Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

want photos for, Colin?’
    ‘The Daily Prophet , I think!’
    ‘Great,’ said Harry, dully. ‘Exactly what I need. More publicity.’
    ‘Good luck!’ said Colin, when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door, and entered.
    He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed, end to end, in front of the blackboard, and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.
    Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual, and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera which was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
    Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly and bounded forwards. ‘Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come … nothing to worry about, it’s just the Wand Weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment –’
    ‘Wand Weighing?’ Harry repeated nervously.
    ‘We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the tasks ahead,’ said Bagman. ‘The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,’ he added, gesturing towards the witch in magenta robes, ‘she’s doing a small piece on the Tournament for the Daily Prophet …’
    ‘Maybe not that small, Ludo,’ said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.
    Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jewelled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.
    ‘I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?’ she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. ‘The youngest champion, you know … to add a bit of colour?’
    ‘Certainly!’ cried Bagman. ‘That is – if Harry has no objection?’
    ‘Er –’ said Harry.
    ‘Lovely,’ said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry’s upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again, and opening a nearby door.
    ‘We don’t want to be in there with all that noise,’ she said. ‘Let’s see … ah, yes, this is nice and cosy.’
    It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her.
    ‘Come along, dear – that’s right – lovely,’ said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. ‘Let’s see now …’
    She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into mid-air, so that they could see what they were doing.
    ‘You won’t mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally …’
    ‘A what?’ said Harry.
    Rita Skeeter’s smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag, and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess-Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.
    ‘Testing … my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.’
    Harry looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:
     
    Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations –
     
    ‘Lovely,’ said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leant towards Harry and said, ‘So, Harry … what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?’
    ‘Er –’ said Harry again, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though