Chapter 125: Rita Skeeter
Time: 2:30 PM. In the school infirmary, near the window, Ron still looked completely petrified—so stiff it was as if he had been carved out of stone rather than merely affected by a spell.
"Fred, why didn't Madam Pomfrey drive them all away?" Alexander Smith asked, glancing at the crowd still loitering nearby.
"Oh, alright, I admit it—I'm Fred," said one of the twins, turning toward him. "Harry, what exactly are you doing here?"
"Yes, how did you recognize us?" asked the other, clearly George.
"I've observed that Fred usually speaks first," Alexander replied smoothly. He was careful not to mention that it was something he'd picked up from keen observation—and a little magical help.
"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he asked next.
"She said the injury could've been treated with some white fresh flower extract and a simple bandage," George explained. "But when she saw Ron petrified and hauled in like that—"
"And since he needs his wand for the next two classes," Fred added, "she decided to go to Professor Sprout to fetch some fresh mustard flowers. Apparently, she wants to try a more... innovative method."
"It should fix his hand completely by this afternoon," George chimed in. "Though it's gonna hurt like mad and he has to stay completely still, so we're reapplying the petrification spell every now and then."
Alexander nodded in understanding. Just then, the door creaked slightly from the corridor beyond. George leaned over and whispered, "So once word got out that Madam Pomfrey wasn't here, this mob showed up claiming they were 'waiting' for you, Neville, or Draco."
Fred's brow furrowed. "Wait a minute—George, do you know Kate Lewinster from Ravenclaw?"
"Ohhh... That makes sense," George said, clicking his tongue.
"What makes sense?" Alexander asked.
"The only one who could coordinate all four Houses to create a scene like this... is Kate Lewinster—also known as Rita Skeeter II," Fred replied.
"She once left the real Rita speechless—literally—and she's been untouchable ever since," George added.
"When we started at Hogwarts, we looked into an incident involving Percy the year before—and found it traced back to her."
"She's really tough to deal with. Percy totally deserved it, though," both twins said in unison.
Alexander looked slightly troubled. "Then how exactly did I offend her?"
Back in the Charms classroom, Alexander chuckled to himself. Well, you were being a third wheel, Harry... although I may share part of the blame. Hopefully after Kate vents a bit, she'll cool off. I owe you one.
Meanwhile, George speculated, "It's not like Kate stirred this up on purpose. This whole thing was already heating up—she just gave it the nudge it needed. Like letting the right people know Madam Pomfrey wasn't around."
Fred nodded. "Probably just blowing off steam. Still, I suggest you avoid confronting her. Let it die down."
"She's not furious, just... irritated. But still, best not to poke the hornet's nest."
"You've got no proof, anyway."
"She and your Prefect Penelope Clearwater are close—inseparable, really."
"She went after Percy before, because of Penelope. Poor guy had feelings for her... but handled it terribly."
The twins wrapped up in their usual synchronized style.
Not long after, Madam Pomfrey returned, and the gathered students slowly dispersed. She sent Fred and George back to class but surprisingly allowed Alexander to stay with Ron.
"Well, you must be Neville, from that article," Madam Pomfrey said curtly. A woman of precision and few words, she didn't recognize Alexander at all.
"I'm Alexander Smith," he replied, confused. Given how much he resembled his father, he thought he'd be more recognizable.
But Madam Pomfrey, a proud Slytherin in her youth and a longtime healer, only remembered faces she deemed important. To her, the notorious Gryffindor mischief-makers were barely a footnote.
"Hmm... so Rita was wrong. There's no real thing going on between Neville and Ron," she muttered with a trace of disappointment.
It seemed she was rooting for the Neville-Ron pairing.
"Alright, Mr. Smith, please step aside."
"If this is going to heal properly, we need to work fast. I haven't tried this method since I left St. Mungo's." As she spoke, she drew the curtain around Ron's bed and gestured at Alexander.
"Poor boy... Here, hand me the white cloth near the end of the bed. But don't look! You won't eat dinner if you do."
Alexander handed it over hesitantly. "You know, I am a wizard too."
"Yes, but you're not the one trying to stabilize a Weasley's hand while he's petrified with his eyes wide open!" she snapped.
"I just noticed that when Ron was petrified, his eyes were staring straight at his hands. I can't pull them apart with his gaze locked like that," she muttered, covering Ron's head with the cloth and fully sealing the curtains.
Ten minutes passed. When the curtains were drawn back, all signs of the ordeal were gone, thanks to a few Cleaning Charms. Ron, now conscious, lay on the bed with a sullen expression—but his hand had healed.
"Ron, with that white cloth over your head, you looked like a body in a Muggle morgue," Alexander teased once Madam Pomfrey stepped into the adjoining room to make tea.
"A morgue? Is that a Muggle wedding hall?" Ron asked, confused.
"No! A morgue is where Muggles keep dead bodies. The cloth means death," Alexander clarified.
"Merlin's beard! I'd much rather it meant a wedding!" Ron said, making the sign to ward off bad luck. "Ugh! Do you know how much Fred and George messed with me while I was petrified? They didn't even reapply the spell on time!"
"Wait... so your eyes moved mid-treatment, and you got petrified again?" Alexander guessed.
"Yes! Spot on, mate."
Ron suddenly shot upright. "What time is it?!"
Alexander checked his watch. "It's 3:00. Defense Against the Dark Arts is about to start!"
"What? I thought it was night! I'm a patient! How am I supposed to go to class like this?"
"Don't even try it," said Madam Pomfrey sternly, reappearing at just the wrong moment. "Your class is on the third floor, and it's not far. Time to go."
Ron groaned in despair, raising his head as though trying to hold back tears.
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