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On the way, Hermione glanced at Snape.
"Why does the Daily Prophet suddenly want to interview me?"
Snape's footsteps didn't slow. His voice was as warm as ever, which is to say, not at all.
"You nearly tore the Ministry of Magic apart. I'd hope you have some sense of where you stand right now."
He turned his head slightly. "Become a celebrity, and you'd better get used to the flies."
Hermione took his meaning.
As they neared the interview room, the sound of an argument filtered through the half-open door. Not loud, but one voice was clearly on the edge.
Hermione lightened her steps and looked inside.
A woman in a bright green, form-fitting robe sat in a chair, jeweled glasses perched on her face. She was grinning, the kind of grin that didn't have anything good behind it.
Across from her was Harry.
His face was scarlet. He'd half-risen from his chair, practically vibrating with the effort of refuting something.
A quill floated in the air between them, scratching furiously across a roll of parchment on its own.
"Oh, don't be nervous, Mr. Potter — we're just having a friendly chat. But people are curious. Someone spotted you and Mr. Malfoy meeting secretly in the little woods near Hogsmeade, alone together for quite some time. Could you tell us about this hidden relationship between the two of you?"
Harry's face had gone from red to nearly purple.
"We didn't! It was a coincidence! I was just thanking him for saving me during the Quidditch match!"
His denial landed without weight.
Rita Skeeter's smile deepened with pure satisfaction.
She turned to the floating quill and said sweetly, "At the mention of Mr. Malfoy, Harry Potter flushed and was clearly overcome with emotion, personally admitting that he has decided to offer himself in return for Mr. Malfoy's life-saving grace..."
Harry snapped. He shoved out of his chair and stormed toward the door, and nearly ran into Hermione.
He blinked. Then: "Hermione! That woman! Did you hear that? She's just making things up!"
"She, I —" He jabbed a finger back at the room, too furious to finish a sentence.
Hermione looked at him. He was practically bristling. Her expression stayed calm.
"Don't worry. I'll handle it."
"But she—"
A small shake of her head. He didn't need to say more.
She pushed the door open and walked in.
The moment Rita saw her, she was on her feet. Her whole face lit up with manufactured warmth.
"Miss Granger! What an honor! I'm Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet, thrilled to have this exclusive with you!"
Her voice was sharp with deliberate enthusiasm.
Hermione took her in. She knew exactly what this woman was. Best in the business at catching whispers, turning shadows into scandals, all in service of selling papers.
It didn't bother her in the slightest.
If anything, she found it a little entertaining.
"Hello, Ms. Skeeter." Hermione smiled back, the picture of pleasant ignorance.
Rita sat her down and settled back into her own chair before Hermione had even finished moving. The quill was already hovering above a fresh roll of parchment, practically trembling with readiness.
"So then, Miss Granger."
Rita adjusted her glasses. Something calculated moved behind her eyes.
"Regarding your rather remarkable actions at the Ministry of Magic the other day... many people are wondering, what was going through your mind? Did you feel that the Ministry's rules were holding back someone of your... considerable gifts?"
A trap dressed as a question. The whole thing designed to get Hermione to admit she was arrogant and contemptuous.
Hermione tilted her head, as if genuinely thinking it over.
"Hmm. I was a bit angry, honestly."
She said it like she was discussing the weather.
Rita's eyes lit up. The smile stretched wider.
"Angry?" she pressed. "Because Minister Fudge refused to believe your prophecy? You seem remarkably confident in your own judgment, confident enough to take on the entire Ministry?"
Hermione looked at her. Her gaze was so open it was almost guileless.
"More or less. I believed what I was saying was the truth. They wouldn't listen, so I had to make them... listen."
The quill flew.
[SHOCKING: The Witch of Hogwarts Admits It, Arrogant, Contemptuous of Ministry Authority, and Ready to Turn Violent at the Slightest Disagreement...]
Rita read it over and nodded, satisfied. The look she turned on Hermione carried a faint, barely visible contempt.
She kept going. Every question was a carefully laid snare.
"I've heard you predicted the return of You-Know-Who. Quite a sensational claim. Where exactly did you come by this information? Or is it possible this was merely a... guess? A way to get people's attention?"
Hermione blinked.
"I just caught some glimpses of the future. I felt people should know."
The quill convulsed.
[Self-Proclaimed Seer? Miss Granger Claims Mysterious Ability to Glimpse the Future, Elaborate Lie for the Sake of Fame, or Something Worse?]
Rita's smile was radiant now. Before the interview, she'd half-expected a fight. The "Witch" had a reputation, after all, she'd been careful not to come in too hot.
But this? This was nothing.
The girl had extraordinary magic, yes. Full stop. Because beyond the magic, she was apparently helpless. One gentle push in the right direction and she just... followed. Walking right into the headlines herself.
The fearsome "Witch"?
Hah.
Putty in her hands.
Rita decided there was no need to keep feeling around the edges. Time to bring out the real weapon.
She pivoted, her voice carrying a barely perceptible edge of excitement.
"Miss Granger, before Madam Umbridge was taken into Ministry custody, she made a public accusation against you."
Rita let the pause hang deliberately, watching Hermione's face.
"She accused you of colluding with You-Know-Who. Is there anything you'd like to say in response?"
She leaned forward. Eyes sharp. Waiting for the panic, the furious denial, anything she could reshape into a story about a guilty conscience exposed and a temper poorly concealed.
Outside the door, Harry's heart had climbed into his throat. His palms were damp.
"It's over. Hermione actually fell into her trap..."
Both he and Ron had caught it, Hermione's answers had stumbled right into one obvious pit after another, handing Rita exactly what she wanted.
Only Snape wore a strange expression.
He knew Granger rather better than those two did.
That girl would not be played this easily. It simply wasn't in her nature.
In fact, Snape was beginning to think the person who ought to be worried right now was the notorious journalist sitting inside that room.
He wasn't wrong.
Hermione's reaction was not what anyone expected.
No anger at the slander. No rush to defend herself.
Instead, she eased back against the chair. A smile settled at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes rested on Rita with perfect, unruffled calm.
"Colluding?"
She repeated the word, turning it over like something she found mildly amusing.
"Ms. Skeeter." Her voice was light. Almost kind. "Your imagination really is terribly small, isn't it."
➤ Next: Hermione: I'm a Transmigrator, Voldemort is My Underling
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