the technical details. "I fiddled with it a bit so now it genuinely corresponds with your mood. You mightn't want to wear it around your enemies, though," she added, smiling briefly as Mr Weasley shoved the ring onto his right hand. "They'll read you like an open book."
He laughed, delighted, as he watched the ring shift from its default rainbow setting to a bright yellow. "Simply amazing. Thank you so much, Alexandra."
Smiling, Alex ducked her head. My dad now, she thought inanely.
After a few minutes of idle chit-chat, the rest of the Weasley family plus Harry joined them. Those in the room without red hair politely exited to give the others their privacy.
"Tea?" suggested Alex.
As they took the stairs, Harry explained the series of events leading to Mr Weasley's rescue.
"You saw what his snake saw…" Hermione murmured. "But why?"
"Do you think it was intentional?" wondered Alex.
"Why would he want to see that?" asked Harry, frowning.
"To get in your head, figuratively and literally. Maybe he wanted to freak you out, destabilise your sense of security."
Harry was quiet for a few minutes. "I thought it was a good thing, that I saw what I saw; if I hadn't, Mr Weasley might've…"
Hermione bit her lip. "But perhaps that was Voldemort's intention in the first place - to trick you into letting your guard down."
Harry abruptly stopped walking. He sat down on a step, head buried in his hands. "This is so messed up," he groaned.
Hermione sat beside him and rested her cheek against his bony shoulder. "We'll get through it," she promised him. "I'm sure Dumbledore knows of a way to keep him out of your mind."
"Besides," said Alex, rocking back on her feet and almost slipping off the step in the process, "Voldemort might miscalculate and show you something he doesn't want you to see." She paused as that sunk in. "Like him on the loo."
Harry's expression malfunctioned. "Thanks for that," he said flatly.
Alex smiled sweetly. "Anytime."
A shadow loomed over them right before its owner tutted loudly and disapprovingly. "What in Merlin's good name are you three doing, blocking the stairs like this? Go on, get up, and move out of my way!"
Thoroughly chastised, the three teenagers scrambled to move before the irate witch flung them off with her bare hands. Then they noticed the fifth person on the stairwell.
"Neville, hey," said Alex, ignoring the old witch glowering at them in favour of the boy half-hidden behind her.
"Hi," he squeaked. It seemed like his voice hadn't fully broken in yet.
The old witch looked over her shoulder at the nervous boy. "Neville, you know these three?" Her voice was so disdainful she might as well have just called them a foul name.
Neville's head twitched in a nod. "They go to school with me."
"We're his friends," affirmed Harry, head raised almost defiantly.
"Ah," said the old witch. She tilted her head back to get a better look at them, her hat lurching precariously to the side as she did so. "Yes, I remember you all. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Alexandra Fortescue."
They each shook her hand. "I'm Neville's grandmother," she said, her voice warming a fraction. "Augusta Longbottom."
"We were just about to get some tea," said Alex. "You two are welcome to join us."
Fortunately, they declined her invitation. They had their own patient to visit, and besides, Alex wanted to be able to enjoy her tea without the feeling of Ms Longbottom's microscopic gaze on her.
"What happened after you left the castle?" Hermione asked as soon as they sat down with their tea.
Harry took a bite of his overpriced sandwich. "We landed in Grimmauld Place, where Sirius was already waiting for us. He stopped us from rushing over here, said it would be too suspicious for us to know immediately what happened," he said, sounding both bitter and resigned.
"Wow," murmured Alex. "Never thought Sirius would be the voice of reason in this situation."
"He is my godfather."
"He's called you James more often than he'd care to admit, too."
Harry ducked his head, conceding her point. "Anyway, the twins went off at him, so Sirius pulled the whole this-is-why-you're-too-immature-to-be-in-the-Order card, which definitely didn't win them over, but they stopped fighting him at least."
The twist of Hermione's lips had nothing to do with the steam rising off the teacup she was holding close to her mouth. "If Fred and George, the oldest of us, have been written off, then what chance do we have?"
Alex scoffed. "I don't know about you guys, but I plan on knowing everything by the time the summer holidays roll by."
Harry shot her a sceptical look. "You're only a year older than us," he felt the need to remind her.
"Yeah, but I'm much more mature than you lot."
Hermione frowned. "This morning you almost cried because you saw a one-legged pigeon."
"Well, yeah," huffed Alex. "Only a heartless arsehole wouldn't shed a tear over that."
Harry shook his head, equal measures amused and bewildered. "If only the rest of the D.A. could see you now."
Alex was still shaking the last drops of tap water from her hands when the trio ambushed her right outside of the bathroom.
"What do you know about Occlumency?" asked Harry impatiently.
Alex's eyes slid up and down the empty train corridor. "It's an ancient form of mind magic. It helps you shield your thoughts from Legilimens. Why?" Then it clicked. "You wanna learn it?"
"Why d'you sound so apprehensive?" Ron asked, his demeanour echoing her own discomfort.
"It's not easy to learn. Very few people are successful at Occlumency. The most my mum can do is smother her emotions so people can't pick up on them by reading her mind." She frowned. "Who's teaching you?"
Harry's face fell. "Snape. He came to headquarters yesterday saying that Dumbledore asked him to teach me. I have a 'remedial Potions' lesson with him tonight at six."
"Git won't even let you have dinner first," Ron pointed out in a grumble.
"Truly a dickish move," acknowledged Alex.
"Well, I for one am glad you're learning to protect yourself, Harry," Hermione declared.
"You're jealous, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," Hermione replied sheepishly. "Aren't you?"
"Hell yeah," snorted Alex. "Y'know what, let's study it together. We can even form another group: the Tin-Foil Hats."
"The what?" said Ron, the only one of four who had no clue what she was referencing.
"That's a good idea," said Harry, looking notably less anxious than he had at the beginning of the conversation. "I'll teach you what Snape teaches me."
"Sounds like a plan," decided Hermione, smiling.
Except they soon found out that—while adept at Defensive magic—Harry was still a novice at Occlumency, and that translated into his botched teachings. Of course, he had only had two lessons (once on Monday and then another on Wednesday) but his advice was frustratingly vague. Even with the research Alex, Hermione and Ron had managed to dig up, learning Occlumency without an expert was as productive as trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.
A skilled Occlumens was also adept at evading the Imperius Curse and a talented liar; you had to have a firm resolution and a mind of steel. Though apt at the former, Harry had the unfortunate tendency of being honest to a fault. It was a tragic flaw intrinsic to most Gryffindors. In that instance the dichotomy between the House of Snakes and Lions couldn't be clearer. Alex had spent her entire life lying, so she already had the advantage over the other three.
"And they say honesty is the best policy," Ron muttered resentfully.
Alex laughed. "Your mum teach you that?"
His sullen silence was all the confirmation she needed.
Alex laughed again. While the others were struggling with this particular branch of magic, she was in her element. All these years her meditation had indirectly been leading to this, allowing her to clear her mind and achieve a sense of peace and quiet that would protect her from most Legilimens. Harry was too emotional, Hermione's mind never really stopped, and Ron's inner thoughts were simply too loud not to hear. But Alex took to Occlumency like a duck to water.
"Just meditate for now," she advised them. "Once you can shut yourself up for a good while, then you're ready to be tested." She turned to Harry and gestured for him to take out his wand. "Can you use that spell Snape used on you to read your mind?"
"Are you sure?" he asked even as he obediently withdrew his wand. "It's rather invasive."
"I trust you," she assured him. "Now hit me."
He pointed his wand right at her forehead. "Legilimens!"
Nothing happened. The still waters of her mind remained undisturbed, so Harry pushed harder.
There. A ripple.
Irritated that he managed to penetrate her defences, Alex worked to smooth it out - only her frustration created another opening, one that Harry rightfully exploited. The force behind his spell increased, creating a dull ache in the back of Alex's skull. The first wisp of a memory was in his grasp.
GET OUT!
Like a ragdoll, Harry was flung from her personal bubble and across the room, skidding to a stop before hitting a wall, fortunately.
Groaning, he picked himself up. "Did you have to react so violently?"
"Sorry," she said, expression sour. "Just be glad I didn't set you on fire."
"You all right, mate?" Ron asked as Harry dusted himself off. "No broken bones or anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine," he replied after checking himself over. "Been through worse."
The other Gryffindors turned to Alex pointedly.
"He didn't mean me!" she said defensively before adding an uncertain, "Probably."
"Hm," murmured Hermione, unimpressed but slightly amused.
"You did well," announced Harry, changing the subject. "Better than I did with Snape, anyway."
"To be fair, it's Snape," Alex reminded him. "Not exactly teacher of the year, is he?"
"Or teacher of the decade," quipped Ron.
"Or century."
"Or—"
"Yes, we get the point," laughed Hermione. "He's an awful teacher, but other than Dumbledore, he's the only one who can actually teach Harry to protect his mind from Voldemort's influence. Snape himself even confirmed our fears that Voldemort can turn the tables and start using their connection to manipulate Harry."
"Something good happened to him the other night," Harry said all of a sudden, as if the words burst free from his mouth without his accord. "He was laughing like mad. At first I thought it was 'cause he found the weapon the Order's been protecting, but then we saw the news this morning…"
Alex closed her eyes briefly as though to ward off a wave of pain. During breakfast, the Daily Prophet had been delivered to the castle, bringing with it awful tidings. Ten people had broken out of Azkaban prison, and they all had one thing in common: they were all Death Eaters.
What was worse was that the Ministry was indirectly pinning it on Sirius, as the first and most recent escapee of Azkaban. It didn't help that one of the freed convicts was his first cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.
"How's Sirius holding up?" she asked Harry.
"He's gone into hiding for now," Harry admitted, scowling. "Even though he didn't do anything wrong, they're worried people will get ahead of themselves and attack or even arrest him on pure suspicion alone."
"They wouldn't do that, would they?" Ron asked nervously.
Harry's shoulders twitched into a shrug. "They chucked him in Azkaban and left him to rot for the rest of his life even though he's innocent. At this point I'd be surprised if they didn't try to use him as another scapegoat."
Hermione shook her head in rueful amazement. "Something is deeply wrong with our justice system."
Alex remained silent as her friends despaired over the brutal reality of their world. While ignorance was bliss, the sooner they woke up and acknowledged the injustice of life, the sooner they could work on righting these wrongs.
News of the mass prison breakout dampened the mood at school considerably. People feared the Death Eaters almost as much as they feared Voldemort himself; several of Alex's peers were closely related to those who had been victim to some of the Dark wizards and witches that had escaped Azkaban.
"If I was an escapee, the first thing I'd do is go after the ones who put me in prison in the first place," Richard declared one day as they left the Great Hall for class.
"Lower your voice," hissed Bhagat, "before people jump to conclusions."
Richard huffed but acquiesced.
Alex wrapped her arms tightly around herself despite the Warming Charm already placed on her cloak.
The only silver lining to this mess that was their lives was the newfound focus of the D.A. Fear was a powerful motivator, and no one was more intent on whipping themselves into shape than Neville. The reason being was obvious: his parents had been tortured into insanity by Voldemort's right-hand witch. She'd overheard this morbid fact from her parents when they thought she hadn't been paying attention, and no doubt several others in this castle were aware of that connection too. Draco—Bellatrix's niece—was one of those people.
Their latest spell was learnt twice as fast as their previous. The Shield Charm was dead useful for most, but Alex despised how limiting it was when it came to mobility and dexterity - you couldn't exactly retaliate if you were too busy upholding a magical shield on the tip of your wand. It was handy if your main method of attack was via potions, but other than that…
Alex shook herself out of her musings when she spotted Cedric approaching her. "Are you doing anything next Saturday?" he asked.
She tilted her head to the side like a curious bird. "Don't we always hang during Hogsmeade weekends?" It was the last free Saturday she had before her twelve-week apparition course began; the seventh-years were similarly busy, as their internship program was to start on that same weekend. Most of them would be spending their Saturdays in the working world, shadowing paid employees who would show them the ropes of whatever profession they'd chosen. Cedric, curiously enough, was headed to St Mungo's to see what it was like to be a Healer.
"It's also Valentine's," he reminded her with a chuckle.
She grinned. "Even more reason to hang. Will you finally bend the rules a little and apparate us to the outside world?"
His laugh turned incredulous. "That's not bending the rules, that's outright breaking them."
"Every other seventh-year does it," she pointed out petulantly.
"Every other seventh-year isn't head boy," he countered, still amused.
"Hmph," she sniffed, which was as much an admission of defeat as she was willing to provide. "I'll see you at the Three Broomsticks, then." It was their regular eatery of choice and would probably be the only place with a free table on Valentine's. Their other options were Puddifoot's or the Hog's Head, which were both deplorable in their own ways.
The following Saturday it seemed every couple in Hogwarts was out at Hogsmeade. A fair few had apparated away as soon as they stepped foot off school grounds, which Alex technically should've reported but turned a blind eye too; it'd be hypocritical of her otherwise.
Surprisingly, there were only a small handful of people on dates at the Three Broomsticks when she and Cedric walked there, hand-in-hand, for lunch. Hagrid cut a lonesome figure in the corner of the room, so Alex made sure to greet him extra warmly.
She and Cedric took their usual table in the furthest corner of the room that allowed them a clear view of the door, a decision born from paranoia (her mum's gift to her) and nosiness (that one was her dad's fault). The most curious couple to enter the establishment was Hermione and Luna. Alex almost choked on her butterbeer when she saw them walk in and sit down together.
"Do you also see that?" she asked Cedric once she could speak again.
His concerned expression turned confused when he followed her line of sight. "That's weird," he murmured. "Isn't that Rita Skeeter?"
Holy shit. Hermione leaned forward to grab a drink, providing Alex with a glimpse of the blonde terror.
Hermione. Luna. Skeeter.
A proverbial light bulb materialised above Alex's head. Holy shit, she thought again. They're trying to publish something spicy.
"Something wrong?" Cedric asked.
"Hm? Oh, no. I hope not, at any rate. D'you mind if I…?"
Smiling, he acquiesced. "Go. The food isn't even here yet."
Alex squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she passed by him. Hermione, Luna and Skeeter were in the midst of a bemusing argument when Alex slid into the empty seat next to the animagus, surprising them all.
"Y'know," she began conversationally as she poured herself some tea into a cup she duplicated, "you three really should be more aware of your surroundings when you're plotting something untoward."
Hermione drew herself up mightily. "There's nothing untoward about stopping the spread of lies in the media."
Skeeter and her dismissive snort seemed to disagree.
"Hermione is right," said Luna, nodding. "The Ministry is covering up enough conspiracies as it is."
Alex smirked. "Like the Rotfang one?"
Luna nodded once more, completely serious, while Hermione gazed up at the ceiling as though seeking divine help. Skeeter merely glared at them.
"So, what's the plan?" asked Alex, sipping at her tea. "And why the hell haven't you told me about it yet?"
Hermione ducked her head sheepishly. "I didn't want to tell anyone in case it didn't work."
"That's exactly why you should tell me."
"I'm sorry," interrupted Skeeter, sounding anything but apologetic, "but are you the ringleader of Potter's ragtag team of misfits?"
Alex didn't deign to respond to that question with anything more than a sardonic raise of her eyebrow.
Hermione also ignored her. "We're planning on having Rita Skeeter here write an article revealing the truth of what happened the night of the third task as well as who's truly behind the Azkaban breakout. Luna will be publishing it with her father's paper."
"Which is what, exactly?" asked Skeeter with a sneer. "I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter? 'Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale?"
"No," said Luna, dipping her onion into her gillywater, "he's the editor of the Quibbler."
Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked around in alarm.
"Well, it's not like we have any other choice," Hermione replied defensively. "Not with Fudge's tight control over the Prophet."
"No one will take the article seriously if it's from a dirt-rag magazine like the Quibbler," scoffed Skeeter.
"Some people won't," Hermione conceded levelly, "but the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. If there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a"—she glanced sideways at Luna, whose frown was deepening by the second-"in an unusual magazine, I think they might be rather keen to read it."
"Makes sense," mused Alex, throwing back the last of her tea. She spotted Skeeter grimacing from the corner of her eye. "It's a solid idea, Hermione. Good luck getting Harry on board, though."
"Speak of the devil," said Skeeter, visibly perking up as Harry entered the establishment. She rummaged through her expensive handbag for the tools of her trade.
"See ya," said Alex, scooting out of the booth to make room for Harry. "I look forward to reading that article." She clapped a confused Harry on the back as she left.
"Do I want to know what happened?" wondered Cedric as she returned to her seat.
Alex grinned as their food graced their table. "Let's just say the Quibbler is about to release some breaking news."