Right, so if it's $1.31 or $1.32, then it's just $1.30. But if it's $1.33, $1.34, $1.36, or $1.37, then it's $1.35. And if it's $1.38 or $1.39, then it's $1.40. 

WHY DID THEY GET RID OF THE PENNY?

THIS IS JUST CONFUSING.

Your guys' comments make me so happy. Hehe. I love all you crazys. (Crazies?)

I can't believe I've written 24 chapters for this book. I'd estimate that there are 5-6 chapters left, not including this one. I've got some reading to do... I must decide where Jinx must be. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I went up to the Owlery after breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr. Crouch lately. We used Hedwig, because it had been so long since she'd had a job. When we had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, we proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks. 

The house-elves gave us a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic about his present. 

"Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!" he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes. 

"You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did," said Harry. 

"No chance of more of those eclairs, is there?" said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves. 

"You've just had breakfast!" said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of eclairs was already zooming toward them, supported by four elves. 

"We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles," Harry muttered. 

"Good idea," said Ron. "Give Pig something to do. You couldn't give us a bit of extra food, could you?" he said to the surrounding elves, and they bowed delightedly and hurried off to get some more. 

"Dobby, where's Winky?" said Hermione, who was looking around. 

"Winky is over there by the fire, miss," said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly. 

"Oh dear," said Hermione as she spotted Winky. 

I looked over at the fireplace too. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As we watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup. 

"Winky is getting through six bottles a day now," Dobby whispered to Harry. 

"Well, it's not strong, that stuff," Harry said. 

But Dobby shook his head. "'Tis strong for a house-elf, sir," he said. 

Winky hiccuped again. The elves who had brought the eclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work. 

"Winky is pining, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered sadly. "Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now." 

"Hey, Winky," said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over to her, and bending down, "you don't know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he's stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament." 

Winky's eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, "M - Master is stopped - hic - coming?" 

"Yeah," said Harry, "we haven't seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet's saying he's ill." 

Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry. 

"Master - hic - ill?" 

Her bottom lip began to tremble. 

"But we're not sure if that's true," said Hermione quickly. 

"Master is needing his - hic - Winky!" whimpered the elf. "Master cannot - hic - manage - hic - all by himself...." 

"Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky," Hermione said severely. 

"Winky - hic - is not only - hic - doing housework for Mr. Crouch!" Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. "Master is - hic - trusting Winky with - hic - the most important - hic - the most secret..." 

"What?" said Harry. 

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself. 

"Winky keeps - hic - her master's secrets," she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. "You is - hic - nosing, you is." 

"Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!" said Dobby angrily. "Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!"

"Dobby dearest, we are the four most nosiest people on the planet," I said. "Why do you think everything happens to us?" 

"He is nosing - hic - into my master's - hic - private and secret - hic - Winky is a good house-elf - hic - Winky keeps her silence - hic - people trying to - hic - pry and poke - hic -" 

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view. 

"We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and misses!" squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and misses!" 

"She's unhappy!" said Hermione, exasperated. "Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?" 

"Begging your pardon, miss," said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, "but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served." 

"Oh for heavens sake!" Hermione cried. "Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told - look at Dobby!" 

"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous. 

"We has your extra food!" squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into Harry's arms. "Good-bye!" 

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, Hermione and I and began shunting us out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of our backs. 

"Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!" Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky. 

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?" said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind us. "They won't want us visiting them now! We could've tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!" 

"Oh as if you care about that!" scoffed Hermione. "You only like coming down here for the food!" 

It was an irritable sort of day after that. Harry got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that he took Sirius's food up to the Owlery that evening on his own. 

By breakfast the next day Ron's and Hermione's bad moods had burnt out, and to mine and Harry's relief, Ron's dark predictions that the house-elves would send substandard food up to the Gryffindor table because Hermione had insulted them proved false; the bacon, eggs, and kippers were quite as good as usual. 

When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something. 

"Percy won't've had time to answer yet," said Ron. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday." 

"No, it's not that," said Hermione. "I've taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins." 

"Good thinking!" said Harry, also looking up at the owls. "Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck -" 

A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione. 

"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," she said, looking disappointed. "It's -" 

But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny. 

"I feel like I should be making a joke here, but how can you make a joke about owla?" I said to no one in particular.

"How many subscriptions did you take out?" said Harry, seizing Hermione's goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first. 

"What on earth - ?" Hermione said, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. "Oh really!" she sputtered, going rather red. 

"What's up?" said Ron. 

"It's - oh how ridiculous -" 

She thrust the letter at me, and I saw that it was not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet. 

YOU ARE A WICKED GIRL. HARRY POTTER DESERVES

BETTER. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM MUGGLE.

"What fresh bitch of hell sent that?" I asked.

"They're all like it!" said Hermione desperately, opening one letter after another. "'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you....' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn....' Ouch!" 

She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils. 

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it. 

"Ow!" said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves. 

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry as the owls around Hermione took flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone...." 

"I warned her!" said Ron as Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands. "I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one..." He read out one of the letters Hermione had left behind: "I read In Witch Weekly about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.' Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself."

"Just checking, it's illigel to murder people, right?" I asked Harry and Ron. They stared at me.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Right," I said, nodding. "Just checking. That means I'll have to use plan B... well that's not much fun."

"Jinx, you're not allowed to hurt anyone," Ron said slowly.

"Just a little bit?"

"No."

"Come on. Just a little bit of torture."

"No."

"You're no fun." 

Hermione didn't turn up for Herbology. As Harry, Ron and I left the greenhouse for our Care of Magical Creatures class, we saw Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle descending the stone steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson was whispering and giggling behind them with her gang of Slytherin girls. Catching sight of Harry, Pansy called, "Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?" 

Harry ignored her; he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much trouble the Witch Weekly article had caused. 

Hagrid, who had told us last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for us outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. My heart sank at the sight of the crates - surely not another skrewt hatching? - but when I got near enough to see inside, I found myself looking at a number of flurry black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention. 

"These're nifflers," said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff....There yeh go, look." 

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward. 

"Useful little treasure detectors," said Hagrid happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth. "I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an get ready ter set 'em loose." 

I took off my earrings, which Hermione had given me ages ago, and my "J" necklace that Draco had given me for our twelve birthday. I always wore it, often hidden beneth my collar. No one but he and I knew that it was a gift from him. I don't think Fred and my friends would approve if I told them. Then I picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in my ear and sniffed enthusiastically. I giggled. It was really quite cuddly. 

"Hang on," said Hagrid, looking down into the crate, "there's a spare niffler here...who's missin? Where's Hermione?" 

"She had to go to the hospital wing," said Ron. 

"We'll explain later," Harry muttered; Pansy Parkinson was listening. 

It was easily the most fun we had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into our hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins. 

"Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?" he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes. 

"Yer mum wouldn' be happy, Ron," said Hagrid, grinning. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now," he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. "I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y'are, Hermione!" 

Hermione was walking toward us across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily. 

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" said Hagrid. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours." 

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeyduke's chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Ron,  Hermione and I stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. I noticed Madame Maxime watching us out other carriage window. 

"What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione?" said Hagrid, looking concerned. 

Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus. 

"Aaah, don' worry," said Hagrid gently, looking down at her. "I got some o' those letters an all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an if you had any decency you d jump in a lake.'" 

"No!" said Hermione, looking shocked. 

"Yeah," said Hagrid, heaving the niffler crates over by his cabin wall. "They're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire." 

"You missed a really good lesson," Harry told Hermione as we headed back toward the castle. "They're good, nifflers, aren't they, Ron?" 

Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something. 

"What's the matter?" said Harry. "Wrong flavor?" 

"No," said Ron shortly. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold?" 

"What gold?" said Harry. 

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?" 

Harry had to think for a moment before he realized what Ron was talking about. 

"Oh..." he said, the memory coming back to him at last. "I dunno... I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?" 

We climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch. 

"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly, when we had sat down and started serving ourselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing." 

"Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!" said Harry impatiently. "We all did, remember?" 

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas." 

"Forget it, all right?" said Harry. 

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor." 

Harry, Hermione and I looked at each other. Neither of them really knew what to say. However, I did. 

"I don't have much myself," I said quietly. "I barely have any, actually. And you have so much more than I do, Ron. You have a family and a home to always go back to. I have nothing but you guys and Hogwarts."

"It's rubbish, isn't it?" said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. "I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler." 

"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," said Hermione brightly. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus." Hermione was having a lot of difficulty managing her knife and fork, her fingers were so stiff and swollen. "I hate that Skeeter woman!" she burst out savagely. "I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!" 

Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week, and although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn't read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Harry-Krum-Hermione triangle now. Harry was getting sick of telling people that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend. 

"It'll die down, though," he told Hermione, "if we just ignore it.... People got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time."

"I want to know how she's listening into private conversations when she's supposed to be banned from the grounds!" said Hermione angrily. 

Hermione hung back in our next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class was very eager to leave; Moody had given us such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of us were nursing small injuries. Harry had such a bad case of Twitchy Ears, he had to hold his hands clamped over them as he walked away from the class. 

"Well, Rita's definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!" Hermione panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron in the entrance hall and pulling Harry's hand away from one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear her. "Moody says he didn't see her anywhere near the judges' table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!" 

"Hermione, is there any point in telling you to drop this?" said Ron. 

"No!" said Hermione stubbornly. "I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! And how she found out about Hagrid's mum!" 

"Maybe she had you bugged," said Harry. 

"Bugged?" said Ron blankly. "What... put fleas on her or something?" 

Harry started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment. Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted them. 

"Aren't you two ever going to read Hogwarts, A History" 

"What's the point?" said Ron. "You know it by heart, we can just ask you." 

"All those substitutes for magic Muggles use - electricity, computers, and radar, and all those things - they all go haywire around Hogwarts, there's too much magic in the air. No, Rita's using magic to eavesdrop, she must be.... If I could just find out what it is... ooh, if it's illegal, I'll have her..." 

"Thats why I can't look up the answers to potions on the internet..." I said randomly. 

"What?" Hermione, Harry and Ron said at the same time. 

"I don't know," I said honestly. 

The conversation carried on like I said nothing.

"Haven't we got enough to worry about?" Ron asked her. "Do we have to start a vendetta against Rita Skeeter as well?" 

"I'm not asking you to help!" Hermione snapped. "I'll do it on my own!" 

She marched back up the marble staircase without a backward glance. I was quite sure she was going to the library. 

"What's the betting she comes back with a box of  Hate Rita Skeeter badges?" said Ron. 

Hermione, however, did not ask Harry, Ron and I to help her pursue vengeance against Rita Skeeter, for which we were all grateful, because our workload was mounting ever higher in the days before the Easter holidays, which meant less time with Fred for me. I frankly marveled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else we had to do. I was working flat-out just to get through all our homework, and we were still waiting for an answer from Percy. 

Hedwig didn't return until the end of the Easter holidays. Percy's letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs. Weasley had sent. Both Harry's, Ron's and mine were the size of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee. Hermione's, however, was smaller than a chicken egg. Her face fell when she saw it. 

"Your mum doesn't read Witch Weekly, by any chance, does she, Ron?" she asked quietly. 

"Yeah," said Ron, whose mouth was full of toffee. "Gets it for the recipes." 

Hermione looked sadly at her tiny egg. 

"Don't you want to see what Percy's written?" Harry asked her hastily. 

Percy's letter was short and irritated. 

As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr. Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instructions. No, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior's handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumors. Please don't bother me again unless it's something important. Happy Easter.  

The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but he still didn't know what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration. 

I just sort of stood there, in plain sight, listening.

Imma fucking ninja.

"You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock. Potter," she told him. "Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task." 

So at half past eight that night. Harry left Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. Fred and I sat together in a love seat in the corner of the common room. 

"Where's Harry off to?" Fred asked me.

"To see what the final task is," I answered. My brother's warning crept back into my mind. I shoved it out. 

"Ah," Fred said. "I'm surprised you're not following."

"I comtemplated it," I replied. "But I decided to spend time with you instead."

He held me closer. I reached up and played with a lock of his ginger hair. 

"I wish I were ginger..." I murmured. He started playing with my blonde curls. 

"I like your hair better," he said. 

"It's all curly... and blonde," I complained. "I mean, I have blonde hair and blue eyes. It's so typical."

"It suits you..." Fred said. 

"Sure."

"It does."

"You flatter me."

"Good. That's what I was trying to do."

I laughed. "I wish we could sit here forever."

"Me too."

"But then no pranks would ever happen."

"Nope."

"And that would be bad."

"Very."

"We should recruite George and pull a prank."

"Sounds good to me."

Neither of us moved. 

"We could always do it tomorrow," I suggested, snuggling closer. 

"Yep," he said, leaning his head on mine. 

I love us.