Chapter 553 Interview

In fact, Hogwarts did not give them a chance to have a big fight. This was the road to Potions, so the appearance of Professor Snape was naturally inevitable.

As the dean of Slytherin House, Professor Severus Snape would naturally not be biased towards them, especially with Fanlin's involvement.

Saying that Harry is bullying others, and then using Fan Lin's experience to make a very close mockery of Fan Lin?

To be honest, Fan Lin is basically immune to such attacks.

But Harry was not like that. He was so angry that he didn't want to always rely on Fan Lin, but among the four of them...

Perhaps Hermione was right. Being blocked from shining brightly would create some bad associations for anyone.

However, this was destined to be undetectable by Fanlin.

From his current perspective, finding trouble with Malfoy was simply a relaxing and enjoyable thing. Naturally, he wouldn't take it to heart...

As for the Academy Cup, probably only Sir Nicholas still cares about it now.

Nick is so bored as a ghost that he has to spread his energy over scattered, widespread concerns, although this is of no use.

The final result of the incident was that Professor Snape deducted 150 points from Gryffindor, 50 points from Harry, and 100 points from Verlin...

However, these are only one week's worth of deductions, and Fred and George have even more points than this.

Everyone is used to it.

Class begins.

Fan Lin buried his thoughts in books, and he was always looking for some methods.

Potions, alchemy, or spells.

Of course, there is also Apparition, which is very crucial. Otherwise, how he can escape from Tom Riddle's cemetery will be problematic.

Perhaps, he could borrow Fawkes from Dumbledore.

However, that requires negotiation with Dumbledore, and those damn Death Eaters. Fanlin must find a way to fight against them.

Voldemort can still be handed over to Harry, but what about Trevor?

There is also fake Moody. Maybe he can do some tricks on fake Moody.

However, it was difficult, he had been to Moody's office, this guy was too cautious, and his office was full of magic...

Perhaps, he should really ask Dumbledore for help and have a good communication...

Let's talk about Harry. During this period, Harry was destined to be in a restless stage.

Harry sat staring at Malfoy, imagining all the horrors he would encounter.

If only he could cast animagus spells.

He would turn Malfoy into that spider, struggling and twisting on all fours.

"Antidote!" Snape looked around everyone, his cold black eyes shining with an unpleasant light. "You should all have prepared the secret recipe. I hope you will brew it carefully, and then we will choose someone to try it."

Snape and Harry looked at each other, and Harry knew what was waiting for him. Snape wanted to poison him. Harry imagined him grabbing the cauldron, rushing to the front of the classroom, and pouring it over Snape's greasy head.

A knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts.

It's Colin. He squeezed into the classroom, smiled at Harry, and walked towards Malfoy, who was standing at the front of the classroom.

"Is something wrong?" Snape asked coldly.

"Teacher, I'm going to take Harry Potter upstairs."

Snape's aquiline nose turned down and he stared at Colin, his smile gradually disappearing.

"Potter has another half hour to brew the potion," Snape said coldly. "He will go upstairs after class."

Colin blushed.

"Old teacher, it was Mr. Bagmon who asked for him," he said nervously. "All the players have to go. I think they want to take pictures..."

Harry would have given him everything they had if he could stop Colin from saying those last words. He occasionally glanced at Ron, but Ron was staring intently at the ceiling.

"Don't worry." Fan Lin whispered.

Snape turned around and glared at Fan Lin. Immediately, Fan Lin didn't dare to compete with Dobby.

"Okay, okay." Snape interrupted, "Potter, leave your things here. I want your antidote."

"Teacher - he must take everything away." Colin whispered, "All the players -"

"Enough!" cried Snape. "Potter, take your schoolbag and don't let me see you again."

Potter slung his bag over his shoulder, stood up, and walked toward the door.

As he passed through the Slytherin desks, lights from "Potter's Stink" hit him from all directions.

Harry almost lost his temper, that feeling of anger...

As soon as Harry closed the door, Colin started talking, "That's surprising, isn't it Harry? You're a contestant!"

"Yeah, it's really amazing," Harry said heavily.

They walked up the stairs to the entrance hall. "Colin, why do they want pictures?"

"To the Daily Prophet, I guess."

"Oh." Harry said sullenly, "Do we really need more public attention?"

"Good luck!" Colin said goodbye to him in the room on the right. Harry knocked on the door and walked in.

This classroom is quite small, with a large space in the middle behind most of the classrooms. The three of them were already sitting there. A long piece of velvet covered the blackboard, and five chairs were placed behind the velvet-covered desk.

Ruth Bagmon was sitting on one of the chairs, talking to a wizard wearing a purple shirt. Harry had never seen the wizard before.

As usual, Viktor Krum stayed in the corner with a melancholy expression, not talking to anyone.

Cedric and Fleur were chatting. Harry had never seen Fleur so happy. She shook her head from time to time to draw attention to herself with her hair.

A man with a big belly held up a big black camera that was smoking slightly in the distance and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Bagmon suddenly recognized Harry, stood up quickly, and jumped forward, "Ha, he's here!

Contestant No. 4! Come in, Harry, come in, there's nothing to be afraid of, it's just a wand measuring ceremony, the other judges will be here soon. "

"Wand measurement?" Harry repeated nervously. "We have to check and make sure everything is fine with your wands and there's nothing wrong with them.

Know that they are important tools for accomplishing the tasks you face. Bagmon said, "Then with Dumbledore." We also need to take a picture. This is Rita..Skeeter. he added, gesturing towards the purple-robed wizard.

"She wrote a short story about the contest for the Daily Prophet."

"This is truly an honor." Rita Skeeter fixed her gaze on Harry.

Her hair was carefully combed into stiff curls that looked odd compared to her large chin. She wore jeweled spectacles. The nails are two inches long, except for the dark red nail polish. Fat hands clutched her crocodile leather bag.

"Before we begin, I wonder if I could have a few words with Harry?" she asked Bagmon, but still stared at Harry. "The youngest players, you know...add some color."

"Of course!" said Bagmon, "Harry doesn't object, right?"

"What—" Harry hesitated.

Honey," before the blink of an eye, Rita Skeeter's scarlet hand had grabbed Harry's arm - her strength was amazing - and led him out of the room again. She opened the door to the nearest room.

"We don't want to stay in such a noisy place," she said. "Let me see, ah, by the way, it's not bad here. It's warm and comfortable."

"But this is the broom closet." Harry glared at her.

"Come on, honey, it's okay," Rita Skeeter called again.

She herself sat precariously on an inverted basket.

She pushed Harry into the closet and closed the door, plunging them into darkness.

"Now look..."

She opened her alligator bag, pulled out a small handful of candles, lit them with a flick of her hand, and held them in mid-air, so that they could see clearly what they were doing. "

"Harry, you don't mind if I use a shorthand pen? That way I can talk to you normally."

"For what?"

She smiled wider.

Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached into her purse again and took out a green quill pen and a roll of parchment. She spread the parchment and placed it on a wooden box. In fact, the wooden box is Mrs. Scott’s multifunctional magic stain remover.

She put the pen tip into her mouth, sucked it for a moment as if it were something delicious, and then placed it upright on the parchment.

It stood firmly on it, trembling slightly.

"Testing, my name is Rita Skeeter, a reporter from the Daily Prophet."

Harry looked down at the quill.

Just as Rita Skeeter spoke, the pen began to slide across the parchment, writing: "Charming Rita Skeeter, 4 years old, blond. Her ruthless pen has exposed many exaggerations. Ci’s reputation.”

"Great," Rita Skeeter tore off the parchment paper, crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into her bag.

She leaned closer to Harry and asked, "So, Harry, what made you decide to join the Triwizard Tournament?"

"This-" Harry came again. He was attracted to the pen. Although he didn't say anything, the pen moved back and forth on the parchment, and then he saw a sentence: An ugly scar is a souvenir of a tragic past. It ruined Harry Potter's charming face, his eyes...

"Harry, leave it alone," Rita Skeeter said firmly. Harry looked at her reluctantly.

"Then, why did you decide to sign up for this competition?"

"I didn't," said Harry. "I don't know how my name got into the flaming goblet. I didn't put it there."

Rita Skeeter raised her thick, dark eyebrows, "Come on, Harry, there's no need to worry about getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't have signed up at all. But don't worry, our readers. I like youthful and rebellious boys.”

"But I didn't sign up," Harry repeated, "I don't know who—"

"How do you feel about the task you are about to face?" Rita Skeeter asked. "Excited? Nervous?"

"I haven't really thought about it...yeah, I guess it's nerves." When he said this, Harry felt nervous and uncomfortable.

"There have been player deaths in the past, right?" Rita Skeeter said briskly, "Have you ever thought about it?"

"Well, they said it would be safer this year."

The quill wrote quickly on the parchment, going back and forth like skating.

"Of course, you've faced death before, right?" Rita Skeeter observed him closely. "How do you think it affects you?"

Harry was a little out of tune. He wanted to say something, but Rita didn't give him much chance.

"Do you think that past trauma has made you more eager to improve yourself? Live up to your reputation? Do you think that you were tempted to sign up for the Triwizard Tournament this time because..."

"I didn't sign up," Hart said, exasperated.

"Do you remember your parents?" Rita Skeeter spoke above his head.

"I don't remember."

"What do you think they would think if they knew you were going to the Triwizard Tournament? Proud of you? Worried about you? Or angry?"

This time Harry was really annoyed. How could he know what his parents would think if they were still alive. He noticed her concerned look, frowned, avoided her gaze, and read the sentence that the pen had just written: "When our topic turned to his parents, who he had no impression of, his amazing green eyes were full of tears, and his eyes were flashing with ghosts of the past."

"There are no tears in my eyes, and there are no ghosts of the past!" Harry shouted.

Before Rita Skeeter could say anything, the closet door was pulled open.

Harry looked out. It was too bright outside, and he blinked. Dumbledore stood there, looking down at the two people huddled in the closet.

"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter shouted happily.

Harry found that her pen and parchment paper suddenly disappeared from the magic stain remover. Her bent fingers were busy closing the crocodile bag.

"How are you?" she asked, standing up and holding out her big, strong hand to Dumbledore.

"I'm sure you read the report I wrote about the International Confederation of Wizards meeting this summer."

"It's disgustingly good," Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, "I particularly liked how you portrayed me as a stale, unemployed bum."

Rita Skeeter was not embarrassed at all, "I think some of your ideas are out of date, Dumbledore, with so many wizards on the street..."

"I'm happy to hear the reasoning behind your rude comments." Dumbledore bowed politely and smiled, "But I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this later. The wand measurement ceremony is about to begin, and if one of the contestants is hidden in the broom cupboard, it won't be held."

Harry was happy to be rid of Rita Skeeter.

He hurried back to the classroom. The other contestants sat in chairs near the door, and he quickly sat down next to Cedric and saw the velvet-covered table with four judges sitting there: Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Barty Crouch and Ruth Bagman.

Rita Skeeter chose a seat and sat down.

Harry saw her pull out another piece of parchment from her bag, spread it on her knees, sucked the tip of her pen, and put it back on the parchment.

An old man who seemed very familiar to everyone stood in front of them, with Dumbledore.

At least that was the case in Britain. (To be continued)