Immortal Magic (Book 1)

Chapter Forty Seven

Third Person's Point of View

A brilliant flash of light exploded across the chamber as the camera went off. The four champions blinked against the brightness while a woman in emerald-green robes swept dramatically into the room, an acid-green Quick-Quotes Quill hovering beside her.

She smiled brightly at Fleur, Krum, Cedric, and Harry as though they were exhibits in a museum. "Enchanting," she purred. "Absolutely enchanting."

Without waiting for permission, she stepped forward and began shaking each of their hands enthusiastically.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet." Her heavily jewelled fingers fluttered theatrically toward herself. "Though of course, you all already knew that."

Her sharp eyes sparkled hungrily. "It's you the wizarding world wants to know about." She circled the champions slowly.

"What secrets hide beneath those brave expressions?" she asked dramatically. "What mysteries lurk beneath those muscles?" She gestured toward Krum. "What courage lies beneath those curls?" she added, motioning toward Cedric.

Cedric looked deeply uncomfortable. "In short," Rita declared grandly, "what makes a champion tick?" Her eyes landed gleefully on Harry. "And naturally, the audience is most curious about you."

Harry visibly stiffened. "So," Rita continued brightly, clasping her hands together, "who would like to share?" Silence. Not one of the champions spoke.

Rita's smile sharpened slightly. "Well then," she said smoothly, reaching out and grabbing Harry firmly by the arm, "let's begin with the youngest champion, shall we?" And before Harry could protest, she swept him from the room.

Allison's Point of View

While Harry was trapped with Rita Skeeter, Hermione, Ron, and I were stuck in Potions.

Which, honestly, wasn't much better. Snape had us brewing antidotes that morning, and since Harry normally partnered with Ron, Snape had shoved Ron into Hermione's and my group instead.

Not that it mattered much. Ron barely spoke to either of us. Hermione sighed as she crushed another ingredient with unnecessary force.

"Ron," she said patiently, "why would Harry enter himself after everything that's happened over the last three years?" Ron rolled his eyes while slicing roots for the potion.

"I dunno. Maybe he liked the attention." I stopped stirring and looked at him sharply. "You know Harry better than that." Ron avoided my gaze.

Snape drifted past our cauldron at that exact moment like an overgrown bat.  He sneers, looking over each of us. Snape's eyes flicked toward Ron. "Perhaps Mr Weasley could contribute something beyond standing there like a decorative plant."

"He prepared most of the ingredients," I said flatly. Snape ignored me completely. "Five points from Gryffindor for talking back." He swept away dramatically.

I glared after him. Ron muttered under his breath, "Brilliant." But despite Hermione and me trying repeatedly to reason with him, Ron stayed stubbornly bitter.

Eventually, we gave up. Not before Hermione snapped, "Just don't drag us into your argument with Harry." Ron nodded stiffly without looking at either of us.

Time Skip

Late that afternoon, Harry and I sat together in the Owlery while snow-grey clouds rolled over the castle outside. Harry had been ranting quietly about Rita Skeeter for nearly ten minutes.