On the path back to the castle, Harry had been thinking that today was absolutely perfect—the first task of the Triwizard Tournament had been completed successfully and more importantly, his best friends were walking by his side.
Until disaster struck in the form of a heavily made-up woman who suddenly burst out from behind a group of bushes like some brassy jack-in-the-box, her was appearance so startling that all three friends jumped back instinctively.
"Hello there, Harry Potter," The woman purred with greedy satisfaction.
Rita Skeeter had stiff curly hair, bright red lipstick, exaggerated false eyelashes, and wore an aggressively bright green robe.
In her fingers, she clutched a notebook that matched her outfit perfectly, as if her entire appearance had been carefully coordinated around this single prop.
She smiled with fierce, greedy expression blocking Harry's path back to the castle. "Let me give you an exclusive interview—oh, just a few precious minutes of your valuable time will suffice. What were your innermost thoughts when facing that magnificent dragon? What fears coursed through your young heart?"
Harry instinctively took half a step back.
Rita Skeeter's fake, aggressively cheerful smile made him feel genuinely nauseous, as if someone had forced him to drink an entire goblet of concentrated Flobberworm mucus mixed with reeking Bubotuber pus.
"I'm sorry, Miss Skeeter," Harry replied with careful politeness. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. I'm in quite a hurry to get back to the castle for—"
"Oh, I completely understand that you're busy—just one tiny question, I promise!" Rita interrupted.
Without any warning or regard for personal boundaries, she suddenly grabbed Harry's wrist with surprising strength, her sharp fingernails digging into his skin through his tournament robes.
At precisely the same moment, a peculiar quill flew out from a hidden pocket at her chest and began writing with frantic movements across the pages of the notebook in her other hand.
"Just two minutes of your time—for instance, tell our eager readers your honest thoughts on the new Triwizard Tournament tasks? I've heard through very reliable sources that you secretly trained before the competition?"
Her grip tightened as she spoke, and Harry could feel her fingernails beginning to break the skin.
Harry jerked his arm back with considerable force, putting all his strength into the movement. Rita stumbled back on her impractical high heels, her balance disrupted, and she nearly fell flat on her back among the bushes.
"Oh, careful there, young man!" She exclaimed dramatically, one hand pressed against her chest.
Meanwhile, that magical quill continued its frantic scribbling, apparently recording even this moment.
"Don't pay any attention to her!" Hermione hissed urgently, grabbing Harry's free arm and tugging him away from Rita. "Let's get out of here right now!"
"That's absolutely right!" Ron added with his typical bluntness, his face flushed with indignation. "Don't waste another second on any of these vultures, Harry—they're all nothing but scavenging dogs looking for scraps!"
Harry's expression darkened with a combination of anger and disgust as he turned his back on Rita Skeeter. Without another word, he walked away quickly with Ron and Hermione adjoining him protectively.
Perhaps Rita's ridiculously high heels weren't suitable for pursuit across uneven ground, or perhaps she had already gathered sufficient material for whatever fabricated story she was planning to concoct—either way, she didn't choose to chase after them. Instead, she remained standing in place among the bushes, her bright green robes making her look like some bizarre, predatory bird.
Of course, that magic quill never ceased its constant scratching for even a moment, continuing to record whatever fictional narrative Rita was mentally composing.
"What utterly rude little brats," She muttered quietly to herself, her voice carrying a note of vindictive satisfaction that showed this encounter had gone exactly as she'd hoped.
Then she squinted with pleasure, her thin lips curving into a smile, preparing to leave with her manufactured controversy.
That would be quite enough material for several sensational articles...
Suddenly, without any warning, a cold wind swept across the grounds with unnatural force and precision.
The notebook vanished from Rita's grasp without a trace, as if it had simply ceased to exist.
"What—!" Rita's shriek of alarm resounded through the air as she quickly spun around.
She immediately spotted a tall, elegantly dressed man standing several feet away, casually flipping through the pages of her stolen notebook.
"What do you think you're doing?!" She screeched, her voice climbing to a pitch that could probably shatter glass. "Give that back immediately! That's private property! You have absolutely no right—"
Adrian completely ignored Rita's increasingly hysterical warnings and continued flipping through the notebook's pages with amusement, as if she were no more threatening than a noisy insect.
"'Harry Potter showed obvious violent tendencies during the interview, repeatedly attempting to attack this reporter with unprovoked aggression,'" He read aloud in a casual tone, "'According to reliable insider sources, Potter shows a consistently violent temper in his daily life, which can be directly attributed to the corrupting influence of his Muggle-born girlfriend and his crude, lower-class friends...'"
Adrian looked up from the notebook with an expression of admiration, as if he had just discovered an impressive piece of literature work.
"You're truly a remarkable talent, Rita Skeeter," He said with mock admiration. "An absolute natural genius when it comes to manufacturing news from thin air!"
Adrian had some fame in the outside world, so Rita quickly recognized him.
"Oh, Professor Westeros," She said immediately, her demeanor shifting. Her voice took on a honey-sweet tone that somehow managed to sound even more fake than her previous hostility.
"Please, I do hope you'll return that notebook to me. If you'd prefer, I can certainly make appropriate modifications to the content. You understand, of course—that was just a rough first draft, nothing more. The content that actually makes it into print would be entirely different, much more... favorable."
"No," Adrian replied with casual finality.
He shrugged with elegant indifference, and without any visible effort or incantation, a bright flame suddenly erupted from his empty palm.
The magical fire consumed the notebook filled with lies and manufactured scandals in mere seconds, reducing it to nothing more than a small pile of gray ash that the evening breeze immediately scattered across the grounds.
Witnessing this scene, Rita's false smile froze on her face.
"You... you..." She stammered, her chest heaving intensely as the full impact of what had just occurred crashed over her.
She was obviously furious beyond any reasonable measure. How could this person do such a thing?
Although many people throughout the wizarding world despised her methods and questioned her ethics, no one, absolutely no one had ever had the sheer audacity to burn her notebook right in front of her face!
The humiliation was almost unbearable.
"Fine!" She snarled with venomous intensity, her voice dropping to a whisper that promised retribution. "You think burning my notebook solves anything? Do you honestly believe that Hogwarts professors can simply destroy other people's private property whenever they feel like it? The entire wizarding world will learn exactly how you so-called educators treat freedom of the press!"
Adrian unhurriedly brushed the remaining ash from his hands with the kind of casual gesture one might use after feeding birds, then looked up at Rita with a smile that held depths of meaning she couldn't yet understand.
"Are you absolutely certain you want to pursue that course of action?" He asked deliberately with emphasis. "Miss Beetle?"
Rita had calculated every possible scenario, except for the possibility that Adrian would speak those two specific words: "Miss Beetle."
Her face instantly drained of all color, becoming as deathly pale as if she had been kissed by a Dementor. Even the thick layer of bright red lipstick couldn't disguise the sickly gray paleness that spread across her facial features like a creeping plague.
"What... what are you babbling about?" She forced herself to say, though her voice trembled with panic. "What Miss Beetle?"
Adrian naturally caught every tinge of the terror and desperate unease that flashed across Rita's face, and he couldn't help but smile silently at the effectiveness of his psychological warfare.
"Do I need to be more specific about your... unique talents?" He continued a calm tone. "An unregistered illegal Animagus transformation... now that would certainly qualify as genuinely big news, wouldn't it? How absolutely fascinating that would be for your competitors at the Daily Prophet."
Rita stumbled backward several steps, her impractical high heels catching on the uneven ground, her styled curls now as disheveled as a Blast-Ended Skrewt that had been startled from its burrow.
"You... you can't possibly—" She began desperately.
"Behave yourself from now on, Miss Beetle," Adrian interrupted. " I don't want to see any fabricated information about Harry Potter appearing in your future reports. I trust we understand each other perfectly?"
After delivering this ultimatum, Adrian immediately turned and walked away without giving her even a backward glance.
He believed, quite correctly, that Rita Skeeter was a smart person who would recognize when she had been thoroughly outmaneuvered and would know exactly what she needed to do to protect herself.
After Adrian's tall figure disappeared into the growing evening shadows, Rita remained standing alone among the bushes for several moments, staring straight ahead with completely empty eyes that reflected no light or intelligence.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of students returning to the castle and the gentle whisper of wind through the autumn leaves.
After few minutes, she suddenly released a low, suppressed whimper that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her soul.
Then, without warning, the whimper transformed into something far more disturbing—a low, almost neurotic laugh.
Just wait and see, She thought. Just wait.
The secret that she was an unregistered Animagus absolutely could not be revealed to anyone, under any circumstances. No matter what the cost might be.
At this moment, Adrian remained completely unaware of the dark thoughts beginning to form in Rita's twisted mind.
Of course, even if he had been fully aware of her intentions, it wouldn't have mattered in the slightest. He simply didn't believe that Rita Skeeter could pose any threat to him, regardless of what schemes she might concoct.
What could she possibly do? Attack him with mere public opinion and newspaper articles? The thought was almost laughably absurd.
In the wizarding world, when all the political maneuvering and social posturing was stripped away, raw magical strength remained the most important factor in any serious conflict.
Words and reputation could be powerful weapons, certainly, but they meant nothing against someone who possessed the kind of magical abilities and corresponding social position that could alter and heavily influence reality.
Take Voldemort as the perfect example—no matter how much people hated, feared, or despised him, no matter how many editorials condemned his actions or how many speeches denounced his methods, in the end one properly cast Avada Kedavra curse would silence any opposition permanently.
Power, in its most fundamental form, was what ultimately mattered.
After delivering his warning to Rita Skeeter and feeling quite satisfied with the evening's work, Adrian returned to the tournament arena in genuinely high spirits, his step light and his mood considerably improved.
The large space that had recently hosted one of the most spectacular magical competitions in recent memory was now mostly empty of spectators. Only a few scattered groups remained: Dumbledore and several of the international judges were engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation near the center of the arena.
Several professional dragon handlers wearing the heavy protective gear were carefully dismantling the wooden barriers and temporary walls that had been erected to contain the dragons during the competition. The dragons themselves were nowhere to be seen—they had undoubtedly been moved to more secure and comfortable accommodations where they could recover from the day's excitement.
As soon as Adrian's familiar figure appeared at the arena's edge, Remus approached him with quick steps, accompanied by a rather dejected-looking pink dog.
"Sirius says he desperately needs to change his color back to normal," Remus explained, pointing to the unfortunate dog at his feet with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. "He insists that this appearance is simply impossible to show in public, and frankly, I'm beginning to agree with him."
"Oh, that's quite simple," Adrian replied cheerfully, drawing his wand and clearing his throat as if preparing to deliver an important speech. "Sunshine, daisies, and butter mellow, turn this silly dog back to black, hello!"
He waved his wand with exaggerated ceremony, and bright golden sparks shot from its tip, trailing through the air like tiny comets before settling around Sirius's pink-tinged fur.
A moment later, however, Sirius gave Adrian a noticeably skeptical look—he hadn't felt any magical sensation at all, no tingling or warmth or any of the usual indicators that a transformation spell was taking effect.
"Are you sure that's the correct incantation—" Remus began doubtfully, but before he could finish his question, something remarkable began to happen.
Starting from the very tip of his tail, Sirius's fur began to lose that garish, embarrassing pink color. The change was visible to the naked eye, spreading slowly but steadily across his body as his natural black coat was restored to its original shiny darkness.
"Woof!" Sirius barked with deep gratitude and relief, his tail now wagging with genuine enthusiasm.
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