.

Chapter Seventeen

Bugged By The Press

Updated 4/15/2016

=ooo=

25 October 1991
3:12 p.m.
The path to Hagrid's cabin—

Harry and Ron walked past the greenhouses on the path that would take them to the cabin on the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds, nearly into the Forbidden Forest itself. Their last class for the week, Double History with Professor Binns, was thankfully over with, and Harry had reminded Ron that they were going to visit the groundkeeper at his request.

"You still don't know why he wants to see you, do you?" Ron asked as they trudged along.

Harry shook his head. "Like I said, he seems to know me, somehow. He says I look like my father, so I guess he knew him as well. At least now I'll get the chance to see what he knows about him and my mum."

The ground sloped gently downward as they continued eastward; in the distance they could see the cabin, which looked like a small wooden house in the distance, with a garden off to one side. As they neared it, however, they saw how big it really was — big enough for a man Hagrid's size, which was rather big indeed.

Harry reached up and knocked on the door. They heard a frantic scramble inside and several loud barks. "Settle down, Fang," they heard Hagrid say, then the door cracked open a bit and one of Hagrid's eyes peered through it at them. "Hang on," he said. "Come on, Fang, get back there!"

The door swung open, and Hagrid stood there, one hand on the collar of an enormous boarhound who kept leaping forward, struggling to get at them. Ron hesitated as they walked inside, clearly nervous around the large hound, but Harry said, "Hi, Fang," to the dog and it settled down immediately, sitting and panting expectantly.

"He likes yer," Hagrid beamed, letting go of Fang, and it bounded over to Ron and began licking his ears, to Ron's anxious amusement. "Make yerselves at home," Hagrid said, pointing to a table in the middle of the room with three chairs around it. "I'll get yer some tea."

The cabin itself had only one room, Harry saw. One corner of it was a kitchen; there was a large iron stove with a copper kettle heating up on it, and pots and pans hung from the ceiling. There was a cupboard for plates and glasses and a small countertop with drawers, presumably for silverware and other utensils. The ceiling had hams and pheasants hanging from it, and the only other furniture in the room was a large wardrobe and an enormous bed in the opposite corner. Harry and Ron slid onto chairs at the table. The edge of the table came up to their chests, it was so large, but when Hagrid took a chair he barely had room to get his legs under the table. "An' who might this be?" Hagrid nodded at Ron, a smile crinkling the skin around his eyes. "Looks like another Weasley t'me, aincha?"

"This is Ron Weasley," Harry nodded, and Ron gave a smile and a little wave.

"Thought so," Hagrid nodded. "You know, I've spent half my life chasing your brothers away from the Forbidden Forest over the years."

"I don't doubt it," Ron replied. "A name like 'Forbidden Forest' is like an open invitation to my brothers! Except for Percy, that is."

Hagrid reached over to the counter and grabbed a plate that was sitting there. The plate held a number of what looked like white rocks with bits of black gravel embedded in them. "Have some rock cakes," Hagrid said, then stood and went over to get the kettle off the stove, which had begun boiling. He took down three cups from the cupboard, and poured hot water into them, then steeped tea in each of them. He set two of the cups in front of Harry and Ron; they were the size of large bowls but they all but disappeared when they were in Hagrid's hands. Hagrid sat back down, taking a white lump off the plate he'd provided and gesturing toward it. "Eat up, boys," he offered. "Made 'em myself." So saying, he bit into the one in his hand, adding, "Mmmm."

Harry and Ron reached out and took one apiece. They even felt like rocks, Harry thought — hard to the touch. Ron put his to his lips and tried to bite into it, but his teeth barely made a mark. He glanced over at Harry, his expression saying do something! Harry nodded minutely and softly snapped his fingers. His and Ron's cakes immediately acquired the consistency and flavor of scones. He and Ron bit into theirs and made noises of approval. Hagrid beamed happily.

Harry felt something heavy and wet on his lap, and looked down to see that Fang had laid his head there, his nose poking Harry in the thigh. Harry put a hand absently on Fang's head and petted him gently, and Fang whined appreciatively at his attention.

"So, boys," Hagrid asked, as they each picked up their tea cups in two hands and sipped at the hot liquid. "How's school bin fer yeh so far this year? Are yeh learning much?"

"It's been okay," Ron said, then launched into an impromptu rant of everything that was wrong with the school and teachers. Some classes were boring; some were too hard. Some of the teachers were nice, like Professor Sprout, but some of them were horrible, like Snape. The two Defense professors they'd had, Quirrell and Lockhart, had not done a good job, but the last one, the one who'd shown up earlier that week after Lockhart disappeared, Remus Lupin, was doing well. Well, Ron allowed, he did give loads of homework, but his classes were interesting and most of the students thought he was doing good, so everyone was hoping that he'd be around for a while.

"Lupin's a good man," Hagrid commented. "He'll do right by yer wit' yer lessons."

Oh, there was a positive note, Ron went on — Mrs. Norris was still Petrified, and it would take another few weeks before Professor Snape could brew the draught that would cure her. Filch had been seen dragging himself aimlessly through the hallways, muttering to himself and glaring at Harry whenever he caught sight of him. Hearing this seemed to give Hagrid a good deal of pleasure. "As fer that cat," he told them. "I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. Did yeh know, ev'ry time I get up ter the school, she follows me around ev'rywhere? I can't get rid a' her — Filch puts her up to it! I'll have to go up an' pay 'im a visit sometime soon," he grinned.

The only really good thing that had happened so far that year was that Ron and Harry were both on the Quidditch team — Harry was the youngest player in over a century! — and he'd had gotten a Nimbus 2000 because he was the team Seeker and needed it to keep up with the other Seekers, who all had high-quality brooms as well. Oliver Wood, their team captain, had them practicing at least three times a week — their first Quidditch match was two weeks from now, when they would play the Slytherins, and Wood was making everyone on the team crazy because he was so obsessed about beating them. In fact, they had another practice today at four p.m., Ron suddenly remembered, so they'd have to leave a little before then.

"Yeah, that'll be a good game," Hagrid agreed, chuckling. "Yer dad was on the Quidditch team, Harry — did you know that?"

"He told me," Harry said, without thinking, then suppressed a wince as he realized what he'd said.

"Eh?" Hagrid looked confused. "What'cher mean, 'he tol' you'?"

"I mean," Harry went on quickly. "Er, Wood told me about him."

Hagrid grunted, that explanation seemed to satisfy him. "An' are yeh looking forward to Harry Potter Day next week, then?"

"What?" It was Harry's turn to be confused. "Harry Potter Day?" He looked at Ron, who was carefully looking away at that moment. "What's that?"

"What?" Hagrid looked outraged. "Yeh mean nobody's told you about Harry Potter Day?! Why, it's only one o' the most important days of the year! It's almost as important as Halloween, which comes on the same day."

"No, nobody's told me about it," Harry said, his eyes on Ron, who was still avoiding Harry's looks. "Ron, what do you know about Harry Potter Day?"

"Er," Ron said evasively. "Well, it's not that big a deal —"

"Not that big a deal?" Hagrid boomed, causing Fang to yelp and run into the corner, cowering. "Why, it's a great big deal! That's the day Harry got rid of ol' You-Know-Who and saved the wizarding world!"

Harry sighed. "Mister Hagrid —"

"Just call me Hagrid, Harry," the groundskeeper reminded him. "Ev'rybody does."

"Hagrid, then — I was only a year old, I don't even remember what happened that day," Harry replied. "I don't know why Voldemort disappeared —"

"Don't say his name!" Hagrid said frantically. "It's bad luck!"

"It's just a name!" Harry retorted. "What do you know about it, anyway? Where were you that day?"

"Closer'n you think," Hagrid muttered, taking another rock cake and swallowing it in one bite. "I was right there wit' yer, Harry — I was the one that found yeh."

Harry's demeanor changed in an instant. "Really?" he said. "Nobody's ever told me that."

Hagrid shook his head sadly. "Not a good thing ter remember. But… do you want to hear what happened?"

"Yes, please!" Harry and Ron both leaned forward, eager to find out what had gone on that day.

"When I got there," Hagrid began. "Yer mum and dad's house was in shambles. It looked like the right top half of the house was blown away.

"I went inside, to see who was still alive. I found…your dad next…to the stairs." Hagrid's voice was choking up as he spoke; he had turned away from Harry, unable to look at him as he spoke. "He was… he was…" Hagrid shook his head. Harry put a comforting hand on his massive arm.

"I went up the stairs," Hagrid continued, brokenly. "It was too much t' hope for that I'd find Lily — tha's your mum, you know — alive, but I still had ter look." Hagrid had taken a massive handkerchief out of a pocket, and was dabbing at his eyes as he spoke. "I went to where yer crib was, an' there she was…" Hagrid covered his face with the handkerchief. "Sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry! I couldn't help them!"

"It's okay, Hagrid," Harry whispered. He felt ready to break into tears himself, though he'd met his parents and made his peace with their passing. Ron was looking stricken as well, his eyes wide as he covered his mouth with a hand, to keep himself from moaning in sympathy. "What — what did you do next?"

Hagrid sniffled loudly, then blew his nose into the handkerchief. "You were lyin' there asleep," he said. "For a minute I thought yer mum had beaten You-Know-Who somehow, cause you were lyin' there so peaceful." Hagrid pointed to Harry's forehead. "Then I saw that scar, an' I knew somethin' had happened to you. I picked you up, real careful-like, in case you were hurt, an' you opened yer eyes and looked at me. You said my name — 'Hagged' was what yeh called me," A smile briefly flitted across Hagrid's face, almost hidden by his black beard. "Then I saw — there was a cloak by yer crib, torn to pieces. I knew it wasn't yer dad or mum's. It had to be — his."

"His," Harry repeated. "You mean, Vol— er, You-Know-Who's?"

Hagrid nodded in a jerky motion. "Yeah," he breathed raggedly. "I found yer mum's wand, next to her body, an' yer dad's was in their bedroom, on the dresser — he din't even have it with 'im when he fought You-Know-Who. But I couldn't find You-Know-Who's wand anywhere. Even to this day nobody knows what happened ter it.

"So I bundled you up and took yer to where Dumbledore said he'd be waitin' — at yer aunt an' uncle's house outside London, in Little Whinging." Hagrid ran his sleeve across his face. "An' that's the last I saw of yer until yeh got off the Hogwarts Express this past September the first."

Harry was thinking about what Hagrid had just said. "My parents lived in Godric's Hollow, didn't they?" Hagrid nodded. "How'd you get from there to Little Whinging? Can you Apparate?"

Hagrid laughed hollowly. "Naw, course not! I ain't acherly allowed to do magic, that is. But yer uncle Sirius lent me his motorcycle that evening, an' I took it out to yer mum and dad's. That's what got us from there to Little Whinging."

"My uncle Sirius?" Harry asked. "Nobody's mentioned him before. Who is he?"

But both Hagrid and Ron's expressions had gone spare, as if realizing that name shouldn't have been spoken in front of Harry. "Er, well, Sirius was a friend of your dad's," Hagrid explained. "His best friend, acherly. He ain't really your uncle, that is."

"Oh," Harry said, remembering something. "Ron told me there was a bloke named Sirius Black who was put in Azkaban years ago. But that's not the same guy, is it?" Hagrid didn't answer, like he'd suddenly gone deaf.

Harry looked at Ron. "Well? It's not the same guy, is it?"

"Er—" Ron said, swallowing hard. "I —"

"Oi," Hagrid said suddenly, looking at the door of his cabin. "Someone's at the front gate."

Harry and Ron hadn't heard anything. "How d'you know that?" Ron asked.

"I'm the Keeper o' the Keys as well as the groundskeeper," Hagrid said, standing and suddenly acting important. "It's my job to know when people come callin'. Come on," he said, going to the door. He grabbed a huge mokeskin coat off a hook near the door, pulling it on as he walked down the steps and began striding across the grounds. Harry and Ron had to run to keep up with him.

In what seemed like less than a minute they had made their way along the north side of the castle, taking the path leading from the front doors of the castle to the Quidditch pitch, then turning off and going to the school's front entrance: large, formidable–looking gates of wrought iron, locked and chained with an enormous black padlock.

On the other side of the gate stood three people, all looking at Hagrid quite impatiently as he strode up to meet them. The first was a portly man in a pinstriped cloak, twirling a bright green bowler hat absently in his hands. Next to him stood a witch, her blonde hair done up in elaborate curls, wearing jeweled glasses and bright red lipstick and nail polish, wearing a bright green robe that immediately reminded Harry of Slytherin. The third person was a paunchy wizard in black robes, holding a large black camera at the ready in front of him.

"Uh-oh," Harry heard Ron mutter under his breath as he saw them, but before Harry could ask why he said it, the portly man spoke up irritably.

"Hagrid, why the deuce are the gates locked for at this time of day? Hurry up and open them!" he demanded.

"Hello, Minister," Hagrid replied evenly, stopping before the gates with his hands on his hips as he surveyed the trio. "To what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

"We're here to see Dumbledore, dash it all!" the man replied, his tone imperious. "Now open up!"

"Course, Minister," Hagrid said brightly, then proceeded to unlock the gate in a very careful, measured way, taking his time as the three people outside watched him impatiently. The padlock was unlocked, the chains removed, and the gates finally swung open. "There yeh are — welcome to Hogwarts!"

"About time!" the Minister snapped, stomping through the gate with the witch and wizard with the camera followed right behind him. Before he took two steps he saw Harry and Ron and stopped, staring at them. "Er, who are these two, Hagrid?"

"Oh." Hagrid acted as if he'd forgotten they were there. "Well, these young gentlemen are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, Minister Fudge."

"Harry Potter?" the Minister's eyes widened as he turned them on Harry. "Are you really?"

Harry sighed at that question, but he answered, "Yes, sir," in as polite a tone as he could muster. The blonde-haired witch was staring craftily at him, as if he were a particularly shiny object that had caught her attention.

"Harry Potter," she said, her eyes running up and down his face and robes. "That's right, you were due to start school this year, as I recall. I may want to do a piece on you as well."

"Rita," Minister Fudge turned to her. "I don't care who or what you write about, as long as we get to the bottom of this Lockhart affair." He looked back at Harry and Ron. "Boys, you'll excuse us, but we've got business to attend to with the Headmaster. Hagrid, if you would —" He gestured toward the castle, and Hagrid led them up the path to the doors of the school, leaving Harry and Ron behind.

Harry stood watching them leave. Every so often the woman would glance over her shoulder at him, as if checking whether he would follow or not. When they were far enough away Harry was sure they couldn't hear him, he said, "I guess that guy with the green hat was Minister Fudge, because that's what Hagrid called him. Who was that woman?"

"Rita Skeeter," Ron answered, scowling in her direction. "She writes for the Daily Prophet. Whenever the Prophet wants someone dragged through the mud, they sic her onto them."

"Sounds like a lovely person," Harry muttered. He watched for a moment as Hagrid led the three inside the front doors of Hogwarts, then held out his hand to Ron. "Come on," he said.

"Where we going?" Ron asked, taking Harry's hand.

"We going to get Hermione and pay a visit to the Headmaster's office," Harry said. "I want to listen in on that conversation," and the two of them vanished.

They reappeared, invisible, in the Gryffindor common room, next to a table where Hermione was sitting alone reading from her textbook Hogwarts: A History. After making sure no one was looking in their direction, Harry and Ron became visible. Hermione looked up at them. "There you are," she said quietly. "How was your visit with Mr. Hagrid?"

The Hermione he and Ron stood before today was quite different than the Hermione of just a week ago. Now, with the will-sapping potion cleansed from her body and the control bewitchment Lockhart/Riddle had placed on her dispelled, she was back to her old self — happy and friendly once again rather than secretive, irritable and brooding. She still didn't take any guff from anybody, but she was a lot nicer about it than when she'd been dosed.

"Fine," Harry said curtly, though the truth was he still had questions about the things he'd heard. For now, however, he wanted to concentrate on the matter at hand. "What do you know about Rita Skeeter?" he asked her.

Hermione looked up at him sharply, then slammed her book shut. "That woman!" she said in an angry mutter. "I absolutely detest her! She's everything that's wrong with journalism! Half the things she writes are lies, and the other half are facts blown all out of proportion depending on what she's trying to accomplish and who she thinks is against her!"

"She's up talking to Dumbledore right now," Ron said, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the Headmaster's Tower. "Along with Minister Fudge."

"Fudge is here? With Rita Skeeter?" Hermione looked surprised at that. "I'd never expect to see those two together! Skeeter has been critical of every aspect of Fudge's Ministry from the day he took office."

"You don't have to tell me," Ron said darkly. "She's been writing a lot of awful stuff about my dad lately. He's been worried sick for weeks now, mum says. And before that she interviewed all of the Cursebreakers at Gringotts, and when she interviewed Bill she wrote that he was a 'long-haired pillock!'"

"She's so rude!" Hermione muttered. "I'd like to —" but she didn't finish her sentence, instead looking up at Harry again. "So why are you here telling me all this?"

"Do you want to go with Ron and me up to the Headmaster's office and listen in on their conversation?" Harry asked, grinning.

Hermione began to grin, too. "Yes, please," she said, in a very sweet voice. She stood, putting her books quickly into her book bag, then slung it over her shoulder. "Let's go," she said briskly.

Harry nodded and snapped his fingers, and the three of them vanished, reappearing a moment later in Dumbledore's office, invisible. It was rather crowded at the moment: along with Dumbledore, Fudge, Rita and her photographer, Professors McGonagall and Snape were there as well as Hagrid, who seemed to be taking up as much room as the rest of them together.

"Not much room," Ron whispered in Harry's ear, though Harry had made it so no one could hear them. Harry nodded agreement, then pointed to a shelf over Dumbledore's head.

"Let's go over there," he said, and they vanished again, this time reappearing on the shelf next to the Sorting Hat.

"Whoa," Ron muttered, seeing that they were now small enough to stand on the shelf. "You can make us smaller?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Been practicing it for the past few days in lessons with Aunt Clara. I decided it could come in handy sometime. I didn't realize it would be this soon, though." He pointed toward the others. "Let's listen."

"My dear Cornelius," Dumbledore was saying. "I assure you there is nothing to 'get to the bottom of,' as you so quaintly put it. Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud, as Miss Skeeter discovered, and when he found out he was about to be turned in he fled the school for places unknown. That is all there is to it."

"Yes, yes, so you say, Dumbledore," Fudge replied irritably. "But it seems rather a coincidence that he was able to maintain that deception for all of these years, until coming to your school."

"And there's the matter of where the information came from," Skeeter took up the argument. "It was delivered to me by carrier owl, with no signature and with the handwriting magically concealed. And believe me, I took it to the best men we have at the Prophet — they can break through almost any concealment wards, but the ones on this letter stumped them. Very sophisticated magic," she said craftily, with a knowing look at the Headmaster. "Very few wizards in Britain are capable of such magic. Present company excepted, of course."

"See what I mean?" Hermione whispered, glaring at Skeeter with loathing. "She already believes Professor Dumbledore sent her that letter! The woman has absolutely no scruples — she'll probably accuse him of it in her next article!"

Privately, Harry wouldn't have doubted Dumbledore sent it to her, either, but then he knew things about the Headmaster that Hermione wasn't ready to hear yet.

"I appreciate the compliment, Miss Skeeter," Dumbledore said calmly. "However, I assure you I have no knowledge of who sent you that letter."

"Then you won't mind if we ask around the school about Gilderoy Lockhart, will you?" Skeeter pressed. Beside him, Harry heard Hermione snort with contempt. There was another mumbled "uh-oh" from Ron. "I want to find out what your students think happened to him," the journalist went on. "Maybe someone among them knows more than you do."

"As you wish," Dumbledore nodded obligingly. "If you like, I will have rooms assigned to you and your colleague so you do will not have to travel back and forth between the school and Hogsmeade."

"Er —" Skeeter appeared surprised by the Headmaster's easy capitulation to her demands. "I appreciate the offer, Headmaster," she said, warily. "But my man and I would prefer to arrange our own accommodations."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "If we are finished, then…" He gestured toward the door. "Hagrid, if you would show everyone the way out."

"Hold on, Dumbledore," Fudge spoke up. "I have a few more things to discuss." He and Dumbledore watched as Skeeter and the photographer left with Hagrid, leaving McGonagall and Snape standing silently by. Fudge glared at them a moment. "Alone," he said, rudely.

McGonagall's lip twisted slightly, but she inclined her head. "Headmaster," she said, turning toward the door. Snape nodded wordlessly and followed her out, leaving the Headmaster and the Minister alone.

Fudge looked around the office at the portraits of the previous Headmasters. "Do you think we can speak without…them listening to us?" he asked.

"All of the previous Headmasters are completely loyal to the current one, Cornelius," Dumbledore answered evenly. "Anything you say to me will be held in strictest confidence."

"Very well, then." Fudge squared his shoulders and faced Dumbledore. "I have been Minister for over a year now, Dumbledore —"

"And a splendid job you are making of it," Dumbledore interjected cheerfully. "I am quite impressed."

"But," Fudge went on, taking off his bowler and spinning it in his hands. "I sense you are keeping things about this school from me. It hasn't escaped my attention that, even during Milicent's Ministry, you were going through Defense professors at an alarming rate. And now you've lost two in just the first two months of this year! We still have no idea where Quirrell is; now with Lockhart missing, people are beginning to talk."

"I am not at all surprised," Dumbledore answered blandly. "I wish I could tell you where poor Quirinus is, but alas, he elected not to share that information with me, nor with any of my staff members, it seems. Your Aurors have spoken with the two people who came forward to testify about Lockhart stealing the memories of other adventurers, and we find those adventures recounted as his own in his books. That alone strongly suggests that what Rita wrote about the man in her exposé was true."

"Of course, of course," Fudge snapped, twirling his green hat madly in his hands in frustration. "I cannot argue with that evidence! Nevertheless, you worry me sometimes, Headmaster. I think something is up in this school."

"If there is," Dumbledore replied lightly. "I'm sure Miss Skeeter will ferret it out, somehow." He sat down in his chair, smiling up at the portly Minister. "If there is nothing else, Cornelius, perhaps you will join me for dinner?"

Fudge looked tempted, but shook his head. "My wife is expecting me for dinner, and I disappoint her often enough that tonight I should make an exception." He glanced at the fireplace. "Er, if I may, Dumbldore?" he asked, pointing toward it.

"Please, by all means," Dumbledore replied politely. As Harry, Ron and Hermione watched, the Minister went over to the fireplace, taking a pinch of Floo powder and tossing it into the embers. Green flames swirled up, and Fudge stepped into them, saying "Ministry of Magic!" He began spinning madly and disappeared a moment later.

"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, slumping in his chair for a moment. Then he sat up again, turned and looked up at the shelf where the three students were standing, still invisible. "Would you three join me for a moment?" he asked, gesturing toward his office.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at one another in surprise, then Harry shrugged and they disappeared from the shelf, reappearing a moment later, normal sized, in front of the Headmaster's desk.

"How did you know we were there?" Harry asked immediately upon reappearing.

"Very little goes on in my office without my knowledge," Dumbledore replied, not really answering the question. "I trust you heard most if not all of the conversation with Cornelius and Miss Skeeter."

"I don't think it's a good idea to set her loose in the school," Hermione spoke up. "She is a vicious, conniving woman who can't be trusted!"

"Such harsh words from one so young," Dumbledore murmured, a hint of sadness in his voice. "I hope Rita has done nothing to hurt you personally, Miss Granger."

"She's hurt a lot of people," Hermione said hotly, and Ron nodded agreement.

"I have seen her articles on the Ministry," Dumbledore commented. "Including the one featuring your father, Ronald. Rita does seem to take much pleasure in pointing out even the most insignificant shortcomings of others, doesn't she?" Ron grimaced but didn't say anything.

"But it would be a mistake to keep her from trying to find the truth," the Headmaster went on. "I do not believe she will find anything or anyone who knows what happened to Gilderoy." His blue eyes looked at all three of them in turn. "Harry, I know, is capable of keeping his own counsel about what happened. How do you and Mr. Weasley feel about doing so? Can you keep your knowledge secret from her?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly.

"I think so," Ron said, a bit less firmly.

"If you are unsure," Dumbledore told them. "I have a few ways of keeping that knowledge safe."
"Such as?" Harry prompted.

"I can extract those memories from your mind," Dumbledore said. "While they are separate from you, you will have no knowledge of them, and thus cannot reveal anything about them. I have done this many times before." He stood and went over to his black cabinet, passing his wand over the locks several times before opening it and taking out a large stone basin and setting it on his desk. "This is a Pensieve," he said. Harry and the others looked at it. Inside the bowl was a silvery-white substance that seemed to move and roil of its own volition. "Here I keep memories that I may need again one day, but which have begun to clutter up my mind. Putting them in here orders my thoughts and allows me to think about them with much more clarity."

Harry stared into the bowl a moment longer, then looked up, shaking his head. "What else?" he asked.

If Dumbledore was disappointed by Harry's reaction he said only, "The other way is much more difficult. It involves a very complex spell called the Fidelius Charm, which will bind up the knowledge you wish to hide into the soul of a person, called the Secret Keeper, who will be the only person capable of telling anyone else that knowledge. While the Secret Keeper is alive, no one will be able to access that knowledge, not even if they try to compel someone who knows it with Legilimency, Veritaserum, or even the Imperius Curse. It will remain completely inaccessible."

"I can handle Skeeter," Hermione said confidently. "I don't need my memories removed, even temporarily, or hidden inside some Secret Keeper. And Ron can handle her, too!"

"I can?" Ron looked surprised, but when Hermione glared at him, he nodded vigorously. "Sure I can!"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but— "As you wish," he said softly. "But please be careful. Rita is quite devious, and she has a proven record of discovering information that seemed otherwise impervious to her questioning techniques. Do not allow her to question you alone — that seems to be how she gets her information, in some way."

"We'll be careful," Harry agreed. "Well, I guess we should get going — it's almost time for dinner." He snapped his fingers and he, Ron and Hermione disappeared.

Dumbledore sighed softly and began ordering his desk in preparation for dinner. He would take his meal here, giving him more of an opportunity to get his paperwork under some semblance of control —

"I do have a question," Harry said as the three of them suddenly reappeared again. "Just what the heck is 'Harry Potter Day?!' Who the heck thought that up?!"

"Harry Potter Day?" Dumbledore echoed. "I believe it is celebrated mostly in pubs and bars across Britain, commemorating the day you defeated Lord Voldemort." When Harry opened his mouth to protest Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing him. "We do not celebrate it here, Harry — the thirty-first of October is normally reserved for our Halloween feast."

"But there's a rumor we're celebrating it this year," Harry said. "Apparently since I've come to Hogwarts and all." He turned to gaze at Ron, who was carefully keeping his eyes off of Harry's face. "I don't really know who got the idea…"

"It was Ron," Hermione said suddenly. Ron's jaw dropped. "Oh, don't pretend," Hermione said to him, flatly. "I've heard you whispering about it with Fred and George for weeks now."

"I thought Harry would be excited about it!" Ron said defensively. "We were going to have all of Harry's favorite foods and everything! Hagrid was going to decorate the Great Hall with items from his home in Little Whinging!"

"That's not a good idea," Harry growled. "The Dursleys never wanted me. They made me stay in a cupboard under a staircase until the day I left. I never want to see them or anything from that house again."

"Oh," Ron muttered. "I forgot. Well, it doesn't matter because we couldn't find the house anyway. But Harry, I thought you'd be proud of getting rid of You-Know-Who!"

"You heard me tell Hagrid I don't remember anything about it," Harry retorted. "I've told you before, too! Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Probably not," Hermione spoke up. "Ron gets an idea in his head and he can't think of anything else."

"Thank you, Miss Buttinsky!" Ron snapped at her.

"You're welcome, Mister Cluelesssky," she snapped in reply.

"Okay, just stop," Harry said to both of them. "Look, if the thing's already set, then I'm not going to make a big deal over it. I just wish you'd said something to me about it before now, Ron."

"Right," Ron said, contritely. "Sorry about that, mate."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said. His attention went back to Dumbledore. "We'll be going now, sir." He snapped his fingers and the three of them vanished.

Dumbledore looked around the room once again, then spoke softly, "Majer, would you come here, please?"

A house-elf appeared, wearing a tea towel with the Hogwarts crest on it. "Sir wishes to have dinner brought up to him again?"

"Just some chicken broth tonight, Majer," Dumbledore said softly. "I seem to have lost much of my appetite in the past few minutes."

=ooo=

Hogsmeade village
Three Broomsticks Inn and Pub
4:45 p.m. —

The soft buzz of muted conversations in the premier drinking establishment in Hogsmeade was suddenly shattered as two people burst through the door — a blonde woman and a pale, paunchy man, both dressed in wizarding robes.

The woman looked around, singularly unimpressed by what she saw. "This is supposed to be the best place in town?" she muttered. "It's a dump."

At the bar Rosemerta, the establishment's proprietor, gave the two a steely glare. "May I help you?" she called out in a barely civil tone, having overheard the woman's remarks.

Skeeter walked over to where the buxom, dark-haired woman was standing. "I doubt it," she sniffed. "But this may be the best this town has to offer, such as it is. We need two rooms."

"For the night?" Rosemerta asked coolly.

"For the foreseeable future," Skeeter retorted. "I have a lot of investigating to do at that poor excuse for an educational institution."

"You mean Hogwarts?" Rosemerta said, a strong dislike of this woman beginning to build inside her. Hogwarts was the reason Three Broomsticks was a busy as it was — the staff came here regularly for evening drinks, and several times over the year students were allowed to come to Hogsmeade; many of them visited her establishment for drinks and to hang out with their friends away from the school itself. "What's wrong with Hogwarts?"

Rita raised an eyebrow at the woman. "Are you joking?" she sneered. "The old man that runs the place has been taking money from the government for years, with no accountability and no consequences when things happen to people! So far two teachers have gone missing this year and nobody knows where they are! Dumbledore won't tell anyone where they are — he practically flouts his secrecy in the Minister's face. Well, I'm here to get to the bottom of it!"

"You're Rita Skeeter, aren't you?" Rosemerta had finally recognized the woman. "You wrote a load of articles recently exposing the Ministry's secrets and excesses? And now you're turning around and working for them? Talk about working both sides of the street!"

"What would you know about it, lady?" Skeeter challenged. "You're off here in some backwater town, barely aware of what's going in the world, and you're lecturing me about my job?"

Rosemerta snorted. "Perhaps you shouldn't lower yourself to staying in a place like this, if you feel that way."

"Perhaps you're right," Rita snapped. She turned on her heel and walked to the door, her photographer following closely behind. "Perhaps we will go someplace else!"

"The other inn's down the street," Rosemerta jerked a thumb in the direction of the Hog's Head Inn. "Take the first side road on the left. You won't miss it."

"Thanks, Toots," Rita sneered, and left, slamming the door behind her.

Rosemerta grinned. Just wait 'till Skeeter had a look at what she was in for at the Hog's Head!

=ooo=

The Great Hall
6:12 p.m.—

Harry and Ron entered the Hall still wearing their Quidditch uniforms and Harry still carrying his Nimbus 2000 — Ron's school broom had been returned to the broom shed just outside the Quidditch pitch. They tottered tiredly over to the Gryffindor table and took spots next to Hermione, Lavender, Parvati and Fay. Darla, Harry noticed, was sitting with Dean Thomas, the both of them intent on their conversation.

"Hello, Ron!" Lavender said to him as they sat down. "How was practice today?" Ron grimaced. They hadn't left Dumbledore's office until 4:05, five minutes after Wood had started Quidditch practice, and he wasn't happy about them being late—not that they could explain why they were behind schedule.

"Oliver's really going batty over this game with Slytherin," Ron muttered, groaning a little as he reached across the table to grab a plate of roast beef. "He made Harry and me fly 50 laps around the pitch after practice was over."

Harry handed a bowl of mashed potatoes to Ron and slid the plate of roast beef close to his plate. "The only reason we aren't still out there is that I caught the Snitch in less than two minutes after he released it. He was so happy he let everyone else go five minutes early." He and Ron spooned gravy onto their potatoes and roast beef, then put heaping spoonfuls of corn on their plates and tucked in.

Hermione leaned closer and spoke quietly. "So what are we going to do about — that woman?" she finished, not wanting to say Skeeter's name aloud lest anyone hear her and start asking questions about what she knew.

"Nothing for now," Harry shrugged, talking around a mouthful of beef, potatoes and gravy. "We're the only ones who know anything, and we're not telling."

"I sure hope not," Ron mumbled. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked. "She can't make us tell her anything short of using Legilimency or the Imperius Curse on you, and the Imperius will earn her a life sentence in Azkaban."

Ron looked up from his plate. "What if she does try to use it, though?" he asked, worriedly. "If she does, she could just forbid us from telling anyone. Then what?"

"That's probably not how she works," Hermione speculated.

"And how would you know?" Ron challenged her. "Been reading her how-to book on getting information out of people?"

"Of course not," Hermione retorted. "I think she tricks the information out of people, somehow. It probably has to do with talking to them alone, somehow, like Professor Dumbledore said."

"If she's alone with them she could just hit 'em with the old Imperius," Ron countered. "You told me once nobody can tell if you've had the Imperius Curse used on you because it affects your mind directly."

"All the more reason never to be alone with her," Harry said. "Remember that, Ron."

"I don't want to be around her at all," Ron said. "Not after the mean things she said about Bill and my dad!"

"Who are you talking about, Ron?" Lavender, sitting on the other side of Hermione, had leaned forward and was looking at Ron with concern. "Is some girl being mean to you? Tell me who it is and I'll show her a thing or two!" she said, fiercely.

"It's nobody, Lav," Ron said quickly.

"We were just talking about Rita Skeeter," Hermione put in. "She's been writing some pretty uncomplimentary articles lately."

"I know," Lavender agreed. "I've been reading her latest series in the Prophet. She doesn't pull any punches on the Ministry, does she?"

"No, she doesn't," Ron agreed, shaking his head. "I just wish she wasn't —" he shut up as Harry elbowed him in the ribs.

"Wasn't what?" Lavender asked, when Ron didn't go on.

"Er, wasn't doing stuff like that," Ron muttered, rubbing his ribs. "It's not very nice."

"Yeah, well the Ministry isn't doing very nice stuff lately, either," Seamus grumbled. Since Dean was chatting Darla up he had nobody to talk to, so he was listening to everyone else's conversations. "I think Skeeter's doing the right thing, calling the Ministry on the carpet for not keeping us informed about its activities. They're always keeping secrets from us!"

Hermione was looking at him in disbelief. "Have you read those articles she writes? Some of the stuff she writes is terrible!"

"So?" Seamus shrugged. "Sometime the truth hurts!"

"Calling Bill Weasley a 'long-haired pillock' is the truth?" Hermione asked shrilly. "Saying Ron's father is a 'myopic, Muggle-loving moron' is the truth?"

"How would I know?" Seamus sneered. "I've never met either of 'em!"

"You watch your mouth, Finnigan!" Ron shouted.

Half the Gryffindor table was in an uproar, Harry saw, and the other half was either staring in shock or starting to join in. "Everybody CALM DOWN!" he shouted, standing and waving his arms in a gesture that hid the spell he cast over the table, hitting everyone with a calming charm. Everyone stopped talking at once, looking at each other in surprise.

McGonagall was hurrying over from the High Table. "What's going on here?" she demanded. "Mr. Potter?" she directed this question at him knowing what he was capable of, even if she couldn't say it aloud.

"Everything under control, Professor," Harry said, sitting down again and picking up his fork. "Some people were getting a bit carried away but we're all under control now."

"Very well," McGonagall stared at everyone a long moment, focusing especially on Fred and George. Nine times out of ten when something strange was going on they were at the bottom of it. But they looked just as surprised and confused as everyone else at the table. "See that things stay under control," McGonagall commanded, then returned to the High Table.

A few minutes later Harry and Ron finished their plates. Ron reached for refills, while Harry stood and grabbed his broom. "Coming?" he asked Ron.

"Er —" Ron looked up at him, his hand on the mashed potatoes. "I think I need a bit more to eat. Quidditch practice made me hungry, you know?"

Harry smirked. Trust Ron to always be hungry. "Don't forget to take some to Scabbers," he said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "I'll see you back in the common room."

"Right!" Ron cheerfully agreed, spooning more potatoes onto his plate and reaching for the roast beef, then the gravy and corn.

Harry walked toward the doors of the Great Hall, feeling a bit better now that he'd rested and gotten some food in him. As he passed the Slytherin table a familiar voice called out, "Nice dinner wear, Potter!" It was Malfoy, as usual. Harry ignored him as Malfoy and the other Slytherins with him snickered at Harry.

As he started to open the door Hermione suddenly joined him. "Where you going, Harry?" she asked.

"Back to the common room," Harry said tiredly. "Where'd you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione mused as she followed him through the door into the entrance hall. She moved next to him and lowered her voice. "I thought you might be planning to go spy on Skeeter a bit. See what she's up to."

"No, I wasn't planning to do that," Harry muttered. "Why do I care what she's doing right now? She's just coming back here tomorrow to question students about what they know about Lockhart."

"Could be," Hermione agreed. "But there's a lot of things going on in this school she could be writing about, if you know what I mean."

"I don't," Harry grunted tiredly. "What's there to know?"

They began walking up the grand staircase together. "Well," Hermione said, moving closer and speaking even more quietly. "Did you know that Mr. Hagrid was a half-giant?"

Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "So? Who cares?"

"A lot of people would, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "They don't trust giants, not even half-giants, and if it got out Mr. Hagrid was one Professor Dumbledore might have to let him go if enough people complain about him being here."

Harry looked indignant. He'd only just gotten to know Hagrid better earlier that day, but the man seemed genuinely nice and he'd been interesting to talk to. "That's not fair," he said.

"Of course it's not fair!" Hermione agreed fervently. "And what about our new Defense teacher, Professor Lupin? Did you know he's a werewolf?"

Harry stopped and stared at her in disbelief. "Where are you getting this stuff?" he asked her. "How do you know all this?"

"Remember our class with him on Thursday?" Hermione asked. "He started out with that practical lesson on boggarts?" Harry nodded; a boggart was a shape-shifting creature that took the form of the worst fear of the nearest person viewing it. "Everyone had a go at the boggart with the spell Professor Lupin taught us at the beginning of the class."

"Everyone but me," Harry snorted. "He jumped in front of me as it was my turn to face the boggart."

"Right," Hermione agreed. "Do you remember what the boggart turned into when he did that?"

Harry paused for a moment. When Ron had faced it the boggart turned into a giant spider — appropriate since Ron was deathly afraid of spiders. For Neville it had turned into Snape, of course, since Neville was deathly afraid of the Potions Master. For Seamus it had turned into a banshee, and for Dean a severed hand. When Lupin stepped in front of him, the boggart had turned into a glowing white balloon, and Harry repeated that to Hermione.

"That wasn't a balloon," Hermione shook her head. "It was the full moon. That's what Lupin fears the most, the full moon, because it makes him turn into a werewolf."

"And again I ask, so what?"

"Harry, wizards hate and fear werewolves," Hermione informed him. "If one bites you, just one bite, you turn into a werewolf yourself. And there's no cure for it! I read some months ago in the Prophet that they've developed a potion called the Wolfsbane Potion — it keeps your mind calm when you transform, so you're not a danger to others. But you have to take it every night the moon is full, and it's very expensive to buy. You saw how plainly Professor Lupin dresses — I doubt he could afford the potion every month."

"You think Rita Skeeter would write articles about Hagrid and Professor Lupin if she knew about them?" Harry surmised.

"Of course she would!" Hermione cried. "You saw how she acted in front of Professor Dumbledore today! She doesn't care about other people's lives, she only cares about getting her articles in the news! And Minister Fudge would probably rather have her writing about anything other than him and the Ministry, so he's not going to stop her!"

Harry stopped at the top of the stairs on the first floor. "Are you going to bother me about this until we go and spy on Skeeter?"

"Maybe," Hermione said, smiling.

"Auugh," Harry moaned. "Fine." They vanished, reappearing outside Three Broomsticks, invisible and intangible. "This is where she's probably staying," he said. "Fred and George say it's got the best food and rooms in Hogsmeade." He passed through the door, and Hermione followed him.

The pub was in the middle of supper time. There were tables of locals having meals as well as a few strangers, obvious because of their traveling cloaks. Harry gestured toward the bar, where a large book lay off to one side. "That's the sign-in book, I reckon," Harry said, and they went over to it.

Hermione reached to open the book, but her fingers passed right through it. "How do I do this?" she asked Harry. In wordless reply Harry made a turning gesture with his hand, and the book opened to the last filled-in page, but there were no entries for that day in it.

"Huh, she's not here," Hermione said. "Where could she be?"

"Only one other place in town, from what Fred and George say," Harry answered. "Maybe they went to the Hog's Head Inn."

"That's a rough place," Hermione said. "Some of the older girls say the barman will sell anybody anything they want to drink, no questions asked, but none of them would want to go there after dark."

"Sounds perfect for someone like Rita Skeeter," Harry muttered. "Let's go." They vanished, reappearing outside the Hog's Head. Slipping inside, they checked an old ledger book lying on the bar in a puddle of stale beer. "There she is," Hermione said, pointing to the last two names in the book. "Rita Skeeter, c/o the Daily Prophet" and "Bozo Muldoon, c/o the Daily Prophet," she read. "Why would anyone name their kid 'Bozo?'"

Harry shrugged. He pointed to the numbers written next to the names: 102 and 104. That must be the rooms they're in." He gestured once again and they appeared just inside the door of room 102.

The photographer, Bozo, was stretched out indolently on the room's bed, reading a copy of Witch Weekly magazine. Rita Skeeter was seated at a small desk, one that obviously didn't belong to the room; she'd either conjured it or brought it with her. The handbag sitting on the desk was probably like Harry's suitcase, about to hold much larger objects than it looked. Skeeter had a nail file in her hand and was absently filing on her long, crimson red nails, sharpening the tips.

There was a third person in the room, with his back to Harry and Hermione, but they could tell instantly who it was from the tangled mess of black, greasy hair that fell to his shoulders.

"What's HE doing here?" Hermione whispered to Harry, who made a shushing gesture — he wanted to hear what he and Skeeter had to say to one another.

"It's curious that you would ask something like that of me, Professor Snape," Rita said lazily, blowing shavings off her fingertips. "The file on Gilderoy Lockhart that I received gave me more than enough information to ruin him in a single article. And Potter —" Harry's eyes narrowed as Skeeter chuckled. "Well, Harry Potter is a topic of interest I expect will keep me busy for months, seeing as he's out in the open again. What would I, or the readers of the Daily Prophet, find interesting about your newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?"

"You might be surprised," Severus Snape replied softly. "He is more interesting than you think."

"In what way?" Skeeter asked, still concentrating on her nails.

"I cannot say," Snape replied, in a tone Harry took for frustration. "Suffice it to say, it would be worth your while to investigate him more fully."

Skeeter tossed the file back into her purse. "You can't tell me anything more about Gilderoy Lockhart, and you have nothing to say about Potter, either. And now, you say I should investigate Remus Lupin but you can't tell me anything about him either! You coming here is rapidly turning into a waste of time. I have better things to do with my time than listen to you tell me nothing."

"Like dinner," Bozo said from the bed. "I'm starving."

Snape shot the man a contemptuous glance, then returned his gaze to Skeeter. "Do as you see fit," he said with a shrug. "When the truth about Lupin comes out, you will see that you should have heeded my advice." With that, Snape turned and walked toward the door. Harry and Hermione stepped aside so he wouldn't pass through them. Without another word Snape flung open the door and departed, slamming it behind him.

"Interesting," Harry murmured after Snape was gone. "He wants her to check up on Professor Lupin." That must mean Snape knows he's a werewolf, Harry thought. Snape is trying to get Professor Lupin sacked!

"We can't let Skeeter find out about Professor Lupin," Hermione said. "If he's exposed as a werewolf he'll have no choice but to resign. Or, if he doesn't resign, Professor Dumbledore will have to sack him."

"You're right," Harry agreed. "We have to keep her away from him."

"I don't know how you expect to do that," Hermione retorted. "We can't watch her 24 hours a day."

"We don't have to do that," Harry reminded him. He gestured toward Skeeter and she shuddered as if someone had thrown cold water on her.

Bozo noticed it. "Everything okay over there?"

"Nothing," Skeeter said after a moment. "These rooms are drafty — I must've just caught one." She stood. "Come on, then — let's get you something to eat so you'll stop whining about being hungry."

"That's more like it!" Bozo said. He rolled off the bed, grabbing his camera. Skeeter insisted he carry it whenever they were together — you never knew when a photo-op might present itself. They left the room; Harry heard the click of the door being locked from the outside.

"I put a location spell on her," Harry explained to Hermione. "No matter where she goes, now I'll be able to find her in a moment."

"Brilliant!" Hermione beamed at him. She looked around the empty room. "What should we do now?"

"Now," Harry said. "We go back to the castle and wait for them to show up tomorrow." He snapped his fingers and both of them disappeared.

=ooo=

The next day
7:30 a.m.
Gryffindor Tower—

Ron was snoring softly as Harry left their dorm the next morning. Not having his class with Aunt Clara the previous night had let him catch up on his sleep, and he'd awakened around seven a.m. He'd taken a leisurely shower, then dressed in jeans, a pullover shirt and trainers. He stopped for a second at the foot of Ron's bed, wondering whether he should wake him or not, but Ron had such a peaceful, easy expression on his face that Harry decided to let him be. He smiled at Scabbers, stretched out asleep on the other end of Ron's pillow. That rat spent more time in Ron's bed than even Ron did, it seemed! Harry went on down to the Gryffindor common room.

The common room was half-filled with other early risers, including a table where Fred and George Weasley were talking quietly with Lee Jordan. Not being in any particular hurry (breakfast lasted two hours on weekends), Harry sauntered over to see what they were whispering about. At his approach, however, the conversion died.

"Morning, Harry," George said amicably, pretending they hadn't stopped talking at his approach. "Any plans for today?"

"Morning," Harry nodded to the trio, pretending he hadn't noticed their sudden silence at his approach. "Just thought I'd go have breakfast. What are you lot up to?"

"Just making plans for next weekend," Fred said casually. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, you know."

Harry nodded absently. Ron had mentioned them, but only third-years and above were allowed to go. "So what do you do when you go there?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," George said airily, and Lee snickered.

"Actually, we have important reasons to go there," Fred said. "Our stash of Dungbombs is nearly gone, and we also have to replenish our supply of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Fireworks."

Harry laughed. Fred, George and Lee were the bane of Mr. Filch, the school's caretaker, always setting of Dungbombs in the hallways or shooting off fireworks at odd moments. "It's a wonder you haven't been expelled yet," he grinned.

Fred grinned mischievously in reply. "That's where our Map has come in so handy — Filch and Mrs. Norris can't sneak up on us anymore, and now that Mrs. Norris is out of commission until Snape can get a fresh batch of mandrakes to make the antidote for her, we've been running Filch ragged."

"Anyway," Lee said. "We're making up our shopping list for next Saturday. Is there anything we can get for you from Hogsmeade, Harry, seeing as how you can't go until your third year?"

"I'm good," Harry said. He wasn't going to mention that he could pop over to Hogsmeade any time he wanted. "Guess I'll head down."

Leaving the common room, Harry went to the castle's entrance hall and into the Great Hall. It was only about half-full of students. The weekends were a welcome relief after five days of bustling between classes and finding time to study homework and going to Quidditch practice; many of the lower years took the opportunity to sleep in or spend more time with friends.

Hermione was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet as she absently picked at an omelet in front of her. Harry sat down beside her. "Hi," he said as he scooped fried eggs off a platter onto his plate. "I see you're getting an early start this morning."

"Mmm," Hermione said in reply, her eyes not leaving the paper.

"What're you reading?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry," she said, setting down her fork but not the paper. "I didn't realize you were there. What did you say?"

"I asked what you're reading," Harry repeated patiently.

"It's the Daily Prophet."

"I can see that," Harry retorted. "What article are you reading?"

Hermione pointed to where she'd been reading. "There's a short bio of Rita Skeeter in the paper this morning. I've been going over it — she obviously wrote it herself!" She pushed the paper over to where Harry could read it. There was a picture of Skeeter at the top of the column, giving him a haughty smile as she stared at him over the rims of her jewel-studded glasses. He read,

Ms. Rita Skeeter is the Daily Prophet's premier reporter, with years of journalistic experience, bringing to you readers the straight dope on all aspects of the wizarding world. She tells it like it is, not what the subjects of her exposés want you to hear. You may not like Rita Skeeter, but you can't beat her for honest, objective reporting.

"It does sound a bit self-serving," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"A bit?" Hermione shook her head with incredulity. "I can't believe the Prophet lets her get away with such dishonesty!"

A clinking sound from the High Table silenced the numerous conversations going on and turned their attention toward Professor McGonagall, who was tapping a glass with a fork. Standing next to her was Rita Skeeter, looking every bit as haughty and smug as her picture in the Prophet.

"Attention, everyone," McGonagall said as the noise died down. "This morning we have a visitor in the castle." From the tone of her voice Harry could tell that McGonagall was not happy about the situation. "I'm sure many of you know of Rita Skeeter. She is a reporter for —"

"The premier reporter," Skeeter interrupted her, smugly.

"— for the Daily Prophet," McGonagall finished, ignoring Skeeter's condescending glare. "She will be conducting interviews today with students concerning the disappearance of our previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Those of you who wish to talk to her may put your name on the sign-up sheet I have placed in the entrance hall. Miss Skeeter will conduct the interviews in the staff room." McGonagall turned to Skeeter. "Is there anything you would like to add, Miss Skeeter?"

"Thank you, Deputy Headmistress," Skeeter said, then turned to face the students. "As those of you who regularly read the Prophet know, I recently published my exposé of Gilderoy Lockhart's fraudulent claims that he was responsible for defeating many Dark creatures over the past decade, as described in his numerous books. In the spirit of cooperation with the Ministry of Magic, I hope that by interviewing those of you who have had close contact with him can provide clues as to his current whereabouts. Those of you who talked with him during his time here are invited to share your experiences with me. If the information you provide is useful to the Ministry's ongoing investigation in apprehending Lockhart, your names will feature prominently in my follow-up articles about him. I look forward to talking with you. I will hold interviews beginning at 9:30 this morning. Those of you waiting to be interviewed may wait in the courtyard next to the staff room." Skeeter sat down, a satisfied smile on her face.

Students from all four House tables stood and began walking toward the entrance hall, obviously wanting to be the first to sign up. Within seconds a mad rush developed as dozens of students ran out of the Great Hall to sign up.

Hermione was shaking her head in disgust. "This is ridiculous! Skeeter is just going to take all the credit anyway! I can't believe all of those students fell for her line about getting their names in the paper!"

"Not like it matters," Harry shrugged. "Nobody knows what really happened except you, Ron and me. And none of us are going to sign up to talk to Skeeter."

"I know that," Hermione huffed. "It just seems like such a waste."

"At least we know where she's going to be all day," Harry pointed out. "And I've got— " Harry stopped suddenly, looking around.

"What's wrong." Hermione asked.

Harry didn't answer right away. He'd activated the tracing spell he'd placed on Skeeter, but it was telling him she was only a few feet from him, which couldn't be correct because she was several yards away, sitting at the High Table.

Hermione began looking around as well. "Harry, what's going on?"

Something on the table caught Harry's eye — a small beetle sitting on a floral table arrangement seemed to be looking at him. With his warlock senses he could see that surrounding the beetle's eyes were marking strangely reminiscent of Skeeter's jeweled glasses. As he watched the beetle turned and took to the air, flying further down the table from him and Hermione, where it landed on another table setting where the other first-year girls were gathered, chattering. He leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, "A beetle was sitting on these flowers a moment ago. It seemed to be listening to us. Then it flew off down to where the other girls are sitting."

"Really?" Hermione looked at the flowers, then glanced down the table. She was silent for several moments, then her eyes lit with a sudden insight. "That must be it!" she exclaimed quietly. "That's how she's been able to get dirt on people, Harry! She's an Animagus!"

"I remember Binns referring to an Animagus in class," Harry recalled. "But I never bothered to look up what it means."

"An Animagus is a witch or wizard that can transform into an animal form," Hermione explained. "Professor McGonagall, for example can transform into a cat."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "How do you know that?"

"The Ministry requires that all Animagi register their animal form," Hermione replied. "In case the witch or wizard dies while in their Animagus form, so they can be identified. Professor McGonagall showed me the current list. But I don't remember seeing Rita Skeeter's name on it." Hermione's face suddenly lit up with a smile. "That's very interesting!"

"Because…" Harry prompted.

"Because if you're an Animagus and you don't register your form with the Ministry, it's a serious crime and if they find out, you can be sent to Azkaban."

"Okay, but then how can she be sitting at the High Table at the same — oh," Harry realized. "The person at the High Table is probably Polyjuiced to look like Skeeter, so she could say she was in plain sight while the real Skeeter is buzzing around listening to our private conversations."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "The person sitting at the High Table is probably the photographer that came here with her. He must be in on it as well. Oh, that devious, evil woman!" she muttered, seething with anger. "We've got to stop her, Harry!"

"I agree," Harry nodded. "And I have a way you can be the one to stop her."

"Really?" Hermione looked excited at the prospect of catching Skeeter red-handed. "How?"

"You're going to sign up to be interviewed by her," Harry smiled. "If Skeeter was listening to us she heard me say only you, me and Ron know the true story of what happened to Lockhart. I'm betting she'll be very interested to get that information out of us."

=ooo=

The Hogwarts entrance hall
9:25 a.m. —

Harry and Hermione unobtrusively left the Great Hall and walked over to the table where Skeeter's sign-up sheet was placed. Hermione picked up the quill and put her name down as Harry watched, then stepped back with a sigh. "I hope you're right about this, Harry," she said softly.

"I am," Harry replied confidently, then looked up the grand staircase as a surprised "Oi!" exploded from familiar lips.

"What's going on down here?" Ron demanded, hurrying down the steps to stare at the sheet Hermione had stepped away from. "What're you doing?" he asked her.

"I'm going to talk to Rita Skeeter about what really happened to Gilderoy Lockhart," she answered, staring at him evenly. "And now that you're up you can go in with me. Sign the sheet."

Ron shook his head, confused. "What?" he said, looking from Hermione to Harry. "I don't understand! Why would we talk to her about that? We promised we wouldn't say anything —"

The door to the north corridor suddenly opened and Skeeter practically ran into the entrance hall, staring at Ron and Hermione in evident pleasure. "Well, well," she said, her lips curling in a self-satisfied smile. "I must admit I'm glad to see you two willing to discuss your relationship with Lockhart. Especially you, Miss Granger," she added, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "I'm sure you know quite a bit about him, being one of his favorites according to many students at the school — not to mention your relationship with Harry Potter."

Ron looked to Harry, starting to protest, but Harry spoke first. "I'm invisible to her, Ron," he said quickly. "She can't hear me, either. Though I use the term 'her' loosely — this person is really her photographer Polyjuiced to look like her." Ron shook his head, completely lost — he'd been hurrying down to get something for breakfast before it was over — now all of a sudden he was being thrown into a situation he didn't understand. And he was hungry! Harry, divining his thoughts, said, "Just follow Hermione's lead and you'll do okay. We're catching Skeeter at her own game."

"I think I'll interview you two first," the ersatz Skeeter said to the two Gryffindors, rubbing her curiously square jaw thoughtfully. "Come along, let's get set up." She led Ron and Hermione up the corridor into the staff room, a small office opposite the doorway leading to the castle's inner courtyard, with Harry following invisibly behind. Skeeter had them sit down on stools placed before a large plush high-backed chair, which was sitting next to the staffroom table. "I'll be right back," she told them, then hurried across the corridor to the courtyard, where Harry saw that two dozen or more students were sitting about, apparently waiting to be interviewed as well. The trace spell also told him that the real Skeeter was somewhere in this room, in her Animagus form. Evidently she was listening in on the whispered conversations of these students as well, getting an idea of what they knew or didn't know.

"Your interviews will begin shortly," the false Skeeter told those sitting in the courtyard. "Just remain patient and at ease — I'll call each of you in turn as soon as I'm able." She gave a slight jerk of her head — a subtle hint for the real Skeeter to join her in the staff room, then left the courtyard. Harry watched as a small beetle left a bush next to two or three students and flew through a crack in the courtyard door. Following her, Harry vanished, reappearing in the staff room behind Ron and Hermione.

The fake Skeeter was setting up her parchment and an acid-green quill on the table next to her. "Isn't that a Quick-Quotes Quill?" Hermione asked, pointing at it. "They're not very accurate…"

"Accurate enough," Skeeter said dismissively, otherwise ignoring her. "Besides, I want to be able to talk normally with the two of you. So how long have the two of you known Harry Potter?"

"Since the start of school," Ron answered without thinking. When Hermione glared at him he just shrugged. "Well, that's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes, but we're here to talk about Gilderoy Lockhart," Hermione retorted. She turned to Skeeter. "At least, that's what I thought we were here for!"

"You are," fake Skeeter said soothingly. "But this interview will be pretty open-ended. We can talk about anything you want to talk about — such as, what's Harry Potter been doing for the past ten years before coming to Hogwarts? Where's he been, who's he been with — anything at all you'd like to talk about."

The beetle had landed on the collar of the fake Skeeter's robe — which, being a dark blue effectively made it all but invisible. Its antennae were waving back and forth between Ron and Hermione — Skeeter was obviously keenly interested in what they might have to say about him.

"I don't know if we should talk about Harry," Hermione was saying. "He's our friend, after all — we don't want to betray any confidences we have with him."

"That's very true," the false Skeeter agreed. "But a lot of folks are very interested in Harry Potter — do you really think it fair that only you two, for example, should know about his lonely, desperate life up until now? Poor Harry should be able to get those feelings out in the open and deal with them instead of keeping them bottled up inside himself. You would be doing him a great service by revealing what you know about him, you see."

Harry rolled his eyes at the attempt at manipulation. Skeeter and her stooge were looking for a story, nothing more. Hermione saw through it, too, as she cocked her head suspiciously at fake Skeeter's words.

Ron was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You might be right," he muttered, and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "What?" he said, glaring at her. "You know that makes some sense, right?"

"No it doesn't!" Hermione objected. "You know she just wants to trick you into telling her private stuff about Harry! We're not going to do that!"

"Are you sure about that?" the fake Skeeter said evenly, taking out her wand. Before either of them could react she pointed the wand at Hermione and said, "Imperius!" She repeated the spell on Ron. Both their faces became blank. "Now, tell me everything you know about Harry Potter," she said quietly.

Before either of them could say a word, however, Harry snapped his fingers and the fake Skeeter raised her wand and pointed it at her collar, saying "Engorgio!" The beetle there began to grow larger and larger. The false Skeeter leaped to her feet with a screech and knocked the beetle off of her. It landed on its back on the table, continuing to grow until it was nearly a yard long. It floundered there for several moments before transforming back into Rita Skeeter, who sat up on the desk glaring angrily at her double, who was staring at her in shock.

"What did you do to me?!" she rasped at the fake Skeeter.

"I don't know!" her double shrilled. "I didn't mean to cast that spell!"

"Well cancel it!" Skeeter shouted. "I can't use that form if it's that size!"

The fake Skeeter pointed her wand at her and said, "Finite," but when Skeeter transformed back into her beetle Animagus form she was still three feet long. "What's going on?!" she cried, changing back to human. "Cancel the spell, you idiot!"

"I did!" fake Skeeter screeched in reply. "I don't know what's going on —" she cut herself off as the door to the staffroom opened and Harry stepped inside.

"What's going on in here?" he asked, looking at the two Skeeters. "Why are there two of you, Miss Skeeter?"

"It's not what it looks like," Skeeter began, then frowned as she saw the smirk on Harry's face. "Potter! What's going on here?"

Harry closed the door behind him. "Offhand," he said smugly. "I'd say that your plan to get information on me backfired. According to Ministry records you're not a registered Animagus, which means if that information were made public you'd be in a spot of trouble, wouldn't you? And your body double here just cast Unforgiveable curses on two Hogwarts students, which would earn him a permanent stay in Azkaban if word got out."

"So what's your play?" Skeeter asked, her voice filled with impotent rage.

"Just that you two clear out of here and never return to Hogwarts," Harry said. "Because if you do return, your Animagus form will grow large again, revealing you as an unregistered Animagus." That was the twist he'd put on Bozo's Engorgio spell, adding his witchcraft to make it a permanent change.

"You could report me as one anytime," Skeeter pointed out, seething.

"No need, as long as you leave me alone," Harry shrugged. "And my friends," he added, looking toward Ron and Hermione. "You can take that Imperius curse off them now," he said to the fake Skeeter, who nodded and pointed his wand at them, saying "Finite" twice.

"Polyfluis Reverso," Harry said, and the fake Skeeter transformed into the photographer, still wearing Skeeter's dark blue robes. "Now, the two of you better get going before I change my mind and you end up as the headline on the Evening Prophet," Harry said warningly. Skeeter and Bozo hastily gathered their things and walked quickly out of the staffroom, through the entrance hall and out the front doors, where they hurried up the path to the entrance gates and exited the school grounds.

Harry, Ron and Hermione watched them go from the front steps of the school, smiling in satisfaction until Ron suddenly cursed. "Dammit!"

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"I missed breakfast!" Ron grumbled, putting a hand on his stomach as it rumbled hungrily.

The main door of the castle opened again and Professor McGonagall stepped outside. "What happened?" she asked Harry and the others. "The Headmaster and I were informed by the wards that two non-students left the grounds."

"Skeeter left," Harry said. "And her photographer was here as well. He left with her."

"Very unusual," McGonagall muttered. "We were only aware of one person entering the grounds this morning."

Harry just shrugged. McGonagall stared at him a long moment. "Are you sure there isn't something you aren't telling me, Mr. Potter?" she asked suspiciously.

"I only know what I know, Professor," Harry said reasonably. "I can't tell you things I don't know."

"Hmmm," McGonagall said, entirely unconvinced. "Very well, then. For what it's worth, we are glad to see Ms. Skeeter leave the school without uncovering anything potentially embarrassing to the school or its staff." She stared out over the grounds. "It's a nice day for the end of October," McGonagall remarked. "Perhaps you should take advantage of it." She went back inside.

Harry watched her leave, then turned to Ron and Hermione. "Perhaps we should," he said, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "How about an early lunch in, say, Paris?"

Hermione smiled delightedly. "That would be fantastic, Harry! But are you sure you can travel that far with all three of us?"

"I've been practicing," Harry said. "And I know just the place, too — Aunt Clara had me take her there last Friday as a reward for my math scores. It's got a heck of a crème brûlée, too. Here we go!" He snapped his fingers and the three of them vanished.

=ooo=