A Certain Hogwarts Magician Professor

With Christmas approaching, whether it is a wizarding society or a Muggle society, there is a strong festive atmosphere everywhere, and the joy on people's faces is about to overflow. And just as people prepare to welcome the festival, reporters from The Sun are sitting together in a meeting to discuss New Year's issues.

"Rita," a stocky man asked, "how is your manuscript going?"

"It's done," exclaimed Rita Skeeter, taking a stack of printer paper from her alligator purse. "I've dug up an absolute blast." She glanced at the others present, triumphantly. Say:

"There is evidence that the government is systematically covering up the harm caused by mad cow disease to the public!"

"Yeah," said the chunky executive dryly, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his sweaty forehead, taking Rita's press release. He casually flipped through a few pages. After reading it, he raised his head and said in a deep voice, "I'm sorry, Rita, but your manuscript will not be published..."

"Why?" Skeeter raised the volume, and the pen that kept turning in his hand stopped in the summer.

"There's no reason. I admit that you're very good. You've won consecutive battles during this time, but..." The man moved his body uneasily, and the chair made a heavy creaking sound.

Rita Skeeter watched him carefully for a while.

"Oh—" she said in a longer voice, "I see. Well, I'll quit."

The chubby man looked at her in surprise, greatly surprised. In his impression, this woman has always had a keen sense of smell.

Tireless, cruel and vicious like a hound chasing its prey. This is a compliment.

"I thought one by one"

"Why? I'll hold on to it?" Rita Skeeter curled her lips, "I have confidence in my business ability, even if my efforts in the Mad Cow Disease series were in vain, I have confidence in myself. Found new material. Unlike others." She glanced at the corner.

From the long desk, several reporters glared at her, but Rita Skeeter only returned contempt. She has figured out the rules, and now she is at ease.

Sure enough, the chunky man complimented her.

"That's great, Rita! I dare say that recruiting you was the best decision I've ever made. Let me think about what's hot recently." He struck while the iron was hot, ready to give her a new assignment. "Christmas How are you going to spend the festival?"

Rita Skeeter thought for a while and said, "It should be a few days off." She planned to go to the Ministry of Magic to find Amelia Borns to sell miserably. She had been exhausted these past few months. The work of The Sun and the work of the Daily Prophet, she obviously didn't intend to give up on either side—it was all a fabrication anyway.

She had a small window on the second floor of the apartment she rented in the Muggle community that was always open for owls to come in and out at night.

The chunky man blinked, "In that case—a"

"How about handing me the news of that princess' divorce?" Rita Skeeter offered herself, "I'll definitely be able to investigate more eye-catching inside stories." After working together for a few months, let the man know when she said the investigation , actually refers to 'fabrication'.

The man is quite moved.

"No!" said angrily, a blonde with delicate makeup, "I've always been in charge of this, and I can't give up halfway."

"Oh, Melissa." Skeeter looked at her contemptuously. "You haven't gotten your grades for so long, maybe it means you're not suitable for this profession." That Melissa glared at her angrily, grinding her teeth, as if To swallow her whole and torn to pieces.

The chubby supervisor thought for a while. Although Melissa was not as efficient as Rita Skeeter, she was also a capable person under his command and could not be completely sidelined. He neither wants the relationship between the two to be too good, nor does he want the conflict to become irreconcilable and affect his work.

"Come on, Rita," he said finally, "you follow up on the gun bill."

Rita Skeeter's eyes lit up.

But she didn't rush to agree, instead she asked calmly: "How far can I report?"

"Whatever you want." The chunky man said: "This matter is basically risk-free now, and the introduction of a new gun management bill has become a foregone conclusion. After all, the gun ban campaign launched by the families of the shooting victims at the beginning of the year has far-reaching influence, although it has been stopped recently. I got information, and the results may come out in the last year or two."

"Wait, we can get a piece of the pie," Rita Skeeter said immediately, sucking on the pen in her hand like a quill, and inspiration burst out. "We could do a continuous report around this event."

There was a sneer in the office.

"Excuse me?" Skeeter asked coldly.

Melissa showed a mocking smile, first she stroked her hair, and when she felt that everyone's eyes were on her, she said calmly, "Do you need me to remind everyone? It's been nine years since the school shooting. It's been a month, and various news media have discussed it from all angles. It's not worth wasting the precious pages of Christmas.

The middle-aged supervisor looked hesitant, and he turned to look at Skeeter.

Rita Skeeter threw the pen on the table and wrapped her arms around her arms, her long, dazzling green nails conspicuous, "So some people are only worthy of investigating low-level news such as extramarital affairs, but so far there has been no gain. Use your brain, right now This is an opportunity! The government is preparing a new bill, and the public is busy with the Chinese New Year. Although it has not been investigated yet, I can assure you that the banning of handguns will not attract much attention in the next month or two..."

"If this is the time, if we can put out a series of scoops over the Christmas period, bringing peace and carnage,

The New Year is linked to the shooting, and it's hyped up...to get the heat back up, preferably until a new bill is introduced, at which point we can all claim that its implementation is inextricably linked to our efforts. "

She sneered at Melissa and looked at the man.

"Why Christmas? Because it's only when other newspapers are busy covering Christmas and New Years that we're different. That's differentiation. Let readers find us at a glance!" She leaned over to stare at the chunky The middle-aged man, "What do you think, Mr. Editor-in-Chief?"

The editor-in-chief swallowed and said with a stern face: "We are just an entertainment newspaper, if the subject matter is too serious

"You can rest assured on this point, I will use a new narrative style." Rita Skeeter retracted her body and said confidently: "And I have my own opinions on entertainment'--"

She said sweetly: "The most important thing for a newspaper is sales. Besides, the subject matter is not important, the form is not important, the content is not important, and even the truth is not important." She raised her eyebrows, revealing her tacit understanding. There was a round of applause from the door. A woman with a serious face walked in, and no one noticed how much she had heard before.

"You're Rita Skeeter? That name is so hot right now, I'm getting calluses in my ears.

"Who are you?" Skeeter asked calmly, smelling the faint menthol smoke she had only ever smelled at the door of that office, which was always closed and never opened.

The chunky supervisor winked at her desperately and lip-mouthed. The woman didn't answer, but looked at Skeeter up and down, "I've been away from the company for the past few months, but I've never published your article, ridiculing the government to the point of embarrassment—but readers will love to read it. what about this."

Rita Skeeter said flatteringly: "So you're going to give me a promotion?"

The pudgy executive stared wide-eyed from behind, a shameful betrayal. But Skeeter was about to cling to the high branch. She stared at the woman who suddenly appeared, and the woman laughed heartily, "Why not?"

She looked at Rita Skeeter nonchalantly. "I have limited time, so there is only one interview question. If I want to increase the sales of the newspaper by another 20,000 copies, what do you suggest?"

Skeeter clenched his fists. "Increase the distinction of newspapers."

"Distinction? Be specific."

"In fact, we are already ahead, like the girls in the third edition...but not enough, we have to distinguish ourselves from other newspapers in every way - even if it is a mistake, we have to be the only one. We can even sometimes Deliberately contradicting the reader, of course...Only a true expert can grasp the subtle difference."

The woman narrowed her eyes and asked with interest, "Do you think you are that expert?"

"No doubt," Skeeter said cheekily.

A moment of silence. The woman nodded to her, "You will be one of the deputy editors in the future."

Rita Skeeter, who had just been promoted, returned to her office in a hurry and instructed two assistants:

"Find all the news of the Dunblane school shooting this year, now! Including the list of victims, the ideas and demands of the anti-gun movement organization, the voices of government departments on this matter, the list of government drafters of the gun bill, and chasing shadows. Rumors...I want it all! And buy me a local ticket to Scotland."

Two days later, Rita Skeeter rushed to the town where the shooting took place and personally persuaded several families of the victims to be interviewed.

She offered good terms—the Sun was selling enough to make waves, and she promised to publish a series of stories to help them pressure the government—and the families agreed without much thought.

They also used their connections to have Rita Skeeter swagger on the campus where the shooting took place.

Rita Skeeter interviewed a few teachers at random and came up with a spicy report of no less than 10,000 words in her mind, but she was still not satisfied. She wanted to find a sufficiently tricky angle, which was both shocking and unpleasant. It will be too inconsistent in the new year.

As she walked, her scattered eyes fixed on those students. She had a good idea.

"Hey, little one." She greeted a boy with a friendly gesture. "What's your name?"

"Andy, Andy Murray," said the little boy she was eyeing, looking only eight or nine years old.

"Oh, Andy, Andy," she repeated twice, pulled out her press pass, waved it in front of him, and asked domineeringly, "Can I interview you alone?"

"I'm still playing tennis," Andy Murray said.

"Exactly, that's what I'm here for." Rita Skeeter lied, glanced quickly at the tennis bag on the boy's shoulder, and smiled: "I talked to your teacher, and she told me You are very talented."

"It's him," the boy corrected. "what?"

"My gym teacher, it's him," the boy emphasized, then looked at her suspiciously.

"I may have misremembered," said Rita Skeeter apologetically, though she couldn't find any hint of shame on her face, "then—let's talk tileball, tennis, God, It's a really confusing word."

The little boy glared at her, displeased at the woman who had suddenly appeared and desecrated tennis.

"Oh, don't be like this, I just said one word wrong, do you know how much material I read before I came?"

She pointed to her thick glasses, "When did you start playing tennis?"

"...Three years old." After a long stalemate, the little boy said.

Rita Skeeter was a little surprised. "So I just caught a little genius?" She laughed, "I should put you on my watch list and interview you again in a few years. What's the title? The birth of a genius... ...or the fall of genius? It's really exciting."

The little boy left angrily, but Skeeter grabbed his wrist tightly. At the time of the dispute, the teacher at the school appeared.

"What are you doing! Who are you? Oh, Ms. Skeeter—" The female teacher was surprised.

"It's me," Skeeter said in an understatement, letting go of his hand. "I ran into little Andy when I was hanging out on campus, but there was a little misunderstanding when he was in a hurry to get to the gym."

The female teacher looked at her and then at the little boy who was rubbing his wrist, and his attitude became cold, "I think that may not be the reason, Andy... Andy should not want to go to the gym."

"Why do you say that?" Skeeter was stunned for a moment. She didn't know what was wrong, but she quickly thought of the crux of the problem. "Because that shooting happened in the gym?" She stared at Andy with wide eyes. , said in disbelief, "Is he one of the witnesses?"

"That's right," the female teacher said coldly, "Andy usually only goes to the playground to play ball since then, and the school is also planning to build a new fitness center."

Rita Skeeter stumbles.

"I—" She opened her mouth, trying to make amends.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Skeeter, please get out of here, or I'll call the security." The female teacher said firmly.

Rita Skeeter's face went green and white, and several times she put her hand into the alligator purse, but she gave up taking out her wand. Her wand had been rewired for being employed by the Ministry of Magic, and any magic she used during the year would be known to the woman sitting in the minister's office.

hateful.

"Well, I'm sorry," she said with a shrug, turning to leave.

On the way out of the school, Skeeter was thinking about all kinds of ideas. The information he got so far was almost the same. Today is just an extra gain. But she always felt that there was something missing, what was it? She looked back and saw that the female teacher was kneeling down to comfort the little boy softly, but the little boy was stubborn.

Tennis, little boy... she thought of it.

"You're lucky." Rita Skeeter said coldly in her heart. She took the train for another ten hours and returned to the "Sun" station. It didn't take long before she wrote a press release in one go.

"After nine months, my new friend Andy still can't get out of the shadow of fear. He wept bitterly in front of me and confessed that he was heartbroken at the loss of his playmate. He also revealed that they had agreed to play tennis together. , became forever friends and rivals, but it all came to nothing. His parents couldn't even deceive him with a white lie, because little Andy was the witness of the tragedy, the companion who made a lifetime promise with him. down in front of you"

"I know someone will bring up the Hungerford shooting in 1987, yes, the government responded quickly,

A ban on semi-automatic rifles was announced the following year and restrictions were placed on the ownership of handguns, but it was not enough! "

"Just over the past nine years, tragedy has returned, this time of a more egregious nature, as 16 of the 17 killed

All are children, do we really have to turn a blind eye? The killer was in possession of four handguns 'issued and licensed' by the government at the time of the attack, which means there are huge loopholes in the way we manage guns, and I ask government officials who are currently busy planning vacations or preparing for the New Year's parade , let them dedicate their energies to the victims and their families who were supposed to celebrate the New Year with the same excitement as you~www.readwn.com~. But their lives came to a permanent stop in March 1996. "

"...We can only make the right choice with greater determination, courage, and sense of responsibility...

With the encouragement of reporters, little Andy has regained his strength. He said that he will never give up tennis. Ladies and gentlemen, a great star is rising, and his future is bright and has infinite possibilities. But don't forget, if we continue to remain indifferent, little Andy will be threatened by guns day and night to come."

In the office, it had been quiet for a while, and a lady's cigarette was burning quietly.

"How?" Rita Skeeter asked, narrowing her eyes.

The woman with the serious face earlier tore off a piece of paper, wrote quickly, and a moment later she pushed the note and the press release in front of Skeeter. Then she took a deep breath of her cigarette and exhaled a menthol-flavored ring.

"Your new office is ready."**

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