AN: Sorry for the grammar, I don't have my computer program🤧
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Y/N and Harry knocked on the door and entered.

It was a fairly small classroom. They had moved most of the desks to the back to leave a wide space in the middle, but had moved three of them together in front of the blackboard, and had covered them with velvet. Behind the desks they had placed six chairs, and Bagman was sitting in one of them talking to a witch whom Y/N did not know, who was wearing a fuchsia-colored robe.

Nikola Krum was standing in a corner, talking to no one. While Ethan and Gabrielle were chatting. Gabrielle looked much happier than Y/N had seen her so far and repeated her usual gesture of shaking her head so that the light would pull reflections out of her long silver hair. A pot-bellied man with a huge black camera that was smoking a little was watching Gabrielle out of the corner of his eye.

Y/N rolled his eyes.

Gross.

Bagman suddenly spotted Y/N and Harry and quickly got up to greet them.

"Ah, here they are, champions number four and five! Come on in, there's nothing to worry about: it's just the wand-checking ceremony. The other members of the court will be arriving shortly..."

"Wand check?" Harry repeated nervously.

"We have to check that your wands are in perfect condition, that there are no problems. As you know, they are the most important tools you will have in the tests ahead of you," Bagman explained. "The expert is upstairs right now, with Dumbledore. Then there will be a short photo session. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing to the witch in the fuchsia-colored robes. "She's going to write a little article about the tournament for The Prophet."

"Maybe not so little, Ludo," Rita Skeeter said, glancing at Y/N.

Her hair was styled, curls that were curiously stiff and offered an odd contrast to his strong-jawed face; she wore spectacles adorned with precious stones, and her thick fingers ended in inch-long, crimson-painted fingernails.

"I wonder if I could have a word with Y/N before the ceremony begins," she said to Bagman without taking his eyes off Y/N. "It was the last name to come out of the champions?"

"Of course!" Bagman nodded. "Well, if Y/N has no objection..."

"Eh..." he sighed with annoyance.

"Of course, he doesn't." Rita Skeeter said.

Without wasting a moment, her claw-like fingers grabbed Y/N by the arm with surprising strength, pulled him back out of the classroom, and opened a nearby door.

"It's best not to stand there with all that noise," she explained. "Let's see... Ah, yes, this place is nice and cozy!"

It was the cleaning closet and, Y/N watched her.

"Come in, dear, it's very nice." Rita Skeeter sat down with difficulty on a bucket turned upside down.

She pushed Y/N to sit on a cardboard box and closed the door, leaving them in the dark. "Let's see..."

She opened the crocodile skin bag and took out a few candles, which she lit with a flick of the wand, and magically let them dangle in mid-air to illuminate the closet. Y/N just adjusted his tie, trying his hardest not to let an insult slip out.

"Don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes quill, Y/N? It'll leave me free to talk..."

"Whatever," Y/N replied to get it over.

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. She popped the nib of the yellowish-green quill into her mouth, sucked on it for a moment with apparent relish, and then placed it on the parchment, where it stood balancing on the tip, trembling slightly.

"Testing: my name is Rita Skeeter, a reporter for The Prophet."

Y/N looked down at the quill; it was attractive and easy to notice because of the functions Rita Skeeter performed. She took the word, the quill set to writing, gliding across the surface of the parchment:

"Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations..."

"Lovely," she said.

She tore off the top of the parchment, crumpled it up, and tucked it into her bag. Then she leaned toward Y/N and said, "Well, Y/N, what made you decide to enter the Tournament?"

"I wasn't planning to enter," Y/N reported for the thousandth time but the pen distracted him. Even if he didn't speak, it was gliding across the parchment at full speed.

"A rather powerful family with an obsession with blood purity, distasteful in every way and otherwise Y/N L/N... Ignore the Quill, Y/N," Rita Skeeter told him firmly. Reluctantly, Y/N looked at her. "Well, what made you decide to enter the Tournament?"

"Again, I did not decide to enter," Y/N said. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."

Rita Skeeter raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, L/N, don't be afraid to get into trouble. We've already taken into account that your interests lie elsewhere. But don't worry about that: our readers like rebels."

"But it wasn't me," he repeated. "I don't know who..."

"What do you think of the tasks?" she interrupted him. "Excitement? Nerves?"

"I haven't thought about it, although it must take quite a bit of courage..." he admitted. The truth was that he was feeling the pressure.

"Some of the champions have died in the past, haven't they? Have you thought about that?"

"Well, there should be people to prevent things, shouldn't they," he replied.

Between them, the quill was running across the parchment at such a speed that it seemed to be gliding.

"Of course, you've witnessed death," Rita Skeeter continued, looking at him intently. "How would you say it affected you?"

"Uh..."

"Do you think your brother's trauma may have pushed you to prove yourself individually, to live up to your name? Do you think perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because...?"

"I didn't enter, and more respect for my brother's memory," he cut her off angrily.

"And your parents?"

"What about them?"

"What do you think they think since you were to compete in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"

Y/N was about to insult her. It was obvious, his father would be upset because this tournament represented a distraction and, on his mother's, she would be worried. He could feel Rita Skeeter's watchful eye. Frowning, he avoided her eyes and looked at the words the pen had just written.

"His brother's trauma let tears show in his deep e/c eyes as our conversation turned to the subject of his death..."

"I have no tears in my eyes! More respect for my brother!" he said almost shouting.

Before Rita could answer a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Y/N looked out, blinking at the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood before them, watching them both, squashed into the cupboard.

"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, seemingly delighted.

But Y/N noticed that the quill and parchment had suddenly disappeared from the box of magic stain remover, and Rita's claw-like fingers were hastily closing the crocodile-skin bag.

"How are you?" she greeted, rising and holding out a large, manly hand to Dumbledore. "I suppose you saw my article from the summer about the International Congress Confederation of Wizard's, didn't you?"

"Echantingly disgusting," Dumbledore replied, sparking in his eyes. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."

Rita Skeeter didn't seem the least bit embarrassed.

"I only meant that some of your ideas are a bit old-fashioned, Dumbledore and that many wizards in the street..."

"I'd love to hear the reasoning behind your manners, Rita," Dumbledore, with a polite bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we'll have to leave that matter later. The wand check is about to begin, and it can't take place if one of the champions is hiding in a broom cupboard."

Relieved to be rid of Rita Skeeter, Y/N hurried back to the classroom. The other champions were already seated in chairs near the door, and he quickly sat down next to Ethan and surveyed the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting- Professor Karkarov, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter took a seat in a corner. Y/N saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, sucked the end of the Quill-Quotes, and place it once more on the parchment.

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore said, taking his seat at the tribunal table and addressing the champions. "He will be checking your wands to make sure they are in good condition before the Tournament."

Y/N looked to where Dumbledore was pointing and gasped in surprise to see the large-eyed old wizard standing silently by the window. He already knew Mr. Ollivander. He was a wandmaker from whom he had bought the wand he still possessed more than five years ago in Diagon Alley.

Mr. Ollivander started with Gabrielle, then Ethan and Nikola. He lingered a bit with Harry's wand, praising and admiring it in its full splendor.

"Splendid," said the old wizard, handing the wand back to Potter. "Now it remains... Y/N L/N."

Y/N got up and walked over to Mr. Ollivander and passed Harry. He handed his wand.

"Aaaah, yes!" exclaimed Mr. Ollivander with excitement. "Yes, yes, yes, yes. I remember it perfectly. I had my doubts about making this wand, the only one I've made so far."

Y/N remembered it too. He remembered it as if it had been the day before. Six summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had gone with her mother into Mr. Ollivander's store to buy a wand.

Mr. Ollivander had measured him and then handed him a number of wands to try out. Y/N tried almost every wand in the shop, or so he thought, until he found one that suited him, the one made of snakewood, measuring thirty centimetres and containing a core of phoenix feather.

Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Y/N was doing so well with that wand. The old wizard spent much more time examining Y/N's wand and Potter's as well. In the end; he poured a stream of wine from it and handed it back to Y/N, declaring it to be in perfect condition.

"Thank you all," Dumbledore said. "You may all go to your lessons now."

Y/N got up to leave, already wanting it all to be over. The man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"The pictures, Dumbledore, the pictures!" Bagman shouted. "All the champions and the judges. What do you think, Rita?"

"Uh... yes, those first," Rita Skeeter said, putting her eyes again at Y/N. "And then maybe we could take some individual ones."

The photographs took quite a while. All afternoon to be exact. Wherever she stood, Madame Maxime was taking the light away from everyone, and the photographer couldn't move back far enough for her to fit. Finally, she had to sit down while the others stood around her. Karkarov was making a point of curling the knob with his finger to make it more curved. Krum, whom Y/N assumed was used to that sort of thing, ducked into the background to remain half-hidden. The photographer seemed to want Gabrielle to stand in front, but Rita Skeeter reached over and pulled Y/N to highlight him. She then insisted on individual photos of the champions, after which they were finally able to leave.

Y/N went to dinner and noticed that no one from his group was in the Great Hall, he assumed they were in the common room. He didn't blame them, they would even get tired of waiting so they could go rest. He ate dinner alone and as he left to walk around for a while, he saw that Rita Skeeter was with her photographer hovering so he hid behind one of the armor knights. A soft but bossy enough voice had discovered him.

"What on earth are you doing?" Hermione asked, looking at him.

"Shh!" he commanded her to shut up and took her by the arm, making her keep him company. "I don't want to answer her silly questions and much less run into her."

"You don't seem to be getting along with the media," she said as she leaned out. "How are you handling things? Harry is very overwhelmed with all of this and..." Her body was on the wall and her lips were sealed with his index finger as he clung to her body to hide from the presence of Rita Skeeter and her photographer.

Footsteps were heard near the armor, of course, the blonde was talking about the tournament and the interviews she had to take advantage of. Pending not to be discovered, a pleasant but unusual smell reached Y/N's nostrils.

Fruit surfaced with vanilla.

He looked at the brown eyes the brunette possessed and noticed where his fingers were, he removed them immediately.

He intended to detach himself from her personal space but Rita Skeeter's presence was there, so as hard as it was to accept it was a good excuse to be able to spend a little more time admiring her features. He thought that she possessed a candid and undaunted gaze, which gave the impression that she had no infamous traces. Her features were innocent and pure and he could bet her skin was just like satin; smooth and fine. So he wondered what it would feel like to touch a part of her skin, he thought it would be like touching a cloud.

If it was a crime to be enraptured by her physiognomy, he considered damning himself for eternity.

Rita Skeeter's presence was gone and still, Y/N gazed at Hermione, and if it weren't for her he would have stayed up all night looking at her. He blinked a couple of times and moved away quickly enough when he realized how close they were.

Did he just consider her beautiful? He didn't believe all the adjectives that he thought about her beauty. Never he didn't imagine thinking about her in another way or seeing her with other eyes.

"What was that?" She asked a bit desperately and Y/N looked to see if the blonde was gone.

The truth is that he felt his face hot and he didn't know why. And he wasn't in the mood to explain his behavior.

"Anyway, if you don't feel like answering questions, I expect mine to be answered." Hermione came out of hiding, referring to the question she had asked him a moment ago about how he was taking things.

Y/N just looked at her and remained silent. The brunette nodded and took a step to leave.

"With a lot of pressure..." he hastened to say so she wouldn't leave. "I didn't put my name on that Goblet.

She looked at him and gave him a half-smile.

"I believe you," she declared, "not all of the school is against you, there is a portion that understands and supports you."

And, beyond belief, those words made him feel better. Something very rare and unlikely to happen with Hermione Granger. Her opinion didn't matter to him in the least because of their relationship. Now, with everything that was going on and the little moments they had shared, he took her words.

More than ever.

Hello! Long time no see!

Hope you like this chapter and I'm sorry for the grammar errors, I don't have my computer program haha

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-wonhos