Harry and Ria entered the Three Broomsticks running through the showers. They brushed the water off themselves, while their eyes wandered around, looking for Hermione. She had asked them to meet her here.

"Butterbeer?" asked Harry, and Ria nodded in response. Though his eyes caught something strange. "Hey.. look, there's Hagrid." He nudged her, tilting his head in his direction. The half-giant had been sitting alone in the corner, looking gloomy.

They quickly paid for their butterbeers and made their way towards his table. "Hi, Hagrid." They pulled two more chairs around the table to sit with him.

Hagrid jumped and looked down at the two as though he barely recognised him. Harry and Ria exchanged silent glances, seemingly noticing the fresh bruises and cuts on his face.

"Oh, it's you, Harry, Ria" said Hagrid. "You all righ'?"

"Yeah, we're fine," she said. "Er— are you okay?"

"Me?" He asked. "Oh yeah, I'm grand.. grand.."

He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. They sat together in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, "In the same boat, you an' me, aren' we, Harry?"

"Er—" said Harry.

"Yeah.. I've said it before.. Both outsiders, like," said Hagrid, nodding wisely. "An' both orphans. Yeah.. both orphans."

He took a great swig from his tankard. "Makes a diff'rence, havin' a decent family," he said. "Me dad was decent. An' your mum an' dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?"

"Yeah.. I suppose," said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.

"Family," he gloomed. "Whatever yeh say, blood's important.." And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye.

"Hagrid," said Harry, unable to stop himself, "where are you getting all these injuries?"

"Eh?" said Hagrid, looking startled. "Wha' injuries?"

"All those!" said Harry, pointing at Hagrid's face.

"Oh.. tha's jus' normal bumps an' bruises, Harry," He answered dismissively. "I got a rough job." He drained his tankard, set it back upon the table, and got to his feet.

"I'll be seein' yeh, Harry.. Ria. Take care now.." And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched and then disappeared into the torrential rain.

Asteria slowly took his eyes off him and looked at the Gryffindor boy beside her. "What on earth happened to him?"

"He won't even tell." Harry scoffed lowly. "I'm worried for him."

Hagrid was unhappy, and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on?

"Harry! Ria! Over here!"

Hermione was waving at them from the other side of the room. They got up and made his way toward her through the crowded pub. They was still a few tables away when they realised that Hermione was not alone; she was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates one could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and no one other than Rita Skeeter, ex- journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of their least favorite people in the world.

"You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give them room to sit down. "I thought you'd go another date!" she chuckled.

"Date?" said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at the pair. "Oh, Asteria Edwards—"

"Before you start— Don't." Ria shut her down, clutching the crocodile-skin handbag that the journalist had been searching through. "Or else it'll go in that fireplace, along with you and your little jar. Hmm?"

The woman looked at Hermione. "You heard her. Put that right away."

Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.

"What are you up to?" asked Harry, sitting down and staring from Hermione to Rita to Luna.

"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived," said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?" she shot at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose you are," said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses.

She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, "Pretty girl, isn't she, Harry?" She said, her eyes setting on Ria.

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off. And that's a promise," said Hermione irritably.

"What deal?" said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days.." She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about all of us," said Hermione indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help," said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, "And the fact that they hadn't yet mentioned that Asteria came out of the maze with you and Mr. Diggory. That she was a reliable witness to whatever that happened in there."

"How has that made you feel, Harry?" She scrunched her nose. "Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

"He feels angry, of course," said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. "Because he's told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him. And they're basically denying the fact that there was another witness, so Ria's word won't count either way."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness—?"

"I wasn't the sole witness, and you know that." snarled Harry. "Ria was there, she almost died too. And wait— stop!" He stopped her from writing whatever she was writing by snatching the quill out of her hand. "If you write that, I will be the one to throw your little jar in that fireplace along with you."

The woman incredulously stared at Ria, then a smirk dawned on her lips. "You are a bad influence."

She looked at him. "Why did you stop her?"

"I.. I don't want you to be mentioned in the news." He said to her.

Hermione blinked at him. "What do you mean?" Harry gestured the two to the corner of the room, and  they all left together. "Harry, what are you saying—"

"I just told you, I don't want Ria to be mentioned in the news."

"But why?" asked Ria, her eyebrows furrowed together with slight irritation. "It'll be more believable if we expose that there was another witness of Voldemort's return."

"Besides, they won't be able to deny it." Hermione added. "The students saw you bring back Cedric and Ria, Harry. There's evidence, even though Fudge denies it and—"

"I don't care. I don't want to bring attention to Ria."

Ria huffed. "Harry, you're not thinking this through—"

"I am, trust me." He assured her, and then looked at Hermione. "Yeah, it can strengthen our side of the argument, but there's risk."

"How?" Hermione demanded an explanation.

"Umbridge already knows that McGonagall was training Ria with her magic; she assumed she was being trained so she could fight for Dumbledore when he takes over the Ministry. We don't know if she has told Fudge or not." He said.

"Also.. Ray told me before my hearing, that if someone was to oppose the Ministry law, all their information is brought up on the table. Ria hasn't done anything suspicious in the eyes of the Ministry yet, so they haven't really researched her background, I'm assuming."

Hermione blinked in realisation. She was getting his point now. "So, if Ria makes the headlines, the attention goes to her. Her background comes out." She said, making him nod. "The world will know she's an Azrael."

"Yes." Harry gulped. "Sure, Umbridge still hasn't seen the mark on her hand, so right now, she's only suspicious. But Ria being an Enchantress, having extra powers will just prove the point that—"

"You two are overthinking this." Ria chuckled out in disbelief.

Hermione shook her head furiously, hissing. "No, you don't get it. Harry's right." She said. "I've been.. I've been trying to read about the Azraels and find out as much as I can, because I obviously didn't know much about them before. I don't have wizard parents, so no one told me about them."

"But even a little slip, and you'll be screwed, Ria." She told her. "Fudge won't waste one second to turn the story around. For all we know, he could end up framing you for putting delusions into Harry's head about Voldemort. And the majority will blindly believe him, only relying on the fact that you're an Azrael."

"And I've read the numerous stories about the Azrael's Curse. One of them was that Death took away a part of their magic, so they wouldn't wreck havoc like their potent ancestor. If the fact that you're an Azrael comes out, and Umbridge adds fuel to the fire by exposing that you're a Seer and an Enchantress?" Hermione scoffed in disbelief. "I can't imagine the reaction."

Asteria pursed her lips. She hadn't thought about that.

"For Ray, it was easy to stay in the Ministry's good image only because she had lost her Enchantress magic. It made her less threatening. But for you.." She sighed. "Harry's right. It's too risky."

"And it's not only about protecting you." said Harry, taking her hand. "It's about preparing people for the actual threat, which is not you. So, no, there's no need to bring attention to you. The wizards need to be prepared for when Voldemort gets out to rise up to his former terror again."

The three walked back to the table and took their seats. "She didn't write anything, did she, Luna?" Harry asked.

"Not really." She said. "I told her I would turn her booger into bats if she did."

Hermione had to do a double take at her sentence. "Wait— isn't that what Ginny uses? The Bat-Bogey Hex?"

Luna nodded. "Yes. She has been trying to teach it to me, in case someone tries to trouble me."

"Oh.." Hermione voiced, confused. "Okay, then. Uh— Harry?"

"Yeah.." He looked at Rita. "So, witnesses.. Asteria's name is not to be seen anywhere in this article. Other witnesses present there were several Death-eaters. You want names?"

"I'd love them," breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Can you stop being a creep and act like a proper journalist for one damn second?" Ria hissed under her breath as she eyed her with disgust.

Skeeter laughed, baring her teeth. "Why? Worried for your boyfriend?"

Much to her surprise, Ria said, "Yeah. Now, do what you're asked to." And Harry just looked down, smiling at her answer.

Rita took her quill out again, with a huff this time. "A great bold headline: 'Potter Accuses...' A subheading: 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you: 'Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the Wizarding community of being Death Eaters..'"

The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression died out of her face. "But of course," she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," said Hermione sweetly, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."

Rita stared at her. So did Harry and Ria. Luna, on the other hand, sang Weasley Is Our King dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.

"You want me to report what he says about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I do," she said with a smile. "The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now— oh, get a grip on yourself," she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly that she had slopped half her glass of firewhisky down herself.

Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said boldly, "The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle—"

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!" said Hermione angrily. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him to be given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

"There's no market for a story like that," said Rita coldly.

"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Hermione irritably.

Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a business-like tone, "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."

"So the Daily Prophet exists to drown people in their own delusions?" said Ria scathingly.

Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of firewhisky. "The Prophet exists to sell itself, you silly girl," she said coldly.

"My dad thinks it's an awful paper," said Luna, chipping into the conversation unexpectedly. Sucking on her cocktail onion, she gazed at Rita with her enormous, protuberant, slightly mad eyes. "He publishes important stories that he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money."

Rita looked disparagingly at Luna. "I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?" she said. " 'Twenty-five Ways to Mingle with Muggles' and the dates of the next Bring-and-Fly Sale?"

"No," said Luna, dipping her onion back into her gillywater, "he's the editor of The Quibbler."

Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked around in alarm. "'Important stories he thinks the public needs to know'?" she said witheringly. "I could manure my garden with the contents of that rag."

"Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?" said Hermione pleasantly. "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it."

Rita stared at them both for a moment and then let out a great whoop of laughter. "The Quibbler!" she said, cackling. "You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler?"

"Some people won't," said Hermione in a level voice. "But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a—" she glanced sideways at Luna, "in a— well, an unusual magazine— I think they might be rather keen to read it."

Rita did not say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side. "All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it," she said abruptly. "What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna dreamily. "They do it because it's an honour, and, of course, to see their names in print."

Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione. "I'm supposed to do this for free?"

"Well.." Ria imitated her business-like tone from her. "I suppose you get to keep your precious job and status, and you don't get chucked in Azkaban for being an illegal animagus." She whispered the last part.

Rita gave her another look. "My deal is not with you, girl. It's with this—"

But Hermione already had a slick smile on her face. "Bold of you to assume I wasn't going to say the same thing."

Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose. "I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" she said, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.

"Daddy will be pleased," said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.

"Okay, Harry?" said Hermione, turning to him. "Ready to tell the public the truth?"

"I suppose," said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.

"Fire away, then, Rita," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of her glass.

Harry ripped off the brown packaging, and the group of teenagers hunched over it. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover. In large red letters across his picture were the words:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

"It's good, isn't it?" said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," said Hermione eagerly, "Harry, d'you mind if we—?"

"Help yourself," said Harry, feeling slightly bemused. Ron, Ria and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes.

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

"This woman says you should try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," said Ria, making an expression she could not mask well. "Bitch."

"This one looks okay, though," said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!"

"This man advises you to watch your words before you.. well, before you end up like Lagarde." Hermione said, disappointed. "Hey, Lagarde was right when she was warning people about a dark wizard's rise. Maybe he believes you, Harry. He's just telling you to be a little cautious."

"This one's in two minds," said Fred, who had joined in the letter-opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back. Also, the Seer's dead and there's no proof of her curse, so he doesn't know what it is that could be keeping You-Know-Who alive. So he doesn't know what to think now.. Blimey, what a waste of parchment.."

"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" 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!"

"Ugh, what rubbish!" Ria groaned, reading almost a page long letter. "This guy's basically babbling nonsense. Came to the conclusion that he doesn't know what to think."

"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 Luna, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?" 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, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated, but he did not see how he could keep what he had done quiet; it was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

"People have written to me because I gave an interview," said Harry. "About what happened to me last June."

For some reason he glanced up at the staff table as he said this. He had the strangest feeling that Dumbledore had been watching him a second before, but when he looked, Dumbledore seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.

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

"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," said Harry. "Here—"

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at 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 magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. "How you dare.. how you could..." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Both of you, Mr. Potter and Miss. Edwards, are banned from going to Hogsmeade—"

"You can't do that to Ria, technically." He said cockily. "Seeing as there is no mention of her. So, your punishment would just be injustice."

Umbridge's toad like face seemed to red at this. She was glancing between the pair, trying her hardest to contain her fury. "Alright then.." With another deep breath, she said, "fifty points from Gryffindor. And another week's worth of detention." She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

"You really don't know patience, do you?" Ria glared at him. "You just had to talk back and get the back of your hand carved by her for another week."

"And what exactly would you have done if you were in my place?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest with a small, taunting smile that pissed Ria off even more. "Exactly, you would've done the same."

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

— BY ORDER OF —
THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Signed:
Dolores Jane Umbridge
HIGH INQUISITOR

For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure.

"What exactly are you so happy about?" Harry asked her.

"Oh Harry, don't you see?" Hermione breathed. "If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!"

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of that day, though Harry had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview at each other; Harry heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing 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.

"And then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they were bombarding me with questions," Hermione told Harry, her eyes shining, "even Sophie told me that some Hufflepuffs were asking her about it, since she's close to Ria. 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. Harry knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry's 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 of Magic, and have twelve children.

And unbelievably, no sooner had he arrived outside Transfiguration than something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him. "I just wanted to say," he mumbled, squinting at Harry's left knee, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam. I've also apologised to Asteria for calling her.. what I called her."

If anything more was needed to complete Harry's happiness, it was Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle's reactions. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: He had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.

"And the best bit is," whispered Hermione gleefully as they left the library, "they can't contradict you, because they can't admit they've read the article!"

To cap it all, Luna told him over dinner that no copy of The Quibbler had ever sold out faster. "Dad's reprinting!" she told Harry, her eyes popping excitedly. "He can't believe it, he says people seem even more interested in this than the Crumple Horned Snorkacks!"

Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night; daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry's giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like "The Ministry are morons" and "Eat dung, Umbridge" in a booming voice.

Despite all the good things happening, that weekend, Ria was sitting on her desk alone in her room, her head resting down as she sighed out of tiredness. Harry was in Snape's office for his Occlumency lessons. Ria had tried to go there before his lesson started, but her godfather had banned her, much to her dismay.

She sighed again. Sure, Harry was a sweetheart. He did everything he could to keep her happy and safe. Was she getting too dependent on Harry? Even for small things?

Her thought was interrupted when someone put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and offered the girl a small smile. "Hey, Amelia.."

"Hey.." said the girl, settling herself on Ria's bed. "I was just going downstairs. Saw you sulking here.. Everything okay?"

Ria laid her head back down, closing her eyes. "Ahh.. nothing, really."

"Pfft— Please." Amelia scoffed. "Go on, I'm all ears."

The girl chuckled. "To be fair, the Quidditch team is not doing well."

"It wasn't doing well with Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy in it either." She tried to cheer her up. "They're better off the team than on it. And Montague as Beater and Blaise as Chaser are doing good. You've done the right thing."

"Well.. but now we're missing a Seeker and another Beater. I don't even know if anyone wants to try out anymore.." She whined. "And this is Adrian's last year! He's one of the best on the team! How am I going to manage shit after he graduates? And I'm pretty sure this is Montague's last year too!"

"How am I going to win the stupid bet I made with Flint?" Ria groaned in frustration.

Much to her irritation, Amelia only chuckled. "Is that all?" she shook her head in amusement. "Why don't you play as Seeker, then? You've wanted to play for a while now, haven't you?"

"Then who'll be the Keeper? And what about the second Beater? And next year—"

"Oh, we'll figure out next year when it arrives!" Henry scoffed. "Remember that girl you suggested to Flint back when Malfoy got attacked by Buckbeak? The one who was practising as a Keeper since the start of term? Her name's Maryam Shafiq. She's a fourth year now."

Ria's head perked up at this. "You know her?" She asked, and the girl nodded. "Can you—"

"Of course, I can." At Amelia's response, Ria smiled in relief. At least, one thing was out of the way.

"But then.. What about the Beater?" She laid her head back on the desk.

Amelia raised a curious eyebrow. "Have you asked Nott? Hasn't he been wanting to try out for a while now? If he tries out Chaser, I don't mind playing as a Beater for a while. I used to practice with Fred and George anyway."

Ria pursed her lips. "About that.." She hissed. "You know, Harry's interview in the Quibbler?"

"What about that?" She asked, but then realisation dawned on her. "Oh.. he gave Nott's father's name, didn't he?"

"Hmm.."

"Is he mad about that?" asked Amelia.

"That's exactly what the problem is. I don't know what his genuine reaction is!" Ria confessed, feeling distressed. "He says there's nothing that could be done about it. Harry had all the right to expose his father's name, but.. but I just can't tell what's going on inside his head.."

Amelia sighed, getting up and holding Ria by her shoulders. "Come.. Come on, we'll talk to him."

"I— I can't—"

"Not about his father." She interrupted. "About trying out for Quidditch. Come on—" She suddenly stopped talking, her eyes roaming around in confusion. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Ria asked, and then faint noises fell on her ears. It was coming from the upper floor. Someone was screaming. Both of them hurried out of their rooms, just like many other students.

"Ria— Ria!" Harry's voice from behind stopped her for a moment. "What's going on?"

"No idea." She answered as they climbed up the stairs of the Dungeons.

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad in appearance with her glasses lopsided and hair sticking in all directions.

Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something. "No!" she shrieked. "NO! This cannot be happening.. It cannot— I refuse to accept it!"

"You didn't realise this was coming?" said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused. Umbridge.. "Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow's weather, you must surely have realised that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?"

"You c— can't!" howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, "you c— can't sack me! I've b— been here sixteen years! H— Hogwarts is m— my h— home!"

"It was your home," said Professor Umbridge, and Asteria felt revolted, seeing the enjoyment stretching her toad like, sadistic face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, "until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us."

Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in grief. The two Gryffindor girls that always looked up to her; Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were both crying silently, their arms around each other.

Someone broken away from the spectators and marched straight up to Professor Trelawney. It was McGonagall, and she was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes. "There, there, Sybill.. Calm down.. It's not as bad as you think, now.. You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh really, Professor McGonagall?" said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. "And your authority for that statement is..?"

"That would be mine," said a deep voice.

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. There was something impressive about the sight of him framed in the doorway against an oddly misty night. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tear-stained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her.

"Yours, Professor Dumbledore?" said Umbridge with an unpleasant little laugh. "I'm afraid you do not understand the position, I have here.." she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes.

"An Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she— that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her."

To Ria's surprise, Dumbledore had a smile on his face. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, "You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid," he went on, with a courteous little bow, "that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts."

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden. "No— no, I'll g— go, Dumbledore! I sh— shall l— leave Hogwarts and s— seek my fortune elsewhere—"

"No," said Dumbledore sharply. "It is my wish that you remain, Sybill." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "Might I ask you to escort Sybill back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?"

"Of course," said McGonagall. "Up you get, Sybill.."

Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney's other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked,

"Locomotor trunks!" and Professor Trelawney's luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear.

Professor Umbridge was standing still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile. "And what," she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, "are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor."

"You've found—?" said Umbridge shrilly. "You've found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twenty-two—"

"— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if— and only if— the headmaster is unable to find one," said Dumbledore. "And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded."

And it pained Ria to think this.. but she was impressed.

"May I introduce you?" He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Through the mist came a face with white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse.

"No way.." Harry muttered under his breath.

"This is Firenze," said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. "I think you'll find him suitable."

"Firenze.. I've met him before." Harry said to Ria, making her give him a confused look. "Back in first year, when I first faced Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, he was the one who saved me.."

"He did?" She asked, making him nod.

"A centaur? A Half-breed.." Amelia gasped with a small smile. "Oh.. that pink dementor is going to be revolted.."

"Oh.. that's all?" asked Blaise. "I thought you two had a fight or something."

"No, Zabini." Theodore scoffed. "Like I said, Potter can say whatever he wants in whatever interview. He almost died. It's his business."

"So.. have you thought about it?" Ria asked nervously. "About trying out for Quidditch?"

He shrugged. "Ah.. sure. But I'll play Beater. We need Amelia to score."

Ria grinned, hugging him sideways as they continued walking. "Thank you, Theodore."

"Oi, I'm not doing it for you." He said, flicking her forehead.

"Ouch."

"Uhm— a question. Why aren't we heading to the North Tower?" He asked.

"Because I don't think centaurs can climb ladders, dumbarse." Blaise muttered. "Divinations happening in the Entrance hall until Umbridge finds a way to banish Firenze too."

"Don't say that." Ria smacked his arm. "He's a centaur. I bet he's great at Divination."

"Okay, Miss. Seer— what the bloody hell—"

When they entered, they found themselves right in the middle of a forest clearing. The classroom floor had become springily mossy and trees were growing out of it; their leafy branches fanned across the ceiling and windows, so that the room was full of slanting shafts of soft, dappled, green light.

They had apparently been the last to enter. All the other students were already sitting on the earthy floor with their backs resting against tree trunks or boulders, arms wrapped around their knees or folded tightly across their chests, looking rather nervous. In the middle of the room, where there were no trees, stood Firenze.

"Ah.. just who I awaited. Have a seat." Firenze said, and the three sat down. Ria managed to find Harry under the dim light and sat down beside him.

Firenze gestured around the room. "Professor Dumbledore has kindly arranged this classroom for us," he said, "in imitation of my natural habitat. I would have preferred to teach you in the Forbidden Forest, which was— until Monday— my home.. But this is not possible."

"Please— er— sir—" said Parvati breathlessly, raising her hand, "why not? We've been in there with Hagrid, we're not frightened!"

"It is not a question of your bravery," said Firenze, "but of my position. I can no longer return to the forest. My herd has banished me."

"Herd?" said Lavender in a confused voice. "What — oh!" Comprehension dawned on her face. "There are more of you?" she said, stunned.

"Did Hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?" asked Dean eagerly.

Firenze turned his head very slowly to face Dean, who seemed to realise at once that he had said something very offensive. "I didn't— I meant— sorry," he finished in a hushed voice.

"Centaurs are not the servants or playthings of humans," said Firenze quietly.

There was a pause, then Parvati raised her hand again. "Please, sir.. why have the other centaurs banished you?"

"Because I have agreed to work for Professor Dumbledore," said Firenze. "They see this as a betrayal of our kind. Let us begin."

He swished his long palomino tail, raised his hand toward the leafy canopy overhead then lowered it slowly, and as he did so, the light in the room dimmed, so that they now seemed to be sitting in a forest clearing by twilight, and stars emerged upon the ceiling. There were oohs and gasps, and Ria had audibly sighed.

"Lie back upon the floor," said Firenze in his calm voice, "and observe the heavens. Here is written, for those who can see, the fortune of our races."

Ria stretched out on her back and gazed upward at the ceiling. Oh, she loved this class already.

"I know that you have learned the names of the planets and their moons in Astronomy," said Firenze's calm voice, "and that you have mapped the stars' progress through the heavens. Centaurs have unraveled the mysteries of these movements over centuries. Our findings teach us that the future may be glimpsed in the sky above us.."

"Professor Trelawney did Astrology with us!" said Parvati excitedly, raising her hand in front of her so that it stuck up in the air as she lay on her back. "Mars causes accidents and burns and things like that, and when it makes an angle to Saturn, like now.." She drew a right angle in the air above her, "that means that people need to be extra careful when handling hot things—"

"Uh.. no." Ria's voice stopped her, and Parvati looked back at her. "It's made up. Nonsense, actually. Astrology can be reliable, but not in the sense you say. Combined with Astronomy though, it can be very helpful." Her hand panned up, moving across the ceiling. "Like various stars and planets tell us what's about to come, what events are about to occur in the near future."

"Every celestial body is a harbinger of various aspects of our lives.. like war, love, glory, downfall.. But it takes a long time to predetermine someone's future on the basis of stars." She continued. "It's said that each and every one of our fates are written across them.. our births, our destinies.. and ultimately, our ends."

When Ria stopped, many students had been staring at her. She cowered under their gazes. What? Just because the student Trelawney pays the most attention to doesn't agree with her?

"Remarkable.. Miss.?" Firenze said with a small smile.

"Edwards. Asteria Edwards."

He nodded. "Remarkable, Miss. Edwards, your understanding of Astronomy and Divination at this young age."

He then pointed to the red star directly above Harry. "In the past decade, the indications have been that wizardkind is living through nothing more than a brief calm between two wars. Mars, bringer of battle, shines brightly above us, suggesting that the fight must break out again soon. How soon, centaurs may attempt to divine by the burning of certain herbs and leaves, by the observation of fumes and flame.."

It was the most unusual lesson, but the most interesting Divination class Ria had ever attended. They did indeed burn sage and mallowsweet there on the classroom floor, and Firenze told them to look for certain shapes and symbols in the pungent fumes, but he seemed perfectly unconcerned that not one of them could see any of the signs he described.. not even Asteria.

Though he had told them that humans were hardly ever good at this, that it took centaurs years and years to become competent, and finished by telling them that it was foolish to put too much faith in such things anyway, because even centaurs sometimes read them wrongly.

The bell rang right outside the classroom door and everyone jumped; they had completely forgotten that they were still inside the castle, quite convinced that they were really in the forest. The class filed out, looking slightly perplexed, when Firenze called out. "Harry Potter, Asteria Edwards, a word. And close the door, please"

Harry and Ria turned simultaneously after exchanging a glance. The centaur advanced a little toward him. "Harry Potter, you are a friend of Hagrid's, are you not?" He asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Then give him a warning from me. His attempt is not working. He would do better to abandon it."

"His attempt is not working?" Harry repeated blankly.

"And he would do better to abandon it," said Firenze, nodding. "I would warn Hagrid myself, but I am banished— it would be unwise for me to go too near the forest now— Hagrid has troubles enough, without a centaurs' battle."

"But— what's Hagrid attempting to do?" said Harry nervously.

Firenze looked at Harry impassively. "Hagrid has recently rendered me a great service," He said, "and he has long since earned my respect for the care he shows all living creatures. I shall not betray his secret. But he must be brought to his senses. The attempt is not working. Tell him, Harry Potter. Good day to you."

He then turned to her. "Now.. if I may talk to you, Asteria Edwards.."

Harry hesitated. "Uh.. alone?"

"You may stay." Firenze nodded, and then looked at her again. "Your previous answer.. I do not believe it is taught to you by your human Divination Professor or Astronomy Professor either."

Ria gulped, nodding. "Yeah.. I— uh— I learnt it myself."

"The wisest study you can do as a Seer, I presume." He said.

The girl eyed him with suspicion. "How— How d'you know I am a Seer?"

Firenze took a little stroll. "No one else studies Divination and Astronomy with such proximity.." He sighed. "No other Seers do it either.. only us centaurs, and another great Seer of this century that you know very well."

The girl rolled her eyes at her mention. "I met her only once, and I daresay, I have not met such a wondrous human Seer in my lifetime. Even your eyes resemble the disquiet ocean hue that she held." He said, looking at her. "You are very similar to her."

"Sir, please.." Harry muttered.

"No, I'm not." Asteria glared hard at the centaur. "She was a murderer. She wrecked many families, including my own." She answered with an unfaltering tone. "Now.. if you're done, Professor.."

"It is said that each and every one of our fates are written across them.. our births, our destinies.. and ultimately, our ends." He repeated her words from before, making the two stop.

"Are you aware just how many of these bear your names?" Firenze said to the two, extending his hand to show them the enchanted ceiling glittering with celestial bodies. "You are written across the stars.. fates intertwined in many pathways."

The two looked at each other for a moment before looking at him again. "I will see you at my next class. Good day to you both."

Harry went to open the door, but Ria was stopped by Firenze. He muttered something to her, and the words that left his mouth almost pushed her into a spiral.

"Not very definite, is he?" Harry said to her as they walked towards their next class. "He leaves many loose ends. I wish he'd explain things more.

"Yeah.. me too." She muttered, while the centaur's words stayed playing over and over again in the back of her mind.

"I wish you well on this journey, Asteria Edwards. I hope you fulfil your destiny.. and free the numerous, suffering souls that seek their liberation through you."

What on earth did he mean by that?

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