.
"I know I'm productive and all, but they can't just foist all of this stuff on me. I'm a busy man for magic's sake," grumbled Quinn, making his way to the dungeons.
He had just exited charms class when McGonagall cornered him out of the classroom and handed him a task.
"It's my only free break. I'm bloody booked for the rest of the day," he said, taking a turn. He could finally see his destination.
However, when he had been within an earshot of the room, he heard a voice yelling out in a tone that was as unpleasant as nails scratching against a chalkboard.
"Antidotes! You should all have prepared your recipes by now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will choose someone that will try one..."
Quinn peeked inside from the classroom's door. Snape was looking over his class. His students looked visibly uncomfortable.
'Aha... So that's how everyone looks in Snape's class, huh,' thought Quinn, feeling the vibe oozing out of the room. Quinn never felt it while in class as he was busy brewing potions and doing his homework.
He stood there and enjoyed everyone looking super uncomfortable for a few more seconds before knocking on the dungeon door, shattering the painful silence.
He entered the classroom and made his way to Snape's desk.
"Yes, Mr. West?" said Snape curtly.
"Good afternoon, Professor. I'm supposed to take Mr. Potter upstairs," said Quinn, smiling, as he turned his face towards the class. Harry was looking at him, with his sister Ivy and Hermione sitting behind him.
He turned back to look up at Snape, who stared down at him. There was no joy on his face or any delight in his eyes. The man looked like he had just come out of Azkaban.
"Potter has another hour of potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will accompany you when this class is finished."
"I am aware of that, sir, but he is needed upstairs," replied Quinn, matching eyes with Potion master, "All the champions are being summoned up to take photographs for the press release. From what I have been made aware of, Mr. Bagman and Mr. Couch along with the Daily Prophet team, have already arrived, so I think it's of priority that Mr. Potter gets up there."
Harry, on his seat, looked both glad and uncomfortable. He was more than happy to exit the Potion class, but he wished Quinn wouldn't have told them details. He glanced to his right to look at Ron, who was sitting with Dean Thomas.
"Very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here. I want you back down here later to test your antidote."
"Actually, Mr. Potter, bring your things along," interjected Quinn, directly addressing Harry. "They want to see you in your school attire, book bag and everything."
"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter- take your bag and get out of my sight!"
Quinn ignored Snape's tone and words and moved back to the door. He saw Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door.
"Now that wasn't pleasant, was it, Harry," chuckled Quinn when they were out of earshot of the classroom. "His mood was worse than usual. Did something happen?"
"... I don't know," replied Harry, looking down at the floor as he walked. "That git is always in a bad mood... ugh, why does he have to be so nasty to everyone."
"Hmm... I have no idea," answered Quinn. No way Quinn was going to explain to him that Snape pinned after his mother.
Harry looked up from the ground and turned to glance at Quinn. Out of all the students he had seen interact with Snape, Quinn was the only one who looked comfortable doing so. Other than him, no one wanted to have a prolonged conversation with Snape.
His eyes caught the badge on Quinn's robe as it turned from Krum's name to his.
"You made those."
"Hmm?" Quinn glanced at Harry and then followed his eyes to the badge on his lapel. "That I did. You like them?"
"Yeah, I saw the A.I.D. mark on the back," said Harry, putting his hand into his pocket, feeling his own badge. He looked up and then asked what he wanted to know, "But Malfoy has been distributing these, why?"
"Mr. Malfoy was the one who came up with the idea," answered Quinn, "I suggested some changes and produced them. I offered to take on the distribution, but he wanted to do it on his own. I guess he is doing fine, given that almost all students have a badge."
"Did Malfoy really come up with this?"
Quinn chuckled in reply, "I won't lie, Harry. Mr. Malfoy had come in with different motivations, but he had this badge in hand when he left, so we can say that all's well that ends well."
"If you say so," said Harry heavily as they climbed up the stairs to the ground floor. "What do they want photos for again?"
"The information about the Triwizard Tournament is going to be published in the papers and magazines. You and the other champions are going to be interviewed and photographed for the articles."
"Great," said Harry dully. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."
"Harry, you're already in the tournament. Lamenting your luck and feeling down about it isn't going to do you any good. You're already chosen as a champion, so I would personally suggest that you own it. I'm sure someone must've already told you about this, but you're now representing Hogwarts. To see one of our champions looking down and unenthusiastic all the damn time isn't something you want to show to outsiders... They will look down on you and take advantage of you. I'm assuming you don't want that. If I was in your place, I wouldn't want that."
"Do you? Would you want to be in my place?" asked Harry, staring at the guy who scored the highest in the entire school, who was undefeated in dueling, who was a Prefect, who owned his own unique thing inside Hogwarts and had saved him from getting kidnapped.
"Hmm," he thought about the question before answering, "If the circumstances were different, I probably would have entered my name. I don't care much about the rewards, but I would love to have the range of freedom that a champion gets during the year. Exemption from sitting in the classes is something beneficial to someone like me."
They reached their destination, so Quinn turned to Harry and gave him one last free piece of advice, "Move on, Harry. You might not like it, but you're the Boy-Who-Lived; you will be expected to act and perform a certain way. So, pull yourself together because you have a long year in front of you."
Harry heard what Quinn was talking about, and even though he couldn't wrap his head around it immediately, he nodded.
"Good, let's go in," said Quinn, opening the door and nudging the boy-champion into the room.
They entered a reasonably small classroom. Most of the desks had been pushed away to the room's back, leaving the room's half empty; three of the desks, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and were covered in velvet fabric. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks. Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a lady they had never seen before in Hogwarts, who was wearing magenta robes.
Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual. He wasn't talking to anyone. Cedric and Fleur were having a conversation. Fleur looked much happier than Quinn had seen her so far; she sometimes moved her head back to let her long silver hair catch the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, approaching him.
"Ah, here he is! The fourth champion! Come in, Harry, come in… there's nothing to worry about; it's just a wand weighing ceremony. The rest of the judges will arrive here in a moment—"
"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously, but he seemed much better than before they entered.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then, there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's going to write a little article about the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that little, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her light-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman but still staring at Harry. "He is the youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is- if Harry has no objection?"
"Er-" said Harry.
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers grabbed Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly firm grip, and she was about to steer him out of the room… but stopped when she glanced upon the student beside Harry.
"Quinn? Quinn West?" she gasped. Her hand released Harry's arm, and like a hawk seeing her pray, she swapped near Quinn, staring at him with a starry-eyed look.
"Hmm, yes?" Quinn looked at the woman in front of him. "Ms. Skeeter, was it? What can I do for you."
Outside, Quinn was his usual calm self, but inside, he felt like publicly clicking his tongue and making a face. He held it inside, though.
'She has recognized me? Was I photographed somewhere? Or she just remembers my face,' thought Quinn.
The one who represented the West family outside was Lia, while George and Quinn remained out of the limelight. But there were times when he and George would go to official events, which were sometimes photographed. In those events, Quinn would try his best to not get photographed, but it seemed Rita knew his face enough to recognize at first glance.
"It's so rare to see a West. I must take this chance," she harped as if others weren't there at all. "I would like to interview you before we start."
Bagman and Harry looked at Rita. They couldn't believe the woman's thick skin. She had just asked Harry for a short interview, but now she had jumped ships and targeted Quinn.
Quinn's eyes flashed for a second as he thought about his answer. After a few seconds, he answered, "I don't mind."
"Marvelous!" exclaimed Rita. She grabbed Quinn's arm and pulled him out of the room, opening another that was nearby.
"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see... ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
It was a broom cupboard. Quinn stared at her.
"Or we can go inside that classroom," said Quinn, pointing towards a door opposite to the broom cupboard.
He didn't wait for Rita to object or reply and walked to the door, put his hand on the knob, silently unlocked it, and entered the room. Inside, he pulled out a desk and set two chairs, one on each side. He sat down and looked at Rita, who stood near the door.
"Ms. Skeeter, please, do sit. I'm sure you will want to hurry with the tournament press release starting soon," said Quinn gesturing to Rita to sit down.
The journalist didn't waste a single moment and sat down in front of Quinn with a swift speed that would put the nimblest of people to shame. She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair so that they could see what they were doing.
"You won't mind, Quinn, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."
Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Quinn counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.
Quinn smiled in return, leaned forward, and gently snatched the long acid-green quill out of Rita's hand.
"Wha-!" said Rita, about to ask what Quinn was doing, but her words died in her mouth when Quinn snapped the quill in half.
"I will be straight with you, Ms. Skeeter," said Quinn raising his eyes to look at Quinn. The smile on his face had changed; now, the corners of his lips were barely raised to form a very faint smile. "You will not be writing anything about me. Not a single word about Quinn West or the Wests, in general, will be published in the Daily Prophet or any other newspaper that you write for under aliases."
Rita giggled and took out another Quick-Quotes Quill of her bag. She performed the same ritual as before she began speaking.
"Testing... My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Quinn looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:
「 Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has
punctured many inflated reputations — 」
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Quinn and said, "So, Quinn… What do you have to say about the life of a child of the West family?"
Quinn's eyes remained on the quill, and even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake, he could make out a new sentence:
「A charming face, arrogant expression of a spoiled upbringing, a look that stares down on people as if regarding them as mere insignificant fleas —」
Quinn ignored the quill and the writing. He reached into his pockets and took out a playing card with a black and gold back and set it down on the desk.
"Ms. Skeeter. I don't care what you write about anyone. It could be as fake as your golden teeth, and I wouldn't bat an eye. As long as it isn't about my family or me, I honestly don't care. However, if you write about me, you won't enjoy what comes afterward."
He gently flipped the card, and instead of it being a number or a face card, what emerged was an image of a water beetle. Seeing the picture of the water beetle on the card made Rita freeze. Her wide, closed mouth smile cramped immediately.
"You're at the top of your game. Probably one of the most celebrated names in the business," said Quinn tapping his finger near the card. "You, at some level, have become a household name. It would be an absolute shame if all that hard work—"
The card was turned over, and instead of the black and gold back, there was a squashed water beetle with red blood in the background.
"— was crushed in an instant, turned to dust, forgotten with time as you are isolated in a dark cell with some not-so-colorful jailers... You wouldn't want that, right?"
Rita had gone stark white and very still. She, with a slight tremble in her eyes, stared at Quinn with fear evident all over. Her quill had gone limp, noiseless, with the tip just hovering over the parchment.
"... what do you want?" she asked, her fingertips white from clutching her crocodile-skin bag. If her identity as an illegal Animagus was released to the ministry, she would be hunted by the Aurors quicker than she could write her own name.
"I don't like repeating myself, Ms. Skeeter," he said, his face expressionless. "This will be the last time, so listen carefully. I don't want to see any article related to me or anyone I am connected to. If you do that, your naughty little secret will remain hidden, and if we're lucky, you and I will never see each other again. Understood?"
Rita wordlessly nodded, and Quinn waved his hand over the card for it to change back to a standard playing card.
"Let's return, shall we? I don't want to miss the ceremony." Quinn stood up, pocketed the card, and walked towards the door, but before he exited, he turned and warned, "Ms. Skeeter, if I see you fluttering around, getting your career ruined will be the last thing you will have to worry about... so be careful if you do visit Hogwarts."
Not giving her another look, Quinn exited the room towards the previous room to witness the weighing of the wands ceremony.
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-*-*-*-*-*-
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Quinn West - MC - Asserting control, schooling the troll.
Harry Potter - Fourth Champion - Has been having a few stressful days.
Rita Skeeter - Journalist - Water beetles are quite annoying.
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