Vol 2 Chapter 553: Interview

In fact, Hogwarts did not 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 College, Professor Severus Snape could not be biased towards them, especially when Fanlin was involved.
Said Harry bullied others, and then used Fanlin's experience to ridicule Fanlin very closely?
To be honest, Fanlin is basically immune to such an attack.
But Harry is not like this, he is half dead, he doesn't want to always rely on Fanlin, but among the four of them...
Maybe Hermione was right. If the light is covered, no matter who it is, there will be some bad associations.
However, this was destined to be undetected by Fanlin.
In his view now, Malfoy finding faults is simply a lighthearted and pleasant thing. Naturally, he would not take it to heart...
As for the Academy Cup, probably only Sir Nicholas still cares.
As a ghost, Nick is too boring. He must disperse his energy and pay attention to it, although it is of no use.
The final result of the incident was that Professor Snape gave Gryffindor a deduction, one hundred and fifty points, Harry fifty, Fanlin one hundred...
However, this is a one-week deduction, and Fred and George are more than this.
Everyone is used to it.
Class begins.
Fanlin buried his thoughts in the book, and he was always looking for some methods.
Potions, alchemy, or spells.
Of course, there is also Apparition, which is very important, otherwise, how he gets out of Tom Riddle's grave will be a problem.
Perhaps he could borrow Fox from Dumbledore.
However, that had to negotiate with Dumbledore, and those Death Eaters, Fanlin had to find a way to fight.
Voldemort could still be handed to Harry, but what about Tefrey?
There is also fake Moody, maybe he can do some tricks on fake Moody.
However, it is difficult. He has been to Moody's office. This 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. This period of time is destined to be a period of unrest for Harry.
Harry sat there staring at Malfoy, imagining the horrors he would encounter.
If only he could cast Animagus spell.
He will definitely turn Malfoy into that spider, with his feet upright, struggling and twisting.
"Antidote!" Snape looked around at everyone, his cold black eyes gleaming unpleasantly. "You should all have the secret recipe ready. I hope you make it carefully, and then we will choose someone to try."
Snape and Harry looked at each other, and Harry knew what was waiting for him. Snape wanted to poison him. Harry imagined him raising the big steam boiler, rushing to the front of the classroom, and pouring on Snape's greasy head.
The 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 classroom.
"Is there something?" Snape asked coldly.
"Teacher, I want to take Harry Potter upstairs."
Snape hooked his nose down and stared at Colin, his smile gradually disappearing.
"Potter has to brew the potion for half an hour," Snape said coldly. "He will go upstairs when class is over."
Colin blushed.
"Old—teacher, Mr. Bagmon looked for him," he said nervously, "all the players have to go, I think they want to take pictures..."
If Harry could prevent Colin from saying these last words, Harry would really give him everything they had. He glanced at Ron occasionally, but Ron was staring at the ceiling intently.
"Don't worry." Fanlin said quietly.
Snape looked back at Fanlin, and immediately, Fanlin didn't dare to be in Dobby.
"Okay, okay," Snape interrupted. "Potter, leave things here, I hope your antidote."
"Teacher--he must take everything away." Colin whispered, "All the players--"
"Enough!" Snape called. "Potter, take your schoolbag and don't let me see you again."
Potter shook the bag on his shoulder, got up and walked towards the door.
As he walked across Slytherin's desk, the light from "Potter's stench" shot him from all directions.
Harry almost got angry, that feeling of anger...
As soon as Harry closed the door, Colin began to speak, "It's amazing, isn't Harry? You are a player!"
"Yeah, it's really amazing." Harry said gravely.
They walked along the stairs to the entrance hall. "Colin, why do they want photos?"
"I think it's for the Daily Prophet."
"Oh." Harry glum, "Do we really need more public attention?"
"Good luck!" When Colin went to the room on the right to bid him farewell, Harry knocked on the door and walked in.
This classroom is quite small, and most of it has a large space in the middle. The three of them have been sitting there long ago. A piece of long velvet covers the blackboard, and behind the velvet-covered desk are five chairs.
Neutrogena Bagmon sat on one of them, talking to a wizard in purple and red. Harry had never seen that wizard before.
Victor Krum stayed in the corner with a melancholy expression as usual, not talking to anyone.
Cedric and Fleur are chatting. Harry had never seen Fleur so happy. She shook her head from time to time, so that she could attract attention with her hair.
A man with a big belly is holding a camera that is faintly smoking far away, fattening her with the corner of his eye.
Bagmon suddenly recognized Harry, and quickly stood up and jumped forward, "Ha, he is coming!
Contestant number four! Come in, Harry, come in, nothing to be afraid of, just a wand measuring ceremony, and the other judges will be here soon. "
"Wand measurement?" Harry repeated, nervous. "We must check to make sure that your wands are all in order and there is nothing wrong with it.
You know, they are important tools for you to complete the tasks you face. Said Bagmon, "and then with Dumbledore. We have to take a picture. This is Rita Skeeter. "He added, and made a gesture to the purple-robed wizard.
"She wrote a small report about the contest for the Daily Prophet."
"This is really an honor." Rita Skeeter kept her eyes on Harry.
Her hair was carefully combed into stiff curls, which looked strange compared to her big chin. She wears glasses with jewels. The nails are two inches long, except for the crimson nail polish. Her fat hand clutched her crocodile leather bag tightly.
"Before we start, I wonder if I can talk to Harry a few words?" she asked Bagmont, but still stared at Harry. "The youngest player, you know... Add some color."
"Of course!" Bagmon said. "Harry doesn't object to it?"
"This—" Harry hesitated.
My dear," Blink of an eye, Rita Skeeter's scarlet hand had grabbed Harry's arm-her strength was amazing-and brought him out of the room again. She opened the nearest door.
"We don't want to stay in such a noisy place." She said, "Let me see, ah, yes, it's not bad, warm and comfortable."
"But this is the closet with the broom." Harry stared at her.
"Come on, dear, it's okay," Rita Skeeter called again.
She sat on an upside-down basket by herself, staggering.
She pushed Harry into the closet, closed the door, and they were immersed in darkness.
"Look now..."
She opened the crocodile leather bag, pulled out a small handful of candles, lit them with a light wave of her hand, and stayed in mid-air, so that they could clearly see their work. "
"Harry, don't you mind if I use a shorthand pen? Then I can talk to you normally and freely."
"What is it for?"
She smiled happily.
Harry counted that she had three golden teeth. She reached into her purse again and took out a green quill pen and a roll of parchment. She spread the parchment on a wooden box. The solid wood box is Mrs. Scott's multifunctional magic decontamination device.
She put the nib into her mouth, sucked it like something delicious, and put it upright on the parchment.
It stood firmly on it, trembling slightly.
"Testing, my name is Rita Skeeter and I am a reporter for the Daily Prophet."
Harry looked down at the quill.
Rita Skeeter only spoke, and the pen began to slide on the parchment, writing: "Charming Rita Skeeter, 43 years old, blonde, her relentless pen has pierced a lot of exaggerations. The reputation of the speech."
"Excellent," Rita Skeeter tore off the end of the parchment, crumpled it up and stuffed it into the bag.
She approached Harry and asked, "So, Harry, what made you determined to participate in the Three Witches Tournament?"
"This—" Harry came again. He was attracted by the pen. Although he didn't say anything, the pen went back and forth on the parchment, and then he saw a sentence: An ugly scar is a memento of a tragic past. It ruined Harry Potter's charming face, his eyes...
"Harry, leave it alone," Rita Skeeter was determined. Harry looked at her reluctantly.
"Then, why are you determined to sign up for this competition?"
"I didn't." Harry said. "I don't know how my name got into the burning goblet. I didn't put it."
Rita Skeeter raised her black and thick eyebrows, "Go ahead, Harry, there is no need to worry about getting into trouble. We all know that you shouldn't sign up at all. But don't worry, our readers. Like a youthful and rebellious kid."
"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 thought about it... yes, I think it's nervous." Harry felt nervous and uncomfortable when he said this.
"There have been player deaths in the past, right?" Rita Skeeter said briskly. "Have you ever thought about it?"
"Uh, they said it will be safer this year."
The quill quickly wrote on the parchment, like skating back and forth.
"Of course, you have faced death directly, haven't you?" Rita Skeeter watched him closely. "What do you think of its impact on you?"
Harry couldn't catch up to the rhythm. He wanted to say something, but Rita didn't give him much chance.
"Do you think that past traumas have made you more enthusiastic about improving yourself? Live up to your reputation? Do you think you were tempted to sign up for the Three Witches Tournament this time probably because..."
"I didn't sign up." Hart was exasperated.
"Do you remember your parents?" Rita Skeeter said over his head.
"do not remember."
"What do you think they would think if they knew you were going to participate in the Three Witches Tournament? Are you proud of you? Worried about you? Or angry?"
Harry was really annoying this time. How did he know what his parents would think, if they were still alive. He was aware of her concerned gaze, frowned, avoided her gaze, and read the sentence just written by the pen: "When our topic turned to his parents who had no impressions, he was so green His eyes were filled with water, and his eyes flashed with ghosts from the past."
"There are no tears in my eyes, and there are no ghosts of the past!" Harry shouted.
Before Rita Skeeter had time to say anything, the door of the closet was opened.
Harry looked out. The light outside was too strong, and he blinked. Dumbledore stood there, looking down at the two people crowded in the closet.
"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter cried happily.
Harry noticed that her pen and parchment paper suddenly disappeared from the magic decontamination device. Her crooked fingers hurriedly buttoned the alligator bag.
"How are you?" she asked, standing up and reaching out to Dumbledore with a big, thick hand.
"I believe you read the report about the International Wizarding Association meeting I wrote this summer."
"It's disgusting," Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, "I especially like you writing me as a stale vagrant."
Rita Skeeter was not embarrassed at all, "I think some of your ideas are out of date~EbookFREE.me~Dumbledore, so many wizards on the street..."
"I would love to hear the reasoning behind your rude comments." Dumbledore bowed politely and said with a smile, "but I'm afraid this question will be discussed later, and the wand measurement ceremony will begin. If one of them The player is hidden in the closet with the broom, but it won't be opened."
Harry was very happy to get rid of Rita Skeeter.
He hurried back to the classroom. The other players sat on the chair by the door. He quickly sat down next to Cedric and saw the table covered with velvet cloth. Four referees were sitting there: Professor Karkaroff, Mrs. Maxim, and Batty. Mr. Crouch and Neutrogena Bagmon.
Rita Skeeter took a seat.
Harry saw her pull the parchment from her bag again, spread it flat on her knees, sucked on the nib, and put it on the parchment again.
An old man who made everyone very familiar stood in front of them, with Dumbledore.
At least in the UK.