On a snowy morning in Diagon Alley, the streets were bustling, and shopkeepers waved their wands, hanging wreaths woven from holly, mistletoe, and pine branches on their shop signs.
Ding-a-ling—
The bell jingled, and the receptionist looked up from the golden ticket towards the door.
A blonde woman entered, wearing a crimson overcoat, her hair styled in an elaborate, stiff, and peculiar mass of curls, and spectacles adorned with jewels.
The receptionist quickly bowed her head, "Good morning, Ms. Skeeter, here are your two letters."
"Good morning, Little Rundle." Rita's face showed a somewhat artificial smile, and three golden teeth gleamed.
She walked to the front desk, gently lowered her spectacles a bit, then looked down, and a moment later, her face broke into a wide smile.
"Thank you," she said, then turned and walked inside.
Walking all the way to her office, she pushed open the door and immediately saw a man sitting behind her desk, holding a manuscript and reading it with great interest.
"Sir, this is a private office." Rita pushed up her spectacles; she knew perfectly well that she had no interview appointments today.
The man put down the manuscript he was holding and stood up, "Oh, Ms. Skeeter, I've been waiting for you for a long time."
"I don't recall having any interviews scheduled today." She raised her thick eyebrows, walked in, and placed her handbag on the desk, "If you want to report something, you can go to the front desk to make an appointment, but not today. Today…"
"You didn't flee, nor did you draw your wand. Instead, you walked in and placed your bag on the desk?" Howl's surprised voice interrupted her.
"How old are you? When you were studying Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, Riddle shouldn't have set the Curse yet, right—you should have received proper Defense Against the Dark Arts education!"
"Your words are a bit impolite, please leave immediately." Rita Skeeter frowned, then belatedly reached into her handbag and gripped her wand.
Howl looked at her actions, a little surprised, "So you know the word 'polite' too.
Then I'm very curious, what were you thinking, to make baseless accusations against me?"
"You are…?"
"Oh, I haven't introduced myself yet." Howl's face twisted, and then an image wrapped in silver-white fur was revealed.
Immediately, Rita Skeeter was so frightened that she took two steps back, her heels clicking crisply on the floor.
"Howl Jenkins, current Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts," Howl said, "Of course, according to your description, there are also titles such as 'violent individual,' 'collaborator in Dumbledore's conspiracy,' 'suspect,' and so on."
"It's you! What do you want here?" Rita Skeeter's tone held a touch of panic.
"I don't want anything, I just hope you can stop your foolish remarks in the newspaper," Howl said.
"Those aren't foolish remarks, just reasonable speculations about facts from different angles," she said.
Bang—
Immediately, her figure flew backward and crashed against the wall.
"Wizards invented Apparition to avoid wasting time on journeys; you wouldn't think I'd waste that saved time bickering with you, would you?" Howl slowly moved forward.
"Skeeter, you know best what kind of articles you write. As a writer, you are also very clear about what kind of descriptions and embellishments can stir up public emotions.
You have never been a journalist who speaks out for justice; you are an author of entertainment articles—it's the greatest loss to the entertainment section that you didn't sign with The Quibbler."
"You are committing a crime… the Ministry of Magic won't…" She stumbled to her feet.
Screech—
A piercing scream erupted, blood splattered on the wall, and a bloody hole appeared on her body.
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