The children who lived, Fought, and Loved

Chapter fourty eight

Rita Skeeter

(Not edited)

[In the trophy room smoke trails from a box camera and the quarter of
champions blink. A paunchy photographer nods listlessly.]

PHOTOGRAPHER: "Thank you."

A woman steps through the smoke and into the light, eyeing the four champions with an almost feral intensity.

Lily groans, "Please tell me that's not who I think it is."

"Well now, aren't we the charismatic quartet"

She walks over to them and shakes each of their hands.

"Hello, everyone. I'm Rita Skeeter and I write for the Daily Prophet— but you all know that, don't you? It's you we don't know. What quirks lurk beneath the rosy cheeks? What mysteries do the muscles mask? Does courage lie beneath the curls? In short: What makes a champion tick? Me, myself, and I want to know.
Not to mention my rabid readers. so.
Who's feeling up to sharing? Hm?
Shall we start with the youngest?
Lovely."

Marlene blanches, "Ugh not her."

And in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door.

"How many times do I have to say this, watch the hands!"

"This is cozy."

It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her.

"It's a broom cupboard." Harry deadpanned.

"You should feel right at home then.
Don't mind if I use the quill do you?"

"Oh no she didn't!" James growls

Harry watches Skeeter take an Acid-Green Quill from her purse, suck on the tip, and place it upright on a piece of parchment.

"Tell me, Harry. Here you sit, a mere boy of twelve.."

"I'm fourteen."

"about to compete against three students not only vastly more emotionally mature than yourself but who have mastered spells you wouldn't attempt in your dizziest daydreams?
Concerned?"

"I...dunno. I haven't really sorted it all out..."

Harry glances at the quill racing across the parchment.

"Ignore the quill, dear. Of course, you're no ordinary boy of twelve, are you?" said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly, Harry looked up at her instead.

"Bitch." Lily whispered

"Fourteen." He repeated.

"You're Harry Potter. Orphaned in childhood, conquer of you know who.
your story is a legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament? And how does your sister feel about all this? How come she didn't also put her name in."