Chapter 33
A BEETLE IN THE OINTMENT"
For Ron, however, a handful of disgruntled Slytherins were the least of his worries – he soon had half the school trying to find him. Most of them wanted to thank him for getting school cut a week short. Some, however, were interested in knowing how he intended to open the Vault of Mystery. The corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower, normally used only by the Gryffindors themselves, now thronged with students watching for Ron, Harry or Hermione to pass by so they could catch a word or a moment of time with Ron.
Even the Invisibility Cloak was useless – there was barely enough room to squeeze through while visible, never mind trying to sneak through such a press. Harry began to wish the secret passage beside the fireplace in the common room hadn't been closed – it would have been worth using just to get out on the school grounds without having to fight through dozens of students clamoring for a chance to thank Ron or press him for details on the Mystery Vault. "It's like I'm a prisoner or something," Ron said miserably, near dinnertime on Wednesday evening. He'd spent the entire day since breakfast shaking hands, answering questions or dodging crowds of students.
Ginny arrived in the common room looking tired, disheveled, and rather irritated. "It took me almost 30 minutes to get here!" she groused, walking up to hand Ron a note. "I even had to hex a few Slytherins who were giving me a hard time."
Ron looked at the note. "'S from McGonagall," he said, looking worriedly at Ginny.
"Well, go on, read it!" she said, looking at him in annoyance. "I don't know what it says – I didn't read it!"
Opening the note, Ron scanned it quickly and said, "I've been ordered to report to McGonagall's office to sign a registration form sent by Gringotts. At the bottom she suggests I remember my favorite Quidditch team to get past the gargoyle.
"Come with me, Harry," he said, desperately. "I'll never get there alone."
"I'll go too," Ginny said with a grim smile. Ron looked at her dubiously. "They'll probably think twice about bothering you if they see me with you. There are still a few Bat-Bogeys flying around out there, I reckon." If Ron had planned to reject her offer based on not needing protection from his younger sister, one look at her face convinced him that saying nothing was a better choice.
"Hang on a second," Harry said. "Let's not hex anyone if we don't have to."
"Harry," Ginny protested, pointing to the doorway. "They barely let me in here – I doubt they're going to let us go anywhere unless we threaten to hex them.
"Just let me get something," Harry said, and he dashed off up the boy's staircase, reappearing a minute later with a small sweet wrapped with the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes logo.
"It's a Puking Pastille," he said, holding it up to Ron. "I figure nobody's going to stop Ron if he's puking up all over them."
"Brilliant!" Ginny said, beaming. She took the candy and held it out to Ron, who eyed it apprehensively. "Right, down the hatch with it, then, Ron."
Reluctantly, Ron took the candy from her. "I'd agree it was brilliant, Harry," he said slowly, "except for the fact that I'm going to be puking my guts out shortly. Thanks loads, mate."
"Don't mention it," Harry said with a grin. "And be sure to hang on to the other end of that," he said, pointing to the sweet. "We don't want you puking all over McGonagall's office."
"Better yet, I'll take it," Ginny said, taking the sweet from Ron. "And come over here," she said, waving them over near the entrance. "We'll want to be out into the corridor as soon as Ron starts throwing up, so we don't leave much of a mess in here. Harry, know any good shortcuts we can use to lose anyone who follows us?"
"Yeah," Harry said, thinking ahead to the path to McGonagall's office. "I think so. We're going to leave a trail, though."
"We will, won't we?" Ginny realized. "Gross. Maybe we can give Ron the antidote before we have to go too far." She unwrapped the pastille and snapped it in half, giving the orange half to Ron. "Ready, big brother?"
"No," Ron said plaintively, but tossed the orange half into his mouth and swallowed. Harry and Ginny got on either side of him, grabbing an arm. "Hmm, interesting flavor," Ron said, then grabbed his stomach. "Oh, no," he said in a tiny voice.
"Let's go!" Ginny said, pushing the portrait open. Students milling outside looked up, then surged forward upon seeing Ron.
"Ron! Ron! You're wonderful!" a cadre of Hufflepuff fifth-year girls were calling after him while they scuffled with some sixth-year Ravenclaws who were waving for his attention.
"Hey, Ron!" It was Ernie Macmillan, still wanting the inside scoop on Ron's plans for the Mystery Vault. "Come on, just a hint, mate!"
"Out of the way!" Harry shouted into the hubbub. "He's sick! We've got to get him to – to the – infirmary!" That's not where they needed to go, of course, but it would've sounded suspicious to say they had to take a sick Ron Weasley to see Professor McGonagall.
"He doesn't look sick," a Slytherin fourth-year said skeptically as the trio came up on him. He promptly changed his opinion as Ron, who had held off as long as he could, turned toward him and lost his lunch all over the front of the Slytherin's robe. The fourth-year promptly jumped back, fell over, and vomited himself as the stench of Ron's puke reached his nostrils.
The odor of Ron's vomit, combined with that of the Slytherin's, produced a cascade effect as people, attempting to follow Harry and Ginny as they hurried Ron along, began throwing up in their wake. Soon, almost everyone had been left behind, either bent over or on their hands and knees, puking, or covering their own nose and mouth with their robes, afraid to pass.
They ran down a staircase, pausing halfway down to allow Ron to throw up again, losing the rest of lunch and a bit of breakfast as Harry and Ginny both held their noses. "I think I'm ready for the other half of that pastille now," Ron finally said, coughing and wiping his mouth.
"A bit further," Harry said, shaking his head. "We need to go one floor lower before we can take a shortcut that'll get us near to the entrance to McGonagall's office." Grabbing Ron's arms again and ignoring his moans, they hurried down several corridors and another staircase.
They went down a couple more corridors before Ron had to stop again and get rid of the rest of his breakfast. "Are we ready for the other half of that candy yet?" he gasped as his convulsions temporarily subsided. Harry nodded to Ginny, who popped the purple half of the candy gingerly into Ron's mouth. Ron chewed gratefully while Harry pointed further down the corridor.
"Past the staircase ahead, down to the next corridor to the left and between the second and third classrooms is a hidden door that will take us down to the second floor near the gargoyle in front of the entrance to McGonagall's office," he said.
"Let's get going, then," Ginny said, and the three of them set out down the corridor, walking past the staircase leading down to the third floor.
Suddenly there was a short from the bottom of the staircase. "Oy! I see him! He's at the top of these stairs, and he's not puking any more!"
"Run!" Ginny shouted.
They ran, Ginny in the lead with Harry behind Ron to keep him moving as fast as possible. They turned left down the corridor Harry'd pointed out, and Ginny shouted "Which side, Harry?!"
"The right!" Harry yelled, pointing to the spot between classroom doors.
Ginny ran up to the wall, looking it over quickly but seeing no way to open it. "How's it work?" she said breathlessly.
"Tickle it," Harry said quickly. "Right under that brown patch!" Ginny reached out and ran her fingertips lightly over the spot. There was a muffled giggle, and a wooden door with an old metal knob suddenly appeared. Yanking the door open, Harry pushed Ginny and Ron inside and stepped in behind them, closing it.
Ginny raised her wand, whispering "Lumos," and ran down the narrow, unlit corridor until they came to a stone staircase. The staircase twisted and turned several times, as if trying to find a sufficiently confusing path between the fourth and second floors, then came to an abrupt halt. They'd reached a dead end.
"Let me," Harry said, squeezing by. He tried pushing on the spot that normally opened the door, but nothing happened. Puzzled for a few seconds, he finally remembered what the problem was. Pulling out his wand, he said "Alohomora," and the door promptly swung aside for them.
"It locks itself sometimes," he explained as they stepped into the corridor beyond.
Around a couple of corners was the stone gargoyle that guarded the spiral staircase leading to Professor McGonagall's office. "Chudley Cannons," Harry said, and the gargoyle leaped aside. Once at the top of the stairs, they knocked on the oaken door leading to the Head's office. McGonagall's voice bid them enter.
"Ah, Mr. Weasley, there you are," Professor McGonagall said, looking up from her desk. "And Mr. Potter, too. Please be seated. Thank you, Miss Weasley," she added, with a glance at Ginny. "That will be all."
"She can stay, can't she?" Ron said, and both Harry and Ginny looked at him with some measure of surprise. They had never known Ron to question Professor McGonagall's orders; at least, not in her presence. "I mean, she helped Harry and me get here, and all. And," he added diffidently. "We're going to tell her everything that happens, anyway."
McGonagall stared at him for several seconds, her square eyeglasses flashing, but she merely nodded. "Very well," she said, removing her wand from her robe and drawing up another chair beside the first two. "You may be seated."
After they were seated, glancing at each other with some uncertainty about what was to come next, McGonagall seated herself again and become very businesslike. "We have a few matters to take care of," she said briskly. "The first being Mr. Weasley's registration form for the competition being held this Saturday." She pushed a long piece of parchment toward him. "Read this, date it, and sign it, Mr. Weasley."
Ron took the form, looking at its length with some trepidation, but began reading it. It took several minutes; by the end of it Ron looked, if possible, even more unnerved than when he'd began. "Blimey," he said. "That's an awful lot of writing just to open a vault." But he dated the form at the bottom and signed his name.
Taking the form, McGonagall put it away and looked at the three of them, an unreadable expression on her face. Harry had the impression she was hesitant to say anything; he glanced up at the portrait of Professor Dumbledore on the wall behind her, hoping he might give a clue, somehow, about her intentions, but the frame was empty but for the chair the former Hogwarts Headmaster normally sat in.
"Anything else, Professor?" Harry finally ventured.
"Well, yes," McGonagall cleared her throat, uncharacteristically. "There is something else we should discuss –"
"Why don't we just cut to the chase, Professor?" said a bored female voice from behind them. Harry, Ron and Ginny all spun round to see who it was. Moving out of the shadows, her elaborately curled blonde hair and bejeweled spectacles glinting as she stepped forward into the light, was Rita Skeeter. The three of them jumped to their feet.
"You!" Harry said, his temper rising. "What are you doing back here?"
Skeeter flashed a thin, humorless smile. "Working, dear boy. I've been assigned to cover young Mr. Weasley's very likely vain attempt to open the Mystery Vault this Saturday."
"Bloody hell," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Language, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said coolly. She fixed Skeeter with a penetrating stare. "Ms. Skeeter, you were asked to let me explain the situation to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter before beginning your part in this."
"At the rate we're going, Professor," Skeeter replied, sounding bored. "The competition could be over by the time that happens."
"What 'situation?'" Harry asked. Neither McGonagall nor Skeeter responded; they were still locked in their own struggle for control of the meeting.
"Very well, then," McGonagall said shortly. "Everyone take your seats; I'll attend to it." Harry, Ron and Ginny regained their seats; Skeeter waved her wand behind her and the chair she'd been seated in zoomed forward, stopping just behind her so she could be seated without moving.
"The Ministry," McGonagall began with evident distaste. "Has decided having Harry Potter and Ron Weasley attempt to open the Mystery Vault is a newsworthy event, and have sent Ms. Skeeter round to collect some background material for the Daily Prophet."
Harry, who'd been bursting to speak since McGonagall mentioned his name, protested, "But I'm not helping Ron open the Vault! He's doing this all on his own!"
"Mostly, yeah," Ron nodded.
But Skeeter, seeing her opening, pounced on it. "You never helped in any way, Harry? Never offered any encouragement? Never helped Ron study at all? He never did anything that gave you a clue, then?" she asked Ron, looking at him dubiously. "I find that hard to believe. Don't you?" she added, looking at Ginny with eyebrows raised; Ginny only glared back, her mouth set in a thin line.
"Well, course Harry's helped me," Ron said indignantly. "We've done a lot of things throughout this year, and others too!"
"She's looking for a angle, Ron," Harry said.
"I'm looking for a story, Harry," Rita corrected him. "I've been – out of circulation for some time." Harry smiled grimly. At the end of his fourth year – the year of the Triwizard Championship, during which Rita Skeeter had made his life quite unpleasant with her tabloid-style journalism consisting of unfounded rumors and wild, speculative theories about everything from his sanity to his love life – Hermione had trapped Skeeter, an unregistered Animagus, in her beetle form and made her promise to quit writing for a year or Hermione would reveal her illegal status to the Ministry. Since then, as far as Harry knew, Skeeter had worked only once since then, when she interviewed Harry, at Hermione's request, for publication in The Quibbler, the magazine published by Luna Lovegood's father.
"This is my chance to return to the Prophet's staff," Skeeter continued. "And I don't intend to let it slip by."
"And how if we don't want to give you an interview?" Ron demanded.
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, dear boy," Skeeter smiled nastily. "The Ministry is making it a requirement in order to allow you and your friends to attend the Vault Tournament."
Shocked, Harry, Ron and Ginny all spun round to face McGonagall. "That can't be true!" Harry exclaimed.
"Please keep your voice down, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said sternly. "As for the rest –" she nodded unhappily. "It's true, I'm afraid. The Ministry is determined, for some reason, to have you associated with this event."
"Let's get started, shall we?" Skeeter reached into her crocodile-skin handbag, removing a piece of parchment and a acid greed quill. Placing the parchment on a small table next to her, she sucked momentarily on the tip of the quill and set it on the parchment, where it stood, balanced and quivering, waiting to begin.
Harry shook his head. "No Quick-Quotes Quills," he said, pointing at Skeeter's. "If you're going to write about us, don't hide behind your magic to make us look bad."
"I agree," McGonagall said. "There's no need for you to use sensationalism this time, Ms. Skeeter. Let the facts speak for themselves."
Rita didn't look happy, but she smiled condescendingly and tossed the Quick-Quotes Quill back into her handbag, replacing it with a normal-looking one. "Self-inking," she said, wiggling it in front of Harry for a moment before writing a few lines down on the parchment. "From the rumors I've heard in the last year," she said lowering her voice conspiratorially, "The 'facts' themselves could be quite – well, incriminating, shall we say. For example, Harry," she nodded toward Ginny. "You're rumored to be the latest in a long string of jilted boyfriends for Miss Weasley here."
"Oh, rubbish!" Ginny snarled.
"Oh, I could make quite the case for it, my dear," Skeeter simpered, batting her eyelashes at Ginny. "Let's see: Michael Corner, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom –"
"What?!" Ron said, spinning to look at Ginny. "You said Neville was just a friend!"
"He is just a friend!" Ginny spat. "She's lying –!"
"It's not lying to point out the boys you've dated," Skeeter said imperiously.
"Everyone BE SILENT!" McGonagall thundered. Into the ringing silence that followed she adjusted her glasses, which had gone slightly askew, and continued more sedately, although her tone was no less sharp. "Ms. Skeeter, you will confine your interview questions to Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter. There will be no harassment or badgering or the interview will be immediately concluded." Skeeter nodded, a rather forced-looking smile on her face, and said nothing.
"Miss Weasley," McGonagall continued, looking at Ginny. "You may remain, but I would prefer that you sit off to one side, out of everyone's line of sight. It will be better for all concerned." Ginny nodded and found a place to sit in an inconspicuous location.
McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron next. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, let's have you here, and here –" she pointed the two chairs in front of her desk toward the table Skeeter was sitting at, then stopped to survey the scene. "Ah, very good!" she said, almost managing a self-congratulatory smile.
"And finally," she finished, drawing up a comfortable lounge chair for herself, which she settled into with a sigh. Skeeter was eyeing her with some displeasure; she had apparently expected to conduct the interview without McGonagall present, or at least so obviously hovering over them.
"Isn't there anything else you could do while we're talking, Professor?" Skeeter hinted broadly.
"Indeed, there is," McGonagall said, taking out her wand again and gesturing at the table Skeeter was perched next to. A tea set and service for four suddenly appeared, knocking the journalist's parchment to the floor.
"Would anyone care for some tea before we start?" McGonagall asked politely.
***
Roughly an hour later, Skeeter had concluded the interview and was packing up her notes and quill in her handbag, along with Ron's registration form for the Ministry. Neither she, Harry, nor Ron, had enjoyed the interview. "Not my best effort, by any means," Skeeter sniffed with a derisive look at Harry. "But one must consider the source. I may be able to punch it up a bit…"
"Twist it, more like," Ron muttered, glaring at Skeeter contemptuously.
Skeeter merely gave her blonde, oddly curled locks a shake and said to McGonagall. "I'll pass along Mr. Weasley's registration form to the Ministry, Headmistress. I've been promised a two-parter," she said smugly, looking at Ron and Harry, then turned back to McGonagall. "You'll see it in the paper's Friday and Saturday editions."
"I daresay I won't see it at all, then," McGonagall said coldly.
Skeeter snorted, then walked to the door and opened it. "What a perfect little collection of nitwits. I'll let myself out," she said coldly, looking around one final time at McGonagall's office, then disappeared through the door and down the staircase.
"Well, that's that," McGonagall said, taking a deep breath, and Harry got the impression she felt the air was once again fit to breathe. Turning to Harry, Ron and Ginny, she said, "It's nearly time for dinner. You should be getting back to Gryffindor Tower."
"We're going to have trouble," Ginny pointed out. "Anyone seeing Skeeter leave will want to know what she was here for – and some of them are likely to guess correctly."
"No doubt," McGonagall agreed shortly. "I suggest you all stay in the common room – I'll arrange for your dinners there. Will you be able to make it back there on your own?"
"It shouldn't be a problem," Ginny said, tapping her wand into her palm in anticipation of the trip.
"We need a diversion, though," Harry said. It would be nice if Fred and George were here – they were masters of the diversion.
Well then, something in the back of his head said, what have you learned from them, if anything? What kind of diversion can you come up with?
Thinking quickly, Harry turned to Ginny. "Do you remember where we came out of the passageway a few corridors over?" he asked. Ginny nodded. "Good," Harry said. "Ron and I are going to leave with him under the Invisibility Cloak, heading in the opposite direction."
"But you didn't bring your Invisibility Cloak with you, Harry!" Ron protested.
"I know that," Harry said, grinning. "And so do you and Ginny. But nobody else does. And they'll be expecting a trick of some kind from anyone leaving the Professor's office – especially from me. I'll draw them away, and you and Ginny can run for that passageway. I'll get you a few floors closer to the common room. From there you're own your own. I'll join you as soon as I can."
Harry went to the door leading from McGonagall's office. "Give me a minute to draw anyone down there away, then head for that passage."
"We'll see you in the common room, Harry," Ginny said, nodding.
"Be careful," Ron added, warningly.
"I'm always careful, Ron," Harry said, smiling ironically. He slipped out the door without acknowledging Ron's snort of laughter and traveled down to the base of the spiral staircase.
Not surprisingly, there was a group of students clustered there, waiting to find out what had happened in McGonagall's office, and to catch a glimpse (or perhaps even a bit) of Ron. "Hey, it's Potter!" a Hufflepuff exclaimed as Harry came into view.
"So what's going on, Potter – and where's Weasley?" a Slytherin demanded.
"He's not in the infirmary, and someone thought they saw you, him and his sister running toward Professor McGonagall's office," a Ravenclaw boy pointed out. The rest of them started to crowd forward, to hear better. Harry put out his hands to keep distance between them.
He stood away from the corridor wall, as if there were someone between it and him, and began edging away in the direction opposite of where the passageway they'd come from lay. "Ron's got to stay up in McGonagall's office for a while," he said, not trying to sound very convincing. "I thought I'd just get out for a bit and stretch my legs. You can probably just wait here and he'll be down before too long."
"Who are you trying to fool, Potter?" another Slytherin asked scornfully. "You wouldn't leave your mate alone – I'll bet he's right behind you!" The Slytherin turned to the others around him. "Potter's got an Invisibility Cloak! He's probably trying to sneak Weasley by us right now!" The rest of the group advanced on him.
They had taken the bait. Harry turned and shouted "Run!" as if to an invisible companion, then took off at full speed. Everyone in the corridor behind him shouted and followed as well.
Harry led them a merry chase through the floors, corridors and staircases of Hogwarts castle, moving deliberately away from Gryffindor Tower. He ran with an arm stretched in front of himself, as if propelling someone along who was invisible. Harry knew most of the secret passages of the castle by heart now, but he eschewed them in favor of keeping his pursuers after him.
Several minutes later, he finally found himself running down the main staircase toward the entrance hall, where a scowling Filch had just shuffled into the room, grunting and wheezing painfully, for one of his routine checks of the Naming Scroll.
"Where're you running off to?" he demanded as Harry pelted down the staircase toward him.
"Nowhere," Harry said, slowing to walk normally down the steps as Filch eyed him suspiciously.
"Mind you don't run in the castle, then!" Filch growled, starting toward him. "I don't want to see any of you nasty little buggers running around my halls!"
At that moment there was a cry from the top of the main staircase, "There he is!" followed by the thunderous footsteps of two dozen or more students racing to catch up to Harry.
This veritable avalanche of students came to an abrupt halt midway down the stairs when the students in its forefront caught sight of Filch staring up at them in astonishment. "Filch! Run!" they cried, and immediately reversed course, causing a rather alarming (but only momentary) pileup as each end of the crowd ran into the middle. Quickly disentangling themselves, the students scattered.
"Get back here, you little beasts!" His rheumatism forgotten, Filch started up the stairs after them. Shouting and shaking his fist, he disappeared up the stairs. How he figured to catch any student, much less all of them, Harry didn't bother to consider.
"Harry Potter." At the sound of his voice, Harry turned to see Firenze standing at the front doors, which he'd apparently entered while Filch and Ron's admirers were shouting. "It is fortunate I elected to return to the castle at this time."
"Hello, Firenze," Harry said, walking over to the centaur and shaking his hand. "Have you been looking for me? Has something happened?"
Firenze inclined his head. "There is much that could be said concerning the signs. However, my concern was to speak to you of my gratitude."
"Gratitude?" Harry repeated, surprised. "For what?"
Firenze stepped closer to Harry and lowered his voice. "For the way you and your friends have treated my daughter during her sojourn here, Harry Potter, even though you were not treated well by my kind the last times you encountered them in the Forbidden Forest."
Harry nodded soberly. "We wouldn't have treated her otherwise, Firenze."
Firenze inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Nevertheless we are grateful for your friendship." He started to turn away, stopped, then after several seconds turned back to face Harry again.
"There is one further thing, Harry Potter. A thing I hesitate to tell you – we do not often share such information beyond our own kind. The upheaval that is coming is imminent."
"Voldemort is returning?" Harry said automatically.
But Firenze shook his white-blond head. "We do not see the fates of individuals, Harry Potter. I have said this before." There was an edge of impatience his voice. "We look beyond such things, toward the futures of our races, inexorably intertwined as they are."
Firenze walked to the front doors of the entrance hall. "I will leave you now, Harry Potter. Think well on what I have said here." With a final nod to Harry, Firenze left the entrance hall, leaving Harry wondering, Why did Firenze tell me that, if they don't care about the actions of any one individual?
Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower where he found that, true to her word, Professor McGonagall had provided a selection of hot and cold cuts of meat, along with other fillings and condiments as well as different types of bread and beverages, as an alternative to risking the corridors. They had a mostly pleasant evening, marred only by Hermione's vehement reaction upon hearing that Rita Skeeter had once again come back to Hogwarts.
"That foul, horrible woman!" Hermione had seethed when Harry, Ron and Ginny finished their story about Ron's trip to McGonagall's office. "I can't believe the Ministry would want anything to do with her!"
"I can," Harry replied darkly. "They deserve each other."
McGonagall had also reprimanded those in the school who'd caused the disruptions, for their unruly behavior, they learned later from Neville, who had gone to the Great Hall to eat. Neville, his eyes wide, recounted how McGonagall had nearly canceled early dismissal from school because of it, although it seemed to Harry that she and the other teachers would welcome the extra week off almost as much as they would, so he wondered how serious her threat had been.
Things were much calmer Thursday. The crowds had disappeared from the corridor outside Gryffindor Tower and nearby hallways, and no one insisted on following Ron around haranguing him with questions about the Mystery Vault, so Harry, Ron and Hermione were able to travel around quite freely, with little interruption.
During lunchtime another owl came from Bill and Ron, reading the letter, punched the air in triumph. "Oi," he said, giving it to Hermione and Harry to read. "It's good to have a brother on the inside!"
"I got the impression from Bill's last letter," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, "that Bill didn't want people thinking that."
"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?" Ron said with a shrug. Harry read the letter over Hermione's shoulder:
Dear Ron (and everyone else reading this),
I got the lineup of contestants for this Saturday's competition, and you're at the top of the list. I expect there'll be a few more entries at the last moment, from the publicity of the article the Skeeter woman is writing. Sorry about that – once my bosses considered the publicity an article in the Prophet could afford them, there was no stopping it.
Just don't do anything to make the train late on Saturday – and no coming to Diagon Alley on thestrals, or hippogriffs, or even Dad's old Anglia, if it pops up.
Your favorite brother,
Bill
"If only he knew some of the things we've been up to this year," Harry said. Hermione gave him a reproachful look but Ron laughed.
"Yeah," he said. "He wouldn't believe half of what we've done this year, and he's done some wicked cool things in his day! Pass the mashed potatoes, will you, Harry?"
After lunch they went back to the common room to resume Hermione's astronomy research. Harry had revealed his conversation with Firenze to them, and they spent the rest of Thursday trying to figure out what it might mean. Hermione had even gotten out her fifth-year astronomical charts and was trying to deduce just what "signs in the heavens" might portend the major upheaval Firenze had said was imminent, but there was nothing especially catastrophic about to occur, celestially speaking.
"It's really an unremarkable time," Hermione said as she put away her astronomy charts. "I can't see what Firenze and the other centaurs are talking about."
"It's too bad we can't ask Deirdre, you know," Ron said. "I wonder if she'd let us in on what's going on."
Harry had the impression that she was not happy about Ron's comment, but she merely said, "If Deirdre told Jon, I'm sure he'd let us know as well what was going on."
"It seems like he knows quite a lot of things he hasn't bothered to tell us about though, doesn't he?" Ron pointed out to her. "No need to think a trifling little thing like the future of our races matters to us, does it?"
"Ron, he's not keeping anything like that from us!" Hermione said.
"Yeah? And how d'you know that?" Ron asked, pointedly. "What's he been telling you he's not telling us?"
"Nothing!" Hermione said archly. "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Rubbish," Ron said hotly. "You talk to him all the time, don't you? He must've told you all sorts of things."
"You're making a perfect arse of yourself!" Hermione said, her voice shrill and on the edge of tears. Rather than say more, she stood and dashed up the staircase to her dormitory.
"I've got to hand it to you, Ron," Harry said, annoyed, watching Hermione's departing back. "You certainly know how to snatch defeat out of the jaws of victory."