AN: I do not own Harry Potter.
In a previous chapter, I changed the way the Quick-quotes Quill worked. It forms a small mental connection to read surface thoughts and then writes what the user thinks. I do not specify here, but it is linked through blood. Rita made alterations to her quill.
Chapter 18 - The Six Champions
Harry heard people whispering about him, even from the Gryffindor Table, as he made his way down toward the Staff Door. He heard someone jeer and call something, but it was drowned out by a general, angry buzz in the air. Keeping his head high, he walked through the heavy oak door into the middle of a major argument. It appeared the others figured out what Harry had about the timing of the goblet.
"I am not your second," Fleur hissed as she rounded on Pascal.
The handsome blonde boy laughed at her. "Ah, but you didn't get chosen for the real champion place. That old fraud said the real drawing was at seven, not six-thirty."
They weren't the only group arguing. Krum and Risto looked like they might draw wands on each other at any moment to prove who the real champion was. Cedric didn't look amused as he looked Harry over. "I suppose it had to be you," he spat.
"Excuse me, but I didn't put my name in," Harry evenly answered. "I didn't want anything to do with this mess. I have no desire to represent Great Britain or the corrupt Ministry. I'm not even of age to compete or put my name in the goblet."
That seemed to shock Cedric, and a few of the others listening. "You... are underage?" Fleur asked.
"Yes."
"Right-o," Bagman announced as he entered the room. He pushed passed Harry. "Six champions then!" he said with a boyish grin.
"What?" Krum demanded.
"Six champions. It'll have to be, won't it?" the Head of Magical Games and Sports laughed. "There's no system in place for seconds, not anymore."
Harry took in the information and blinked as Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, Mr. Crouch, Snape, Professor Moody, and Professor McGonagall all came in at the same time.
"Put your name in, did you, Potter?" Snape sneered.
"No, and I'll take Veritaserum to prove that I didn't," Harry answered evenly. He wanted to smile when the Potion Master blinked at him. "I had and have no desire to compete."
"Ah, but you will now," Bagman grinned. "It's a magically binding contract."
"Even if I didn't put in my name?" Harry demanded.
All the adults in the room looked at each other. "You... do not wish to compete, did not enter yourself, and are willing to take a Truth Potion?" Madame Maxime asked slowly.
"Correct. I did help the twins, that is Fred and George Weasley, with their Aging Potion last night. However, I did not, nor would have, used the potion on myself to attempt to enter. They, for your information, failed to get past the Age Line Professor Dumbledore set around the Goblet."
"We're aware," Karkaroff spat. "That doesn't explain the others," he growled with a flick of his hand to his pupil who didn't look cowed by the angry Headmaster. Risto looked almost bored, but that might have been his usual expression. Harry didn't know the wizard.
"Yes, how could this zis have happened, Dumbly-dorr?" Madame Maxime asked as she looked the Headmaster in the eyes.
"Does it matter? What's done is done. We have six champions now," Bagman gleefully interrupted with a clap of his hands. "Now..."
"No, we will get to ze bottom of this," Madame Maxime argued. "Mr. Dupont, did you put your name in ze Goblet of Fire?"
"Yes, with the others."
"I also put my name in," Risto added with a shrug.
"I did not."
"He is lying," Snape hissed, his eyes narrowed.
"Get the Veritaserum then. I don't mind," Harry challenged, turning to look the oily professor in the eyes. "I did not put my name in the Goblet of Fire. I did not wish to compete. And you... sir... are wrong," he added with his own sneer to match Snape's.
"That will be enough, Harry," Dumbledore said gently.
"I'm not sure any of this matters, now," Mr. Crouch finally into the silence. All eyes turned to him. "Ludo is right. There isn't a system in place for seconds in this Triwizard Tournament. The only thing left is to let all of them compete."
The look on Bagman's face reminded Harry of a child he'd seen in a shop at Christmas when his mother told him he could have a train set. The slightly overweight wizard bounced from foot to foot, barely containing his child-like excitement. "There you have it, Dumbledore. They'll all compete. It'll be a little more work to figure a few things out, but it won't be too bad," he cajoled.
"That isn't the point," Professor Moody growled. His magical eye spun in its socket as he looked around the room with his real eye. "Someone hoodwinked the Goblet."
"More likely, the great Dumbledore messed up the spells," Karkaroff grunted with a harsh laugh.
"It is certainly possible," the Headmaster politely said.
"Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you didn't make a mistake," Professor McGonagall interrupted.
The Headmaster gave a small nod but didn't say anything else. When it became clear no one would speak, he turned to Mr. Crouch. "Is it the Ministry's official stance to choose six champions rather than three champions and their seconds?" he asked.
Bagman answered before Crouch could. "Of course! You couldn't ask them to stand up there and do nothing while someone else is participating in the tasks. That's crazy. Of course, we could have a Wizard's Duel for..."
"No..." Mr. Crouch interrupted in a soft but commanding tone. "There will be six champions. It is... mostly fair to all three schools," he said with a flick of his eyes at Harry. "What we have ready can be... modified to allow for multiple contestants."
Harry thought he heard Professor McGonagall gulp but couldn't be sure. "Then, it is decided," Dumbledore said as he looked around the room. "There will be two champions from each school."
Mr. Crouch seemed to draw in on himself as Ludo Bagman turned to him with a smile. "Well, there you have it. Might as well get a move on," he laughed.
"Yes," the Senior Official said, his cadence slow and steady. "Instructions."
"Are, you well, sir?" Professor McGonagall asked, taking a step forward.
Barty Crouch seemed to come out of whatever was bothering him. "Yes, yes, I'm quite alright. The first task," he said as he turned to the champions, catching each of their eyes. Harry thought he looked ill. Crouch's face had a waxy complexion, and his eyes were sunken into his skull.
"The first task is designed to test your daring and bravery. We are not going to tell you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality for any successful witch or wizard," Crouch said in a low, somber tone. "The first task will take place on Saturday, November the twenty-sixth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.
The champions will not be permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers, headmasters or headmistresses, or family to complete any of the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge, armed with only their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first task is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests."
Harry raised an eyebrow at that last bit of news. He wondered how Hermione would take the news. In quick order, the small group broke up, despite Dumbledore's attempts to talk with Madame Maxime, Karkaroff, and Mr. Crouch. The Senior Ministry Official refused to see Madam Pomfrey or get a Pepperup Potion, stating that his healer already had a potion ready for him when he got home.
"Cedric, Harry, I suggest you both head up to bed," Dumbledore said as he turned to speak with Professor Moody and Professor McGonagall.
"So... you didn't put your name in?" Cedric asked once he and Harry were in the Entrance Hall.
"No... and I'm not happy about this. Bagman was too happy to have six champions and seemed ready to bludger the entire process toward what he wanted."
"Ludo is a fool," Cedric sighed. "Or, at least that is what my father says."
"I'm good with being a second and standing on the platform."
"You're mental is what you are," the Hufflepuff laughed. "No, seriously compete, Harry. This is big for Hogwarts. I don't know if I could win against Beauxbatons and Durmstrang without someone to help me."
"You noticed Crouch didn't mention anything about champions helping each other," Harry remarked.
"Huh... I didn't catch that."
"Yeah, the bit about families is odd too," Harry mused.
"You think too much. Mate, I'm stoaked. This is huge for me. A thousand Galleons if I win too!"
Harry looked at the other Hogwarts champion and fought back a sigh. "Good luck," he muttered as they went their separate ways.
"Mate! How did you do it!" the twins asked as Harry entered the portrait hole.
"I didn't."
Harry seemed to repeat himself a lot that night as Gryffindor after Gryffindor approached him with questions about how he hoodwinked Dumbledore. When he politely pointed out that the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions also got in, they laughed and shook their heads. "But, you're underage," seemed to be their go-to response.
Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Ron all believed Harry when he told them he hadn't put his name in the Goblet. Fred and George joked that they didn't believe him, but Harry knew they were on his side. Harry had a feeling no one had let his godfather know about the recent development in the castle.
"Sirius Black," Harry sighed after he put up the wards around his bed. It took a full minute before Harry's reflection disappeared into a white mist and Sirius' face appeared.
"Harry!" his godfather greeted with a smile. The smile faded. "What's wrong?" he asked sharply.
"So... you aren't going to like this," Harry said.
"You finally got a girlfriend?" Sirius joked, but Harry could see Sirius' smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Yes, I did." Harry tried not to laugh as Sirius blinked, the tension in his shoulders dropping.
"Blimey, you really caught someone's attention? How? Who!"
"Yeah, the Goblet of Fire, apparently," Harry joked.
Sirius froze, his laugh dying. "Please... tell me you are joking. You put your name in that thing?" his godfather croaked.
"No, someone else did. But I'm a champion nonetheless. Apparently, wizards can magically enslave one another by writing someone's name down on a slip of parchment."
"What?!"
"Yeah, shocked me too."
"What!"
"Yeah, I have the honor of being a Hogwarts champion alongside Cedric Diggory," Harry blithely continued over Sirius' indignant splutters.
"Harry! I want to know what happened. Everything! Now!"
"Keep yer robes on, seesh," Harry quipped. It made him feel better to tease his godfather. He wasn't sure if he could cope any other way. His hands shook as he imagined facing some unknown task.
"Harry, take a deep breath," Sirius said in a soft, almost gentle tone. "Your mirror is shaking."
"Yeah, sorry," Harry muttered. "The Triwizard Tournament is now Sextwizard Tournament," he snorted. His godfather groaned.
"Please be serious," Sirius Black sighed.
Harry fought not to laugh. "So, there are six champions. Two from each school. The Goblet of Fire spit out three names first, then another three names at the specific time Dumbledore said the drawing would occur. So... either they registered one group as seconds, for the primary champions, or..."
"They just make you all champions," Sirius grumbled. "How did your name even get in the goblet?"
"I certainly didn't put it in there. There was an Age Line that even Fred and George, using my Aging Potion, couldn't cross. I didn't, at any point, attempt to put my name in the Goblet. Crouch was acting odd, and so was Ludo Bagman, for that matter."
"Ludo will be trying to make a Galleon off the tournament, mark my words. He's a compulsive gambler, that one. Barty Crouch... well, it's whispered that a full-time healer is at the Crouch residence to provide potions and healing. Something in the twisted wizard broke at the World Cup. I don't know if it was stress, his house-elf betraying him, or something else, but Crouch has even forgotten some of the languages he knew. Picked that up from an Environmental Witch down at the pub," Sirius sighed.
"How does... we don't speak about it... feel about that?" Harry asked carefully.
Sirius looked uncomfortable. "I don't know," he sighed. "Mixed signals and all that. Anyway, this is about you, not me. What is your first task? I know you can't back out of it, and I doubt you'll just stand there with your wand shoved up your bum. So, what do you have to face?"
Harry grimaced at his godfather's vernacular choice and the image it conjured. "They didn't tell us. Something about being brave and courageous being virtues," he snorted. "We'll get more vague instructions for the second task after that. Oh, and we aren't supposed to get help or ask for it from teachers, headmasters, or family."
"Codswallop," Sirius laughed. "The Triwizard Tournament is about cheating. It's basically an unwritten rule that every school will cheat. I'll bet, even now, that the other champions are going to get special training."
"I wouldn't be so sure. That bloke from Durmstrang, Risto, didn't get any fuzzy feelings from Karkaroff."
Sirius froze. "Karkaroff... as in Igor Karkaroff? Death Eater who sold out his mates for freedom, Karkaroff?" he demanded.
"I didn't catch his first name, but he's the headmaster of Durmstrang Institute."
"I should have never sent you back," Sirius growled. "Damn Dumbledore's assurances that you'd be safe."
Harry wondered when he was ever safe at Hogwarts but didn't comment. He could tell Sirius was livid. "So, Viktor Krum, yes that Krum, is a champion with Risto... Stark... Starc? I don't remember his last name. They're champions for Durmstrang. Fleur, a Veela witch, and Paskal, Pascal, something like that, Dupont are from Beauxbatons," he said to distract Sirius.
"Dupont... as in House Dupont of France? The Duponts who basically own the French Ministry of Magic? They're like the Malfoys of France. Lots of money, lots of connections with officials, and lots of swagger."
"Possibly," Harry shrugged. "The swagger part fits at least."
"Well, we can't do anything about it now. I'm going to ask Dobby to send you the next set of stuff you should study."
"Sirius, I haven't even had time to properly get through the first books you sent. Oh, speaking of which, apparently I get to skip the end-of-term exams. Fun," he laughed.
Sirius waved his hand. "You'd have passed them all anyway. That won't matter. At least now you have a reason to devote yourself to learning how to defend yourself properly with the spells Remus and I have for you. Oh, Remus asked me to ask you if Miss Granger still has that book she got from your mentor. He said he might be able to find a few more things for you to look over in it," he said with a frown. "A centuries-old book hanging around that wizard? I still don't like him."
"I thought you said Master Ogata was okay."
"I said you should be able to make your own mistakes. He taught you a lot, yes, but he's got a dark reputation, Harry."
"So do you."
"Too true, too true," Sirius grinned, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.
They talked for a little longer, but Harry could tell Sirius wanted to question Dumbledore himself. It was a strange feeling, having someone other than Mrs. Weasley overtly care about him, but he could tell Sirius was worried and was trying to hide it.
"Alright, I should go to bed," Harry lied.
"Right, use the mirror every night, if you can. I want to know your progress on the stuff we sent you."
"Really... every day?" Harry laughed. "Sirius, how about Tuesdays and Saturdays. That way we'll be on a schedule."
"Fine," Sirius grumbled as his eyes flicked up to someone or something Harry couldn't see. "I'll contact you if I learn anything new on my end. Get some rest and don't worry about the tournament for now," he advised as the mist swirled around the mirror. Seconds later, Harry stared at his reflection.
"Well... I guess I just shouldn't worry about it, then," he snorted. Harry had a feeling that wouldn't happen any time soon.
The next morning went about as well as Harry could hope. While the Gryffindors, outside of his friends, didn't outwardly blame him for being a champion, they also didn't say anything when the other three houses jeered at him for being second best to Cedric Diggory. Through breakfast, Harry was approached by no less than two dozen students, asking how he circumvented Dumbledore's Age Line. Every time. Harry answered that he hadn't entered his name in the Goblet of Fire. No one believed him.
"Mate, just ignore all of them," Ron counseled as they left Herbology to head to lunch. Professor Sprout was not happy with Harry, he could tell. Extremely friendly, the slightly plump Head of Hufflepuff House was the first person to greet Neville, Harry, and Hermione into her greenhouse. Today, she barely looked at Harry and only gave cursory nods to Neville and the other Gryffindors. The Hufflepuff students that shared the same time slot as the Gryffindors did, didn't bother to hide their anger with Harry.
"I wonder if the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons seconds are dealing with the same problems," Harry mused.
"Probably not," Hermione sighed. "You are... famous within the castle. Your exploits for... bending the rules isn't exactly a secret. That, and Dumbledore comes to your aid... a lot," she added after a moment.
"Ah, so they think this is a ploy by Dumbledore. Interesting," Harry mused. He hadn't thought of it in that way. "I thought it was just because they wanted someone like Warrington to be the champion."
"Mate, no one wants Warrington to be a champion, least of all Slytherin," Ron snorted.
"Ah, the unwanted champion," a sly voice called from the Entrance Hall. "Look, boys, get out your autograph."
Harry glanced over at Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The two hulking wizards stared vacantly at Harry. "Morning, Malfoy," he greeted with a nod. "Come on, I haven't got all day. If you want to get my autograph, then you'll need to lick my trainers first."
A flash of pure rage crossed Draco's face before it was gone. "You'll die during the tournament. I can't wait to see you trampled into an early grave and burned to a crisp!" he spat before striding into the Great Hall.
"That... was awful specific," Harry commented as he watched Malfoy disappear into the throng of students entering the Hall for lunch.
"It did sound that way," Neville hummed. "I think you have a fan," he added as he pointed with his chin toward the other end of the Hall.
Harry turned to see Fleur Delacour standing alone on the Grand Staircase, watching him. Her half-smile turned down into a ghost of a frown. Without a word, she descended the stairs and went into the Great Hall but not before shooting Harry another speculative glance over her shoulder.
"She wants something," Hermione sighed.
"She can keep on wanting. That one is trouble," Harry laughed. "She thinks too highly of herself."
"Unlike someone else you know," Hermione shot back with a knowing raised eyebrow.
"I have no idea what you mean," he shot back without blushing. He was sure he didn't blush. Her quiet laugh made his lip twitch. "I'm hungry," he announced and led the way into the Great Hall.
Lunch didn't go any better than breakfast did. The only notable change was when a wave of owls descended on the student body, dropping off Daily Prophets. Harry frowned as Lee Jordan took his copy and gasped. "Harry, you're on the front page of this emergency edition," he announced.
Hermione looked up as a tawny barn owl dropped her copy on the table and held out a leg. Harry put a Knut in the pouch and took the paper before Hermione could. He was on the front page, with a picture of him taken at some point during the World Cup. The moving photo wasn't very flattering. The paper Harry scowled before leaning on his knees with his elbows to stare at something only he could see.
"Potter steals a spot for Hogwarts Champion," he muttered.
The author Rita Skeeter, barely mentioned Cedric or the other champions. Only that Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore somehow hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire, an ancient magical device, into creating six champions.
"The truth is out now, Potter," Malfoy laughed.
Harry looked up to see the Slytherin boy standing across from him at the Gryffindor Table. It felt like the whole Hall was watching him. "I offered to take Veritsaerum to prove my innocence. Funny how this hack didn't report that. In fact, I'll be retaining several Advocates against anyone who helped create this. If you are one of those Malfoy, or your father is, then I suggest you revise your statements. The funny thing about Truth Potions is they force the drinker to tell the truth. I did not place my name in the Goblet of Fire. I, for one, would love to know who did," he said as he stood, his voice growing louder so those listening could hear him. "Oh, and Malfoy, if you threaten me again. We'll see if daddy can save you."
"I didn't," Draco said, taking a step back. He looked thrown off balance by Harry's answer.
"Trampled into an early grave and burned to a crisp, I believe your words were. Now, kindly run along. I have letters to write and the Daily Prophet to go to war with," Harry announced as he got up and made his way to the Entrance Hall. The entire student body was quiet until he left the Great Hall. Smiling, Harry heard the din of whispers as soon as he was out of sight.
As soon as Harry got back to his dorm room, he tried to get in contact with Sirius. He had a feeling his godfather already had seen the article or was still asleep. Harry took a few minutes to pen two letters. One would go to Ted Tonks and the other to Stamford Jorkins who'd tried to keep Buckbeak from being beheaded. Hedwig was happy to see him, if a little peeved he hadn't seen her in over a week. He bribed her with treats, affection, and a promise to visit her at least once a week. Once Hedwig was off, Harry went down to the dungeon to deal with Potions and what he knew would be an upset Professor Snape.
The Potion Master was not friendly at the best of times. After Harry became an unwanted champion, things were bound to get worse. Just as Harry feared, Snape was not pleasant during the class. The professor did everything to make Harry's time in his class as unenjoyable as possible. Force to listen to a long tirade about how Hogwarts used to use poisons as a form of capital punishment, Harry let his mind wander.
"You know, I think he might try to poison you," Ron joked as they left the classroom.
"He may," Harry agreed. He didn't need to be a Legilimens to know Snape hated him more than any other student alive or dead. "I'll be sure to keep a few vials on me of Wigenweld and anti-poisons. I have a feeling Snape isn't the only one who would jump at the chance to kill or humiliate me."
"If he poisons you, then he'll be brought up on charges that even that slippery snake could escape," a voice growled from a dark alcove.
Harry already had his wand out, pointed low, when he realized who it was. "Professor Moody," he sighed. "Someone would have to prove it was said snake that did the poisoning. That's generally how you get away with something like that. Snape, for all his greasy hatred, isn't stupid."
"Right you are," Moody agreed as he stepped into the low light of the corridor. "Potter, keep a sharp eye out. There are more threats against you here than you realize. Do not get caught unawares again. Check your corners and blind spots. I don't need to remind you that it only takes one curse to put you down."
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry drolled. "You needed something, professor?" he asked, barely keeping the hostility out of his tone. He still wasn't happy with Moody or his help over the summer.
"Don't get snippy, boy. I told you what I came to say. Use your head and keep calm in the coming days. The first task won't even be the worst."
"Wonderful," Harry grumbled as he and his friends headed up to Transfiguration.
Sirius was about as fed up with the Daily Prophet as Harry was. That evening, they came up with a plan that might provide some leverage against Rita Skeeter and her employer. "I'll handle this side of things. Keep your head down, ignore the other idiots, and focus on what I asked," Sirius reiterated before Harry turned in for the night.
"Yes, mum," he sighed.
"I do sound like your mum," Sirius sighed. "Listen, sorry, I'm just worried. I don't like what's going on. How are your counter-spells?"
"You asked me that already."
"Sorry, sorry. Get some rest. I'll catch up with you again on Saturday. Hopefully, I'll have some good news for you by then."
Most of the school made it clear Harry was not well-liked as the first week of November crawled by. On Friday, a badge flashing "Potter Stinks!" and "Potter, Barely Worth A Second (of your time)" alternately showed up in the Great Hall for breakfast. Most of the Slytherins wore the badge. Many of the Hufflepuffs, a few Ravenclaws, and even a couple of Gryffindors also supported Cedric by wearing Malfoy's badge. Draco paraded his creation around like he'd won the Minister for Magic position.
"I'm getting sick of this," Ron huffed. "No one wants to play Quidditch with me because I'm your friend. What does that have to do with playing Quidditch?"
"You are probably beating them so badly that they're looking for any excuse," Harry laughed.
"Professor Sprout wasn't keen on letting me and Zoe into the greenhouse earlier," Neville announced in a quiet voice.
Harry and Hermione looked at him. "You're serious?" he asked with a frown. "That isn't like her. With me, I can understand. With you, you're like her golden child that can do no wrong."
Neville turned a brilliant shade of red. "It isn't like that," he muttered.
"It totally is," Ron laughed. "Come on, I'll duel you to cheer you up. I know you asked me the other day to duel."
Harry glanced at Neville and noticed his friend wouldn't look him in the eye. He wasn't upset, far from it. Harry was just surprised that Neville wanted to duel even more than they already did. He made a mental note to talk to his friend about it later that night. Hermione talked him back into their house-elf discussion before Ron and Neville's duel distracted him too much.
"Should we do something else?" Harry asked Neville that night after dinner in the unused classroom on the sixth floor. So far, Neville hadn't expressed any dissatisfaction with their duels or Harry's tips and tutoring.
"No, I just wanted to go against someone who was more my level in skill."
"I think you proved that incorrect," Harry sighed. Ron hadn't stood a chance against Neville.
"Yeah, I guess I didn't realize how much I'd grown," Neville sighed. "Will we go back to really dueling? I like this training dummy and all, but it feels..."
"Cheap? Hollow? Boring?" Harry laughed. "I agree with you," he quickly said when Neville started to say something, his face heating up.
"I don't see why we can't duel again. I just didn't want you to feel... disparaged by what I can do. The stuff Professor Lupin and Sirius sent is... well, it's good. Far better than I realized at first. The simple, fast, and accurate movements in a duel are key. Any flourishes and silly movements slow you down. Every spell needs to lead into a counter-spell, a shield, or another attack," Harry muttered as he waved his wand in a circular pattern.
"So, teach me."
"I... well, I could try, but I don't fully understand it myself. I really don't like showing you things that I can't help you with."
"Like you and Hermione know everything about house-elves? Or all that other stuff you've learned over the last few years? Please. I'm not an idiot, Harry. I can learn the stuff just as well as you can," Neville huffed.
Harry blinked and looked at his friend. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Of course you can learn it with me, and you are smart, Neville. I'd just gotten into a mental role of teaching you what I knew and understood. I didn't mean to insult you," he quickly apologized.
Neville frowned before nodding. "I can see that. You do that with Ginny, you know. When you help her. It's rare these days, but you don't talk about the same stuff you do with Hermione. I think she knows you aren't looking down on her, but... well... it looks like you do sometimes," he sighed.
Harry blinked. "I just... oh... I guess I can see where someone might think that. The thing is, I don't expect Ginny, or you, to know what I do about different subjects. Hermione and I focused hard on learning specific things to match what our coursework demanded. To get Outstandings in those topics, we delved fairly deeply into whatever we could find. I didn't want to make anyone feel stupid, or less, just because I'd read some obscure text from an outdated book," he tried to explain.
"I suppose I can see that," Neville admitted. "Could we drop this? I feel bad now."
"No, thank you for telling me. It was never my intention to come off as a know-it-all or look down on anyone. I just wanted to make sure I knew the topic and tailor it to what I thought whoever I was teaching could understand."
"It really isn't like that. It just seemed like that," Neville tried again. "Listen, you... well, you do come off as a know-it-all sometimes, but we all know you don't mean anything by it. I was wrong, okay? Ginny probably doesn't feel that way at all. Let's just get back to dueling and show me whatever you're learning too."
Harry had the entire weekend to mull over what Neville had said as Daphne didn't show up for their meeting on Saturday morning. He debated sneaking her a letter, but she wasn't at the Great Hall. It took him almost the entire breakfast to realize Astoria wasn't there either. The Greengrass witches were back on Sunday, but Harry wasn't sure what the appropriate way to approach Daphne was. He agonized over what to do before giving up. If she didn't show the next week, then he'd know something was wrong. He wondered if she believed, like so many others, that he'd somehow hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire and Dumbledore's enchantments.
On Tuesday, Harry had a plan to slip Daphne a letter after class. What Daphne thought of him distracted Harry for the entire weekend and most of Monday until he decided to just contact her. They could use an empty classroom to pass messages if she wanted to keep pretending to hate him. He had everything set up and was excited about the prospect of getting some answer when Colin Creevy shattered his hopes.
"Uh, Professor Snape," the third-year Gryffindor said in a small voice as he popped his head in the room.
The Potions Master turned around slowly, his eyes cold. He'd just been explaining what acid did to a human body and was telling the class how to stop the reaction. Harry hadn't really been paying attention, lost in his own thoughts. He didn't like Colin's chances of surviving a hex from Snape just then.
"Please... ss...sir," the young wizard stammered. "I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."
Snape turned around and sneered. "He is useless here. Take him, but know I'll mark a zero for his grade today," he spat.
Harry wanted to laugh. He didn't have to worry about end-of-term grades. "Sir! Mr. Bagman wants him. It's for the Triwizard Tournament. He," Colin tried to protest.
"He will get a zero," Snape spat. "Potter, leave."
Harry raised an eyebrow and rose slowly. He flicked his wand as he picked up his backpack. As he strode toward the door, the potion book, scales, silver knife, and dragon hide gloves he'd had out floated into the open flap.
"That'll be ten points from Gryffindor for using magic in my classroom without permission!" Snape snapped.
Harry looked over his shoulder as he reached the door. Colin had already escaped into the hall. "Yes, professor Snape," he mocked with a smile.
"Another twenty points for your ch..."
The door closed behind him before Snape could finish his sentence. "After you, Colin," Harry grinned. It felt good to tweak the greasy-haired professor's hooked nose. He wouldn't have to deal with him the next year anyway. Grinning and chattering away about Harry being a champion, Colin excitedly led them to the third floor.
"Just in here," Colin grinned. "I'm rooting for you, Harry!"
"Thanks, Colin."
Harry entered the small classroom and frowned. Rita Skeeter, talking to Ludo Bagman, had her back to Harry. She wore long magenta robes with her sandy hair done up in a tight not. Her jeweled spectacles sparkled in the light of the room. He knew who she was from Sirius' description of her and a brief photo he'd seen in the Daily Prophet. Already waiting were Fleur, Pascal, and Risto. Krum and Cedric hadn't made it yet. As he closed the door, Harry spotted someone he hadn't expected to see. The wand-maker Ollivander who'd sold Harry his wand over three years previously in Diagon Alley. The slightly creepy older wizard was speaking to Madame Maxime.
"Ah, Harry," Bagman greeted with boyish charm.
Rita's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing. "Harry Potter," she breathed as she swept forward.
Harry saw a flash of revulsion from Fleur, a raised eyebrow from Dupont, and a smirk from Risto before she was on him. "I must have an interview," she half-demanded, half-stated.
"Pass," Harry flatly said as he took a step around her and looked around the room. A long table, covered by a white and gold runner, had six chairs behind it. Madame Maxime and Olivander already occupied two of the chairs. In front, were six red arm-chairs, presumably for the champions to sit. Several old desks lined the far wall.
"I insist," Rita said behind him.
Harry turned to see a familiar quill floating behind her, already scratching on a hovering parchment. He smiled and focused his attention on the Quick-quotes Quill. The distinct way it wrote on its own made him wonder what she was thinking. "I'm sorry, but that will not happen," he apologized with a wave of his hand. The quill froze as he cast Freezing Charm with wandless magic. He'd been ecstatic to learn he could use the wandless form of the charm in interesting ways during his duel with Neville over the previous weekend.
"It will take but a moment of your time," Rita smiled a sickly-sweet smile.
"Only for lies to be printed later," Harry smiled back.
"Truth, just the truth you don't want to be published," Rita countered. She frowned and glanced behind her.
Harry slowly closed his fist, focusing hard on the charm in his mind. The enchantments in the quill were fighting his magic's domination over it. "I have refused," he managed to get out. He hoped the smile was still on his lips.
The door opened as Dumbledore entered with Krum, Karkaroff, and Mr. Crouch following behind. Ludo bounded over. "I'm sure he'll give an interview later, Rita," he beamed. "They all will."
"I think not," Fleur said in her haughty way.
Rita wasn't paying attention. She raised a hand, her short wand appearing from under her sleeve, and flicked her wrist. The quill quivered. Harry felt a substantial increase in resistance from the quill. He clenched his jaws, his teeth clicking, as he stared at the quill and forced his fist closed. The enchantments in the quill strained against his stranglehold.
"Dumbledore, release my quill," Rita demanded. "Just because I wrote a lovely article about you and the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference, doesn't mean you can destroy my property."
"While it as an enchantingly nasty piece," the Headmaster answered with a smile. "I am not doing anything to your enchantingly malicious quill. I enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat. It would appear your quill has stage fright."
"Release it," Rita demanded, her shoulders squaring as if she were ready to fight.
Harry fought back a smile and released his hold. The quill jumped to obey its linked magical companion's wishes. Ink spewed from the tip as it tore through the hovering parchment in a frenzied desire to write everything Rita had been thinking. Seconds later, the quill exploded outward in a puff of peacock feathers and ink.
"I'll have you replace that!" Rita screeched. "It was my own work!"
Harry noticed the ink splattered Rita Skeeter's hair, some of her face, and across her displayed neck and bosom. Mr. Crouch and Bagman both got a little ink on them. Dumbledore had a single black smudge across his forehead. Karkaroff was standing in front of Viktor Krum and took the few flecks that might have hit the champion. Harry was sure he had some on him. He turned to survey the room. The only other person to be hit by the explosion of ink was Ollivander, who stared down at his hands with a troubled expression.
"Ah, an accident maybe?" Ludo frowned as he took out his wand. "Scourgify," he grumbled.
"Allow me," Dumbledore said as he waved his hand.
Harry watched in awe as the ink, feathers, and bits of quill floated into the air. The ink removed itself from stunned faces, robes, and the carpet with liquid grace. Harry watched as Dumbledore's spell remade the Quick-quotes Quill before their eyes.
"Bravo!" Karkaroff laughed. Harry thought it sounded forced. "If I find you've written anything about my school, the Minister will hear of my displeasure. Also, if you fail to write about my school's champions again, then I will pull you from our agreement."
"I agree," Madame Maxime added. "You may be well known here, but should the French Ministry discover your lies going forward, do not step foot in France again."
Rita looked around, her eyes wide. She snatched up her quill and held it to her chest. "I will not forget this," she hissed before storming out of the room.
"Good riddance," Dupont added. "I'll go ahead and write mother to bar her from France."
Harry glanced at the older French wizard. If he had any doubts before, the champion's statement cemented his certainty that Sirius was right about the Duponts.
"Right, we're here for the Wand Weighing Ceremony," Bagman announced in his usual boisterous way. "Mr. Ollivander, Britain's finest wand-maker," he announced.
The pale-eyed wizard raised his head before giving a nod. "Mademoiselle Delacour, if you would, please," he said as he stood. "Your wand."
Harry watched as the wand-maker took her wand with his spindly, boney fingers and twirled it. Pink and gold sparks emitted from the end. "Nine and a half inches, inflexible, rosewood, and contains... a Veela hair."
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," the French witch said. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
"Yes, yes. I've never used Veela hair myself. I find it makes it rather temperamental wand cores, however, every witch and wizard is different," Ollivander said as he returned her wand. Fleur looked upset by his words.
Cedric went next. He had a twelve-and-a-half-inch wand made of ash with a unicorn hair core. "Pleasantly springy and supple," the wand-maker declared before producing smoke rings from the tip.
Risto Starc stepped up to Ollivander when called. "Alder wood, ten inches, most agreeable," the wand-maker announced. "A troll whisker core," he hummed. Harry had the feeling that Ollivander didn't like the core from the near dismissive wave he gave the wand. A rope appeared from the tip of the wand and twisted itself into a knot before disappearing. "You maintain this well," he complimented.
"Thank... you," Risto said as he took his wand back. The Durmstrang student had a frown on his face as he stared at Ollivander.
"Mr. Krum, if you please," the wand-maker continued. "A Gregorovitch creation," he mused. "A fine wandmaker, though the styling," he sighed. "Hornbeam and dragon heartstring. Rather thick," he hummed. "Quite ridged. Ten and a quarter inches... Avis," he intoned as a small flock of blue birds erupted from the end of the wand before disappearing. "Good, good. You are well attuned to your wand, Mr. Krum," he complimented before giving the frowning champion his wand back.
"Mr. Potter," Ollivander politely asked with his hand out. Harry handed his wand over, feeling suddenly apprehensive. His first interaction with the wand-maker had left an impression. "Holly... eleven inches... with a phoenix feather core," he almost whispered. Harry could tell the entire room was fixated on his wand. "Power..." he murmured so low Harry wasn't sure anyone else could hear. A cold chill ran through Harry as the wand-maker made water, which turned to ice in a heartbeat, flow from his wand.
Harry took his wand back and held it close. He almost missed Ollivander talk about Dupont's seven-and-a-half-inch wand made of chestnut. At its core was a dragon heartstring.
"Ah, well, I suppose we won't have photos," Bagman said after the ceremony finished.
"Quite, quite," Mr. Crouch grumbled as he rose from his chair and left the room without a backward glance.
Harry and Cedric left before the others, but a familiar voice made them stop before they could reach the end of the corridor. "You did ze magic to hold her 'uill," Fleur accused when Harry turned to see what the French witch wanted. Cedric had a dreamy look in his eye.
"No idea what you're talking about," Harry answered as he started to turn back around.
" 'ow did ze do it?" Fleur demanded as she grabbed his arm.
Harry had his wand out and pointed at her chest before he realized it. "I don't know what you're talking about Miss Delacour," he reiterated as he slipped his wand back up his sleeve with a thread of magic.
Her eyes widened as she stared at his empty hand. "Yo... you know 'vandless magic," she gasped.
"Nope," Harry lied and pulled away from her. He left Cedric as he headed down to the study classroom. The idea of finishing classes with the others didn't appeal to him. He wanted time to think.
