"... This is Rita Skeeter," Ludo Bagman said pointing at her. "She is doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," she said. She chuckled to herself and glanced at Harry Potter, the fourth Triwizard champion. And she would interview him. Not that incompetent twerp, Tristan Tillinghast, or worse, that horrible excuse for a reporter, Amelia Middleton. Neither of them could do justice to the youngest champion or the tournament he was competing in.
She, Rita Skeeter, had the Triwizard Championship and the readers would love her Harry Potter.
The boy looked positively terrified, she decided happily. Exactly right for the kind of article she had in mind. Without taking her eyes of the youngest champion she asked Bagman to give her a few minutes alone with the boy "... to add a bit of colour." She grabbed the Harry's arm before he had a chance to object and steered him forcibly out of the classroom and into a broom cupboard she had spotted on her way here.
Harry Potter. She sighed inwardly. If only the boy could have had a different name. Like Cedric Diggory. Now there was a name just begging for publicity. As for Harry's hair... She sighed again, resisting the urge to give the boy a comb and a mirror. However, a star reporter such as herself could make a newt sound like every girl's heartthrob and Harry Potter, who had been idolised by the entire wizarding world for more then a decade, would be a breeze. She would just have to make sure that her Harry met every expectation her readers had of him. And a little bit more.
"You wouldn't mind if I used a Quick-Quotes-Quill, would you?" she asked.
"A what?" asked Harry. Rita could have hugged the boy. Instead, she allowed her face to break into a smile. She slapped her crocodile bag when it tried to bite her and then rummaged briefly through it. She frowned to herself. She really would have to clean it out soon. Not only did her bag become moodier with every broken quill she left in it, Rita also suspected that it was now deliberately trying to hide her empty rolls of parchment in protest. She finally managed to dig up her Quick-Quotes-Quill and some parchment.
When she looked up, Harry was gazing in awe at her from his seat on the cardboard box. Or, if she had to be honest with herself, in cautious bewilderment. Rita thought as she sucked at the tip of the quill. She placed it onto the parchment and gave it a tiny prod.
"Testing... My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," she said. As always, her quill started scribbling as soon as she uttered the first sound:
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose...
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. She would really have to learn how to make that quill smuggle a few years off her age.
"Lovely," she said briskly, while she quickly tore off the offending piece of parchment. She crumpled it and stuffed it into her handbag, which groaned and snapped at her. She slapped it and hoped that Harry had not noticed how all her possessions seemed to be turning against her.
"So, Harry," she purred, leaning closer to the boy conspiratorially. "What made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Er..." said the youngest champion. Rita moaned to herself, adding Harry's stammering to the growing list of undesirable traits in a public figure. She would have to work hard to make Harry's unintelligible muttering sound like well-practised soliloquys.
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise handsome face of Harry Potter,...
Rita saw said face slowly distort in horror, while she once again marvelled at the genius of the Quick-Quotes-Quill.
"Ignore the quill, Harry," she said quickly. The boy's eyes met hers without enthusiasm. Rita didn't care. This was her story, and she was certainly not going to let it be spoiled by its subject.
"Now," she said, "why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"
"I didn't. I didn't put my name got into the Goblet of Fire," the boy said. Rita suppressed an exasperated grumble. Who would have guessed it: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and had been a living legend of the wizarding world for more then a decade, was dull. She would need all her wits to make an interesting story out of this. She smiled conspiratorially.
"Don't worry, Harry. You can tell me now. Everyone knows that you weren't supposed to enter the tournament, but no one will mind that you did. Everyone loves a rebel."
Harry swallowed and repeated: "I didn't enter. I don't know who..."
Rita decided to change the subject.
"How do you feel about the upcoming tasks?" she asked. "Are you nervous at all? Excited? Troubled? Enthusiastic?
"Erm..." Harry again uttered that dratted sound. "I guess... nervous, yeah. I haven't really thought..."
"Are you worried about the fact that Triwizard champions have died in the past?"
"Er..."
"Or do you think that you will be up to the task knowing that you've faced death before?"
"Well..."
"Do you think that by entering the tournament will enable you to prove yourself? Live up to your name? Did you enter the Triwizard Tournament to deal with the trauma in your..."
"I did not enter," said Harry, an irritated blush starting to creep up in his face. Rita was pleased: agitated people were more likely to let things slip.
"Do you remember your parents?" she went on quickly.
"No," answered Harry, looking surprised at the sudden turn.
"How would they feel, do you think, if they knew that you were competing in this tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?" she prompted. The boy's irritation was almost touchable now. He looked down at her parchment where the quill had just finished a particular gem of a sentence.
Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as...
"I do NOT have tears in my eyes!" Harry exclaimed furiously. Rita opened her mouth to tell him not to worry about it, that she would polish the article and that the readers would simply love Harry so much more if she put in little snippets like this. After all, she thought, nobody is interested in an ordinary, happy kid. Her readers would want hidden depths and emotional traumas, especially in a teen hero.
Before she could voice any of these thoughts, however, the door to the broom cupboard was pulled open. Albus Dumbledore stood there. Rita quickly shoved her quill and the parchment into her bag. Undoubtedly the headmaster was here to save his pupil.
Rita sighed, before schooling her face into a delighted smile.