Castle
"Robert Ollivander, can you describe what the monster that attacked you looked like?"
"No, it was too dark at the time. I didn't see clearly." Robert answered calmly, looking expressionless as he faced the witch in front of him, whose vividly painted red fingernails gleamed under the torchlight.
Rita Skeeter—the wizarding world's most notorious troublemaker, infamous for her sensationalist reporting—was one of the last people any witch or wizard ever wanted to cross paths with.
Robert hadn't anticipated that word of his recent attack would reach The Daily Prophet, let alone that this cunning woman would find her way into Hogwarts itself.
Rita Skeeter frowned, clearly unimpressed with Robert's vague response.
Nearby, a flamboyant quill floated on its own, dancing gracefully across parchment with exaggerated flair.
The young Robert Ollivander was coerced by a Hogwarts Professor to deny witnessing a monster, his eyes brimming with tears, his heart filled with despair over the school's negligence.
Robert glanced sideways at the parchment, his forehead twitching in irritation.
Tears? Despair? Sure, he was a little annoyed, maybe even slightly disappointed. But how on earth did she get "brimming with tears" from his deadpan expression?
He had only one goal now: get rid of this woman as quickly as possible. But Rita was blocking the entire corridor. To leave, he'd have to squeeze past her, which he wasn't eager to do.
"Where do you think the monster came from?"
"I don't know," he replied flatly.
Robert Ollivander confirmed the attack but withheld the identity of the mastermind. His hesitance hinted that Dumbledore may be raising a secret magical force…
No. No, no. If this continued, Dumbledore might actually storm into the Ministry of Magic and tie Cornelius Fudge to a broomstick just to play Quidditch with his head.
Robert considered turning back but hesitated, knowing Rita might twist anything he did into something outrageous.
At that moment, two grey blurs bolted down the corridor.
Mrs. Norris came first, darting between their legs. Startled, Rita lost her balance, stumbled against the railing, and nearly toppled over.
Immediately behind her came Tom, Robert's cat. In that split second, he assessed the situation, leapt, and landed squarely on Rita Skeeter's face before she could regain her footing.
It's worth noting that Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest had no shortage of food, and Tom had recently grown nearly as hefty as a Bludger. His pounce wasn't accidental either. His hind legs thudded heavily on her face, claws extended.
Ah!
Eight neat, bloody scratches appeared instantly on her cheeks. Rita froze, stunned. It wasn't until she touched her face and felt the blood that she let out a high-pitched, horrified scream.
"Oh no! Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat—how can she just go running wild through the hallways?" Robert declared loudly.
Then he turned toward Rita Skeeter, his tone polite but firm. "Madam, I recommend going to the Hospital Wing immediately. Madam Pomfrey has some excellent dittany. Wait too long, and you might be left with a scar. One of my classmates has one, and it really bothers him."
"Dittany… yes, I need dittany!" The word "scar" seemed to short-circuit something in Rita's mind. Screaming, she ran down the corridor toward the Hospital Wing.
She had studied at Hogwarts too. She knew exactly where to go.
"Nice job, Tom," Robert praised, eyeing the parchment and quick-quotes quill left abandoned on the stone bench.
"And those—destroy them."
Tom obeyed instantly. He pounced on the quill first, shredding it in a few swift bites. Then he moved to the parchment. Paper was no challenge for him—he often sharpened his claws on it when bored. Within seconds, scraps of it were scattered along the floor.
Robert gathered a few larger bits of parchment, intending to toss them into the fireplace later.
"Excellent." He patted Tom's head. "I'll get you a treat soon. Ever heard of a Basilisk?"
Tom tilted his head curiously, clearly unfamiliar.
"Never mind. Go on, play now. But don't be too hard on Mrs. Norris. Filch already complained to Professor McGonagall last time. I think he suspects you're my cat."
Tom meowed and bounded away, whether in understanding or not.
As for Mrs. Norris—well, it had made sense when she got roughed up back when Tom first arrived. But now? Tom was nearly double her size. If she was still getting chased, that was her own fault.
Shaking his head, Robert found a nearby staircase and began making his way to Professor McGonagall's office.
Hogwarts was not the Ministry of Magic. People shouldn't just waltz in without notice. It would be utter chaos.
When Robert finished recounting the encounter, Professor McGonagall's face turned grim, and she left at once for the Hospital Wing.
By the time she arrived, however, Rita Skeeter was already gone.
She claimed she'd been invited, helped herself to half a bottle of dittany, and promptly disappeared.
"Next time you see her, don't say a word," McGonagall warned sternly.
"Robert Ollivander communicates his defiance through silence…" Robert mimicked the dramatic tone of Rita's quill. "It's useless, though. She'll make up anything. She once said my grandfather was secretly crafting wands for Muggles to overthrow the Ministry."
"Mr. Garrick Ollivander? Overthrow the wizarding world?" McGonagall's voice rose in disbelief. "Absolute nonsense! Muggles can't even use wands!"
"I'm sure she knows. But facts don't matter to her. People enjoy reading those kinds of articles, so she'll keep printing them."
McGonagall gave Robert a long, evaluating look. Did he even hear what he was saying? Did he not care that their headmaster's name was being dragged through the mud?
"Mr. Ollivander, I will discover how she got into the school," she said. "And remember—don't speak to her again."
The winged boars on the school's gates weren't just ornamental. They were part of Hogwarts' protective magic. No one could just stroll in.
Unless… she used something more subtle than magic. Some trick that let her slip past even Hogwarts' defenses. It might not be a Confundus Charm—it could be something more insidious. Whatever it was, it clearly helped her ferret out secrets, which explained her success as a journalist.
After the visit to McGonagall, Robert made his way to the Great Hall. He was hoping he wasn't too late for lunch.
He had originally planned to ask McGonagall who might have tipped Rita off, but quickly dismissed the idea. It could have been anyone.
Last weekend had been Hogsmeade weekend. His attack had become the hot topic of gossip. Any student mentioning it aloud in the village could've been overheard.
Or maybe it was Lockhart.
Lockhart, who constantly craved the spotlight, probably seized the chance to mention it himself. None of the other professors had stepped in to shut him down, so he grew bolder.
What began as subtle remarks during class had become full-blown tales. Now he openly recounted how he'd heroically saved a student—Robert—from an ancient creature in the castle.
Just like the time he claimed to have made a vampire switch to carrot juice.
Robert figured if Lockhart ever wrote a book titled Gilderoy Lockhart and the Curse of the DADA Position, the story of his "rescue" would definitely be in it.
There was no way Lockhart would let go of a newsworthy story like this—student attacked at Hogwarts, Basilisk involved, heroic professor.
That's front-page gold.
And judging from Rita's questions earlier, she would've gone there too—if not for Tom's well-timed intervention.
Deep in thought, Robert finally arrived at the Great Hall.
To his relief, lunch wasn't over yet. The hall still buzzed with activity. But just as he stepped inside—
"It's Robert Ollivander!"
A thin, grey-haired boy stumbled toward him, clutching a basic Muggle camera.
"I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, his face flushed with excitement. "Were you really petrified? Was the monster as terrifying as Professor Lockhart said? Can I take your picture?"
Robert frowned. Nearly two weeks had passed since Halloween. The gossip should've died by now. Why was this still going?
Rita was one thing. But Colin Creevey? Wasn't he obsessed with Harry?
"I'm taking the photo for Professor Lockhart," Colin added. "He said if it comes out well, it might be in his new book!"
Too excited to wait, Colin's hand shook, and he accidentally clicked the shutter.
The camera flashed—only to have the shot completely blocked by a book.
"No need," Robert said coldly, lowering his copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. "Why not take a picture of someone more impressive? I'm sure Professor Lockhart would prefer Harry Potter as his material, don't you think?"
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