Chapter 12

A few days later Olwyna was soaring above the forest, nearing the end of another journey to Surrey and back, bearing yet another letter from the unemployed wordsmith, Rita Skeeter. It was early in October, and the day a glorious sudden return to the warmth of the summer just passed. Olwyna was not more than an hour from her perch in the Hogwarts owlery, but she was very hungry, and had to break her journey for a quick snack. Dropping to tree level, she kept a close watch on a clearing directly in her path. Effortlessly she picked up the tell-tale signs of a rodent rustling under the autumn leaves, and immediately she honed in on the source of the noise.

The mouse's hearing wasn't bad either, and it detected the very faint wing sounds of the approaching predator. It froze - perhaps the owl would not know its exact location. A fatal error as it turned out, for the hungry barn owl knew exactly where the mouse had paused under the leaves. In no time her talons enveloped the poor creature, and Olwyna ended its suffering with a quick squeeze, her sharp claws very efficient. After swallowing the mouse whole, Olwyna resumed her journey, feeling much more cheerful.

But owls have predators, too, and as Imogen's bird made her way over the Forbidden Forest on her final approach to the castle, she was being closely observed by a hawk circling several hundred feet above her. Olwyna usually hunted by sound, but the hawk hunted by sight, and his keen vision had located Olwyna long before. The hawk did not know why he had been instructed to watch for a returning barn owl, nor did he care, and as his prey headed for the edge of the Forbidden Forest, he began his deep vertical stoop, preparing to take Olwyna just after she passed the small lake.

But luck was with Olwyna, for she spotted the hawk's shadow beneath her, throwing up her wings and breaking at the last instant as the hawk shot passed her, feeling a shock of pain in her wing - a very near miss indeed. Quickly Olwyna rushed for the security of the forest before the hawk could recover and resume the attack. Safely in a tree, she waited until dark, correctly judging that even the hawk's superior vision would not be able to spot her as she made a mad dash for the owlery in the darkness of night. Once inside, she went high into the rafters to be comforted by her owl friends. But hardly had she settled in when a human entered - the filthy one who smelled of cat.

"Olwynaaaa... " Flitch called softly, doing his best to sound endearing. He was even dirtier than usual, his wrinkled clothes a mess. Priot to the owl's arrival, he had been in his dungeon quarters, wondering for the thousandth time why he had been so foolish as to remain in the wizarding world, when as a squib, he could not take part in it except in a most diminished way. Most squibs chose to live as muggles, and at least in that world they could get some respect. The last few days had been bad for him - he had hoped that under Umbridge, his status would be elevated. And indeed it had. But the cheer he got from this was short-lived, and the old feelings of inferiority had returned. If only he had followed the path of his older brother, also a squib, but with a successful career as a "software developer" - whatever that was. Filch had just begun a bout of heavy drinking when he got the word of Olwyna's return, and he had standing orders from Umbridge to snatch any letter Olwyna was carrying before Imogen could get it. He'd put the bottle aside and made his way quickly but unsteadily to the owlery.

"Come down girl - I've got a nice treat for you..."

Olwyna answered to the call, moving to a beam just over the man's head.

"That's a girl," said Filtch, reaching up for her. "Come with me now for your treat."

Olwyna responded by releasing a large load of droppings on the man, much of it landing on his outstretched hands, but a good-sized portion smacking him in the face. Satisfied, Olwyna flew up to the peak of the owlery, where she could enjoy the man's sounds of disgust, safely out of reach. To Filtch, the screeching sound Olwyna made sounded very much like "Squiiiiiiib".

The next day in Defence against the Dark Arts, Umbridge sat at her desk, quill in hand, the students all reading their text books. She'd been 'teaching' them for a month now, and they'd learned nothing, their wands never out, their books always open, and usually their mouths shut. Umbridge's classes were time she used not for lessons, but instead for working on administrative and other matters. At present she was composing a letter to the Ministry, explaining that she was soon to place Professor Trelwaney on probation, as a prelude to sacking her. But Umbridge was deprived of the pleasure she would normally associate with writing such a letter, and put her quill down. She surveyed the class, and her eyes naturally fell on the source of the disquiet within her: Imogen.

Umbridge had had reports of Imogen's owl coming and going at intervals, and the Ministry had been keen to know with whom the strange girl was corresponding. Umbridge wondered whether Imogen's new friends were using her owl as a way of communicating with the fugitive Sirius Black, who had been spotted at King's Cross station in his animagus form at the start of term. The hawk attack the previous evening on Imogen's owl had been a failure, and so Umbridge was unenlightened.

Imogen was a most suspicious character, for her parentage was unknown, and her explanation for her late arrival at the school unlikely in the extreme. The Ministry had investigated the other wizarding schools, thinking that perhaps Imogen had been recruited from Beauxbatons or some other place by Dumbledore to join Hogwarts. That this suspicion made no sense at all never occurred to Umbridge, or anyone else at the Ministry, but it served to keep a minor department busy, satisfying the small minds of many of those in Fudge's service that they were doing their part to keep the Ministry safe from encroachment.

Umbridge was interrupted from her reverie when she observed a note being passed. With a quick, silent wave of her wand, she summoned the parchment to her, and had the pleasure of viewing a rather unkind cariciture of herself. At her age she should be long past feeling the pain associated with childhood taunts, but it hurt just as much now as it did years before to be compared to a toad.

"Dean," she said, holding up the drawing, "Did you draw this?"

"Yes," he replied at once. "I did my best."

"I think you're trying to show your contempt for me!"

"No, professor," he replied. "I'm trying to hide it." The class admired his wit in silence.

"Detention, Mr. Thomas. I will see you at my office one hour after dinner." Dean nodded resignedly. By now the students knew what detention with Delores Umbridge meant. Many of them had encountered the quill, Dean several times and now past caring. During his most recent confinement in Umbridge's office, he had taken advantage of her want of attention, and had etched into his hand the words, "Umbridge is a git." He'd returned in triumph to the common room to display his scarred hand.

Imogen continued to read the third year Defence text in silence, struggling not to laugh at the exchange she had just heard. Umbridge was so thick - it was impossible for her to get into a battle of words with a student without being bested. After her first class with Umbridge, Imogen had been very careful not to provoke her - her mission would be a complete failure were she to be expelled, and Umbridge in her role of High Inquisitor was assuming more and more power.

The class finally came to an end, and the students were dismissed, the Gryffindors waiting until they were all in the hallway and the classroom door closed to praise Dean for his remark.

"Dean, that was really rather good!" said Hermione.

"Yeah," said Ron enthusiastically. "Maybe it's even worth another evening with her stupid quill."

"I'm not sure about that," said Dean. "My hand still hurts from the last time." Hermione invited Dean to come to the common room immediately - she had prepared an anaesthetic potion to give the next person assigned detention with Umbridge. Dean accepted gratefully.

Imogen headed for the Headmaster's office, where McGonagall would be waiting for her at the base of the stairs. It was time for one of their meetings, so that Dumbledore and McGonagall could gauge her progress. The corridors were dim, little light penetrating now at this time of year and this late in the day. She walked through the castle's dark corridors, headed in the opposite direction to most of the students, ignoring the appraising looks from the boys, and the haughty stares of some of the girls. Imogen was exhausted, in serious need of some sleep. She was not progressing through the fourth year work at anywhere near the speed she had hoped, and as struggled with the material, her peers in fifth year were learning more and more, the result being that Imogen felt that she was not catching up, but instead falling behind. And yet she was going to have to take a short break from her studies, using up precious time that she really could not spare.

She arrived at the rendezvous before McGonagall, and sat on a chair near the base of the stairs, her gaze wandering idly over the paintings on the wall.

"What do you think you're looking at?" demanded a portrait. Imogen snapped out of her daydream, and looked at the figure in the painting who had spoken to her.

"A fool," she replied. "A very short fool." And she was right - she had been staring at a painting of a dwarf, dressed in court jester garb. The dwarf began to shout obscenities, leaping up and down in a rage.

"Silencio," said McGonagall, pointing her wand the portrait as she approached. The jester, now speechless, grabbed at his throat, gesturing angrily. McGonagall and Imogen exchanged greetings, and after the professor pronounced the latest candy password, the two were admitted to the staircase leading up to the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, before him some parchment filled with what looked like complicated equations. He put his quill down at his guests' arrival, greeting them in his usual friendly manner before addressing Imogen, looking down at her over his half-moon spectacles.

"I understand your owl had an unfortunate encounter."

"Yes professor - when she came back, she was hurt. I had to take her to Professor Grubbly-Plank. She says Olwyna will be o.k., but it's awful that she had an accident."

"I'm afraid that was no accident," said the headmaster. "Olwyna is the latest in a series of student owls to be attacked while near the school grounds. Olwyna was fortunate to escape with only minor injuries. Other owls were not so lucky." Imogen wondered why anyone would be interested in the letters she sent and received - why would anyone want to read her mail? She said as much, curious to hear the headmaster's opinion.

"It's not you that is really the target. I suspect that the real objects of interest are your Gryffindor friends, particularly Harry. If you were less close to him and certain other students, I do not think certain people would find you worth watching. But I must ask you, Imogen - are you worth watching? Is your owl carrying messages for Harry? To Sirius Black, perhaps?"

Imogen sat silently for a minute, wondering if she could guess what Dumbledore would say next. As it turns out, she was right.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Imogen?" Dumbledore had asked this question dozens of times over the years, to many students including Harry Potter, and never did it do any good. Invariably he got the same negative response.

"Not really, professor," replied Imogen. "But that's only because I'm not sure what it is you need to know. Anyways, here's the letter that Olwyna was bringing to me when she was attacked." She took it from her pocket and handed it to him. "Perhaps you will see something there that's important, but I don't." Dumbledore took the letter, but did not open it. He was not accustomed to a student answering him with candour.

"Is there anything confidential about it?" he asked.

"I'm not uncomfortable with you reading it. As to whether the person who sent to me will be, I really don't know."

Somewhat reassured, Dumbledore unfolded the letter. After reading it, he passed it to Professor McGonagall, observing her expression turn sour as she looked at it. He sat thinking for the longest time, his expression conveying his discomfort.

"I should have thought you could have chosen more reputable correspondents than Rita Skeeter," he observed, breaking the heavy silence. "You know of course that I banned her from Hogwart's grounds."

"Yes," Imogen replied. "But I don't think you know that she ignored your ban, and continued to visit the school frequently last year."

Dumbledore had not known this. During the initial long interview with Imogen under veritaserum at the start of term, he had questioned her only about events in the future, and not the past, and so he had not been enlightened about Skeeter's comings and goings. He thought about how Skeeter could possibly have worked her way around his banishment from Hogwarts. It took him about a millisecond to come up with the answer.

"An unregistered Animagus. I never would have guessed it of her," said Dumbledore. "What form does she take?"

"An insect," replied Imogen. "A beetle."

"I read somewhere that God is reputed to have an inordinate fondness for beetles," said Dumbldore, "but perhaps this will change His mind."

McGonagall was a bit put out to hear one of Dumbledore's obscure jokes when there were important matters to discuss.

"Imogen, what could you be thinking, writing to Rita Skeeter? Do you not think that she will keep your letters, and publish some twisted story about your arrival at Hogwarts, filled with innuendo and outright lies?" McGonagall shared the headmaster's feelings towards Skeeter, and thought nothing but trouble awaited anyone who had any dealings with her.

"Not really," said Imogen. "She can't write anything about me, or anyone else for that matter, at least not for another nine months or so." In reply to McGonagall's inquiring look, Imogen gave a full account of the manner in which Hermione had discovered Skeeter's sneaky use of her Animagus ability, and thereafter had captured, tamed and then punished her with a year-long ban on Skeeter's publishing anything. McGonagall and Dumbledore both smiled on hearing the story.

"Hermione Granger is a most dangerous witch to cross," said Dumbledore. "By the time she leaves Hogwarts, she will be formidable indeed. I do not think we've had someone of her calibre since Bellatrix Lestrange was here. But again I must ask you - why are you writing to this Skeeter woman?"

"You know that when I arrived here, I brought very little with me. The only reliable memories I have are what is written in the "books" I have told you about, along with a sense of my mission. It's not that my purpose has been clearly laid out for me - I don't know exactly what I must do, but I have been left with a general idea of certain changes I must make happen."

"And what is the principal object of the changes you are to effect?" asked Dumbledore.

"The destruction of Voldemort's heir. An in a very roundabout way, I need the help of Rita Skeeter to accomplish that."

McGonagall broke in at this point. "But you're so busy, Imogen, and it seems like such a waste of time - you hardly are going to accomplish anything just by writing to her."

"That's true, professor," replied Imogen. "That's why I need to visit her. Tomorrow, in fact. I ask you as my head of house, and Professor Dumbledore as the headmaster, to give me permission to leave first thing tomorrow morning for London."

"In mid-term? We never let students leave but for family emergencies! And how could you possible get there, anyway?" asked McGonagall.

"That won't be hard at all, professor," replied Imogen. "I'm going to apparate there."

"Don't fib girl!" replied McGonagall. "You can't possibly apparate yet!"

"No," replied Imogen. "But you can."