Chapter 38: Talk

Hagrid's probation was the straw that broke the camel's back for Harry. He hadn't known how to react when he'd come across Hagrid trying to act cheerful (and failing miserably) but it had only compounded his need to act.

Word of Hagrid's probation made its way around the school over the next couple days and Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been indignant by the lack of outrage over his probation. Indeed, some, like Draco Malfoy, had been downright gleeful.

"He had it coming." The blonde prat had remarked loudly during a DADA class the following Monday, "He was a horrid Professor."

To Harry's glee, Kate had overheard him and taken 20 points, which had effectively ended Malfoy's gloating for the rest of the day. Unfortunately that hadn't stopped other things from causing people to stare at Harry.

Rumors were flying about the escaped Death Eaters. Theories about their escape, reports, some downright ridiculous, of spottings, tales of what the ministry was doing about the whole thing were in every conversation. Some speculated that the dementors were going to return and others talked about what Sirius Black was "plotting" all while the Daily Prophet was filled with Ministry drivel downplaying events and platitudes from Fudge himself. If there was one positive thing, people were increasingly frustrated and distrusting of the newspaper. Harry had heard a 4th year Ravenclaw remark on how their parents had asked him to begin listening to what Dumbledore said in school, censored as he was by the ministry.

Some kids had noticeably worse reactions, however. Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry. "And I don't know how you stand it, it's horrible," she said bluntly, dumping far too much dragon manure on her tray of Screechsnap seedlings, causing them to wriggle and squeak in discomfort.

Neville Longbottom has also been the subject of a great deal of whispers but he did not seem to care. Expect for in DA lessons where he drove himself until he was the best student there. Kate had also said that he had shot up the class rankings in DADA until he was in the top 5, with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. It made sense, Harry thought, considering what the Lestranges had done to his parents.

Harry was also the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors these days, yet he thought he detected a slight difference in the tone of the whisperers' voices. They sounded curious rather than hostile now, and once or twice he was sure he overheard snatches of conversation that suggested that the speakers were not satisfied with the Prophet's version of how and why ten Death Eaters had managed to break out of Azkaban fortress. In their confusion and fear, these doubters now seemed to be turning to the only other explanation available to them, the one that Harry and Dumbledore had been expounding since the previous year.

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

"They obviously can't talk freely in the staffroom anymore," said Hermione in a low voice, as she, Harry, and Ron passed Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout huddled together outside the Charms classroom one day. "Not with Umbridge there."

"Reckon they know anything new?" said Ron, gazing back over his shoulder at the three teachers.

"Kate would have told us." said Harry.

"She's been awfully busy lately, hasn't she?" Ron said with a smirk.

Umbridge, who had been beaten down by the jailbreak, was now truly miserable thanks to a series of mysterious pranks. First it had started small and unnoticeable, she had gotten very clumsy suddenly, unable to go a day without a very public and very embarrassing fall. Then she began having bad hair days, then she lost her voice for a few days, but it picked up after that. Her skin was changed to a hideous green and she was forced to speak in sonnets for a week. Then anything she tried to wear would instantly turn into Muggle clothing, which horrified her to no end. Often, the pranks would overlap, during the last few days of one, another would start and she was on a warpath to find the culprits, but there was never any evidence she could find.

At least it slowed down the scrutiny Hagrid and Trelawny were under. She had tried to sit in on every class, but it was impossible when she was a "distraction to a healthy learning environment" as Kate had boldly proclaimed when Umbridge had shown face in her class. He doubted it'd be enough, but it certainly helped.

It was the same conversation that Kate explained to Harry what she had done to Umbridge that she also updated him on the biggest news for the Rogues.

"I have good news."

"What is it?" Harry asked eagerly, hoping it was something to do with Umbridge or the escape Death Eaters.

"I got an owl from Cella this morning." Kate said with a smile threatening to explode onto her face.

"What'd she say?" Harry pressed.

"Fudge flooed her this morning to request that they work on a new defense agreement."

"What?" Harry asked blankly.

"One of our goals was to make Fudge amp up the British DMLE and Cella was trying to get a partnership that would help and force him to do it well." Kate explained, "Of course he resisted all attempts, but the breakout has made him see the… political advantages to such a deal."

"Oh — that's good!" Harry said, wondering if he'd ever understand political grandstanding, but happy for Cella.

"It is." She said, "It also protects my job and now Cella has the upper hand, having been proven correct in Fudge's eyes...in a roundabout sort of way."

"Why, Kate, I didn't know you cared if you kept your job!" Harry said sardonically.

"It doesn't actually matter, but it would be embarrassing…" she shrugged.

Harry snickered, part of him thinking it would be kind of funny, but another rebelling at the idea of having a different DADA professor. Who knew sisters made such good teachers?

"Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day?" She asked him.

"It's a Hogsmeade weekend, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah." Kate said, "And I'm working it too."

"Didn't Umbridge, like, ban you— after you gave everyone the ministry test?" Harry suppressed a snort at the memory.

"Well she certainly isn't thrilled about this." Kate smirked. "But she doesn't know who exactly is an "educational expert" and I doubt she bothered to check either."

"Why do you ask? About my plans, I mean," said Harry.

"Well we could spend some time together, I thought—and Hermione also has something she wants me to set up—which I did— that requires your presence for a bit."

HOGSMEADE, FEB 14, 1996

"Where were you planning to go?" Harry 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.

"Nowhere in particular—I do need to stay where I can see most of the students on the street," said Kate. "Shall we just have a look in the shops?"

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 Harry and Kate approached and Harry found himself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster ("By Order of the Ministry of Magic") of- fered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with infor- mation relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured. People were muttering all around them.

"It's funny, isn't it," said someone in a low voice, also gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters.

"Remember when that Sirius Black escaped?" Another witch said.

"There were dementors all over Hogsmeade last time!" Someone complained.

"Ten Death Eaters are on the loose-"

"and there aren't dementors anywhere. . . ."

He and Kate exchanged looks as they listened, their own conversation dying. He was not sorry that there were no dementors nearby, but now he came to think of it, their absence was highly significant. They had not only let the Death Eaters escape, they were not bothering to look for them. . . . It looked as though they really were outside Ministry control now.

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window he passed. Occasionally they would separate to make it seem like they were not hanging out together, but then they would drift back to each other and continue on their way, remarking on various things they saw. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft's; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Harry's face and the back of his neck.

"Want to go to Tiff's?" Kate asked, hair beginning to stick to her head as it got increasingly more damp. "We have to be fast though... it's about time to meet up with Hermione anyway."

"Yeah, lets go." He reached a hand back to wipe the droplets off his neck.

They made their way to the rather full restaurant and ordered some sandwiches before heading back to the Three Broomsticks.

"Why didn't we just meet at Rogue's?" He asked as they ducked inside.

"Didn't want our—Ah, guest to associate any of us with it." Kate said. They stopped at the entrance and surveyed the scene. Harry saw something that caught his attention.

"I'll meet you guys in a minute, ok?" Harry said, "I want to talk to Hagrid first…"

Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose.

"Sure." Kate agreed, "We'll wait."

"Hi, Hagrid!" he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him.

Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognized him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises.

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

"Yeah, I'm fine," said Harry. "Er — are you okay?"

"Me?" said Hagrid. "Oh yeah, I'm grand, Harry, grand. . . ."

He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry did not know what to say to him. They sat side by side 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 . . ." said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.

"Family," said Hagrid gloomily. "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," said Hagrid 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. . . . Take care now. . . ." And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched and then disappeared into the torrential rain.

Harry watched him go, feeling concerned. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept help. What was going on? But before Harry could think about the matter any further, he heard a voice calling his name.

"Harry! Harry, over here!"

Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way toward her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realized she was sitting at a table with a rather unlikely group of drinking mates: Kenna, Kate, and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favorite people in the world.

"You're late." She said, but she didn't sound too upset, "I thought you'd be coming in with Kate!"

"Kate?" said Rita at once, twisting in her seat to stare at Harry before switching her eyes back to Kate and then bouncing back again. "You are on a first name basis with a professor? A new, young, and single professor?"

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. "It's none of your business who Harry's friends with," 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 cou- ple 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, "Known each other a long time, Harry?"

"I'd strongly advise you drop it if you ever wish to publish another story." Kenna said evenly, her stare heated.

"And our deal will be off if that happens." Hermione added.

"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?"

"Think of this as an opportunity, Skeeter." Kenna said, "Witch Weekly is one of the largest publications brands in the wizarding world. And our news magazines are perhaps the most highly respected in the world. You are fairly well-known, but an article in our news would boost your career."

"I'm listening…" Rita said sweetly, "What exactly is it you want me to cover? Potter's fall to insanity? The ministry's actions in education?"

"What Hermione tells you to cover." Kate said flatly, speaking for the first time. "Honestly."

"You want me to write an article on how Potter feels?" She asked mockingly, "Tell me Potter, the Prophet has been running your name through the mud. How has that made you feel? Angry? Betrayed? Confused?" Her eyes glinted maliciously.

"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 were 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 re- spectable 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.

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

"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, watching Kate and Kenna hand napkins 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."

"That's where I come in." Kenna said.

"You're going to publish this farce?" Rita asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Where? Playwizard?" Rita retorted rudely.

"In the letter from the editor's section of The International Herald Monthly, The Eccentric Economist, Witch Weekly, Wizard Weekly, The Practical Potioneer, Transfiguration Today, and Dark Arts Daily."

Now it was Harry's turn to blink.

"And if I don't?"

"Well I suppose the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban. . . ." Kate said with a pleasant smile.

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.

"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.

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