After lunch, Professor McGonagall hurriedly departed, intent on returning to Hogwarts to issue strict orders to the house-elves, explicitly forbidding Dumbledore from consuming any sweets.
From now on, the special treats and honey in the Headmaster's office were entirely banned.
That evening, Veratia arrived at Harry's room, much to his anticipation.
The next morning, in the dining room, Sirius Black furiously tossed the newspaper onto the table.
"I'm livid!" he roared, his voice thick with anger. "This Daily Prophet! What are they playing at?"
"What's wrong?" Cassandra asked, setting down her papaya milk and frowning.
She had learned the recipe from so obscure Seres dical text and wasn't sure if it was effective, but for now, she'd give it a try.
As for potions… she wasn't ready to resort to them just yet. That would an admitting defeat.
Sirius, still fuming, shoved the newspaper toward Cassandra. After reading it, her brow furrowed.
"What's the matter?" Veratia leaned over, but upon glimpsing the article's contents, her expression darkened.
She never imagined the Daily Prophet would not only slander Regulus—claiming she was taking advantage of his youth—but also concoct stories about her seducing the Savior, Harry Potter.
"So, what's written here is true?" Cassandra asked, her tone teasing, a half-smile playing on her lips as she glanced at Veratia.
Veratia narrowed her eyes and said coldly, "I want to know how the Daily Prophet knows what's happening at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."
She slamd her milk glass onto the table and scanned the room.
Her gaze first locked onto Dumbledore.
"Don't look at , Miss Grindelwald," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "You know I didn't leave this house yesterday."
"I'm not accusing you, Dumbledore," Veratia replied, her expression still icy. "I'm asking you—what backing does the Daily Prophet have? How dare they spread such rumors in their paper?"
"As far as I know, they have no backing," Dumbledore said confidently.
"That's strange, then," Veratia said, tapping the table. "How can such a newspaper exist in the British wizarding world? I won't allow it—absolutely not. The wizarding world cannot tolerate a paper that disregards facts and fabricates lies!"
"But how does the Daily Prophet know so much about what's happening in the Black family ho?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed. "No, it's not that simple. It must be…"
"An inside job?!" Ron blurted, following Hermione's train of thought.
"No," Hermione said, resting her chin in her hand and pacing a few steps. She turned to Ron. "In this ti, the only people coming and going from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, are Sirius, Harry, Professor Snape, and you. First, Sirius and Harry would never be bored enough to leak this to the Daily Prophet. Second, while Professor Snape enjoys targeting Sirius, he wouldn't do this either. If the articles from a few days ago raised suspicions, today's paper clears Snape—he couldn't possibly know firsthand information from here when he wasn't even present."
"And Professor McGonagall would never do such a thing. So… I have a theory…"
Hermione walked over to Veratia and whispered sothing in her ear.
Veratia's expression softened slightly. She glanced at Hermione and asked, "How certain are you?"
"I'm absolutely sure," Hermione declared confidently. "There's no other possibility!"
"Good!" A faint smile curled at Veratia's lips as she approved Hermione's plan.
That afternoon, Veratia sent Hedwig to Hogwarts with a letter. This ti, she didn't just invite Professor McGonagall—she requested all four Heads of House to co to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
When the four professors arrived at the old Black family ho, Veratia didn't imdiately reveal her intentions. After exchanging a few brief words, they gathered in the eting room for a discussion.
From the outside, the eting room appeared lively, with Ravenclaw's Head, Professor Flitwick, so animated that he stood on the table, gesturing passionately.
But if one listened closely, they'd hear Flitwick debating whether they should have macaroni or spaghetti for dinner.
"I believe macaroni is superior to spaghetti," Snape said with a straight face, spouting utter nonsense. "If I had to choose, I'd pick macaroni."
"Ha! Caught you, Snivellus… I an, Snape!" Sirius slapped the table. "You lonely bachelor, eating that rubbish all the ti at ho! No wonder your hair's so greasy—it must be all that macaroni!"
Snape didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he flashed a cold, insincere smile.
"No, I'm rely single. You, on the other hand, are truly a dog."
Sirius choked on his words, nearly suffocating from the retort.
At that mont, Hermione casually approached the door, holding a bottle. With lightning speed, she slamd it over the doorway.
A beetle appeared inside the bottle.
"Well, professors," Hermione said, shaking the bottle and securing the beetle inside, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. "I've caught the eavesdropping thief. My guess was right—she's an unregistered Animagus… a beetle! No wonder she could sneak in undetected. It's the perfect Animagus form for a journalist!"
Veratia, her face cold, appeared beside the bottle.
She took it from Hermione, and a cluster of violet flas flickered in her hand.
"Trash like this, who only stirs up trouble with a quill, has no place existing…" she said.
A vortex suddenly swirled around the beetle, and the bottle shattered. A woman appeared in its place.
She had blonde hair and a square-jawed face, dressed in green robes, her expression one of abject terror.
"No, don't burn !" the woman shrieked. "I'm still useful—I'm still useful!"
"Oh? And what use are you?" Veratia asked, pressing the violet flas closer to her.
The woman scread, trying to shake off the fire, but it clung to her like a curse, impossible to escape. Yet the flas were expertly controlled, not spreading or burning her body—only tornting her soul.
"I'll join you!" the woman cried in panic. "Please, make the flas stop, I beg you, I beg you…"
"Your na," Veratia said casually.
"Rita, Rita Skeeter," she stamred, introducing herself incoherently. "Reporter for the Daily Prophet, forty-two years old…"
"So, a Daily Prophet reporter," Veratia said, folding her hands on her lap, looking perfectly poised.
Yet her actions were anything but serene.
"Why fabricate these lies?" Veratia asked softly, her tone deliberate. "I don't recall us ever eting, nor do I rember any grievances between us. Why do this?"
"For… for a big scoop…" Rita said, wincing in pain. "It makes the paper sell more…"
"I see…" Veratia said, as if enlightened. "Just for a big scoop, you twist the truth and weave lies. It seems you need a little punishnt…"
With that, Veratia picked up a small sack from nearby and stuffed Rita inside.
After securing her, Veratia turned to the four Heads of House.
She stood, lifting her skirt slightly in a graceful curtsy.
"Thank you, professors, for your help. Without your cooperation, we couldn't have lured this cunning reporter into our trap."
"It's what we should do," said the plump Professor Sprout, clearly no fan of the journalist. "You know, she's written awful things about in the paper before, and I've never been able to stop her. Seeing you deal with her now—I'm thrilled and grateful."
"There's more?" Veratia asked, surprised. "She'd even sar soone like you, Professor Sprout, who dedicates herself to education?"
"Oh, it's not just !" Professor Flitwick said indignantly. "She claid I'm shorter than two stacked copies of Basic Charms! rlin's height-enhancing shoes—I'd love to hex that wretched face of hers!"
"I'll handle her," Veratia said with a nod, then turned to Professor McGonagall. "And you?"
"She called a conniving old hag who uses her Animagus form to trick children!" McGonagall said, her eyes blazing with suppressed anger.
"I'll punish her," Veratia promised, nodding again before turning to Snape. "And you, Professor Snape?"
Snape turned his face away with a sneer.
"Oh, I know this one," Sirius said, raising his hand gleefully. "Rita Skeeter's got a sharper tongue than Jas or ! She said Snivellus's hair is so oily it could fry a whole table of fish and chips!"
Snape's face darkened, clearly recalling unpleasant mories.
At Sirius's words, the room's atmosphere grew strange.
rlin's beard, Rita was vicious…
"But we're professors. We can't confront her directly," Sprout said with a sigh.
"I understand," Veratia said, flashing an OK gesture.
With Rita Skeeter caught, the professors' task was complete.
Hermione's plan was simple: she suspected Rita was chasing a big scoop, and the sudden arrival of the four Heads of House at Grimmauld Place was the perfect bait for a major story.
It worked—Rita had taken the bait.
After keeping the professors for dinner and seeing them off, Veratia released a disheveled Rita from the sack.
Only the two of them remained in the room. Veratia didn't want her image tarnished in Harry's eyes.
Rita, half-delirious from the tornt of the violet flas, was in no state to be pitied. Veratia raised her wand, and a jet of water from Aguanti sent Rita crashing into the wall.
"Let go, let go—Miss, Miss Grindelwald…" Rita scrambled to her feet, crawling toward Veratia, begging for rcy.
"It's not that I don't want to let you go, Miss Skeeter," Veratia said, sitting in a chair and looking down at her. "It's whether you're willing to let yourself go."
"I… I…" Rita stamred, at a loss for words, unsure how to satisfy this Grindelwald.
Veratia said nothing, rely watching her in silence, occasionally sipping tea from her cup, appearing in no rush to make demands.
The pressure of her silence was far greater than anything she could have said.
"I… I…" Rita tried several tis to speak, but her words failed her.
What could she say or do to appease this terrifying young woman?
No… not appease. Satisfy.
With that thought, Rita decided to take a gamble.
"Please, give your orders, esteed Miss Grindelwald," she said obsequiously. "Whatever you require, I'll do my utmost to fulfill…"
"I have no requirents," Veratia said, setting her teacup aside with a smile. "It seems you still don't understand my aning…"
"But I…" Rita's mind raced, frantically searching for the root of the issue.
After several monts of desperate thought, she finally grasped it.
"I'll go back and write a new article—about you, Miss Grindelwald. How could you ever fancy that boy, Harry Potter…"
Veratia slowly raised her head, her gaze as cold as death.
Rita shuddered, realizing her mistake.
Clever as she was, she quickly backtracked. "No, I an, the touching love story between you and Mr. Potter deserves to be written with care!"
She cautiously looked up, seeing Veratia's expression soften, and felt a surge of relief.
She'd gambled correctly.
She pressed on. "Also, regarding Mr. Regulus Black, I think the Daily Prophet needs to reassess. His heroic deeds, especially his undercover work against the Dark Lord, must be spread to every corner of the wizarding world!"
Rita glanced up again, but Veratia was focused on her tea, not looking at her.
"And in the future, if you have any needs, the Daily Prophet will do its utmost to assist…" Rita added, gritting her teeth.
She knew what the Grindelwald na ant, but she had no choice—her secret was in Veratia's hands.
Moreover, after witnessing Veratia's thods today, Rita knew she could make her disappear without a trace.
Having fallen into her grasp, Rita had no choice but to yield.
At her words, Veratia set down her teacup.
She didn't just want Rita to clear Regulus's na. She needed the Daily Prophet for other purposes as well.
--
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