Hogwarts, a Scholar Becomes a God

Latest website: "Clark, I use a shorthand quill to take notes, you won't object? That way I can free up my hands and talk to you normally..."

As she said this, Rita Skeeter had taken out a long, dazzling green quill and a roll of parchment from her alligator leather handbag.

"You please." Clark stretched out his hand and made a casual gesture.

The smile on Rita Skeeter's face became more pronounced when she heard this, and she showed the three gold teeth in her mouth.

She spread the parchment out on the table between them, then put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked on it for a while, and placed the pen vertically on the parchment.

The quill tube stood upright on the tip of the pen, vibrating slightly.

"Try it... My name is Rita Skeeter, a reporter for The Home Daily."

Following her words, the green quill pen swiftly began to write, the nib sliding deftly over the parchment.

Charming blonde Rita Skeeter, now forty-three, with her unruly quill, has exposed many pompous names—

"Heh!" Clark chuckled, "It's a very delicate activation alchemy, this thing must be expensive, right?"

"Yeah," Rita Skitt nodded, "this is a custom-made alchemy item."

With that, she tore off the first piece of parchment, crumpled it, and stuffed it into her handbag.

Then, leaning towards Clark, she said, "So, Clark...what made you decide to sign up for the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Hmm—" Clark opened his mouth, but his attention was quickly drawn to the quill.

Although he didn't speak, the pen swished across the parchment, and where the nib slipped, Clark recognized a new line of writing:

Fighting for honor has always been Clark Prewett's motto.

This young man, who is not yet fifteen years old, has a handsome and charming face, and when he said this, his beautiful dark golden eyes revealed—

"Is it alright, Clark?" Rita Skeeter asked flatteringly. "If I'm not satisfied, I can change it. Don't worry, I'll show you the official draft before it comes out."

Clark nodded noncommittally, in fact, she didn't need to say, as long as the report involved him, the manuscript would appear on his desk before it was sent out.

After all, who made him the major shareholder of "Yuejia Daily"?

Rita Skeeter is known for her poignant rhetoric to satirize the powerful, but she's actually smart enough to know who to mess with and who can't.

Even if she is a big reporter or a big writer, in front of capital, she is just a tool person who can be called around.

"Tell me how you feel about the event you're going to play," Rita Skeeter continued. "Excited? Nervous?"

"Maybe others will be nervous and excited, but for me, it's already trivial." Clark said calmly.

Rita Skeeter raised a heavily drawn eyebrow, and she did not expect that this young major shareholder of "Yujia Daily" would be so arrogant.

Yes, although he is a very arrogant person, in Rita Skeeter's cognition, this young man can pretend to be better than himself.

However, she was not defeated by this small setback, and continued to ask reluctantly, "It is said that in the past several Triwizard Tournaments, warriors have lost their lives. Have you ever thought about this?"

"No."

"why?"

"Because I didn't participate in the previous sessions." Clark said of course.

"Cough-cough-"

The quill swished on the parchment between the two, but it slid much more slowly, no longer as smooth as ice skating before.

"Of course, you've been through a lot of dangerous things in the past, haven't you?" Rita Skeeter asked again, staring at him, "such as facing a wicked dark wizard, fighting some powerful monster, Or kill the evil werewolf?"

"It seems that you investigated me thoroughly." Clark looked at her with a smile.

"It's a reporter's job to know the information of the interviewee." Rita Skeeter explained.

"So, you signed up for the Triwizard Tournament this time with great confidence, right?"

Clark nodded.

"Then who do you think is the greatest threat to you in this game?"

Clark smiled and shook his head, and when he looked down, he saw the words just written by the quill pen:

For this game, Clark said that he responded with an all-out attitude.

Although the other warriors are very powerful, in Clark's view, they are not invulnerable, and they still have the strength to fight.

If Bagman could see that this guy who always enjoys distorting facts and likes to make things up can still write such words, he will definitely drop his jaw.

But the fact is that it is like, you never know how humble your goddess will be when she is a licking dog for others.

However, being a licking dog is not so easy, and Rita Skeeter is ready to make persistent efforts to continue interviewing Clark.

It's just that she hasn't had time to speak, and with the sound of footsteps, Dumbledore has accompanied several other referees and an old man down the stairs on the second floor.

"Dumbledore!"

Rita Skeeter exclaimed, looking overjoyed—as if she could finally get out of this embarrassing situation.

Clark noticed that her quill and parchment had suddenly disappeared from the table, while her paw-like fingers hurriedly buckled her alligator handbag.

"How are you?"

Rita Sketta said, stood up, and extended a big man-like hand to Dumbledore, "I wonder if you read my summer article about the International Conference of Wizards?"

"No," Dumbledore said with a smile, without shaking her hand.

"Really? I don't believe it." Rita Skita retracted her hand quite naturally, and still asked with a smile, "I remember that I sent you a copy, why didn't you see it?"

"Oh, that must have been dealt with by Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore responded with a smile, "I've been busy visiting old friends all over the summer and communicating with them, so I didn't read yours. article."

"Of course, I think it must be something unimportant. I usually ask the Vice-Principal Professor McGonagall to help me with the unimportant letters."

Clark saw Rita Skita's smile visibly stiffened, but continued to say shamelessly:

"I just wanted to point out that some of your views are a little out of date, Dumbledore, and many wizards out there—"

"I'd love to hear your frank reasoning, Rita," Dumbledore interrupted politely, smiling, "but I'm afraid we'll have to talk about that later, the wand-testing ceremony is about to begin. ."

Having said that, Dumbledore waved his hand and motioned for a few warriors to sit on the chairs in the center of the classroom.

Clark and the others hurriedly took their seats, and in front of them was a velvet-covered table where four of the five judges were already seated—Professor Karkaroff, Mrs. Maxime, Mr. Crouch and Ludo Ba Gehman.

Rita Skeeter also sat down in a corner, and Clark saw her steal the roll of parchment again from her handbag, lay it on her lap, smack the tip of the shorthand quill, and straighten it again. Place on parchment paper.

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Ollivander."

After everyone was seated, Dumbledore also sat down on the referee's bench and said to several warriors, "He's going to check your wands to make sure they're in good condition before the game."

Standing on the edge of the referee's bench, the old wizard with two big light-colored eyes smiled and nodded to the four warriors. Clark had seen this Mr. Ollivander - three years ago in Diagon Alley, who was the Received his custom wand from the wand maker.

"Miss Delacour, you come first, will you?" said M. Ollivander, walking to the open space in the center of the room.

Fleur Delacour walked lightly towards Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Um..." he said.

Like fiddling with a baton, he twirled it between his slender fingers, the tip of the wand spewing pink and gold sparks.

Then he brought his wand close to his eyes again, looking carefully.

"That's right," he said softly, "nine and a half inches...great strength...maple...with...oh, gosh..."

"Contains a veela's hair," Fleur said slightly proudly, "my grandmother's hair."

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, of course, I've never used veela hair myself. I think wands made of veela hair are too sensitive and willful... But everyone have their own hobbies, since it suits you..."

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers over the wand, apparently checking it for scratches and bruises. Then, he whispered: "Orchids are blooming!"

A bouquet of flowers blooms on the wand head.

"Very good, very good, in good shape," said Mr. Ollivander, gathering the flowers and handing them to Fleur with the wand. "Mr. Bruce, it's your turn."

Fleur walked back to her seat lightly, and smiled at Bruce as she passed by.

"Ah, it's supposed to be a Chicoba Wolff product, isn't it?"

Mr. Ollivander said he was more excited than before when Bruce handed the wand over.

"That's right, I know him, one of the four most famous staff makers in North America.

Said to be descended from the Choctaw (Native American tribe), he is known for his finely carved wands.

Thirteen and a quarter inches...made of blackthorn pear wood...moderately soft and hard, a good aid in battle and in excellent condition...do you take care of it regularly? "

"Just wiped last night." Bruce said with a smile.

"Let me see the core of the wand...ah...it turns out to be...thunderbird feathers, this is the first time I've seen it. It seems that this thing is only found in the United States, not in the United Kingdom."

Mr. Ollivander stared at Bruce's wand in amazement, as if he had seen some kind of playful toy.

"But also, Shikoba Wolff likes to use thunderbird feathers as the core of his wand. This core material is very powerful. Although it is difficult to master, it is very suitable for shape-shifting spells, especially for shape-shifters. precious."

Mr. Ollivander waved his wand a little, and an abandoned chair in the corner was instantly transformed into a colorful macaw, flapping its wings and making a whimper.

Satisfied, he said, "As expected, Mr. Krum, it's your turn."

Viktor Klum stood up, drooping round shoulders, and walking listlessly towards Mr. Ollivander, with splayed feet.

He tucked his wand in and stood there frowning, hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Well," said Mr. Ollivander, "if I'm not mistaken, it's Gregorovitch's product. He's an excellent wandmaker, although I'm not very much of his style...but..."

He raised his wand, turned it over before his eyes, and examined it carefully.

"That's right... hornbeam, contains the chordae tendineae of the dragon's heart, right?" He glanced at Krum - Krum nodded, "much thicker than what people usually see... very rigid... Very powerful... ten and a quarter inches... a flock of birds!"

The hornbeam wand thumped like a pistol fire, and a flock of birds flew out of the wand head, flapping their wings, and into the dim sunlight through the open window.

"Very well," Mr. Ollivander handed the wand back to Krum, "and one last... Mr. Prewett."

Clark stood up, brushed past Krum, walked towards Mr. Ollivander, and handed over his wand.

"Huh?!" Ollivander exclaimed in surprise.

"This wand...isn't the one I sold you?" Ollivander asked suspiciously, "I remember I sold you a nine-inch long, beech wood, made of bird snake nerves. Wand, what about that wand?"

"It was damaged in an accident a few months ago," Clark said helplessly. "No bones left."

It is true that there are no bones, or the kind of wood **** that can't be found.

After all, it disappeared together with Clark's clothes and pants in the time vortex of the dragon farm a few months ago.

"It's such a pity," Ollivander expressed regret. "The bird-snake nerve is a very rare core. It was your grandfather who asked me to customize it for you when you were born."

"Speaking of which, you should be your grandfather's wand," Ollivander asked again, "Eleven inches long, apple wood, unicorn tail hair, nothing special, But very accommodating.”

Clark nodded, but Mr. Ollivander persuaded.

"While it doesn't repel you very much, everyone's wand is unique and it doesn't give you the full potential of it.

If you have time, I suggest you come to Diagon Alley and choose a new wand that suits you. "

As he spoke, Mr. Ollivander let the wand spit out a stream of wine, then handed the wand back to Clark, declaring that it was in very good condition.

"Thank you, everyone," Dumbledore stood up at the referee's table, "now you can go back to class—maybe it's more convenient to just go down to dinner, anyway, they'll be out of class soon—"

"By the way, Clark, please stay for a while."

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