HP Magic Biography

In fact, Hogwarts didn't give them a chance to fight. This is the way to potions, so the appearance of Professor Snape is naturally inevitable.

As the dean of Slytherin House, it is naturally impossible for Professor Severus Snape to favor them, especially with the participation of Fan Lin.

Said that Harry bullied others, and then used Fan Lin's experience to ridicule Fan Lin very closely?

To be honest, Fan Lin was basically immune to such an attack.

But Harry was not like this, he was half-dead with anger, he didn't want to rely on Fan Lin all the time, but among the four of them...

Maybe Hermione is right, if the radiance is blocked, no matter who it is, there will be some bad associations.

However, Fan Lin is destined not to notice this.

In his current view, Malfoy's finding faults is simply an easy and enjoyable thing, so naturally, he won't take it to heart...

As for the Academy Cup, probably only Sir Nicholas still cares about it now.

Nick as the ghost is so boring that he has to spend his energy on scattered, wide-ranging attention, which doesn't help.

The final result of the incident was that Professor Snape deducted one hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor, fifty points for Harry, and one hundred points for Van Lin...

However, these are just a week's deduction, and Fred and George are even more than that.

Everyone is used to it.

Classes have started.

Fan Lin buried his thoughts in the book, and he has been looking for some methods.

Potions, alchemy, or spells.

Of course, there is apparition, which is very critical, otherwise, how he can get out of Tom Riddle's graveyard will be a problem.

Perhaps, he could borrow Fawkes from Dumbledore.

However, he had to negotiate with Dumbledore, and those damned Death Eaters, Fan Lin had to find a way to fight.

Voldemort could still be handed over to Harry, but what about Trevor?

There is also fake Moody, maybe he can play some tricks on fake Moody.

It's hard, though, he's been to Moody's office, the guy is too cautious, and his office is full of magic...

Perhaps, he should really ask Dumbledore for help and have a good exchange...

Let's talk about Harry again. During this period of time, Harry is destined to have an uneasy stage.

Harry sat staring at Malfoy, imagining all the horrors he was about to encounter.

If only he could cast the Animagus spell.

He would have turned Malfoy into that spider, on all fours, struggling and writhing.

Antidote! Snape looked around, his cold black eyes gleaming uncomfortably. You should all have prepared the secret recipe. I hope you brew it carefully, and we will choose someone to try it later.

Snape met Harry's eyes, and Harry knew what was waiting for him. Snape wanted to poison him. Harry imagined him raising the cauldron, rushing to the front of the room, and pouring it over Snape's greasy head.

A knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts.

It's Colin. He squeezed into the classroom, smiled at Harry, and walked towards Malfoy, who was standing at the front of the room.

Is something wrong? Snape asked coldly.

Master, I'm going to take Harry Potter upstairs.

Snape stared at Colin with his hooked nose down, his smile fading away.

Potter still has half an hour to brew the potion, Snape said coldly. He'll go upstairs after class.

Colin blushed.

Old—teacher, it was Mr. Bagmon who was looking for him, he said nervously. All the contestants have to go, I think they want to take pictures...

If Harry could stop Colin from saying those last words, Harry would have given him everything they had. He glanced occasionally at Ron, but Ron was staring intently at the ceiling.

Don't worry. Fan Lin said in a low voice.

Snape turned his head and glared at Fan Lin. Immediately, Fan Lin didn't dare to compete in Dobby.

All right, all right, Snape interrupted. Stay here, Potter. I want your antidote.

Teacher—he had to take everything, Colin whispered. All the contestants—

Enough! Snape cried. Potter, grab your schoolbag and don't let me see you again.

Potter swung his bag over his shoulder, stood up and headed for the door.

As he walked across the Slytherin desks, lights from Potter Stinks shot him from all directions.

Harry almost flinched, that feeling of anger...

As soon as Harry closed the door, Colin started talking, That's amazing, isn't it Harry? You're a contestant!

Yeah, it's really amazing, said Harry heavily.

They walked up the stairs to the entrance hall. Colin, why do they want pictures?

I think it's for the Daily Prophet.

Oh. Harry sulked. Do we really need more public attention?

Good luck! Colin said goodbye to him in the right room, and Harry knocked on the door and walked in.

This classroom is quite small, with a large space in the middle of most of the back. The three of them were already sitting there. A long velvet covered the blackboard, and five chairs were placed behind the velvet-covered desk.

Luther Bagmon sat on one of them, talking to a wizard wearing a purple shirt. Harry had never seen that wizard before.

Viktor Krum stayed in the corner with a gloomy expression as usual, not talking to anyone.

Cedric and Fleur were chatting. Harry had never seen Fleur so happy. She tosses her head from time to time so as to attract attention with her hair.

A man with a big belly was holding up a big black camera that was emitting light smoke, and he was rubbing her eyes.

Bagmon suddenly recognized Harry, stood up quickly, and jumped forward, Ha, here he comes!

Player number four! Come in, Harry, come in, nothing to be afraid of, just a wand measuring ceremony, the other judges will be here soon.

Wand measurement? Harry nervously repeated. We must check to make sure that your wands are all right and that there is nothing wrong with them.

Know that they are vital tools for you to accomplish the tasks before you. said Bagmon, and then with Dumbledore. We also have to take a picture. This is Rita.. Skeeter. ' he added, gesturing to the purple-robed wizard.

She wrote a little story about the contest for the Daily Prophet.

It's really an honor. Rita Skeeter kept her eyes on Harry.

Her hair, carefully combed into stiff curls, looked odd compared to her large jaw. She wore a pair of jeweled glasses. The nails are two inches long except for the deep red polish. Fat hands clutched her crocodile bag.

Before we start, I wonder if I could have a word with Harry? she asked Bagmon, still staring at Harry. The youngest player, you know...to add some color.

Of course! said Bagmond. Harry has no objection?

This— Harry hesitated.

Darling, Rita Skeeter's scarlet hand had seized Harry's arm in a blink of an eye - with incredible strength - and carried him out of the room again. She opened the door of the nearest room.

We don't want to be in such a noisy place, she said. Let me see, ah, yes, this place is not bad, warm and comfortable.

But it's the broom closet. Harry glared at her.

Come on, honey, it's all right, Rita Skeeter called again.

She herself sat on an upside-down basket, wobbly.

She shoved Harry into the closet, closed the door, and they were plunged into darkness.

Look now...

She opened the crocodile bag, pulled out a small handful of candles, lit them with a flick of her hand, and held them in mid-air so they could see what they were doing.

Harry, do you mind if I use a shorthand pen? Then I can talk to you normally.

For what?

She smiled even more.

Harry counted that she had three gold teeth. She reached into the purse again, and produced a green quill, and a roll of parchment, which she spread out on a wooden box. In fact, the wooden box is Mrs. Scott's multifunctional magic decontamination device.

She put the nib in her mouth, sucked it like something delicious, and set it upright on the parchment.

It stood firmly on it, trembling slightly.

Testing, my name is Rita Skeeter, and I'm a reporter for the Daily Prophet.

Harry looked down at the quill.

As soon as Rita Skeeter opened her mouth, the pen began to slide across the parchment, writing: Charming Rita Skeeter, 43 years old, blonde, her merciless pen has pierced many exaggerated resignation.

Excellent, Rita Skeeter tore off the end of the parchment, crumpled it up and stuffed it into the bag.

She moved closer to Harry and asked, So, Harry, what made you decide to take part in the Triwizard Tournament?

This— Harry came again. He was fascinated by that pen. Although he didn't say anything, the pen ran back and forth across the parchment, and then he came across a sentence: An ugly scar, a reminder of a tragic past. It ruined Harry Potter's charming face, his eyes...

Harry, leave it alone, Rita Skeeter said firmly. Harry looked at her reluctantly.

Then why did you make up your mind to sign up for this competition?

I didn't, said Harry. I don't know how my name got into the burning goblet, I didn't put it there.

Rita Skeeter raised her dark and thick eyebrows, Say it, Harry, there's no need to worry about getting into trouble, we both know you shouldn't sign up at all. But don't worry, our readers I like youthful and rebellious boys.

But I didn't sign up, Harry repeated, I don't know who—

How do you feel about the task ahead? Rita Skeeter asked. Excited? Nervous?

I haven't really given it much thought... yes, I think it's nervousness. Harry was feeling tense and uncomfortable as he said this.

There have been player deaths in the past, right? Rita Skeeter said briskly, Have you ever thought about it?

Well, they said this year would be safer.

The quill quickly wrote on the parchment, back and forth like ice skating.

Of course, you have faced death, haven't you? Rita Skeeter watched him closely. How do you think it affects you?

Harry was a little out of step, trying to say something, but Rita didn't give him much of a chance.

Do you think past trauma has made you more keen to improve yourself? Live up to your reputation? Do you think you were tempted to sign up for the Triple Witching this time around because...

I didn't sign up. Hart was irritated.

Do you remember your parents? Rita Skeeter spoke above his head.

do not remember.

What do you think they'll think if they know you're going to the Triwizards? Proud of you? Worried about you? Angry?

This time Harry was really bored. How did he know what his parents would think, if they were still alive. Sensing her concerned gaze, he frowned, avoided her gaze, and read the sentence he had just written with the pen: When our conversation turned to his parents, whom he had no impression of, his surprisingly green His eyes watered, and the ghosts of the past shone in his eyes.

There are no tears in my eyes, and, besides, no ghosts of the past! Harry exclaimed.

Before Rita Skeeter had time to say anything, the closet door was pulled open.

Harry looked out. It was too bright outside, and he blinked. Dumbledore stood there, looking down at the two men huddled together in the closet.

Dumbledore! Rita Skeeter exclaimed happily.

Harry noticed that her pen and parchment had suddenly disappeared from the Magic Stain Remover. Her crooked fingers frantically closed the crocodile bag.

How are you? she asked, standing up, offering Dumbledore a huge hand.

I believe you read the report I wrote this summer about the International Wizarding Association meeting.

It's sickeningly good, said Dumbledore, his eyes sparkling. I especially like it when you write me as a trite vagrant.

Rita Skeeter was not embarrassed at all, I think some of your ideas are outdated, Dumbledore, there are so many wizards on the street...

I'd be happy to hear the reasoning behind your disrespectful comments. Dumbledore bowed politely and said with a smile, but I'm afraid the matter will be discussed later. The wand measuring ceremony is about to begin. If one of the Players are hidden in broom closets, so it won't work.

Harry was happy to get rid of Rita Skeeter.

He hurried back to the classroom. The other players were sitting on the chairs near the door. He quickly sat down next to Cedric, and saw a table covered with velvet cloth, where four referees were sitting: Professor Karkaroff, Mrs. Maxim, and Batty. Mr. Crouch and Luther Bagmond.

Rita Skeeter chose a seat and sat down.

Harry saw her pull the parchment out of her bag again, lay it flat on her lap, suck the nib of her pen, and put it back on the parchment.

An old man who was very familiar to everyone stood in front of them, together with Dumbledore.

At least that's how it is in the UK.