Twin Power *Cedric Diggory Love Story* (EDITING)

Interview with Rita Skeeter

Cassia's POV

The next few days were some of the worst Harry and I had ever experienced at Hogwarts, even worse than in second year, when the majority of the school had suspected us of attacking our fellow students. What made it worse was that, this time, Ron wasn't on our side. From what Harry told me, the two of them had had a fight last night, and Ron had called him a liar. Hermione wasn't the only one who was angry with them. So was I. We tried to get them to make up, but Harry would only talk to Ron if Ron apologized to Harry for not believing him. Deep down, I knew they missed each other; they've basically been brothers since first year. Literally, the only two people who would talk to us were Hermione and Cedric. It was horrible for me. I wished this was all just a bad dream, that I could wake up and realize that it wasn't real, and I could comfort Harry and tell him it was only a nightmare. No such luck. As much as I hated it, this was real.

Shortly after lunch, Harry and I were pulled out of Potions because the champions were being interviewed for an article written in The Daily Prophet about the upcoming tournament. A picture had to be taken first. Fleur sat down, with the three boys surrounding her. Harry was basically sandwiched between Viktor and Cedric. The photographer clicked the camera, momentarily blinding me with the flash, and a woman appeared out of the smoke created from the camera being clicked. Her blonde hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

"What a charismatic quartet," she said, gazing at all four champions. She walked over to them and shook their hands. "Hello. I'm Rita Skeeter. I write for The Daily Prophet. But of course, you know that, don't you? It's you we don't know. You're the juicy news. What quirks lurk beneath those rosy cheeks?" She stroked Fleur's cheek and then lightly slapped it with her fingertips, and then walked around Viktor. "What mysteries do the muscles mask?" She ruffled Cedric's hair as she came to a stop between him and Harry. "Does courage lie beneath those 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?"

No one answered her. It seemed like they already didn't like her. And frankly, I agreed. She seemed a little snooty.

"Shall we start with the youngest?" Rita grabbed Harry. "Lovely." I followed her as she led Harry out of the room and straight to a broom cupboard. She opened the door. "Mm, this is cozy..." Is she for real?

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

"Well, you should feel right at home, then," Rita said, shoving Harry in front of her. The three of us sat down on metal buckets.

"You both don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?" Rita asked.

"Oh, no." Harry shook his head.

A magic quill and notepad hovered beside her and started jotting down notes. "So tell me, Harry. Here you sit, a mere boy of twelve --" Rita trailed off. The quill was writing down everything she said, very quickly.

"Fourteen," Harry corrected. I nodded in agreement.

"-- about to compete against three students not only vastly more emotionally mature than yourself, but who've mastered spells that you wouldn't attempt in your dizziest daydreams," Rita continued. She eyed us from behind her glasses. "Concerned?"

"I-I dunno. I haven't really thought about it," Harry stuttered.

"Because you're no ordinary boy of twelve, are you?" Rita said.

"Fourteen," both Harry and I told her in unison. I rolled my eyes. We're not twelve, we're teenagers, you idiot!

She grinned. "Your story's legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament?"