Afternoon! So, I'll tell you this. The first task will occur in four or five chapters. So get ready for that (me too lol). I'm trying to shorten up the days I post in between, so hopefully all four or five chapters will be coming (aka: me finding time and inspiration to write) soon. *rubs hands excitedly* it's starting to get more and more fun to write this fan fiction. Enjoy!
Harry's POV
Each day got harder and harder for Harry. He could no longer hide his face from everyone since he had to go to classes. Every house except his own had some reason why they thought lowly of Harry.
The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on good 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 had stolen their champion's glory. A feeling 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 FinchFletchley, 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. Harry already knew that Hermione had told Ron about the Americans and how they might be the ones responsible for the fact that Harry became a champion. But according to Hermione, Ron had said, "I don't know if they did. I believe they could be Death Eaters considering what happened during the World Cup... But to put Harry's name in the cup? They would need to be powerful to do that and they seem to be around our age".
Ron just doesn't want to believe that I didn't do it.
He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too - the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion.
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".
Like Snape, sometimes, Harry just wanted to shove Malfoy's toothpaste head into a cauldron... Watching as air bubbles come from his mouth...
Crabbe and Goyle laughed robotically, 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.
"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"
"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... "
Hagrid's real intention, however, was totalk to Harry away from the rest of the class. And Hagrid's words at the moment did seem to be true. Everything did happened to Harry -whether he liked it or not.
At least Hagrid believes me... Step up from Ron.
The next few days were some of Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in his second year, when a large part of the school had suspected him of attacking his fellow students. But Ron had been on his side then. He thought he could have coped with the rest of the school's behavior if he could just have had Ron back as a friend, but he wasn't going to try and persuade Ron to talk to him if Ron didn't want to. Nevertheless, it was lonely with dislike pouring in on him from all sides.
He wanted to talk to Percy about his, seeing and knowing that he's been through a lot, but then Harry would remember. He would remember that he can't trust Percy or any of the Americas. They could be responsible for putting his name in the goblet and they may even be Death Eaters. But even then, they said that they haven't met Voldemort... Yet they have marks on their arms. He and Hermione still needed to figure that part out but they were working on it. It was mainly difficult with Harry's sudden attention -none of which was good.
He could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, even if he didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. He expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins - he was highly unpopular there and always had been, because he had helped Gryffindor beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But he had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support him as much as Cedric. He was wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that he had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name. And, he hadn't even seen the Americas in a while. They seemed more worn out than usual. Maybe they were at breakfast in the mornings but Harry wouldn't know since he's been avoiding large masses of people.
Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than he did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, bronze straight hair that was slightly combed up, and amber eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime. Of course, Cedric being modest, didn't act on any of the admiration. (A/N Ha! Harry thinks that's the reason lol)
Meanwhile there was no reply from Sirius. After finding out about the Americans, Harry had wrote on his letter,
P. S. While I was about to send this letter off, I overheard the Americans I told you about saying stuff about worshipping Voldemort, meeting him soon, and about 'marks' on their arms. I think they may be responsible for putting my name in the goblet but I'm not sure.-Harry
Harry was starting to focus on the fact that the Americans had actually never shown their arms yet. But that was the least of Harry's worries. Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near him since he used a school owl instead of her, Professor Trelawney was predicting his death with even more certainty than usual, and he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick's class that he was given extra homework - the only person to get any, apart from Neville.
"It's really not that difficult, Harry," Hermione tried to reassure him as they left Flitwick's class - she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet for board dusters, wastepaper baskets, and lunascopes. "You just weren't concentrating properly -"
"Wonder why that was," said Harry darkly as Cedric Diggory was running from a large group of simpering girls, all of whom looked at Harry as though he were a particularly large Blast-Ended Skrewt. "Still - never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to this afternoon... "
Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning "ignore them, ignore them, ignore them" under her breath, and he couldn't see why today should be any better.
When he and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S. P. E. W. badges - then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY-
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached, "And this isn't all they do - look!"
He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:
POTTER STINKS!
The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.
"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty. "
Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.
"Want one, Granger?" said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up. "
Some of the anger Harry had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. He had reached for his wand before he'd thought what he was doing. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.
"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.
"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now - do it, if you've got the guts -"
For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.
"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. (A/N I still don't know why people don't ship them.. Sorry for interrupting. Last time promise)
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 a long yellow finger 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".
Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.
Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him... If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse like how Professor Moody had shown them... he'd have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching...
"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... "
Snape's eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming.
Guess I'm the lucky contestant. Again.
Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head - And then a rhythmical knock on the dungeon door burst in on Harry's dark thoughts.
It was Percy; he walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.
"Yes?" said Snape surprisingly calm.
"Hey, so, I'm supposed to take Harry upstairs" Percy said.
Snape glared at Harry from across the room and said, "Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. He will come upstairs when this class is finished".
"Sorry sir, but Mr. Bagman wants him," he said bouncing around, "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs of us.. "
Harry would have given anything he owned to have stopped Percy saying those last few words. He chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling.
"Very well," Snape said. The he turned and snapped at Harry, "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote".
"Oh right, sorry, um, he's got to take his things with him," Percy said. "All the champions are going to as well"
"Very well" said Snape. Then be turned to Harry again, "Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!"
Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at him from every direction.
"See ya, Professor Snape", Percy waved merrily and shut the door. But before the door closed, Harry saw Snape nod at Percy.
"How is Snape being normal with you? He resents me", Harry said while they were walking.
"Oh, he knows my... " Percy replied to him then froze in thought.
"Uh.. " He mumbled, "I don't really know what she is to me but I guess she's my teacher? Right?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know... Say, why are we taking photos again?"
"For the Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Great," said Harry dully. "Exactly what I need. More publicity".
Percy snorted, "Ha! I know, right? When I was younger, my stepfather told the media that I was always a troubled and dangerous kid".
Harry sighed, "Tell me about it, my uncle has been telling everyone that I go to a school for 'Incurably Criminal Boys'"
"Your family hates you too?" Percy said.
"Yup".
Agh.. I shouldn't be telling him this stuff.
"Misery here we come", said Percy when they found a door. He knocked on it then opened the door.
They were in 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; four of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Six chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, 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 looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she 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 and Percy, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here they are! Champion number three and five! In you come, Harry, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the weapon weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"
"Weapon weighing?" Harry repeated nervously. He looked over to Percy but Percy just shrugged.
"We have to check what weapon you will choose and if they 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 and Percy.
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 these two before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry and Percy. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour? And since they changed it from three schools to four competing, we can see what the new champion has to say about this...?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if they have no objection?"
"Er -" said Harry.
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had both Percy and Harry's upper arm 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's a broom cupboard" said Percy.
"Come along, dears - that's right - lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Percy on a stool and Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing 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 two won't mind, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally... "
"A what?" said Harry and Percy at the same time.
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. "I'll be interviewing Mr. Jackson first".
"Yay" said Percy unenthusiastically.
She leaned toward Percy and said, "So, Percy ...How does it feel to be the first champion of Olympus School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"
Percy looked kinda blank, "I don't know... Cool?"
"Hmm... " said Rita Skeeter. Harry could see her quill going crazy.
Being the first student in Olympus history to become a tournament champion, Percy Jackson (17), has stated that he feels worthy of being the first...
Rita Skeeter's quill and notepad turned away from Harry once it caught him looking.
Strange...
"What about family...? How do they feel about you entering?"
"Uh, well, I'm not really close to my family... Just my mom and new step-dad. They are in America right now so they don't really know either- "
"So you are saying you entered without your parents consent?" Rita Skeeter cut in.
Percy looked at her strangely, "No, that's not what I me- "
"What blood type wizard are you? Pure-blood? Muggle-born?"
"I don't really see how that matters but I'm a half-blood- "
"From which side of the family?"
"Um, my mom is a muggle so I guess my dad- "
"Do you have a significant other?"
"I mean, I have a girlfriend- "
"What's her name?"
"Annabeth Chase... She goes to Olympus as well".
"Do you two get along well?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure... We wouldn't be together if we didn't" Percy said in an obvious tone, not that Rita Skeeter picked that up.
"What about your father? You said you have a new step-father".
"Well what do you want me to say? I haven't seen him in a bit- "
"What did you mean when you implied your family hates you?"
"Look lady", said Percy seriously, which startled Rita, "Can you let me talk? I'm not going answer questions about my family. In fact, I'm not answering anymore of your 'questions'".
Rita Skeeter's mouth dropped but she quickly composed herself, "Yes, of course. Switch places with Harry please".
They did as she said but Harry saw him roll his eyes.
Now she leaned toward Harry and said, "So, Harry... 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 he could make out a fresh sentence:
An ugly scar, souvenier 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".
From the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Percy roll his eyes again.
"But I didn't enter," Harry repeated. "I don't know who -"
"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter. "Excited? Nervous?"
"I haven't really thought... yeah, nervous, I suppose," said Harry. His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke.
"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.
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 him 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- "
"He didn't enter," said Percy, irritated.
"Can you remember your parents at all?" said Rita Skeeter to Harry, talking over Percy.
"No," said Harry.
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze
"Hey!" said Percy loudly, "I have NOT got murderous look in my eyes when you talk about my family! And Harry's eyes are flooding with tears!"
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 them, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight - but Harry noticed that her 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".
"She called you a what?" Percy said, astonished.
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.
"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbhedore, 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 Weapons is about to start, and it cannot take place if two of our champions are hidden in a broom cupboard".
Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry and Percy hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and Percy sat down quickly next to Cedric, hooking up the velvet-covered table, where five of the six judges were now sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Professor Brunner, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place 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. "
Harry hooked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander before - he was the wand-maker from whom Harry had bought his 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 as her weapon.
"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 close 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.
He made a mental note to tell Ron... then he remembered that Ron wasn't speaking to him.
"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.
Harry hooked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted. Percy just smiled at him.
Remember. I still can't trust Percy. There's no way he can't have something to do with the goblet... Or even Voldemort.
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, "Next is Mr. Jackson".
Fleur smiled at Percy as well and he walked up but instead of putting down a wand like everyone else, he put down a pen.
It's a pen... A pen.
"What eiz zhat..?" Fleur asked gingerly.
Oh yeah, maybe a lot of wizard families don't know what it is..
"It's my weapon", Percy smirked.
"Uh... I don't really see how a pen would help", Cedric said politely.
"Oh trust me", Percy said, "It's helpful where I come from". Then he pulled off the cap on the pen and suddenly a large bronze sword. Out of nowhere!
"Woaaaah" said Cedric and Harry. Fleur looked impressed too.
Mr. Ollivander looked at it with interest, "May I ask what type of metal it is?"
Percy looked back at Professor Brunner, who nodded.
Then he turned back to Mr. Ollivander, "Celestial Bronze. That's the type of metal it is made of. The name of my sword is Anaklusmos".
Mr. Ollivander suddenly gasped excitedly, "You are the owner of Anaklusmos!"
Percy nodded.
Mr. Ollivander smiled, "I already know this sword will be used well. After all, I've heard multiple things about it".
Percy smiled and went back.
What's so special about that sword...? And how come it's in a pen form...? And why didn't he choose his wand? And what is Celestial Bronze?
Many things were floating around Harry's mind but they all fell once he heard, "Which leaves, Mr. Potter".
Harry got to his feet and walked past Percy to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
No way I'd be able to use a sword again.
"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember".
Harry could remember too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday...
Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Mr. Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy a wand. Mr. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. Harry had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last he had found the one that suited him - this one, which was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand. "Curious," he had said, "curious," and not until Harry asked what was curious had Mr. Olhivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's.
Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help - rather as he couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.
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.
"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- "
Feeling that at last something had gone right today, 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".
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 Harry 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. It was Harry closest to the middle, then it was Fleur, Cedric and Percy stood near the back, then the teachers all around them (excluding Madame Maxime who was in the middle). Then Rita Skeeter insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.
Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn't there - he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He ended up eating with the Americans (he had to make sure they didn't suspect anything from him and Hermione). Then he returned to Gryffindor Tower earlier than the rest, thinking of all the extra work on Summoning Charms that he had to do. Up in the dormitory, he came across Ron.
"You've had an owl," said Ron brusquely the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry's pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for him there.
"Oh - right," said Harry.
"And we've got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape's dungeon," said Ron.
He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at Harry. For a moment, Harry considered going after him - he wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk to him or hit him, both seemed quite appealing - but the lure of Sirius's answer was too strong. Harry strode over to the barn owl, took the letter off its leg, and unrolled it.
Harry,
I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November?
I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose. If you're right about these American wizards then they would have to be extremely powerful... And impatient. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can.
-Sirius
...
I'm actually super proud of this chapter (for once lol). Thank you guys for enduring through this long chapter, I know I had to. Bye! Next update 1/9/20
-E.V