THE POTTER TWINS SPEAK OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED AND THE NIGHT WE SAW HIM RETURN.
The article was dropped in front of me, one breakfast time, the shiny, red letters of the headline catching my attention almost instantly. The faces of Harry and I were staring back at me, printed across the front cover of The Quibbler, grinning sheepishly.
Hermione had managed to bribe - well, blackmail Rita Skeeter into interviewing the pair of us. At first we were skepticism about the fact of it being her, considering all of the stuff she wrote about us last year, but Hermione assured us, with an odd twinkle in her eye, that she would be writing nothing but the truth. Luna had taken the interview and sent it to her dad, the editor of the Quibbler magazine and he had managed to get it printed on the front page, unmissable to anybody.
Alongside the magazine that was dropped in front of me, a dozen or so owls had come fluttering down from the windows and landed around us, knocking over goblets and pecking at scraps that lay at the bottom of empty dishes. More owls came swooping down, one landing on my shoulder, a couple landing right on my plate of food, one pecking at Harry's finger angrily.
"It's good, isn't it?" Luna says, excitedly, after drifting her way over to the Gryffindor table, and slipping in between Ron and Fred, her hair ties back into two long braids accompanied with a bright blue headband and her homemade radish earrings. I drop my half eaten toast into my plate, after gently pushing the owls off it and shuffle through the letters on the table, curiously. "It came out yesterday, I expect these," she gestures to the owls scrabbling around in the table pecking at each other excitedly, "are letters from readers."
"That's what I thought," Hermione says, swallowing a large mouthful of pumpkin juice, "D'you mind if we-"
"Help yourself," I say swatting my hand and reaching forward to grab a letter. Harry, Ron and Hermione all reach forward hurriedly tearing open letters and pulling out the parchment from inside, reading them carefully, with intriguing looks in their eyes.
"This ones from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," Ron says glancing down at his letter before crumpling it up and throwing it aside, "Ah well."
"This one seems ok-" I murmur, my eyes scanning over the writing of a woman from Southern Wales. "Hey- she says she believes us!"
Harry looked delighted, taking the letter from me and reading it through, happily. I scramble around for another sealed letter to open.
"This one's in two minds," Fred, who had enthusiastically joined in the letter-opening, says, examining the parchment he was gripping, "Says you don't come across a mad person, but doesn't really want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now. Blimey what a waste of parchment-"
"Here's another one you've convinced!" Hermione says eagerly, "Oh this is wonderful!" She thrusts the letter into my hands and a rush of adrenaline pumps through my veins as I read the wizard's scruffy, cursive writing.
"Another one who thinks you're barking," Ron says, lobbing the scrunched you're parchment over at the Slytherin table and snickering as it lands in a jug of pumpkin juice. "But this one says you've got her converted and now she thinks you're real hero's-"
"What is going on over here?" An evidently false girly voice speaks from behind us. My heart jumps into my throat as I drop the letter in my trembling hands, knowing exactly who was glowering behind me. I snap my head around, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, timidly glaring up at her bulging eyes, which were scanning the table, darting from the overworked owls to the ripped parchment scattered around.
"Why have you got all these letters, Miss Potter." She says, putting her hands on her hips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see students from other tables glancing around avidly at her.
"Is that a crime now?" Ron mutters from next to me, "Getting mail."
I hesitate, trying to come up with a witty excuse, but it wasn't long before the copy of The Quibbler, that was lying open on the table came fo her attention. "They're not just mine," I say, swallowing a large lump in my throat, "People have written to Harry and I because we did an interview."
"An interview?" Umbridge says, her voice squeaking with anger, "What do you mean?"
"I mean a reporter asked us questions and we answered them." I say, before I could stop myself, giving her a look that says nothing could have been more obvious. "Here," I say, confidently throwing the copy of The Quibbler at her. She catches it and glares down at the front cover, her face and neck turning an ugly, splotchy purple colour. Her gaze snaps up from the magazine to my face and then to Harry's. Her lips were pressed together so firmly she could have squashed a grape between them. Her square, toady face was mirroring the expression of a slightly constipated rat.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor," She spits finally, "How... dare you... I have told you once and once gains not to tell lies and you keep going around spreading them!" Her voice was trembling unpleasantly, "You seem to have thought I had forgotten about your unattended detentions, Miss Potter, well you are very wrong indeed. You'll be in my office at eight o'clock tomorrow evening for your detention. No excuses." She clutches The Quibbler tightly between her short stubby fingers and storms off, her heels clacking aggressively against the stone floor.
My heart sinks into my stomach and I feel as though it could have weighed one hundred tonnes. I was doing so well in avoiding any more detentions with her. I had to go and ruin it didn't I? My insides crawl at the very thought of being in her office once again, writing lines, cutting my hands, writhing on the floor.
The thought seemed to follow me around like a shadow all morning, creeping up behind me when I wasn't looking, whispering in my ear. As we were exiting Herbology, and heading to lunch I caught sight of a new sign, pinned to a billboard on the opposite wall. There was a small crowd of people gathered around so, naturally, we went to investigate.
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
The rest of the afternoon, whenever we came across one of these new Educational Decree's scattered around the school, Hermione seemed to beam with pure pleasure.
"What exactly is so good about this?" I ask, as we were headed to the Gryffindor Common Room after our last lesson of the day - Charms.
"Don't you see?" She says, with a smile, "If she could have done one thing to make sure every single person in the school would read it, it's banning it! You know the people here, they'll do anything to know what's going on, nosy buggers if you ask me."
Usually I would have stared at her with bewilderment, but this time she was right. Although I hadn't so much as seen a copy of The Quibbler anywhere in the school what so ever, people already had been quoting parts from the interview, whispering it frantically to their friends, discussing it at the back of lessons and over lunch. Umbridge had been roaming the corridors, demanding students at random to turn out their pockets or show their textbooks but I'm pretty sure the students were already a step ahead of her: I saw one girl reading a copy of the magazine, as we were entering Divination, I was just about to urge her to put it away, when the page wiped and presented itself as an ordinary textbook, before she stuffed it hurriedly in her bag.
Thinking back, I also remember the teachers being specifically odd towards Harry and I, today. Professor Sprout awarded me twenty points to Gryffindor for passing her a watering can and another twenty to Harry, for 'performing exceptionally' when re-potting a baby Wiggentree. Professor McGonagall had been extra nice to the both of us today, also, not scolding us for chatting when we were not supposed to and awarding us house points whenever she could. And after Charms, Professor Flitwick had pushed two Chocolate Frogs onto the end of our desks when no one was looking and hurried off quickly, winking at us.
Hermione and I climbed through the portrait hole, high in spirits, embracing the cozy, warm air of the Gryffindor Common Room and getting our first sound of the crackling wood fire in the corner. When we enter, Harry and Ron are already sat in front of the fire, looking just as high in spirits as I felt. I glance around the room: it was filled with an edited buzz of chatter and several pair of eyes landed on me or were staring holes into Harry's back. The two of us stride over to the sofas where the boys were sat, pulling our knees up to our chests and enjoying the warmth of the fire in contrast to the freezing air outside. Harry and Ron snicker.
"What?" I say, giving them a look. They point to the wall behind us. I turn my head.
I don't know how I missed it. Hung, over the wallpaper on the wall was the front cover of The Quibbler, clearly grown with an Enlargement Charm, so Harry and I's awkward grins glared down onto the proceedings, rather creepily. Above that were several banners hanging from the ceiling that read "THE MINISTRY AFE MORONS" and "EAT DUNG UMBRIDGE" in bright red pain. I let out a chuckle as my eyes were drawn to the attention of the guilty culprits: Fred and George, grinning cheekily, small jars of paint scattered over the desk in front of them.
"Like it?" Fred calls, pointing to their masterpiece.
"Love it." I say, stifling a laugh and shaking my head in amusement, turning back to Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were all staring at one point to my left. I glance over and see Seamus standing rather awkwardly, picking at his fingers, his lips pursed. I glance suspiciously at Hermione.
"I er-" Seamus begins, slowly, looking down, "Just wanted to say that well- I believe you. I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."
If there was one thing that I needed the most, it was to have the whole of Gryffindor, bar a few ignorant ones, to be on our side. The interview has definitely made Harry and I more on the popular side, people crowding around us and bombarding is with questions even in the tiny amount of time we were seated in the Common Room. Throughout the day, we had received likes and piles of extra letters, which we had to carry up to our dormitories at lunch, most of which were adamant old witches and wizards who had nothing better to do than to follow the Ministry's word, but there was a select few who sent us lovely letters, sending us various packages of sweets, congratulating us and praising us for our bravery.
There was only one person I was disappointed not to have heard from today: Draco. He had waved me hello in one of our lessons but not a proper word was spoken to me. I needed to tell him about my new detentions, but I couldn't help but feel as if he was in a mood with me, for some reason. I wondered if he would be there. In my next detention, tomorrow. He probably wouldn't be, but I cling onto a tiny strand of hope that he would be. When I was lying there on her office floor, being hit with the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, as cheesy as it sounds, he was the one positive thing I clung onto. I don't know what was to come in my next detention, but the very thought of it, made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.