LoDK
The Legacy of the Dark Knight Saga
Jamie Prosser and the Fourth Champion
Chapter 13: The Weighing of the Wands
Disclaimer: This is solely a not-for-profit fan activity and does not intend to infringe on copyrights held by Time Warner, DC Comics, Bloomsbury et al, and JK Rowling. Any characters who are original to this work remain the property of the author.
A/N: This story diverges significantly from accepted canon for the Harry Potter series from the outset, as in addition to the crossover elements, there are several deviations from the books that will be covered where they fit into the narrative. The timeline of the DC Comics elements borrows heavily from Young Justice (2011), but adds elements and characters from the comics, and relocates the series to the late Sixties and early Seventies rather than the New Tens as screened and is heavy on 'legacy' and original characters as a result.
A/N: Unless stated otherwise, the action of this story takes place in the run up to and during the 1997-1998 school year (305 "Anno Secreto" or "Year of Secrecy") parallel to the events of Deathly Hallows in canon. The year code "AL" is also my own invention and stands for After Liberation, counting the years after the Justice League's ending of the "Apokolips War", my as-yet unwritten take on the events of Young Justice Season 3 (Set late 1973 to April 1976).
****
Hogwarts Great Hall,
Scottish Highlands,
14th November, 1300 GMT
After Supermartian confirmed that the situation in Steel City was under control, Harry changed back into his regular clothes and left the House of Mystery, heading towards the main castle.
A moment later, he slipped into a empty space at the Gryffindor table next to Jamie.
"Is everything okay?" asked Jamie. "You're usually waiting for us when we get here."
Harry nodded. "I thought I might have to leave to help with a situation in Steel City… but Eddie, Ginny and Maz were free, so they handled it."
"Was anyone hurt?" asked Evan.
Harry shrugged, "Alpha wasn't, some of the locals sustained minor burns and bruises, nothing serious."
"Does that happen often?" asked Melanie.
"Occasionally," Harry replied as he helped himself to some shepherd's pie. "Most of the time it's either extremists – think Death Eaters, but different reasons – or the occasional off-world visitor that still thinks that Earth is a soft target because we're only a Level Four world."
"Level Four… what does that mean?"
"It means that we're basically the rookies of the interstellar community," said Harry. "LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises are working on getting us to Level Five. They've already cracked anti-gravity tech and energy weapons… but they're still working on hyper-drives and weather control."
"Wow. I'm not sure what some of that means, but it sounds cool."
"It is," Harry agreed.
"What are you doing after lunch?" asked Jamie. "We've got a free period."
Harry paused for a moment. "According to Constantine, there's some sort of Tournament thing going on at about three o'clock."
"Joanne mentioned something about a 'Weighing of the Wands'," offered Evan.
"Yeah, that sounds about right," agreed Harry. "Pretty much pointless for me of course, but I have to go anyway."
"Why would it be pointless?" asked Evan.
"Because, unlike most European wizards I don't
use a wand," Harry replied.
"You don't?" asked Evan, incredulously. Then glanced at Jamie, presumably to try and get some sort of confirmation.
"He's telling the truth," Jamie confirmed. "As far as I know he hasn't used one since the Board of Governors ordered Professor McGonagall to snap his wand back in ninety-three."
Harry nodded, "I didn't use any magic at all for months after that. I started learning wandless magic when I was in Gotham."
"You've been to Gotham?" said Melanie.
"I spent most of a year there," Harry confirmed. "Jamie was there too."
Melanie glanced at Jamie. "Really?"
Jamie nodded, "Yup. And before you ask… yes, its reputation is entirely deserved. It's still one of the exceptions to the 'only extremists and aliens' thing that Harry mentioned earlier."
After they finished their lunch, they relocated up to the library where the rest of Jamie's circle met up with them.
Just before three o'clock, one of the first years found them and told Harry that they were ready for him. Harry bade goodbye to the group and followed the boy out.
"What's your name?" he asked the boy, as they headed down the stairs.
"Brendan Dennis, Mr Potter."
"Do you know what this is about, Brendan?"
"The Headmaster said something about photos, Mr Potter."
Wonderful, thought Harry. "Did Professor Slughorn say what they want them for, Brendan?"
"He didn't, but I guess the Daily Prophet wants some for their Triwizard articles."
That would make sense, thought Harry. Given what I've been told about them I'll have to tread carefully…
"We're here," said Brendan a moment later, he knocked on the door and then opened it when a call came from inside. Harry went in and Brendan closed the door behind him.
Harry found himself in a 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 Chairman Mustafawas sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes. The Hogwarts champion, Zacharias Smith, was standing on his own in a corner, while the foreign Champions, Blanchardand Szilagyi, were deep in conversation.
Szilagyi 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. Mustafa suddenly spotted Harry and turned towards him, "Mister Potter, I am glad you could join us."
"Can I ask what this is about, Mister Chairman?"
"This is the Wand-Weighing Ceremony, Mr Potter," replied the Egyptian wizard. "The rest of the judges will be here in a moment…"
Wand weighing… this could be interesting.
"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 Mustafa. "The expert's upstairs now with Professor Slughorn."
Harry turned to the magenta-clad woman, "And you are?"
"Rita Skeeter," she replied. "I'm doing a piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet."
Young Brendan was right on the money, thought Harry. I may keep an eye on that kid….
"I wonder if I could have a little word with you before we start?" 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 jewelled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson. "Get your opinion as the ringer as it were... to add a bit of colour?"
Oh, she's good… thought Harry. Not as good as Miss Vale or Sir Richard, but pretty good… He glanced over Constantine, who gave him a subtle nod. "I am always willing to talk to the press, Miss Skeeter."
"Lovely," said Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him 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 cosy."
It was a broom cupboard.
Harry stared at her.
"Come along, dear… that's right… lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing 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 mid-air, so that they could see what they were doing. "You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."
I'm not sure what that is but… thought Harry.
Rita Skeeter's smile widened, taking his silence as agreement.
Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile-skin 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…
So that's your game… thought Harry. Well, two can play at that.
"Lovely," said 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, Harry... what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
Harry chuckled, Really? That's what you're starting with… this could be easier than I thought. He was about to speak up when 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, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes…
"I didn't. Someone placed my name in the Goblet under false pretences."
Skeeter raised one heavily-pencilled eyebrow. "Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. Our readers love a rebel."
"In fact, Miss Skeeter, it shouldn't have been possible for me to enter."
"I'm sorry?" asked Skeeter, trying and failing to hide her confusion.
"The Triwizard Tournament is, and I quote 'a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks' correct?"
"Of course," agreed Skeeter, clearly not seeing his point.
"Well, then a student who was forced out of wizarding school over four years for trying to save a schoolmate's life, shouldn't be eligible, correct?"
Skeeter frowned, "You were expelled?"
"Yes, for going into the Chamber of Secrets to save Ginny Weasley and to kill the Monster of the Chamber."
"And they expelled you?" Rita's expression became predatory at this point. Clearly, she had scented a far more interesting story than a 'rebel Champion'.
Harry nodded, "Rumour has it that someone on the board blackmailed the others into it."
"Do you know who?"
"I have no proof," Harry told her. "But I suspect that both my expulsion and my unusual entry into this Tournament can be traced back to the former followers of Lord Voldemort."
Skeeter flinched a little at his use of Voldemort's nom de guerre,rather than a more publicly acceptable false name, but was enough of a professional not to challenge him on it. "How do you feel about the tasks then? If you were expelled… Excited? Nervous?"
"Confident," said Harry. "While I haven't had a traditional Western magical education, I have worked with some of the most powerful magic users in the world… John Constantine, who you've probably been introduced to…"
Skeeter nodded.
"Madame Xanadu, Zatanna Grayson of Gotham… In fact, Lord Voldemort isn't the only Dark Wizard I've dealt with either… I've faced Felix Faust, Blackbriar Thorn…"
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"'Risk of death' and I are old friends by now, Miss Skeeter," Harry told her, darkly.
"Really?" said Rita. "How do you think your parents would fell about that…? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Harry's temper flared a little at this point, but then he remembered a lesson that Dick Grayson had told him once…
Interviews are a lot like interrogations… One of the best ways to get at the truth is to provoke an emotional reaction, knock you off balance...
"My birth parents died fighting against one of the greatest evils their world had ever known, I believe that they would agree with my decision to do what is right, rather than what is easy… Certainly my guardians – Jamie Prosser's parents – have made it clear that this is their opinion on the matter…"
He could feel Skeeter watching him very intently, clearly trying to think of a good follow-up question. But before she could think of something, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open.
Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Professor Slughorn stood there, looking down at them both, squashed into the cupboard. "Professor Slughorn!" 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.
"Excellent as always, Rita," said Slughorn magnanimously. "If you and Mr Potter are finished with your interview…"
"Certainly, Professor Slughorn," said Harry and pushed his way out of the cupboard before Skeeter could speak up.
Deciding to get as much distance from Skeeter as quickly as possible, Harry hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Cedric, hooking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting – Constantine, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime and Chairman Mustafa.
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 Slughorn, 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 six years ago in Diagon Alley.
"Slečna Szilagyi, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. The Durmstrang Champion swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand. "Hmm..." he said. "This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I... however... 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, "ten inches. . . pliable, spruce... and containing... dear me..."
"A hair from the head of a Veela," said Szilagyi. "One of my babička's."
"Yes, yes…" said Mr. Ollivander, "I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each their 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 Szilagyi with her wand.
Ollivander waited until Szilagyi had returned to her seat, then he spoke again, "Monsieur Blanchard?"
The tall, lanky Frenchman got up and strode toward Mr Ollivander, once he got within arm's reach, he stopped and removed his wand from a pocket in his robes, handing it to the wandmaker handle first.
"Hmm," said Mr Ollivander, "This is from Baguettes d'Aniciano I believe?"
"Naturellement," replied Blanchard, with a slight edge to his tone that suggested he considered the question an insult.
"Almost certainly one of young Senora Olivrita's… her craftmanship has a distinctive elegance that even I cannot match." He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. "Yes... oak and dragon heartstring?" he asked Blanchard, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... eleven and three-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.
"Mr Smith, you're next."
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Smith handed over his wand. "Ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. It's not in best condition…"
Harry glanced over at the wandmaker, Smith's wand was scratched and covered in fingerprints.
Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Cosmetic appearance not withstanding… it appears to be in working order."
Smith scowled at the criticism, but took his wand back in silence and returned to his seat without comment.
"And finally, Mr Potter…" said Ollivander, and turned towards Harry. "You were a tricky customer, as I recall… holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.
"An unusual but powerful combination, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.
"They did," agreed Harry.
"But you have another wand?"
"Not really," Harry admitted. "I mostly use DaVincian logomancy. But I've dabbled a little with Norse and Amazonian runic, and I've got a standing invitation to receive the tattoos needed for Atlantean sorcery."
"An impressive resume, Mr Potter," Mr Ollivander commented.
"But I suppose ceremony must be observed," said Harry. "So… Dnaw A Em Ekam!"
A black rod with a white tip materialised in Harry's hand and he handed it over to the wandmaker.
Ollivander eyed it curiously, "Curious… it doesn't appear to be made of any wood I recognise and lacks any kind of core substance… Vinum!" He frowned when nothing happened. "That has not happened in far more years than I care to remember…"
"Allow me," said Harry, taking the wand back. "Eniw Fo Maerts A Ruop!"
"Well, I suppose that's that," commented Mr Ollivander, still a little confused at the development.
"Not quite," replied Professor Slughorn. "I believe Ms Skeeter would like some photos of the judges and the champions?"
"Er… yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were on 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. Constantine predictably tried to stay as much out of view as possible whereas Szilagyi, who was used to this sort of thing was a keen partner in the photographer's attempts to get her at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry himself into greater prominence despite him being only slightly more interested in publicity than Constantine. Once the group photo was taken, Skeeter insisted on separate shots of all the champions which took quite a bit of time, but shortly after the bell rang for end of classes they were finally free to go.
****
The Burrow,
Ottery St Catchpole.
15th November, 0705 BST.
"What's up, Perce?" Ginny asked as she sat down at the table and helped herself to some juice. Her middle brother and her father were sitting at the table waiting for her mum to finish making breakfast and Percy was scowling at the newspaper as if it had personally wronged him.
Percy looked up, and for a moment Ginny thought he wasn't going to answer, or even that he might be about to say something rude – though that would be very unlike him – but when he finally spoke, it was in his normal 'annoyed' tone. "Rita Skeeter is claiming that there is a grand conspiracy behind four champions being selected for the Triwizard Tournament, and that the Ministry should have done more to stop it just because some 'deductions' by Potter."
Ginny huffed a little at that, she wasn't particularly surprised at her middle brother's reaction to the situation, a little disappointed that he wasn't using his brain, but… "I haven't read the whole article yet," Ginny admitted, reaching over to grab the paper. "But Harry's got some pretty good instincts…"
The headline 'Mystery Champion or Ministry Blunder?' certainly gave her a hint as to why Percy was annoyed, and it was increasingly obvious as she continued that Skeeter was totally focused on Harry rather than the Tournament as a whole. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry – that Ginny promptly decided to herself was going on her wall – and the article on 'the tournament' (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, with the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled, if unsurprisingly in Szilagyi's case) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Zacharias Smith hadn't been mentioned at all.
Ginny was a little surprised that Skeeter appeared to have reported Harry's remarks largely verbatim – the article was peppered with her 'purple prose' in parts, references to his charming face, startling green eyes and similar flowery – but Ginny's opinion accurate – language were sprinkled liberally though out, but the general thrust of the article was that mistakes had been made in the handling of the 'Choosing of the Champions' and that merely replacing two of the judges wasn't enough, that the public – and Harry himself – deserved to know who was responsible.
"It's not exactly what I'd call quality journalism," Ginny admitted, putting the newspaper aside so that her mother could put her plate of Hog's pudding and potato cakes down. "But I don't think there's anything inaccurate there."
"Well, of course you would take his side…!" snarled Percy in an unusual show of emotion for him.
Ginny almost reacted in kind but took a couple of deep breaths before replying. "It's not about sides, Percy," she replied calmly. "It's about facts."
"And what 'facts' would those be?"
Ginny detected a hint of sarcasm in her brother's reply, but again refused to rise to the bait. "First, as Skeeter notes in her article – the Triwizard Tournament is a 'friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Second, a champion is selected to represent each school, and the three champions compete in three magical tasks'?"
"Obviously."
"Well, then there's the problem… Harry was the fourth champion
– which shouldn't be possible – and wasn't even a student of one of the three magical schools at the time. Although the article doesn't mention it, he was actually registered at a Muggle school called the University of Wordenshire. He's studying criminology."
"Yes, you're right…" said Percy, his expression shifted a little at this before hardening again. "But it wasn't necessarily the Ministry that made the mistake…"
"That's true," admitted Ginny. "But according to…" Here she paused and checked part of the article again. "… Professor Malocchio – the Defence Professor at Hogwarts this year – it would take tremendously powerful Confundus Charm to make the Goblet forget that there were only three schools."
"That does limit the pool of candidates…" Percy admitted.
"Harry didn't mention any names during his talk with Skeeter…"
"As he shouldn't."
"Highmaster Karkaroff's history as Death Eater made him Suspect Number One…" Ginny added. "But apparently he didn't go near the Goblet himself once it was lit and none of his students admitted to adding an extra slip or one without their name on…"
"I confess, that was my first thought," said Percy. "Do you have any of other leads?"
Ginny paused, "Nothing concrete… we know that a couple of Voldemort's old followers are likely to be behind it… one we know, Peter Pettigrew also known as Wormtail, a rat Animagus that was believed murdered sixteen years ago by his friend Sirius Black."
"And the other?"
"A straw-blond man, mid-thirties… possibly a Malfoy or a Rowle but we can't be sure as all known members of both families have been eliminated."
"We?"
"Both the League's Wizarding contacts and the Auror Office," Ginny replied.
"You are working with the Aurors?"
"More like a parallel investigation organised by Amelia Bones on their side," admitted Ginny.
Percy nodded, apparently satisfied.
"Are you going into work today?" Molly asked her son.
"I have a meeting with the Andorran Deputy Minister of Magical Trade this afternoon…"
"On a Saturday…?"
"He's a Beedle the Bard fan, he's attending a performance of the Fountain of Fair Fortune at the Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts this evening."
"Would you be able to do some degnoming in the garden for me before you go?"
"Of course, Mother," Percy replied, then after taking a last mouthful of hog's pudding and draining his cup of tea he rose to his feet.
"I'll join you," said Ginny. "I haven't got anything planned."
"Thank you."
It'll be nice to do some mindless work for a while… Ginny thought as she followed Percy outside. I've had a lot on my mind lately…