The girl who died Harry Potter's Twin Sister

Chapter 11- GoF

A woman appears in a puff of smoke. She's well-groomed and dressed colourfully. "What a charismatic quartet. Hello!" The woman says. The four tri-wizard champions are stood together in a group. She walks over to them and shakes each of their hands. "I'm Rita Skeeter, I write for the daily prophet. But of course, you know that don't you. It's you we don't know, you're the news. What quirks lurk beneath those rosy cheeks? what mysteries do the muscles mask? does courage lie beneath those curls? In short, what makes a champion tick. Me, myself and I want to know. Not to mention my rabid readers. So, who's feeling up to sharing? Mmm? Shall we start with the youngest? Lovely." She takes Harry by the hand into a closet.

"This is cosy," she says.

"It's a broom cupboard," replies Harry slightly confused.

"You should feel right at home then. Don't mind if I use the quill do you?"

"Oh, no."

"So Harry, here you sit, a mere boy of twelve..." Rita starts.

"Fourteen," Harry corrects her but she pays no attention.

"...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?"

"I dunno, haven't really thought about it."

"Course you're not just any ordinary boy of twelve are you..." Rita wanders.

"Fourteen," Harry corrects once again through gritted teeth.

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

"No, I didn't enter,"

"Course you didn't. Everyone loves a rebel, Harry. (to the quill) Scratch that last. Speaking of your parents, were they alive, how do you think they'd feel? proud? or concerned that your attitude shows at best a pathological need for attention, at worst a psychotic deathwish." Harry looks at the notepad.

"Hey, my eyes aren't glistening with the ghost of my past," he says.