Seventh Horcrux

Harry Potter vs. Alastor Moody (Pt. 2)

Hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall, a mid-air ocean of wings and letters. A few appreciative murmurs sounded from the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, where our foreign guests had sat down for breakfast. Most of the Hogwarts students barely noticed their descent, well used to the daily spectacle.

A small, tawny owl landed in front of Hermione and held out the latest edition of the Prophet in a delicate claw. Hermione handed it a knut. The creature hooted approvingly but continued to loiter, eying our plates.

I turned to Ron and explained, "It wants your bacon."

"It's my bacon," he said mulishly. "There's a whole plate right over there. Why doesn't it take some from that?"

"It probably enjoys eating it from your hand. Or maybe it just likes stealing," I said.

He glared at the bird, which merely ruffled its feathers in response. I added, "I don't know why you're making such a big deal of this."

Ron turned his glare on me. "Why don't you ever give up your bacon?"

"Don't blame your selfishness on me," I said.

"Just give it the bacon, Ronald," Hermione said absentmindedly as she opened up her newspaper. Scowling, Ron gave up the bacon. When he reached out to grab more from the central platter, it disappeared.

Sometimes I love this castle.

"Anything interesting in the news today?" I asked.

"You really should get a subscription of your own," Hermione sniffed.

"Everyone knows the Daily Prophet is full of rubbish."

"It's very important to keep informed," she said.

I shrugged. "I have people for that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You mean me?"

"Well, yes, mostly you at the moment," I admitted.

Back when I was a dark lord, I used to have a whole group of Death Eaters performing that task. I also had a group that dealt with public relations. My decision to put Bellatrix in the latter group probably explains why I was considered a dark lord and not a slightly over-zealous politician.

Hermione's hands clenched the paper as her eyes darted from side to side. Suddenly, she slammed it against the table and hissed, "This is complete rubbish."

"Yes, I just told you that," I said.

"No, not the whole paper. Just this article. It's about you, and it's just so completely outlandish that I don't even know where to begin in refuting it. I…here."

She shoved it at me, and I began to read.

Boy-Who-Lived Rescues Reporter from Sirius Black

By Rita Skeeter

After thirteen years of silence, the Boy-Who-Lived has reentered the public sphere with a bang. Only fourteen years old, young Harry Potter is determined to win the Triwizard Tournament for Hogwarts. I had the privilege of sitting down with him yesterday for an exclusive interview.

Though three years younger than the other champions (described in detail on page three), Harry has no lack of confidence, or – it seems – skill.

"Oh, I'm definitely winning," he told me with a charming grin. "I wouldn't have entered otherwise…I have extensive experience with these sorts of things. I've successfully fought a deranged DADA Professor, lured Hagrid's monster out of its hiding place, and even faced a werewolf…I know well over two hundred spells, and I'm a runes prodigy."