Chapter 1: Rita Skeeter Has Found Her Mojo... Again

Update on: The Boy-Who-Lived

by Rita Skeeter

Just what has Harry Potter been up to for the past two years? Me, myself, and I decided we'd like to know.

After several days of trying to track down Mr. Potter and, failing that, his old schoolmates, it became clear that the Boy-Who-Lived had learned how to keep his private life under wraps. So, distraught over my lack of ability to bring my dear readers the updates you all so desperately crave, but still needing to meet deadlines, I decided to take my editor up on the offer to interview Puddlemere United for their upcoming match against the Ballycastle Bats.

Now, sports don't interest me overly much, but I decided that my dear readers probably would like an update on the lives of England's favorite Quidditch team just as much as an update on our favorite hero. After all, a couple of the players were there for the final battle two years ago, and fought alongside the Boy-Who-Lived.

So, off to Puddlemere U's home pitch I went, fully intending to get Captain and Keeper Oliver Wood's autographed photo for a dear friend of mine, as I had promised, but much to my disappointment, Oliver Wood was not with his teammates in the lounge. When pressed on the issue, Beater Jim Scovil revealed that Wood was "having a spat" with the team manager, Philbert Deverill. Scovil's declaration was received with glares from the rest of the team, making me immediately suspicious. Why was our Captain arguing with his team's manager? The two's relationship is almost famously amicable; what could they be fighting about?

Chaser Katie Bell quickly clapped a hand over Scovil's mouth before he could utter another word. Smiling cheerily, she chirped, "Oh, you know, just wants to give us more practices!"

"Deverill or Wood?" I asked.

"Er, well…" she glanced to fellow Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"Both!" interjected Johnson. I glared at them suspiciously.

Before I could ask another question, however, we heard loud, arguing voices approaching. Bell and Johnson groaned loudly as Seeker Leah Morren buried her face in Beater Geoffrey Hatcher's chest.

"Not again," Bell muttered.

"We do not need press coverage of this match!" the unmistakable Scottish brogue of Wood's voice rang out. "Look, Harry and his friends have been through enough in a lifetime, do they really deserve to be pestered by the press?"

"They can handle it, Oliver," Deverill calmly stated. "I'm sure Harry's used to it," he said just as he opened the door to the lounge. At which time, he saw me, quick quotes quill hurriedly taking the scene in. "Bloody hell Skeeter, what are you doing here? You don't cover sports."

"I heard that!" I yelled over my shoulder to Chaser Roger Davies' muttered "thank Merlin."

Meanwhile, Wood was staring at me with mouth agape. "Damn it Skeeter, get out!"

Quickly tossing my things in to my bag, I grinned. "Not a problem, Wood. I've already got what I needed."

So, folks, seems as if our favorite hero is going to be rooting for Puddlemere on Saturday. The only question is, where will you be?


"Oh dearest editor!" Rita sang out as she entered the office of the Daily Prophet. "Have I got a juicy story pour vous!"

"What now, Skeeter?" a short, disgruntled old man asked. "I sent you out to write a story on Puddlemere's players, and you better have come back with one."

"Oh, I interviewed them, no need to worry on that account, Mr. Steimer. But, I've also got news concerning the latest whereabouts of one Harry Potter!"

"So?" Mr. Steimer asked, clearly unimpressed.

"So? So? Harry Potter has remained out of the public eye for two years – "

"Yes, due to the rest of the Wizarding World respectfully giving him some peace – "

" – but, as I'm sure you are well aware, my readers are ravenous for the latest news on our savior, and I fully intend to give it to them!"

"Skeeter, just hand me the article," he commanded. Pouting slightly, she did as told, watching him with a small amount of apprehension as he scanned the article. "It's good," he admitted. "But this article is finished. Where's the story you promised?"

"Well, Mr. Steimer, if you could just get me into Harry Potter's box – "

"Skeeter, your lack of the notion of privacy is appalling." Rita merely shrugged, and at this Mr. Steimer grinned. "But it's exactly what makes you a great journalist. Even if you are overly fond of hyperbole – "

"I resent that!"

" – there always lies at least a bit of truth in your stories. And you know how to write a damn good article." Rita positively glowed; just because she was a little, erm, persistent in her pursuits, did not mean she undervalued some well-placed praise.

"So?" she asked tentatively.

"I'll try and work it out, Skeeter, but no promises. And you're covering the Quidditch match, as well as Harry's life."

"Wonderful," Rita beamed. "My readers will surely want to hear my take on Quidditch!"

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Mr. Steimer grudgingly admitted the truth in this statement. "Just, be gentle, yeah? You have to remember that he saved your arse as well."

"Of course, of course." She dismissed his cares with a wave of her hand. "Just a small update on the life of the wizarding world's savior. Nothing vicious," she promised, fingers crossed behind her back. Never let it be said that Rita Skeeter didn't pursue a story worth pursuing…