#twt third task

The Triwizard Champions

harry potter - fleur delacour

inside their bodies

C E D R I C x D I G O R R Y “You know the Prefects’ bathroom on the fifth floor? It’s not a bad place for a bath.”

I want a scoop.

And he's it.

I can almost imagine myself in the crowded Hogwarts Hall as the flaming blue goblet spits out his name, and all the countries go mad because he's not supposed to exist!

And the speculation is delicious. The Chosen One, chosen yet again--but this time in a special competition! Is he power-hungry? Glory-hungry? Looking to impress a certain young lady? Andhow did he do it? Tricking the age line, a confundus charm...The possibilities are positively endless, I swear, I just need an interview to spice up the story...

Sighing, I look down at the note my boss left on my desk. Try to get the politics of it too, it says. And god, I hate politics--it doesn't sell and unless someone's taking over the world, no one cares. And then politicians--ugh, don't even get me started on politicians. Especially in conjunction with one of the juiciest social events of the year.

For them, it's some trash like international cooperation. I know that's what Fudge thinks it is; he said so himself as "he wiped his sweaty hands down on the sides of his trousers and his eyes darted back and forth" (courtesy of Larissa, my green quilled friend). He didn't appreciate the representation, and neither did my boss, but what can I do? It sold copies, and if there's one thing Rita Skeeter is fabulous at, it's getting readers hooked.

Now all I have to do is hook Harry Potter himself.

****

I'm waiting because Harry Potter, possible egoist that he is, is late. Fleur Delacour is busy flirting with the other Hogwarts champion, and Viktor Krum, like the brooding hero he is, is sitting moodily in the corner. I tap my red nails on the handle of my bag and wait. We have to get this going.

"Ludo, where's the final champion?" I ask impatiently, adjusting my glasses. The portly idiot (lost his career as a Beater, you know, although if you ask me he wasn't all that good) ignores me, instead looking towards the curved archway where the boy should come through any minute. A moment later, he does--short, bespectacled, his hair even messier than his father's used to be. Even from here I can see the striking green eyes that remind me of Lily's...I did a piece on the tragic deaths for the Prophet a couple years ago, and some boy did a drawing of the two of them. Her eyes were the brightest spot in those pictures. Such a shame, really, a tragedy... (we sold more papers that weekend than only a couple in the past few years. It's one of my greatest hits)

Ludo is going up to Harry now. I adjust everything I own to make it look perfect--although I'm already quite close to that goal--carefully folding my magenta robes into place.

"This is Rita Skeeter," Ludo says, and I step off of my stool. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet--"

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," I say, my eyes sweeping over Harry's face. His eyes are shadowed by dark circles--sleepless, much? I wonder what's been keeping him up at night.

Well, now's my chance to find out.

"I was wondering if I could have a little word with Harry before we start? The youngest champion, you know...to add a bit of color?" The fourth champion's face contorts, and I nearly sigh as Ludo asks something to the degree of "yes, but only if he agrees".

"Lovely." I grab the boy's arm and steer him towards my favorite place to go in Hogwarts: the broom closet where I entertained many people with secrets. "We don't want to be in there with all that noise," I say by way of explanation. "Let's see...that's nice and cozy." I open the door to the cupboard and press him in. "Come along, dear--that's right--lovely." I sit myself down on a lovely bucket and start to rummage through my bag for Larissa and some candles to, mm, shall we say shed some light on the subject? It’s easy enough to find both--I’m a stickler for organization, and they’re both in the front pocket. I levitate the candles and light them with a quick swish of my wand. I’m about to get Larissa out when I realize that I have to bloody well get consent for the Quick Quotes quill. Right.

“You don’t mind, Harry, if I use a Quick Quotes quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

“A--a what?” Poor boy, he looks dumbfounded. I take Larissa out, suck on the tip so my writing voice transmits onto the parchment, and place the parchment down onto a crate. “Testing...my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.” Larissa starts to churn out the usual stuff--my looks, my age--and so I tear off the top of the parchment and stuff it in the trash pocket of the bag. I really can’t leave my age lying anywhere around--as far as the rest of the world knows, I’m thirty two. Then I wave Larissa into work again.

“So, Harry...what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

He’s staring at Larissa. Not the goal. “Ignore the quill, Harry,” I say, and he relaxes the slightest bit. “Now--why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?”

“I didn’t.” Sure. “I don’t know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn’t put it in there.”

I raise an eyebrow. That’s highly unlikely. “Come now, Harry, there’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble. Our readers love a rebel.”

“But I didn’t enter,” he says, and I glare at Larissa to stop writing that down. “I don’t know who--”

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?”

“I haven’t really thought about it...yeah, nervous, I suppose.”

“Champions have died in the past, haven’t they? Have you thought about that at all?” I need some drama from him--more than just nerves conveyed awkwardly.

“Well...they say it’s going to be a lot safer this year.” I roll my eyes. I better turn the conversation to his dead parents if I’m going to get anything from this interview at all. “Of course, you’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you? How would you say that’s affected you? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because--”

“I didn’t enter,” he says, his tone tight, and I can barely contain my sigh.

“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tounament?” He doesn’t respond, so I prompt him. “Proud? Worried? Angry?”

His face is contorting, and he glances over at Larissa, and I’m about  to tell him not to when--

“I have NOT got tears in my eyes!” he proclaims hotly, and I’m hurrying Larissa and stuffing the papers into my bag as the door bangs open.

I wait around through a near interrogation from Dumbledore--honestly, the man is a nightmare-- and have Larissa take notes through the weighing of the wands. Then it’s time to get the meat of the story--student interviews. They’re always the ones that know what’s truly going on.

I meet a boy in the hallway and ask him about Harry Potter. The little boy smiles, and I do too.

Oh, what a story this is going to be. I can just imagine...

****

I can't believe I overlooked Cedric and Krum. Harry may be The Chosen One, but these boys scream heartthrob, even when they're sleeping (I would know). Cedric's perfect, chestnut locks and puppy dog eyes are enough to send any girl reeling, and Krum on a broom with that thick, sexy accent will send those reeling girls straight towards them. Plus, both of them are athletes, something everyone likes to hear about.

I could do a quidditch piece on my three male champions, I suppose. Pictures of them standing elegantly by their brooms, talking about why quidditch is important to them, what they do in it, their position, blah blah blah blah blah. Especially after Harry’s success with the first task, and Krum’s Quidditch Cup win this year...it’s almost perfect!

I start to write a killer intro, which, all in all, sounds more lovely than Celestina Warbeck’s rendition of “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” when I read it aloud. I’m paging through my notes to find possible quotes when I hear the distinctive clomp of Boss’ boots parading past my office. “Hey!” I call. “Hey, Boss!”

“What is it, Rita?” he grunts, poking a fat head through the door. “Another piece making fun of Dumbledore?”

“No, I--” I smile. I can’t forget to turn on the charm, especially now. “What do you think of a quidditch piece on our three guys?” He doesn’t say anything, and my smile freezes. “Wouldn’t it just be lovely?”

“We need more of the girl, Rita. Get me more of her.”

I rip the beautiful writing out of the typewriter and start over. If he won’t do something that includes seventy five percent of our champions, then I’ll do something that includes none of them. And it’ll still sell, because I overheard something delicious in the Hogwarts courtyard during the Yule Ball.

If Boss won’t go along with my ideas, then I’ll go rogue.

****

Journal Excerpt:

Miss Fleur Delacour is completely boring, and I mean that in the nicest possible way.

She's pretty, sure, but she doesn't have any...mmm....star quality. Nothing there is to be said about her is anything anyone but kiddies want to read. She loves her sister? Go to some Muggle family and see that. She's connected to her veela heritage? Wow, great, now can we have some pictures that reveal a little less of the heritage and a little more of her? She is the top student at Beauxbatons? This isn't a trophy room, goddamnit.

And then there's the faded bruises down her arms. I suppose there could be a story made out of the possible abuse, but the funny thing is? It won't sell. No one likes to feel guilty about a hero who's a sex symbol and a half. They just want to... indulge in her.

Maybe I can call up a camera guy so Boss doesn't get on my back for not having stuff on her. But in the meantime, her section in my journal is pretty blank.

I'll just keep selling copies. Tick, tick, tick, down to the wire.

It’s what I do best.

****

A letter from Dumbledore:

Dear Miss Skeeter,

I can assure you that we do not take race and other like considerations into the process of hiring teachers. We judge based on merit alone. I would therefore sincerely ask that you decline from writing any such articles in the future, and to respect the ban from Hogwarts that has been placed upon you. Please also note that I am on good terms with the superiors of your office and can arrange that you be fired if necessary.

Your former teacher,

Headmaster Dumbledore

A letter to Dumbledore:

Headmaster,

I can assure you that I am only looking out for the safety of our youth. You have continually put students under the care of dangerous creatures, such as werewolves and giants, and I know that many will not stand for it. Please note the need for good journalism in today’s society, and for good justice as well. I hope that you consider this as you make hiring decisions for next year.

--Rita Skeeter

Journal Excerpt:

Hermione Granger can go--

Voldemort and Harry’s delusions would have made an excellent story, Boss.

Letter Draft:

Dear Boss,

Please, take me back

Moodboard: Fleur Delacour