Rita Skeeter's article in The Daily Prophet had caused Harry no small amount of trouble, but fortunately, after more than three years, he had grown accustomed to the constant stares. Even more fortunately, Skeeter's piece about him seemed to have, in some strange way, alleviated Hermione's ostracism at Hogwarts.
Everyone was curious whether Harry was truly as tragic as the article claimed, but focusing on him inevitably meant noticing Hermione Granger, who had lately been practically inseparable from him. Over time, the young witches and wizards began to realize that Hermione wasn't the sort of rotten egg even Slytherin wouldn't touch, as they had previously thought. At the very least, aside from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, no other student could be found patiently spending an entire day in the library—except for Viktor Krum, who had recently become a regular there.
Viktor Krum's frequent appearances in the library had led to throngs of girls crowding the corridors outside, clutching love letters or blank parchment, waiting dreamily for a glimpse of him. The bolder ones even ventured inside, much to the annoyance of Hermione and Harry, who were regular library visitors themselves.
Hermione, in particular, was exasperated. She found the incessant whispers and rustling profoundly distracting.
"He's not even that good-looking!" she huffed, glaring at Krum's sharply defined profile. "They only like him because he's famous! If he hadn't pulled that sneaky stunt with the…"
Harry considered correcting her, pointing out that it wasn't called a "sneaky stunt," but after a moment's thought, he gave up. He realized he didn't even know what to call the moves Viktor Krum had used in the tournament.
The Saturday before the first task, Professor McGonagall took Hermione to the Ministry of Magic to register her Animagus form, a process that consumed their entire morning. As a result, on the way to Hogsmeade with Harry that afternoon, Hermione was still grumbling about it.
"Can you believe it, Harry? The Ministry requires a written exam for Animagus registration, and some of the questions weren't even in any books I've read! The practical part was easy, though. In front of five examiners, I just—poof—turned into a cat, then—poof—back again. They were absolutely stunned!" On the carriage, Hermione sat across from Harry, gesticulating wildly as she recounted the scene.
Harry patiently waited for her to finish, then glanced at his watch. "Hermione, want to grab some Butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks later?"
"Butterbeer's sold in plenty of places. Why specifically The Three Broomsticks?"
"Er… well… I just think it's got a better vibe in a pub," Harry said, scratching his nose, his eyes briefly meeting Hermione's before darting away.
Hermione caught his expression and instantly knew what he was up to.
"If you're trying to get me to meet Ronald, forget it," she said, turning to gaze out at the snow-covered hills. "I don't want to see him right now."
Harry sighed. It seemed Ron had really hurt Hermione this time.
Upon arriving in Hogsmeade, Hermione led Harry straight to Honeydukes, where they bought a large bag of sweets. Then, munching on their haul, they wandered through the village.
From the Hogsmeade Post Office to Madam Puddifoot's, from Zonko's Joke Shop to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, their bag of sweets gradually emptied, as did Hermione's purse. Harry's wallet, however, remained comfortably full. Ever since he'd entrusted his potion-brewing company—with its fully operational production line—to Sirius, the profits it generated each year were enough to cover Lupin's monthly Wolfsbane Potion and then some.
When Harry heard that Dervish and Banges had recently received a shipment of wands from Durmstrang, his excitement got the better of him, and he dragged Hermione along to check them out. Halfway there, however, they ran into Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend.
Clad in a vibrant green robe, her hair meticulously styled, Rita wore pink, jewel-encrusted glasses and carried what appeared to be a crocodile-skin handbag. Her long, crimson-painted nails gleamed, and a press badge hung prominently from her chest—likely how Harry recognized her.
Rita had been chatting with her photographer, but as they passed each other, her eyes flicked toward the young couple. Hidden behind her bejeweled glasses, they widened dramatically.
"Isn't that Harry Potter?!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, darting toward him in two swift strides, nearly knocking Hermione aside.
The journalist grabbed Harry's hand—which he hadn't even offered—and shook it vigorously. "Wonderful! We finally meet! I'm Rita Skeeter. You've probably seen my name in The Daily Prophet. Since we've bumped into each other, how about an interview? Right now, you and me. First, let's test the quill…"
Releasing Harry's hand, Rita snapped her fingers. A long, dazzlingly green quill shot out of her handbag, followed by a sheet of parchment that unfurled itself in front of it.
"I'm Rita Skeeter, reporter for The Daily Prophet," she announced, glancing at the parchment.
No sooner had she spoken than the green quill began scribbling furiously across the page.
"The captivating blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three years young, whose fearless quill has exposed many a hollow reputation… Hm, it's in fine form. Now, Harry, let's get star—"
Rita turned to where Harry had been standing, only to find a trail of footprints leading into the bustling crowd.
"What's this? Where's Harry Potter?!" she snapped, glaring at her photographer. "Why didn't you stop him?!"
The photographer, busy fiddling with his camera, looked up in confusion. "I'm swamped setting this up. How was I supposed to keep an eye on Harry Potter?"
After shaking off the eccentric journalist, Harry and Hermione arrived at Dervish and Banges, a shop specializing in the sale and repair of magical equipment.
Harry's attention was immediately captured by the wands displayed on the wall.
"Excuse me, are those wands universal, or does each one have unique properties?" Harry asked, pointing to the wands behind the counter.
"You know a thing or two about wands, eh?" The shopkeeper, a man who looked to be in his seventies, lifted his head, peering through his spectacles at the fourteen-year-old wizard. His eyes widened in recognition. "You're Harry Potter?!"
"That's me. So, are they universal, or do they each have different properties?" Harry repeated.
"Universal, naturally," the old man said with a chuckle. "Wands that choose their owners don't sell well here. After all, folks around these parts use proper wands. What's this, Mr. Potter? Looking to try something new?"
"More like reminiscing about old times," Harry said. "But… no big difference, I suppose. Could you pick one out for me? About six feet long, two and a third inches in diameter, and weighing around six pounds."
"A picky customer, aren't you?" The old man rummaged through the wands for a while before finally pulling out one that matched Harry's specifications for length and diameter. Due to material constraints, however, none of the wands in this batch weighed more than a pound.
Harry took the wand, weighing it in his hand and giving it a quick twirl. "Feels good. How much?"
By the time they left Dervish and Banges, the sky had begun to darken. On their way to the carriage stop, Hermione eyed the long stick in Harry's hand with confusion.
"Harry, you already have a wand. Why waste money on this?"
"You'll see soon enough," Harry said, waving the wand playfully. "Shame it's made of wood, though. Not very durable, and too light—probably wouldn't do much if you hit someone with it. I'll try wrapping it in some magic-conducting metal when we get back."
"No, Harry! Attacking classmates will get points deducted!" Hermione protested.
"Don't worry, I'll rack up enough house points to cover it."
"This isn't about house points!" Hermione puffed out her cheeks, glaring at him. "Unless you promise not to use that wand to attack anyone… at least not unprovoked!"
"No deal," Harry said, shaking his head like a rattle. "I've never been one for sitting back."
As they spoke, they passed The Three Broomsticks, where Ron, Seamus, and Dean were emerging, laughing boisterously. The noisy crowd drowned out their conversation, but Harry caught a fleeting mention of "Madam Rosmerta."
Ron and his friends didn't seem to notice Harry and Hermione, continuing their lively chatter as they walked ahead. Harry and Hermione followed the crowd, keeping about seventeen feet behind.
Now Harry could hear what Ron and the others were discussing: Madam Rosmerta, the proprietress of The Three Broomsticks. It wasn't surprising—among the boys, Madam Rosmerta was always highly regarded, not just for her affordable Butterbeer but for her captivating figure. Harry had heard Ron murmur her name in his sleep more than once.
Hermione, to Harry's relief, merely gave a cold huff upon overhearing their conversation, refraining from marching up to hex the three boys for their disrespectful remarks.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the crowd ahead. Harry and Hermione pushed through, only to find Luna Lovegood in a heated argument with Ginny. The quarrel escalated until Ginny lunged for a brown parcel in Luna's hands. In their struggle, the parcel tore open, its contents slipping out and falling into the snow.
But no one was paying attention to the parcel anymore. Luna—known to many as "Loony" Lovegood—began to rise slowly into the air. Her limbs splayed unnaturally, her head tilted back, her face expressionless, her eyes closed. Then, abruptly, she opened them, her eyeballs darting frantically in their sockets. A long, inhuman scream tore from her throat, as though she weren't floating six feet above the ground but was instead being watched, enveloped, and crushed by countless horrific, indescribable entities.
Ginny, standing below, seemed terrified. Seeing her friend's plight, she collapsed into the snow, screaming in panic.
Fortunately, in the next moment, a pair of hands reached out and grabbed the floating girl. Luna went limp, collapsing into the arms of her rescuer.
The instant Harry sensed something was wrong, he began pushing through the crowd, but the throng was so dense that, despite his efforts, he found himself lifted off the ground at some point. With the situation spiraling out of control, Harry didn't hesitate. He Apparated directly to Luna's side, and in Hermione's panicked gaze, he placed his hands on Luna's. Almost instantly, he felt a surge of malevolent magic flood into his body through their point of contact. Thanks to the dragonhide armor he wore, however, the malicious energy spread slowly.
"Finite Incantatem!"
The malevolence dissolved like water. Harry, cradling the now-unconscious Luna, returned to the ground. After handing her to Hermione, who rushed forward to help, he crouched down to examine the object that had fallen into the snow.
It was an exquisite opal necklace, clearly valuable.
"Ron! Go get Professor McGonagall, or Professor Flitwick, or Professor Snape!" Harry stood, shouting at Ron, Seamus, and Dean, who stood frozen nearby. When they didn't move, his voice rose sharply. "Are you three deaf? Get a professor! Now!"
Ron, Seamus, and Dean flinched, then bolted toward The Three Broomsticks.
"Everyone, listen up! This is an extremely dangerous dark artifact," Harry warned, scanning the surrounding crowd. "Until a professor arrives, no one touches that neck—Petrificus Totalus!"
A spell flashed, and a low-year Slytherin student, who had been stealthily approaching the necklace with gloved hands, collapsed to the ground.
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