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AFTER THE NEWS OF THE AZKABAN BREAKOUT, new signs appeared on the house notice boards.

— 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:Delores 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 Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That's not information relating to your subject!" When Este Black next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly.

Este had thought that the breakout from Azkaban might have humbled Umbridge a little, that she might have been abashed at the catastrophe that had occurred right under her beloved Fudge's nose. It seemed, however, to have only intensified her furious desire to bring every aspect of life at Hogwarts under her personal control. 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 predict students' answers before they gave them and demanding that she demonstrate her skill at the crystal ball, the tea leaves, and the rune stones in turn. Este thought that Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain; several times Este passed her in the corridors (in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room), muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands, and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, all the time giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry.

Hagrid was putting up a better show than Trelawney. Though he seemed to be following Hermione Granger's advice and had shown them nothing more frightening than a crup, a creature indistinguishable from a Jack Russell terrier except for its forked tail, since before Christmas, he also seemed to have lost his nerve. He was oddly distracted and jumpy in lessons, losing the thread of what he was saying while talking to the class, answering questions wrongly, and glancing anxiously at Umbridge all the time.

With so much to worry about and so much to do — startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth years working until past midnight, quidditch practice, and study groups the Slytherins had formed — January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Este knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. And the night before the Hogsmeade visit, Mattheo approached her.

"Do you want to spend Valentine's with me?"

Este gave him a look of annoyance, "And why would I do that, Matty?"

"Because face it, Es──you've got no one to spend Valentine's with."

"That's not true!" Este said hotly, "I've──I've got Atlas!"

"It's a bit tragic you know, spending your valentines with your cousin," Mattheo grinned crudely at her, "I mean unless it's like a more than familial thing... Hey! it runs in the family!"

"You cunt," Este seethed, "Fine! I'll spend Valentine's with you."

On the morning of the fourteenth, Este threw on a sweater and a long flowy red skirt. She sat and ate her breakfast while Atlas read a book, when she finished her breakfast, Mattheo arrived where the Black cousins were. "Black──you ready to go?"

Este rolled her eyes but nodded. "Have fun!" Atlas called after them, not taking his eyes off of his book, "Not too much though!"

"Shut up, Atlas!" they both said at the same time as they walked out of the great hall.

As they passed the entry hall, a voice called out to her. "Este!" Este halted and turned to see Harry──grinning with his messy head of hair, which he obviously tried to flatten. "Hey!"

Este smiled at him, "Hi, Potter."

"Going to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked with friendliness.

"Yeah, are you going with Hermione?"

"Nah, I'm going with Cho."

Este felt her heart jolt in a slightly uncomfortable way, "Oh, that's nice," she said with fake cheeriness, "Anyway, you better get going. Don't let the lady wait up." She gave him one last smile before locking her arms with Mattheo and joining the queue of people being signed out by Filch.

"You and the Boy Who Lived have been getting close, eh?" Mattheo joked, "Careful Este──Marrying a martyr never works out."

Este went red, "Shut up, Mattheo."

"I could see it──Mass murderer's daughter with the boy who lived... It has a nice ring to it──OW!"

Este had punched him on the arm hard as they walked through the drive and out through the gates.

"So . . . where d'you want to go?" Mattheo asked as they entered Hogsmeade. The High Street was full of students ambling up and down, peering into the shop windows and messing about together on the pavements.

"Oh . . . I don't mind," said Este, shrugging. "Um . . . shall we just have a look in the shops or something?"

They wandered toward Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when Este and Mattheo approached and Este found herself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster ("By Order of the Ministry of Magic") offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured.

"It's funny, isn't it," said Este in a low voice, gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters. "Remember when he escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there aren't dementors anywhere. . . ."

"Yeah," said Mattheo, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. "Yeah, it is weird. . . ."

"Fudge is so incompetent," Este sighed, "The Ministry is so fucking screwed if Fudge continues like this."

"We're all fucking screwed, Es."

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window Mattheo and Este passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Este's face and the back of her neck. "Let's get a coffee," said Este, as the rain began to fall more heavily.

"Yeah, all right," said Mattheo, looking around. "Where — ?"

"Madam Puddifoots," she said brightly.

"Oh, please not Madam Puddifoots, Es."

"C'mon, I want to see all the couples there."

"Why, so you can feel sad about being alone?"

"No, so I can laugh at how stupid they all look."

"Huh, not a bad idea, though that place reminds me of Umbridge's office."

She led him up a side road and into a small tea shop. It was a cramped, steamy little place where everything seemed to have been decorated with frills or bows. When they entered, Este began to giggle madly, "She even decorated it."

"It's a bit much, it looks eerily like Umbridge's office."

Este and Mattheo looked around for a table and Este stopped, Harry and Cho were sitting next to the nearest free table. Este gave Harry a look of amusement as their eyes met briefly. Harry went even redder.

"What can I get you, m'dears?" said Madam Puddifoot, a very stout woman with a shiny black bun, squeezing between their table and Harry's with great difficulty.

"Two coffees, please," said Este.

In the time it took for their coffees to arrive, a few couples had begun kissing. Este and Mattheo paid no attention as they continued to speak about Umbridge and they passed a few happy moments abusing her before moving on to all the couples there. "Huh, I wouldn't expect them to be together," Este said, gesturing to Theodore Nott and one of the Slytherin girls who was a year younger.

They continued to chat when suddenly, Cho Chang dissolved into tears. "I thought," she said, tears spattering down onto the table. "I thought you'd u-u-understand! I need to talk about it! Surely you n-need to talk about it t-too! I mean, you saw it happen, d-didn't you?" Everything was going nightmarishly wrong; Roger Davies' girlfriend had even unglued herself to look around at Cho crying.

"Well — I have talked about it," Harry said in a whisper that Este managed to hear, "to Ron and Hermione, but —"

"Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!" she said shrilly, her face now shining with tears, and several more kissing couples broke apart to stare. "But you won't talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we just . . . just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously want to!"

"Este, you are a genius," Mattheo said, marveling at Cho. "You are a brilliant, wonderous, little star."

Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it. "Cho?" he said weakly

"Go on, leave!" she said, now crying into the napkin. "I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me. . . . How many are you meeting after Hermione?"

"It's not like that!" said Harry, and then he laughed, which he realized a split second too late was a mistake. Cho sprang to her feet. The whole tearoom was quiet, and everybody was watching them now.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she said dramatically, and hiccuping slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open, and hurried off into the pouring rain.

"Cho!" Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle.

There was total silence within the tea shop. Every eye was upon Harry until the silence was broken. Everyone's eyes turned to Mattheo Riddle who was now laughing madly, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Mattheo!" Este hissed, trying to stop him as she sent Harry an apologetic look. He threw a Galleon down onto the table, shook pink confetti out of his eyes, and was out of the door.

Este gave Mattheo a look before rushing after Harry. It was raining hard now, and she was nowhere to be seen. "Women!" Harry muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. "What did she want to talk about Cedric for anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?"

"Oi! Wait up!" Este yelled, making Harry stop dead in his tracks.

"Este!"

Este caught up to him, "Quite the scene, Potter. Sorry for Mattheo, he's a cunt."

They entered the Three Broomsticks, "D'you want a drink? I've got to wait for──"

"Hermione, I heard."

"Right, then so one butterbeer?"

Este nodded, "Yeah, thanks."

Este found a booth and sat down, staring out at the windows before Harry returned with the Butterbeers and handed her a tankard. Este took a long sip, "So, what happened that made Cho storm out like that?"

"I dunno," Harry gave her a dark look. "Can we not talk about it?"

Este shrugged, "Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"Are you nervous for O.W.L's?"

Este nodded, "Yeah... I bet my nose is going to bleed loads──Atlas and I have like nosebleeds from stress and the occasional blackout. What about you, got a job in your mind?"

Harry nodded, "Auror."

"Of course, why not a teacher though? You'd be a good Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher."

Harry blushed, "I don't think I have the patience for it──what about you, what job are you pursuing?"

Este shrugged, "I dunno──I never really thought about it... My Grandmother... She raised me for marriage."

Harry gave her a look of surprise, "It's the twentieth century, Este."

"I know──which is why I was thinking like a job in the ministry or something. Maybe an alchemist."

Before they could continue their talk, a voice was calling Harry's name. "Harry! Harry, over here!" Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room.

Este's face dropped, "Oh, you should probably go."

Harry shook his head, "Come with me."

Surprised, she asked, "Really? Can I?"

Harry nodded, "Of course, c'mon."

They got up and made their way toward her through the crowded pub. They were still a few tables away when they realized that Hermione was not alone; she was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet.

"You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. "I thought you were with Cho──Oh! Este! I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!"

"Cho? Miss Black?" said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. "A girl? And together on Valentine's day?!"

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped it.

"It's none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls," Hermione told Rita coolly. "So you can put that away right now."

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.

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

"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, is she, Harry?"

"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 Harry and me," 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, "How has that made you feel, Harry? 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."

"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," snarled Harry. "There was a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their 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. "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-KnowWho'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."

Este gave her a look of newfound respect, "That sounds quite brilliant, actually."

Rita stared at her. So did Harry. 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," said Hermione. "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 baldly, "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 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," Hermione said irritably.

Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forward across the table toward her, she said in a businesslike 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 tell people what they want to hear, does it?" said Hermione 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 gilly water, "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 Este 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." R

ita did not say anything for a while, but eyed Este 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 honor, 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, yes," said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban. . . ."

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?" said Rita, 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?"

For a moment, Harry turned to look at Este──perhaps for a look of support or confirmation. Este nodded and Harry turned back to the table, "I suppose," said Harry, watching Rita balancing the QuickQuotes 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.