Interview with a Beetlebrain
The next few days were probably the worst days Ila had ever faced in her Hogwarts career, even more than in second year when everyone thought she attacked another student. Ila hadn't felt this watched since she first arrived. Although, back then, it was curiosity, what was the 'Girl Who Lived' like and now, it was scrutiny. It was fair to say all of Hufflepuff house hated her. Ila understood why; they thought she was taking the attention away from their house champion, the real Hogwarts champion. In Herbology, Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot, people she usually got well with ignored her. Even Professor Sprout was extra harsh on her, taking away house points any time Ila did…well, anything.
As for Slytherin and Ravenclaw, they hoped for some sort of alliance with mainly Ravenclaws, but no. They thought she was just a reckless Gryffindor who wanted more attention and fame. The Slytherins just took this as an excuse to make fun of Ila. Pansy Parkinson and her group of sheep followed Ila around asking for her autograph, telling her that she would die before the First Task even began, the usual stuff. The unusual thing, however, was that Malfoy didn't take part in any of it.
The worst thing was that Ron made it clear he was no longer talking to Ila, something Ila had no idea why. When she was made the Fourth Champion, Ila found Ron and Hermione in the girl's dorms talking to each other as a party downstairs, in the Gryffindor common happened for her.
"What're you doing here?" Ila asked once she closed the door behind her and found her two friends sitting. It looked as if they stopped their conversation the moment Ila arrived.
"I could ask you the same," Ron said.
"Er – this is the girls' dorms…, and y'know I am a - "
"I thought you would've been down at the party though, from the looks of things -" Ron said, nodding towards the banner that Lee had wrapped around her shoulders. She quickly took it off.
"You two know that I wouldn't put my name in the Goblet – I don't know why everyone's celebrating…."
Her two friends remained silent. She looked up, confused as to why her friends disagreed with her. Ron stood up.
"Look, yeah, it's only the three of us here – you don't have to lie or anything…how'd you do it? Was it with the cloak? Cos I would've thought you'd tell me y'know…cos mates tell each other everything…." Ron had a strained smile on his face.
"What?" Ila said. "What do you mean? I told you, I didn't put my name in the Goblet."
"I mean, you would have had the opportunity," Ron said.
"Opportunity? Merlin Ron, you're acting as if I've killed someone," she said before turning to Hermione. "Is he being serious?"
"He's right here, by the way," Ron said, dropping the smile off his face.
"In case it wasn't already bloody obvious that I didn't put my name in the Goblet, I can't get past the Age Line, and I've told you guys – even the twins can back me up on this one – I never even wanted to put my name in the Goblet in the first place. I told everyone that I was busy and I didn't want to compete!"
"That is true," Hermione said in a quiet voice. "She did tell me that she wanted to study for this year."
Ron snorted. "And you really believe that? Do you really believe the girl who made a list of excuses for when she doesn't hand in her homework is the same girl who wants to work harder in her classes? Oh, give me a break."
"You made the same list as well!" Ila said, her voice rising in octaves.
"But I'm not the one who kept saying she didn't want to compete and then ends up being one actual fucking Champions, did I!" Ron shouted.
The three students stood there, Ila and Ron watching one another while Hermione sat on the bed, unsure how to defuse the situation. But luckily for her, she didn't need to.
"Hope you got what you wanted now, Ila," Ron spat before pushing past her hard and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
In the beginning, he wouldn't speak to her directly. It was mainly Hermione sitting in between Ron and Ila to maintain a polite conversation. Sometimes Ron would grunt in response, but he was over it and instead talked to Seamus and Dean. In lessons, he even made sure to sit next to them instead of her. She knew it was only her that he was mad at, considering Hermione still talked to him. It was how she knew that he was no longer speaking to her.
"Have you talked to Ron?" Ila asked as the two walked around the ground towards the Black Lake one morning.
Hermione hesitated. "Erm…yeah…I talked to him last night," she said.
"Have you asked him why he won't talk to me?"
"Isn't it a bit obvious?" Hermione said awkwardly.
"He still thinks I entered myself into the Tournament, doesn't he?" Ila said, groaning. "I told him before. I didn't' even want to - "
"Well…no, I don't think so… at least not really, " Hermione said.
"What's that supposed to mean, 'not really?"
"Ila, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"
"Jealous?" Ila said incredulously. "Of what exactly? He wants to make a part of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"
"Look," Hermione said patiently, "it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," she added quickly, seeing Ila open her mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it…but — well — you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous — he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…."
"Great," Ila said bitterly. "Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it…People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go…making stupid sexist and racist comments about how I shouldn't be famous because I didn't actually defeat Voldemort" – Hermione flinched at his name – "because I'm a girl and stupid Pakistanti when I'm not even from Pakistan!"
"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione said shortly. "Tell him yourself. It's the only way to sort this out."
"Well, I'm not running around after him either!" Ila said so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or —"
"That's not funny," Hermione said quietly. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious. "Ila, I've been thinking — you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"
"Yeah," Ila said determinedly while nodding, "give Ron a good kick up the —"
"Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts….It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me —"
"Hermione," Ila said, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament —"
"He'd want you to tell him, " Hermione said sternly, reminding Ila of McGonagall. "He's going to find out anyway —"
"How? It's just some school competition."
"Ila, this isn't 'just some school competition.' It's the Triwizard Tournament, the first one for more than a hundred years. It isn't going to be kept quiet," Hermione said, very seriously. "This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be amazed if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing...You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, so who knows what will happen with this. Besides, you'll be in the limelight again and…maybe there'll be people who'll - "
"Want to kill me?" Ila asked bluntly.
"After what happened at the Cup Final and the whole thing with Malfoy, maybe it's best to you know…." Hermione said, "...and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would."
"Okay, okay, I'll write to him," Ila said tiredly.
"We have some time before Potions. Maybe you should do it now," Hermione said, holding out a quill and parchment.
"You meant now?"
She nodded.
Ila took them grudgingly and made her way to the Owlery. A question formed in her head, and she was about to ask Hermione when she realised that Hermione hadn't followed her.
She couldn't use Hedwig again; it would be too suspicious. She'd probably have to use one of the school owls. Once Ila arrived, she set the object down before writing her letter.
'Dear Sirius,
You told me to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes — I don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year, and on Saturday night, I got picked as a fourth champion. I don't know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire because I didn't. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff.
I hope you're okay, and Buckbeak.
Ila.'
Happy now? Ila asked Hermione in her head.
She didn't respond.
Ila got to her feet and brushed the stray hay away from her robes. At this, Hedwig swooped by onto her shoulder and held out her leg.
"I can't use you," Ila told her, looking around for the school owls. She found one and tied the letter around its leg. "I've got to use one of these..." Hedwig gave a very loud hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into her shoulder. When the barn owl had flown off, Ila reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach. "First Ron, then you," Ila said angrily. "This isn't my fault. "
"Lovers tiff?" a voice asked behind her. A voice she didn't want to hear today.
"Oh, piss off, Malfoy," Ila said as Hedwig flew up to her swing. Traitor! A sudden hit of déjà vu washed over her. She reluctantly turned around to him, leaning across the wall, a letter of his own in his hand.
"Never would have guessed Weasel to leave you," Malfoy said. He pushed himself off the wall and waited for his bird, the pretentious eagle that nearly took her head off the last time she'd seen it, to flutter down onto a perch.
"He didn't leave me," Ila said, although she didn't know why she was still there. She could just ignore him.
"Potter, the whole school, can see that he's annoyed with you," he went on, attaching his letter to his eagle's leg. He watched it take off before carrying on, "It's pretty obvious why he would be angry with you anyway."
"And why's that?" Ila asked though she already knew the answer. She wanted to know if she was just ignorant. Was it really that obvious? Malfoy smirked, making him look even more arrogant as he stepped towards her.
"Everyone would be jealous if they were friends with you," he stated. For every step he took, Ila took a step back. "Ila Potter, The Girl Who Lived, the one who gets the fame, the attention, the spotlight following her every move. Who wouldn't want that?"
"You sure you aren't just talking about yourself, Malfoy?" she asked. "You're the one who wanted to be friends with me in the first place."
"You think that's what I think about you?" he asked, his eyebrow-raising. Ila couldn't take any more steps back unless she wanted to step out on the ledge, but that would just be proving Pansy's point right.
"It makes sense, doesn't it?" Ila asked rhetorically, sticking her nose in the air. "You're jealous of me, and you hate the fact that I didn't want to be friends with an arrogant slimy git like you."
He remained quiet for a few moments, observing her before his brows snapped together.
"You know, you do this thing where you can't see anything past black and white. You can't believe that people can change. You still believe and cling to the fact that I'm the same person I was when I first met you. You still think that I actually care about you that much. I don't, Potter. I couldn't give two fucks about what's going on with you. My whole world doesn't revolve around you. My whole day doesn't revolve around how to fuck up your life. Get over yourself, Potter. People change, and if you can't handle that, don't take it out on me!"
Ila pushed past him and walked out of the Owlery. As she walked to the dungeons, she wondered if she was wrong. Maybe he has changed.
But…
He was wrong. She doesn't have a problem with people changing. And she doesn't believe people are the same person from when they were eleven.
But…
She didn't understand why Malfoy was acting like that? Why was he acting so different this year? First with at the Forest the night the Dark Mark appeared, then acting indifferent towards her when every other Slytherin didn't miss an opportunity to make fun of her and now?
Maybe Dumbledore was right, Ila thought.
…
No.
He was still Draco Malfoy. Why would he act like that when he –
She stopped when she arrived at the dungeons. But that wasn't what stopped her rants. Her eyes landed on the badges pinned on the group of Slytherins' chest. They all bore the same message, 'POTTER STINKS!'
"Like them, Potter?" Parkinson said loudly as they approached Ila. "And this isn't all they do — look!"
She tapped her badge, which spun quickly before another message was written on the badge: 'LETS END POTTERS DYNASTY!' The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges, too, until the message LETS END POTTERS DYNASTY was shining brightly all around Ila.
"Oh, very funny," Hermione said sarcastically, who had also made her way to Ila, to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."
Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Ila either.
"Yeah, I appreciate the badges," Ila said.
"It was hard work, but it seemed it paid off," Pansy said proudly. "Drakie did most of the work, but I helped with the wording."
"I could tell," Ila said dryly. "I appreciate that you think I'll form a dynasty. Do you reckon I can get one of them?"
Parkinson's face looked like she had something foul as she spoke to Ila. "You're lucky Voldemort didn't get to you when you were young; at least then, he would've given the world a favour!"
The anger from her previous conversation with Malfoy bubbled through her chest, and she quickly grabbed for her wand before she comprehended what she was doing. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.
"Ila!" Hermione said warningly.
"Listen to the mudblood, Potter."
"Don't call her that," Ila snarled. She saw out the corner of her eye Malfoy arrive, slightly shocked by the scene.
"Go on, then, Potter," Parkinson said quietly, drawing out her own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now — do it, if you've got the guts —"
For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at the same time, both acted.
"Furnunculus!" Ila yelled.
"Densaugeo!" Parkinson screamed. Jets of light shot from both wands hit each other in midair and ricocheted off at angles — Ila's hit Goyle in the face, and Parkinson's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!"
Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Ila turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face.
"And what is all this noise about?" a soft, deadly voice said. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamoured to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Parkinson and said, "Explain."
Changing her expression, Parkinson's eyes widened as they brimmed with tears. Her group of friends surrounded her like a shield from Ila, as she spoke thickly, "P-potter attacked m-me s-sir-"
"Shut up, Parkinson, we attacked each other at the same time!" Ila shouted.
"- and then - " then she added some sniffs to make it even more realistic – "she hit Goyle…."
"Stop pretending! You didn't even get hit."
Snape examined Goyle's face, riddled with large pus-filled boils that looked like they were about to burst any moment.
"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"Parkinson got Hermione too," Ron said. "Look!"
Snape sighed before walking to Hermione, who was doing her best to cover her teeth with her hands.
"How am I supposed to know you were hit Granger if I cannot see?"
Snape forced Hermione to uncover her mouth. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth — already larger than average — were now growing at an alarming rate.
Ila could hear sniggers behind her coming from the girls and ask why Snape didn't say anything.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."
That's why.
Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears; she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight. It was lucky, perhaps, that both Ila and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, she couldn't hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.
"Let's see," he said in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
She passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too — for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Ila alone at her table.
On the other side of the dungeon, Parkinson turned her back on Snape and pressed her badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room. She also saw Malfoy sit next to her. He made no effort to look at Ila and, five minutes later, switched places with Crabbe, so his back was towards her.
Snape began his lesson, eyeing Ila alone at her table. He talked about antidotes. They had written up their methods for making antidotes for homework, and in the next few lessons, they were to brew them.
"We will then be selecting someone on whom to test one. . . ."
Snape's eyes met Ila's once again, and Ila knew what he was thinking. Snape was going to poison her. Ila imagined picking up her cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head —
A knock on the dungeon door burst in on Ila's thoughts.
Colin Creevy stood at the edge of the door, barely visible to Ila. He took a deep breath and walked further to Snape's desk. It seemed his confidence rose once he saw Ila. He beamed brightly at her, making her people, mainly Slytherins, but she even saw Ron laugh at him.
"Yes?" Snape said curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Ila Potter upstairs."
Ila broke into a slight smile. She stood up and started packing her things away before Snape even had a chance to say anything else.
Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile wavered from his eager face. "Potter, sit back down," Snape commanded, not even looking at her. Ila sat back down.
"But sir-"
"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," Snape said coldly. "She will come upstairs when this class is finished."
Colin went pink. "Sir — sir, Mr Bagman wants her," he said nervously. Ila stood back up again. "All the champions have got to go. I think they want to take photographs…."
"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here. I want you back down here later to test your antidote." Ila dropped her bag.
"Please, sir — she's got to take her things with her," Colin squeaked. "All the champions —" "Fine!" Snape spat. "Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!"
Ila swung her bag over her shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As she walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at her from every direction.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Ila?" Colin said, starting to speak the moment Ila had closed the dungeon door behind her. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"
"Sure," Ila said heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"
"The Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Wonderful," Ila said dully. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."
"Good luck!" Colin said when they had reached the right room. Ila knocked on the door and entered.
She was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; 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 Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Ila had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes. Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Ila had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light.
Why couldn't her hair work like that? Self-consciously, she unbraided her hair.
Bagman spotted Ila, getting up quickly and bounded forward. "Ah, here she is! Champion number four! If you come, Ila, in you come…nothing to worry about; it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment-"
"Wand weighing?" Ila repeated.
"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," Bagman explained. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. That name sounded so …familiar – oh. Ila remembered why.
"I'm the one who wrote that piece about Lauren Dawlish," Rita Skeeter added.
" 'Gold Digger's Wife Runs Away With All The Money?'" Ila repeated the headline through gritted teeth.
"Don't forget; she's squib too."
Bagman cleared his throat, clearly sensing the tension building up between the two. "She's also doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," Rita said, her eyes on Ila. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Ila before we start?" she said to Bagman but still gazing fixedly at Ila. "The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of colour?"
Colour?
"Certainly!" Bagman cried, clapping his hand on Ila's back. "That is — if Ila has no objection?"
"Well - " Ila said.
"Lovely," Rita Skeeter interjected, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Ila's shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steered out of the room and towards 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.
"Come along, dear — that's right — lovely," Rita Skeeter said as she found a cardboard box to perch herself upon and to turn a bucket upside down for Ila's seat. Rita, being the closest to the door, shut it close, leaving the two in darkness. "Let's see now..."
Rita's hand had lit up, the shadow of the light morphing her features into something unhuman. Merlin, was this what Ron wanted?
"I don't want to offend you, Mrs - "
"Oh, it's Ms. I'm not one for dedicating myself to only one man." Rita Skeeter smiled as she unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out parchment paper and an acid green quill that could have been enough to light up the room by itself. "You won't mind, Ila, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."
"I just wanted to let you know creepy this would be if you were a man instead," Ila said bluntly.
Rita Skeeter's smile widened, showing at least three gold teeth. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, disturbing Ila greatly, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm a woman, now, isn't it?" She cleared her throat.
"Testing….testing…my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Ila looked 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, thirty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations —
"Lovely," Rita Skeeter said and ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her bag. There was no way that woman was thirty-three!
"So, Ila. . . what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Hasn't anyone told you?" Ila said.
"Told me what?"
"I didn't enter myself into the competition," Ila explained. "It would be impossible for me to do it. I'm underage; I wouldn't have been able to go past the age line Professor Dumbledore made-"
"Now come on, Ila," Rita tutted, leaning forward. "It's just the two of us, two gals hanging in a – what is this?"
"A broom cupboard," Ila said deadpanned. "Where they keep cleaning supplies, and occasionally the odd couple snogs in here."
The quill kept writing, and Ila wondered if that part would be kept in.
"Ignore the quill, Ila," Rita said. "Now, we all know that you weren't able to enter the competition, but it's alright. Readers love a rebel."
"But I didn't put my name in the Goblet. I don't know who-"
But Rita ignored her instead of looking at her notes before looking back at Ila. "It says here that you are of Asian descent, specifically Indian."
"Was that not obvious either?" Ila dryly.
"I'm just making sure I get my facts right. I am the head editor for the Daily Prophet for a reason," Rita retorted. "What do you think when people tell you that you weren't able to defeat You Know Who because of the colour of your skin?"
"…Is that relevant-"
"Answer."
"Well…" Ila sighed. Maybe Rita Skeeter put her under the Imperious curse because she all of a sudden started spurting all of her insecurities without realising where this was going to be, "obviously it's irritating, and of course, I get angry because, for the most part, the people who make these comments are from old white men that probably didn't have anything to do with the defeat of Vol- You Know Who."
"Do you face a lot of prejudice when at Hogwarts?" she asked.
"I guess…I suppose it doesn't help that there's a house that's full of supremacists."
"And do you think you're well supported at Hogwarts? If you have a problem, say another student is racially abusing you, are you comfortable enough to go to the teacher and say, 'This person has said some derogative things to me?'"
Ila stopped, unable to think of an answer. While she didn't want to bring the school down, she also knew that the teachers didn't do much.
"Do you think Dumbledore would help you?"
"I think so-"
"Do you think that man would be helping you more if you happened to be white?" Rita asked, not leaving her any time to answer.
"Well-"
"Do you think Dumbledore and hell, the rest of the wizarding world would be supportive of you if you happened to be a white boy instead - 'The Boy Who Lived' rather?"
"Er-"
"Do you think that's the reason why you entered?" Rita said, asking herself more than Ila. "I mean, we're at the tail end of the racial injustice of Asian people in Britain, not only with wizards but with muggles too. In the seventies, it must have been hard for your parents to live in a world that was so against them. Do you feel like you have to prove yourself to these – as you say - 'old white men that didn't have anything to do with the defeat of You Know Who?' Do you feel like, that because your parents had to prove themselves that by you entering constantly, you think you're helping them?"
"But I didn't even want to enter," Ila said, starting to get irritated. "I thought this was going to be about something important."
"But Ila it is," she said softly. "Your struggles as a Pakistani-"
"I'm Indian."
"As an Indian British woman", Rita carried on, "will be important talking points. We live in a society rooted in injustice, not only race wise, but blood wises too. Your story will be an important one to share for those millions of Pakistani-"
"Indian."
" - Indian young women out there."
Frowning, she avoided her gaze and looked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startling black eyes as our conversation turns to the racial discrimination she constantly faces as a young Pakistani woman.
"I have NOT got tears in my eyes!" Ila said loudly. "And I'm Indian."
Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Ila looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore!" Rita Skeeter cried, with every appearance of delight — but Ila noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag.
"How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Enchantingly nasty," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed. "I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore and that many wizards in the street —"
"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard."
Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Ila hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door. He sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting — Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Ila 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?" Dumbledore said, 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."
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr Ollivander, stepping into the space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr Ollivander and handed him her wand. Ila quickly took the last empty seat in between Krum and Cedric.
Which was when she suddenly remembered her last conversation with Cedric. Oh, just kill her now.
"I never got a chance to say anything to you after what happened in the office," Cedric said.
"You don't have to pretend that our last conversation never happened," Ila told him.
"What conversation?" he asked, confused. Ila stared at him. "Seriously, Ila, I'm not annoyed or anything. You were clearly going through something, and I wasn't getting the hint."
"I still shouldn't have shouted at you in the library," Ila said, guilty.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you nearly gave Madam Pince a heart attack," Diggory said, making Ila chuckling slightly.
"But it is nice to see a familiar face," Cedric whispered to her. "Where did you go?"
"A crazy old bat kidnapped me," Ila said, nodding to Rita Skeeter. "Took me to interview a broom cupboard of all places."
Cedric chuckled. "A broom cupboard? How luxurious."
Ila saw Rita talk to Bagman, her eyes flickering to Ila every few moments. They stopped between Ila and Cedric before a wicked smirk formed, and she whipped out her notebook. Bagman took this as her wanting to write about him rather than spreading rumours about Ila and Cedric, so he talked even more enthusiastically about his days as a beater.
"So…er – how has everything been going?" Cedric asked. "About being the fourth champion?"
"Three-quarters of Hogwarts hates me," Ila told him bluntly and watched as he winced. "Which includes the professors. Anyone who isn't McGonagall or Dumbledore hates me."
Strangely enough, she was reminded of Rita's question: Do you think Dumbledore and heck, the rest of the wizarding world, would be supportive of you if you happened to be a white boy instead? The Boy Who Lived rather?
Probably, she thought, but she wasn't going to Rita Skeeter out of all people that.
"I'm sorry about that," he said.
"It's not your fault…I understand where they're coming from. Hufflepuffs are annoyed because I'm taking your spotlight; Ravenclaws think I'm attention-hungry, and Slytherins…well, they don't really need a reason. Do they?"
"That doesn't mean you should have the whole of the school hate you," Cedric said. "I mean…you said it yourself; you didn't put your name in the Goblet."
Ila looked at him. "You believe me?"
"I mean, I was a bit sceptical at first…but looking into it, it would be impossible for someone to put your name in it. Even if an older student put your name in it, the Goblet wouldn't accept it." Seeing the surprise on her face, Cedric said, "I've been talking about it with my friends. I've been trying to convince the other Hufflepuffs that."
Ila pushed down the urge to run around the room and scream, "CEDRIC DIGGORY TALKS ABOUT ME TO HIS FRIENDS!" and said, "I appreciate the effort, but unfortunately, I get neon green badges telling me that I stink and I need my dynasty ended."
"Oh, you mean these badges?" Cedric pulled one of the badges out of his pocket, and for a horrifying moment, Ila thought he bought one of the badges, but she saw that instead of bright green, it was red. Instead of 'LETS END POTTER'S DYNASTY', the badge read, 'LETS GO, POTTER, LETS GO!' Cedric tapped the badge again, and instead of 'POTTER STINKS!' it said, 'SLYTHERINS STINK!'
Ila couldn't help herself but laugh as he handed the badge to her.
"I could have done better with the wordplay," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess that's why I'm in Hufflepuff and not Ravenclaw."
"You didn't have to do this," Ila replied, doing her best not to show him her shaky hand.
"I couldn't let those fourth years Slytherins think they did a good job at Transfiguring badges," Cedric snorted, though his cheeks were tinted pink. "Anyway, that's yours. If you want, I can make more."
Ila couldn't thank you, mainly because she could not string a proper sentence together and because he was called up to get his wand checked out. She stared at the badge, unable to look at Cedric until she was called. She pocketed the badge and walked up, Cedric smiling at her as she walked up. She handed over her wand to Mr Ollivander.
"Aaaah, yes," Mr Ollivander said, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember…." Mr Ollivander spent much longer examining Ila's wand than anyone else's.
"Aspen…you know, all the owners that I have met who have owned this wand wood have never died young…" he muttered to Ila, but it seemed he was telling this more to himself.
"Good to know," Ila said, eyeing her wand.
She might be the first to break the chain.
"…10 inches…nice and supple…." Mr Ollivander then turned to Ila, his eyes wild – "Tell me, has anyone tried to steal your wand?"
"Erm – maybe," Ila said.
"And do you remember what happened when they did?"
"Not really," Ila said sheepishly.
"Ah…well, I suggest keeping an eye when it happens," he said kindly and handed back Ila's wand. The next moment, Mr Ollivander snatched her wand out of her hands. A bolt of lightning shot out of her wand, nearly catching the top of the photograph's hat before it set fire to the judges' tables.
So that's why her wand set fire to that tree on the first day.
"Here you are, dear," he said, handing it back to her, and Ila had a tight grip on her hand as she sat back down.
"Thank you all," Dumbledore said calmly, unlike the other judges who rushed to the edge of the classroom to get away from the fire as he stood up. "You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end."
Ila couldn't leave the class any quicker. Partly because the fire had now spread to the velvet cover of the chairs and partly because Rita Skeeter was eyeing her. She wanted to leave before she was kidnapped for another article.