The Grind (And Helping Heather Potter) [Book 2]

"You'll do fine," I reassured. "Go out there and wow them for us, yeah, Heather? Show them how brilliant your best friend and teacher are and how wicked you can really be. We'll be watching and supporting you the whole way."

Hermione hugged Heather tightly, "Good luck."

"With the Dragon I pulled, I'll need it," Heather grumbled then grinned. "Good thing I have your tattoo to keep the Potter luck to a minimum."

Hermione wrung her hands in worry, "Oh, I just hope it works. I-I… What if it doesn't and I let you down? W-What if you get hurt? Oh, it'd be horrible. Are you sure you have to go out there?"

"She does, Hermione," I cut in. "We went over the tournament's rules together. So long as Heather's bound to the Goblet, she has to at least show up to the tasks. She doesn't have to win or even do well though. So, Heather? Focus on staying alive."

Heather snorted, "I'll do more than that. Watch me ace this thing without even drawing my wand!"

"Still," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Nesting Dragons? Honestly, are the tournament's organizers insane or just daft?!"

"Yes," I deadpanned. "Yes to both."

One of those daft morons we were talking about — Crouch if I remembered correctly — growled in the background, "Watch yourself, White! You're not even supposed to be here. Get outta here so we can start."

Of course, I pretended to not hear him, "Did you girls hear something? A stuck-up, old gust of wind that hasn't even read the rules for his own tournament perhaps?"

It made Heather crack a smile despite the nerves she must have been feeling so it was a win in my book. Pissing off a Pure-Blood who was all pig-headed bluster and self-importance was just icing on the cake. The other champions were in a similar state to Heather and I felt a little bad that they didn't have someone to comfort them. Well, Cedric and Fleur mostly. Victor Krum was as stone-faced as I'd ever seen someone.

Dumbledore and the other school heads had been here for the drawing of the Dragons but excused themselves to act as the judges for the Task. Whoever thought of making them the tournament's 'impartial' judges was a disconnected fool if they thought the champions' headmasters were without bias. Though, maybe that was the point.

I wouldn't put it past this feckless tournament. Even if there had been something in the rules about this, I wasn't going to leave Heather alone to stew in her completely justified anxiety before facing a blasted Dragon. We may have known about the Dragons beforehand thanks to a certain loose-lipped Giant — as did the other champions through ways I could only suspect. But we hadn't had any time to prepare anything to specifically deal with them. In the end, the plan was still for Heather to wing this off the back of the research we'd developed and training we'd already done.

The first champion was called up to the Task soon enough. I gave Cedric Diggory — the real Hogwarts champion — a nod and wished him good luck. Good kid, that one. Let's hope he didn't go ahead and commit suicide by Dragon.

Cheers echoed from the Task's arena into the tent, doing nothing to soothe anyone's nerves. Fleur looked to have it the worst though. Krum was seemingly unflappable and Heather had me and Hermione to keep her worries from running wild. And I wasn't so completely competitive that I wouldn't comfort Fleur, especially after the moment of intimacy we'd shared together.

I got the French champion's attention, "Fleur?"

"What do you want, Devil?" Fleur turned a sneer up at me.

I could tell her heart wasn't in it at the moment so I pressed on, "I just wanted to wish you good luck. From everything I've seen, you're a smart and powerful Witch. I'm sure you'll do great. Just… remember that your life isn't worth some brief stint of wealth and glory, yeah?"

Fleur softened as she deemed my words genuine and she seemed to regain some of the spirit she always directed at me, "Merci… Take heart, Devil! I shall not leave my dear Gabby alone to your twisted debauchery."

I sighed, "I guess that's as good a motivation as I could ask for."

Fleur huffed, "Hmph. Indeed. Now, begone, Fiend. I wish to concentrate and I cannot with your devilish visage clouding my mind."

"Yeah, yeah," I rolled my eyes. "Good luck again, Fleur. You've got this."

"What was that about?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes as I returned to her and Heather. Fleur looked visibly less tense after our short conversation.

"Just wishing the competition good luck," I said.

"You didn't do that with Krum," Hermione pressed.

I shrugged, "I don't know him. Fleur and I at least have something that vaguely resembles a relationship because of her sister."

"Hmmm…" Hermione just hummed, her brilliant mind suddenly seeming occupied with something.

I left her to her thoughts and began to give Heather a last-minute rundown of what not to do around nesting Dragons according to Newt Scamander's fantastic 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'. Ironically enough, trying to steal their eggs was the first thing on that list.

Cedric returned to the tent, clutching the golden egg that was the Task's target and covered in soot and burns. He quickly collapsed under the care of Madame Pomfrey. Fleur was called out and her departure was met with similar cheers as Cedric's. She eventually returned with her head held high and part of her uniform burned off. For some reason, the idea that others had seen her in such a compromised state set my blood pumping with possessive fervor and I conjured something to cover her modesty.

Fleur acted haughty and unfazed as if she didn't even notice my assistance. That illusion was broken by the way she clutched the cloak I'd conjured close to her frame. Krum was called out and once again the cheers echoed through the fabric walls of the tent. When he returned, it was finally time for Heather to show the Wizarding World that even though she didn't want to be in this tournament, she wouldn't just roll over and take the shite thrown her way…

IIIII

"What… an… event, people!" Ludo Bagman shouted into his mic, hoping to hype up the crowd even more and already envisioning the profits from his semi-legal tournament betting scheme.

"A truly thrilling spectacle!" He continued. "Three champions down, each more daring than the last! The Hogwarts champion Cedric Diggory retrieved his prize with a masterful display of transfiguration and a bit of poor luck. The Beauxbatons champion Fleur Delacour did so with her bewitching Veela charm and was even nice enough to give the audience a stunning show of beauty in the process. And the Durmstrang champion Victor Krum has just finished conquering his foe with fearsome strength and ability!

"All that remains is the tournament's wildcard champion! The one who shouldn't even be able to compete! Give it up for the one, the only, Heather Potter! The Girl-Who-Lived! And she faces off against the First Task's most daunting opponent, a genuine, bonafide Hungarian Horntail!" If Bagman butchered the pronunciation of 'bonafide' (he did), only a third of the audience was aware enough of it to cringe.

"Here she comes, folks! The savior of the Wizarding World, coming up to look death in the face once again! Will she live up to her moniker? Or will the Triwizard Tournament claim its first victim since 1792?!"

Heather stepped into the arena, looking impassively up at her cheering audience. None of them mattered in her mind. Sheep and fools, the lot of them. But if they wanted to be entertained, Heather would show them entertainment…

The cheers slowly died into confusion as she waited and waited, not moving a muscle toward the Dragon that was tensely guarding its nest and shooting her suspicious, threatening glances. She was waiting for Atlas and Hermione to take their seats. They'd left the tent at the same time as Heather and she wanted to make sure they got a good view of what she was about to do. The rest of the audience could wait or simply leave for all she cared.

Soon enough, she saw them get into position in the crowd. They sat next to Luna Lovegood and the Weasley twins, though strangely, the twins and Luna had a pair of magical microphones in front of them and seemed to be doing their own version of commentary for the First Task. Still, Heather gave them all an eager, mischievous grin.

She took a step forward and the Hungarian Horntail on the other side of the arena roared. Echoing off every available surface, the roar shook the very air in people's lungs. The crowd was suddenly silent, only now realizing the monumental task put before the Girl-Who-Lived. Compared to the other three Dragons before it, the Horntail was akin to an Unforgivable over a simple Blasting Curse. It was primed to kill and die to defend its nest. And yet, faced with the most dangerous breed of Dragon in its most dangerous state of mind, Heather was undeterred, completely confident in the people she had on her side and the advantage she, Atlas, and Hermione had developed together.

"M-My word," Bagman stuttered, forgetting his showmanship for a brief moment even though he was completely safe from the Dragon.

He quickly regained his grove, "W-What an awesome beast! Let's give a round of applause for Heather Potter's Gryffindor courage!"

Heather scoffed internally as she continued putting one foot in front of the other. 'Yeah, make the rest of the school resent me more, why don'tcha? Not like this takes just as much Hufflepuff trust and teamwork, Ravenclaw smarts, and Slytherin preparation or anything.' She stopped in the center of the arena and slowly directed her magic into the wicked Runic tattoo on her back…

"She's collecting herself, folks, let's see what she'll-…" Bagman commentated, "By Merlin's wrinkled staff! My eyes! What was that?! An overpowered Lumos Charm?!"

It was not. But it was meant to blind so in that regard, it served its purpose. Lighting sprung between Heather's fingers, gathered and powered by the Runes printed on her skin. In an instant, it arced upward, connecting Heather to the heavens for the briefest of moments. Brilliant white light filled the arena, temporarily blinding everyone in the stands. A crack that sounded like gods clapping echoed out into the Scottish Highlands.

As quickly as it came, the light was gone. With it, Heather had disappeared from her spot on the arena floor. Wizards and Dragon alike blinked spots out of their eyes. When it could see again, the Dragon instantly began scanning for its foe. Heather was nowhere to be found.

"Where has she gone?!" Bagman exclaimed. "Has she cut and run? A shameful display of cowardice from the Girl-Who-Lived!"

Unseen by the crowd and the Dragon, Heather crept closer to the nest in the center of the arena. Her disillusioned form barely rippled the air around her. Unfortunately, the Dragon had other advantages than just its eyes. Sniffing the air, it roared. Its head swiveled and locked onto Heather's scent.

Chained down as it was, the Dragon had no choice but to Breathe in Heather's direction. And Breathe it did. Waves of flame flowed out of the Hungarian Horntail's mouth, washing over Heather and silhouetting her invisible form with fire.

"Goodness me! There she is! A cunning trick but not one that's paid off!" Bagman said. "Someone call a MediWitch because I'm sure she'll need one after being barbequed like that!"

Given her current situation, Heather was surprisingly calm. Flames rolled around her and yet she could only feel a soothing heat. It was almost comforting in the weirdest of ways. Still, the Dragon's fire barely bothered her Runic protections.

Feeling that, Heather simply dropped her Disillusion Charm. To the crowd and the Dragon, she appeared in the midst of a sea of flames, unfazed and unharmed. The gasps of thrilled terror from the crowd were silenced immediately.

"I-I don't believe it…" Bagman stuttered in shock. "She's just walking! Menacingly! What sorcery is this?! The Flame-Freezing Charm doesn't work on Dragonfire!"

Heather kept walking toward the nest and her goal. She even stopped for a moment to check her nails, putting on a deliberately nonchalant act for her audience. Even a Dragon's Breath will eventually run out. The magical flames around Heather sputtered and died, leaving her without even a speck of sot on her body.

"That was rather rude," Heather said, still acting as if she was checking her nails.

"Cool as a Flobberworm under pressure!" Bagman's showmanship quickly reemerged. "What's she saying? Someone cast a Sonorus on her!"

Heather's next words were magnified many, many times as three charms hit her simultaneously (even more missed). Her protections deemed them non-harmful and let them through. Her voice boomed, making the audience cover their ears, and the Horntail recoil with a roar that almost sounded like a yelp.

"I just want that bit of gold in your nest, after all. I'm sure we could have done this peacefully… Oh well. My turn~," Heather's act dropped and her grin grew mischievous and malicious.

"Ahck! Too much! Too much!" Bagman shouted and the anonymous spellcasters cancelled their spells.

But the damage was already done. The crowd was struck half-deaf and the Dragon was swaying in place. To the Horntail, Heather's words sounded like the roar of another, much more powerful Dragon. It cowered, trying desperately to guard its nest against an imaginary foe.

Once again, Heather channeled magic into her Runic tattoo. This time, though, she activated her favorite of its abilities. Heather quite literally couldn't thank Hermione enough for making it so she could fly under her own power. She slowly rose into the air, held aloft by magic and willpower.

"S-She's flying! Without a broom! How in the name of magic?! She hasn't even drawn her wand!"

Even with the sudden epidemic of hearing loss plaguing the stadium, Bagman's voice was loud enough to reach everyone's ears, "Is that-?! Oh, my Merlin! Heather Potter with a flying elbow from the top rope!"

Heather's whole body began to crackle with lightning as she floated higher and higher. Finally deciding she was high enough, she paused just long enough to flash Hermione and Atlas an unrepentant smirk. Then she was rocketing downward, elbow primed, cocked, and ready to deliver the wrath of God like she'd seen so many times in Dudley's Pay-per-View American wrestling shows.

A Human-shaped lightning bolt exploded against the Horntail's flank. For a moment, Thor descended to Earth in a flurry of light and thunder. A shockwave rocked the arena to its foundations. Witches and Wizards were bowled over in their seats. And as the thunder faded, echoing off the mountains around Hogwarts, Heather's voice could be heard in a long, drawn-out "Ohhhhh yeahhhhh!"

The Horntail was sent sprawling out of its nest. If this were a cartoon, it would have had comical spirals in its eyes. Still, it was a Class XXXXX Magical Beast and it would not be kept down for long. It struggled and slowly began to stagger to its feet.

Heather didn't even get to enjoy her historic elbow drop — probably the first and only one performed on a Dragon. Seeing the Dragon shakily stand, she knew she didn't have much time. And there was the little issue of her Rune-powered flight quickly running out. It was only temporary, after all. Something about the way the flight Runes interacted with a soft, fleshy body and 'safety', according to Hermione. Heather had been too busy rolling her eyes to truly listen.

With the last legs of her flight, Heather dove for the now unguarded nest. Nimble and accurate as a diving hawk, she swiped the golden egg into her hands and bolted. Every spark of magic Heather could manage at a moment's notice — quite a lot as it turned out — was channeled into the Runes on her back and she shot forward in a straight line. Barely a moment later, a confused and dizzy Hungarian Horntail returned to its post above the nest, none the wiser to Heather's little heist.

Despite the earlier shockwave, Bagman and the rest of the audience were on the edge of their seats, "My word! I'd never thought I'd see it! A perfect Wronski Feint without a broom! And the Girl-Who-Lived pulls up just in time! Look at her go! She's a Phoenix! Or maybe a Thunderbird would be more appropriate in this case…

"I may be biased, folks, but I think that was the most thrilling Task of the day! Simply astonishing! And she's made it out without a scratch-… Oh my! Heather Potter's down! She's tumbling and rolling across the ground! What has happened!?"

Mere moments after making her escape, Heather's temporary Runic flight ran out. It automatically shut off, sending Heather tumbling to the ground. She instinctively tucked and rolled and rolled and rolled. She bled momentum, eventually coming to a stop with a small 'Ooof'. She lay there on her back, clutching her golden prize to her chest before sticking a single thumb in the air.

When she gave the signal that she was okay, the arena's crowd exploded into cheers. Even those that believed Heather cheated her way into the tournament couldn't deny how thrillingly blood-pumping her Task was. She'd used magic none of them had seen before and was daring enough to challenge a Dragon in flight and speed. And most of all, Heather Potter had won.

IIIII

Somewhere in the audience, Draco Malfoy was blushing fiercely and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

On either side of him, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle shared a glance and rolled their eyes. Nowhere near as dull as they presented themselves, they were well aware of how dense, foolish, and uncunning their 'boss' could be.

If the contract between their families — the one that Draco somehow still didn't know about — wasn't a factor, they would've never been seen in the same room as the young Malfoy. Though, with the death of Lord Malfoy, that contract was beginning to look less and less like a sure thing…

Somewhere else, Ron Weasley coped and seethed and plotted how to get back into Heather's good graces after scorning her for the better part of a month. He had no idea he never was particularly in her good graces and that fact wouldn't have stopped him anyway. Though perhaps not the most intelligent or skilled of his siblings, Ronald Weasley was by far the most stubborn.

Elsewhere still, Alastor Moody or a man who looked quite like him grunted, "Clever brat. Well, I can't have 'er dyin' easy anyway."

In the Judge's Box, Igor Karkaroff hummed to himself, possibilities sprouting in his mind, "Interesting… I suppose this trip and tournament was not a complete waste of time after all."

Dumbledore's threat of reprisal was swift and thorough, "Igor… If you so much as look at one of my students with the intention of recruiting them — consensually or not —, you will leave Britain in multiple pieces. Still alive pieces, mind you. And I guarantee… Unlike a certain nursery rhyme, you shall not be put back together again."

Karkaroff snorted to hide the visceral fear that the greatest Wizard of the past two centuries inspired in him, "Da. Message received. Students off limits. I like my pieces connected. They will stay that way."

Suddenly, Dumbledore was back to his usual genial, grandfatherly self, "So glad we could come to an understanding, Igor. Care for a pocket drop?"

"A vhat?" Karkaroff sneered in confusion?

"A pocket drop," Dumbledore cheerfully and 'helpfully' explained. "A lemon drop I've been keeping in my pocket for — well, I don't actually know how long. I strongly believe you will want one though…"

There was a certain vindictive undertone to Dumbledore's happy words that sent a chill down Karkaroff's spine, "… D-Da. I would like a pocket drop."

Karkaroff took the offered 'pocket drop' with a sour face. That expression only deepened as he forced himself to eat said lemon-and-lint-scented pocket drop. Suddenly and 'inexplicably', Karkaroff felt like a cat spitting up a hairball.

Alongside this strange interaction, Bartemius Crouch Snr was dramatically pale and looked faint, "Good Merlin… Three close calls and it's only the First Task. The Girl-Who-Lived walked through Dragonfire for goodness sake! T-This may have been a terrible idea…"

"Why, Bartemius, my boy," Dumbledore said, barely hiding his twinkling condescension. "I told you that many times over the summer. Still, you, Bagman, and the Minister would not listen to reason. I believe the expression is 'You reap what you sow'."

Outside the Judge's Box and back in the arena's stands, Luna and the Weasley twins broadcasted commentary for those with enough sense to know that Ludo Bagman was a scheming buffoon. It had been Luna's idea but the twins were more than willing to go along with it and give her a spot next to them.

"And the Wollygonkers go wild!" Luna's voice was filled with enthusiastic oddity as she made references and comparisons that none but her understood.

"Heather Potter snatches the golden egg like it's a Snitch! Just like our match against Slytherin in her First Year!" George exclaimed, running with Luna's eccentricity.

"She seems to have forgotten a key bit of equipment, though, brother dearest," Fred added.

"She doesn't need it!" Luna cut back in. "She's like a Niffler in the wind!"

"Too true, my starry-eyed friend," George agreed. "Heather's got an eye for gold and that egg was in her sights!"

"Makes me so proud," Fred wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Oh, they grow up so fast. One day, they're fighting a Basilisk, and the next, they're pulling the prank of the century on a Dragon.

"Err," George played the straight man. "Seems to me that this is a step down from that first adventure."

Fred blinked, "Oh, I guess you're right."

"Perhaps little Heatherweather had already grown out of the nest by the time she came to Hogwarts?" George suggested.

"She'd have to have with all the fun she gets up to," Fred agreed.

"Girl after our own heart, that one."

"Indeed, O' brother o' mine."

"She's rather nice too," Luna added. "Not single a Wrackspurt in those green eyes of hers."

"I'll bet she has a couple of, uh… flibbldyfickers though!" Fred tried his best to humor her.

Luna just pouted, "Don't steal my schtick. We've got a good thing going here. Don't ruin it like that."

"Apologies for my insensitive twin, Luna-Tuna. I dropped him on his head when we were babies. He just can't help but offend people," George excused.

Luna feigned arrogance, "I guess I shall deign to forgive you. Don't let it happen again."

"Many thanks, Ms. Lovegood, Goodest of Lovers!" Fred declared, winning a giggle from Luna. "I-… wait, when did Heather fall?"

"Just a moment ago," Luna said. "Her Crimson Bovine wings wore off. Don't worry, though, Atlas and Hermione are going to help."

"Her what?" Fred asked in complete confusion.

George shrugged, "Beats me."

IIIII

Hermione and I were out of our seats and making a beeline for the arena floor the moment Heather fell. We were probably the only ones expecting it to happen other than Heather. Hermione had been counting the seconds Heather had left on her flight under her breath.

We hopped the barrier and I slowed our descent to the arena below with an almost negligent spell. No use using our own Runic flight allocation. We weren't nearly as good with it as Heather was anyway.

Bagman's annoying voice echoed out after us, "Hey! Hey! Violation! They can't do that! Can they?"

I called up in reply, all my anger and frustration at the First Task and the tournament coming out at once, "She's got her egg which means the Task is over! There's no way we're leaving her there so you can go suck your own dick for all I care!"

Bagman sputtered vague noises of offense but Dumbledore suddenly spoke up from the Judge's Box, cutting him off, "I'll allow it. Though, I do hope Mr. Bagman takes his autofellatio somewhere private."

Thankfully, that quickly shut Bagman up, leaving me and Hermione to tend to Heather. Honestly, that man just pissed me off. He switched from calling Heather a coward to singing her praises in the blink of an eye. There was a good reason Heather was so done with the Wizarding public and I couldn't help but empathize. If I was in her place, I would have started throwing curses long ago.

"Heather! Heather, are you okay?!" Hermione asked frantically, sliding to a stop on her knees next to Heather's prone form.

"Just dandy," Heather groaned.

"You did great, Heather," I reassured. "I would have preferred a little less pomp and flare though."

Heather opened her eyes and smirked up at us, "Eh, not my style."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. I chuckled, relieved that she was well enough to joke with us.

"C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Right… A little help?" Heather asked sheepishly. "Those flight Runes might need some tweaking 'cause I don't think I've been this sore in a while."

"I'll take another look at them now that we have the time and more data on how they work," Hermione promised.

We helped Heather stand on shaky feet, supporting her between the two of us. Her arm went around Hermione's shoulder and mine went around her waist. Even then, she was short enough that I had to slouch a bit. We began walking out of the arena when Bagman's desperately hurried voice interrupted us again.

"Wait! You can't leave! Uh… score! Heather needs to be judged and scored for her Task!"

I glared up at him in his isolated little commentator's box. He was just asking to get the stuffing hexed out of him at this point. Even from the arena floor, I saw him flinch away from my glare. Served the fool right.

"Get on with it then!" I shouted, making sure everyone there could feel how done I was with all of them — on Heather's behalf and my own.

(Un)Fortunately, I didn't get an excuse to hex Bagman into next week. Well, not a better one at least. He was still and would always be on my shitlist for making Heather compete in this farce he was pushing as Head of Magical Games and Sports.

Maybe influenced by my ire, Bagman instantly put up a '10' and then tried to shy away from my gaze. Crouch and the Headmasters went next and Crouch gave Heather the lowest score of the bunch — a 6. Karkaroff gave her an 8, as did Madame Maxime. Dumbledore finished off the judging with a 10 and a pair of twinkling eyes that were visible even from the floor of the arena.

"Great!" I said, thoroughly done with this thanks to the way I could feel Heather flagging against my side. "Someone tell the other champions the Task is over. We're done here. I'm taking Heather to get some sleep."

My words sparked murmurs and giggles from the crowd — mostly the students — and I rolled my eyes, "Not like that, you degenerates. She just fought a Dragon. I think she deserves a nap."

I ignored the further chatter from the crowd as Heather, Hermione, and I made our way out of the stadium. The fact that Heather was now in first place in a tournament she never wanted to be in was also ignored by all three of us. No one barred our exit, not even the Dragon that Heather had tricked and elbow dropped. It seemed content to be left to its clutch. Whatever. Let the qualified Dragon Handlers handle it.

Once outside the stadium, we began making our way back to the Castle only to be stopped by a garish-looking woman who claimed to be a reporter.

"Rita Skeeter. I'm sure you've heard of me," She 'introduced' herself. "Heather, it's ~so good~ to see you again. You must tell me everything about your Task. I insist~"

Her inflection when she spoke was grating on my nerves so I cut in, "No comment. I'm sure Heather is in no mood to do an interview."

"Oh?" Skeeter seemed to ignore me and focus on me at the same time, still addressing Heather. "Who's your handsome older friend, Heather~?"

"Atlas White. Assistant Professor for Hogwarts and Heather's chosen guardian/coach for the tournament. Now, if you'll excuse-…" I said, trying to make a clean exit.

Skeeter interrupted me, "Ooooh~ Now you've caught my interest. Is that scandal I smell? My nose never lies when it comes to information like this~"

I shook my head, quickly coming to the decision that I didn't like this woman, "No, I'm just trying to keep her alive through this tournament. Nothing more."

"Come now~, Atlas, was it? You don't need to lie to me," Rita turned on a kind of oily charm. "Give me a good story and ~I'll make it worth your while~"

"Please don't," I refused steadfastly, not even trying to hide the shiver her words inspired. "There's no story to tell here."

"Puh-lease," Skeeter scoffed, blocking our way when we tried to leave. "You expect me to believe that? A young Professor and his champion? This is gold just waiting to be exploited-… Ahem… to be reported."

"I don't rightly care what you believe," I said, my voice growing terse. "I've asked you nicely to leave us alone. If you continue pestering us, I'll be forced to take more drastic measures to ensure the safety of my students."

Rita Skeeter's grin was practically bloodthirsty. I took it to mean she wouldn't be complying with my request. The way she inched closer, trying to box us in only solidified that idea. And I was way past playing nice.

My wand came up in a flash. The garish reporter was banished away from us, squawking as she went. Ropes were conjured and charmed to wrap around her. We left her there trussed up from her mouth to her knees.

Disgust was painted across Hermione's face, "What a horrid woman."

Heather let out an exhausted chuckle, "Yeah… I think I'll need you to handle all my interactions with her in the future, Atlas. I can't tell you how much I wanted to do what you just did during the Wand-Weighing ceremony."

"Sure thing," I readily agreed. "I don't know if I want you talking to her alone anyway. She gives me the creeps. I feel like she'd do anything for a 'story'."

We fell into silence for the rest of our journey back to the Castle. Eventually, we were joined by Luna and the Weasley twins. The rest of the student audience trailed behind us, seemingly not brave enough to come to bother Heather. Waiting for us at the door of the Castle was someone who actually deserved my attention (unlike a certain tied-up reporter).

"Mr. White?" The unfamiliar man called out to me, asking politely but severely. "I'm Auror John Dawlish. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for me about your role in the World Cup Riot this summer?"