Mardi Gras in New New Orleans was a lot like Mardi Gras in New Orleans, except more future-y. The parade floats were highly elaborate, several stories tall, and actually floated. Colorful aliens were wearing even more colorful costumes. It was a party better than anything that had ever been thrown in the Gryffindor common room.


Bree exited the TARDIS, laughing and wearing a Mardi Gras mask. A member of feathery humanoid species had gotten a hold of her and had twined colorful feathers and beads into her hair.

"See you at the next task!" Bree exclaimed. Waving as the TARDIS dematerialized.


Bree had apparently been gone fore several hours and the party was winding down.

"Where have you been? You missed a great party." Fred said.

"I went to a better one. It was better. There were feathers, and beads, and a feathery bird person, and there was alcohol, and it was a better party. And there were feathers." Bree rambled.

"Are you drunk?" George asked.

"No. I only had two. Amy she was, she was smashed." Bree lost her balance and ended up sitting on the floor. "How did I get down here?"

"Yeah she's drunk." Fred stated.

"Wish I'd been to that party." George said.


Bree woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. She sat up and promptly ran to the bathroom to empty her stomach. She grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen out of her trunk, swallowed a couple of pills and spent the rest of the day in bed.


Everybody was very keen to hear details of what had happened down in the lake, which meant that Ron was getting to share Harry's limelight for once.

Ron's version of events changed subtly with every retelling. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth; it tallied with Hermione's story, anyway - Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up.

"But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve," he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. "I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted."

"What were you going to do, snore at them?" said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood.

Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events.


As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course.

Aries and the golden owl Bree had obtained at Christmas, Apollo, were quite pleased that Bree never sent them out.

"I can't believe you kept that thing." Hermione complained. "It's not even a real owl, it won't be able to deliver post.

"Not why I got it. It looks cool and eats metal. How badass is that?" Bree replied while feeding Apollo a fork.


One day, before Potions, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn't see and sniggering heartily. Pansy peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached.

"There they are, there they are!" she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Pansy had a magazine in her hands - Witch Weekly.

The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside. Bree decided to ask about the magazine after class.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione discussed the article during class. Not noticing Snape come up behind them.

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is Miss Granger," said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them. Malfoy took the opportunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry.

"Ah… reading magazines under the table as well?" Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. "A further ten points from Gryffindor… oh but of course…" Snapes black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings…"

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. He began to read the article aloud.

"'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache… dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? 'A boy like no other, perhaps- yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss. Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl." However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interest. "She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, "but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it." Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.' How very touching," sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins.

"Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his cauldron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry unload his cauldron. Harry resumed the mashing of his scarab beetles.

"All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head Potter," said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again. Bree was sitting at the table behind Harry and could hear every word.

Harry didn't answer.

"You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape went on, "but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him."

Harry tipped the powdered beetles into his cauldron and started cutting up his ginger roots. His hands were shaking slightly out of anger, but he kept his eyes down, as though he couldn't hear what Snape was saying to him.

"So I give you fair warning, Potter," Snape continued in a sorter and more dangerous voice, "pint-sized celebrity or not - if I catch you breaking into my office one more time -"

"I haven't been anywhere near your office!" said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness.

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed, his eyes boring into Harrys. "Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said coldly.

"You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!" Snape hissed. "I know it Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!"

"Right," said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there."

Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes and drew out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

"Do you know what this is Potter?" Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

"No." said Harry.

"It is Veritaserum - a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear," said Snape viciously. "Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips" - he shook the crystal bottle slightly - "right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then Potter… then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not."

"Careful Snape. With the way your talking people might start lumping you together with Moody." Bree hissed.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for eavesdropping, Smith." Snape said coldly.

"If you don't want people to hear you, don't talk in a crowded room." Bree sneered back.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

"Enter," said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

"We need to talk," said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist.

"I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff," Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

"I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me."

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door. Bree on the other hand, got out of there as soon as possible so she could ask Hermione who had written the article.

It had been Rita Skeeter.

"Rita… Rita, Rita, Rita. Time to stop holding. God, this is going to be fun." A manic grin took over Bree's face.


One of the benefits of having a big family is that you have connections everywhere, even if you don't know it. Bree knew what connections she had. She found out during reunions and family visits. Most of the time it was easy. A cousin who works in an embassy, an uncle who's a lawyer. People like to talk about their jobs, compare their experiences, and complain about the incompetents they are forced to work with, but as cool as it was to hear cousin Darrell talk about the time he chased a would-be robber away from his store with a baseball bat, the more interesting relatives were the ones who didn't talk about their jobs.

Cousin Leo (Leonard) said he worked in shipping and didn't say much else about it. But Bree had found out that he could get anything, cheap, no questions asked, no paper trail. She had gotten several pounds of fertilizer and put it in the Dursley's back yard (You'll remember this from way back in chapter 12).

Cousin Leo's dad, Uncle Vince (Vincent), said he worked in construction. As Bree got older she realized that he didn't. Vince was one of the relatives Bree saw more often than others. He was her Grandfather's brother's son. When you're around someone a lot you can sort of tell when there're hiding something, and boy was he hiding something. Uncle Vince was a gangster. Bree knew this, and today, Bree was going to take advantage. She wrote him a letter.

Uncle Vince, I've got a problem.

There's this reporter that won't take a hint. She keeps writing stories that aren't factual and that hurt my friends. Can I get some help?

Love,

Bree

She sent Aries out with a letter and got a response about two hours later.

Hey Bree, it's good to hear from you. Your Dad says you're doing well up at your boarding school.

That reporter you need help with, it's Rita Skeeter, right? She's ruined the lives of a lot of good people with her lies. When your next Hogsmade weekend? I'll come up and we can talk.

Vince

The next Hogsmade weekend was the next day and Bree wasn't sure if Vince would make it on such short notice, and was curious as to how he knew about Hogsmade in the first place. Vince assured Bree that he would be there and he would explain everything.


Bree met Uncle Vince the next day at a back table in the Three Broomsticks. Vince was tall, 6' 5", in his late forties and had broad shoulders and a square jaw line. He had black hair, gray eyes, and was wearing a suit.

"Uncle Vince!" Bree called out happily.

"Bree!" Vince exclaimed. He embraced Bree and lifted her slightly off the ground, then put her back down. "Now let's talk."

They sat down at a table with two other men.

"These are Otto and Ben." Vince said offhandedly.

They were both shorter than Uncle Vince. But Otto appeared to made entirely out of muscle. He looked to be around the same age as Uncle Vince and was bald with a crooked nose and had a scar across is left cheek. Ben was fit, but not as muscled as Otto. He was in his twenties, and was good looking, with brown hair and green eyes.

"Otto here is a muggle, like me, but Ben's a wizard." Uncle Vince explained. "Ben, some privacy." Vince requested.

"Muffliato." Ben murmured, waving his wand.

Uncle Vince grinned broadly. "Now anyone who might try to listen in will only be able to hear a buzzing noise." He stated.

"So mind explaining the…" Bree gestured vaguely. Vince chuckled.

"A couple of generations back one of the right hand men of the boss at the time had a kid that got invited to Hogwarts. That opened up a whole new business opportunity. And when that Voldemort guy came around, people that didn't want to join him, or be under the thumb of that Dumbledore coot, came to us, well the ones that knew anyway." he explained.

"So that means that the new recruits were all on the darker side of things. Anyone on the light side would already have been on Dumbledore's side." Bree stated.

"Exactly. Shame too. Some of them we could have used in the organization. Of course, you're in Gryffindor. Your housemates are all the next generation of the light." Vince said.

"It'd be tough to shake their faith in Dumbledore, and it's not like they don't have others options already, what with Voldemort being gone and all." Bree said.

"There are rumors going around that the dark might make another grab for power soon. Bertha Jorkins went missing, then the incident at the World Cup, you and the Potter kid getting into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and no one has seen Barty Crouch in person for months. Something is going to go down." Vince stated.

Bree smirked. "And we're going to be there to profit, one way or another. Alright, I'll see what I can do but we've gotta get a handle on this Rita problem first." she said.

"We can just take care of her, right?" Otto suggested.

Bree glared. "And what do we when the Prophet hires an equally sharp tongued reporter in her place?" she hissed.

Otto blinked dumbly. "Take care of him?" he said. Bree pinched the bridge of her nose.

Ben spoke up. "Forgive Otto. He's all muscle and no brain. He doesn't understand that we need a long term solution, not a short term one."

"I don't think he know the difference between the two." Bree stated.

Ben sighed. "Well yes. But he's great in a fight and good at intimidation, and that's why we keep him around." he explained.

"What do you think a long term solution for Skeeter would be?" Vince asked Bree. He had his own ideas, but wanted to test her.

"We get her under our control. Maybe the whole paper too, since they're the ones that keep printing her trash." Bree stated.

"And if we can't get her to play ball?" Vince pressed.

"In that case the thing to do would be to take care of her and find someone who will cooperate, but if that happens I don't want her dead. I want her to break. I want her life ruined worse than what she's ever done to anyone else." Bree declared calmly.

Vince patted her on the back. "Good answer kid. I like your style."


Ahh, the first taste of alcohol, and then the second, less pleasant taste when the hangover kicks in. I'll leave it to you to imagine how Bree got drunk and what happened in New New Orleans. Every time I imagine it Bree breaks the fourth wall.