Chapter 19

While the sword might not have been Excalibur, it did have some interesting enchantments - enough so that Loki had wanted Harry to take it, for once putting his trust in mortal work. After a night of study, Harry knew a bit more about the blade, primarily that it was supernaturally sharp and designed to go through wards. That had been displayed when he had stabbed at the wall in frustration only for it to go straight through Hogwarts' protective enchantments and into the stone.

Seeing as he didn't know how to swordfight, wasn't sure whether or not it would randomly explode, and such weapons probably wouldn't be permitted within a school, he deemed it an unwise decision to bring it to the Weighing of the Wands, no matter how cool it might make him look.

When he arrived at the classroom where the Weighing of the Wands was being held, everyone was already there, despite him being exactly on time. He supposed they cared about the tournament more than he did, actually having been the ones to enter themselves. Along with the champions, headmasters, and the Ministry officials he had seen around the castle over the past day, there was another person: a woman dressed in robes a green almost as obnoxious as Dumbledore's clothing.

Behind the oddly dressed woman was a man with an incredibly old-fashioned camera that lit up the room with a tremendous flash every few seconds. Ignoring the apparent journalist for a few moments, Harry glanced to Ollivander, who was sitting at a table, and nodded. The Asgardian winked back, before nonchalantly leaning back in his seat as he noticed Dumbledore watching the exchange curiously.

A moment later the green-robed witch wearing far too much makeup noticed Harry, rushing over to him with her cameraman in tow. "Harry Potter!" she squealed. "It's excellent to meet you. Perhaps I could have an interview-"

"Maybe after the Weighing of the Wands, Miss Skeeter," interrupted Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement and once again prompting Harry to wonder what spell it was.

'Rita Skeeter,' supplied Loki. 'A journalist for the Daily Prophet. Be careful with her if you don't want your reputation ruined. Offer to give her an exclusive interview, and that should placate her hunger for gossip.' He paused. 'If not, a knife through the heart will.' Harry could practically sense his maniacal grin.

Concealing a snort of laughter, he moved over to the seats where the other champions were sitting. As they went up to Ollivander one by one for their wand inspections, Harry barely paid attention, relying on Loki to tell him anything of importance. Eventually, his turn came around, and he stood up, moving over to Ollivander and carefully handing the man his wand handle-first.

With a wink, he accepted it. He examined it for a few moments, before murmuring a spell too quiet for Harry to hear and getting no reaction. "A demonstration perhaps, Mr Potter?"

Harry could practically already hear the newspaper articles about his wand not working, so he took it into his hand and muttered, "Herbifors." Even as the flower-conjuring spell happened, he was beginning to transfigure them, so a moment later, a bouquet of flowers constructed entirely of ice lay in his palm.

Ollivander nodded in approval. "You have a very strong bond with your wand, Mr Potter. I-"

"Aren't you going to tell us what it's made of?" interrupted Rita Skeeter, looking quite excited at the concept. Since all mortal wands were wooden, mortals tended to assume Harry's was just very highly polished wood with some extravagant designs on. Its unique appearance combined with the fact that Ollivander had listed the materials each other champions' wand composed of were apparently too much for the journalist or bear, however.

With a mischievous glint in his eye and a slow grin spreading across his face, Ollivander turned to her, causing Loki to swear. 'I know that look.'

"Well, Miss Skeeter, the problem is that I myself don't know what it is made of." The scratching sound of a quill on paper grew more frantic in the background. "Harry's wand came into my shop centuries ago, crafted by a mysterious wizard and delivered to one of my ancestors. The wizard who crafted it must've been truly great, for the enchantments on the wand are so powerful it allows none to see into it."

Harry withheld a groan, and Skeeter demanded, "Do you have any idea who this wizard was?"

"Well, there are only rumours, but the wizard said that the wand would only find its true owner in one descended from the line of Pendragon."

Loki groaned, swore, and then sighed. 'Oh, Vandr. Why must you strive to annoy me so?' he lamented, and then sighed once again. 'I suppose this will help our popularity, at least.'

Skeeter practically squealed in delight, and Harry allowed himself to be dragged towards the closet for an interview.


"I'm not sure," said Harry, repeating a variant of what he had answered to the last ten questions. Needless to say, Skeeter was rather obsessed with his possible connection to King Arthur of Camelot, and Harry was starting to wish he had brought his sword – and most certainly not to "prove" that he was indeed related to King Arthur.

Skeeter had started off by asking him half a dozen times whether he had entered the tournament, to which he had answered no, causing her to rapidly move on to her next set of questions, concerning where he had been all of these years. He had been careful to be incredibly vague, stringing her a story similar to the one he had told Dumbledore, but being sure to include a few "heartfelt" stories about how he missed his parents.

From there, the reporter had went on to asking how he felt as though he had a chance against the other champions, who had been trained for years. Harry had talked about he had faith in himself, and he too had trained, also saying it was in his blood. He now regretted that, for it had brought Skeeter to her current line of questioning.

"So do you have any abilities that might indicate a relation to King Arthur?"

Harry's left eye twitched. "I'm not sure."

"How do you feel about possibly being related to Arthur?"

His other eye mimicked the motion of the first. "I'm not sure."

"How do you feel-"

Before she could get any further, he interrupted, "How do I feel? Quite ill actually. Must be the stress of the tournament getting to me." He was out of the cupboard before she could get another word in, but then quickly popped his head back in. "Write anything I didn't say, and I shall inflict the wrath of Merl-"

'Arthur.'

"-Arthur Pendragon upon you."

With that, he turned again, this time not hesitating as he marched from the room. As he entered the corridor, he saw who he recognized as a Ministry official talking to a more important-looking Ministry official. A smirk threatened to enter his face as he heard the words, "Of course, sir. They're in the forest at the moment. They'll definitely be ready for the First Task." It would have been too quiet for human ears, but Harry was no human. It was time to visit the forest.


Under the cloak of nightfall, Harry entered the Forbidden Forest. He had a vague sense of direction in which he was going, supplied by a slight discolouration in the sky he had spotted earlier in the day. It was incredibly likely that they were concealment wards, and he needed to find out what was hidden behind them.

So he moved through the forest, wand at the ready to eradicate anyone – or anything – that dared to test his strength. It was not too long before he came across a path, but he decided it wise to stick to the side. His skills at Obliviation were incredibly limited, so anyone he came across would have to be permanently disposed of if he didn't want anyone to find out he had been here.

Eventually he reached an area where Loki told him to stop. 'The ward is only a few meters ahead. Give me a moment to check if it will detect you or not.' A moment later he continued, 'It is only designed to obscure noise and vision.'

With a slight nod, Harry moved onwards, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he went into the ward. Immediately his senses were bombarded by the noise of inhuman roaring, and a moment later, a plume of fire bursting into the air and illuminating the clearing in front of him. Wizards shouting followed a few seconds later as they rushed to ensure that what Harry now saw was a caged dragon was not a threat.

For a moment, Harry was stunned into silence. 'We have to kill a dragon?'

Loki hummed. 'It shouldn't be too much of a problem. Look on the bright side, they might kill the other champions so that the tournament ends!'

'I somehow doubt that will happen under Dumbledore's watch.'

'Probably not. Nonetheless, we must plot to ensure that we too are not reduced to dust – dragon fire is a lot more damaging than normal fire.'

Harry turned and began to move back towards the castle. He didn't want to stay here too long, lest he be discovered or roasted.


In the morning, Harry awoke slightly later than usual – a result of last night's activities. He could, of course, skip breakfast, but he had decided today was the day he would have his inevitable confrontation with the greater populace of Hogwarts. So he walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast, prepared to face the most annoying challenge of all: socialising.

As expected, he drew plenty a look as he walked the corridors, students pointing and gasping as most of them laid eyes upon him for the first time since the night he had came to Hogwarts. He simply ignored them, however. If they weren't going to approach him, there was no point in doing anything otherwise.

Eventually he made it to the Great Hall, and without hesitance, opened the doors and strode towards the Gryffindor table. For a moment, a hush descended upon the hall, but then it burst into chatter once again as he sat down. Harry almost snorted aloud at the poor attempts at inconspicuous glances by the red-headed boy a few seats from him.

It only took a few moments for the boy's restraint to shatter, and he said, "You're Harry Potter."

Harry turned to him, a flawless fake smile upon his face. "Yes, I am."

"I knew you'd be in Gryffindor!" he exclaimed. "Your parents were, and you're the Boy-Who-Lived! The other houses didn't want to believe it when Angelina said she'd seen you sitting on our table at breakfast yesterday, but here you are! I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."

With a nod, Harry said, "Good to know. I wasn't sure what house I'd be in to be honest." That was true. He hadn't been sure how well the hat would respond to Loki's threats.

"You had to be in Gryffindor! Your parents-" It was around this point that Harry stopped listening and got on with a much more interesting task: eating breakfast. Loki would tell him of anything of importance came up, though he severely doubted that it would.

A glance around the Gryffindor table revealed that almost everyone was staring at him, though the emotions on their faces varied from awe to jealousy or skepticism. Harry moved his gaze to the other table in the hall. A lot of Hufflepuff seemed to be annoyed at him, proven by their impotent glares. The reason why became clear as he laid eyes upon the Hogwarts champion sitting at the table.

In Ravenclaw, not as many were staring at him as at the Gryffindor table, though it was more than there were at the Hufflepuff one, and those that were did so with undisguised curiosity. Slytherin, on the other hand, was completely different. A lot weren't sneaking glances at him, and the ones who were, whilst easy for him to see, wouldn't be detected by most. Harry could almost sense the "cunning" thoughts moving through their heads. From what he knew, they were a lot more divided than a house like Gryffindor, and a single act wouldn't be enough to gain their alliance. They would have to be worked on last - if he wanted their alliance, that was.

He looked to the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents, sitting at the Ravenclaw and Slytherin table respectively. Gaining allies from those schools would be hard, though easier in the lower years the school had brought with them. Like with the Slytherins, he would settle for respect. He didn't exactly need people to be his allies anyway. In a fight that he was having difficulty with, schoolchildren would be utterly useless.

No, what he wanted was to be viewed as "good" in the eyes of the wizarding world - until he was powerful enough to defeat anyone in it, that was.

A/N: Not too much happened, but nonetheless, tell me what you thought!