Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 471: The Dedicated Rita Skeeter

When the group returned to Stoatshead Hill, the noise of the crowd faded away, leaving only the sounds of chirping insects. Cedric, who lived on the other side of the village, parted ways with them at the bottom of the hill, and the others continued on.

In the cool moonlight, they walked through St. Catchpole Village, chatting as they made their way along the damp path toward The Burrow.

“You said you saw Gilderoy Lockhart?” Harry asked, glancing at Kyle in surprise.

“I only caught a glimpse, so I’m not sure,” Kyle replied. “But that person’s teeth were incredibly white and shiny, and he had blond hair—just like Lockhart.”

“You must have been mistaken,” Ron said. “Lockhart is still at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Injuries. There’s no way he’d be at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Actually, no,” Mr. Weasley, walking ahead of them, chimed in. “If I recall correctly, he was released about a week ago... Fudge mentioned it after a visit to St. Mungo’s.”

“And when he came back, the Ministry received a generous donation.”

“Lockhart donated it?” Ron asked, sounding skeptical.

“Not exactly to the Ministry,” Mr. Weasley explained. “Apparently, Lockhart had a change of heart and decided to use the fortune he’d accumulated from his book sales to compensate the people whose memories he stole and to help fund their treatment. He even handed over all rights and royalties to his books to support others in St. Mungo’s who needed memory restoration.”

“The two people in the ward with him were the first beneficiaries.”

“All his fortune... plus all his book royalties?” Ron gasped. “His books aren’t cheap! How much is that going to cost? Can Lockhart even afford it?”

“I’m not really sure,” Mr. Weasley replied, “but that’s how it was arranged. His books can be sold again, except now the names of the real people who performed those deeds have replaced his.”

“So, Lockhart’s fine now?” Harry asked.

“Oh, definitely,” Ron said with a grin. “Think about it—last year, everyone at Hogwarts had to buy seven of his books, and that’s tens of thousands of Galleons right there. Adding his earlier savings... he’s sitting on a mountain of Galleons. With that much gold, I think most people would be inclined to forgive him.”

“But it’s not right!” Hermione protested, frowning. “He should be properly punished.”

“No, I think this is punishment enough,” Ron argued. Losing tens of thousands of Galleons all at once... just the thought of it made Ron wince.

Mr. Weasley didn’t comment. He had originally shared Hermione’s view, but knowing the Longbottoms had benefited softened his stance.

It was a coincidence that after Lockhart was admitted to St. Mungo’s, he ended up in the same ward as the Longbottoms, making them among the first to benefit from his donation.

Kyle nodded thoughtfully. It seemed likely that Lockhart, not wanting to spend the rest of his life in St. Mungo’s or face Azkaban, chose to “pay his way out.” The fact that he could still attend the Quidditch World Cup suggested he hadn’t given up all his wealth entirely. His books remained popular, and as long as his donation was large enough to impress, he could keep a bit for himself without raising complaints.

Chatting as they walked, the group soon passed through St. Catchpole Village. They turned the corner at the end of the path, and The Burrow came into view.

A shout came from up the path.

“Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!”

Mrs. Weasley, who must have been waiting anxiously, came running toward them in her slippers, pale and visibly shaken. Clutching a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet, she threw her arms around Mr. Weasley. “Arthur, I was so worried. Thank goodness you’re all right…”

She hugged him tightly, and the newspaper slipped from her hands, fluttering weakly to the ground. Kyle picked it up, glancing at the headline:

[Horror at the Quidditch World Cup]

The bold title was accompanied by a large photo showing a scene of chaos at the campsite, with panicked witches and wizards fleeing in all directions.

“So soon?” Kyle asked in disbelief. “It only just ended, and they’re already reporting it?”

“The owl delivered it half an hour ago,” Mrs. Weasley replied, shaking her head. “I wondered why it arrived at such an odd time… I never imagined something so awful had happened—By Merlin’s beard… the Dark Mark…”

Kyle opened the newspaper, and everyone crowded behind him, eager to read it too. The edition was noticeably thinner than usual, clearly rushed to print to catch the breaking story. The articles covered the Quidditch World Cup incident from every angle.

“‘Ministry in a panic… security lax… dark wizard at large… gross negligence… shameful…’” Ginny read aloud, sounding irritated. “Did the person who wrote this not see that even people on vacation like Dad were out there handling it?”

“She wouldn’t have seen it… and even if she did, she’d never write it,” Charlie said, pointing to the byline. “Look who it is—Rita Skeeter. She practically invents her stories.”

“That woman’s nothing but a thorn in the Ministry’s side,” Percy grumbled. “And she must have known nearly everyone from the Ministry was at the camp because she published this overnight.”

Harry tilted his head to see the byline, spotting Rita Skeeter’s name. He recalled her article from the previous year about his flying car incident; she certainly knew how to spin a story.

“Well, never mind that. As long as you’re all safe,” Mrs. Weasley said, guiding them toward the house.

In the cozy, crowded kitchen, she made hot cocoa for everyone, while Mr. Weasley opted instead for a glass of aged Firewhiskey. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley returned with a plate of sandwiches, made as quickly as possible.

But no one seemed interested in eating. After all they’d been through—the dragons, the riots—everyone was exhausted. Now, in the familiar comfort of The Burrow, they finally began to unwind, feeling heavy with fatigue.

Sensing this, Mrs. Weasley didn’t press them for details. Once everyone had finished eating, she sent them all upstairs, leaving Mr. Weasley alone in the kitchen.

Kyle went back to his own house. The lights were on, but no one was there. On the table sat a plate of hot omelets and bread, along with a copy of The Daily Prophet—the same edition he’d seen at The Burrow.

It seemed Chris and Diana must have received the news and rushed back to the Ministry that night. Kyle imagined the Ministry of Magic would be swamped over the coming days, thanks to Rita Skeeter’s sensational report.

But what puzzled him was why Chris and Diana, with one working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the other in the Department of Mysteries, would need to return to the Ministry over a riot that seemed unrelated to their fields. Could it be that the disturbance involved Veelas or Leprechauns?