15. Beetles Don't Bite

The day of the wand weighing arrived, and with it, my first encounter with the most hated reporter in Wizarding Britain.

Unlike my predecessor, I had taken good care of my wand. It was clean and in perfect condition. Ollivander heavily complimented my care, earning me a sour look from Cedric, which made me laugh.

Soon, after the photos and a few other formalities, there I was, trapped in a closet with the old woman. I must say, some women go too heavy on their makeup, making them look like they're wearing a mask. It's scary. As my magical oath was no secret, she was, of course, going down a different path, but with the same purpose as before.

To sully my name, while her ego swells. "How does it feel, the boy who survived, after humiliating and pushing his best friend away, just because of a small and fragile jealousy? Many claim that his actions are to protect himself, for fear of his ex-best friend stealing his girlfriend..." she stared at me like a predatory bird, and even with the silence between us, her feathers scratched hard.

"I feel relieved, since, as they say, and for everything they say, you take it as the absolute truth, without looking for facts, just to boost your name. But always remember one thing, madam, it is dangerous to provoke those who are quiet.

Many claim that the Hufflepuff badger represents its founder well. A gentle and docile woman, but extremely dangerous when threatened. Think about it, when this is put into perspective to a Gryffindor.

Lions, as everyone knows, are proud and territorial animals. It would not be wise for a person who only thinks he is someone to bother those who actually have some power. I hope that all my words are published, or none at all.

I don't really care, after all, beetles don't bite." I give a smile as predatory as her eyes were before.

Realizing that there was much more to my words than what was explicit, the quill, as well as Rita herself, stopped and stared at me for a while. Little by little, her expression began to change to one of someone beginning to understand, and finally, she swallowed hard.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sure that many of our readers simply want to know the truth about all the situations involving a young man who, if nothing else, eliminated a dark wizard, even as a baby." she tried to soothe.

"I'm sure your readers know more about me and my adventures than I do, ma'am. After all, how many books are there about fighting dragons, dark wizards, saving princesses in ancient castles from fierce curses?

Even about the fateful day when my parents were murdered, but people didn't care if I was happy, alive or well. No, let's just celebrate, raise our mugs, thank the boy who lost everything and move on with our lives.

It's funny to say, when so many categorically affirm about that day, giving details that even I, who was there, didn't know. Who told them about the events? Because with my parents dead, Voldemort weakened and me, a baby, being the only ones there.

Tell me, who affirms the facts, giving so many details, and how can this same person be certain of the events? Who, the wizarding community, is believing? And who benefits from my fame? Because I myself have gained nothing from it." I finish.

The woman in front of me was no fool. She knew that the trash she would write before was not as juicy as the truths that came out of my mouth.

"What other questions does our boy who lived have unanswered in his heart?" she says, much more interested now.

"Well, they are the basic ones that anyone would recognize. For example, where is my parents' will? Who are my godparents? Who is my legal guardian in the wizarding world?" I give her a few, just to pique her curiosity.

But when Rita, who was now immersed and much, much more interested in this line of thought, was going to ask me the real questions, the closet door opens, for Dumbledore to look at us with a certain suspicion and quite a bit of displeasure.

"I do not recall giving consent to a private interview, Miss Skeeter, especially with a minor student in a broom closet." he declares, his voice heavy and not giving the woman the slightest chance.

"We're done here, Headmaster. It was just a few simple questions, which Mr. Potter answered very kindly." She says, already retreating from the closet, only to be stopped by my words.

"Remember, ma'am, beetles don't bite. I hope the personal attacks stop, and turn to something more tangible and real." I say with a gentle smile. From the woman's expression, I think this was worse than the predatory smile from before.

"What was that, Harry?" He looked at me worriedly.

"I'm just tired, Headmaster. Being thrown around like a rag doll from one side to the other. When it's in their interest, everyone sees the boy who survived, but never Harry Potter, the boy who lost and suffered without knowing why.

When it's not convenient, they see Harry Potter, the boy who has everything, and can be humiliated, cursed, pushed away, hurt, but they forget that the only thing I want, I can never have, thanks to some, who only use me as a cutting piece." I finish speaking and leave the closet, leaving the old man with a very heavy expression.

As I walked, I thought about my actions lately.

In addition to preparing myself for the battle that would come, I was also preparing others. Little by little, I am digging up the tree of not killing, and replacing it with plants of, do what is necessary. Keeping things as they are, will not change anything, and will only give new 'dark lords' a chance to rise up and cause panic.

It was being difficult, especially for Sirius, Lupin and the Grangers.

They were so attached to Dumbledore's dogmas, that they were not considering how much their decisions and inanitions caused to others.

But I knew I would have time. Mainly because Mr. Granger, Hermione's father, is a former military man, and even though he now lives a peaceful life, he knows that certain dangers need to be eradicated, not forgiven.