So you might notice in this chapter that Bree deals with being entered in the tournament differently then Harry. Harry is kind of confused and rather uncomfortable and Bree is irritated and kind of angry.
On Sunday morning Bree walked into the Great Hall, then walked right back out because Sirius was there, yelling at Dumbledore. She went and had breakfast in the kitchens with the house elves. She spent the rest of the day in the kitchen in order to avoid the rest of the school, and then Sirius and Remus showed up. Sirius complained about Dumbledore, the Goblet malfunctioning, and the magically binding contract that forced Harry and Bree to compete in the tournament. Remus assured Bree that he and Sirius would help her and Harry anyway they could.
The following day Bree could no longer avoid the rest of the school.
The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry and Bree had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch Fletchley, with whom Harry normally got on very well, did not talk to him even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray - though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grip and smacked him hard in the face. Ron wasn't talking to Harry either. Hermione sat between them, making very forced conversation, but though both answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other.
Bree had situated herself between Neville and Lavender so that she wouldn't have to deal with the Hufflepuffs that lesson. Her strategy worked for the most part, but Professor Sprout seemed cold, but then, she was Head of Hufflepuff House.
Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins. Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.
"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer… Half the Triwizard champions have died… how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.
"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry - you come here an' help me with this big one…
Skrewts, Bree decided, were the spawn of the devil. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs - but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control. Every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.
Professor Trelawney was predicting Bree's death with the same certainty that she predicted Harry's.
Snape and the Slytherins went out of their way to make Harry miserable during potions. They tried to do the same to Bree, but one glare, one predatory grin, and a mind game later, and they were all going out of their way to avoid her.
Someone in Hufflepuff had made badges that said SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY—THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION! And they would change their message to POTTER STINKS! They had tried to make one that insulted Bree but she had caught wind of it and, well, let's just say that the results weren't pretty.
At least the twins supported her.
One Friday morning Bree found Hermione staring at her.
"What?" Bree asked.
"What on earth are you wearing?" Hermione said. Bree looked down at herself.
"Red pleated skirt, black button up top, fingerless fishnet gloves, fishnet stockings, demonia gothika 101 boots, pyramid studded belt, pyramid studded cuff, chain bracelet, gold skull ring, leather choker, silver bat earrings, and a black cadet cap." Bree answered.
"Why?" Hermione asked.
"It's my school's uniform." Bree explained.
"What!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Well, you see, since I'm representing the Smith Academy of Mayhem in the tournament, that means it an actual school, and, as the founder, I can pick the uniform." Bree told her.
Hermione groaned and walked away.
Bree was running a little late to potions. By the time she got to the dungeon, Harry and Draco were fighting.
"Funnunculus!" Harry yelled.
"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.
Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles. Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione.
Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up. Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!"
Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth, already larger than average, were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.
"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.
Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed at Malfoy and said, "Explain."
"Potter attacked me, sir -"
"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.
"- and he hit Goyle - look -"
Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.
"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!"
He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."
Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.
It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.
"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
Bree gave Snape her darkest, most predatory grin. One that she usually reserved for the Dursleys.
"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…"
He looked right at Harry when he said that.
And then there was a knock on dungeon door.
It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.
"Yes?" said Snape curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter and Bree Smith upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.
"Potter and Smith have another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "They will come upstairs when this class is finished."
Colin went pink.
"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants them." he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs…"
"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, Smith, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidotes."
"Please, sir - they've got to take their things with them." squeaked Colin. "All the champions…"
"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter, Smith, take your bag and get out of my sight!"
Bree grabbed her bag, got up, resisted the urge to flip Snape the bird, and headed for the door. Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and followed.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment the dungeon door was closed. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"
Bree glared at the boy.
"Yeah, really amazing," said Harry heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"
"The Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Great," said Harry dully. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."
"Good luck!" said Colin when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and entered.
It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to Rita Skeeter, who was wearing magenta robes.
Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light.
A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching
Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here they are! Champions number four and five! In you come, Harry, Bree, in you come… nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment."
"Wand weighing?" Harry repeated nervously.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…"
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry and Bree before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if they have no objections?"
"Er -" said Harry.
"I…" Began Bree
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm and Bree's wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering them out of the room again and opening a nearby door.
"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see… ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
It was a broom cupboard. Harry and Bree stared at her.
"Come along, dears. That's right - lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box. Bree refused to sit and leaned against the wall instead. Rita closed the door, throwing them into darkness. "Let's see now…"
She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.
"You won't mind, dears, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…"
"A what?" said Harry.
Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.
"Testing… my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Harry hooked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations –
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said,
"So,… what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Er -" said Harry again, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake it left a fresh sentence:
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes –
"Ignore the quill, Harry," said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly Harry looked up at her instead. "Now — why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"
"I didn't," said Harry. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."
Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.
"Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."
"If he says he didn't put is name in then he didn't put it in." Bree snapped.
Rita's attention was now on Bree. "I heard that you admitted to submitting your name. So how did you get past the age line?" the reporter asked.
"I didn't. It wasn't necessary. I didn't have to get past the line in order for my name to be submitted. The piece of paper with my name on it did. All I had to do, was stand outside the age line and toss the paper in." Bree explained.
"Why did you decide to enter the tournament?" Rita asked.
"I didn't want to be in the tournament. I put my name in the Goblet to prove that it could be done." Bree stated.
"Prove to who?" Rita inquired.
"Me. And if the Goblet had had done what it was supposed to and only picked from three schools instead of five-" Bree was interrupted by Rita.
"Five?"
"Harry's representing the American Institute of Magic and I put mine in for the Smith Academy of Mayhem. Which isn't a real school. Now as I was saying. If the Goblet hadn't flubbed up, then I would be the only one to know that I had put my name in, and I would have been satisfied with that." Bree explained.
"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter. "Excited? Nervous?"
"I haven't really thought… yeah, nervous, I suppose," said Harry.
"I'd rather be in a coma than deal with this." Bree said.
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Rita Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"Well… they say it's going to be a lot safer this year," said Harry.
"They said we won't die. Doesn't rule out a gory maiming." Bree stated.
The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.
"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" said Rita Skeeter, watching Harry closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"
"Er," said Harry, yet again.
"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because - "
"I didn't enter," said Harry, starting to feel irritated.
"Can you remember your parents at all?" said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.
"No," said Harry.
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Bree looked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.
"I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" said Harry loudly.
Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight - but quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag.
"How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.
"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street -"
"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if two of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."
Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry and Bree hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door. Harry sat down quickly next to Cedric. Bree sat next to Harry. Four of the five judges- - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman- were now sitting at the velvet-covered table, where Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner. She slipped the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, sucked the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and placed it once more on the parchment.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
Bree looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Bree had met Mr. Ollivander before - he was the wand-maker from whom Bree had bought her own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.
Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.
"Hmm…" he said.
He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.
"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…"
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
So Fleur was part veela. Not really surprising.
"Yes," said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…"
Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.
"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next." Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash… pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition… You treat it regularly?"
"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.
Bree giggled.
Next to her Harry had gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub his wand clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.
Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."
Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.
"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I… however…"
He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.
"Yes… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches… Avis!"
The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Mr. Potter."
Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches."
Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
"And finally, Miss Smith." Bree walked over and handed Mr. Ollivander.
"Another one of mine." he said. "Phoenix feather. A rather temperamental phoenix too. She pecked me. Twelve inches, willow. Very resilient." He flicked it and several butterflies came out of it. They fluttered around the room before dissolving into glitter.
"Very good." he said, handing the wand back to Bree.
"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end-"
Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"
"Er - yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."
"No. Group shots only. If you take individual shots you'll only use Harry's." Bree stated. Rita moved to protest bur Bree spoke first.
"You wouldn't want me to get a lawyer involved, would you Rita?" Bree asked in a tone that was sweet, but terrifying.
"No. Of course not." Rita said.
"Then don't do anything I don't like." Bree hissed.
The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame. Eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl. Krum, whom Bree would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence while Bree glared at her.
At last, they were free to go. Bree went and ate in the kitchens, then went to bed.
Bree's wand was decided by a quiz.
If you want to see Bree's boots copy and paste "demonia gothika 101 boots" into google search and it comes right up.
Hey. Should Bree be an animagus?
