A/N: sorry for the agonisingly short chapter guys. I've been pretty sick recently, as I've been overworking myself at school and at home. I hope you can forgive me!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Harry sat in the great hall, tapping his ebony black fingernails on the polished wooden table in front of him. Luna had told him at last night's DA lesson that her father was printing Harry's interview and sending him a copy this morning.

Sitting at the table was rather uncomfortable. Ron was shooting him glances whenever he thought he wasn't looking, and Hermione looked rather shifty too.

Draco was sitting across the hall, poking rather miserably at the meagre amount of food on his plate. He had looked rather ill and uneasy for the past few days, come to think of it.

Finally, the owls flooded in. Harry smiled as a brown barn owl carrying The Quibbler flew down, landing in front of him with a small hoot. He untied the magazine from its leg, Hermione leaning in his direction to read it over his shoulder.

His story was on the very first page. For once, Rita Skeeter had written something exactly as it was told, which made Harry grin. Finally, the truth was printed somewhere. Even if it wasn't the most popular or well selling magazine ever, it was something.

"Nice one, Harry!" Fred called, shoving his own copy of The Quibbler in Harry's face, George hot on his heels.

But the owls landing in front of Harry didn't stop there. Many, many more appeared, letters from people Harry didn't even know, congratulating him. By the end of the mail time, he had around ten letters sitting in front of him.

"Where did you get all those, Potter?" Asked a sickly sweet voice.

"Oh!" George drawled sarcastically. "So it's illegal to get mail now?"

Umbridge frowned at him. "Enough, Weasley."

"I got them from people who liked my article in The Quibbler," Harry smiled, showing off his unnaturally long canine teeth.

Umbridge's frown deepened as she walked away.

******

Only a day later, a notice was posted, saying that any student in possession of The Quibbler would be expelled immediately.

Although, according to Ron and Hermione, there was a copy of the magazine with Harry's interview in it nailed to the notice board in the Gryffindor common room, that would continuously show obscenities like "the ministry of magic are morons!" Or "screw off, Umbridge!" (Courtesy of the Weasley twins, of course).

Draco's condition had worsened. He was vomiting up anything he ate, and losing weight rapidly. Harry had taken him to Snape multiple times, but nothing came of it. He'd just said it might be one of the side effects to being a werewolf.

He'd sent an owl to Sirius, and apparently Remus was in the same state, almost refusing to leave Sirius' side. Draco, too, was growing clingy. Not that Harry really minded, he loved being in the werewolf's presence.

Harry was sitting on one of the couches in their living room, Draco's head in his lap. The werewolf had his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face. "How're you feeling?" Harry asked, knowing that the answer would be the same as the last time he'd asked.

Draco didn't even both replying, just rolled onto his side and buried his face in Harry's lower stomach with a whine. Harry abandoned the book he'd been reading to thread his fingers through Draco's hair. "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up. We could go swimming!"

"Not in the lake," Draco mumbled, voice muffled by Harry's shirt. "I'm not going near that lake, ever again."

Harry sighed. The stars were out tonight, it would have been stunning. "C'mon, some fresh air might make you feel better."

Draco let out an intelligible mumble, lifting his head to meet Harry's gaze with his own. Draco's eyes were strangely glassy.

"How about we just go to the prefects bathrooms then? I don't think the passwords' changed."

"Fine," Draco mumbled, stumbling slightly as he stood up.

A few minutes later, the two were sneaking down the corridors, the bags on their shoulders filled with towels and a change of clothes.

Harry grinned as he muttered the password, realising that it hadn't changed as he and Draco slipped into the room silently. Now came his favourite part. He ran over to the huge taps, turning them all on with the excitement of a small child.

Draco merely rolled his eyes, pulling off his jeans and shirt and stepping into the warm and bubbly water, sighing contentedly as his tense muscles finally relaxed, the water washing away his aching pains.

Harry stepped in, sitting down beside Draco and wrapping an arm around his waist. Draco gave a small smile, cuddling into Harry's side and leaning his head on the vampire's shoulder. Harry lifted his other hand after a few minutes, cupping the werewolf's jaw in his hand and pressing their lips together, smiling into the kiss and closing his eyes.

It was about time they finally got to relax. For the whole week it was like they'd been walking on eggshells around everyone.

Harry shifted, removing his hand from Draco's waist to run it through Draco's hair, the water from his fingertips dripping down the side of Draco's face. Harry pulled away, a look of adoration crossing his face as he gazed dreamily at Draco, the boy who he had the privilege of calling his own.

******

Remus sat in one of the study's at Grimmauld Place, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

Dear D.M,
Something bad is happening, or something bad is going to happen very soon. I can feel it, I know that by now you will have felt it too. I can't leave Snuffles' side for more than half an hour, and it's driving me insane. We have to protect those we care about, so I'm warning you to be extra careful. Don't let anything bad happen to Harry, for everyone's sakes. Be on guard, there's a storm brewing overhead.
R.L.

Remus put down his quill, looking out the window with a pained expression. Black, billowing clouds hovered above, looking ominously down upon him.

"Sirius?" He called out.

"Yeah?" The man replied from the room next door.

"Nothing," Remus mumbled, folding up the parchment.

******

It was with a somber sigh that Newt locked the latch on his suitcase, making sure it was shut tightly. He stood up, taking one last look around his living room. The shiny piano, couches, and his desk that was usually cluttered was now devoid of any objects or papers. The fire was unlit, the drawings on the walls taken down.

He let his scarf hand loosely around his neck as he picked up his suitcase, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

The hallways were filled with students that were milling around, enjoying their break. Some gave him smiles when he passed, which he returned weakly.

"Professor!" Yelled a familiar voice. Newt turned, seeing Fred and George barrelling down the corridor towards him. "Wait up!"

Newt stopped, watching as the twins caught up to him, eyeing his suitcase. "What're you doing?" George asked.

"I'm going away for a while," Newt replied. "That reminds me. I wanted to ask you two whether you'd be willing to look after Pickett." The little green bowtruckle poked his head out of Newt's pocket, looking rather excited.

"Us?" Fred asked.

"Really?" George said with wide eyes.

Newt nodded. "Sure. He spends most of his time with you two anyways, and he enjoys your pranks and creations far too much. I suppose it's only fair, after all, his happiness is what I care about," Newt said. Pickett let out a happy squeak, climbing up to hug Newt around the neck before he jumped onto Fred's shoulder.

"But why? Where are you going?" George asked with a frown. "You're not going to do anything dangerous, are you?"

"No. I'm just going back to Grimmauld Place for a while, I think."

"But why? You're a teacher," Fred reminded him.

"Not for much longer."

"No!" George whispered. "Is it- Umbridge?"

Newt simply nodded. "I have to go. Give her hell from me, boys."

The two looked upset but saluted dutifully anyways.

******

Newt stepped out in the courtyard, students giving him confused looks at his suitcase.

"Where are you going, Professor?" McGonagall's voice rung out as she strode across the yard towards him.

"I'm being fired," Newt replied calmly, although it was easy to tell that there was pain and anger behind his blue eyed gaze,

"What?!" McGonagall all but shrieked. "Who says?!"

"I do," came a sickly, high pitched voice. Students had begun to gather around now, watching the exchange as a pink clothed woman, or toad, walked towards the other two teachers.

"Why? Professor Redmayne has proved himself to be a capable and good teacher-" McGonagall started furiously.

"In fact, he's quite to opposite," Umbridge said, her smile not wavering or cracking. "He is in no Magizoologist register, has nothing on his resume, and he's never been heard of before. For all intents and purposes, 'Edward Redmayne' doesn't exist. If we could just take a look at his wand, I'm sure we can find out who he really is-"

"What exactly are you accusing me of, Dolores?" Newt snapped. "That I'm some psycho under an alias?"

"And what grounds are you firing him on?! You don't have the power to do that!"

"As a matter of fact," Umbridge said with a smile. "I do. You see, I received a new decree from the Minister last week stating-"

Newt cut her off. "Well you know what, Umbridge? You can take all of your degrees-" he gestured with his hands dramatically, voice loud and obnoxious. "And shove them up your ass! Because I quit!"

The students burst out into a mixture of laughter and applause, Umbridge looking mortified.

Newt leaned down, picking up his suitcase just as Dumbledore entered the courtyard, a frown on his face. "What is going on here?"

Newt merely gave a final wave, before an ear splitting crack rang out and he was gone.