As you know, newspapers are a powerful mechanism for controlling people, and within a week of me recovering from the fever and beginning to move at my own pace, people were already clamoring for the Ministry to take me out of the hands of alien perverts.
Yes, yes, that's right, because at some point there was a version that my house had been taken over by a gang of either natural succubi or monsters with tentacles (figuratively speaking, because the official version was even sillier), and they were doing horrible things ... that every second housewife wants to see, and every first one wants to participate in this debauchery. More than once or twice I literally cried from the inability to laugh, I howled like a wolf — just to overcome the terrible fits of laughter at the amount of nonsense being poured into the minds of the magical population.
I even seriously considered asking Hermione, who had spent all this time here and only went to the Ministry for her exams (despite the autocratic headmaster's decision, the girl decided to officially take her exams at the Ministry, and as it turned out, two-thirds of Hogwarts did the same, because without her, there might be problems getting a diploma in the future), to actually summon a real tentacle monster and then invite the most "knowledgeable" journalists to visit her for a night of hot love. And I really invited some journalists, only from German, French and Russian editions, and gave a detailed interview about what happened, as well as about my current state.
We specifically chose the most serious publishing houses and their most suitable employees. We talked quietly over tea and sweets, which I literally forced my guests to check for potions, not to mention the fact that I have a "table for guests" — it has special runic circles on the lid that immediately show if there are foreign impurities in food or drink.
But I, under the influence of perverted aliens, could have broken this simple artifact like a door without a handle to influence the guests, so I insisted on a separate additional check, honestly explaining my motives. And the next day the newspapers and magazines came out, and in them they went after everyone who had managed to openly "doubt" on the pages of the newspapers, literally bathing in mud both Dumbledore and Crouch, as the most zealous, and Fudge, who had allowed hysteria to be stirred up among the people. They also didn't forget that I actually won the tournament, as Fleur was injured and hiding in the bushes while I pathetically defeated hordes of enemies, including alien perverts.
It is said that among the first responders who arrived on the scene, there are some who saw with their own eyes wisps of "disgusting perverted tentacles oozing a lot of slimy whitish fluid.... "and some who swore that I had personally torn those tentacles with my teeth, and that when I was sucked into the distortions, I had fought hand-to-hand with their boss and nearly strangled his main branch... if it hadn't been for the watchful eye of Kiriko, who had organized the fairies for the job, I would have been drunk.
As a person not lacking in imagination, I imagined all this while reading the "Revelations", and then wanted to erase my memory with a lethal dose of alcohol. So, I think it is clear how satisfied I was to read the NORMAL version, which did not want to organize a local apocalypse. It was also bluntly stated, "The British squeezed the prize out of the winners, and the fund was shared, so why...?", so the Ministry just couldn't bend their favorite line of self-effacement, ignoring the problems, and just a few days later there was a ceremony, an open one, attended by some very important and respected wizards and witches.
Me, Fleur and Harry were publicly congratulated, praised and awarded (yes, it turned out there were consolation prizes for the losing contestants, and in the movie Harry was given far from the grand prize, but a very consolation prize), and then there was a sort of boring buffet party. It was very uncomfortable to carry around the cups that were given to everyone, just different ones. Harry, as the loser, got a small prize: about palm-height, rather light, but quite nice, a piece of something shiny, I guess bronze or brass.
Fleur got a larger cup, a bit nicer, with a floral decoration — not a bad vase for flowers. I got a bucket-sized thing, ornate, with inserts of blue and blue glass, quite heavy, but certainly not made of precious materials. It was very uncomfortable to carry the cup, especially for me — lame and all in bandages, and so at some point my father-in-law helped me...
You should have seen the attitude of the reporters when some of them overheard Henry and me talking. Like hunting dogs, the warriors of pen and ink immediately smelled the new blood and clung to it like leeches that wouldn't leave until they were full.
The timing was perfect, and the next morning Magical Britain literally exploded with the news: Clever Greengrass was the first to arrive — an engagement between the champion and the daughter of the Greengrass family! We deliberately left out the names and didn't give many details, and it was mostly Henry who spoke, so it was no surprise that everyone thought it was between Daphne and me.
I offered to break off the engagement to Delacour at once, but both Henry and Pierre delicately (I felt like a silly little boy, very unpleasantly) explained that there was much to be gained from such news, and that it was not worth hurrying until all the "cream" had been taken off the current news.
I could only agree: since these two, as the most interested persons, decided to wait, I did not argue; moreover, if it were my will, I would not inform anyone at all — it was none of their business, but only mine, ours. However, it seemed to me that someone was beginning to suspect something, if I correctly deciphered the suspicious looks that our group, in which not only Pierre but also his family spent a lot of time, was receiving. Or was it a cunning calculation?