The morning that the reporter from the Daily Prophet was supposed to arrive, Mrs. Weasley insisted that Harry wake up several hours too early in order to make himself neat and tidy. She also insisted that he comb his hair all the way through (it hurt quite a bit when she attempted to pull the thin comb through his tangled hair).
“Eat, Harry. You might be stuck with that reporter for quite a long time.” Mrs. Weasley hovered over Harry as he gulped down the large amounts of food that she’d served him.
He’d gained a lot of weight while he was at the Weasley home, because at the Dursley house and during his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, he’d never been able to eat as much as he wanted.
“Oh goodness,” said Mrs. Weasley, “That reporter is due here any minute!”
Harry ate down as much food as he could in two bites, and put his plate neatly in the sink. Mrs. Weasley checked to make sure that Harry’s hair and clothes were in perfect order, and hurried to tidy up the house as fast as she could.
There was a soft, tapping knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley opened the door slowly.
“Who is it?” she called cautiously.
“Daily Prophet,” said a voice from outside the door to the Burrow.
“Come in!” Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley was trying to make her voice sound pleasantly surprised, but Harry thought she sounded a little bit flustered.
The door opened, and blonde woman with a large handbag clutched in her clawlike hands walked over the doormat with one long stride. Harry was slightly taken aback, her voice sounded much different through the door. She had large, loud glasses on her face and she had bright red lipstick smeared over her lips, making them look several times bigger than they should have.
“Well, Harry,” she said, fingering a blue quill in her hand. “We meet again. How very pleasant.”
Mrs. Weasley let out a little grunt that sounded like a very angry cat, but didn’t object when the reporter walked further into the house.
“But of course,” said the reporter in a voice that was obviously meant to be sincere, but sounded very sinister to Harry. “You don’t remember that, do you?”
“No,” said Harry flatly. “I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t.” Much to Harry’s surprise, her quill began to write on it’s own. The reporter read what the quill had written aloud, “Harry Potter, a boy of merely fourteen, sighs as he struggles to remember the past he lost.”
“I’m seventeen,” Harry corrected, “And I’m not sighing!”
The reporter paid no attention to Harry, and continued to say the words that the quill was writing, “Stunningly beautiful reporter, Rita Skeeter, watches as young Harry begins to tear up at the thought of the memories that he’ll probably never know.”
“I’m NOT tearing up!” said Harry loudly, wondering why on earth the reporter acted as though he weren’t there. She was writing endless paragraphs of information, and he’d hardly said a word. Not to mention the fact that the ‘interview’ hadn’t even started yet.
“Why don’t we go sit down?” suggested Mrs. Weasley in a strangled voice, as though she couldn’t think of a suitable reason to kick Rita Skeeter out of the house. “It’ll be much more, erm, comfortable.”
“Yes, that would be nice,” said Rita Skeeter, her quill still writing furiously. Harry eyed it cautiously before following Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.
“So, Harry,” said Rita Skeeter in a voice that Harry did not like at all. “You don’t mind if I ask a few questions, do you?”
“Actually”” began Harry, who did not like the idea of answering any questions very much.
“Splendid,” Rita interrupted, fishing another piece of parchment out of her bag. “So, Harry, tell me what it’s like to have no memory of anything from your past, not even the day your parents died. It must be so heartbreaking for you.”
“Actually, I can remember up to the time I was ten years old,” corrected Harry stiffly, “So I can still remember””
Rita ignored him, and began reading aloud from the parchment that her quill was writing on, “Harry’s cheery, bright eyes fade at the thought of not remembering his parent’s tragic death. As many of my zealous readers know, the evil wizard, You-Know-Who, tragically murdered young Harry’s parents when Harry was just two weeks old.”
“Actually, I was a little more than one year old,” corrected Harry, who was now thoroughly annoyed at Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet reporter.
At that moment, Hermione and Ginny came down the stairs, obviously unaware that Harry was in the middle of an interview. As soon as Hermione saw Rita Skeeter sitting at the Weasley’s table, she let out a shriek that echoed throughout the house. When she recovered from her shock, she glared at Rita as though she was a bug that needed to be squashed immediately.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione growled, with more force than Harry thought was possible from her.
Rita looked just as unhappy to see Hermione as Hermione did her, although Harry had absolutely no idea why. He guessed that she’d written a horrible story about Hermione, just like Rita was now trying to do to him.
“I thought I told you not to write anymore stories about us,” growled Hermione forcefully, confirming Harry’s guess.
“Yes,” said Rita wistfully, as though she was trying to maintain an air of mystery. “But I distinctly remember you telling me that I was free from our little deal after I wrote that wonderfully publicizing article about Harry a couple years ago.”
“The deal is not off,” said Hermione in a final sort of tone, her hands on her hips. “I never said that.”
Rita frowned, and turned to Mrs. Weasley, “Would you mind if Harry and I went to a more quiet place? I find it hard to concentrate when there are people in the room.” Rita glowered at Hermione.
“Well, there isn’t much extra space in this house,” answered Mrs. Weasley.
“I’m sure a bedroom upstairs will be perfectly fine.” Rita proposed importantly, grabbing Harry by the arm before he could protest. Within moments, Harry found himself in Ron’s bedroom upstairs.
Rita began reading aloud the text that her quill had written, “Stunning reporter, Rita Skeeter, looks around in disgust as she attempts to find a clean space to sit in. It appears that young Harry Potter’s bedroom is a mess.”
Harry found it pointless to argue, and waiting for Rita to turn around so he could escape out the door and possibly lock her in. He fingered his wand. Maybe there was a spell that was designed to make reporters disappear from view. Harry smiled slightly for the first time since the interview began.
“So, Harry,” said Rita, turning to face him. “My readers want to know. Why did you find it so appealing to disappear from the Wizarding World? Was it because of your tragically lost memory, or perhaps because of the immensely tormenting pressure to be the ‘Boy Who Lived’?”
“Er,” said Harry, unsure of exactly how to answer, “I didn’t want to disappear, I was with my Aunt and Uncle””
“Who, no doubt, are very worried about you,” Rita finished, “What compelled you to run away from your family, Harry? Perhaps it was because of the tragic loss of your parents so long ago?”
“No,” said Harry flatly, “I ran away because I””
“You love your family too much to put them in danger, don’t you?” said Rita, her quill scribbling furiously, “That is quite sweet, Harry.”
“But”” interrupted Harry, trying to explain to her that she had all the facts absolutely wrong. Unfortunately for him, Rita Skeeter paid him no attention.
“Harry Potter admits that he ran away from his loving family that took him in after his parent’s death because he wanted to keep them safe.” Rita read aloud, “As he looks around his disordered bedroom, Harry admits that he still loves his family, even though he can’t remember any of their time together.”
“I told you already, I can remember everything in my first ten years!” Harry said loudly, looking sideways at the quill, making sure it wasn’t writing anymore nasty things about him.
“That’s quite nice, dear,” said Rita, although she obviously didn’t care. She was too absorbed in her story too care.
‘This is going absolutely horrible,’ thought Harry, as he watched the quill write several long sentences about Harry and his terrible forgotten past.
“Can I see that for a minute?” Harry asked, trying to snatch the parchment away from Rita Skeeter.
“No,” Rita snatched the paper back and stuffed it into her large bag. “No, I’m afraid I never let the people I’m interviewing read my reports until after they are published.”
Harry Potter’s Latest Mishap
Harry Potter, a young wizard of only fourteen years of age, has fought more battles than the average witch or wizard of today. Stunningly beautiful reporter, Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, watches as young Harry sighs at the thought of never having his memory back.
“Sometime during the summer, I woke up and I couldn’t remember anything at all, not even my parent’s death,” Harry Potter claims, his eyes tearing up at the thought of losing the last pieces of his mind that hold his only memories of his parents.
As all of my zealous readers already know, Harry Potter’s parents were tragically murdered when Harry was just two weeks old. The murderer was revealed as the darkest wizard of our time, You-Know-Who.
“After I found out what my little I could grasp of my past, I left my aunt and uncle’s house, even though they’ve treated me like family ever since I was forced to moved in with them many years ago. I just couldn’t put them in any danger.”
Harry read through the rest of the article in disgust. It was worst than he thought it would be. He couldn’t believe that Rita Skeeter had actually published the article. Harry flipped to the front page in repulsion. Staring back at him was a huge picture of him, grinning stupidly, and around his there were large flashing words displaying the title of the article.
“What’s that you’ve got there, Harry?” asked Ron, who had just entered the kitchen.
Harry held it out to Ron so he could see for himself, “We just got the article from the Daily Prophet that was about me.”
Harry watched as Ron’s expression became angrier and angrier, until he burst out loudly, “I can’t believe that she actually published this!”
“I know,” said Harry glumly, “And now the entire world is going to read it and think I’m some kind of pathetic loser.”
“Cheer up, Harry,” said Ron, “Last time she printed something about you, nobody believed her.”
From Ron’s voice, Harry could tell he was stretching the truth a little. It was just as Harry suspected. Rita Skeeter had probably written dozens of articles about him, all of them most likely from the same pathetic angle that this one was from.
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley appeared from upstairs. “It’s almost time to go. Ginny and Hermione are almost ready.”
“Go? Go where?” said Ron loudly, “You didn’t tell us anything!”
“We’re going to the Dursley home to get Harry’s school supplies! Didn’t I tell you that McGonagall wants Harry back at Hogwarts? She says it’s the safest place for him, and I agree.”
“But Harry doesn’t know very much magic yet, Mum! He doesn’t even remember any of the lessons we’ve learned for the past six years! How is he going to fit in with all of the other kids at Hogwarts?” said Ron loudly. Harry nodded his head in agreement.
“Don’t be silly, Ron. He’s not going to be in your classes! I doubt Minerva would put him in seventh year classes. No, he’ll be taking mostly first and second year classes for now, and after he gets the basics down, he can move up to higher level classes. And when the time comes that he gets his memory back, he’ll go to seventh year classes again.”
Ron raised his eyebrows at his mother but didn’t say anything. Personally, Harry thought he would much rather be in seventh year classes with Ron and Hermione, and just suffer through the homework. If push came to shove, he’d of even enjoyed going to classes with Ginny in the sixth year.
“What about his Apparation license? Can he still be on the Quidditch team?” asked Ron after a moment, who seemed very worried that Harry wouldn’t be able to win Quidditch matches for Gryffindor.
“Minerva told me that she’d sort everything out, so that Harry will have the same privileges as any normal seventh year student. He’ll still be in your dormitory, and he’ll be able to take Apparation lessons with the sixth years.”
Harry opened and closed his mouth several times without saying a word. This was going too fast for him. He felt as though he’d just come home and now all of a sudden he had to go to a school with hundreds of other kids who knew everything about them.
“Don’t worry, Hermione and Ginny will help you with the schoolwork,” said Mrs. Weasley, giving Ron a little frown. “Because it seems that Ronald can’t keep up with his studies, especially while he’s the Quidditch captain.”
Harry glanced sideways at Ron and saw that his cheeks and ears were turning a delicate shade of red.
“Mum,” Ron whined, “I told you that I’ve been keeping up with my work lately. Professor Moonstone even gave me an A, and she’s really hard to please. Hermione is the only person in the entire year who actually gets O’s in her class.”
“You know that’s not acceptable,” said Mrs. Weasley, putting her hands on her hips. “I don’t think your brothers would have been as successful if they’d given up on the hard classes.”
Ron rolled his eyes, and looked sheepishly at Harry, who suddenly felt sick. He wasn’t sure that he could handle a bunch of hard classes, especially not now.
“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to have sensed his thoughts, “You won’t have too many classes to take, just the ones that you used to take at N.E.W.T. level. I’m pretty sure that you’re taking Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Potions. They shouldn’t be too hard for you, since you’ll be taking them at a lower level. Not to mention all the free periods that you’ll get.”
Harry smiled at little, but he still fell a little queasy. He still thought it was too soon to be starting school back up again.
“When exactly will I be going back?” Harry asked nervously, hoping he’d at least have some more time.
“Oh, not until after the Holiday break,” said Mrs. Weasley, “So you still have a few more weeks.”
“So soon?” he asked weakly.
“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley, “You’ll be fine! Trust me.”
Harry nodded, “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Shall we go then?”
“I-I’m not sure if going to the Dursley’s is a good idea. I mean, they were pretty horrible to me.” muttered Harry, “They might not let me get my stuff back.”
“Of course they will,” said Mrs. Weasley, with a glint in her eye. She pulled out her wand. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Okay,” said Harry reluctantly, gripping his own wand tightly.
“We’ll be Apparating then?” asked Ron.
“Yes of course,” said Ginny, who had just come down the stairs with Hermione.
“Everyone ready?” said Mrs. Weasley, looking around to make sure everyone was in one piece. “All right, let’s go.”
Author’s Note: Rita Skeeter is really a terrible character, isn’t she? I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter….I certainly had fun writing it! Don’t forget that reviews are appreciated!