Every student in Hogwarts wanted a better explanation for how the ten Death Eaters had escaped than the one the Ministry gave in the Daily Prophet. That explanation pretty much amounted to "We don't know, but we're looking into it."

Hermione had been hinting that the students might want an explanation. She knew that Bree had some sort of control over Rita Skeeter and implied that Bree should arrange an interview with the reporter for herself, Harry, and Cedric.

Bree wrote a letter to Rita that commanded her to show up at the three broomsticks at noon on February fourteenth, and then she cornered Harry and Cedric and told them to do the same.


"Why am I here?" Lee asked from where he was crouched in some bushes near Hogsmade.

"Because Charlie refused to send us a dragon." Fred answered from a nearby shrub.

"It's not like we even asked for one of the big ones." George muttered.

"That doesn't explain why I'm here." Harry grumbled from next to Lee.

"Bill wouldn't send us a cursed object." Fred replied.

"It's not like we even asked for one of the deadly ones." George stated.

"We just wanted something disfiguring."

"Of course then Bill's letter went on about how we should respect Bree's privacy."

"Bloody useless."

"Maybe you should have taken his advice." Lee muttered.

"What was that?" George asked.

"I just think you're being a bit obsessive. If you don't want Bree to date other people you should have asked her out yourself." Lee replied.

"I told you, Bree's like a sister." George growled.

"And I told you, I don't see you chasing the boys away from Ginny." Lee stated.

"Shut up." George demanded.

"That's still not an answer." Lee replied.

"We're not talking about this anymore." Fred stated. The twins settled in to wait for Dean and Bree to show up while ignoring statements Lee made about their relationship with Bree, with input from Harry.


The keystone in Gryffindor's secret room looked like a glistening white marble statue of a lion chewing up a snake. Bree stared at it for a moment then stared at the portrait of Gryffindor. Gryffindor shrugged.

"It adds to the atmosphere of the room." He said.

Bree sighed and broke off one of the lions claws and slipped it into her pocket so that Hogwarts wouldn't freak out when she left.

"Hi." Bree greeted when she met Dean in the entrance hall.

"Er-Hello." Dean responded nervously. "You look pretty."

Bree blushed. "Thanks." She murmured. "No one's ever told me that before."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"Well - er — shall we go, then?" Dean said.

It was a fresh, breezy sort of a day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium Bree glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming along over the stands. Angelina was forcing the team to practice.

As they approached Hogsmade made they saw something of interest. Lee was up in a tree having climbed as far as he could up into its branches. George was trying to get up the tree in an apparent effort to kill Lee, but he was being restrained by Fred and Harry.

Bree and Dean stared for a moment.

"Let's just go." Dean suggested.

"Yeah." Said Bree.

They wandered towards Dervish and Banges.

A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Bree and Dean approached. The poster had pictures of all the ten escaped Death Eaters. The poster, By Order of the Ministry of Magic, offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information leading to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

"It's funny, isn't it," said Dean in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters, "remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were Dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there are no Dementors anywhere…"

"Yeah, strange." Bree muttered even though she knew why there were no dementors.

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window Bree and Dean passed. It started to rain cold, heavy drops of water as they passed Scrivenshaft's.

"We should go in and get warmed up." Dean suggested.

"Yeah." Bree agreed. "Where do you want to go?"

"How about Madam Puddifoot's?" Dean said.

"God no." Bree replied in disgust. "That place is awful. I don't get why the other girls all like it."

Dean laughed. "Yeah it is pretty horrible, isn't it?" he said.

"You remember when Lockhart decorated for Valentine's Day? It's like that only all year round." Bree said. "How about the Three Broomsticks?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds good."

"Great, I've got to meet someone there around noon anyway." Bree explained as they started walking to the Tree Broomsticks.

"Really? Who?" Dean asked.

"Just Rita Skeeter. I'm giving her an interview." Bree stated absently.

"I thought you didn't like Rita." Dean said.

"I don't. Not when she's working against me anyway. But today she's helping me out with something that will really get under the ministry's skin." Bree responded.

"Oh?"

"It's about what happened last June. Cedric and Harry will probably show up too." Bree frowned.

"Oh." Dean said glumly as he held the door to the Three Broomsticks open for Bree.

Dean bought some warm drinks. The two talked for a bit. A little while before noon Harry walked in. He walked over to Hagrid who was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose. They talked for a bit before Hagrid left. A few minutes later Rita walked in, followed by Vince and Otto and then by Cedric and Cho. Vince walked right over to the table where Bree and Dean were sitting. Bree stood up and gave Vince a big hug.

"Uncle Vince, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"Just making sure the Rita stays under control." He answered. "Who's this?"

Bree blushed. "This is Dean, we're- er- we're on a… date." She stammered.

"I see." Vince said, eyeing Dean carefully. "Why don't I keep him company why you go talk to Rita?"

"Sure." Bree said before going over to the table where Rita, Harry, and Cedric had gathered.

"So," Vince began once Bree was out of earshot. "What makes you think your good enough to date my niece?" he asked.


The interview had been difficult for Bree. She knew that it was necessary, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She hadn't dealt with what had happened in the graveyard. The trauma from that day had been pushed aside by what had happened afterwards. She hadn't thought about the pain she had been in that day, or how scared she was that Harry and Cedric could have died. What would have happened if she hadn't tackled Cedric? What if her distraction hadn't worked and Voldemort had noticed the boys escaping?

Bree let Harry and Cedric do the talking. When the subject of the Cruciatus curse came up Bree had trouble answering. It was hard for her to find the words to describe the worst she had ever felt in her entire life. When the interview was over Bree got very quiet.


"You idiot, now we have no idea where they are." George growled at Lee.

"I'm not the one who suddenly developed homicidal tendencies." Lee replied.

"They could be anywhere in Hogsmade by now." Fred complained.

"Where's Harry?" George asked.

"He left a while ago. He said something about having to meet Bree at the Three Broomsticks at noon or "face her wrath."" Lee explained.

"What time is it?" Fred asked.

"Twelve forty-five." George answered after check his watch. There was a moment of silence.

"So we've been out in the pouring rain, for hours, looking for two people that were in the Three Broomsticks the entire time?" Fred summarized.

"We did spend most of that convincing Lee it was safe to come down from the tree." George pointed out.

"The tree you chased him up." Fred replied.

"Can we go to the Three Broomsticks now?" Lee asked.


Fred, George, and Lee walked into the Three Broomsticks looking wet and miserable. Bree was the first to spot them.

"You remind of the time I gave my cat a bath." She said, but there was no humor in her voice.

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Fred deadpanned.

"Where's Dean?" George asked.

"I don't know. He was with Uncle Vince." Bree replied, frowning.

"He went to the bathroom and never came back." Vince stated.

"Gee." Said Fred.

"That's a shame." George continued, not meaning a word of it. Both twins were holding back grins.


Later that evening, Seamus had entered the boy's dorm and heard something strange coming from Dean's bed. He walked over and opened the curtain. Dean was rocking back and forth on the bed in a fetal position while singing.

"My bologna has a first name it's O-S-C-A-R."

Seamus closed the curtains and went to bed.


Dean avoided Bree from then on. During classes he would stay as far away as from Bree as possible while still being able to participate in the lesson. In the hallway he would dart around corners and hide behind suits of armor.

"What did you two do to him?" Ron asked the twins after Dean trampled a group of first years in order to get away from Bree.

"Nothing." Fred answered.

"It was Bree's uncle." George stated.

Ron stared at the spot where the disoriented first years were picking themselves up.

"Bree's family is frightening." He said.

"I know." Said Fred.

"Isn't it great? We didn't have to do anything and Dean's completely traumatized." George said happily.

"You won't think it's so great when one of you starts dating Bree." Lee stated.

"It's not like that." George said, scowling.

"She's like a sister." Fred stated.

"You haven't been chasing any boys away from your actual sister." Lee pointed out.

"What boys?" Ron asked. He was ignored.


THEY SPEAK OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT HE RETURNED

That was the headline of the Daily Prophet on Sunday morning. Soon Harry, Cedric, and Bree were swamped with owls.

"Must be letters from the readers." Bree said as she rescued a plate of bacon from being trampled by owls.

"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly. "D'you mind if we -?"

"Help yourself." said Harry.

"Go ahead." Bree said.

Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rockers," said Ron, glancing down his letter. "Ah well…"

"This woman recommends trying a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.

"This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley.

"Hey, she says she believes me!"

"This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across mad, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know- Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. Blimey, what a waste of parchment."

"Here's another one you've convinced!" said Hermione excitedly. "Having read your side of the story, I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly… little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth… Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder "… but this one says you've got her converted and she now thinks you're a real hero - she's put in a photograph, too - wow!"

"What is going on here?" said a falsely sweet, girlish voice.

Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and George, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table. Behind her many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters?" she asked slowly.

"Is that a crime now?" said Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention," said Umbridge. "Well?"

"They're from people who read our interview." Bree answered.

"An interview?" repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked us questions and we answered them," said Harry. "Here -"

And he threw the copy of The Daily Prophet to her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," said Harry.

She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the paper shaking in her stubby fingers.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you" she whispered. "How you dare… how you could…" She took a deep breath. "I have tried to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

"Only applies to Harry and Cedric." Bree stated, grinning. "God, this must be what diplomatic immunity feels like! It's awesome!"

She stalked away, clutching The Prophet to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on house noticeboards, but in the corridors and classrooms too.

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Any student found in possession of the paper The Daily Prophet will be expelled.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

"Still doesn't apply to me!" Bree sang as she skipped down the hall.

Every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of the day the whole school seemed to be quoting the interview to each other. They whipered about it as they queued up outside classes, discussed it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls' toilets had been talking about it when she nipped in there before Ancient Runes. "Then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they bombarded me with questions," Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, "and Harry, I think they believe you, I really do, I think you've finally got them convinced!"

Meanwhile, Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. She was looking for copies of The Daily Prophet, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying the interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.

The teachers were of course forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same.

Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice on him at the end of Charms, said, "Shh!" and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children.

Bree and Cedric received similar treatment. Bree's graphic description of the effects of the Cruciatus curse had affected the teachers to the point that she felt as if she was being coddled in all of her classes, except for Ben's. In fact Ben was highly unsympathetic.

"Today we're going to work on your ability to dodge. Think fast." He said right before Bree was hit in the face with a water balloon.

"What the hell was that!" Bree exclaimed.

"If you knew how to dodge you wouldn't have been cursed. Now get moving." Ben said before he started throwing balloons.

Line line line

At dinnertime Bree walked into the Great Hall soaking wet, her clothes sticking to her like a second skin, highlighting every curve of her body. She drew the attention of a good portion of the male population but was oblivious to it because she was too invested in her bad mood to notice anything else. Someone draped a cloak around her shoulders.

Bree looked up and found a red faced George standing next to her.

"You looked cold." He muttered.

"Thanks." Bree said. "Are you alright? You look like you have a fever. You didn't get sick from all the time you spent in the rain, did you?" She reached up to feel his forehead and check for a fever. George grabbed her hand.

"I'm fine." He said. "Let's just sit down."


When the twins and Bree went up to the common room that evening they found Harry and Hermione working on homework.

"Ron and Ginny not here?" asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair, and when Harry shook his head, he said, "Good. We were watching their practice. They're going to be slaughtered. They're complete rubbish without us."

"Come on, Ginny's not bad," said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred as Bree stretched out on one for the couches. "Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us."

"She's been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren't looking," said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books.

"Oh," said George, looking mildly impressed. "Well - that'd explain it."

"Has Ron saved a goal yet?" asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.

"Well, he can do it if he doesn't think anyone's watching him," said Fred, rolling his eyes. "So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday."

He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds.

"You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for."

Hermione cast him a stern look.

"You've got exams coming!"

"Told you already, we're not fussed about NEWTs," said Fred. "The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of Murtlap essence sorts them.

George yawned widely and looked out disconsolately at the cloudy night sky.

"I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself."

"Kill him, more like," said Fred firmly.

"That's the trouble with Quidditch," said Hermione absent-mindedly, once again bent over her Runes translation, "it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the houses."

She looked up to find her copy of Spellman's Syllabary, and caught Fred, George and Harry all staring at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces.

"Well, it does!" she said impatiently. "It's only a game, isn't it?"

"No Hermione, it's an industry." Bree corrected. "It's like any other sport. Large fan base with fierce competition between teams, there merchandizing and sponsorships and the pros get unbelievably large paychecks."

The very best thing you could say about the match that Saturday was that it was short; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was: though it was a close-run contest between Ron's fourteenth failed save, Sloper missing the Bludger but hitting Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieking and falling backwards off his broom when Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby's nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty.


Bree found herself called to Dumbledore's office one during the following week.

"It has come to my attention that you have made some interesting claims during a confrontation with Professor Snape." Dumbledore stated after Bree had sat down.

"Oh?" Bree replied cooly.

"You claimed to have had your mind ripped open." Dumbledore stated.

"What of it?" Bree asked.

"Are you aware that such an assault is a crime?" the Headmaster inquired.

"Crimes can only be committed by humans." Bree stated.

"Are you saying that there is a creature capable of attacking a person's mind?"

"It's dead."

"You don't seem to understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Smith. If there are more of this species out there-"

Bree cut him off. "It doesn't matter if there are more or if there aren't. Once it's detected it makes whoever found it forget that it's there. In order to prevent this it has to be knocked out immediately along with its victim. It puts things into your mind that were never supposed to be there, then eventually your mind overloads and your brain tops working. Then you die."

"What sort of things?"

"Nothing I'm telling you."

"I just want to help you Miss Smith."

"You just want to use me. It's what you do. I know things that you think I shouldn't and you want to use that for your own gain."

"Everything I do for the Greater Good."

"You're either a liar or a fool professor. No matter what your motivation is, I know how you work. You use people and throw them away once they are no longer useful to you. You were chief of the Wizengamot and yet Sirius didn't receive a trial. When baby Harry Potter was being hailed as a hero and you left in on a doorstep at night in November, with relatives who hate anything that doesn't fit their view of normal. He was eleven years old before you made contact with him again. Eleven, as you know, is the age at which children being their magical education, which also makes it the age the Harry began being of use to you." Bree stretched and made herself more comfortable in her chair before she began speaking again.

"I don't care for your Greater Good, Professor. They do nothing for themselves and expect all problems to be taken care of by others. I hate people like that, they're lazy, cowardly, and spineless, and they all expect something for nothing. The world doesn't work that way, you get as much as you give, you give as much as you take. And speaking of take, you Dumbledore, take credit for what you haven't done. Your Order of the Phoenix should be called the Order of the Incompetent. Its' just a merry band of idiots whose leader is taking us all to hell in a hand basket. Harry defeated Voldemort that first time, Aurors caught the Death Eaters, and as for the Order, well you claimed to have killed some Death Eaters and to have stopped some attacks, and of course people believed you because the ones who did the actual work didn't step forward." Bree yawned and gave Dumbledore a rather bored look.

"The Order is, at best, a convenient way to draw attention away from those who actually get things done. Its only saving grace is the Aurors who are among its members, and their success reflects only on their training, not on your leadership abilities." Bree grinned.

"I hate you. People I care about have gotten hurt because of you. Sirius spent twelve years in Azkaban, Mr. Weasley almost died, and Harry, oh god, so much has happened to Harry, it's a wonder he's still as sane as he is."

Dumbledore had a grim look about him. "You seem to know quite a bit about the other group working against Voldemort and his Death Eaters." He said. Bree gave him a bland look.

"Yes, I do." She stated.

"It is very important that I contact them so that we can collaborate." Dumbledore implored.

"They have no interest in you. If they ever develop one, which is extremely unlikely, they'll contact you." Bree replied.

"I'm truly sorry Miss Smith, but I need that information." Dumbledore said before he attempted to invade Bree mind. His attempt failed of course. Unlike Michaels, who Bree allowed in, Dumbledore was kept out. He hit the barrier around Bree's mind and bounced off. Bree stood up.

"After what happened to me do you really think I would let anything or anyone in without permission." She hissed. "Michaels got in because I let him in, he got out because I let him out and he's damn lucky the defenses beyond the barrier didn't rip him to shreds and send him back a vegetable. If you ever try that again you'll spend the rest of your life being spoon fed and having your diapers changed by a nurse." Bree paused for a moment then grinned.

"You know Professor, I could have you charged for what you just did, but I won't, it's more fun that way." Bree began to leave. She stopped in the doorway.

"A word of advice, if you ever want to contact me again, do it through my lawyer." She said.


168. The Order of the Phoenix is not "A merry band of idiots."

186. Dumbledore is not "Taking us all to hell in a hand basket."


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