Chapter Four: Rita Skeeter's School News Scoops

After the slow start to the term, the boys woke up rather begrudgingly on Monday morning and - with sleep encrusted eyes, and wearing odd socks; yawning hugely and stumbling over their own feet as they went - they made their way down to breakfast.

Although the Great Hall was packed with students, ready for their first day of lessons, it seemed unusually quiet that morning. Everyone's head was bent studiously over its own copy of a single sheet of parchment, reading something - apparently something very interesting, indeed, if the hush over the hall was anything to go by.

'Did we miss the post?' James asked, frowning around at all the quietly reading students. But a hooting cry came from overhead in answer to that. At that very moment, the owls all swooped through the windows in a hail of feathers, and circled the tables - dropping letters and parcels down onto the bowed heads of their recipients.

But today, no one seemed very interested in anything from home. Whatever they were reading, they were glued to it - and letters and packages went ignored and unopened.

'What's going on?' asked Sirius. 'What have they all got?' He craned his neck to try and see what the person next to him was reading.

Remus was looking around the hall in bemusement. 'The teachers don't look happy,' he said. 'And - er - is it me or do you family look more … well, like themselves only more , Sirius?'

Sirius kneeled up on the bench so he could get a better look at the Slytherin table. His second cousin, Canopus, was holding a very agitated conversation with his third cousin once removed, Cygnus. Nigellus - some distant relation through Sirius's great great grandfather - was scowling as he spoke to his twin sister, Belvina. Regulus, himself, sat beside them, looking very sombre. But it was Sirius's sixth year cousin, Narcissa, who was the most notable. Always haughty and distant looking, she seemed positively enraged today, if the sneer and snarl she turned on anyone who came near her was anything to go by.

As they watched, she snapped at an unfortunate first year, who just happened to be passing, as if she were an infuriated manticore being baited in a zoo. The first year squealed and scuttled off.

'Blimey,' Sirius said in surprise, 'what's got their goats?'

'I suspect they've been reading this,' Lily told him. She was sitting a few places down and reached over to hand Sirius her own copy of the parchment.

He took it from her and all four of them peered down at it in puzzlement. It seemed to be some kind of single sheet newspaper and bore the heading:

Rita Skeeter's School News Scoops

'What on earth…?' James muttered.

There was a headline underneath which read:

Express Incompetence

And then there was a little sketch of a scarlet steam train, which had been enchanted so it kept puffing illustrated smoke.

The Hogwarts Express has been an institution of our school since 1830.

The accompanying article read.

For over 140 years, students have been meeting at legendary platform 9 ¾ at King's Cross station in order to catch the train at the start of every school year.

HOWEVER it has come to the attention of your humble reporter (Rita Skeeter - with a keen nose for news) that rather than being the best way to transport students, it is in fact a massive inconvenience for most of the school.

'We live near Newcastle,' Gwen Gudgeon of Ravenclaw reports. 'Right at the top of England. King's Cross is right at the bottom. We have to go all the way down just to come right back up again. It's such a waste of a day.'

And matters are even worse for our Scottish students. 'I actually live in Hogsmeade itself,' Laila Flume of Hufflepuff reports. 'My parents run Honeydukes sweet shop…'

('Imagine living in Honeydukes!' James breathed, wide eyed, getting distracted from his reading for a moment.)

'Because of the school rules I have to travel 600 miles, both ways, just to end up five minutes away from where I started.'

In every house, in every year, up and down the school - there are reports from students in similar predicaments. King's Cross is not central to the country. Most of us do not live in South East England. And yet due to the London centric hegemony exerted on us all by the Ministry and doubled down on by the teaching staff, who are in the Minister's thrall, we must all make the yearly pilgrimage to a distant place for no good reason just so we can go to school.

Indeed, back in 1830, the then Minister for Magic - Ottaline Gambol - decreed that students would either arrive at Hogwarts on the train or not be allowed to study at Hogwarts full stop! And this law still remains on the statute books to this very day. Perhaps it is fitting that Ms. Gambol's son, Elvar Gambol, became the founder of notorious Diagon Alley joke shop "Gambol and Japes" … as truly his mother played quite the cruel jape on all of us who do not live within England's south east.

As we start a new school year, fresh from our gruelling journey south and then north again - your humble reporter implores of the teaching staff: when will you free us from this yoke of idiocy?

To the Hogwarts Express we say: No more!

'I mean - we do live in London, but I don't see why this would get their knickers in a twist,' Sirius said. He read further down the parchment - onto the next article.

Dumbledore's Death Trap

The next headline screamed.

We are all aware that Hogwarts is no ordinary school,

The article started off

And perhaps some of us are aware that Dumbledore is no ordinary Headmaster. Even by Hogwarts standards. Mint humbugs aside, these hallowed halls of learning are no stranger to the unusual and peculiar - and oftentimes these … irregularities can be of a perilous nature.

Take, for example, the trick step in the staircase behind the tapestry which leads towards Gryffindor Tower. More than the fair share of students have found themselves trapped and sinking and facing an ignominious, suffocating death if they fall into the booby-trapped stair when alone.

James frowned. 'You can't actually suffocate in that stair can you?' he asked.

Remus shook his head - he had, after all, only fallen in the other day. 'You sink up to your knees. Unless you breathe through your knees … you're not in any danger.'

And then of course there is Peeves. The cackling maniac of disaster, that swoops our halls like a whirling dervish, doling out mischief and misfortune without discrimination. Too many of us have known what it is to have a large bust dropped on us from above, or to be tripped up as we head down the stairs - or be chased by a machete juggling poltergeist. And yet - despite Mr. Filch's heroic efforts to rid us of this menace once and for all … still he stays, a threat to life and limb to all who cross his path.

'I mean - she has a point about Peeves,' Remus said. 'He is a menace.'

' He's a dick ,' Sirius said.

'Well - yeah - but then it all goes a bit weird when she calls Filch a "hero". That's not what I'd call him.'

'I'd call him a dick.'

'You already used "dick" on Peeves.'

'Fine - he's a knob .'

'That's better,' Remus said bracingly, 'we can't get sloppy over our todger synonyms.' They laughed - and barged each other and went back to reading.

Outside of the castle there is the Forbidden Forest packed full of dangerous and disturbing creatures. It is a well known fact that werewolves roam through the trees, howling at night and eating unsuspecting first years who stray too close to the forest's edge…

Remus swallowed - and fought down a furious blush. Sirius and James glanced at him - and then at each other.

'That's mental,' James said. 'Everyone knows there aren't werewolves in the forest. Werewolves are people. If there's a werewolf here, he lives in the castle - same as the rest of us.' He glanced at Remus from beneath lowered lashes to see if he had taken the hint.

But Remus's attempts not to blush were now becoming painful - both for him to suppress and for James and Sirius to watch.

'Crikey!' Peter said, 'a werewolf in the castle would be really scary!'

'Don't be soft, Pete,' Sirius snorted. 'If it's not the full moon they'd just be a regular person. We'd never know. It could be anyone - could be you.'

'It's not me!'

He shrugged. 'If you say so.'

'It's not!'

'Leave it!' James said. He kicked Sirius's ankle and they went back to reading.

And then there is the matter of young Myrtle Warren - who some of our female students may have encountered in the lavatories on the second floor. Myrtle is but a ghost these days, though once she was a student - until she was brutally murdered right here within the school … A crime for which no one was ever imprisoned and indeed, seemed to pass by with very little in the way of investigation - never mind punishment.

'There's a ghost that haunts a girls' toilet?' Peter asked.

'Takes all sorts to make a world go round,' Remus told him mildly - glad that the article had moved on from werewolves. Unfortunately he was to find that the worst was yet to come.

So - in short we are all used to lax safety measures and a cavalier attitude towards student well being.

Nevertheless - despite the woeful risk assessments and protections that we all accept as a part of studying at this prestigious and ancient seat of learning (though perhaps it has got stuck a little too deep in its traditions) it still came as something of a surprise when Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, agreed to have a vicious Whomping Willow planted right in the grounds.

It is said to be a gift from our partner school in Brazil - Castelobruxo - but questions must be asked as to why our South American friends would want to send us a violent, murder tree to keep in our grounds. And more to the point - why would the barmy, old codger who runs this school accept it as a gift? Is keeping friendly relations with a school on the other side of the planet really worth the risk of having one of us killed?

After all - we no doubt all remember the incident last year in which Davey Gudgeon (already inconvenienced - like his sister Gwen - by having to travel to London to catch the train) nearly lost an eye to the walloping branches of the enraged Willow.

Surely there can be no excuse to have something so mindlessly violent just standing in the middle of our grounds …

Unless Dumbledore is actively trying to murder us all - we call upon him to remove that tree and explain what on earth it was he was thinking when he agreed to have it planted.

Remus felt his insides clench up - and he looked up from the parchment, chancing a half glance towards the staff table. Dumbledore was sitting in his usual spot, enjoying a morning cup of coffee and - unlike most of his staff - looking completely unperturbed by the rather vicious school newsletter doing the rounds.

He didn't look up from the rim of his cup but - as Remus glanced at him - the young boy thought he saw Dumbledore wink - just for a fraction of a moment. He relaxed. Whatever trouble Rita Skeeter was stirring, Dumbledore was not going to let her get too close to the truth about that tree.

'Right - well we all nearly got expelled over that stupid tree,' Sirius said. 'But that still doesn't explain why Narcissa is spitting venom and punching innocent first years.'

'I - er - I think it might be the next article,' Peter said tentatively. He looked very uncomfortable. 'Have you seen it, Sirius?' He pointed to the third and final headline of the newsletter - and the other boys pored over it.

The Black Porlock of the Family!

Of all the ancient pureblood families that make up the so called "Sacred 28" (a state sanctioned caste system that must be overturned - alas the ministry is corrupt and in the thrall of these medieval aristocratic families … and their wealth) there is perhaps no family more proud, more keenly aware of their position - and more self satisfied with it - than the self styled "Noble and Most Ancient House of Black".

As rich in their own ridiculous traditions as they are in stolen gold, their names inscribed on every page of Pense's Peerage, this family bears the motto 'Toujours Pur' and emblazons every available surface with the symbol of the serpent, to show their long term affiliation with the house of Salazar Slytherin - who as we know was one of the very first instigators of pure blood mania.

Who, indeed, could forget the dramatic scenes at last year's sorting when the eldest son of the noblest branch of the Black family - Sirius the third -

'Blimey - I didn't know you were "Sirius the third" ,' James said. 'Makes you sound like a King.'

Sirius only glowered at that. Remus's lips twitched as he fought down a smile. 'Shhh - it'll go to his head.' Sirius cuffed him around the ear in response.

was sorted into Gryffindor? The first Black in who knows how many generations to buck the trend. Nor can we forget the howler that the unfortunate, young heir received the very next morning - warning him that he was a hair's breadth away from being disowned.

'It was a pretty epic howler,' James said.

However, young Master Black has been outshone - it would seem - when it comes to betraying his family's questionable ideals. For, rather than just befriend the so called "blood traitors" and muggleborns, his elder cousin, Andromeda Black, has actually turned a hundred generation's worth of tradition on its head and married a muggleborn wizard.

Andromeda Tonks (neé Black) left Hogwarts in the summer, as did her boyfriend of Hufflepuff House, Edward. It seems they had managed to keep their relationship a secret from Andromeda's family while still at school (for young Sirius is by no means the only Black who graces our halls. Along with multitudinous second and third cousins, Andromeda's own sister, Narcissa, is currently in sixth year).

However, once school was over - and with no way of seeing each other due to the Black family's brutal restrictions on members not associating with witches and wizards without pureblood status, the two lovebirds felt they had no choice but to elope.

Suffice it to say, the Black family are furious, and poor Andromeda finds herself disowned at the tender age of eighteen.

However, I am sure we at Hogwarts - at least - wish her the very best of luck and every future happiness in her new marriage… And we are, of course, far too pleased to hear she is expecting a baby to raise any eyebrows at her falling pregnant before she was married.

Congratulations Andromeda and Ted Tonks - and best wishes with your half blood, illegitimate child.

'Blimey Charlie, that's a bit of a judgemental, gut punch right at the end, isn't it?' Remus said.

'Who is this Rita Skeeter, anyway?' James asked, frowning down at the name of their self proclaimed humble reporter. 'She seems a right nosy, old cow whoever she is. Nasty, gossipy sort of person. She's worse than that Mable Grable in The Prophet.'

'She's a seventh year,' Peter told them all. 'And looking at this rag, I wonder if she isn't angling for Grable's job when she leaves school.'

'How do you know her?' the other three boys asked at once.

'I - er - I've just met her. You know … around.'

'Well, at least we know what's got Cissy's knickers twisted,' Sirius said. He looked across at Lily. 'Can I keep this?' he asked her.

He grinned wickedly when she nodded. 'Brilliant. I'm going to post it to my mum. Give her a heart attack.'

'We do not attempt to murder parents and authority figures, Black!' a voice barked out from behind him. He jumped - and twisted in his seat to look. Professor McGonagall was standing right there.

'How is it that you're always right behind me every time I make a threat on my mum's life?' Sirius asked her.

Her nostrils flared. 'After all these years in the job, I have a nose for trouble. And you - Mr Black - are trouble with a capital T. Second year timetables,' she said, handing him one. 'Hurry up boys, you're due in Potions.'

Remus looked down at his timetable in dismay. 'Double Potions first thing on a Monday morning? Honestly, Professor, it would be kinder if you just killed me.'

'Hmmm,' she said, disapprovingly, her lips going thin. And she swept off down the hall, handing out more timetables to their fellow Gryffindors.

She caught up with Remus in the corridor, though - and held him back a moment, telling the others to hurry up or they would be late.

'I hope you were not too disturbed by that second … article , Lupin,' she said to him. 'Rest assured she will never be allowed near the truth.'

'I'm fine … why don't you stop her printing in the first place?'

Her nostrils flared again. 'Unfortunately there is no current rule that says a student may not run a school newsletter.' There was an impatient bite to her voice - as if she found this to be a ludicrous and deeply regrettable oversight. 'All we can do is punish after the fact, if she crosses a line.'

'But after the fact won't make everyone forget what they read.'

'No. It won't. I shall be speaking with the Headmaster. And with Miss Skeeter herself. Rest assured I'll not have her publishing inaccuracies. Imagine saying we had used Platform 9 ¾ for over 140 years … King's Cross was not even built until the 1850s. Utter balderdash - and I intend to tell her what I think of her "journalistic rigour"…' Her expression suddenly shifted - and became much softer. Remus took a step back in alarm, as she bestowed a rare smile on him. 'How was your summer, anyway, Lupin? I hope it was not too hard for you?'

…

He arrived a little late to Potions, apologised to Slughorn, and slid into the empty seat at the back, beside Sirius.

'What was that all about?'

'Oh - er - the prof just wanted to check how my summer was - you know - without my mum.'

'Oh.' Sirius gave his arm a comforting squeeze. Remus smiled …And then he got stuck into the rather mystifying and confusing experience of trying to brew a strengthening solution. An hour and a half later, as the bell rang and he gratefully escaped, he was leaving behind a potion that was both the wrong colour and the wrong consistency… and had left some fresh scorch marks on the workbench.

The rest of the day was much more satisfactory, however. They had Herbology in Greenhouse Three (they had only been in Greenhouse One before - and there were much more exotic and dangerous plants in here). They spent a happy hour repotting Mandrakes and then - covered in soil - headed back to the castle just in time for a quick wash and then lunch.

They had Flying that afternoon - and Madam Hooch released match-speed bludgers for the first time. It made the whole lesson that much more dangerous - and that much more exhilarating - and at least five of them got smacked in the face.

Best of all, Snivellus took a speeding bludger right to the nose and was sent to the Hospital wing with a suspected break.

'Couldn't have happened to a better nose,' James laughed to the others.

'Maybe he'll be better looking now?' Peter suggested.

But Sirius shook his head. 'There's no saving that nose.'

And, sure enough, when Snape returned he was just as hooked nosed and beaky as before.

That evening they had Astronomy with Professor Azimuth at the very top of the tallest tower. And then - after a very long day - they collapsed into bed, well after midnight … Only to get up early the next morning to start all over again.

With days as packed as this, the first week flew by and the homework piled up … Gossip around Rita Skeeter's newsletter flew around the school like wildfire and Sirius soon discovered that - as far as his family were concerned - he was the prime (and only) suspect for giving Skeeter the scoop on Andromeda.

'Dunno why they think I'd do it,' he said glumly. His hands were covering his ears - Narcissa had hit him with a twitching jinx as they passed in the corridor and now he was having to keep his hands firmly clamped over them to stop them waggling. 'I don't care what happens in the family.'

But it was not only his school-aged family who suspected him. On Friday morning he received yet another Howler from his mother.

'Bollocks,' he hissed when he saw the smoking, scarlet envelope - and picked it up and legged it out of the Hall as fast as he could. Wallburga's magically enhanced voice could be heard screeching at him from just beyond the doors. James and Remus bit down smiles and tried to look sympathetic when Sirius reappeared, blushing as bright red as his howler. Peter looked uncomfortable. Over on the Slytherin table his cousins and brother all had their heads together - talking.

Regulus looked over at him - and caught him looking - and Sirius had looked away, pretending nothing had happened.

'Don't sweat it, mate,' James told him, 'it's Friday.'

'I sort of wish I knew who had told, though,' he said. 'Could clear my name.'

But Friday was so packed with Transfiguration and Charms and Defence against the Dark Arts and (to Remus's despair) yet more Potions that it too flew past, and the howler was soon forgotten.

And then suddenly it was the weekend - and then just as suddenly it was over ('and we had so much homework we didn't even get a proper break,' James muttered in disgust) and all too soon it was Monday morning again.

Once again, there was a hush all over the hall when they arrived and, knowing the score this week, they swiped a couple of copies of the newsletter to see what was occupying everyone today.

McGalleons Gambling Secret!

The headline read, followed by a sketch of Professor McGonagall looking very shifty indeed.

'She's gone after Big Macca,' Remus said frowning.

'Is. She. Insane?' James breathed, sounding awed and terrified and scandalised all at once.

'Prof M told me she was going to speak to Dumbledore. And that she was going to tell Rita exactly what she thought of her "journalistic rigour" … I think this is some kind of payback.'

'Then she is insane,' Sirius said, shaking his handsome head. 'But also … pretty nasty. To go after someone like that.'

Peter was already busy reading. He was starting to look alarmed and sweaty as he saw what was on the page. 'She hasn't held back either.'

And as the other boys scanned the article, they saw he was right.

Known to us all as the stern Deputy Headmistress who teaches Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall is the strict disciplinarian who keeps us all in line with her icy glare and rapidly vanishing lips.

However, not all is as it seems. Despite her tight bun, straight laced robes and constant refrain of "ten points from Gryffindor" Professor McGonagall hides a dark secret!

Your humble reporter, Rita Skeeter (the bloodhound of truth) can now - for the first time - exclusively reveal that your Transfiguration teacher harbours a rabid gambling addiction!

Those on the Gryffindor team are keenly aware of the hawk-like attention she pays to their chances. From suggesting new members for the team (surely a job for Madam Hooch?) to not giving team members homework just before a match, McGonagall does all she can to ensure her team wins.

But it is not just loyalty to her house that inspires her to make these … adjustments. It turns out McGonagall always has an unseemly amount of coin riding on the outcome.

Such is her predilection for betting that she runs a ring among the whole teaching staff - setting odds and running sweepstakes. It is believed that - in a good year - she can double her teaching wage just by following the fortunes of her team.

Of course, questions need to be asked. And once again it falls to your humble reporter to ask them.

Namely is it right for us - as underage wizards - to be put in the care of an adult steeped in this grimmest of vices?

And furthermore, how can we trust in the fairness of our Quidditch championship when the dirty fingerprints of McGalleons McGonagall are smudged all over Gryffindor's chances?

We in school - and certainly those of us outside of Gryffindor - demand a thorough investigation from the Headmaster. We cannot continue to play Quidditch when the playing field is so upended and we cannot expect to be kept safe by someone so morally bankrupt!

'She's gonna get kicked out,' James breathed. His eyes were wide. 'You can't just write … stuff like this.'

'Hmm,' Remus fought down an amused smile. 'I wonder if Rita knows what a libel is?'

'It's only a libel if it's not true,' Sirius pointed out.

But Remus scoffed at that. 'Don't be soft! Big Macca does not have a gambling addiction.'

'Well, I'm very glad to have your vote of confidence, at least, Lupin,' a very dry voice said directly behind him, making him jump.

'Bi - I mean … Professor! I didn't know you were there.'

'Hmm.' She walked off.

'She's like a bloody cat, she is,' he muttered. 'Always creeping about. She's worse than Mrs. Norris.'

And, still grumbling, he hauled his bag onto his shoulder and made his melancholy way to Double Potions.

…

The second week passed by as quickly from the first and - apart from James hexing Lily with the twitching jinx in the corridor, only to find himself hit full force with an unusually powerful bat bogey hex, and Sirius having to endure more dark looks and finger pointing from his family - not much happened.

They arrived early in the hall, the following Monday, eager to see what Rita had in store for them that week.

But today the hall was noisy; students were chatting as they ate, and waiting for their post. There were no copies of the newsletter to be seen.

'What's happened?' James asked.

Remus glanced up at the staff table and saw Prof M looking very smug. 'She's been shut down.'

But Peter shook his head. 'If I know Rita, she won't take this lying down.'

The other three stared at him. 'Do you know Rita?' they all asked in unison.

Peter blushed and shook his head again. 'Of course not.'