Draco walked in just behind Harry. He thought he was going to be sick listening to that Creevy kid hero worship Potter.

"Ah and Draco, Champion number five! Yes, 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 Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…"

"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes glued on Harry, not quite the same way as the Creevy kid. Her hair was ridiculous. The woman clearly lacked any manner of class. Her glasses embedded with jewels, fake no doubt, made her face appear like an insect. Her nails were painted with the most obnoxious shade of red he would expect on first-year girls. Her hands clutched her knock-off dragonhide purse.

She had not even so much as looked at anyone else since Potter entered the room. Draco would normally not hesitate to laugh, but the woman's gaze made him uncomfortable, and he was simply a bystander. He almost felt bad...for Potter.

"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?" she said to Bagman, staring at Harry. "The youngest champion, you know . . . to add a bit of color?"

"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is — if Harry has no objection?"

"Er —" said Harry. "Malfoy is actually-" The fact that Draco was younger than Harry did not matter to her. "Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and She gripped his arm like a vulture, pulling him away from the others and out the door. If he were anyone else, Draco might feel sorry for Potter.

Harry eventually escaped her, but, judging by his pace, it was a close call. The champions were seated in chairs near the door. Harry nearly toppled over Draco as he took his spot between the other two Hogwarts champions. All of them looked up at the table in front of them where all but one of the judges were seated — Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter dragged her chair in the corner a bit closer, her quill already writing as she observed.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, before he joined the other judges at the table. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Draco didn't even glance up. He didn't see the need. Who didn't at the very least know of Mr. Olivander? One of the few wandmakers and the most renowned in England by far.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said the old wand maker. The girl was hypnotic, but marginally less so once Drace determined she was part veela. She handed her wand over.

"Hmmm . . ." he said. He rotated the wand in his fingers, twirling it, even holding it up to his ears to listen to it. Sparks shot out of the tip, Olivander's eyes fixated on the shape and speed of them. Then he brought it closer to his bespectacled face. "Yes," he said speaking more to the wand than the occupants of the room, "nine and a half inches... inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."

"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," chimed in Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's." arrogance seeped off her now. And if Draco wasn't mistaken, he was witnessing Potter's realization of Fluer's veela connection.

"Yes," Ollivander continued, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..." Olivander finally ran his fingers over the surface, no doubt feeling for scratches or bumps, and muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of light blue flowers burst from the wand. "Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Ollivander, banishing the flowers and hanging fleur with her wand.

"Mr. Diggory, you next." Diggory stood up a little too fast, his chair awkwardly forced backward. He marched to Olivander and presented him with his wand.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander as soon as the wand was in his hands, reunited with its creator. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn . . . must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches . . . ash . . . pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. . . . You treat it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, beaming with pride.

Draco, unable to miss the opportunity commented, "No one needs to know how you spend your nights, Diggory." The innuendo clear. A small laugh from his left as Dumbledore's eyes fell on him. Draco turned to his left, had Potter just laughed at his joke? Diggory glared at him but said nothing. Fleur gave him a look on the brink of parental disappointment but was unsuccessful. Krum just raised his eyebrows before looking away.

"Mr. Krum, if you please...Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I . . . however . . ." He turned the wand in every direction as he peered at it. "Yes . . . hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he looked to Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees . . . quite rigid . . . ten and a quarter inches . . . Avis!" A flock of small birds shot from the wand with a blast before flying out of the open window into the sunlight.

"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, ready for the next one. "Mr. Potter?"

Potter maneuvered past the others and handed over his wand.

"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, taking a particularly keen interest in Potter's wand. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."

Clearly, The Boy Who Lived's wand deserved an extra thorough inspection. Ollivander spent at least twice as long before he made a fountain of wine shoot out. He handed it back stating it was still in perfect condition.

Draco only slightly rolled his eyes. Ollivander then looked at him.

"And that leaves Mr. Malfoy…"

It was a rather odd feeling, handing your wand over to someone else. Seeing it in other hands made him feel incomplete.

"Ah! Another one of mine," Ollivander called as he ran his fingers and eyes over the wood. "Hawthorn wood….ten inches... very good, very good...quite springy" Draco caught himself feeling anxious while knowing full well his wand was perfect. "Unicorn hair. Yes…" Ollivander twirled it again and again before saying "Bublio" and a rainbow of bubbles began to stream into the room from his wand. Ollivander handed it back, declaring it to be in perfect condition as well.

Satisfied Dumbledore stood from the judges' table. "Thank you all. 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 —" he said, finally dismissing them. Draco found that while this ordeal had been relatively mild, he had worked up an appetite. They were making their way to the door when Mr. Bagman stopped them.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" he cried. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er — yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes already on Harry, though they may have never left. She did realize there were other champions, right? More blatant favoritism directed at Potter. Not that Draco wanted any of that attention himself, but was still disgruntled the possibility was not available to anyone."And then perhaps some individual shots."

The photographs took an obscene amount of time. They could never get it quite right and at this rate not only would they miss dinner but the opportunity to get some sleep.

Draco was ready to hex the entire room. Karkaroff wouldn't stop playing with the stupid goatee on his face. Madam Maxine, who was in a far better mood today, cast everyone in shadow no matter where she stood. The photographer was so frustrated Draco was sure he was going to burst out crying.

He was currently in a battle with Rita Skeeter about the placement of Fleur and Potter. Draco was happy to be out of the way observing. Krum, he would have thought, given his quidditch status, would be keener on being front and center. Yet Draco saw him sulking and falling into the background shadows. Perhaps he knew, with Potter around, no one, not even a quidditch star, was going to get much attention. Finally, they did their individual shots and were released. Draco hurried for the room before anyone could come up with another reason to hold them hostage.