Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly coloured life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelt) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all.
"Harry, it can't be that bad—" I tried.
"No, it's as bad as you can think!" Harry groaned. "Look!"
The horrible woman had reported him saying an awful lot of things that he couldn't remember ever saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard. Small tidbits made him seem like a spineless baby:
"I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now..." a portion quoted.
"Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it..." She wrote as an answer to her question of whether or not Harry missed his parents. "I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament because they're watching over me..."
But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his "er's" into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about him too.
Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.
From the moment the article had appeared, Harry had had to endure people — Slytherins, mainly — quoting it at him as he passed and making sneering comments.
"Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?" Draco called out.
"Can it, Draco," I snapped back.
"You're just mad because you wish you had Hermione's spot in his heart," he pretended to rub his eyes, mimicking a cry.
"At least he has a heart," I rolled my eyes, walking away from Draco.
"Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?" another Slytherin girl teased.
"Hey — Harry!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. "I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a—"
"Harry," I stopped him.
"No — it was just — you dropped your quill."
It was Cho. Harry felt the colour rising in his face.
"Oh — right — sorry," he muttered, taking the quill back. "Er. . . good luck on Tuesday," she said. "I really hope you do well."
Hermione had come in for her fair share of unpleasantness too, but she hadn't yet started yelling at innocent bystanders like Harry. Coming out of our Arithmancy class, Pansy Parkinson laughed as she walked past us.
"Stunningly pretty? Her?" Pansy had shrieked. "What was she judging against— a chipmunk?"
"Ignore it," Hermione said in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn't hear them. "Just ignore it, Lottie."
"No," I breathed, my blood boiling. I couldn't stand to ignore it and allow someone to be so blatantly rude to my friend. I spun on my heels, facing Pansy, "how pathetic and insecure do you have to be to be this rude to someone?"
"Charlotte!" Hermione mumbled.
"Me? Pathetic and insecure? Are you sure you aren't projecting your own feelings?" spat Pansy.
"Says the one calling Hermione names and hanging off Draco's arm like a leech whenever he's around. Seem to have issues to me– jealousy and attachment, if I had any idea," I scoffed.
Pansy's pug face turned pink at my comment about Draco's lack of affection. "You're the jealous one! Just jealous that you have no guy falling at your feet. I have Draco, and somehow this. . . Mudblood has Harry," she laughed.
"Pansy, hun, I don't need anyone falling at my feet to feel good about myself," I laughed softly, slowly walking up to her. My face fell as I narrowed my eyes at the horrible Slytherin, "and don't you dare use that term in front of me again if you know what's good for you."
"Mudblood? Well, that's what she is," Pansy smirked, "as are you."
"You better watch it, Parkinson," I said in a low voice, reaching up to slowly twirl her hair, "I don't play very nice. Wouldn't want to ruin your pretty little face, right?"
"Well, I don't play fair," she spat. Just as she said it, I felt her arm move in means to take her wand out. My hand was positioned perfectly and I punched the side of her face with a nasty crack.
"Holy —" I screamed and jumped back, cradling my bruising hand. Pansy squealed in pain and held her nose, her slimy friends gather around her as I shake my hand.
"Charlotte!" Hermione screeched. Grabbing my good arm, she pulled me away from the group and towards an empty corridor. "What in the bloody hell was that!"
"Well, I– She was pulling out her wand! I reacted," I huffed. Looking down at my right hand, I shook it and winced. The adrenaline stopped coursing through my veins and the pain of my knuckles set in. "Ouch, this really hurts," I mumbled.
"Why did you punch her?" Hermione questioned hotly.
"I— I don't know. I just did! I got scared," I explained looking down at the swelling. Slowly, I turned my attention from my hand to Hermione, "um, Hermione? C-Can you fix my hand or something, please? I- I don't want to go to Madam Pomfrey– she'll ask questions."
"Fix your own hand!" Hermione huffed, annoyed. She was pacing back and forth, probably thinking of all the ways we're going to get in trouble or how many points we'll lose.
"I can't! I don't know how," I covered.
"It's just Episkey."
"I can't fix it!"
"Lottie, it's quite simple. You can't do any more damage to your hand," she blew me off.
Looking around the corridor, I noticed it was completely empty. No people and no paintings.
"I can't," I admitted.
"What do you mean you can't? You're so lazy," Hermione missed the comment.
"Oh, God. . . uh," I whispered softly, "I- I can't do magic."
"What?" Hermione suddenly stopped pacing and turned to me. "Say that again."
"Hermione, I know you very well heard me," I crossed my arms over my chest, being careful of my hand.
"How are you— That's impossible. It's impossible for a. . . muggle. . . to see Hogwarts. It's in—"
"—Hogwarts: A History. I know. Along with the train and the secret platform and the Knight Bus and every other freaking magical thing!"
"Then how can you—"
"That, I do not know," I confessed.
"Then how do you —?"
"Hermione, I don't know! I just– I just. . . I'm here. That's all I know. And what I'm one hundred percent certain is the fact that my hand really hurts and I can't fix it and if I go to the Hospital Wing then I'll get detention or something and—"
"Lottie, it's all right," Hermione said softly. I could see the confusion on her face but she just walked over and mumbled the incantation, fixing my hand.
"Thank you," I mumbled, rubbing my slightly swollen hand.
"Can you. . . Is there any way you can tell me what you do know?" asked Hermione shyly.
I sighed and nodded, giving her a similar explanation to the one I gave Fred. Hermione listened with great attentiveness and didn't interrupt me once. ". . . and you cannot tell a single soul. Not Harry, not Ron, no one," I warned her.
"Obviously, it's dangerous for anyone who knows all the secrets and information you know. Does anyone else know?" Hermione asked.
"Professor Dumbledore, all of my teachers, you. . . and Fred," I winced.
"Fred? As in Ron's—"
"Yes," I nodded.
"But he's a prankster. How can you trust him with information like that?"
"I just do. He seemed to understand and has kept it quiet, so far," I nodded.
There was still uncertainty in Hermione's eyes and I could tell she had a multitude of questions, but she let it go with a sigh, "well, let's go find the boys. Harry had wanted to tell us something."
—:—
On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione told Harry that it would do us some good to get away from the castle for a bit; his only terms were the lack of Ron's presence. With his Invisibility Cloak on, the three of us set off for Hogsmeade the next day.
Although I couldn't see Harry, I knew he was watching the other students walk past us as we entered the village. Most of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges, but no horrible remarks were made towards him and nobody was quoting that ridiculous article.
"People keep looking at me now," said Hermione grumpily as we came out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large cream-filled chocolates.
"Who cares? Let them stare! They're just upset at the fact that your name was in Daily Prophet and there's wasn't," I tried to cheer her up. My comment wasn't as bright and helpful as it usually was due to the fact that I was too entranced by the town around me.
Beautiful decor lined the candle poles. Store vendors had fall decorations posted behind the large glass windows. Fallen leaf garlands hung on every post. I was completely and utterly captivated.
"Not that, they think I'm talking to myself," Hermione looked around in panic.
"Then face me—"
"Don't move your lips so much then—" Harry and I said at the same time.
"Come on, please just take off your cloak for a bit," Hermione suggested.
"Please?" I added. "It won't hurt any."
"Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!" Hermione scoffed.
"Oh yes, butterbeer," I cheered. I don't know how I managed but I had completely forgotten about the famous drink. I'd always wanted to try it but somehow forgot in the mids of the commotion over the last three months.
The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with older Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people. The dinky old tavern had many tables and stools propped all about the room. People of all ages, sizes, and species sat about.
It was very hard to move through the crowds of people. I could only imagine how hard it was for Harry, being under the Invisibility Cloak. Walking over to an empty table, I sat in the middle stool, while Harry edged towards the stool at the far end, by the wall– Or at least, that's what I intended. Hermione went to go buy us drinks and I was beyond overjoyed.
As we had walked through the tavern, I spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Fred and George were facing our table while Ron and Lee were facing them. Once Fred caught my eye, he eagerly waved at me. Ron and Lee both turned and looked at who, or what, Fred was waving at. I gave a shy little wave to them and looked over to where Hermione was getting our drinks.
Hermione joined us after a moment and passed me a butterbeer while slipping one under Harry's cloak.
Oddly enough, Hermione pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. I saw my, Harry's and Ron's names at the top of the very shortlist. It seemed a long time ago that we had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed the two boys secretary and treasurer, while I was appointed Vice President.
"You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.
"Yeah, right," I chuckled. I took my first sip of the butterbeer and instantly fell in love. The fake butterbeer I had tried, in Florida, was nothing compared to the beautiful drink I had in my hands. "Whoa, this is so good."
"Have you never had butterbeer?" Hermione asked.
I shook my head, "no, we don't have any in— America."
"That's a shame," said Harry softly. "Hey, Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?"
"When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!" she hissed back. "You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?"
"No idea, ask Fred and George," said Harry.
"This is so annoying," I sighed. "Can you please take your cloak off? The effect of seeing you and not hearing you is driving in crazy."
"Huh, is that not what I said?" Hermione mumbled. Then added, "it's not like anyone is going to bother you here," I added.
"Oh yeah?" Harry whispered. "Look behind you."
To our surprise, Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the entrance of the pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by us making a beeline to the bar.
"Hmph, I heard she's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task," I ridiculed.
Harry groaned lightly underneath his cloak at the reminder of the first task that's coming up. "Don't remind me. She'll probably twist whatever I do to make it seem like I've cheated or something," groaned Harry.
Looking at Rita Skeeter, I watched her little quill and notebook float in the air, behind her as she talked to someone. The floating quill scribbles down whatever she says in the notebook.
"Not if she doesn't have any materials," I mumbled with a smirk as I stood up and made my way to her.
I heard Harry slightly call my name, along with Hermione, but they didn't yell too loud or else someone would hear Harry. Standing behind Rita Skeeter, I waited until the attention was brought to me. It didn't take long for the person she was questioning to notice me. Giving me an odd look, Rita Skeeter noticed his confusion and turned to me.
"Oh, hello. Am I in your way?" she asked politely.
"No ma'am, I was waiting for you," I answered just as politely.
"Oh," her interest peaked. Turning to the man, "Gerald, our interview is over—" and turns back to me, "are you a Hogwarts student? You look like a Hogwarts student."
"Uh– yes ma'am, I am," I nodded.
"Wow, how proper!—" her magical quill wrote as she spoke, "— And do you happen to know Harry Potter?"
From behind me, I could hear the sharp intake of breath from Hermione, who I know was watching us.
"Oh yes, he's my best friend," I innocently blinked with a soft condescending smile.
"Dear me! What's your name, darling? I'd like to interview you," she snapped and her quill came forward more.
"Uh–" I didn't expect to get interviewed, I just wanted to take her quill. "M-my name is Lottie, but–"
"Lottie what?"
"Charlotte Harring," I answered as the quill glided against the notebook.
"And tell me Charlene, is Harry a good friend? Or does he just fool around, getting special treatment from his Professors?"
I blinked in surprise, the sweet innocent girl act falling completely, "w-what? Special treat— What? No, Harry is a good friend. And my name isn't Charlene it's—"
"How long has he and his girlfriend been going out? That muggleborn one— uh, what's her name—"
"Hermione?" I questioned, and the quill quickly wrote it down. "Hey! I didn't even say anything, what is the quill—?"
"But where are you from? You're certainly not from here. Have you come to spy on Harry during his competi—"
"Stop!" I yelled as my temper rose, calling the attention of a few people around us. Although our conversation stopped, the quill continued to write. "I didn't say anything. Hermione isn't his girlfriend. I'm not a spy. And I am not from here, I'm American."
"What is an American doing at—" Rita Skeeter started. Irritation overrode any common sense and poise I previously had as I lunged forward, grabbing onto the magical quill and floating notebook before she could finish her question. "What are you—"
"This is for— writing lies about— my friends," I said as I ripped her little notebook into fourths and snapped her quill over my knee. Rita's face turned red in surprise and anger. I huffed, batting my eyes innocently and stuffed the pieces into her chest. Turning to the photographer, I pointed my finger at him, "if I hear you take a picture of me or anyone in this room, I'm smashing that camera into the ground. Understood?" The poor photographer just nodded quickly and hid his large camera.
"You will pay for this! Just you wait," the ugly writer seethed.
"I'll be waiting," I said softly before raising my voice in faux terror and hurt, "but make sure you include the fact that you have nothing better to do than torment and bully fourteen-year-olds!"
People around us gasped and a few customers stood up around her. They all muttered something about no tolerance against the torment of children and escorted her out of Three Broomsticks. With a loud sniffle, I turned around and nearly skipped over to Hermione, trying to hide the forming smile on my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ron, George, and Lee with shocked faces, whereas Fred clapped slowly and dramatically.
"How did you— Why did— What happened?" Harry was at a loss for words as I took a seat next to him.
"Brava, Little Miss Firecracker," Hermione laughed, "how are you not in Slytherin?"
"Come on, would a Slytherin have the balls to stand up to Rita Skeeter?" I retorted while taking a sip of my butterbeer.
"But what happened?" Harry asked again.
I groaned, "ugh, that stupid woman! I had every intention to steal her quill from her, but the man she was interviewing noticed me so I had to improvise. Then, on top of that, she started to ask me questions about who I was and whether or not I went to Hogwarts..."
"What'd she ask?" Hermione leaned in.
"First of all, she asked my name, but then proceeded to call me Charlene. Then tried to assume that you, Harry, get special treatments from your professors instead of trying hard in your classes. And, on top of all that, she was going to twist my words on whether you were a good friend to me and a good boyfriend to Hermione!" I threw my hands in the air.
"That's so ridiculous. I don't get special treatment–"
"Not in class, but you do," I cut Harry off. "If anyone were to pull what you pulled over for the last three years, then they would have gotten expelled a million times over."
"But they were–"
"Still. I see why everyone thinks you get special treatment," I shrugged. "If Filch and Professor Snape had it their way, you'd be flogged and hung by your ankles in the Great Hall."
"Charlotte!" Hermione gasped.
"Hush up," Harry mumbled as I laughed at their reactions.
Later that night, Hermione and I waited in the common room for Harry, who had gone off to go see where Hagrid had instructed him to go. I knew Harry went into the forest to go see the dragons, which would be used during the first task, that Hagrid knew about. It was half-past midnight which meant Harry would be coming back any second. Hermione was slowly dosing off even though I would shake her every few seconds.
Before I could shake Hermione awake, the portrait hole opened, and Harry climbed in. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire. The room was semi-dark besides the fireplace and the Creeveys' badges.
"How did the—" Before I could finish my sentence, I jumped back further into my chair. In the flames was a man's head: Sirius Black. Pointing towards the fire, Harry turned and Hermione paid attention to where I pointed.
Harry's face breaking into a huge smile and he scrambled towards the fire, crouched down by the hearth, and said, "Sirius — how're you doing?"
"Never mind me, how are you?" said Sirius seriously.
"I'm —" I cleared my throat before Harry could say he was fine. I knew he had to rant, whether it was to Sirius or not, he needed to get it off his chest. Dramatically, Harry sighed and explained how no one (but me and Hermione) believed he hadn't entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn't walk down a corridor without being sneered at — and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron's jealousy...
"...and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and its dragons, Sirius! I'm a goner," he finished desperately.
Sirius had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption, but now he said, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute— I haven't got long here. . . I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."
At Sirius's revelation, Harry leaned closer into the fire while listening to his godfather's warnings. He confessed that Karkaroff used to be a Death Eater, how Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts to watch him, there was news about how active Death Eaters were becoming— and about Voldemort, his possible plan to kill Harry. I wrinkled my nose at Sirius' talk about the Auror— more like lack thereof— but I wasn't allowed to say anything and it pissed me off beyond belief. Throughout Sirius's confession, Hermione had waved goodnight and went up to the dorm.
"Looks like a really good plan from where I'm standing," said Harry grinning bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."
"Right — these dragons," said Sirius, speaking very quickly now. "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell — dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon —"
"Yeah, I know, I just saw," said Harry.
"But you can do it alone," said Sirius. "There is a way, and a simple spell's all you need. Just —"
"Fly," I blurted. Harry turned to me and Sirius's fire head seemed to look around Harry to look at me. "I— Hello," I whispered shyly.
"Oh, uh, hello," Sirius chuckled lightly. My breath hitched at the sound of his laughter; I knew it wasn't a common occurrence.
"Sirius, this is my friend Charlotte; one of the two people who truly believe I'm innocent," Harry introduced me.
"Ah, well—"
But Harry held up a hand to silence him. I snapped my head to face in the direction where I could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind us.
"Go!" he hissed at Sirius. "Go! There's someone coming!"
I scrambled to my feet and stood next to Harry, hiding the fire because if someone saw Sirius's face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar.
Soon, there was a tiny pop! in the fire behind us and I knew Sirius had left. Moving from the fireplace, I took my seat back at the armchair while I watched the bottom of the spiral staircase to see who would be up at this time. I had a slight idea of who it might have been but I wasn't completely sure.
Dressed in his maroon paisley pyjamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry across the room and looked around.
"Who were you talking to?" he said.
"Lottie," Harry responded. I waved at him and gave him a slight smile.
"No, it sounded like a man's voice," Ron rubbed his eyes.
"What's that got to do with you?" Harry snarled. "What are you doing down here at this time of night?"
"Harry—" I scolded.
"I just wondered where you —" Ron broke off, shrugging. "Nothing. I'm going back to bed."
"Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?" Harry shouted. I knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, but at this moment Harry seemed to hate everything about Ron.
"Sorry about that," said Ron, his face reddening with anger. "Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practising for your next interview in peace."
"Really, Ron?" I sighed. "He wasn't—"
But before I could say anything more, Harry seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off, causing me to gasp.
"There you go," Harry said. "Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now if you're lucky. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Harry stomped across the room towards the stairs, leaving Ron on the steps. Ron didn't stop him or do anything. Once Harry was out of sight, Ron sighed and sat down on the steps instead of on the other chair across from me.
"I'm so tired of this," I sighed.
"Tired of what? You're the one with the best friend. Mine hates me," Ron snapped.
"Tired of you both! Acting more like children than friends. Pure idiots," I stood up. "You two are supposed to be best friends!"
"I wanted to talk to him, but he won't talk to me! How am I supposed to be friends with him if he won't talk to me?" Ron shouted at me.
"It's going to take one of you to get hurt for the other to care," I shook my head. "Friends talk to each other, Ron—"
"That's what I'm—"
"—But real friends listen."