Skeeter, You've Picked a Fight with the Wrong People

"All right, let's see what strange rubbish this unscrupulous reporter has written now!"

At breakfast, Rowle received a copy of Witch Weekly and an advance edition of the Daily Prophet from Mr Collins.

A letter came with them, saying that some of the contents were rather unkind to Clara and that Muggle girl, Granger.

He had already found ways to suppress a few articles, but interest in the Triwizard Tournament kept mounting, and the media were desperate to dig up even the smallest scrap and sensationalize it. There was only so much he could stop, so he could only send Clara and Granger copies in advance to prepare them.

"Right, right. 'Undercurrents Behind the Ball: The Girls Who Bewitched the Champions.'" Rowle grew angrier as he read. "She says you gave Cedric Amortentia? ...Oh, a Troll's smelly socks, it would make more sense if he'd given it to you... And Granger, an ambitious Muggle girl juggling Potter and Krum, and entangled with Potter's best mate Weasley too... This is... utter rubbish! ...Wait, you and Cedric went on a date in the garden after the ball that night? No wonder I couldn't find you... Oh my God, there are pictures too? You really did go on a date?!"

Clara sighed and shook her head, clearly a little exasperated at how quickly her friend's attention had shifted. She took the newspaper from Rowle and examined the accompanying photographs farther in.

Just as she had expected, they had all been taken from a low angle looking up. In the photo of her and Cedric in the garden, a closer look even revealed a few tufts of weeds.

There definitely hadn't been anyone in that spot at the time, or Professor Snape couldn't have failed to notice them.

Taken together with the rumors about Rita Skeeter over the years-how she could always reveal exclusive secrets, always knew every celebrity's private affairs, and always had confidential material no one else could get.

Clara's suspicion had been confirmed once again.

She ought to find time to talk to Hermione about how to deal with this unregistered Animagus, even though she still didn't know what creature Skeeter turned into.

"It wasn't a date," Clara said softly, answering the question that had so shocked Rowle. "It was too stuffy in the ballroom, so Cedric just came with me to get some air in the garden. We ran into Professor Snape, too."

Rowle stared at her, then grew even angrier. He slapped the newspaper down on the table, drawing glances from several nearby Hufflepuffs. "That's going too far! Taking things out of context is bad enough, but she's making up ridiculous rumors too! Amortentia? Why doesn't she just say you bewitched all of Hogwarts!"

"It's not as if you don't know that's what she does best," Clara said coolly.

People were always willing to believe dark speculation, but unwilling to believe in the innocent, openhearted affection and friendship between boys and girls.

What Skeeter did best was interpret everything beautiful with the most vicious thoughts.

She looked toward the Gryffindor table and saw Hermione sitting stiffly at it in the distance.

The girl was clutching an identical copy of the Daily Prophet, her back rigid and her face pale. Her fingertips tightened around the paper; clearly, the malicious words had chilled her to the bone too.

Harry and Ron were gathered around her. Harry looked furious and kept speaking in a low voice, seemingly indignant on Hermione's behalf.

Ron's expression was complicated as he looked at the words, embarrassed and guilty, yet at a loss for what to do.

Clara looked away, a trace of coldness flashing in her eyes.

"Don't be angry, Rowle." She laid a hand on her agitated friend's wrist, her voice gentle but assured. "Arguing won't help, and neither will getting angry."

"Then what do we do? Just let her write whatever she likes?" Rowle demanded indignantly.

"Of course not." Clara stood up, and the plates on the table were quickly cleaned with Scourgify. "I'm done eating. I have something to take care of, so I'm going out for a bit."

She got up and walked over to the Gryffindor table, stopping in front of Hermione and the others and tapping lightly on the tabletop.

"Hermione, can we talk alone for a moment?"

Hermione looked up sharply and met Clara's gentle gaze. Her rigid back relaxed for an instant. She immediately let go of the newspaper, nodded quickly, and rose to follow Clara out of the noisy Great Hall.

Instead of going to the crowded corridors, they made their way to a quiet terrace outside the castle. Clara carefully checked the area and, after making sure there were no suspicious animals nearby, took out a quill and wrote "Animagus" on the newspaper.

"Oh, right, that makes everything fit." Hermione understood at once and clapped her hands. "Then all we need to do next is figure out what she is."

Clara nodded.

"We can lie in wait," Clara went on. "There will be plenty more public events for the Triwizard Tournament: Champion interviews, preparations for the Second Task.

"She's bound to appear in animal form again, looking for a chance to eavesdrop and take photos. We just need to keep a closer watch, especially for unfamiliar animals small enough to go unnoticed around the Champions. Maybe a bird? Or a rat? It could be an insect too."

Hermione took a deep breath. The dejection the rumors had caused vanished completely, replaced by a fighting spirit.

"I'll go to the library and look up records on Animagi, and unofficial histories too. Someone must have discovered something. I also need to ask Professor McGonagall whether Animagi can turn into the same species." Hermione quickly began making plans. "We also need to warn Harry and Krum to watch out for little animals that suddenly turn up around them. And Cedric too."

"No problem. But be careful, and whatever you do, don't give it away in front of her," Clara cautioned. "We only have one chance to catch her. If she realizes we've uncovered her secret, we'll never get anything on her again."

"Understood." Hermione folded the newspaper and tucked it into her robe pocket.

The two exchanged a look, reaching an understanding.

"We should head back. Breakfast is almost over." Clara looked toward the Entrance Hall, already able to hear the clatter of cutlery from the Great Hall.

Hermione nodded, and the two turned and walked side by side back into the castle. The dejection on their faces had been replaced by a fighting spirit.

"Hey, Albert really is... amazing," Ron said timidly to Harry as he watched Hermione's mood suddenly brighten.

Harry nodded and looked over at the Hufflepuff table. He caught Clara's eye as she walked back to her seat and mouthed a thank-you.

"She really is impressive, in every way."

Cedric was sitting in Clara's former seat, evidently summoned there by Rowle, and was looking down at the newspaper.

When he looked up and saw Clara, he got up and gave her seat back, then sat in an empty place beside her.

"I'll write another letter to the Daily Prophet in my capacity as a Champion. I'll clear things up at my next interview too. Skeeter can't be the only unscrupulous reporter at Witch Weekly."

Cedric looked serious. This was probably the best and most direct approach he could think of.

Rowle immediately looked up, his eyes lighting up. He was about to agree when Clara gently shook her head.

"Not yet. Writing last time didn't do much good. Our articles obviously can't shut Skeeter up." She looked up at Cedric, her tone light, as if she weren't the one being maligned by the rumors. "If you come forward to clear things up now, you'll only be playing into her hands. She could write a whole new article. I've even thought of the headline: 'Hufflepuff Champion Flies into a Rage for His Beauty,' or something like that..."

Cedric was taken aback for a moment, then understood what she meant. A trace of concern crossed his eyes. "But it isn't fair to you to let those lies spread everywhere."

"I won't let them." A faint sharpness flashed in Clara's eyes. She didn't elaborate on the secret of the Animagus, merely smiled. "Give me a little time. There's a better way than publishing a letter to set things straight."

Cedric looked at her assured expression and didn't press the matter. He knew Clara: once she had made up her mind, she wasn't easily swayed by others.

"All right." He nodded. "But if things get tricky, you have to tell me. I'll always be on your side."

With that, he glanced toward the nearby Gryffindor table, his gaze settling on Hermione. "That includes Granger too. Those words were even worse for her."

Compared with Krum and Potter, two Champions who attracted attention wherever they went, he was in a slightly safer position. At least he didn't have any so-called fanatical admirers, and no one would send Clara Howlers.

As he finished speaking, wings fluttered in the Owlery at the top of the Great Hall, and another batch of newspaper parcels descended on the tables.

The official edition of the Daily Prophet had arrived at Hogwarts.

The whispers quietly grew a little louder.

Rowle irritably pushed around the roast potatoes left on his plate. "I really don't understand it. Nothing happened, yet you have to put up with all this gossip for no reason. That bloody awful woman had better not let me catch her. I'll hit her every time I see her."

Over the rest of the Christmas holidays, apart from the mountains of homework, life was fairly happy overall.

For Clara, however, the schoolwork wasn't much of a challenge. After all, she had already done the questions once before. At worst, her hand ached from writing; she hardly had to think.

Things were much the same for Cedric.

After the Yule Ball, the thin barrier between them seemed to fade a little more.

They often arranged to read up on resurrection spells at a long table by a library window, or take slow walks along the shore of the Black Lake at dusk.

The wind blew across the lake's rippling surface, and the two could spend a long time together in quiet, but neither took the initiative to speak openly about it.

To everyone else, though, whether they spoke openly or not hardly made a difference anymore.

(Yes, Rowle and Ernie, that means you two. Oh, and Harry. Except most of Harry's attention was still firmly occupied by a whole pile of damned Christmas homework, leaving him little time for gossip.)

Professor Snape alone clearly had no intention of letting anyone off.

During the two short weeks of Christmas holiday, he managed to add six extra training sessions. By the end, Harry was so angry he wanted to dump his entire cauldron full of homework over Snape's head.

Time slipped by until early February.

At the end of their final training session, Professor Snape put away the dummy and casually dropped a remark.

"Training sessions will be suspended from next week."

A spark of relief and excitement had just sprung up in Harry's heart, but before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the rest came hard on its heels.

"I think the two Champions should take a good look at what the Second Task involves, shouldn't they? Especially you, Mr Potter."

Harry's shoulders sagged. All his joy was extinguished in an instant, and he picked up his schoolbag dejectedly.

Clara stood to one side, her fingertips tightening slightly without her noticing.

The Second Task.

Just hearing those two words made her heart sink heavily.

Ever since the Yule Ball, whenever she and Cedric spent time together, they had always avoided the subject by unspoken agreement.

On their walks, they talked about Quidditch; in the library, they talked about spells, the endless rumors in the newspapers, and how many of Mrs Albert's snacks Banban had stolen again.

The one thing they never touched on was the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. It seemed to have become a taboo between them.

She clearly remembered the answer from the previous timeline: in the Second Task, each Champion had to rescue the treasure they cherished most, sunk to the bottom of the Black Lake.

Cedric's treasure was Cho Chang.

Every time Clara thought of it, an indescribable ache and uncertainty spread through her heart.

She feared the arrival of the truth, feared that when the mystery of the Black Lake was revealed, everything would return to its original, predetermined course.

She feared that the tenderness beside the fountain on the night of the ball and the pleasure of their walks by the lake were merely temporary interludes brought about by the timeline.

If, when that day came, the person trapped underwater waiting to be rescued was still Cho Chang, then what did everything happening now amount to?