Chapter 146: The Breakout

When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page and gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her.

"What?" said Harry and I together.

She spread the newspaper on the table in front of us and pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witch's. Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.

Antonin Dolohov, read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at us, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Those were my uncles. My Mum's brothers, whom she adored. I had heard so much about them, as well as how they had died. It took a lot in me not to go off, and I could only imagine how the rest of my family was feeling of they had seen this.

Algernon Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic secrets to He Who Must Not Be Named.

My eyes then went to the witch. She had long, dark hair that looked like it went everywhere like Hermione's only not in an attractive way. It was knotted, dirty, and looked as if it hadn't been combed in years. She glared up at us through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. She looked as if at one time in her life, she could have possibly been beautiful, but Azkaban probably ruined her. That, and being an evil bitch.

Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN! MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT' FOR OLD DEATH EATERS

"Black?" said Harry loudly.

"Not-?"

"Shhh!" whispered Hermione desperately. "Not so loud-just read it!"

The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban.

Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals.

'We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night. "Nor do we think the two breakouts are unrelated. An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person ever to break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps. We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader. We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account should any of these individuals be approached."

"There you are, Harry," I said, with a look of complete awe and disbelief. "That's why he was happy last night."

"I don't believe this," snarled Harry, "Fudge is blaming the breakout on Sirius?"

"What other options does he have?" said Hermione bitterly. "He can hardly say, 'Sorry, everyone, Dumbledore warned me this might happen, the Azkaban guards have joined Lord Voldemort', stop whimpering, Ron, and now Voldemort's worst supporters have broken out, too. I mean, he's spent a good six months telling everyone you and Dumbledore are liars, hasn't he?"

Hermione ripped open the newspaper and began to read the report inside while I looked around for my brothers and sister. I knew that the news of Dolohov would have crushed them, and I wanted to make sure the twins didn't do anything stupid. But as I looked around, it seemed as if we were the only ones worried, as no one read the paper in the mornings like Hermione did.

However, at the staff table, it was a different story. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely worried. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her spoon. Even Professor Umbitch looked as if she was on high alert as she kept shooting poisonous looks at Dumbledore and McGonagall, as if the matter were their faults.

"Oh my-" gasped Hermione, still staring at the newspaper.

"What now?" said Harry quickly.

"It's ... horrible," said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it to Harry and I.

TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER

St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode, who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.

Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement:

"St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident. We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode, throttled him instantly.

"St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward."

"Bode ...' I said, trying to recall where I had heard that name. "Bode. It rings a bell..."

"We saw him," Hermione whispered. "In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She, the Healer, said it was a Christmas present."

"How come we didn't recognise Devil's Snare? We've seen it before ... we could've stopped this from happening." said Harry, looking as if he felt guilty.

"Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?" I said sharply. "It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?"

"Oh, come on, Ron!" said Hermione. "I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise it tries to kill whoever touches it? This-this was murder ... a clever murder, as well ... if the plant was sent anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?"

Murder. That thought didn't even cross my mind, but it did make a whole lot of sense.

"I met Bode," Harry said slowly. "I saw him at the Ministry with your dad, Ron."

"I've heard Dad talk about him at home!" I said, my mind switching on about exactly where I had heard that name. "He was an Unspeakable-he worked in the Department of Mysteries!"

We looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back towards her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To send a letter," said Hermione, swinging her bag onto her shoulder. "It ... well, I don't know whether ... but it's worth trying ... and I'm the only one who can."

"I hate it when she does that," I grumbled, as Harry and I got up from the table and made our way out of the Great Hall. "Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more seconds-hey, Hagrid!"

Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He still was in a right state, as if he had took a quick trip to the mountains and gotten beaten up again.

"All righ', you two?' he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace.

"Are you OK, Hagrid?" asked Harry.

"Fine, fine," said Hagrid, clearly lying. "Jus' busy, yeh know, usual stuff-lessons ter prepare- couple o' salamanders got scale rot-an' I'm on probation," he mumbled.

"You're on probation?" I shouted.

A few passing students looked over at us noisily.

"Sorry-I mean-you're on probation?"I whispered.

"Yeah," said Hagrid. " 'S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yer the truth. Yeh migh' not've picked up on it, bu' that inspection didn' go too well, yeh know ... anyway," he sighed deeply. "Bes' go an' rub a bit more chilli powder on them salamanders or their tails'll be hangin' off 'em next. See yeh, Harry ... Ron ..."

We watched him walk out the door and onto the wet grounds. I felt horrible for him.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but unlike Harry, Hermione, and I, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it. Some people, Ferret Ass for the most part as well as his gang of flunkies, seemed positively gleeful. As for the death of Bode, the three of us seemed to be the only people who knew or cared.

The only topic of conversation in the corridors now(and rightfully so) were the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumours were flying that some of the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had once done.

Those of us who came from wizarding families had grown up hearing the names of these Death Eaters spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's; the crimes they had committed during the days of Voldemort's reign of terror were legendary. Like us Weasleys, other pureblooded children were starting to become the talk of the school, having had family members killed or tortured by the Death Eaters Susan Bones, whose uncle, aunt and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry.

"And I don't know how you stand it-it's horrible,"she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

Once again, Harry was the subject of conversation, only now, it had taken a turn for the better. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and a few were starting to really question the Prophet's explanations on the breakout. Many of them were finally believing it was indeed He Who Must Not Be Named.

It was not only the students' mood that had changed. It was now quite common to come across two or three teachers conversing in low, urgent whispers in the corridors, breaking off their conversations the moment they saw students approaching.

"They obviously can't talk freely in the staff room any more," said Hermione in a low voice, as the three of us passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. "Not with Umbridge there."

"Reckon they know anything new?"I said, looking back over my shoulder at the three teachers.

"If they do, we're not going to hear about it, are we?" said Harry angrily. "Not after Decree ... what number are we on now?"

For new notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout:

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree

Number Twenty-six.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

This latest Decree had been the subject of a great number of jokes among the students. Lee Jordan had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class.

"Exploding Snap's got nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!" said Lee confidently.

When we next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of Murtlap.

Harry had talked about how he had thought the breakout from Azkaban would have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under the nose of her beloved Fudge. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control, and suck the fun out of every single thing. She seemed determined at the very least to achieve a sacking before long, and the only question was whether it would be Professor Trelawney or Hagrid who went first.

Every single Divination and Care of Magical Creatures lesson was now conducted in the presence of Umbridge and her clipboard. She lurked by the fire in the heavily perfumed tower room, interrupting Professor Trelawney's increasingly hysterical talks with difficult questions about ornithomancy and heptomology, insisting that she predicted us students' answers before we gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves and the rune stones in turn. I thought Professor Trelawney would go off the bend any day now. Several times we passed her in the corridors (which that alone was unusual, she generally remained in her tower room) muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, and all the while giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry. I was beginning to feel just as sorry for her as I did Hagrid.

Speaking of Hagrid, he was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione's advice and had shown us nothing more frightening than a Crup (a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail that I would have loved to have had as a pet) since before Christmas, he too seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy during lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying to the class, answering questions wrongly, and all the time glancing anxiously at Umbridge. He was also more distant with the the of us than he had ever been before, and had forbidden us to visit him after dark.

"If she catches yeh, it'll be all of our necks on the line," he told us flatly. So, with no desire to do anything that might jeopardise his job further, we sadly quit walking down to his hut in the evenings.

The only thing (besides actually having fun prefect duties with Hermione) that was to look forward to nowadays was DA meetings.

Since the breakouts, even the little fucker Zacharias Smith, had been spurred on to work harder than ever. But nobody improved better than Neville. The news of his parents' attackers' escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with the three of us on the closed ward in St. Mungo's and neither did we. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape. In fact, Neville barely spoke during the DA meetings any more, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and counter-curse Harry taught us, his plump face screwed up in concentration, apparently indifferent to injuries or accidents and working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught us the Shield Charm (a means of deflecting minor jinxes so that they rebounded upon the attacker) only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville.

As Neville was improving with DA, it seemed that from what Harry told us, that he was getting worse with Occlumency with Snape. He dreaded going, always stating that his scar was hurting even more after the strenuous work on his brain, and his dreams of walking down the corridor to the Department of Mysteries were getting worse.

"Maybe it's a bit like an illness," said Hermione. "A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better."

"The lessons with Snape are making it worse," said Harry flatly "I'm getting sick of my scar hurting and I'm getting bored with walking down that corridor every night." He rubbed his forehead angrily. '

"I just wish the door would open, I'm sick of standing staring at it-"

"That's not funny," said Hermione sharply. "Dumbledore doesn't want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn't have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You're just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons."

"I am working!" said Harry. "You try it some time. Snape: trying to get inside your head, it's not a bundle of laughs, you know!"

"Maybe..." I said slowly, thinking out loud.

"Maybe what?" said Hermione as if she had an attitude.

"Maybe it's not Harry's fault he can't close his mind," I said, darkly.

"What do you mean?" said Hermione.

"Well, maybe Snape isn't really trying to help Harry. Maybe, he's actually trying to open Harry's mind a bit wider ... make it easier for You-Know-"

"Shut up, Ron," said Hermione angrily. "How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough."

"He used to be a Death Eater," I snapped back. "And we've never seen proof that he really swapped sides."

"Dumbledore trusts him," Hermione repeated. "And if we can't trust Dumbledore, we can't trust anyone."

"You have a point, but I still don't trust the git." I said, sneering at her.

One thing that annoyed me about Hermione was that she always had to be right, even there there was a possibility that she could be wrong. Maybe my theory wasn't true. Or maybe it could very well be it. We didn't know. But who was she to tell me to shut up, as if her say was absolute.

January passed by quickly, and soon, it was February, and the second Hogsmeade visit day. Which was Valentine's Day.

Harry was going to Hogsmeade with Cho, and I had it in my mind to ask Hermione if she wanted to go with me as well. And not as plain friends. As my Valentine.

I had thought the whole thing out. Unbeknownst to Harry, he would actually be helping. I was going to ask Harry about what he was going to do, thus bringing up the subject, and then I would say something clever to Hermione about it, and easing the idea in to see if she would go for it.

Unfortunately, Angelina fucked that whole idea up when she came to me, stressing how we were to have a full day of practice. Just my luck.

Harry and I sat down beside Hermione, just as owl posts arrived. Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl.

"And about time! If it hadn't come today..." she said, eagerly tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.

"Listen, Harry," she said, looking up at him, "this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?"

"Well ... I dunno,",said Harry uncertainly. "Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do."

"Well, bring her along if you must," said Hermione urgently. "But will you come?"

"Well ... all right, but why?"

"I haven't got time to tell you now, I've got to answer this quickly."

And she hurried out of the Great Hall, the letter clutched in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

"Are you coming?" Harry asked me.

"I can't come into Hogsmeade at all; Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help; we're the worst fucking team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am. I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign." I said with a sigh.

"It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why,",said Harry in a tone that stated that he didn't want to discuss Quidditch.

After breakfast, Harry went off to meet Cho, and I headed down to the pitch.

Practice was completely dismal. Sloper and Kirke were the worst beaters I had ever seen, even worse than the ones on the Hufflepuff team. I managed to save a few goals, but not enough to satisfy myself, and from the looks of it, Angelina, although she thought she was hiding her disappointment will well said "good attempts" and fake smiles.

Ginny however, was brilliant. She moved through the air as if her and the broom were one, which was no surprise to me, as she had been sneaking in the broom she'd back at home since she was six and flying our older brothers brooms when Mum wasn't watching. She soared effortlessly through the air, I couldn't help but admire her.

"You were brilliant." I said to her as we headed back to the castle.

"Was I? I didn't think so." said Ginny.

"Are you mental? The way you flew? You could rival Harry."

Ginny blushed. She wasn't used to appreciation. " Thanks. You were good too."

"Don't like to me just because I'm your brother."

'I'm not lying." said Ginny. "You do alright when you don't really think about failing. You did some great saves. Just be confident, Ron."

"Kind of hard to do, Gin. I'm not that great of a keeper and you know it."

"You'll never be a great keeper with that attitude." Ginny said sternly.

I stopped talking as we headed into the school.

When we got inside, Ginny continued to the tower. I spied Harry and Hermione sitting at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, so I went over to sit with them.

"Is that what she was doing?' said Harry, as I sat down and pulled the food close to me. "Well, wouldn't it have been easier if she'd just asked me whether I liked her better than you?"

They were discussing Harry and Cho's date, and from the sound of it, it must have not went well.

"Girls don't often ask questions like that," said Hermione.

"Well, they should!" said Harry forcefully. "Then I could've just told her I fancy her, and she wouldn't have had to get herself all worked up again about Cedric dying!"

"I'm not saying what she did was sensible," said Hermione, as Ginny joined us, more than likely deciding to eat first, and looking equally disgruntled. "I'm just trying to make you see how she was feeling at the time."

"You should write a book," I told Hermione as I cut up my potatoes, "translating barmy things girls do so boys can understand them."

"Yeah," said Harry, looking over at the Ravenclaw table. Cho had just got up and left, without even a glance at Harry.

"So, how was Quidditch practice?" he asked, turning to Ginny and I.

"It was a nightmare," I said.

"Oh come on," said Hermione, looking at Ginny, "I'm sure it wasn't that-"

"Yes, it was," said Ginny. "It was appalling. Angelina was nearly in tears by the end of it."

We finished eating and finally went and showered. I spent an extra long time taking one, as I didn't really feel like speaking to anyone.

Saturday's game was short, but terrible. I missed fourteen fucking saves, Sloper missed the Bludger but hit Angelina in the mouth with his bat, and Kirke shrieked like a bitch and fell backwards off his broom when Zacharias zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that we 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.

I didn't have shit to say to anyone after the game. I just got cleaned up and nursed a butterbeer while the others conversed amongst themselves.

I was ready to throw in the towel. I didn't know why Angelina didn't just throw me off the team. Maybe she thought that the twins would be mad at her if she did. I for one would have welcomed her giving me the boot. At least I wouldn't be disappointing her anymore.

And that fucking song. The Slytherins sung it the whole time, reminding me how much of a blunder I was. Yeah, I was the King alright. The King of fools.

I dragged myself up to bed and faked sleep, hoping Harry would respect that I didn't want to talk to anybody. Eventually, I drifted off.