Rita Skeeter:
So tell me, Harry. Here you sit, a mere boy of 12...
Harry:
- I'm 14...
Rita Skeeter:
- about to compete against three students who are not only vastly more emotionally mature than yourself, but who've mastered spells that you wouldn't attempt in your dizziest daydreams. Concerned?
Harry:
I dunno, I haven't really thought about it...
Rita Skeeter:
Because you're no ordinary boy of 12 are you?
Harry:
14.
Rita Skeeter:
Your story's legend. Do you think it was the trauma of your past that made you so keen to enter such a dangerous tournament?
Harry:
No, I didn't enter.
Rita Skeeter:
Of course you didn't.
[winks]

Rita Skeeter:
Everyone loves a rebel, Harry. Speaking of your parents, were they alive, how do you think they'd feel? Proud? Or concerned that your attitude shows, at best, a pathological need for attention? The worst psychotic death wish.
[Harry glances at Rita's notes]

Harry:
Hey, my eyes aren't glistening with the ghosts of my past!
Riportata da il 05/03/2025 alle ore 08:50

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