Daring, Nerve and Chivalry
by
Justin Jossart
A/N: First of all I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed so far. Reviews are always appreciated, and until (if) they become too numerous for me to easily reply to, I'll do my best to answer all of them. This will be a pretty slow moving story, which is new for me. I tend to rush ahead, looking forward to certain scenes that I haven't properly built up to. I'm fighting that urge this time, trying to build relationships between the principle characters and not just blow through dialogue, so bare with me. I really want to tell this story properly, without hurrying ahead to the 'juicy parts.
Samain96: We're building up to that! Harry hasn't even been awake for two hours by the end of Chapter One. Chapter Two should give you some hints as to what's coming. I appreciate your review!
Chapter Two
Madame Pomfrey elected to keep him in the Hospital Wing overnight. Harry was all too happy to agree; the moment he stepped outside those doors it would all become real. Hermione had stayed behind as long as she could, though the silences were long and awkward. He didn't want her to cheer him up. There was nothing she could say or do to make things better. She'd left at Pomfrey's insistence without a fight, looking almost grateful that she could finally escape without guilt.
After hours of tossing and turning, he had finally fallen into a restless sleep. Images of textbooks and complicated formulas pounded through his head. Runes in languages he'd never even heard of flashed before him, one after the other, over and over again until he finally... woke up.
Dawn's early light filtered through the window behind him. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his hospital gown clung to his chest. His head throbbed painfully; it felt like an entire troupe of Goblins were mining for gold within his skull.. Thankfully, it seemed that the rest of his body had recovered from the Goblet's ordeal. After a few deep breaths, the pounding in his head subsided to a dull ache, and he finally felt well enough to try to stand up.
His entire body felt strange and foreign. His limbs were too long, his shoulders were too broad, and he could feel lean muscles rippling beneath his skin, coiled with unfamiliar power. He took a brief walk around the infirmary, trying to get some semblance of familiarity with this new body. It was weirder than when he'd used Polyjuice Potion to imitate Crabbe in his Second Year.
A weary looking Madame Pomfrey stepped from her office rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is, Mister Potter?"
"Uh..."
"It's five-thirty in the morning. Go back to bed," she grouched. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah," Harry replied. "It's still weird, but it doesn't hurt anymore."
"Good. Bed. Now." The matron disappeared back into her office.
He considered acquiescing to her request, but his rumbling stomach changed his mind. Snagging his wand from his bedside table, Harry transfigured his hospital gown into a set of school robes before heading out the door. He'd reached the staircase before realizing that he'd never learned how to transfigure clothing, much less how to do so without the proper incantation.
It took all his mental willpower to avoid freaking out. He grasped the banister tightly, fighting down the urge to run screaming back to Madame Pomfrey or the Headmaster. "It's just the Goblet," he told himself firmly, thinking back to his dreams. Apparently, the blasted thing wasn't satisfied with only meddling with his body, it was now teaching him spells in his sleep. What else would it change? Would he even recognize himself when it was done? Could he even trust his own thoughts?
Taking a deep breath, Harry fought these questions down. It wouldn't do him any good to worry about it, and neither Pomfrey nor Dumbledore could help him. As far as he knew, he was a unique case. The best thing he could do was to roll with the punches. If a voice in his head tried to get him to start drowning puppies he'd seek help, but until then he'd muddle through it on his own.
He finally made his way down to the Great Hall. The room was empty, save for a pair of older Ravenclaws spending more time studying each other's tonsils than the books they had spread out in front of them. Harry cleared his throat as he passed, letting them know that they weren't alone. The girl looked up, startled, but was soon seduced back into her boyfriend's embrace.
Harry settled into his usual spot near the end of the elongated Gryffindor table, his stomach growling at all the food laid out in front of him. He piled his plate high with a bit of everything, giving his bacon, sausage and egg sandwich his full attention.
"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore said as the old man sat beside him. "I thought I'd find you here, once you turned up missing from Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye." There was no rebuke in his tone, merely good-natured humor.
"I was hungry," Harry mumbled around his breakfast. "I haven't eaten in a week." Looking up, he noticed that the Ravenclaws had abandoned their tonsil studies and were instead focused on their books. Save for his rumpled robes and her slightly messed hair, he'd have never known that they'd been snogging for almost a half hour.
"I can only imagine," Dumbledore replied. "I merely wanted to let you know that you have permission to visit Hogsmeade to purchase new clothing. I assume that none of your old garments will fit. Impressive transfiguration, by the way."
"You'd assume correctly." Harry thought it best not to mention that he knew ways to get out of the castle whenever he wanted. "And thank you."
The Headmaster chuckled, buttering a piece of toast. "As a Champion, you have the right to visit Hogsmeade at your leisure, though I implore you to not abuse this privilege, nor flaunt it in front of your classmates."
"I'll do my best," Harry said, swallowing. "Why do Champions get to visit whenever they want?"
"Well, all of our visiting students have free reign of the village. It would put yourself and Mister Diggory at a disadvantage if you were only allowed to go once a month. You never know when you'll need potion or enchanting supplies."
"Fair enough. So, any clues about how my name ended up in the Goblet?"
"I have theories, but nothing concrete," Dumbledore evaded skillfully. "I'll let you know the moment we learn something."
"I'd appreciate that," Harry replied. "Anyways, I'd better be off. These transfigured robes aren't going to last forever. I'd hate to end up starkers in the middle of the Great Hall."
"I'm afraid I'd have to consign you to detention if you did."
The young man chuckled. "Farewell, Professor."
"Farewell, Harry. Don't forget about the ceremony at four." Harry nodded, then made his way towards Gryffindor Tower. Now that his hunger had been stifled, he definitely needed a shower. He didn't want the seamstress at Gladrags to have to smell a week's worth of body odor, after all. He'd never been up this early, and he kind of liked how quiet it was. He'd had more than his share of night time adventures, but now he didn't have to sneak around. He could leisurely stroll down the empty corridors without ducking behind a suit of armor every ten feet.
The Gryffindor common room was similarly abandoned. It's only occupant was Hermione, who was fast asleep over an enormous tome that was thicker than her head, bushy hair and all. Curious, he looked over her shoulder to see what she was reading, though her head blocked most of it.
-blet of Fire is one of the most esoteric of all-
-ne knows. Many think that the Goblet is a-
-sed in rituals by early Pagans to elect a leader.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Of course Hermione's knee-jerk reaction would be to check a book for ways to help him. Softly brushing a few strands of her chestnut hair from her face, he gazed down at his best friend. Emotions, unbidden and undefinable, rose in his chest. He didn't deserve a friend like her, but he was grateful all the same.
"Hermione," he said softly, shaking her shoulder. "Wake up."
"-Arry?" she said groggily, not opening her eyes. "What time is it?"
"Probably about six-thirty."
"Too early. Wake me up in an hour," she said, nuzzling her face against her arms.
Harry smirked. "You're drooling all over Madame Pince's book," he lied.
That got her attention. She bolted upright, wiping her mouth to dry the non-existent drool. "You git!" she exclaimed furiously, turning her chocolate gaze to him. Harry couldn't help but notice the slight recoil in her eyes. She hadn't recognized him at first glance, and he had to admit that it kind of hurt.
Forcing a bright smile upon his face, the young wizard made his excuses before heading off towards the boys' bathroom at the top of their staircase. After a long, scalding hot shower, during which his poor transfigured robes reverted back into a hospital gown, he once again gazed at himself in the mirror. It was startling to see a stranger's face, so like his own, looking back at him. He scratched at the heavy stubble lining his jaw. He'd definitely need to get razors while he was out... probably a hair cut while he was at it. He vaguely wondered if there was a Shaving Charm. Hermione would probably know. His shaggy locks, still as unmanageable as ever, were starting to brush his shoulders.
Sighing, he put on the poor gown before transfiguring it back into fresh, crisp robes. The rest of Gryffindor Tower was starting to stir, and he didn't want to run into any of his friends yet. He wanted to put off seeing Ron for as long as possible. Hermione had carefully neglected to mention their redheaded friend the night before, so something was definitely up. Beating a quick retreat through the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry quickly made his way down the stairs and through the castle's wide front doors. It was over a mile trek through the gates to get to Hogsmeade, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get there before his robes reverted.
The Beauxbatons flying carriage was parked on the grounds near the gates, while Durmstrang's ship was anchored ominously just off the shoreline. A long, thick plank roughly ten feet wide stretched over the water in between. A few Durmstrang students were crossing the wooden structure, departing the ship to head towards the Great Hall. Harry couldn't help but pause, looking for any sign of Lyra Noir, but he didn't see her.
The walk into Hogsmeade was different without his friends. After passing through Hogwarts's wrought iron gates, he was immersed in a quiet world of rolling hills. He could see the town down below. Eventually, he could hear Britain's only magical village come to life. The streets were pretty empty, but as he entered the village he could hear mothers cooking in their kitchens, shouting for their children to wake up. Store owners were opening up their shops, unlocking their doors and preparing for business.
Harry could see himself settling down here one day, in the quiet bustle of a small town. He'd live on the outskirts, of course, but a small, out-of-the-way cottage sounded nice. A wistful grin on his face, Harry pushed open the door to Gladrags Wizard Wear. The shop was empty, though he could hear someone moving around in the back room.
"Hello?" he called.
A young woman's voice shouted back. "Just a minute!" A few moments later, a pretty brunette hurried through the swinging door to the back room. She could only be a year or two out of Hogwarts herself. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of inventory. I'm Melinda."
"Harry," he replied, shaking her hand.
"Firm grip," she teased, pushing back a lock of hair that had escaped her loose ponytail. "I didn't know it was Hogsmeade Weekend already."
"Special permission," he replied with a grin of his own. "I kinda have to buy a new wardrobe."
"What happened to your old one?"
"Kind of a long story."
Melinda leaned over the counter, giving him a nice view her rather ample cleavage. He tried not to look but failed miserably. "That sounds positively scandalous," she smirked, noticing his obvious ogling. "So... what are you looking for?"
Harry valiantly attempted to fight down his blush. "I guess I'll need a few sets of school robes, some casual wear... do you have any jeans?"
"We do! We get a lot of Muggleborns in here looking for jeans to wear on the weekends."
"Alright, if you want to stand over here," she said, gesturing to a small podium. "We can get you measured. Hopefully we can get it all done before those transfigured robes give out."
Harry's blush returned with a vengeance. "You could tell?"
"Clothing is my job. Of course I could tell. My only question is what are they really?" she asked, grabbing her tape measure.
"A hospital gown. It doesn't cover much."
"Mmmm... this story of yours is getting more and more intriguing," Melinda smirked again. "Though I may have to take my time... I'm curious about how much this hospital gown really covers." Harry's face blushed even harder. He wasn't used to being flirted with, much less by a pretty, older witch measuring his inseam. She giggled lightly at his strangled expression. "Relax, Harry, I'm only teasing."
"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered while she finished her work.
"Alrighty then. I definitely have some stuff in your size. I'll only need to make some minor adjustments. Your shoulders are rather... broad... for your height." She ran her hands along his shoulders to emphasize her point, then giggled at his embarrassment.
Two hours later, Harry escaped Gladrags. He didn't think he'd ever be able to stop blushing. Melinda had teased him mercilessly the entire time; the pretty young witch seemed to enjoy his reactions. He knew he'd made a fool of himself, and had tipped her heavily to compensate. She had giggled the entire time he was rushing out of the store wearing a crisp new set of school robes and a new wardrobe shrunk in his pocket.
He went over the entire conversation over and over during his trip to the barber's, hating himself for acting like such a child. Every time she flirted with him he'd blushed, which only caused her to tease him even more. He cursed himself for not even trying to get her number, before realizing that she probably didn't even have a phone. Neither, for that matter, did he. He briefly wondered how new couples courted in the wizarding world. Everyone couldn't be like his parents and fall in love at school, after all. Owl post seemed the most logical answer, but that seemed kind of slow. The matron cutting his hair had tried to strike up a conversation, but Harry decided that he'd embarrassed himself enough for one day.
The castle was bustling with activity by the time he finally ascended the stone steps that lead to the front door, freshly shaven and sporting a much shorter head of hair. It was already well past ten o'clock, so most of the students were attending their morning classes or were enjoying a free period. He couldn't fight a smirk once he realized that every class was a free period for him, but sobered after he remembered why. He was supposed to be training for nine Tasks that could kill him, not lounging in the Common Room playing gobstones.
A few of the older Gryffs were in the common room, but none of them seemed to recognize him when he entered. Thanking Merlin for small favors, he launched himself up the stairs to the Fourth Year Dormitories. While unshrinking and putting away his new wardrobe, a sudden and loud crack sent him diving for cover. He hastily slipped his wand from his sleeve, but was brought short by a pair of eyes the size and color of tennis balls.
"Master Harry Potter sir! It's so good to see you're safe!"
"Dobby?" Harry was flabbergasted. He hadn't seen the demonic little bugger since the House Elf had tossed Lucius Malfoy down a set of stairs at the end of his Second Year. "You're not here to protect me, are you?" He edged away from the small, slightly hunched creature.
"Oh, no sir! Professor Dumbles made Dobby promise to stays away until you came to see Dobby in the kitchens, but Dobby heard about what that nasty cup did to you." The House Elf quivered with rage. "Dobby tried to smash the nasty cup, but Professor Dumbles made Dobby stop."
"Uh... that's good? So you've been working for Hogwarts?"
"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!" Dobby said, before running to the nearby window. "BAD DOBBY! BAD DOBBY!" The elf climbed up on the window sill, and only Harry's Quidditch reflexes stopped Dobby from taking a swan dive onto the grounds below. "Thank you, Master Harry Potter sir! You are truly a generous and forgiving Master."
Harry was completely lost. "Why'd you try to throw yourself out of the window?!"
"Dobby's not supposed lie to his Master," the elf said guiltily, one foot making circles on the rug beneath him. "House Elves are supposed to always tell Master the truth."
Finally, Harry got it. "Dobby," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Did you Bind yourself to me without permission?"
"No, Master Harry Potter sir," the Elf replied evasively, gazing at the floor.
"Dobby..." Harry felt like he was dealing with a child.
"When the bad Master gave Dobby a sock, Master Harry Potter shook Dobby's hand to congratulate Dobby for being a free elf." Harry nodded, letting him continue. "When a wizard shakes the hand of a free elf, it's almost always an offer of Binding."
Harry rubbed his temples. This was turning into an excessively long day, and it wasn't even noon. "So let me get this straight. Lucius Malfoy freed you by accidentally giving you a sock... then I Bound you by accidentally shaking your hand five minutes later?"
"Uh-huh!" Dobby nodded, his large ears flopping. "When Master Harry Potter sir offered Dobby his hand, Dobby just assumed... But then Professor Dumbles told Dobby that Master Harry Potter wouldn't have known what that meant."
"So it's all just a misunderstanding?" Harry replied dryly. not quite believing the House Elf. "You just happened to assume that a twelve year old Muggle-raised kid would know what shaking a free elf's hand meant?"
Dobby nodded, glancing down at the floor. A moment later, he was bashing his head against Harry's trunk, shouting, "Bad Dobby! BAD DOBBY!"
Grabbing the little creature by the back of his makeshift toga, Harry hauled Dobby away from the trunk. He lifted the elf into the air to look Dobby in his creepy tennis ball eyes. "Alright, that's enough of that. No more punishing yourself without permission, got it?" The slightly dazed House Elf nodded. "And no more of this 'Master Harry Potter Sir' crap. My name is Harry."
"Yes, Master Harry P... Master Harry."
"Good enough." For a moment, Harry considered giving the Elf one of Uncle Vernon's old socks, but finally decided against it. Dobby, as weird as he was, could wind up being dead useful. And as long as the little bugger was working for him, maybe Dobby wouldn't feel the need to save Harry's life without his permission. After all, the Elf had been in his employ for over a year without any overtly dangerous 'life saving' tactics.. "I guess that's it for now. Go back to working in the kitchens until I call for you."
"Yes, Master Harry Pot... Master Harry!" Dobby snapped his fingers, disappearing with a loud crack. Harry sat heavily on his trunk, massaging his temples again. Just talking to the House Elf was enough to bring his ever-present headache back in full force. Sighing, he retrieved his wand-care kit from his trunk. The Weighing Ceremony was only a few hours away, and he didn't want to show up with a smudged wand.
*****DN&C*****
There were quite a few people in the Great Hall when Harry showed up a few minutes before four. The House tables were nowhere to be seen, replaced by a few dozen wooden chairs that faced the raised platform where the Head table usually sat. Reporters were milling about, talking excitedly in several different languages. Several looked his way when he entered, and an older blonde quickly pushed through the small crowd.
"Harry! Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet. I was hoping you'd answer a few questions." Harry glanced at her acid green robes with a frown. He'd never had anyone pester him for an interview, and he decided that he didn't like it.
"Miss Skeeter," Dumbledore's voice carried from Harry's left. He felt the old man rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know you're supposed to wait for the press conference like everyone else."
"Albus," Rita replied, her smile sticky sweet, "I was actually here to write a personal interview with Harry."
"Contact my office," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "I'm sure we can try to set something up." Even Harry was able to work out that the Headmaster really meant 'go fuck yourself,' though the professor probably would have worded it kinder. "As it stands, we need to start the ceremony. Have a good day, Miss Skeeter." Dumbledore steered Harry through the crowd of reporters and dignitaries, leading him up to join the other Champions on the raised platform. He couldn't help but let his gaze wander to the beautiful Lyra Noir, who seemed content to flash her dazzling smile at the nearest reporter.
"Harry?" Cedric asked, looking him over. Harry was more than a little surprised that he was an inch or two taller than the Sixth Year Hufflepuff.
"The new and improved," he replied, trying to grin.
"Merlin's beard, I barely recognize you!" Cedric grinned back. "And here I thought you'd be easy pickings!"
Harry couldn't help but smile. "Please. I killed a basilisk with nothing but a sword. This tournament is mine for the taking." He decided to leave out the fact that he'd had a lot of help and more than his fair share of luck during that particular encounter.
"I do not think so, leetle boy," the melodic, heavily accented voice of Fleur Delacour interrupted. She was smiling as well, letting Harry know that she was teasing. "If you're lucky, I will allow you to read my name from ze Tri-Wizard Cup. You both are, how do you say... going down."
"Come on, Frenchie, we both know who's going down around here," a husky female voice in his Harry's ear. "And it's neither of the boys." Harry looked back, stunned to see Lyra standing so close. She was taller than Fleur, but the top of her ebony head still barely reached his chin despite her stiletto heeled boots.
"Geez, Lyra, give the kid a heart attack, why don't you?" Cedric laughed. "Listen, Harry. I was talking to the girls, and we're all getting a drink at the Hog's Head after the ceremony. You should come."
"I said I might attend," Fleur scoffed. "I 'ighly doubt zat Madame Maxime would want me fraternizing with ze enemy."
Cedric raised his hands in surrender. "No shop talk, I promise. This whole thing is supposed to be about 'International Cooperation.'" He punctuated the phrase with air quotes. "Who better to set a good example than the Champions?"
"You just want to get Frenchie drunk," Lyra accused, looking the blonde up and down. "I can see the appeal." Harry closed his eyes, unable to keep the thought of Fleur and Lyra together from permeating his mind. He had a feeling he'd be revisiting that particular image in the near future.
"I'd love to come," Harry finally said, his voice cracking slightly. "Sounds like a lot of fun."
"Good!" Cedric beamed.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Albus Dumbledore called, addressing the reporters and dignitaries from his lectern. All eyes turned towards the Headmaster. "Before we begin with the actual ceremony, we'll be conducting a short press conference. Feel free to address your questions to either the Champions or any of the Judges. Yes, Mister Wulfgard?"
An old man from the second row stood before speaking with a heavy German accent. "Hans Wulfgard, Bitburg Zeitung. This is a question for Bartemius Crouch. Three of the five Judges are of British decent. What assurances do we have that the Judges will be fair and balanced when grading the Tasks?"
Crouch stepped forward, his mustache bristling. "While I understand your concerns, most of the Tasks will be have standards, such as time limits and objectives that will determine their scores. In the few Tasks that do not, the Judges will confer with one another before coming to a consensus regarding a Champion's score. Each of the Nine Tasks will be graded out of ten possible points, which will determine their placement and advantage for the tenth and Final Task that culminates the tournament."
"Thank you, Mister Crouch," Wulfgard replied, scribbling furiously into his notebook.
"Mister Anderson," Dumbledore said, pointing towards a young man in the front row.
"James Anderson, Daily Comet. There were rumors that Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was almost invited to attend, but those plans were canceled at the last minute. Is there any truth to those rumors?"
Crouch fielded that question, as well. "We discussed inviting Ilvermony, but in the end decided that coordinating ten Tasks for three Champions would be difficult enough without adding a fourth."
"We see how well that worked out," Harry muttered to Cedric, who quickly disguised his laugh as a cough.
Crouch continued, unperturbed. "Providing the success of this tournament, we may consider inviting Ilvermony to the next one, seeing as we have four Champions anyways." A soft chuckle rippled throughout the room.
"Thanks," Anderson said.
"Miss Skeeter?" Dumbledore said. The blonde woman was squirming in her seat trying to get the Headmaster's attention. "Did you have a question?"
"Rita Skeeter of the Daily Prophet. Harry, can I call you Harry?"
"Was that your question?" Harry replied dryly, to the amusement of the room.
Skeeter ignored his jibe. "Harry, how does it feel to be named the Hogwarts Champion?"
"I dunno, you'd have to ask Cedric. As far as I'm concerned, he's the Hogwarts Champion, and I'm just the unlucky guy who got suckered into all this." Dumbledore shot him a proud look that made Harry's chest swell.
"So you're still denying that you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"We are still investigating how Mister Potter's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore replied icily. "I have determined that he didn't put volunteer himself, seeing as it would have been quite impossible for him to do so. Unless you're suggesting that a fourteen year old student can hoodwink a powerful, ancient artifact?" Rita scowled before returning to her seat. The Headmaster turned to an older woman in the back. "Madame Bisset?"
"Aurora Bisset, of Le Monde. Monsieur Diggory, do you feel slighted by Monsieur Potter's entrance into the tournament?"
Cedric stepped forward, a smile gracing his handsome face. "Not at all. Like Professor Dumbledore and Harry said, he's the only one standing up here who didn't volunteer for this. I look forward to moving our friendly rivalry from the Quidditch pitch to the tournament. He's a tough competitor, and I'm sure Miss Delacour and Miss Noir are as well. It should be an exciting year." Harry couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of the Hufflepuff's easy confidence and charming grin.
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"Final question. Mister Walthrup?"
"Harold Walthrup, Daily Prophet. Two part question for Miss Noir and Miss Delacour, if you don't mind." A bearded man in the third row said.
"Not at all, Mister Walthrup," Lyra replied, smiling.
"Do you feel confident, given the strenuous physical nature of the Tasks, that you will be able to keep up with the Boys of Hogwarts? Both are tall, strong, young men and seem to be in peak physical condition."
"I am very confident that my skilled wandwork will overcome any disadvantages that come with my height and stature," Lyra replied icily, her violet eyes boring holes into the old man.
"If he's not careful, he's going to get murdered," Cedric muttered in Harry's ear. Harry nodded his agreement, unable to hide a smirk.
"No offense intended. Miss Delacour, same question."
Fleur's glare was just as heated. "As Mademoiselle Noir 'as so elegantly said, I am not worried. I am supremely confident in my abilities. I was chosen as Champion ahead of many tall, strong, young men in peak physical condition."
"Thank you," Walthrup said, returning to his seat.
"Alright! Let's get the ceremony underway!" Ludo Bagman cried raucously. He seemed a little perturbed that he hadn't been asked any questions. "Mister Ollivander, if you would?"
Garrick Ollivander, widely regarded as Britain's premier wandmaker, stepped forward next to Fleur. The ancient wandsmith looked delighted be included. "I never thought I'd live to see the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Mademoiselle?" Fleur reluctantly handed him her wand. "Hmmm... Nine and a half inches of rosewood, containing... the hair of a Veela?"
"It was my grandmuzzer's," she replied.
"I don't use Veela hair, myself. They make for very temperamental wands, in my experience." Fleur narrowed her eyes, but didn't reply. "However, to each their own. Orchideous." A bouquet of roses emerged from the wand's tip. "Well, it seems to be in fine working order." He handed both the bouquet and wand back to the Beauxbatons Champion before moving on to Cedric. Diggory held out his wand for Ollivander's inspection.
"Ah, yes. I remember this wand well. Twelve and a quarter inches, ash, with a single hair from the mane of a particularly fine unicorn," Ollivander said, waving the wand and causing it to spew a stream of silver smoke rings. "It's in very fine condition. I assume that you treat it regularly?"
"I polished it last night," Cedric replied.
"I'll bet you did," Harry muttered, earning himself an elbow to his ribs and a glare from Ollivander.
"Mister Potter," the wandmaker said, holding out his wrinkled hand. Harry dutifully handed over his wand. "Hmmm... it looks like Mister Diggory's not the only one to polish his wand recently," Ollivander said archly while Cedric chuckled. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches... nice and supple. What magic has this wand seen since last we met?" With a wave, a flock of birds erupted from the end of the wand before dispelling into flashes of bright lights. Ollivander handed the wand back to its owner, his silver eyes boring into Harry's. "Great and terrible things, Mister Potter."
The wandsmith shuffled towards the end of the platform next to Lyra, who handed over her wand without complaint. For a long moment, Ollivander studied the wand carefully before turning his gaze to the young woman. Lyra merely arched an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across her beautiful face. Ollivander studied the wand again before clearing his throat. "This is also one of my creations. Twelve and three-quarters inches, walnut, with the heartstring of a rather violent Hungarian Horntail. Serpensortia." A foot-long snake shot from the wand's tip, slithering off the stage before disappearing in a puff of black smoke. "It.. it seems to be in working order." Ollivander almost shoved the wand back into the girl's hands before fleeing behind the Judges.
Dumbledore looked on, obviously concerned, but instead turned towards the reporters. "That concludes the Ceremony! We'll have time for few pictures before we leave." Harry rolled his eyes as the Champions and Judges were gathered together.
A/N: And there's Chapter Two put down like a rabid dog! I can't believe we're 10k words in and haven't even covered a full 24 hours. Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated and help inspire me to get more chapters out quicker.