the whole time she was getting ready on Monday morning, and she knew for a fact that she was going to be just as happy for the rest of the day.

The window was partly open, a waft of cold air drifting in and waving the curtains gently. The little chirps of early birds sounded outside, where only outlines of mountains were visible in the tender darkness. Two early copies of The Quibbler lay open on the desk, one still rolled and one open.

Harry's face sheepishly grinned out of the open one as she picked up the rolled one and grabbed the basket full of food that she had collected from the kitchens only moments ago. Glancing out of the window at the bluish twilit sky one last time as she teleported away.

If he knew, Dumbledore would certainly disapprove of her actions. There was a reason why he was keeping the two apart. But she, Margaret, was also aware that he would come to realise later on that he had been making a mistake.

At any rate, she had to share this. It would mean the world.

Reappearing in the empty, dark lounge, she willed her eyes to turn scarlet to find the door. Quietly as she could, she quickly made her way up to the topmost floor that she had only been to once before.

Her eyes lingered on the door labelled R. A. B. for a moment before she shook her head, turning to the door opposite labelled S. B. Squinting slightly, she realised that the metal nameplate had been scratched; 'Padfoot' was carved in the wood under it. Smiling at this, she reached up to knock twice.

There was no noise for a moment, so she knocked again, louder this time, and heard a muffled gasp, some shuffling, a loud crash and finally a groan.

Margaret chuckled, rather giddy despite the ungodly hour. "It's me! Margaret!"

"...Margie?" a muffled voice comes from the other side.

There was some more shuffling before the door opened to reveal a half-asleep Sirius Black blinking at her beaming face in confusion. His hair and beard was a mess and he was wearing no shirt, his rather impressive tattoos on display, over his pyjama pants with paw prints on them.

"Morning!" she says cheerfully, holding up the magazine and the basket, and attempting a British accent, "I bring with me some good news and pancakes, good sir!"

If possible, Sirius looked even more confused, tilting his head at her.

"Right, erm... sorry for showing up at this hour," she says sheepishly before her eyes widen in excitement again, "I promise it's worth it!"

Sirius chuckled at her enthusiasm, trying to wake himself up by rubbing his eyes.

"You're always welcome here, Margie," he tells her, voice rough from sleep. Scratching his head, he gestured the stairs, yawning hugely. "Why don't you... head to the kitchen? I'll be there in a jiffy-"

"Okay!" she exclaims, smiling brightly. "Don't take too long!"

When Sirius entered the kitchen, now with a shirt on and his hair tied neatly, he was met with an aroma of freshly cooked breakfast that caused a feeling of nostalgia to flutter in his chest. He could close his eyes and pretend, if only for a moment, that he was back at Hogwarts.

"To what do I owe this early surprise?" he asks Margaret, snapping out of his reverie and taking a bite of the bread he had just picked up, watching her wandlessly serve the food.

"Harry," she answers, smiling.

"Harry?" he repeats, eyebrows drawing closer. "Is he all right? Is Snape giving him a hard time with Occlumency?"

"Oh, he's more than all right! Also, sit and eat, the food's not going anywhere," Margaret tells him, playfully stern. He rolled his eyes at her as she turned around to pick up the copy of the magazine before throwing it at him. "Here-"

Sirius caught it and opened it up, stuffing the bread in his mouth.

Margaret watched in anticipation as his eyes widened when he read the large red letters across Harry's moving photo:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

"YOU'RE JOKING!"

"Nope!" Margaret exclaims, beaming. "Read it! Read it!"

She did not need to tell him that, Sirius had never read anything so quickly. A loud laugh left him as took his time to read the article twice, thrice and four times until his eyes started watering.

"Blimey, this is incredible!"

"Are you crying...?" she asks knowingly, unable to keep her eyes from watering too, her cheeks hurting from smiling too much. She wished so badly that Harry was there to see his godfather glowing with happiness and pride for him.

"Tears of joy, Margie! Tears of joy!" he exclaims cheerfully, turning his face away to wipe under his eyes. "Oh, I am so proud of him! So incredibly proud! And you," he covers the distance between them in two long strides, pulling her into a warm hug. "Thank you for bringing this to me! You have no idea how much it means-"

"Of course, I do," she says, grinning against his shoulder. Pulling away, she wipes her eyes, a little embarrassed at being emotional, before pointing at the roll of parchment she had brought out on the table. "Don't tell me everything! Write it down in a letter, I'll give it to Harry."

Sirius's grin widened even more if possible.

In fact, he was so ecstatic that he struggled to find the right words, crumpling up pieces of parchment after parchment and littering the floor. Margaret told him that something as small as "I'm proud of you" would make Harry's whole week, to which Sirius gave her a daft look. He wanted it to be perfect.

It was only when she told him, slightly disappointed, that her classes started in less than half-an-hour did he spring into action. He quickly finished the letter and ate his pancakes and bacon. He was sipping his tea when Margaret got up, his letter in her pocket.

"I see you've been doing the puzzle," she remarks, noticing the 1000-piece puzzle she had given him for Christmas on the other end of the table.

"That's mostly Remus's doing," Sirius shrugs. "He gets bored."

"Don't lie," she teases. "I know you've been doing it too."

"I may have been forced to help once or twice..." he mutters behind the rim of his cup. Margaret shook her head in amusement. She knew he would like to have something to shift his focus to.

"All right, I'm off. Gotta get there before the mail comes, I want to see Umbridge's face," she tells him excitedly, glancing at the clock on the wall to check the time.

Sirius nodded, putting down his cup and getting to his feet. "Thanks for coming, this has been the best news I've received all year," he says, smiling as well. "I'm sure Remus would be happy to see it too."

Margaret gave him a quick hug before stepping back. "We'll see you soon," she says, disappearing before Sirius could see her smile turn sad.

The next time they see each other, things won't be as happy.

However, she did not let the worrying aspects of the future dampen her mood as she appeared in an empty corridor near the Great Hall. Thankfully, she found Harry, Hermione and Ron just outside.

She jogged up to the three and skidded to a long halt, startling them. "Hey, guys!"

"What're you so excited about?" Ron asks.

"You'll see," she says, beaming. Then looking over her shoulder, she remarks, "The mail's gonna be here soon! C'mon, I can't wait to see her face!"

The trio exchanged looks of mingled amusement and confusion, following her into the Great Hall. At exactly the same moment, the post owls fluttered in, causing a burst of chatter to erupt among the students.

Nearly everyone was eager for more news about the escaped Death Eaters, who, despite many reported sightings, had still not been caught. Hermione sat down, gave the delivery owl a Knut and unfolded The Daily Prophet eagerly while Margaret sat down in between Fred and Ron, the former greeting her with a grin, happy to see her in good spirits.

"You're happy this morning," he comments when she swiftly kissed his cheek.

"Very happy! You'll see- Oh, there it is!"

Harry was helping himself to orange juice when the first owl landed with a thud in front of him. As he had only received one note during the entire year, he was sure that it had made a mistake.

"Who're you after?" he asks it, lazily removing his orange juice from underneath its beak and leaning forward to see the recipient's name and address: Harry Potter, Great Hall, Hogwarts School.

Frowning, he made to take the letter from the owl, but before he could do so, three, four, five more owls had fluttered down beside it and began shifting around for position - treading in the butter, knocking over the salt, their wings flapping to balance while each attempted to give him their letters first.

"What's going on?" Ron asks in amazement, as the whole of Gryffindor table leaned forward to watch as seven more owls landed amongst the first ones, screeching and hooting.

"It's The Quibbler!" Margaret finally tells them, picking up a jug of milk in one hand and a tray of garlic bread in another to give the birds some space.

"I think I know what this means, Harry!" says Hermione breathlessly, plunging her hands into the feathery mass and pulling out a screech owl bearing a long, cylindrical package. "Open this one first!"

Harry ripped off the brown packaging. Out rolled a tightly furled copy of March's edition of The Quibbler. He unrolled it to see his own face grinning sheepishly at him from the front cover.

"It's good, isn't it?" Luna says, drifting over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Ron and Margaret. "It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these," she waves a hand at the assembled owls still scrambling around on the table in front of Harry, "are letters from readers."

"That's what I thought," Hermione says eagerly, "Harry, d'you mind if we-?"

"Help yourself," says Harry, feeling slightly bemused. Ron and Hermione both started ripping open envelopes. Margaret used telekinesis to levitate the food containers in the air before doing the same.

"This one's from a bloke who thinks you're off your rocker," Ron mutters, glancing down the letter before scrunching up the paper. "Ah well..."

"This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo's," says Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second.

"This one looks okay, though," Harry says slowly, scanning a long letter from a witch in Paisley. "Hey, she says she believes me!"

"This one's in two minds," Fred tells them, who had joined in the letter opening with enthusiasm. "Says you don't come across as a mad person, but he really doesn't want to believe You-Know-Who's back so he doesn't know what to think now... Blimey, what a waste of parchment..."

"This one's actually pretty good," Margaret says thoughtfully, scanning the letter in her hand. "It's a couple, I think, all the way in outskirts of England. It says: 'We're used to the Ministry giving false information about things like-' Oh, wow, they've written down Voldemort's name!"

Ignoring the winces that her classmates gave at her use of the forbidden name, she passed the letter to Harry, pleasantly surprised at the contents. He took it, looking stunned himself as he read it.

"This is brilliant!" says Harry brightly. "People are actually using his name; that has to be an achievement for them..."

"I'd say it's one for you too," says Ron encouragingly, leaning forward to see. "What else does it say?"

"They say that they've believed Dumbledore since day one, and they're happy Harry's finally spoken up. They give their best wishes," Margaret tells him, ripping open another letter. "Who's the couple anyway?"

"It says Scamander in the end, but that's it," Harry answers, folding the letter again.

"Here's another one you've convinced, Harry!" Hermione speaks up excitedly. "'Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly... Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth...' Oh, this is wonderful!"

"Another one who thinks you're barking," says Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder and looking down at another, "but this one says you've got her converted, and she now thinks you're a real hero. Wow-"

"What is going on here?" says a falsely sweet, girlish voice; which, for the first time ever, caused the grin on Margaret's face to widen.

Harry looked up with his hands full of envelopes, seeing Professor Umbridge standing behind Fred and Margaret, her bulging toad's eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table. Behind her, he saw many of the students watching them avidly.

"Why have you got all these letters, Mister Potter?" she asks slowly.

"Is that a crime now?" asks Fred loudly. "Getting mail?"

"Be careful, Mister Weasley, or I shall put you in detention," Umbridge warns stiffly. "Well, Mister Potter?"

Harry hesitated, but there was no way he could keep what he had done quiet. It was surely only a matter of time before a copy of The Quibbler came to Umbridge's attention.

"People have written to me because I gave an interview," Harry tells her simply, though his eyes were shining with mischief. "About what happened to me last June."

Margaret looked up at the staff table behind Umbridge, catching Dumbledore's eyes. The Headmaster had been watching Harry, but when Harry looked, a split second after Margaret did, Dumbledore had turned and swiftly gotten absorbed in conversation with Professor Flitwick.

"An interview?" repeats Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher. "What do you mean?"

"I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them," Harry states. "Here-"

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. They all watched in anticipation and amusement as her pale, doughy face slowly turned an ugly, patchy violet.

"When did you do this?" she asks, her high-pitched voice trembling slightly.

"Last Hogsmeade weekend," says Harry.

She looked up at him, quite literally luminous with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers.

"There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mister Potter," she whispers. "How you dare... how you could..." She took a deep breath. "I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week's worth of detentions."

She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her.

Margaret leaned on Fred, shaking with silent laughter. Shiitakes mushrooms on a stick, that was freaking glorious!

, enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms as well.

THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

The Quibbler

The above is in accordance with

Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven.

Though none of them had seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview to each other; all of them had caught the whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, overheard discussions of it over lunch and murmurs in the back of classrooms.

Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. She was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her.

The pages carrying Harry's interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it.

Margaret had been stopped too, not by Umbridge but by other students, on her way to classes or during lunch break. People seemed to know she was friends with Harry and hey asked her if she thought what he said was all true – to which she confidently said yes.

The teachers were, of course, forbidden from mentioning the interview by Educational Decree Number Twenty-six, but they found ways to express their feelings about it all the same. It was all quite hilarious, and Margaret had a blast watching it.

Professor Sprout awarded Gryffindor twenty points when Harry passed her a watering can; a beaming Professor Flitwick pressed a box of squeaking sugar mice in his hand at the end of Charms, said "Shh!" and hurried away; and Professor Trelawney broke into hysterical sobs during Divination and announced to the startled class, and a very disapproving Umbridge, that Harry was not going to suffer an early death after all, but would live to a ripe old age, become Minister of Magic, and have twelve children.

Not only did they award points at random to Harry, but also any friend of his they spotted around.

Ron had been granted twenty points for reading an excerpt from his textbook when Hagrid asked him to during Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione was awarded ten points each time she answered a question in any class except Potions and DADA, and Margaret was given several points when she helped Professor Sinatra in the staffroom with some papers which were easily sorted with magic.

They were not the only ones. All Gryffindors were being given points, and by the end of the day, the hourglass was more than half-filled with rubies. The whole ordeal was a joy to watch.

Margaret spent the rest of the time trying to find a way to get Harry, Hermione and Ron alone so that she could give Harry the letter from Sirius. Although it seemed that Harry was never left alone; either people wanted to speak to him or Umbridge was staring at him hawkishly.

Monday passed soon, and Tuesday dawned with a cloudless sky.

Cho caught up with Harry as they were hurrying along to Transfiguration the next afternoon. Before he knew what had happened, her hand was in his and she was breathing in his ear about something.

"What's that about?" asks Ron, watching the two stop. Hermione and Margaret shared a knowing smile, said nothing and pulled a confused Ron along.

And unbelievably, as soon as Harry had arrived outside Transfiguration, something just as good happened: Seamus stepped out of the queue to face him.

"I just wanted to say," he mumbles, squinting at Harry's left knee, "I believe you. And I've sent a copy of that magazine to me mam."

As soon as Transfiguration was over, which was the last lecture before lunch, Margaret finally pulled the three of them aside to second-floor girls' bathroom – otherwise known for Moaning Myrtle (and the Chamber of Secrets for those who were aware of it). The wailing ghost was thankfully nowhere to be seen.

"I've got something for you," she tells Harry quickly, shuffling through the bag to find the letter she had kept safely inside one of her textbooks. "Here!"