Arianna POV

It was a pleasant weather but we couldn't enjoy it as we had our OWL'S coming up. As for Mione, she was already up to date and was busy knitting hats for the poor elves. Unknown to Mione, us three had been cleaning the dorm after Mione went up and putting the hats into the dustbin. It was always enjoyable to look at Mione's face in the morning, her thinking that her knitted hats had freed some elves. We dared not to tell this fact to Mione of course.

Since the Hog's head meeting, many people have been coming up to me and saying it was a fantastic speech that I had said(only those who were present of course).

Me and Ginny are a lot closer now, because of Harry and Ron having Quiddich practises and Mione busy knitting hats and studying. We talk almost about everything, and once we stumbled upon the topic about Harry.

Flashback

Me and Ginny were walking along the black lake, both of us relieved that we had gotten a break from studying. Suddenly Ginny asked me, "What are you doing about Harry?"

I nearly chocked on my own spit and started laughing. "What's there to do?"

"You do like him, right?"

"Ginny, I do. But so do a million other girls. How can I compete with them? Look at them, look at Cho! She's the most prettiest girl in Hogwarts, and Harry likes her! It's true, Ginny! And anyways I thought you liked him?"

"I did, but since you kissed Harry during the dare, I realised I don't. It was just a crush, nothing more. I just got overwhelmed that my pig of a brother, Ron had Harry freaking Potter staying at the Burrow! I got blinded by the lights that came with the term, 'Harry Potter's girlfriend!'. Now besides I'm dating Michael Corner you've must have heard. I really really like him."

"Yeah, I heard. From Mione none the less!"

"I think we need to make Harry jealous. You know, you could get a boyfriend!"

"Pshh! Me a boyfriend? Geez which old man are you pairing me up with?"

"Shut up! You'll find someone! Lets go back to the common room."

"Okay!"

we went back to the common room to see everyone crowding around the billboard. We push everyone and we see it. A large sign had been affixed to the Gryffindor notice board, so large that it covered everything else on there - the lists of second hand spell books for sale, the regular reminders of school rules from Argus Filch, the Quidditch team training schedule, the offers to barter certain Chocolate Frog cards for others, the Weasleys' new advertisement for testers, the dates of the Hogsmeade weekends, and the lost and found notices. The new sign was printed in large black letters and there was a highly official-looking seal at the bottom beside a neat and curly signature.

By order of -

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four.

We four (Harry, Ron, Me and Ginny) read the notice over the heads of some anxious looking second years. "Does this mean they're going to shut down the Gobstones Club?" one of them asked his friend.

"I reckon you'll be okay with Gobstones," Ron said darkly, making the second year jump. "I don't think we're going to be as lucky, though, do you?" he asked Harry as the second years hurried away. Harry was reading the notice through again.

"This isn't a coincidence," he said, his hands forming fists. "She knows."

"She can't," I said at once.

"There were people listening in that pub. And let's face it, we don't know how many of the people who turned up we can trust. . . . Any of them could have run off and told Umbridge. . . ."

"Zacharias Smith!" said Ron at once, punching a fist into his hand. "Or - I thought that Michael Corner had a really shifty look too -"

"Michael wouldn't have done this, Ron! Don't blame him just because he's my boyfriend!" Ginny said defensively.

"I wonder if Hermione's seen this yet?" Harry said, looking around at the door to the girls' dormitories.

"Let's go and tell her," said Ron.

"No Ron!" I and Ginny said. But will Ron listen?

He bounded forward, pulled open the door, and set off up the spiral staircase. He was on the sixth stair when it happened. There was a loud, wailing, klaxonlike sound and the steps melted together to make a long, smooth stone slide. There was a brief moment when Ron tried to keep running, arms working madly like windmills, then he toppled over backward and shot down the newly created slide, coming to rest on his back at Harry's feet.

"Er - I don't think we're allowed in the girls' dormitories," said Harry, pulling Ron to his feet and trying not to laugh.

Two fourth-year girls came zooming gleefully down the stone slide. And it seemed that Ginny knew them. "Oooh, who tried to get upstairs?" they giggled happily, leaping to their feet and ogling Harry and Ron.

"Me," said Ron, who was still rather disheveled. "I didn't realize that would happen. It's not fair!" he added to Harry, as the girls headed off for the portrait hole, still giggling madly. "HerMione's allowed in our dormitory, how come we're not allowed - ?"

"Hey! Kayla and Demelza! Come on I think we should go! Bye Ari!" Ginny said and pulled those girls away.

"Well, it's an old-fashioned rule," said HerMione, who had just slid neatly onto a rug in front of them and was now getting to her feet, "but it says in Hogwarts, A History that the founders thought boys were less trustworthy than girls. Anyway, why were you trying to get in there?"

"To see you - look at this!" said Ron, dragging her over to the notice board.

HerMione's eyes slid rapidly down the notice. Her expression became stony.

"Someone must have blabbed to her!" Ron said angrily.

"They can't have done," said HerMione in a low voice.

"You're so naive," said Ron, "you think just because you're all honourable and trustworthy -"

"No, they can't have done because I put a jinx on that piece of parchment we all signed," said HerMione grimly. "Believe me, if anyone's run off and told Umbridge, we'll know exactly who they are and they will really regret it."

"What'll happen to them?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well, put it this way," said HerMione, "it'll make Eloise Midgen's acne look like a couple of cute freckles. Come on, let's get down to breakfast and see what the others think. . . . I wonder whether this has been put up in all the Houses?"

"Ooh! I didn't know Mione was capable of such sneakiness" I whispered to Harry.

"Me neither." Harry replied.

It was immediately apparent on entering the Great Hall that Umbridge's sign had not only appeared in Gryffindor Tower. There was a peculiar intensity about the chatter and an extra measure of movement in the Hall as people scurried up and down their tables conferring on what they had read. Harry, Ron, and HerMione had barely taken their seats when Neville, Dean, Fred and George descended upon them.

"Did you see it?"

"D'you reckon she knows?"

"What are we going to do?"

They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them.

"We're going to do it anyway, of course," he said quietly.

"Knew you'd say that," said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm.

"The prefects as well?" said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and HerMione.

"Of course," said HerMione coolly.

"Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott," said Ron, looking over his shoulder. "And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty."

HerMione looked alarmed.

"Never mind spots, the idiots can't come over here now, it'll look

"She'll get really suspicious - sit down!" she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. "Later! We'll - talk - to - you - later!"

"I'll tell Michael," said Ginny impatiently, who had just joined, leaving Kayla and Demelza, swinging herself off her bench. "The fool, honestly . . ."

But the full repercussions of the sign were not felt until they were leaving the Great Hall for History of Magic.

"Harry! Ron!"

It was Angelina and she was hurrying toward them looking perfectly desperate. "It's okay," said Harry quietly, when she was near enough to hear him. "We're still going to -"

"You realize she's including Quidditch in this?" Angelina said over him. "We have to go and ask permission to re-form the Gryffindor team!"

"What?" said Harry.

"No way," said Ron, appalled.

"You read the sign, it mentions teams too! So listen, Harry . . . I am saying this for the last time. . . . Please, please don't lose your temper with Umbridge again or she might not let us play anymore!"

"Okay, okay," said Harry, for Angelina looked as though she was on the verge of tears. "Don't worry, I'll behave myself. . . ."

"Bet Umbridge is in History of Magic," said Ron grimly, as they set off for Binns's lesson. "She hasn't inspected Binns yet. . . . Bet you anything she's there. . . ."

"What will you bet, dear Ronniekins?" I asked.

"2 sickles."

"Alrighty, it's a deal!"

But he was wrong; the only teacher present when they entered was Professor Binns, floating an inch or so above his chair as usual and preparing to continue his monotonous drone on giant wars.

I saw Hegwig on the sill and it seems Mione saw that too. She glared at Harry and he only looked up from his doodling when Mione pinched him.

"What?"

She pointed at the window. Harry looked around. Hedwig was perched on the narrow window ledge, gazing through the thick glass at him, a letter tied to her leg.

"Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful," i heard Lavender sigh to Parvati.

He glanced around at Professor Binns who continued to read his notes, serenely unaware that the class's attention was even less focused upon him than usual. Harry slipped quietly off his chair, crouched down, and hurried along the row to the window, where he slid the catch and opened it very slowly. I had expected Hedwig to hold out her leg so that he could remove the letter and then fly off to the Owlery, but the moment the window was open wide enough she hopped inside, hooting dolefully. He closed the window with an anxious glance at Professor Binns, crouched low again, and sped back to his seat with Hedwig on his shoulder. He regained his seat, transferred Hedwig to his lap, and made to remove the letter tied to her leg.

"She's hurt!" Harry whispered, bending his head low over her. We leaned in closer; HerMione even put down her quill. "Look - there's something wrong with her wing -"

Hedwig was quivering; when Harry made to touch the wing she gave a little jump, all her feathers on end as though she was inflating herself, and gazed at him reproachfully.

"Professor Binns," said Harry loudly, and everyone in the class turned to look at him. "I'm not feeling well."

Professor Binns raised his eyes from his notes, looking amazed, as always, to find the room in front of him full of people.

"Not feeling well?" he repeated hazily.

"Not at all well," said Harry firmly, getting to his feet while concealing Hedwig behind his back. "So I think I'll need to go to the hospital wing."

"Yes," said Professor Binns, clearly very much wrong-footed. "Yes . . . yes, hospital wing . . . well, off you go, then, Perkins . . ."

And Harry walked out of class and he didn't come back.

It was only after History Of Magic that we three met him and he told us about Professor Grubby-Plank taking the owl and Professor McGonagall telling him to be careful about what he sends in and out and that every mode of transport is being checked. He also told that Sirius wants to meet all of us at the fireplace at the same time. With that, all four of us went to Potions. Joy. (please tell me you noted the sarcasm that was applied). As we neared the Potions classroom, we heard Malfoy talking too loudly. I mean he is my cousin and all, and he is pretty civilised to me, but I hate the fact that he called Mione a 'mudblood'. Even I know that word is not used except in very high and influencial pureblood families. Which I guess Malfoy is. And me.

"Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he's always popping in and out of the Ministry. . . . It'll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, wont it?"

"Don't rise," I whispered imploringly to Harry and Ron, who were both watching Malfoy, faces set and fists clenched. "It's what he wants. . . ."

"I mean," said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his gray eyes glittering malevolently in our direction, "if it's a question of influence with the Ministry, I don't think they've got much chance. . . . From what my father says, they've been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years. . . . And as for Potter . . . My father says it's a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo's. . . . apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic. . . ."

Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter, Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee.

Something collided hard with Harry's shoulder, knocking him sideways. A split second later we realized that Neville had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

"Neville, no!" We screamed.

Honestly, out of everyone that was present, I would have been sure that Ron or Harry would have been the first ones to shoot off towards Malfoy. Not Neville. From what I've heard, Neville is sweet and a wiz at Herbology. After that uncomfortable train encounter, we've actually spoken to each other quite a few times!

Harry leapt forward and seized the back of Neville's robes; Neville struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy who looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

"Help me!" Harry flung at Ron, managing to get an arm around Neville's neck and dragging him backward, away from the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were now flexing their arms, closing in front of Malfoy, ready for the fight. Ron hurried forward and seized Neville's arms; together, he and Harry succeeded in dragging Neville back into the Gryffindor line. Neville's face was scarlet; the pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but odd words spluttered from his mouth.

"Neville, calm down! Those are good for nothing Slytherins! Do you want Snape to come out and take away points? Come on, Neville, they did this to land detentions to any of us!" I pleaded with Neville.

He kept on sputtering odd words.

"Not. . . funny . . . don't . . . Mungo's . . . show . . . him . . ."

The dungeon door opened. Snape appeared there. His black eyes swept up the Gryffindor line to the point where Harry and Ron were wrestling with Neville.

"Fighting, Potter, Weasley, Longbottom?" Snape said in his cold, sneering voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Release Longbottom, Potter, or it will be detention. Inside, all of you."

Harry let go of Neville, who stood panting and glaring at him. "I had to stop you," Harry gasped, picking up his bag. "Crabbe and Goyle would've torn you apart."

Neville said nothing, he merely snatched up his own bag and stalked off into the dungeon.

"What in the name of Merlin," said Ron slowly, as they followed Neville, "was that about?"

Harry did not answer.

I knew exactly why the subject of people who were in St. Mungo's because of magical damage to their brains was highly distressing to Neville, his parents were there themselves. Thoroughly tortured by the Cruciatus Curse, Frank and Alice Longbottom were put in St.Mungo's. Dad told me and swore that I should not tell anyone. Not that anyone knew.

Me, Harry, Ron and HerMione took their usual seats at the back of the class and pulled out parchment, quills, and our copies of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The class around them was whispering about what Neville had just done, but when Snape closed the dungeon door with an echoing bang everybody fell silent immediately.

"You will notice," said Snape in his low, sneering voice, "that we have a guest with us today."

He gestured toward the dim corner of the dungeon, and I saw Professor Umbridge sitting there, clipboard on her knee. He glanced sideways at us, his eyebrows raised. Snape and Umbridge,the two teachers he hated most . . . it was hard to decide which I wanted to triumph over the other.

"We are continuing with our Strengthening Solutions today, you will find your mixtures as you left them last lesson, if correctly made they should have matured well over the weekend - instructions" - he waved his wand again - "on the board. Carry on."

Professor Umbridge spent the first half hour of the lesson making notes in her corner. Harry was very interested in hearing her question Snape, so interested, that he was becoming careless with his potion again.

"Salamander blood, Harry!" HerMione moaned, grabbing his wrist to prevent him adding the wrong ingredient for the third time. "Not pomegranate juice!"

"Right," said Harry vaguely, putting down the bottle and continuing to watch the corner. Umbridge had just gotten to her feet. "Ha," he said softly, as she strode between two lines of desks toward Snape, who was bending over Dean Thomas's cauldron.

"Well, the class seems fairly advanced for their level," she said briskly to Snape's back. "Though I would question whether it is advisable to teach them a potion like the Strengthening Solution. I think the Ministry would prefer it if that was removed from the syllabus."

Snape straightened up slowly and turned to look at her.

"Now . . . how long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" she asked, her quill poised over her clipboard.

"Fourteen years," Snape replied. His expression was unfathomable. His eyes on Snape, Harry added a few drops to his potion; it hissed menacingly and turned from turquoise to orange. "You applied first for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I believe?" Professor Umbridge asked Snape.

"Yes," said Snape quietly.

"But you were unsuccessful?"

Snape's lip curled. "Obviously."

Professor Umbridge scribbled on her clipboard.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape quietly, barely moving his lips. He looked very angry.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily. "Oh I shall," said Professor Umbridge with a sweet smile.

"I suppose this is relevant?" Snape asked, his black eyes narrowed.

"Oh yes," said Professor Umbridge. "Yes, the Ministry wants a thorough understanding of teachers' - er - backgrounds. . . ."

She turned away, walked over to Pansy Parkinson and began questioning her about the lessons. Snape looked around at Harry and their eyes met for a second. Harry hastily dropped his gaze to his potion, which was now congealing foully and giving off a strong smell of burned rubber.

"No marks again, then, Potter," said Snape maliciously, emptying Harry's cauldron with a wave of his wand. "You will write me an essay on the correct composition of this potion, indicating how and why you went wrong, to be handed in next lesson, do you understand?" "Yes," said Harry furiously. Snape had already given them homework, and he had Quidditch practice this evening; this would mean another couple of sleepless nights. It did not seem possible that he had awoken that morning feeling very happy. All he felt now was a fervent desire for this day to end as soon as possible.

"Maybe I'll skive off Divination," he said glumly as they stood again in the courtyard after lunch, the wind whipping at the hems of robes and brims of hats. "I'll pretend to be ill and do Snape's essay instead, then I won't have to stay up half the night. . . ."

"You can't skive off Divination," I said severely. "It is after all your fault for not paying attention to the potion and instead listening to their conversation."

"I agree with Ari." Mione said.

"Look who's talking, you're the one who stormed out of Divination! You hate Trelawney!" said Ron indignantly.

"I don't hate her," said HerMione loftily. "I just think she's an absolutely appalling teacher and a real old fraud. . . . But Harry's already missed History of Magic and I don't think he ought to miss anything else today!"

There was too much truth in this to ignore, so half an hour later we three took his seat in the hot, over-perfumed atmosphere of the Divination classroom. Professor Trelawney was handing out copies of The Dream Oracle yet again; he would surely be much better employed doing Snape's punishment essay than sitting here trying to find meaning in a lot of made-up dreams.

It seemed, however, that he was not the only person in Divination who was in a temper. Professor Trelawney slammed a copy of the Oracle down on the table between Harry and Ron and swept away, her lips pursed; she threw the next copy of the Oracle at Seamus and Dean, narrowly avoiding Seamus's head, and thrust the final one into Neville's chest with such force that he slipped off his pouf.

"Well, carry on!" said Professor Trelawney loudly, her voice high pitched and somewhat hysterical. "You know what to do! Or am I such a substandard teacher that you have never learned how to open a book?"

The class stared perplexedly at her and then at each other. Harry, however, thought he knew what was the matter. As Professor Trelawney flounced back to the high-backed teacher's chair, her magnified eyes full of angry tears, he leaned his head closer to Ron's and muttered, "I think she's got the results of her inspection back."

"Professor?" said Parvati Patil in a hushed voice (she and Lavender had always rather admired Professor Trelawney). "Professor, is there anything - er - wrong?"

"Wrong!" cried Professor Trelawney in a voice throbbing with emotion. "Certainly not! I have been insulted, certainly. . . . Insinuations have been made against me. . . . Unfounded accusations levelled . . . but no, there is nothing wrong, certainly not. . . ."

She took a great shuddering breath and looked away from Parvati, angry tears spilling from under her glasses. "I say nothing," she choked, "of sixteen years' devoted service. . . . It has passed, apparently, unnoticed. . . . But I shall not be insulted, no, I shall not!"

"But Professor, who's insulting you?" asked Parvati timidly.

"The establishment!" said Professor Trelawney in a deep, dramatic, wavering voice. "Yes, those with eyes too clouded by the Mundane to See as I See, to Know as I Know . . . Of course, we Seers have always been feared, always persecuted. . . . It is - alas - our fate. . . ."

She gulped, dabbed at her wet cheeks with the end of her shawl, and then pulled a small, embroidered handkerchief from her sleeve, into which she blew her nose very hard with a sound like Peeves blowing a raspberry. Ron sniggered. Lavender shot him a disgusted look. "Professor," said Parvati, "do you mean . . . is it something Professor Umbridge . . . ?"

"Do not speak to me about that woman!" cried Professor Trelawney, leaping to her feet, her beads rattling and her spectacles flashing. "Kindly continue with your work!"

And she spent the rest of the lesson striding among them, tears still leaking from behind her glasses, muttering what sounded like threats under her breath.

". . . may well choose to leave . . . the indignity of it . . . on probation . . . we shall see . . . how she dares . . ."

"You and Umbridge have got something in common," Harry told HerMione quietly when they met again in Defense Against the Dark Arts. "She obviously reckons Trelawney's an old fraud too. . . . Looks like she's put her on probation."

Umbridge entered the room as he spoke, wearing her black velvet bow and an expression of great smugness.

"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted drearily.

"Wands away, please . . ."

But there was no answering flurry of movement this time; nobody had bothered to take out their wands.

"Please turn to page thirty-four of Defensive Magical Theory and read the third chapter, entitled 'The Case for Non-Offensive Responses to Magical Attack.' There will be -"

"- no need to talk," We said together under their breaths.

"No Quidditch practice," said Angelina in hollow tones when we entered the common room that night after dinner.

"But I kept my temper!" said Harry, horrified. "I didn't say anything to her, Angelina, I swear, I -"

"I know, I know," said Angelina miserably. "She just said she needed a bit of time to consider."

"Consider what?" said Ron angrily. "She's given the Slytherins permission, why not us?"

But I could imagine how much Umbridge was enjoying holding the threat of no Gryffindor Quidditch team over their heads and could easily understand why she would not want to relinquish that weapon over them too soon.

"Well," said HerMione, "look on the bright side - at least now you'll have time to do Snape's essay!"

"That's a bright side, is it?" snapped Harry, while Ron stared incredulously at HerMione. "No Quidditch practice and extra Potions?"

"No worries, both of you! I also have to do my homework and I'll help you out whenever I can!" I replied back.

But it was hard to concentrate. Fred and George had perfected a box of Skiving Snackbox, which they were taking turns to demonstrate to a cheering and whooping crowd. First, Fred would take a bite out of the orange end of a chew, at which he would vomit spectacularly into a bucket they had placed in front of them. Then he would force down the purple end of the chew, at which the vomiting would immediately cease. Lee Jordan, who was assisting the demonstration, was lazily vanishing the vomit at regular intervals with the same Vanishing Spell Snape kept using on Harry's potions.

What with the regular sounds of retching, cheering, and Fred and George taking advance orders from the crowd, I couldn't do my work at all, but at least managed to finish Charms and Herbology. HerMione was not helping matters; the cheers and sound of vomit hitting the bottom of Fred and George's bucket were punctuated by loud and disapproving sniffs that I found, if anything, more distracting.

"Just go and stop them, then!" Harry said irritably, after crossing out the wrong weight of powdered griffin claw for the fourth time. "I can't, they're not technically doing anything wrong," said HerMione through gritted teeth. "They're quite within their rights to eat the foul things themselves, and I can't find a rule that says the other idiots aren't entitled to buy them, not unless they're proven to be dangerous in some way, and it doesn't look as though they are. . . ."

We watched George projectile-vomit into the bucket, gulp down the rest of the chew, and straighten up, beaming with his arms wide to protracted applause.

"You know, I don't get why Fred and George only got three O.W.L.s each," said Harry, watching as Fred, George, and Lee collected gold from the eager crowd. "They really know their stuff. . . ."

"Oh, they only know flashy stuff that's no real use to anyone," said HerMione disparagingly.

"No real use?" said Ron in a strained voice. "HerMione, they've got about twenty-six Galleons already. . . ."

It was a long while before the crowd around the Weasleys dispersed, and then Fred, Lee, and George sat up counting their takings even longer, and by that time Ron had fallen asleep, so it was well past midnight when we finally had the common room to themselves again. At long last, Fred closed the doorway to the boys' dormitories behind him, rattling his box of Galleons ostentatiously so that HerMione scowled. Harry, who was making very little progress with his Potions essay, decided to give it up for the night. As he put his books away, Ron, who was dozing lightly in an armchair, gave a muffled grunt, awoke, looked blearily into the fire and said, "Sirius!"

Me and Harry whipped around; Sirius's untidy dark head was sitting in the fire again.

"Hi," he said, grinning.

"Hi," we chorused, all of us kneeling down upon the hearthrug. Crookshanks purred loudly and approached the fire, trying, despite the heat, to put his face close to Sirius's.

"How're things?" said Sirius.

"Not that good," said Harry, as HerMione pulled Crookshanks back to stop him singeing his whiskers. "The Ministry's forced through another decree, which means we're not allowed to have Quidditch teams -"

"- or secret Defense Against the Dark Arts groups?" said Sirius.

There was a short pause.

"How did you know about that?" I demanded.

"You want to choose your meeting places more carefully," said Sirius, grinning still more broadly. "The Hog's Head, I ask you . . . but a really brilliant speech, Ari."

"Well, it was better than the Three Broomsticks!" said HerMione defensively. "That's always packed with people -"

"- which means you'd have been harder to overhear," said Sirius. "You've got a lot to learn, HerMione."

"Who overheard us?" Harry demanded.

"Mundungus, of course," said Sirius, and when they all looked puzzled he laughed. "He was the witch under the veil."

"That was Mundungus?" Ron said, stunned. "What was he doing in the Hog's Head?"

"What do you think he was doing?" said Sirius impatiently. "Keeping an eye on you, of course."

"I'm still being followed?" asked Harry angrily.

"Yeah, you are," said Sirius, "and just as well, isn't it, if the first thing you're going to do on your weekend off is organize an illegal defense group."

But he looked neither angry nor worried; on the contrary, he was looking at Harry with distinct pride.

"Why was Dung hiding from us?" asked Ron, sounding disappointed. "We'd've liked to've seen him."

"He was banned from the Hog's Head twenty years ago," said Sirius, "and that barman's got a long memory. We lost Moody's spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung's been dressing as a witch a lot lately. . . . Anyway . . . First of all, Ron - I've sworn to pass on a message from your mother."

"Oh yeah?" said Ron, sounding apprehensive.

"She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defense Against the Dark Arts group. She says you'll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also" - Sirius's eyes turned to the other two - "advises Harry, HerMione and Arianna not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written all this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you'd all have been in real trouble, and she can't say it for herself because she's on duty tonight."

"On duty doing what?" said Ron quickly.

"Never you mind, just stuff for the Order," said Sirius. "So it's fallen to me to be the messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don't think she trusts me to."

There was another pause in which Crookshanks, mewing, attempted to paw Sirius's head, and Ron fiddled with a hole in the hearthrug.

"So you want me to say I'm not going to take part in the defense group?" he muttered finally.

"Me? Certainly not!" said Sirius, looking surprised. "I think it's an excellent idea!"

"You do?" I asked, surprised.

"Of course I do!" said Sirius. "D'you think James and I would've lain down and taken orders from an old hag like Umbridge?"

"But - last term all you did was tell me to be careful and not take risks -" Harry implored.

"Last year all the evidence was that someone inside Hogwarts was trying to kill you, Harry!" said Sirius impatiently. "This year we know that there's someone outside Hogwarts who'd like to kill us all, so I think learning to defend yourselves properly is a very good idea!"

"And if we do get expelled?" HerMione asked, a quizzical look on her face.

"HerMione, this whole thing was your idea!" said Harry, staring at her.

"I know it was. . . . I just wondered what Sirius thought," she said, shrugging.

"Well, better expelled and able to defend yourselves than sitting safely in school without a clue," said Sirius.

"Hear, hear," said Harry and Ron enthusiastically.

"So," said Sirius, "how are you organizing this group? Where are you meeting?"

"Well, that's a bit of a problem now," I said. "Dunno where we're going to be able to go. . . ."

"How about the Shrieking Shack?" suggested Sirius.

"Hey, that's an idea!" said Ron excitedly, but HerMione made a skeptical noise and all of us looked at her, Sirius's head turning in the flames.

"Well, Sirius, it's just that there were only four of you meeting in the Shrieking Shack when you were at school," said HerMione, "and all of you could transform into animals and I suppose you could all have squeezed under a single Invisibility Cloak if you'd wanted to. But there are twenty-eight of us and none of us is an Animagus, so we wouldn't need so much an Invisibility Cloak as an Invisibility Marquee -"

"Fair point," said Sirius, looking slightly crestfallen. "Well, I'm sure you'll come up with somewhere. . . . There used to be a pretty roomy secret passageway behind that big mirror on the fourth floor, you might have enough space to practice jinxes in there -"

"Fred and George told me it's blocked," I said, shaking his head. "Caved in or something."

"Oh . . ." said Sirius, frowning. "Well, I'll have a think and get back to -"

He broke off. His face was suddenly tense, alarmed. He turned sideways, apparently looking into the solid brick wall of the fireplace.

"Sirius?" said Harry anxiously.

But he had vanished. Harry gaped at the flames for a moment, then turned to look at us.

"Why did he - ?"

HerMione gave a horrified gasp and leapt to her feet, still staring at the fire.

A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something; a stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings. . . .

"That's Umbridge's hand!" I whispered, horrified.

The four of us ran for it; and me and Mione went straight up the stairs, and crept into our dormitory.

"What would have happened if Umbridge had got Sirius?" Mione asked.

"Lets not think about that. Because I really don't know, and I don't want to lose my dad so quickly." I replied back.