Harry did not have the same luck I had with Occlumency lessons. If anything, it weakened his mind even more; I felt it. At breakfast the next day, Harry and Ron told Hermione and me about what happened last night when Harry and I left for our dorms. I felt a light joy when I was falling asleep, but I thought I was content with shutting my mind; I was wrong. Harry had been cackling for Voldemort had been the happiest he'd ever been in the last fourteen years.
The next morning only supported our suspicions: There was a Mass Breakout at Azkaban that night and the murder of Broderick Bode, a Ministry employee who was laid up at St. Mungo's, has been killed by a Devil's Snare plant left at his bedside.
And for the last two weeks, Umbridge decided to attend every Care of Magical Creatures lesson and Divination class. A rumor started to float around the school, wondering whether Professor Trelawney or Hagrid will be fired first. And now, yesterday, Hagrid banned Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me from visiting his cabin anymore, claiming it was too dangerous with Umbridge sticking her now everywhere.
Then Occlumency lessons didn't work for Harry, only making his mind weaker, giving Ron the idea that Snape is trying to weaken his mind despite the fact that Occlumency had worked for me as I rarely had surges of Voldemort's emotions. But between Occlumency lessons, D.A. Meetings, and Quidditch practices, I was beyond exhausted. The only thing I was looking forward to was the date I had planned with Fred.
A week before Valentine's day, Fred finally took advantage of the date he wanted us to have. During our next Hogsmeade trip, on Valentine's day, we would have our date. Not only did he take that advantage, but he and George also used the holiday to sell love potions disguised as juices and candies.
"Fred, George, that's illegal," I warned. "You're going to get expelled!"
But the love potions were selling quicker than expected, they didn't care.
"Poor things," George said sarcastically as a Ravenclaw boy scurried out of sight with two love drinks.
"There's only one left," Fred smirked. "Want it Mousey?"
"Why would I need it?" I laughed and uncorked it, trying to smell it. It smelled so good. "What do you two smell?"
"When we were making it, Fred kept smelling—" George stopped talking as Fred had elbowed him harshly and said, "I smell Pumpkin pastries, burning fireworks, and grass."
"Well," I smiled softly, "I smell toffee, chocolate frogs, and..."
My heart soared, I couldn't tell them that. They'd never leave me alone.
"...the smell of the Burrow's gardens."
"Our garden?" George laughed.
"My favorite place," I smiled sheepishly.
On the morning of the fourteenth, I put my hair in a side plait making sure I looked nicer than usual. Despite there being Quidditch practice, Angelina said I didn't have to show because I've 'excelled faster than the Snitch' which is Quidditch talk for I'm almost as good as Harry now.
During breakfast, Hermione told Harry and me that we need to go to Three Broomsticks, for lunch, for a meeting she's set up. All very vague. Walking with Harry, out of the Great Hall, we went to the front of the Hogwarts entrance to stand with the other pairs going on their Hogsmeade dates. Harry quickly met Cho's eyes and almost tripped over his feet. Without saying goodbye, he walked over to Cho and embraced her.
Looking around, I found Fred and ran up to him with a large smile.
"Boo!" I said.
He turned around and matched my smile.
"There you are, Mousey," said Fred. "I could barely see you over all of these people."
"Ho ho, so funny," I narrowed my eyes.
He pulled me into a hug and rested his chin on my head, lacing our fingers. The action sent my stomach soaring.
"Let's get a move on," Fred said.
Hand-in-hand, we made our way down to the pathway to Hogsmeade were we would spend all day together. The weather was nice, not the usual windy, cold day as it had been for the last few weeks; the sun was shining and the snow began to melt on the ground.
"How's Quidditch?" Fred suddenly said.
I looked up from my feet and saw we were passing the Quidditch stadium.
"I like being a Seeker, but I know Harry misses it. Plus the team is doing horribly. All the team, except for me, is practicing today. Angelina said my Seeking skills are almost as good as Harry's."
"I can't wait to see you play," Fred beamed.
A smile played on my face as we swung our arms, walking to the gates.
"So... where d'you want to go?" Fred asked as we 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," I said, shrugging. "Shall we just have a look in the shops or something?"
We 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 Fred and I approached and I found myself 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," Fred said in a low voice, also gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters. "Remember when Sirius 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," I said, tearing his eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange's face to glance up and down the High Street. "Yeah, it is weird, but I'm not sorry that there were no dementors nearby."
Fred and I walked down the streets of Hogsmeade once more, going into many different shops and decided to go into Zonko's.
"Reckon you'll open up your joke shop soon?" I asked Fred as we skimmed the aisles.
"Sooner than you think," he beamed. "George and I have been perfecting our inventions and saving up to finally get the premises for..."
"What shop are you looking to buy out?" I raise a brow at him.
"How do you know we're planning to buy someone out?" Fred paused, turning to me.
"Now, I do," I laughed. "C'mon, tell me your plans, your dreams and aspirations."
Fred gave me a look and sighed.
"Fred, please," I smiled and leaned against him, looking up.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and I put my hands on his chest, leaning into him. I very much liked this position, it was comforting and calming, despite the longing stares of others. I heard him sigh once more and I knew I won.
"Let's go to Madam Puddifoot's. We can have a tea or coffee before going to Three Broomsticks to meet Hermione," I suggested.
Lacing his fingers in mine, once more, we made our way out of the joke shop and into the tea shop.
"Look, she's decorated it for Valentine's Day!" I giggled, indicating a number of golden cherubs that were hovering over each of the small, circular tables, occasionally throwing pink confetti over the occupants. "Hermione and I came in here almost every time we've come."
"I can tell why," Fred said. "It's a girls' shop."
"They have good drinks," I tugged him along.
Fred ordered us two cappuccinos as I found a spot in the far corner, where we'd be able to talk freely and enjoy each other's company. Looking around the shop, I noticed Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, with a pretty blonde girl and other Hogwarts couples.
"Look," I pointed out when Fred came back with our drinks, "it's Harry and Cho."
"I heard you don't like her," Fred commented. "Why?"
"Cho seems like the type of girl to be a backstabber. Plus she's always messing around at practices with her friend," I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of the hot coffee.
"She's good at casting," Fred said. I huffed at his comment, but didn't respond. "But I know what you mean, though, she's a try-hard."
"That's why she's a Ravenclaw," I mumbled.
"Is lil' Mousey jealous?" teased Fred.
"Shut up, Rodent," I huffed. "Now," I said, changing the subject, "tell me about your joke shop."
Fred and I spoke about his and George's ideas about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, their joke shop, and I was in awe at how passionate he spoke about it. The entire time I've known Fred and George, they've been nothing but pranksters and jokesters, but from Fred's description, I knew they were serious about it. Our conversation lasted until Cho started yelling at Harry about being inconsiderate and brought up Hermione's name.
"Oh no," Fred breathed.
"I'll see you around, Harry," Cho 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.
"Oh no is right," I whispered to Fred.
He let out a little chuckle as Harry threw down a Galleon on their previous table and ran out of the shop.
"Reckon you should check on him?" Fred suggested.
I looked back at Fred and gave him a frown, "why would I do that? We're on a date. He can survive without me for a few hours— he has for ten years, a couple hours won't hurt."
Fred winced at my comment but didn't bring up the situation anymore. After we downed our coffees and bought a few pastries, we scurried, in the rain, towards Three Broomsticks where Hermione had instructed Harry and me to meet her.
"I'll stay over by the bar, you go to Hermione," Fred said, pushing me into the pub and out of the rain. "I'll be here if you need me."
"Maisey! Maisey, over here!"
Hermione and Harry were waving at me from the other side of the room. I made my way toward her through the crowded pub. I was still a few tables away when I realized that Hermione was not alone; she was sitting at a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates I could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favorite people in the world.
"Finally!" said Hermione, moving Harry along to give me room to sit down next to them. "Finished your date with Fred?"
"Date with Fred?" Harry said in awe.
"Shut up," I snapped.
"Well, this is a turn of events," Skeeter said, snatching up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it. "First Harry is with Cho, another girl, and you are with his best friend's brother?"
"It's none of your business if Maisey or Harry's been with a hundred of people," 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?" I asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione to Harry.
"Little Miss Perfect was telling me about how papers have been running stories about you two," Rita said.
"It's all because you've told the Minister of Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe them," said Hermione.
"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 and me to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. "You both stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you two being the only witnesses —?"
"We weren't the sole witnesses," I snarled. "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 us as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: 'The Potter Twins Accuse...' A subheading: 'Harry and Maisey Potter Name Death Eaters Still Among Us.' And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you two: 'Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Maisey 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. So did I. 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 they say 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 and Maisey report them. They'll give you all the details, they'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters they saw there, they'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 and Maisey's lost their marbles!" said Hermione angrily. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want them 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 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 the Potter Twins 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 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. "The Quibbler! 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."
"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.
"You two okay with that?" said Hermione, turning to us. "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 us.
"Beyond ready," I smirked, looking at Harry.
"Fire away, then, Rita," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out of the bottom of her glass.