Quiet as it had been, the morning, young and presumably peaceful, failed to live up to its duties. The morning had been anything but peaceful.

An owl flew in through the window at nearly five-thirty. Harry, trying to ignore the owl, covered his face with his pillow. It worked well until the bloody pigeon began to make mince meet his right pinkie finger.

Huffing unappreciatively, Harry rose from his bed, the last traces of his dream with Pansy fading from memory.

Angrily snatching the letter from the owl, he opened the envelope and read it's contents.

"Triwizard Champion,

Your presence is requested at the Great Hall for a photo-shoot and interview. Please arrive immediately. Thank you.

Signed, Centros Alishir; Head of International Magical Cooperation and
Rita Skeeter, The Daily Prophet"

Groaning, Harry rose from his puffy mattress and sleepily dressed himself. Before leaving, he made sure he told Pansy of his whereabouts, or there'd be hell to pay later.

Creeping up the ramp to the Girl's dorm, Harry passed Hermione's delicately sleeping form and walked to the girl in his dreams.

Leaning over her, he kissed her forehead and whispered to his stirring beauty,

"Mornin' Pans."

She leaned upward for a quick kiss on the lips.

"I've got to go to some interview for the tournament."

Pansy sat up and hugged him

"You know who the reporter is?" she asked groggily, rubbing her eyes. Harry handed the letter to her.

Her eyes bulged and she stood, racing to her drawers for clothing.

"Don't talk to her if you can help it. I'll be down there shortly." she stood from her bed and pecked him lovingly on the cheek, "Go on, you're going to be late."

Harry turned to leave, but took one last look at the girl before him.

"Pansy?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you." she smiled.

"Hello!" said the obnoxiously scrawny, gray-blonde haired witch in front of him as she passed by each of the champions, greedily shaking their hands, "I'm Rita Skeeter, I write for the Daily Prophet."

She stood proudly in front of the group.

"But it's not me we're here to talk about." as she smiled a demented smile. Merlin, this whack-job was possessed.

There was a flash of a camera light as her photographer clicked several shots of the group.

"It's you!" she glowed, walking by each of them, "What lurks beneath those curls?" she tugged at Cedric's hair, "Does bravery hide beneath those cheeks?" she roughly patted Fleur's amazingly round tush. Fleur squeaked. "In short, what makes a champion tick?" She licked her lips menacingly, "Me, Myself, and I want to know. Not to mention, my raved readers."

There was absolute silence while she ran her mouth.

"Shall we start with the youngest?" she said, grabbing Harry's arm. "Lovely."

With a firm tug she took him up to the staff table and forced him to sit across from her.

"Here you sit, a mere boy of twelve..." she began as her quill scribbled noisily beside her.

"I'm fourteen." he corrected. She ignored him.

"...about to compete in the most dangerous student competition known to wizard-kind. Concerned?"

Harry stared at the quill as it made a final point to mark the end of a sentence.

"Just ignore the quill, Harry." she grinned, "Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous competition?"

"I... didn't enter." he mumbled, he finally felt a little intimidated by this nutter.

"Of course you didn't." she winked, "Everyone loves a rebel, Harry."

Pansy charged up from the entrance of the Hall and walked behind Harry, resting her hands on his shoulders,

"Pansy!" Harry said with an exasperated cry, "Thank Merlin you're here!" he stood and kissed her gently on the cheek.

Rita's brow furled.

"Oh, and who might this be?"

"The rebel." hissed Pansy, waving her arm in the same dismissive movement she had given Hermione. But Harry knew she wasn't just dismissing Rita Skeeter.

Especially when the reporter's notes erupted in a ball of fire.

"Those were my notes!" she squeaked, adjusting her horn-rimmed glasses.

"What do you need notes for? You'll just concoct another one of your bullshit stories."

Both Rita and Harry stood, staring blankly at the sassy Pansy.

"And don't try me, Skeeter. You'll regret the day that you did."

"And who the hell are you?" Rita growled, pulling her quill from the air.

"Your worst nightmare."

Pansy took Harry's arm and led him out of the Great Hall.

"Thanks" he whispered as he slowly walked her into a wall and kissed her.

In the Hall, Rita, demented grin ever-present, began to scribble her new notes for her so wonderfully juicy new story.