Chapter Seventy-One - The Weighing of the Wands
While on his way to breakfast the following morning, Harry had to dodge several well-meaning Slytherins in the common room. Colin Creevy was particularly avid in his enthusiasm. He seemed to have regained his former hero-worshipping attitude toward Harry. His only regret was that his brother had been sorted into Gryffindor, and thus would surely be supporting Cedric Diggory.
"It isn't anything against you, Harry," Colin reassured him, "I've told him everything about you, so he knows you're amazing. It's just that… For some reason, the other houses don't seem to like us very much, do they?"
He was referring to the animosity that was prevalent among the other three Hogwarts houses toward Slytherin. And he wasn't wrong. Surrounded as he was by Gryffindors, their greatest rival, little Dennis Creevy would certainly not be on Harry's side, regardless of whatever misleading impressions Colin had given him. Harry could say nothing in response to Colin's assurances without upsetting him, and was grateful when the appearance of Blaise and Millie provided an excuse to shake him off.
In the Great Hall, Harry had a slight reprieve from his fellow Slytherins, though he was now confronted by stares from the rest of the school. It was disheartening to think that only a portion of their hostility could be attributed to prejudice against Slytherin. He often thought of what Ron Weasley had said last year. He'd accused Harry of being cursed, and Harry was starting to believe he was right. Maybe his house didn't matter. He might have been a Hufflepuff, like Cedric, and there would still be people who believed he had cheated his way into this competition.
The arrival of the owl post was almost a welcome distraction, until Blaise passed a letter from Mrs. Zabini to him with a look of pity. It was addressed to her son, though it primarily spoke of Harry. She had evidently heard the news of Harry's selection from Bagman himself, in advance of the morning papers.
You and Harry are both gifted, Harry read, but I do not share Ludo's confidence that Harry is at all prepared for the challenges ahead. The other champions are older and more experienced. I am worried for Harry's safety. Please tell me you and Harry did not plan this together…
"She thinks I entered myself!" Harry exclaimed once he had reached this part of the letter.
"I'll write to her," Blaise said immediately, "She'll believe us if we tell her the truth."
Harry didn't reply. He was grateful to Blaise for offering to write, but he was disappointed that Mrs. Zabini had so little faith in him. Did she truly believe he was that desperate for attention?
It occurred to him that in order for the letter to have reached them this morning, her owl must have flown nonstop through the night. Harry rewarded Mephistopheles with a bit of his breakfast sausage, sorry to have made him fly all this way when there was nothing he could do at present to ease Mrs. Zabini's mind. He offered Blaise the use of Hedwig to send his response, hoping to give Mephistopheles well-earned break.
The next moment, however, brought the arrival of a second letter, this time addressed to Harry. It was from Sirius, who had fallen into the same error as Mrs. Zabini, though he was less anxious on Harry's account. He congratulated Harry on his selection as Hogwarts champion, and spoke of his pride for Harry's ingenuity, curious to know how he'd managed it.
… I must admit that Remus doesn't approve, but this is exactly the sort of scheme James and I would have thought up while we were in school…
"Sorry Blaise," Harry said, "Looks like I'll need Hedwig to reply to Sirius."
Blaise agreed to borrow one of the school owls, and Harry was left to compose his own letter to his godfather. He knew that he had to tell Sirius the truth, though his heart sank at the possibility that he was somehow letting him down. The comparison he had made between Harry and his father made Harry almost wish he had tried to enter the tournament himself. At least then he would have earned both the admiration and disdain of his fellow schoolmates.
He was able to avoid much of this attention by staying away from the Great Hall for the rest of the day. He spent the lunch and dinner hours in Hagrid's cabin, where he was relieved to find that Hagrid, at least, believed him when he said he hadn't entered the tournament. He had never once entertained the idea that Harry had submitted his own name, though he couldn't help but remark in a worried tone, "Everythin' seems ter happen ter yeh, dunnit?"
Hagrid's support was a welcome relief, though the reprieve did not last. When Monday morning dawned, Harry could evade the rest of Hogwarts no longer. He would have to attend class, as usual.
He expected animosity from the Hufflepuffs. Cedric was their golden boy, after all. Handsome, friendly, and captain of the Quidditch team, Cedric had always been popular. Hufflepuff was rarely acknowledged for their academics, ambition, or leadership, so this was an exciting opportunity to be represented. To the Hufflepuffs, Harry's inclusion in the Triwizard Tournament stole attention away from Cedric. Their resentment was only to be expected.
But Harry had not anticipated the immense hatred in which Gryffindor and Ravenclaw now held him. Slytherin was the least popular of the four houses, and Harry had become their poster boy. He was now viewed as a traitor by anyone outside of his own house.
He realized how far this feeling had spread during Herbology, which they shared with the Ravenclaws. Every student glared at him as he entered the greenhouse, and when he, Blaise, and Millie approached one of the work tables, the Ravenclaws gathered there abruptly moved to another space. Millie looked like she was ready to start firing jinxes in Harry's defense, but Harry spotted Nell, and was able to avoid disaster. He invited his Ravenclaw friend to join them with a hopeful wave. Even Nell looked hesitant at first, but she gathered her courage and selected a seat next to Harry, earning a few scandalized glances from her housemates as a result.
"I hope you won't get in trouble for sitting with me," Harry said, noticing the whispers of a few Ravenclaw girls sitting nearby.
"Trust me, I've heard worse," Nell said, though she too glanced at the girls with wary eyes.
For a moment, they were unable to talk to one another, as Professor Sprout began to instruct them on how to repot their bubotuber plants without puncturing their noxious, pus-filled sacs. Once her lesson was complete, however, they had plenty of opportunity to chat while the rest of the class was distracted with their own work.
"Before you ask," Harry said to Nell, "No, I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire."
Nell had clearly been thinking about this very topic. She flinched when Harry addressed her so directly, though the next moment she seemed relieved that he brought it up first.
"I didn't want to believe it," she said, "but everyone is saying you must have found a way past the Age Line."d
"Yeah, well everyone said Harry was the Heir of Slytherin, and they were wrong about that, as well," Blaise said defensively.
Nell turned her eyes toward him and raised a quizzical brow, "Actually, I thought you were the Heir of Slytherin for awhile."
"You what?" Blaise asked, his thumb slipping directly into a bubo and popping it. It would have meant a trip directly to the hospital wing if he hadn't been wearing gloves. Fortunately, he had only to remove the dragon-hide pair from his hands and swap them for a fresh set.
While he busied himself, Harry informed Nell of what had happened after his name came out of the Goblet. He told her what Moody had said about the confundus charm, and how Crouch insisted that Harry compete with the others. Whatever hesitation Nell had shown before melted away as he recounted his story, and by the end of class, she was a firm ally.
"But what about your signature, Harry?" she asked as they were packing up their things, "Could it have been forged?"
"It looked like my handwriting," Harry said, shaking his head, "If it was a forgery, I don't think the magical contract Crouch kept on about would apply. If that were the case, then anyone could have put in the name of whoever they wanted, regardless of the Age Line."
Nell looked thoughtful, "But then how did they get your name? It isn't as if you've been signing autographs for people, have you?"
Harry shook his head. He had only provided one autograph in his life. He had once signed a copy of the Daily Prophet and given it to Snape as a joke. But his name had not been torn from a scrap of newspaper, and he certainly didn't believe Snape had entered him in the tournament, not after the way he'd reacted when Harry's name was called.
Nell promised to give the matter some thought. It was a comfort just to know she believed him. Meanwhile, Harry had to contend with more than just blind distrust of the other students. Draco was becoming a pest in another way.
He knew better than to openly oppose Harry when the rest of their house professed unwavering support of him. Instead, Draco had calculated that it was better for his image to appear to be on Harry's side. Much to Harry's chagrin, he began acting as though he and Harry were the best of friends, all the while insinuating to anyone who would listen that he knew how Harry was able to cheat his way into the tournament.
Harry did his best to ignore him. He had already given up trying to convince the rest of his classmates that he wasn't the wily Slytherin they all took him for. It only mattered to him that his true friends believed him. And that included Hermione and Neville.
Harry wasn't able to speak to them until their Care of Magical Creatures class. He was pleased when Hermione quickly joined Harry and Millie as they attempted to find out which end a Blast-Ended Skrewt ate from.
"Before you ask…" Harry started to say in a tired voice.
"I know you didn't enter the tournament," Hermione said instantly. Harry looked at her with surprise and she added, "Harry, no one who saw your face when Dumbledore read your name could seriously think it was your idea."
Neville nodded his head in agreement, "I don't think anyone is that good at acting. But what happened?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Harry said with a sigh.
"You should be more concerned about why they did it!" Hermione said fretfully before turning to Millie and saying, "No, no, the mouth is on the stomach. Like a starfish."
Somehow, this only made the Skrewts more revolting.
If it hadn't been for the support of his friends, Harry's next few days at Hogwarts would have been unbearable. Between the taunts flung at him in the hallways and the anxiety he felt while waiting for Sirius's reply to his letter, he was starting to fall behind in his schoolwork. Thankfully, the champions were excused from their end-of-year exams, but there was still no time to relax. Harry had no idea what the first task would be, but the other three champions were far more experienced. He had a feeling he would need all the help he could get. Blaise did his best to teach Harry the summoning charm Flitwick had introduced in class, and Millie was always ready to show him a handy new jinx, but there was only so much they could do to help him as their own homework assignments continued to pile up.
To make matters worse, someone had developed anti-Potter badges to show support for Cedric. Slytherin retaliated with their own aggressively pro-Potter pendants that only made Harry more embarrassed.
Finally, it was time for his weekly potions class. Snape had not spoken a word to him since Halloween night, and Harry was surprised when he invented a reason to keep Harry after class. His excuse was that he needed to discuss Harry's last essay, though Harry was not fooled. He remembered Snape's anger the other night, and he was sure the assignment was merely a pretense to yell at him some more. Still, he was curious to see what Snape had to say, considering Snape had always avoided private conversations with Harry in the past.
He was destined to be disappointed. As the end of class approached, Colin Creevy marched bravely into the classroom and announced that he was on an errand to fetch Harry. A lesser man would have quaked under force of Snape's glare, but Creevy offered his biggest smile and explained that Harry and the other champions were wanted by Mr. Bagman. Harry admired Colin's audacity to interrupt one of Snape's classes and thought, not for the first time, that Colin would have done well in Gryffindor.
"So, what does Bagman want us for?" Harry asked Colin as soon as the dungeon door swung shut behind him.
Colin was practically bouncing down the hall as he answered, "It's for some kind of ceremony! I think they want to take photographs!"
Harry suppressed a groan and tried to think on the positive side. If his photo appeared in the paper again, he could give Snape another autograph.
Colin led him to a small classroom where the other champions were already gathered. Ludo Bagman, his old quidditch robes forgone in favor of something more becoming of a ministry official, walked forward with his usual smile. He dismissed Colin and welcomed Harry with open arms.
"There he is! Champion number four! You're just in time. Nothing to worry about, of course. It's just the wand weighing ceremony, a few pictures… The other judges will be along shortly. Have you met Ms. Skeeter?"
Harry was still wondering what Bagman meant by "wand weighing" when he was struck by the sight of a witch in vivid magenta robes. Her artificially blond hair was set in curiously rigid curls. She wore jeweled spectacles and had long, crimson nails that were clutching an acid green quill. When she smiled at Harry, she used all of her teeth.
Her name was familiar to him, but for the moment he couldn't place it.
"My photographer will need a few more minutes to set up, Ludo," she said, "Perhaps in the meantime I could get a few words from our youngest competitor?"
She did not wait for permission. She grabbed Harry by the arm and directed him away from the others, through another door. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a thin woman, and Harry couldn't help but notice her sharp, false nails as they cut into his arm.
"We don't want to be out there with all that noise," she said, "This will be nice and cozy!"
It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her, wondering if she was quite alright in the head. The witch merely sucked the end of her quill and said, "You don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you? It allows me to talk to you normally…"
Harry didn't know what a Quick-Quotes Quill was. He was still trying to figure out if he was really going to submit to an interview in a cupboard. In the back of his mind, he was thinking that he was being forced to compete in this tournament, but Crouch said nothing about interviews and photographs being part of the deal.
His silence did not seem to intimidate the reporter. She had tilted her quill onto a piece of parchment, where it stood on its point, not needing her fingers to support it.
"Testing… My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Harry glanced down at the quill. It had begun scribbling rapidly across the paper as soon as the witch spoke. He could make out the words:
Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, twenty-nine, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations…
Suddenly, Harry remembered where he had heard that name before. She was the same reporter who had contributed to the lies spread about Sirius several years ago. And Mrs. Zabini was still seeking restitution for Skeeter's column, where she had described many of Mrs. Zabini's deceased husbands.
"I've heard of you," Harry said abruptly.
She smiled again. Her teeth were too white, too even. Harry wondered if they were as false as her nails and her curly blonde hair.
"Ah! So you read my column. Always nice to meet a fan," she said.
"No, not exactly," Harry said coldly, "I believe you know my godfather, Sirius Black?"
Rather than have the decency to look abashed by this reminder, Skeeter's excitement grew.
"You began living with him this summer, didn't you?" she asked, "Tell me, what is he like behind closed doors? Can you describe your relationship with him now?"
Harry found himself glancing at the quill once again. It had begun writing his answer before he'd even opened his mouth to speak.
Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to his godfather, once a wanted felon. "Sirius could never replace the loss of my father…"
"Pay no attention to the quill, Harry," Skeeter said, but the damage had already been done.
"Considering a career in fiction, Ms. Skeeter?" Harry said sarcastically, "I would check my facts if I were you."
He had learned one useful skill from the reporter. He too could walk away without waiting for permission. He nearly ran into Dumbledore on his way out.
"Harry!" the headmaster said in a friendly tone, as if he were always bumping into students who had just emerged from a cupboard, "Thank you for joining us. You're just in time for the weighing of the wands."
It was then that Harry noticed the old man standing at Dumbledore's side. It was Ollivander, the wand-maker from Diagon Alley. Harry awkwardly said his hellos and hurried to the other side of the room, as far from Skeeter as he could get. The other champions were now seated near the door. Harry chose an open seat next to Cedric, whose attention was drawn toward a velvet covered table where the judges were sitting.
Rita Skeeter angrily took a seat in the corner, her Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready. No doubt she was preparing to write more lies about Harry, but he told himself it didn't matter. He knew her reputation, and she would have spread rumors about him whether he cooperated with her interview or not. She certainly wasn't going to do it with his help.
Dumbledore introduced Ollivander to the others while announcing that he would be inspecting each of their wands to ensure that they were in good condition before the tournament.
Harry suddenly had other things to worry about than spiteful reporters. He hadn't realized what the weighing of the wands ceremony would entail. Now he was afraid that Ollivander was going to reveal that Harry's wand had a twin. He once told Harry that he remembered every wand he had ever sold. Even if that was a boastful exaggeration, he would certainly remember Harry's. And the phoenix that supplied the feather for Harry's wand supplied only one other, and that wand had belonged to Voldemort.
It was the sort of odd coincidence that always gave Harry an uneasy feeling, and he could only imagine the damage Skeeter could do with that information if she got a hold of it. He sat in suspense as Fleur was the first to have her wand inspected.
"Nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…"
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," Fleur said proudly, "One of my grandmuzzer's."
Harry made a mental note to inform Blaise that the beautiful champion was part veela, then he considered what she had just said. Ollivander's wands were known for only three types of wand cores: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and phoenix feather. Harry had learned in his wand making class that other cores could be used, though they were more temperamental. Harry searched his memory, wondering what such an unusual wand core could reveal about Fleur's personality.
Ollivander declared that her wand, though untraditional, was in perfect working order. Next he called forward Cedric. He seemed pleased to recognize one of his own wands, causing Harry's anxiety to grow. He remembered everything about Cedric's wand. Perhaps that hadn't merely been a boast.
"This contains a single hair from a particularly fine male unicorn," Ollivander said, "It must have been seventeen hands high! Nearly gored me after I plucked his tail… Ah yes, the wand... Twelve and a quarter inches, ash, pleasantly springy. Fine condition."
"Polished it last night," Cedric said with a grin as Harry found himself marvelling at the length of Cedric's wand. He had thought his own was impressive at eleven inches.
Krum was called forward next. He slouched toward Mr. Ollivander and handed him his wand, his hands moving to the pockets of his robes while he waited.
"This is a Gregorovitch creation, I believe?" Ollivander said, "A fine wand-maker, though the style… Let's see, hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" Krum nodded, and Ollivander continued, "Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches…"
Harry suppressed a giggle behind his had as Ollivander cast a quick spell and pronounced the wand in fit working order. Krum took his wand back and returned to his seat. Only Harry remained.
Harry stood, praying that his feet would keep him steady as he nervously walked toward Ollivander. The old wizard's face was impassive as Harry approached, though his pale eyes gleamed when Harry handed him his wand. He clearly recognized it, and for one frightful moment Harry was afraid he was going to reveal the trivia he possessed about its core. Instead, Ollivander said to him, "I believe one of my very old friends is a professor of yours, Mr. Potter. As I understand it, you have been studying under Laurel Nobilis?"
Harry acknowledged that it was true, surprised that his professor must have mentioned this fact to the wandmaker. Ollivander gave him an indulgent smile and asked, "And how do you like the class so far?"
"Oh, it's brilliant!" Harry said, and he meant it. Professor Nobilis had taught him loads about the different types of wands, and in doing so, he had been able to craft a new wand for Sirius. He was now secretly working on one for Hagrid when he needed a break from his studies.
Ollivander seemed pleased with his response. He gave Harry a slight wink, and in an undertone said, "You might consider what I've said about the other competitors when planning a strategy, Mr. Potter. It seems to me that they are all suited to different kinds of magic."
In a louder voice meant for the judges to hear, Ollivander pronounced Harry's wand in perfect working order, and the ceremony was complete. Harry wanted to escape immediately, his brain already at work with the hint Ollivander had given him, but first they were forced to take pictures. He considered protesting, as he still did not believe that photographs for the newspaper were a condition of his participation in the tournament, but he observed the way Viktor submitted to the directions of the photographer without complaint, and decided to follow his example.
Even with his cooperation, the photos took a long time. Harry used the opportunity to think about what he had learned about the other competitors' wands. Cedric's wand contained unicorn hair and was made of ash. Harry considered the combination, and had learned that this made his wand particularly loyal to him. It would produce reliable spells, and was not likely to backfire. However, Harry doubted whether this combination could produce particularly powerful magic.
Then there was Krum. The dragon heartstring at his wand's core meant he could produce some powerful spells if he were so inclined. But the wood… Hornbeam, Harry thought it was… He was less sure how this would interact with the core. He had heard rumors that hornbeam was compatible with wizards who had a strict moral code, but he didn't know enough about Viktor to know what this could imply.
Fleur was the most difficult to piece together. Ollivander had commented that the wand itself was inflexible, which could reflect Fleur's temper as well. But her wand core… The hair of a veela, a family member no less… This was something they had not covered in Harry's class, and it seemed to him that Fleur would be the most unpredictable of their group.
Harry continued to consider the implications of this information after the photographs were complete. He had just determined that of the three, Krum was the most likely to excel at offensive magic, when he walked into the Slytherin common room.
"You've got a letter," Blaise said to Harry, which surprised him out of his musings. It wasn't the usual time for the post to arrive, "Hedwig came looking for you while we were down at Hagrid's."
"You went to see Hagrid?" Harry started to ask, but then he saw the writing on the envelope. It was from Grimmauld Place. Harry quickly tore the letter open, thinking Sirius's response had arrived at last. But the note was not from Sirius. It was Remus's handwriting.
Harry,
Sirius and I are very concerned about your entry in the Triwizard Tournament. If you had entered yourself - which would have been reckless and stupid no matter what Sirius says - then that would be one thing. But to have someone enter you without your knowledge… I can't say everything I would like in a letter. Sirius and I want to see you. Write back and let us know when your next trip to Hogsmeade takes place. We will talk more then.
Remus
P.S. Please be careful. I have heard Alastor Moody is at Hogwarts this year. If you need any advice, you can trust him. He's not as scary as he seems.