WARNING-There are some bad words in this chapter. But they were in the original monolog. Also, I don't own Greg Proops' monolog or Harry Potter. If I owned either of those things then I'd be rich, Fred wouldn't have died, and Bree would be canon.

The day after Bree had talked to Uncle Vince was Sunday. Bree wanted crab cakes for breakfast. Hogwarts doesn'


t generally serve crab cakes for breakfast, so Bree went to the kitchens, where the house elves quickly whipped up a batch for her. She was half-way through her plate of crab cakes when Harry, Ron, and Hermione came in.

Harry gifted Dobby with new socks.

"Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!" he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.

"You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did," said Harry.

"No chance of more of those éclairs, is there?" said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.

"You've just had breakfast!" said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of éclairs was already zooming toward them, supported by four elves.

"Dobby, where's Winky?" Hermione, who was looking around, asked.

"Winky is over there by the fire, miss," Dobby answered quietly, his ears drooping slightly.

"Oh dear," said Hermione as she spotted Winky.

Winky was sitting on a stool. She had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

"Winky is getting through six bottles a day now," Dobby whispered.

"Well, it's not strong, that stuff," Harry said.

But Dobby shook his head. "'Tis strong for a house-elf, sir," he said.

Winky hiccupped again. The elves who had brought the éclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.

"Winky is pining, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered sadly. "Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now."

"Hey, Winky," said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over to her, and bending down, "you don't know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he's stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament."

Winky's eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, "M - Master is stopped - hic - coming?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "we haven't seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet's saying he's ill."

Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry.

"Master- hic- ill?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"But we're not sure if that's true," said Hermione quickly.

"Master is needing his - his - Winky!" whimpered the elf. "Master cannot - hic - manage - hic - all by himself…"

"Winky - hic - is not only - hic - doing housework for Mr. Crouch!" Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. "Master is - hic - trusting Winky with - hic – the most important - hic - the most secret…"

"What?" said Harry.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

"Winky keeps - hic - her master's secrets," she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. "You is - hic - nosing, you is."

"Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!" said Dobby angrily. "Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!"

"He is nosing - hic - into my master's - hic - private and secret - hic - Winky is a good house-elf- hic - Winky keeps her silence - hic - people trying to - hic – pry and poke - hic -"

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

"We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss!" squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss!"

"She's unhappy!" said Hermione, exasperated. "Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?"

"Begging your pardon, miss," said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, "but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served."

"Oh for heavens sake!" Hermione cried. "Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told - look at Dobby!"

"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

"I hope you won't judge us all by Hermione's example." Bree stated.

"Good-bye!" The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of their backs.

"Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!" Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?" said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them.

Bree was once again alone with the house elves. "Sorry about her. She just doesn't get it." Bree said.


Hermione and Ron sent the rest of the day sniping at each other over their homework in the common room. Bree got her work done as quickly as possible and went out to cause chaos.

Bree had decided that she hadn't traumatized the first years enough, having been distracted by the tournament. She started off with something simple. She told them that Draco would give them candy if they hugged him. They believed her, thus proving that Gryffindors will believe anything.


332. Not allowed to tell first years that Draco will give them candy if they hug him.


Fleur had been nicer to Bree and Harry ever since they had gotten her sister out of the lake. But the rest of the Beauxbatons students were… French. Really "I'm better than you and England sucks" French. Bree didn't like the complaining about the food and the climate. Of course Bree didn't defend England, because she thought those things too. She had learned to live with it. The French had not and Bree was really getting fed up with them. Then the subject of Bree's heritage came up and the French began to complain about America, and Bree did something about it. At dinner she stood up on the table and got everyone's attention.

"I come from America and I know that often America seems like kind of a, I don't know, a red neck, dick head, pecker wood, bo-hunk, ye-haw, gun toting, psycho-Christian, anti-choice, homophobic, truck driving, dog in the back, ginny cap wearing, ya know, the jury's still out on evolution, giant belt buckle with your name on it that you wear upside down so you can go -oh shit, that's my name- kind of place. The reason America appears this way is clearly England's fault." She paused for a moment to let the statement sink in.

"Now, convoluted logic, but follow along and you'll find rich rewards. Once upon a time the English sent people all over the world. In America we got the pilgrims. And they still celebrate Thanksgiving in England by the way, it's called "FUCK OFF PURITAN!… Day." Fred and George snickered, McGonagall looked shocked, Dumbledore looked amused, and Snape looked like he wanted to kill Bree. That last one wasn't really surprising.

"'Cause we're told a lot of lies growing up in America, about American history. And the cheapest lie were taught is about Thanksgiving, and it's all the same, ever since you're little." Bree began an intentionally bad impression of a little kid.

"The pilgrims left England to escape reli-gu-minus persecution and to seek reli-gu-minus freedom in the New World."

"And even when you're a child you're like - Excuse me teacher, teacher. Um, uh. Bullshit? Bullshit. You're just saying that, right?" Bree began a little song and dance number.

"Cause it sounds better then the truth. La, la, la ,la, la, la, la, la. It sounds better and it tastes better, so we'll all pretend it really happened. There were no women or minorities, just a bunch of white guys wearing wigs." She stopped abruptly."

"My feeling is, the pilgrims were asked to leave England. England was never funner than when the pilgrims split. The English got a little tired of these dour right wing black clad conservative gun-totting bible-thumping psycho-Christians running around, scaring everyone, confusing people by wearing buckles on their hats!"

"Is that tight enough for ya cotton?"

"Yea verily. Me canst but hardly think."

"until finally some one went: I've got an idea, why don't your little religious weirdos get in a leaky rickety little boat and -GET THE FUCK OFF THE ISLAND, HUH? Sail around the world until you hit the new world. When you get there, commit genocide of the indigenous people. Have a groovy time, knock your-selves out. We'll be back in England having the Renaissance in case anyone needs us. They send them over with guns and bibles- and no farming implements. And now I have to hear this every time I'm in London- Well, all Americans are fat and stupid… Really? Well thanks for sending over the best and brightest to start the party, huh? Maybe we can send a few gun toting Texas militia psychopaths back your way." Bree hopped off the table.

The occupants Great Hall was left in varying states of shock and amusement. Bree was given detention.


553. Not allowed to stand on the table during dinner and deliver Greg Proops' "America is England's fault" monolog.


By breakfast the next day Ron's and Hermione's bad moods had burnt out, and Ron's dark predictions that the house-elves would send substandard food up to the Gryffindor table because Hermione had insulted them proved false. The food was as good as always.

When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something.

"Percy won't've had time to answer yet," said Ron. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday."

"No, it's not that," said Hermione. "I've taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins."

"Good thinking!" said Harry, also looking up at the owls. "Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck -"

A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione.

"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," she said, looking disappointed. "It's -"

But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny.

"How many subscriptions did you take out?" said Harry, seizing Hermione's goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.

"What on earth -?" Hermione said, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. "Oh really!" she sputtered, going rather red.

"What's up?" said Ron.

"It's - oh how ridiculous -"

She thrust the letter at Harry. Bree leaned over to read over his shoulder. The letter was not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet.

YOU ARE A WICKED GIRL. HARRY POTTER DESERVES BETTER. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM MUGGLE.

"They're all like it!" said Hermione desperately, opening one letter after another. "'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you… ' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn… ' Ouch!"

She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils.

"Undiluted bubo tuber pus!" said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

"Ow!" said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobby gloves.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry as the owls around Hermione took flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone…"

"I warned her!" said Ron as Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands. "I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one…" He read out one of the letters Hermione had left behind: "'I read In Witch Weekly about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.' Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself."

Bree scowled. The girls who had sent those letters were no better than sheep. Sheep who thought they were in the right by persecuting the victim. Bree hoped that Rita would resist being controlled. Breaking her would be so satisfying.


Hermione didn't turn up for Herbology. Hagrid, who had told them last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. They were full of a number of flurry black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.

"These're nifflers," said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff… There yeh go, look."

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.

"Useful little treasure detectors," said Hagrid happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth Harry had watched him digging from the Owlery window. "I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an get ready ter set 'em loose."

Bree took off pyramid studded belt, pyramid studded cuff, chain bracelet, gold skull ring, leather choker, and silver bat earrings. She picked up a niffler. It was really quite cuddly.

"Hang on," said Hagrid, looking down into the crate, "there's a spare niffler here… who's missin? Where's Hermione?"

"She had to go to the hospital wing," said Ron.

"We'll explain later," Harry muttered; Pansy Parkinson was listening.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

"Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.

"Yer mum wouldn' be happy, Ron," said Hagrid, grinning. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now," he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. "I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y'are, Hermione!"

Hermione was walking toward them across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily.

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" said Hagrid. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours."

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. Harry noticed Madame Maxime watching them out other carriage window.

"What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione?" said Hagrid, looking concerned.

Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus.

"Aaah, don worry," said Hagrid gendy, looking down at her. "I got some o' those letters an all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an if you had any decency you d jump in a lake.'"

"No!" said Hermione, looking shocked.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, heaving the niffler crates over by his cabin wall. "They're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire."

"You missed a really good lesson," Harry told Hermione as they headed back toward the castle. "They're good, nifflers, aren't they, Ron?"

Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.

"What's the matter?" said Harry. "Wrong flavor?"

"No," said Ron shortly. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold?"

"What gold?" said Harry.

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

Harry had to think for a moment before he realized what Ron was talking about.

"Oh…" he said, the memory coming back to him at last. "I dunno… I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?"

They climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

"Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!" said Harry impatiently. "We all did, remember?"

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."

"Ron. Shut up. He would've have given you the hat anyway 'cause you're his friend." Bree snapped.

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Neither of them really knew what to say.

"It's rubbish," said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. "I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," said Hermione brightly. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus." Hermione was having a lot of difficulty managing her knife and fork, her fingers were so stiff and swollen. "I hate that Skeeter woman!" she burst out savagely. "I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"

"I wouldn't worry about that if I were you. She'll be getting hers real soon." Bree stated.

"What did you do?" Hermione asked.

Bree grinned predatorily. "Don't worry about it." she said.

Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week, and although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn't read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Harry-Krum-Hermione triangle now. Harry was getting sick of telling people that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend.

"It'll die down, though," he told Hermione, "if we just ignore it… People got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time."

"I want to know how she's listening into private conversations when she's supposed to be banned from the grounds!" said Hermione angrily.

Hermione hung back in their next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class was very eager to leave; Moody had given them such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of them were nursing small injuries. Harry had such a bad case of Twitchy Ears, he had to hold his hands clamped over them as he walked away from the class. Bree had hit her shin against a desk and was limping. Instead of deflecting hexes she had been in her own words "Getting the hell out of the way." Deflection might not always work, but if you weren't in the path of the hex to begin with, it didn't really matter.

"Well, Rita's definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!" Hermione panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry, Ron, and Bree in the entrance hall and pulling Harry's hand away from one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear her. "Moody says he didn't see her anywhere near the judges' table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!"

"Hermione, is there any point in telling you to drop this?" said Ron.

"No!" said Hermione stubbornly. "I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! And how she found out about Hagrid's mum!"

"Maybe she had you bugged," said Harry.

Bugged?" said Ron blankly. "What… put fleas on her or something?"

Harry started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment. Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted them.

"Aren't you two ever going to read Hogwarts, A History?"

"What's the point?" said Ron. "You know it by heart, we can just ask you."

"All those substitutes for magic Muggles use- electricity, computers, and radar, and all those things -" Bree cut Hermione off.

"They aren't substitutes. They're unique. Wizards can't even pronounce electricity. There's no Wizarding equivalent of the internet, otherwise you would've been able to find the spell that let's you breathe underwater within a few minutes. Wizards may have radio, but muggles have radio, CD's, and MP3s. The electrical components of technological devices don't work right when there's a lot of magic in the environment. But you know what? Spell don't work right on technology. Wizards can get brooms to fly, fireplaces to transport where you need to go, and you know they did something weird with the knight bus, but more complicated muggles inventions that generate an electric field, like computers and TVs, screw up magic." Bree ranted. She left, leaving stunned silence in her wake.


The workload was mounting ever higher in the days before the Easter holidays. It was surprising that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do.

Hedwig showed up at the end of the Easter holidays. Percy's letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs. Weasley had sent. Fred's, George's, Harry's, Ron's, and Bree's eggs were the size of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee. Hermione's, however, was smaller than a chicken egg. Her face fell when she saw it. Bree frowned.

"Your mum doesn't read Witch Weekly, by any chance, does she, Ron?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," said Ron, whose mouth was full of toffee. "Gets it for the recipes."

Bree frowned more. People who so readily believed propaganda, weren't people that Bree wanted to associate with. Hermione looked sadly at her tiny egg.

"Don't you want to see what Percy's written?" Harry asked her hastily.

Percy's letter was short and irritated.

As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr. Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instructions. No, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior's handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumors.

Please don't bother me again unless it's something important. Happy Easter.

Bree was reminded of what Uncle Vince had told her. She snorted in distain. "Handwriting can be forged." she muttered.

"I think you're reading to much into this." Fred stated.

"Crouch probably just wanted to get away from Percy." George added.


The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but none of the champions knew what they had to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held Harry and Bree back in Transfiguration.

"You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock. Potter, Smith." she told them. "Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task."

So at half past eight that night. Harry and Bree left in Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. As they crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

"What d'you reckon it's going to be?" he asked the two Gryffindors as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. "Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure."

"That wouldn't be too bad," said Harry.

They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

"What've they done to it?" Cedric exclaimed indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

"Oliver would have a heart attack." Bree commented.

"They're hedges!" said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.

"Hello there!" called a cheery voice.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Bree, Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry and Bree as they came nearer. \

"Well, what d'you think?" said Bagman happily as Bree, Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. "Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry," he added, grinning, spotting the less than- happy expressions on Harry and Cedric's faces, "you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?"

No one spoke for a moment. Then -

"Maze," grunted Krum.

"That's right!" said Bagman. "A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks."

"We simply 'ave to get through the maze?" said Fleur.

"There will be obstacles," said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Hagrid is providing a number of creatures… then there will be spells that must be broken… all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harry and Cedric. "Then Mr. Krum will enter… then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?"

Bree, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, she nodded politely like the other champions.

"Very well… if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly…"


The next morning there were rumors going around that morning that Crouch had shown up rambling crazily, attacked Krum, then disappeared. Bree went up to the owlery to send a note to Uncle Vince. At the same time the twins were on their way to send a letter to Bagman.

They were arguing back and forth the entire way.

"- that's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that-"

"- we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did -"

"I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, it's blackmail!"

"Yeah, and you won't be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?"

The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"What're you doing here?" Ron and Fred said at the same time.

"Sending a letter," said Harry and George in unison.

"What, at this time?" said Hermione and Fred.

Fred grinned.

"Fine - we won't ask you what you're doing, if you don't ask us," he said. He was holding a sealed envelope in his hands. Harry glanced at it, but Fred, whether accidentally or on purpose, shifted his hand so that the name on it was covered.

"Well, don't let us hold you up," Fred said, making a mock bow and pointing at the door.

Ron didn't move. "Who're you blackmailing?" he said.

The grin vanished from Fred's face. George glanced at Fred, before smiling at Ron.

"Don't be stupid, I was only joking," he said easily.

"Didn't sound like that," said Ron.

Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, "I've told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but -"

"It's my business if you're blackmailing someone," said Ron. "George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that."

"What's it matter if the person you're blackmailing deserves it?" Bree asked. "If you had something on Skeeter, wouldn't you use it?"

"You're blackmailing Skeeter?" Hermione inquired. Fred and George looked interested, Bree hadn't been exactly forthcoming with her plans for Skeeter.

"Nope." Bree answered.

"But you said that I shouldn't worry about Skeeter anymore." Hermione replied.

"Yeah. But that doesn't involve blackmail." Bree stated as she gave Aries the letter.

"What does it involve?" George asked. Bree looked at him, then at the other four Gryffindors. It was too soon. The twins blackmailing Bagman was a step in the right direction, but Bree wasn't sure how well they'd take what Uncle Vince had planned for Rita, and as for the other three… they'd go to Dumbledore in a heartbeat.

Bree smiled sweetly. "Don't worry about it." she said, then she left.

"The more she tells me not to, the more I worry." Hermione stated.


You should be worried Hermione. You should be.