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HP Chapter 128: Miss Perfect
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 14:01:05 +0000 UTCThe first Hogsmeade weekend in February had arrived, and it just so happened to be Valentine's Day.
“Hee hee, Anne, I won’t be hanging out with you today, ” Fanny grinned at her early that morning. “Someone’s asked me out.”
“Got it, got it. I won’t get in your way today.”
“Someone’s popular too,” Fanny teased. “Didn’t a Hufflepuff prefect try to?”
“Do you still want delicious chocolate tonight?” Anne interrupted with a threatening tone.
“Alright, alright,” Fanny laughed. “See you in Hogsmeade!”
“Hopefully not,” Anne muttered under her breath.
Anne strolled past Dervish and Banges and noticed a large notice posted in the shop window: photos of ten escaped Death Eaters with the Ministry of Magic’s decree: A reward of 1,000 Galleons for information leading to their capture.
The small crowd gathered in front of the shop was buzzing with conversation. Someone even gave a low whistle, “A thousand Galleons? That’s quite the bounty!”
By the time Anne came out of Honeydukes carrying an armful of chocolate, the dull gray morning had turned into a heavy downpour. She stuffed the boxes into her bag, drew her wand, and muttered a spell. Holding it above her head, she stepped into the rain.
A stream of water arched from the tip of her wand, forming an umbrella-like shield. The raindrops that hit it either dissolved into the flow or burst into tiny flowers of mist.
Anne crossed the street and entered a shop opposite the Three Broomsticks. She chose a window seat, ordered a coffee, and kept her eyes on the pub’s entrance.
She glanced at her watch. Almost time. Sure enough, Rita Skeeter, Hermione, and Luna walked into the Three Broomsticks under a shared umbrella.
A little while later, through the sheets of rain, Harry dashed inside, soaked. Not long after, Hagrid’s massive figure appeared at the doorway and lumbered away.
Anne flipped through a book titled Advanced Magical Potions and Their Botanical Components, occasionally glancing up at the pub entrance.
Time ticked by. The rain gradually lessened until it finally stopped. The sky remained overcast, and droplets fell intermittently from shop eaves into puddles below with soft plops.
Rita Skeeter finally emerged from the pub, her face a mix of anger, sarcasm, and unmistakable excitement, as if she’d just uncovered a secret. After a quick glance to get her bearings, she clutched her crocodile-skin handbag and hurried away.
Anne quickly packed up her book, slipped on glasses and a mask, pulled up her hood, and followed her.
After turning a corner, Rita suddenly stopped and spun around to face Anne. They stood in a narrow, deserted alley, only a dozen steps apart.
“Who are you? Why are you following me?” Rita asked sharply, one hand buried in her handbag, clearly gripping her wand.
“Good instincts,” Anne said with a smile. “Thirty seconds to notice someone was tailing you, not bad. But relax, Miss Skeeter. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
She pulled a coin pouch from her pocket and tossed it to Rita. Rita caught it with one hand, the other still firmly gripping her wand.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Anne asked casually.
Rita eyed her warily and gave the pouch a light shake. The clear clinking of coins inside made her brow furrow. “Galleons? Quite a few of them. What’s the meaning of this?”
Anne shrugged. “Didn’t know you could tell currency by sound. Impressive.”
Rita narrowed her eyes.
“Fifty Galleons. Your payment,” Anne said simply. “Based on the standard fee you charged the Daily Prophet for a feature-length article about a year ago.”
Rita’s expression changed. She gave a scornful snort. “I’ve taken a vow not to write for a year. No commissions.”
Anne nodded calmly. “I know. But this isn’t a commission. The fifty Galleons are your payment for the article you just wrote inside the Three Broomsticks, set to appear in The Quibbler.”
“I don’t remember seeing you in there,” Rita said, surprised but firm.
“I don’t doubt your professional skills,” Anne said smoothly. “I wasn’t there.”
Rita’s look turned from surprise to confusion, then understanding. She stared at Anne for a long moment, then gave a sly smile. She slipped the pouch into her handbag and took a step closer.
“I know who you are now,” she said with keen interest. “You’re her, aren’t you? The girl Miss Perfect keeps talking about. Heir to the Roland family. Miss Reeve.”
Anne raised an eyebrow. “No need to pry. Just take your payment and be on your way.”
Rita stepped closer, curiosity still in her tone. “And Miss Perfect just expected me to write for free?”
“I know that’s what she planned. But I also know what you're thinking. A journalist like you, cornered by a fourth-year, must’ve stung a bit, right? So what’s your plan? That your first article after a whole year, published in a rag you once despised, The Quibbler, no less, and without payment? That wouldn’t sit right, would it?”
“You think I’d do a sloppy job out of spite?”
Anne shook her head. Her tone remained cool. “Not at all. You’ll do a thorough piece. You’re professional. But I believe writing it willingly and getting compensated might spare you some... future inconveniences.”
Rita’s jaw clenched ever so slightly. “So Miss Perfect doesn’t know about this little deal?”
“She doesn’t,” Anne replied evenly. “But that doesn’t stop me from doing what needs to be done, does it, Miss Skeeter? Roland Family Code, Article Six: There are no eternal enemies, only eternal interests.”
Rita gave a knowing smile, closed her handbag, and said cheerfully, “Well said.”
Anne nodded. “Farewell, Miss Skeeter.”
“Farewell, Miss Reeve,” Rita replied with a smirk.
As Anne disappeared around the corner, Rita hurriedly pulled the pouch out of her handbag. Opening it, she found it filled to the brim with gleaming Galleons. She looked back toward where Anne had vanished.
“Looks like there’s a lot more to dig up between the mysterious Roland heir and Miss Perfect...”
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One Wednesday at the end of February, during breakfast, Anne slipped two Knuts into the owl’s coin pouch and handed The Daily Prophet to Fanny. She herself unwrapped a long, brown package revealing the March issue of The Quibbler.
On the cover was a smiling photo of Harry Potter, with bold red letters splashed across it:
“Harry Potter Tells the Truth At Last: I Saw the Dark Lord Rise That Night.”
“Hmm?” Fanny caught sight of the cover and put down her newspaper. “Anne, let me see that.”
“Sure, let’s read it together.” Anne flipped open the magazine.
Luna wandered over to the Slytherin table, leaning her head between Anne and Fanny. “Isn’t it brilliant, Anne?”
Fanny jumped a little. Anne was less surprised but shifted slightly to give Luna room.
“It came out yesterday,” Luna said cheerily. “A kind soul wrote in and said they’ve always loved The Quibbler. They sent fifty Galleons to support us. Dad was shocked! They even said they hoped the magazine would thrive. Dad used twenty Galleons to print a ton of extra March issues, we’re giving them out now!”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” Anne said sincerely.
But by noon, enormous notices had been plastered all over the school, not just in the common rooms, but in hallways and classrooms as well:
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Decree by the Hogwarts High Inquisitor
Any student found in possession of The Quibbler will be expelled.
In accordance with Educational Decree No. 27.
Signed: High Inquisitor Dolores Jane Umbridge
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That afternoon, Professor Umbridge patrolled the school, stopping students and demanding to see their bags and pockets. But her efforts backfired spectacularly. The students were several steps ahead, Harry’s article had been enchanted so that it looked like textbook content or appeared blank unless the reader wanted to read it.
By dinner, nearly everyone was discussing the article from The Quibbler.
Harry had become even more of a focal point. Whether in corridors, classrooms, or the Great Hall, groups of students huddled together, whispering and glancing at him.
Even in the Slytherin common room, the buzz about the article was unmistakable.
In the dormitory, Pansy, Millicent, and Thalia were whispering too, though Pansy was mostly cursing Harry for naming Draco’s father as a Death Eater in the interview.
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“The press run’s expanding!” Luna announced gleefully at dinner the next day, pausing beside Anne at the Slytherin table. “Dad’s over the moon, he’s never seen The Quibbler sell like this before! He says it must be the good luck from that kind donor!”
Anne smiled, genuinely pleased for Luna.
Umbridge, however, was clearly having a rough time. Rumor had it she’d overheard students whispering about the article in the bathroom, mocking the Ministry too, but hadn’t been able to catch them.
Later, Anne stood outside Umbridge’s office and knocked softly.
“Come in,” came the sickly sweet voice.
“Good evening, Professor Umbridge,” Anne said as she stepped inside.
“Good evening, Miss Reeve. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Anne sat across from her.
“I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve called you here, Miss Reeve?” Umbridge said with a smile.
