𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒔 ☆ 𝑅𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑛 𝑃𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝑌𝐸𝐴𝑅 𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅 ☆ 6

The camera smoked as a photograph was taken. Rosalyn faked a smile desperately as she tried to pretend she was happy with risking her life for something she didn't want.

Rosalyn had gone back up to the castle and to the only place she was sure that Harry and Ron wouldn't be. The Library. However, she had only been there for about ten minutes when she was being told by Madam Pince that she was wanted back in the trophy room.

That was where she stood, right now, as photos were taken of her and the champions. There were photos together, individual photos, photos of the girls, the boys, the schools...

Just let it end, Rosalyn thought the whole time. I don't want to be here, let it end...

Finally, the reporter was there, the reporter that Rosalyn wasn't in a hurry to meet. She stepped through the smoke and the red head got a good look at her. She was very... Bright.

She had curly blonde hair that was styled on top of her head and glasses (Rosalyn suspected they were fake) teetering on the edge of her nose. Her robes were lime green and the cuffs and collar were puffy and furry.

She might dress well, Rosalyn thought, but there's something about her that I don't like.

The woman stepped forward and said. "What a charismatic performance." Then she stepped forward and introducing herself, shaking all of their hands in turn. "I'm Rita Skeeter, I write for the Daily Prophet."

Not only was she annoying, she was also full of herself as well. This showed in what she said next. "But of course you know who I am. It's you we don't know."

She laughed. "You're the juicy news, what quirks hide behind those, rosy cheeks." She touched Fleur's cheek and then slapped it. "What mysteries do the muscles mask?" She ruffled Cedric's hair. "Does courage lie behind those curls, ensures what makes a champion, tick." Rosalyn rolled her eyes as she put an arm around her and Cedric, "Me, myself and I want to know. Not to mention my rabid readers, so... who would be brave enough to share it? Mm?"

No one spoke. Skeeter then said. "Shall we start with the youngest? Lovely." And pulled Rosalyn away.

They entered a broom cupboard off the side of the room and an acid green quill as well as a brown leather notebook jumped up to Rita as she entered. "This is cosy," she remarked as they went in, Rosalyn rolled her eyes.

"This is a broom cupboard."

"You should feel right at home then," Skeeter was really getting on Rosalyn's nerves. "Don't mind if I use a quick-quotes quill do you?"

"What is that?" Rosalyn asked, she had a feeling she wouldn't be a fan.

"Ah, it doesn't matter." Rita went into full reporter mode. "So tell me Rosalyn. Here you sit, a mere girl of twelve-"

"I'm fourteen," Rosalyn said.

Rita completely ignored her. "About to compete against three students not only vastly more emotionally mature than yourself, but have mastered spells that you wouldn't attempt in your dizziest daydreams. Concerned?" She made a stupid face as her quill came up beside her.

"No," Rosalyn said surely, her eyes on the quill. If the whole world was going to hate her, she might as well be confident in herself and not break down.

"Just ignore the quill," Rita assured her. "Now, you're not an ordinary girl of twelve are you?"

"I'm. Fourteen," Rosalyn repeated.

"Your story's legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament."

"I didn't enter!" Rosalyn shouted. "You can listen or you can't but I didn't enter!"