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┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟐 *•. ┄┄

𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒔𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

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Hermione felt as if she was on the edge of a cliff, dancing over the edge without actually falling into the abyss. She found herself realizing the actual danger when leaving Grimmauld Place. It had hit her like a rock over the head nearly making her fall. It was the last time she would be seeing her dad before the ordeal over at the Department of Mysteries and her head was full of doubts. What if she couldn't save him? Her eyes were brimming with tears when she had hugged him goodbye, as he kissed her on the crown of her head and told her to make the most out of her year and have fun. She just kept thinking that if the original Hermione had gotten unconscious even before the Order arrived, who's to say it couldn't happen to her too?

A pit had formed in her stomach as she boarded the train and in order to get it out of her mind, she busied herself with her friends.

She had spent half the train ride with her Slytherin friends after having escaped from Ron and her prefect duties. 

Hermione loved that every time she was with Blaise and Theo (and sometimes Daphne) they managed to get her mind out of everything going on around them, but then again, maybe they were escaping their own problems. This was something Hermione noted during the train ride, Theo had been more moody and snappish, and his poise stiffer, from what she could gather Hermione knew things in his house weren't going for the best. She opted not to comment on it and let it slide, if she wasn't one to talk about her problems, she wasn't about to make him confess either (not yet at least); instead, she decided to focus on Blaise's newest crush, Padma Patil, who he deemed as beautiful and smart and much more sensitive than Goldstein.

The next half of the train ride she had spent with Dean, Seamus, and Neville. She and Neville were the only ones that knew about Dean and Seamus dating—though Neville had only learned about it when he went to Seamus's house during Christmas break. During her time with them, Hermione had casually wondered out loud why they didn't make their relationship public which caused the boys in question to blush and sink in their seats. Though Neville did something Hermione never thought was possible during Fifth Year (as he was just gathering his confidence), he snapped back at her with a smirk.

"Says you, Ms. I'm-dating-Fred-Weasley-in-secret, " he had said which caused three gasps to be heard. Dean and Seamus had never looked so offended with her but they bit their tongues when she rebutted that they didn't tell her about them dating either when they first started. Then she turned onto Neville to question him. Apparently, he had just put one plus one together (it was that easy), and with his observational skills (which Hermione found out were better than she gave him credit for) and the Second Year's gossiping he had easily figured out.

By then she pretended to be hurt and dramatically left the compartment only to come back to the door and wink at them one last time before she set off to find Fred. The redhead was with George and Lee in a compartment laughing and talking; instead of pulling him apart from the group, Hermione decided to join in, though she just ended up falling asleep with her head on Fred's shoulder from how tired she was.

When they got to Hogwarts, Hermione urged herself to do stuff during the day. She had convinced herself to start flying again and went out on a pitch a couple of times with Ginny to help her practice Seeker and apparently talk about her and Fred (Gigi was still cross that she was let out of the loop). Ginny had asked her how things were going with them and Hermione's face immediately lit up and she blushed slightly (something she didn't do much). The truth was as much as their relationship was going perfect, apart from some hitches, Hermione couldn't help but be. . . . scared? She knew she was starting to fall. Hard. And that didn't sit well with her. But she let that be a problem she would deal with later. They were fine now and she wouldn't change a thing.

As extra distractions from the problems she had, Hermione had also started reading her delayed magazines again, getting caught up on the muggle gossip; taking more pictures of everyone; and urging Ron and Harry to start with their meditating again.

Ron and Harry had noticed she was more proactive and cheery than usual but didn't say anything, especially with the latest happenings. Which included Harry's occlumency classes with Snape — which were not going well and if Hermione remembered from the books were pretty exhausting —, the fact that Harry had a date with Cho Chang — although Hermione noted he didn't seem as excited as he was in the books —, and that morning's front page in the Daily Prophet.

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

Tenn black-and-white photographs all 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 them, convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

Augustus 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.

Rabastan Lestrange, Hermione's eyes widen slightly at the familiar name of one of her mother's best friends. Hermione looked over at the picture and gulped at how broken he looked. On the outside, his hair was unkempt and dark, and his dirty face was sneering at the reader, but it was in the eyes that Hermione could see the despair. They looked as if they were pleading for something as if they had given up. Hermione bit her lip as she gulped down again, clenching her jaw as her eyes swept over to the caption, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Hermione tore her eyes from the face of her mother's old friend and she finally zeroed them on the picture of a familiar witch. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though he had seen it sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at her through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something—perhaps Azkaban—had taken most of her beauty.

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

Hermione felt sick in the stomach as she read the journal. Bellatrix Lestrange (nee Black) was her dad's cousin which made them family and she just couldn't accept that they were related. She was the reason Neville grew up without parents. And in her eyes, she couldn't see any glint of remorse or redeeming haunt. She looked proud, a brainwashed woman ready to follow the Dark Lord and fall at his feet, this made Hermione glare at the page and shove it in Harry's direction, not in the mood to eat anymore.

"Black?" said Harry loudly after reading the headline "Not — ?" Harry stopped talking as he felt Hermione kick him in the shin and though she didn't talk she urged him to read the newspaper. Ron and Harry exchanged a look before Harry cleared his throat and began reading out loud:

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 of 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 beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious. On no account, should any of these individuals be approached."

"There you are, Harry," said Ron, looking awestruck. "That's why he was happy last night. . . ." Hermione frowned for a bit but then realized Ron was talking about Voldemort.

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

"Fudge is a moronic arsehole," said Hermione glaring at the paper, venom dripping from her voice, "Doesn't want to admit Voldemort's back—Stop wincing! It's a name, Parson! Either way, he goes and blames da—Sirius for something—Urgh. . ."

Hermione groaned as she buried her face in her hands, trying to control her breathing.

Harry and Ron took a notice of her bad mood and wisely chose not to comment. Instead, Ron took to finishing his porridge and Harry continued reading the Prophet. At some point, he choked on his drink looking startled at the article. As Hermione heard Harry and Ron starting to talk she immediately realized it was about the man, Mr. Bode was his name, that died in St. Mungos. As the boys connected dots about Unspeakables and the Department of Mysteries, Hermione slightly grimaced. This was for two main reasons; the first being that she could've stopped the death if she really wanted to; the second being that she actually didn't feel bad. Not for Mr. Bode at least, she felt sympathetic towards his family (if he even had one) but that was as far as she went. Hermione knew fully well that was cold of her but who could blame her? Her goal in life, at least since she got to this world, was to save the people she loved, and she was sorry, but she didn't love Mr. Bode. She didn't even know the guy, she had nothing to do with him, so why worry and add that to the pile of problems she has already?

After that shit show at the beginning of the day, Hermione didn't feel like having classes. Instead, she took to hiding in her room all morning until lunch and spend time with the Lively Corpses. That was until she had a feeling she was forgetting about something, she had taken out her notebook with notes of the Fifth Year and shuffled through the pages. When she got to what she was looking she pursed her lips and frowned. She got out a pen and a paper and started writing a half threatening, half suggesting letter to one Rita Skeeter asking (well, demanding) for the reporter to meet with her and Harry in Hogsmeade. During lunch, she sought out Luna and filled her in on her plan. The latter was more than happy to help and promptly told her she would be sending a letter to her father the first chance she got.

The next few days there was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumors 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 done.

Those 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. There were relatives of their victims among the Hogwarts students, who now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome sort of reflected fame as they walked the corridors. Hermione had noticed that the day the newspaper came out, Fred and George, along with the rest of the Weasleys, had looked slightly down, but then again so did everyone.

But 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.

Hagrid had also been put on probation; one of Umbridge's many deeds along with a new sign that had appeared on the house notice boards 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 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!"

The next time Hermione saw him the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly.

Right now Hermione was walking through an empty corridor, earphones plugged in one year and Nirvana blasting loudly. She was about to turn the corner when Fred and George passed running hastily through her making her stop in her step. Then Fred backtracked slightly as George stopped with a shake of his head, and walked faster to Hermione's side.

"Hey, love," he said with a smirk and Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's going on?"

"We're running from McGonagall—"

"Why?"

"That's no the point," said Fred waving it off and Hermione nodded with a slight frown, "Hogsmeade on Valentine's?"

"Yeah, there's a Hogsmeade trip on Valentine's. . . ."

"I meant, will you go with me, Miss Black?" Fred asked with a cocky smirk and Hermione blushed slightly.

"I can't—Not during the day at least. . . ." she grimaced when she saw his smile faltering slightly, "But we'll go at night, we can sneak out and go to Hogs Head!"

"Perfect," Fred said and as footsteps were heard he leaned down and pecked her lips before dashing off along with George leaving Hermione to laugh amusedly as their retreating figures almost fell as they slid through the corner.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's eyes bulged slightly and she quickly composed herself and turned on her heel to look at a fuming Professor McGonagall with her most innocent smile.

"Yes, Minnie?"

"Have you seen Messrs. Weasley?" the older woman asked her lips pursed tightly.

"Yes. They're really handsome," Hermione nodded with a fake oblivious smile, and McGonagall visibly sighed as she closed her eyes and muttered to herself. Hermione only caught what sounded like 'second time,' and 'like father, like daughter,' which honestly made her grin proudly though her stomach churned slightly.

"Miss Granger, what I meant to ask was have you seen them recently?"

"Did you?" Hermione asked instead.

"Miss Granger —"

"Elvendork."

"What are you doing Miss Granger?"

"Quidditch."

"What?" Professor McGonagall said exasperatedly though Hermione noted a sense of nostalgia in her tone.

"I really have to go, Minnie," Hermione said and looked down at her watchless wrist, "Have you looked at the time? How late am I?"

With that Hermione saluted McGonagall and dashed off in the opposite direction the twins went for. Later that day she found out that Fred and George were running from McGonagall because they set lizards loose in her Transfiguration class as a distraction for the dungbombs in the corridor.

On the morning of the fourteenth, Hermione received the letter she had been waiting for during breakfast. She was tugging it from the beak of the unfamiliar brown owl when Ron and Harry arrived. She turned to Harry with a smile after having read the response.

"Harry meet me at the Three Broomsticks around noon, okay? Perfect," said Hermione, and Harry just looked baffled as Ron snorted.

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

"She can come too," said Hermione rolling her eyes, "But you have to come."

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

"You'll see," Hermione waved him off and turned to Ron, "You'll come too, Parson."

"I can't, I have Quidditch practice," Ron said eyeing her suspectingly. "What the bloody hell is going on with you, Dame?"

"What do you mean? I'm fine," Hermione scoffed.

"Okay. . . ." Ron said narrowing his eyes but then shook his head, "Either way, Angelina wants a full day's training. Like it's going to help—we're the worst team I've ever seen. You should see Sloper and Kirke, they're pathetic, even worse than I am." He heaved a great sigh. "I dunno why Angelina won't just let me resign. . . ."

"It's because you're good when you're on form, that's why," said Harry irritably.

Hermione spent a good part of her morning looking for Luna Lovegood. The girl was just really hard to find. She finally came to find her standing on her tippy toes on top of a ledge (not too many feet away from the floor) trying to see into a bird's nest. This made Hermione's heart skip, as one slip and would be bye-bye Luna. She had quickly grabbed the girl's hand making them fall to the ground. Luna had laughed it off and together they made their way to Hogsmeade. The two spent the morning walking around and a bit before midday finally walked into the Three Broomsticks. Not half an hour later Rita Skeeter came in a few minutes later followed by Hagrid.

He made his way over, looking surprised at her company after Hermione called him over.

"How was your date with Cho?" Hermione asked trying not to laugh as she knew he had royally mucked it up—though she totally blamed the Ravenclaw girl. Harry narrowed his eyes at her as he sat down.

"Cho?" said Rita at once, twisting around in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. "A girl?"

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

"No, no. You got it wrong. Cho is his new lizard pet," Hermione told Rita sarcastically and looked pointedly at the acid-green quill she was taking out of her bag. "You can put it away."

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

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, 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.

"It's a free country, beetle," said Hermione shrugging and Rita gulped again.

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?"

"Cho's a lovely lizard, and a private one at that, one more word about Cho, the lizard, and the deal's off," said Hermione with a sarcastic smile and Harry had to bite his lip not to chuckle.

"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.

"You'll write an awful story about me and Harry?" said Hermione testily. "That would hurt if we actually cared Rita the Beetle Skeeter."

"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's oh so happy he's a lunatic, now," said Hermione sarcastically, "You see, he told the Ministry the truth but the Minister is a bloody moron."

"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-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?"

"Actually Little Miss Perfect wants exactly that."

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.

"Yeah," said Hermione. "The whole entirety of it. Exactly like Harry tells it. He'll give you details and whatnot, names, whatever, he'll even tell you how Voldemort —" Hermione stopped talking when at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly that she had slopped half her glass of firewhisky down herself. Hermione actually thought it was a good thing because the end of her sentence would have been "lost all his hotness."

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—"

"This isn't a Harry Potter went nuts, story," Hermione said impatiently, "It's a chance for him to tell the truth."

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

"There is," said Hermione in an obvious tone, "Fudge just won't let it be printed."

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."

"A newspaper is supposed to give you the news," said Hermione with a scoff, "It isn't supposed to please the middle-aged wizards, that sit on their couches, as the only source of entertainment."

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."

"Then let's hope the story you'll publish on it won't be bullshit," said Hermione pleasantly.

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?"

"I don't think. I know," Hermione said with such certainty that made the reporter narrow her eyes at her.

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 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?"

"Yeah," said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. "Otherwise, beetle, it'll be bye-bye status, hello there, Azkaban cell."

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.

"Ready to speak your truth, Prongslet?" Hermione asked dramatically.

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

"Let the writing begin, beetle," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of her glass.

Luna said vaguely that she did not know how soon Rita's interview with Harry would appear in The Quibbler, that her father was expecting a lovely long article on recent sightings of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. "And, of course, that'll be a very important story, so Harry's might have to wait for the following issue," said Luna.

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