Love at First Sight (Harry Potter)

The Hungarian Horntail

|ALEXANDRIA WEASLEY'S P.O.V|

"Look at this! Look at this!"

He had sought me out within the confines of the library, tucked away in the far left corner. It was a nice, quiet spot usually; a great from Madam Pince's desk and the bustling centre of the shelves, where most students lingered.

I was sat alone at a table that had only one chair. A high stack of books was on the corner; I had my head ducked behind it, shielding myself from view as I read. One hand dedicated to flipping page after page, the other clutching my quill as I scribbled down short notes on a spare bit of parchment.

Upon hearing his voice, I let out a great sigh of defeat. My eyes closed briefly as I dropped my quill, listening to it fall onto the parchment with a distant flutter of feathers. As my eyes reopened, I pressed my palms against the edge of the table and pushed my chair out slightly. Craning my neck, I was able to see him storming over towards me.

He was waving a copy of the Daily Prophet over his head, its pages flapping wildly from the flicking of his wrist. There was a bewildered, horrible glare on his face as he kicked at a perch that was in his path, sending it teetering dangerously on its legs. He stopped across from me, on the other side of the table, and dropped the Daily Prophet down atop my book and parchment with a slap that echoed in this otherwise silent section of the library.

I glanced around quickly, feeling quite embarrassed, to assure that no one was around to be bothered by Ron's inconsiderate noisiness. I then looked down at the front page: a moving, colourless photo of Harry took up most of it.

Harry stared back at me through the parchment, a distant daze to his expression. There was a flash from the camera and then he would cringe, his nose scrunching in distaste as he blinked quickly. On either side of him, I could see the shoulders of the other three champions. It seemed as though the editor, Rita Skeeter, had cropped them from the photo entirely, making Harry the sole center of attention for her readers.

Rita's name was signed beneath the photo in a thin, delicate swirl.

"Mum's just sent me this in the mail today," said Ron with disgust. The sound of his angry voice suddenly reminded me of his presence. He bent forward and began to flip through the pages, before settling on the full article. He pointed at the first line. The tip of his finger thudded against the page unnecessarily. "What a bloody tosser he is."

I skimmed the article quickly. It was a load of rubbish, to put it kindly. The memory from ten days prior, of Harry telling me that she had used a Quick-Quotes Quill, suddenly rang clear in the front of my mind. It was quite obvious in the quotes that she claimed to have been said by Harry, seeing as the language was unlike anything that I had heard him use in my four years of knowing him. And trust me, he spoke a lot.

Not only had she spelled both Krum and Delacour's names incorrectly, but she had also completely omitted Cedric from the story as well. Instead of reporting on the tournament, the article was a horribly told recollection of Harry's life. The last paragraph was by far the most ridiculous of all:

I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now. . . . Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it. . . . I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me. . . .

A quick laugh left my lips as I looked up from the Daily Prophet and to Ron. He was steaming where he stood, bouncing impatiently on his feet as he waited for me to finish reading.