Arthur and Hermione headed toward Hogwarts' reception room. Rita Skeeter was already there, waiting eagerly.
She wore a tight green leather coat, the sleeves and collar trimmed with dark brown fur. The moment Arthur saw her, one word leapt into his mind—beetle.
Animagi often carried faint physical "echoes" of their animal form. With Rita, the oily green sheen said it all.
"Oh my! I'm certain I only invited Miss Granger," she drawled, eyes glinting behind her jeweled spectacles. "But we seem to have a handsome little extra. Could it be our young prodigy is shy and needs her boyfriend to escort her?"
Hermione did not look pleased.
"Please don't talk nonsense. He's my cousin. He came because he's worried about me."
Rita's self-writing quill immediately began scratching away. She thought Arthur and Hermione couldn't see the parchment—but their expanded spirit-sense let them read every word clearly.
"Prodigy witch Hermione Granger and male cousin show intimate behavior, suspected secret romance."
Arthur and Hermione exchanged a look. Arthur's voice sounded directly in her mind via spirit transmission:
See now why I told you to hand-pick your editor last time?
I understand, Cousin. If she'd written my piece, people would think I've had eight secret relationships already…
Rita noticed their silent eye contact and promptly crossed out the word "suspected."
Hermione's temper rose. "Miss Skeeter, is this your professional standard? Making things up before the interview even begins?"
Rita blinked innocently. "Whatever do you mean? We haven't even started yet."
Her quill scratched again:
"Granger displays fiery temper; shouts at interviewer unprovoked."
Hermione pointed sharply. "Then what is that quill writing?"
"Oh, it simply records what is said," Rita replied smoothly.
Hermione almost exploded.
Arthur finally spoke, tone cool. "Since it's so 'old,' why don't I get you a new one?"
A flick of his fingers—no wand, no incantation—and the quill and parchment burst into ash.
Rita jumped from her chair. "Y–YOU! That was my favorite quill!"
It wasn't just any quill. It had its own mind, capable of twisting words, embellishing stories—a custom alchemical artifact she'd cherished for years.
And Arthur had vaporized it in one motion.
She yanked out her wand, fury on her face. Before she could even utter a spell, Arthur flicked his hand again—her wand caught fire.
She shrieked and threw it away.
Only then did she process it—Arthur hadn't used a wand, hadn't spoken a spell. The realization frightened her, but she grasped at a comforting explanation:
"You're bluffing," she snapped, though her voice quivered. "Don't think waving around a little enchanted device will fool me. I've interviewed many people. Your tricks won't—"
Arthur cut her off.
"If you want to conduct an interview, do it properly. If I catch you twisting a single word…" He leaned in slightly. "I won't mind letting the public know you're an illegal Animagus. Understood, Miss Beetle?"
This time, Rita truly panicked.
Her pupils shrank.
"H–How do you know?!"
"That's not your concern. Answer the question."
"…I—I understand. But you must swear not to expose me!"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. She surrendered far quicker than expected. Clearly, she'd used her Animagus form for plenty of shady work—enough to fear the consequences.
"I won't expose you—unless you give me a reason."
Rita swallowed, nodded stiffly, and from that moment on, her notes were painfully honest. No tricks. No slanting. She behaved like a rookie intern terrified of being fired.
When the interview concluded, Arthur and Hermione stepped out into the corridor.
Hermione looked at Arthur with shining admiration. "Cousin, how did you know she was an Animagus?"
Arthur chuckled. "If you focus your spirit, you can sense it. Animagi always carry two signatures—the wizard and the beast."
Hermione concentrated her spirit-sense, testing it on the only nearby target—Arthur.
A heartbeat later, her eyes widened.
She felt two distinct auras within him.
"Cousin… you…"
Arthur sighed. He had known the instant she focused her spirit-sense on him that this would happen. He usually kept his Animagus aura tucked away—but around his family, his guard was low.
He'd essentially taught her the exact method to expose him.
"You're already an Animagus?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"…Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Ahem. Because my Animagus… isn't very dignified."
Hermione's eyes sparkled. "What is it? Let me see!"
Arthur resisted for several seconds—then surrendered.
"Fine. To the Zen Garden."
Inside Arthur's alchemical workshop, Hermione watched eagerly.
Arthur transformed.
In his place stood a cat the size of a small tiger—sleek black-and-white fur, elegant lines, golden eyes brimming with intelligence. A regal, impossibly beautiful Norwegian Forest Cat.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"SO. CUTE."
She lunged forward and scooped Arthur-cat into her arms, burying her face in his fur with the enthusiasm of a cat-addicted maniac. She inhaled deeply, rubbed her cheek against him, and proceeded to pet him with shockingly expert handwork.
Arthur lay limp, mortified yet undeniably comfortable.
After all—Animagi did inherit a little of their animal instincts.
If his will wasn't iron-strong, he'd be purring.
Wrapped in her arms, he also noticed something else—Hermione was, quietly and steadily, growing up.
After a long, blissful round of "Hermione absorbs cat," she finally snapped back to reason. Her face flushed red when she realized what she'd been doing.
But then she remembered he had done the same when she'd been a cat.
So… fair trade.
Smiling, she resumed gently scratching under Arthur-cat's chin.
"No wonder you didn't tell me, Cousin."
Arthur curled in her arms like a dead cat, feigning nonexistence.
He absolutely refused to transform back while she was holding him. That would be an instant social death.
Seeing his silence, Hermione mercifully changed the topic…
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