Catching Eyes

The Daily Prophet

The castle was buzzing with excitement and whispers. Everywhere Harry went, students were either pointing at him or giving him furtive glances. The atmosphere was thick with curiosity and speculation, but it wasn't just the students who were interested in him. Word had spread fast, and it wasn't long before Harry was approached by none other than Rita Skeeter, the infamous journalist for the Daily Prophet. Her gaudy green quill was a familiar sight, bobbing eagerly above a pad of parchment, ready to twist his words into whatever narrative would sell the most papers.

Harry had barely had time to react when she cornered him near the Great Hall, her smile sharp and gleaming.

"Harry Potter!" she called, her voice sugary sweet but laced with predatory excitement. "Just the boy I was looking for. If you don't mind, dear, a quick word?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Rita had looped her arm through his and was steering him toward a small broom cupboard nearby. It was dark and cramped, filled with the smell of old wood and dust. The only light came from a small, flickering lamp that cast long, eerie shadows across the walls.

"Er—what are we doing in here?" Harry asked, bewildered, as he found himself standing uncomfortably close to Rita, who was already pulling out her quill and parchment.

"Oh, just a bit of privacy, Harry," Rita said, her voice purring like a contented cat. "We wouldn't want anyone overhearing our little chat, would we?"

Harry shifted uneasily, his back pressed against a stack of dusty old brooms. The space was so tight he could barely move without bumping into something—or Rita. "I really don't think I—"

"Now, now," she interrupted, her quill already scratching away on the parchment. "Let's get straight to it, shall we? The whole wizarding world is dying to know—how did you manage to put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry? And why?"

Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off by the directness of the question. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet," he said firmly, trying to make himself as clear as possible. "I don't know how it happened, but I didn't do it."

Rita Skeeter's expression didn't change; if anything, it became more predatory, her smile widening as if she had expected this answer all along. "Oh, Harry," she said, her tone condescending and falsely sympathetic. "No need to be modest. Everyone understands—you've had such a troubled past. Perhaps this is your way of...taking control? Of proving yourself to the world?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "No, that's not it at all. I don't want this attention—I never asked for it."

"Of course, of course," Rita cooed, though the rapid movement of her quill suggested she was writing down something entirely different. "But surely, deep down, there's a part of you that...relishes it, don't you think? The fame, the admiration...after all, you've been in the spotlight since you were a baby. It's only natural."

Harry could feel the frustration boiling inside him. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet," he repeated, his voice firmer now. "And I don't want this. I just want to be a normal student."

Rita didn't seem to hear him. Her quill was flying across the parchment now, and Harry had a sinking feeling that none of what he was saying was actually being recorded. Instead, she shifted the conversation to a new, equally uncomfortable topic. "And what about your love life, Harry? The readers are always so eager to know about young romance, especially with a handsome young wizard like yourself."

Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment. "My—my what?"

"Oh, don't be coy," Rita said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "There's been quite a bit of talk about you and the lovely Cho Chang. And let's not forget the Patil twins—two beautiful girls who seem to be rather fond of you, hmm?"