Chapter 128: Rita Skeeter's Interview
After night fell, Russell made his way to the Room of Requirement.
Because of Cho, Cedric rarely came here in the evenings anymore. Wednesday wasn't particularly interested either. And so, once again, the room became Russell's private domain.
After witnessing Peter Pettigrew's Animagus form, Russell suddenly felt the urge to learn it himself. The only question was whether his current mastery of Transfiguration was sufficient.
Better ask the all-knowing Morgan le Fay.
Russell took out his diary.
"Animagus?" Morgan's voice sounded calm. "Oh—you mean human transfiguration."
"With your current level of Transfiguration, it is a bit difficult," she continued, unbothered. "But don't worry. I'm here."
Aside from Dark Magic and healing arts, Transfiguration was Morgan's strongest field—especially Animagus magic.
"Human transfiguration can be considered the most difficult branch of Transfiguration," Morgan began her lesson.
"Turning from human into an animal isn't the hard part. The real difficulty lies in turning back."
She paused briefly.
"You must understand this first: once you successfully transform into an animal, its instincts will assault your mind. If your consciousness is overwhelmed, you'll remain an animal forever—unable to return."
"Fortunately, this only happens the first time. After that, the danger disappears."
"In my era, some exceptional wizards could even perform partial transformations in combat," Morgan said nostalgically. "One of my subordinates was like that."
"His Animagus form was a leopard. He could transform only his legs into those of a leopard, moving across the battlefield like the wind."
"And then he died?" Russell guessed.
"Yes," Morgan replied quietly. "He was killed in an ambush. No matter how fast he was, he couldn't outrun spells coming from every direction."
"Alright," Russell shrugged. "A moment of silence for him."
"If you intend to begin learning now," Morgan continued, "you'll need to prepare in advance. These are the steps."
---
Stage One: Preparation Period (One Month)
Holding a Mandrake Leaf
Place a single mandrake leaf beneath your tongue and keep it there for a full month—from one full moon to the next.
The leaf must not be swallowed or removed during this time.
Failure requires waiting an entire year before trying again.
Restrictions:
Brushing your teeth, eating, or even sneezing must be done with extreme care.
Brewing the Potion
At the end of the month, remove the saliva-soaked leaf and place it into a crystal vial. Expose it to direct moonlight, then add:
One strand of your own hair
One teaspoon of dew (collected from a location untouched by sunlight for seven consecutive days)
One Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalis
Seal the mixture and reserve it until a thunderstorm.
---
Stage Two: Incantation Activation (Requires Natural Lightning)
Wait for a stormy night with lightning. At midnight, point your wand at your heart and chant:
"Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus!"
Then drink the potion.
---
The process was undeniably complicated.
Still, the ingredients weren't too hard to obtain. He could borrow a mandrake leaf from Professor Sprout, and Snape likely had Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalises in stock.
With that thought, Russell made up his mind. He would begin preparing for Animagus training next week.
---
At lunchtime that day, a sudden commotion erupted outside the Great Hall.
Someone shouted, "Slughorn is back!"
Instantly, the young witches and wizards in the hall froze mid-meal and looked toward the entrance.
Amelia Slughorn entered the Great Hall after nightfall, dressed in an impeccably tailored set of robes, her expression cold and composed. Several adult witches and wizards followed behind her—men and women alike—none of whom Russell had ever seen at Hogwarts before.
They spoke quietly with Professor McGonagall at the staff table. Whatever was said made her look rather troubled, and she kept glancing in Russell's direction.
While they were talking, Slughorn made her way over and stopped beside Russell.
"Fythorne, your saprophytic fungus helped me tremendously," she said sincerely. "Without it, I might not have been able to develop the Bloodbane Potion at all."
"It was nothing," Russell smiled lightly. "We're both Ravenclaws—helping each other is only natural."
"Good," she nodded solemnly. "If you ever run into trouble, you can come to me anytime."
She was about to say more when someone called her from the staff table. She gave Russell an apologetic look, nodded once more, and quickly walked away.
"Hey, I know those people," Cedric said, swallowing a mouthful of sausage and potatoes. "That woman is Rita Skeeter—the Daily Prophet's star reporter. My dad hates her."
Cedric shrugged. "He says she's always twisting people's words and making things up."
"Looks like Slughorn's second-class Order of Merlin is practically guaranteed," Russell muttered, glancing toward the staff table.
At that moment, he noticed Rita Skeeter staring straight at him, her eyes glittering with excitement.
What's wrong with her…
Russell lowered his head. He had no interest in dealing with a journalist like that.
Unfortunately, the more you avoid something, the more likely it is to happen.
After finishing a Transfiguration class, Russell was heading toward the Black Lake for a walk when a woman suddenly intercepted him from the side.
It was Rita Skeeter.
She had stiff, over-curled blonde hair that looked like a cheap honey-colored wig. Her fingernails were absurdly long, painted a garish crimson.
A pair of ornate gold-rimmed glasses perched on her sharp-featured face, the frames set with exaggerated gemstones. Her eyes glittered with invasive curiosity.
She wore a magenta robe, a flamboyant feathered shawl, and an excessive amount of jeweled accessories.
Russell needed only a glance to tell they were fake—too large, too flashy.
"Mr. Russell Fythorne," she drawled, dragging out each word. "A pleasure to finally meet you. You know, I've been dying to interview you since summer—if not for those little—"
There was a trace of resentment in her voice. She seemed to realize it mid-sentence and quickly switched back to her slick, ingratiating tone.
"Oh dear, I almost forgot to introduce myself," she said with a crocodile smile. "Rita Skeeter."
"Excuse me—move aside, please."
Complaints rose from behind her. Rita had completely blocked the classroom door.
"Sorry," she said curtly. A flicker of annoyance passed through her eyes, but she stepped aside.
At the same time, the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand began vibrating wildly across her notebook.
Curious, Russell casually glanced down.
One look—and his expression darkened.
In reality, students had only asked her to move because she was blocking the doorway.
But in her notebook, it read:
[Although Hogwarts boasts a long history, its educational environment remains backward and unwelcoming. I, Rita Skeeter, merely stood in the corridor for a brief moment before being rudely ordered to leave.]
"Ah," Rita sighed, lifting the quill and nodding in satisfaction.
"Mr. Fythorne, do you have time now? I'd like to finish an interview we never got to complete."
"No problem," Russell nodded calmly. He was curious to see just what game she was playing.
They found an empty classroom for the interview—and Rita immediately wrote that down too.
[Hogwarts contains a large number of unused classrooms. One cannot help but suspect misappropriation of funds. One truly feels for the school governors.]
"All right, Mr. Fythorne," Rita said, turning to him. "Let's begin."
"First question. I heard quite a bit about you from Miss Slughorn. She said you provided her with considerable assistance during the development of the Bloodbane Potion. Is that true?"
"It wasn't anything significant," Russell replied. "Just a small favor."
[Although Miss Slughorn claimed she received great assistance from Mr. Fythorne, he denied it. The author suspects there may be underlying tension between them.]
"Miss Slughorn is expected to receive a second-class Order of Merlin. What are your thoughts, especially since you yourself received a third-class Order?"
"I'm happy for her," Russell said evenly. "Her achievement is a point of pride for Ravenclaw."
[Mr. Fythorne forces a smile, attempting to appear magnanimous, but is in fact deeply jealous—so much so that he would gladly trade his own third-class Order for hers.]
"Mr. Fythorne, what are your thoughts on last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor being a Dark Wizard?"
"I'm sorry," Russell frowned. "I won't answer that."
"That's fine," Rita beamed. Jackpot.
[Mr. Fythorne declined to comment publicly, but later confided privately that the incident was caused by Hogwarts' lax administration and the Aurors' failure to act promptly.]
[He also stated that since the affair earned him an Order of Merlin, he bears no resentment toward Corvey—only gratitude.]
Her writing grew more frantic, sparks nearly flying from the tip of the quill.
"So this is your interview?"
Russell snatched the notebook from her hands and flicked his wand, sending hers clattering to the floor.
When she lunged forward to reclaim the notebook, his patience finally ran out.
"Sectumsempra."
Rita felt a razor-sharp force slice past her cheek, severing several strands of blonde hair.
She froze instantly.
Though she still tried to bluster, her voice trembled.
"Russell Fythorne—you'll regret this! I'll report you for attacking someone without provocation—"
Russell ignored her, continuing to read the notebook. His face darkened with every line.
He finally looked up at her, eyes cold.
"Did I say any of that?"