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Stand Tall

Chapter X

The Weighing of the Wands


One week later

Blaise, to the casual observer seemed to be batting away Neville spells with graceful ease, gliding across their practice space in stark contrast to Neville's gunfire-like aggression. To those within their group though, it was clear that Blaise was straining to keep out of Neville's way and struggling to keep himself in the duel. There was a light film of sweat on his forehead and his eyes were narrowed in fierce concentration as he dodged and returned fire as best he could.

It was to Neville's credit that if they two had stuck to the traditional wizarding approach to dueling of standing opposite each other and firing off spells until one of the two fell, Blaise would have lost long before now.

Blaise had a more varied repertoire for sure but Neville had approached their practice sessions with a certain grim determination that had Harry in awe and in some ways, having to strain himself to match Neville's level of effort. Neville knew few spells, but those he did know he was incredibly proficient in and he was relentless in duels. He rarely let up and couldn't be tired out of a duel in the same way that Hermione or to a lesser extent, Blaise could be.

He was however wildly inconsistent in terms of power output regardless of how well practised the spells he knew were, which as far as Harry and Hermione understood shouldn't be right. Sometimes Neville seemed to be able to come close to matching the power in Harry's spells, blowing through Hermione's practiced protego as though it were made of paper. Other times though, Neville struggled to make you take more than a single step back when he caught you with a knock-back jinx. It was something that puzzled all of them and Hermione had even added it to her little list of things that they as a group wanted to learn about and research.

Blaise had improved in his own way, both expanding his arsenal of spells to match their own - the group as a whole had progressed well with learning the difficult shield charm, even Neville who took a little longer to learn spells than the rest had started to produce them with a degree of regularity - as well as taking to their practice of movement whilst dueling. He was a good match to both Hermione and Neville, though lost to the former more often than winning and lost to Harry even more than that.

Hermione on the other hand had been working mostly on adding power to her spells as she learned new ones with even more ease than Harry himself managed. She had added a considerable punch to her spells, however. If Harry let her catch him with a disarming charm or worse he went to bed with some serious bruises, something he was sure they all did, though no-one complained. Once Harry had gotten his shield charm down though, she still struggled to force her way past it and Harry suspected that the fact that Neville on one occasion had managed to blow through it with a stunner and claim his only win yet against Harry still rankled.

Harry glanced at the map pinned to the wall to prevent any interruptions and frowned at the number of teachers patrolling the halls. Cho Chang, an older Ravenclaw had been attacked and the school had no choice but to become more open about what was happening. Students were being interviewed - starting with those in Ravenclaw who had been close to Cho and Dumbledore had addressed it during breakfast the next morning, making a plea for information.

Cho herself was still in the hospital wing though awake - apparently whatever she had been hit with had been bad enough to keep her unconscious for several days and had caused her some serious pain - though Dumbledore was careful to stress that no lasting damage had been caused. People were nervous though and far more suspicious, much as they had been when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. At least this time, he wasn't suspected by half the school as being behind everything - though he'd wager that at least a few thought that he was.

If nothing else, it made setting up and getting to their practices even more difficult than they were already with all the extra patrolling teachers and prefects.

It certainly seemed as though everything outside of these little sessions was getting worse and spiraling out of control. The tournament, Voldemort, Luna and now these attacks; it felt as though he was being bludgeoned by events and it was all he could do not to get swept away with everything happening. Just having to compete in the tournament itself was bloody overwhelming if he could manage to stop thinking about the ever-present spectre of Voldemort that seemed to be forever lingering over Harry since he had first encountered the Dark Lord at the end of First Year.

As if to remind him that he wasn't by himself, Neville finally caught Blaise with a leg-locker and destroyed the Slytherin's illusion of grace by sending him staggering to the floor allowing him to put Blaise in a full body bind and finish the duel for good. Both boys, sweaty and bruised moved to join himself and Hermione after an amicable handshake.

"How are we doing for time, Harry? I don't know about Zabini but I could do with a breather before we even think about heading back to the common rooms." Neville asked, smiling with pride but panting slightly. Blaise said nothing but seemed equally if not more knackered than his opponent was.

"McGonagall, Snape and Sinistra are all in this part of the castle but none have come close yet - we probably have a little while." Harry and Hermione had already dueled, Harry managing to catch Hermione with a stunning spell, and they had all spent a good few hours before that practicing stunners and shields.

"Thank Merlin." Blaise muttered to no-one in particular and Harry though that Neville had every right to be proud of getting the Slytherin to drop his too cool persona even slightly. "Do we have a plan for the next session, Potter?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "We seem to be grasping stunners and and shields fairly confidently, and have a pretty good grasp of some entry level curses and jinxes so I was thinking we would just keep expanding our knowledge of dueling spells and start working them into our casting. The Reductor Curse is probably the next logical step - as long as we make sure we're not using it in our practice duels it should be fine to learn."

"Perfect. Plus it should give you a little more ammunition for the tournament. I've been improving Potter, would be a shame to lose you to a tournament you didn't even want to be in." Harry appreciated the subtle even if unintentional reminder that Blaise had believed that he didn't enter himself in the tournament, though he was one of very few.

"Say," Neville broke into the conversation again, looking admittedly sheepish as he did so. "Has anybody heard anything about the attacks? As in, who is behind it?" Neville's hands wrestled anxiously as he spoke. "D'you think it has something to do with Vo- You-Know-Who's followers?"

Harry frowned. Even he could pick up the increased tension in the room. Blaise, Hermione and Neville were all looking at him and suddenly Harry realised that Neville had only opened the question out to the room as a roundabout way of asking him. Worse still, the others were all looking to him to speak first as though he would know - or at least be able to make the best guess.

"I honestly don't know, Neville. Voldemort is definitely on the move but whether these attacks are linked is an entirely different kettle of fish." He ignored the confusion of the two wizard raised people in the room - they'd figure it out. "I think it's probably more likely to be connected to whatever is going on in Ravenclaw. From what we know bullying is pretty rife with Luna being the prime target." He sighed heavily, running his fingers through sweaty black hair.

"If I didn't know Luna, I'd say she were the prime suspect - both girls were known to have targeted her according to Kevin Entwhistle." Hermione quirked an eyebrow and he shrugged. "I spoke to him again and he offered to keep an eye on things for me just in case I could do something to help. Apparently Cho Chang has taken up the mantle and joined in with the bullying last year despite initially trying to help Luna. Daisy was horrible from the start from what I can tell."

Blaise tapped his chin thoughtfully and Neville's face was caught halfway between anger and sadness. Hermione was scowling viciously - she never managed to cope with perceived injustice particularly well.

"It might not be much Potter," Blaise began seriously, "but would you like me to ask some questions among the people who tend to have their fingers in these sorts of things?"

"For free?" Harry blurted out in surprise before he could even stop himself. Blaise looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment before shaking his head ruefully.

"You don't even realise what it is you're doing here, do you?" Blaise pressed on through Harry's confusion. "It doesn't matter. You've invited me into your group freely and defended me from slander - even from your best friends. I may be a Slytherin - I have my ambitions and don't like to compromise them, but to ignore what you've done for me would be something that I will not abide. If I am to be a member of your group, then I must be willing to do what any other member would do and contribute what I can to achieve that group's aims."

"You want to help Luna, too?"

"Merlin knows you can be thick-headed sometimes Potter. I'm saying that I am willing to work towards what the group and its leader want. What you want."

Leader? Me? ...What? He turned to Hermione for support in protest at the moniker but she just smirked knowingly.

"You are the leader of whatever we are, Harry." Neville said quietly. "I know you said this group was just to practice defence, but we all know why that's so important and want to be on your side in it. I believe you when you say he's coming back and I want to fight."

Harry gulped. This was not at all what he had intended when he had invited Neville and Blaise to their little group, nor Ron and Hermione for that matter. It was just supposed to be the three of them caught up with Death Eaters and Voldemort. Harry suddenly thought of what Blaise would be sacrificing, what he would be risking if he stuck by Harry when Voldemort actually returned. Him being a Slytherin it would be incredibly dangerous for him to be involved with him.

With any luck, it would be some time before that happened - though Harry suspected his luck would hold true, and the Dark Lord would be returning to full strength sooner rather than later. Something in his gut told him it would be even sooner than he feared.

"Blaise... I won't tell you to do it, I'm not in charge of anyone." Reluctantly, he continued. "Any information you can find that might help though, we can't afford to ignore if we want to help stop these attacks."

Blaise nodded firmly. "I'll get right on it, captain." Whatever he had said before, the mocking in Blaise's voice burned in his ears.

""Piss off, Zabini." Harry muttered back, before glancing back at the map. "Let's get moving before Snape finds us and manages to decide the we're the ones attacking people."


The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, on a snow-covered mid-November morning, rolled around with alarming speed. In two days time, Harry had been informed during a Potions session, he would be required to take part in 'the weighing of the wands' as the first part of his competing in the Triwizard Tournament. It was an old ceremony where the competitor's wands were examined for cheating, to make sure they were in working order and as part of the pomp and circumstance of it all. They would all be there, and reporters too.

The thought of the latter made Harry want to run for the hills.

Hermione would be waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks, where Neville and Blaise would be joining them a little later on. For now though, he was enjoying the stroll down the winding lane that led from the school to the village, snow gently drifting from above and dancing across his vision merrily. He had delayed his departure on purpose, avoiding the crowds and snide comments and was free to revel in the peace - if only for a moment.

He twitched. A bark sounded in the distance. Two more followed and Harry paused to glance around. He could see the shrieking shack on the hillock off to the right, and another bark sounded right from there. Harry strained his eyes, and suddenly saw the swish of a shaggy black tail. A familiar, Dogfatherly tail. Every instinct in him screamed to shout his Godfather's name, either in joy or worry, but he held it back.

"Padfoot!" He gasped out, before bursting into a run towards the shack where he had first properly met his Godfather. The large black dog disappeared through the door and he followed it at a sprint, colliding with the outstretched arms of Sirius Black.

"Morning, Harry." The smirk was crystal clear in the man's voice, though Harry could not see his face. Abruptly, Harry pulled back from their embrace and peered up to examine his Godfather. The difference in him since he had last seen him made him almost unrecognisable. He had a neatly trimmed beard and wavy brown hair that went to his shoulders. Around his shoulders was a rich brown fur cloak that made the man look every inch a wealthy, powerful wizard.

Most importantly to Harry though, the too-gaunt cheeks, sallow skin and aura of oppression seemed to be missing. Sirius looked about twenty years younger, with bright eyes that seemed to dance with delight at the sight of him.

"Hello, Harry." His head kerked to the side. Remus Lupin, looking ragged and tired but content, sat comfortably in a beaten old armchair. A gentle smile touched his weathered face, and Harry felt slightly embarrassed that he hadn't realised somebody else was there. He shook it off.

"It's good to see you Professor."

"Not anymore I'm not Harry, I've already told you. Are you meeting anybody in Hogsmeade, Harry? I'll let them know you'll be predisposed for a while and give you and Sirius time to catch up."

He let the man know about Hermione and thanked him as he left to go and find her, before turning back to his Godfather.

"You look so much better, Sirius - it's unreal!" He said excitedly, and Sirius smiled.

"Physically, I'm much better. It's what's inside that needs healing now, Azkaban leaves it's mark on everybody that spends time there." Sirius looked on the edge of letting his mood dwindle but pushed on before it could. "That will take time, but for now, it feels good to be out and about and fit as a Hippogriff - even if I do have to keep myself hidden."

He gestured for Harry to sit with him on a sofa, and Harry sat.

"Now, I've gotten part of it from your letters but it sounds as though something's going down at Hogwarts this year - it's why myself and Moony came. Let's hear it kid, and see what we can do to help."

Harry wanted to protest at that. Insist that Sirius not put himself in danger for this - but he didn't. He spoke. He told Sirius about his studies, about their defence group practices and about Ron and Hermione. He told Sirius about Luna, the attacks and about the Tournament. And, like no other adult before him, Sirius listened, truly listened to what he had to say. Nodding, scowling and even cursing in all the right places.

But not interjecting, or interrupting - not until Harry was done and had gotten everything off his chest. Even the anger on the man's face at Ron's betrayal had not warranted an interruption before the end. Partway through, Lupin returned but simply sat to listen too, back in his armchair on the periphery of their conversation.

Finally, Harry was done and Sirius asked some questions for clarification before getting to his feet and beginning to pace restlessly.

"You're really up against it this year, eh Harry?" Worry gave way to a hint of roguish humour that Sirius had only showed faint glimmers of before. "That said, back against the wall really does seem to be your forte - I wouldn't bet against you winning the whole bloody thing.

"Still," he pressed on, still pacing. "There's no need for you to be doing this just you and your friends. You lot have been standing up to adult wizards looking to do you harm for too long without anyone in your corner. You've always done fantastically by yourself Harry but we're here for you now, just like we should have been years since." Sirius gestured to Lupin at 'we're' and the man offered Harry that perpetually exhausted smile, that managed somehow to still be reassuring.

"Now, according to Dumbledore there's no getting you out of the tournament; and whoever put you forward is probably looking for you to get hurt in the proceedings, so more than anything we need to stop that from happening." Sirius scowled at very thought as he pressed on. "Quite frankly Harry, me and Moony have come up short in trying to come up with a way to help you during your tasks but we do have one plan."

Harry looked curiously between his Godfather and Remus - both seemed uncharacteristically serious now.

"What is it?" He asked with only a little bit of trepidation. Perhaps more than any other adults in the world Harry trusted this pair to have his back but putting his future in the hands of other people -particularly adults - always managed to make him uneasy. He had been burned far too many times trusting the other adults in his life to help and have his best interests in mind to ever be completely comfortable doing it.

"To put it bluntly Harry," Remus stared calmly. "Between Sirius, myself and a few willing volunteers that we trust, we grind so much magic and experience into you that most will have to give serious thought to crossing wands with you. If we can't protect you, then you can be certain we'll give you the tools so that you'll have a chance to do it yourself."

Sirius picked up where Remus left. "I won't lie to you Harry, what we have in mind won't be easy. We'll work you until you want to collapse, and for it to work, you'll more than likely have to do some sneaking out of school. If you get caught-"

"I'll do it." Harry cut in firmly, hope and happiness surging through him in equal measure. The faith in him this plan displayed was immense, and it filled him with pride. That they respected him and what he, Ron and Hermione had done since coming to Hogwarts was worth all the hard work and dedication in the world. Even more than that, that they respected him enough to be honest with him that they couldn't protect him meant the world.

Sirius looked at him, their eyes holding a silent conversation, his Godfather searching for any signs of doubt or hesitation.

He found none. Harry might have been feeling like the entire world was against him, like he had no control over the events of the year that just seemed to be spiraling further and further out of control. But now, Sirius and Lupin had managed to give him just an ounce of control back, a sliver of purchase on his own life. He'd be damned if he'd let go of it.

"In that case then, Kid - no time like the present to start. Remus has this place warded to stop anybody finding us here 'at work'." Sirius drew a dark, twisted wand and stood in an easy combat stance that managed to scream danger despite the man's bright eyes and grin. "A practice duel to kick things off - let's see what we're working with here."

Harry gulped and reached into his pocket for his own wand but had to dive to the floor sharply as a vivid purple light rocketed over his head where he had been standing.

"Good reflexes Harry, but did you really think I'd stand here all day while you dug your wand out?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, wand now in hand and dashed past three more spells that impacted the decrepit wooden floor with damp thuds. Hastily, he returned fire with a selection of basic jinxes and a stunner staying on the move. Heart racing, he managed a grin even as Sirius batted his spells away all too casually.

His Godfather was clearly planning to pull no punches, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way.


Several hour later, and Sirius Black, filled with equal parts pride and apprehension, watched his battered, bruised and exhausted Godson leave the Shrieking Shack to enjoy the last few hours of his Hogsmeade weekend with his friends.

True to everything he had heard and seen about the boy, Harry had outperformed every expectation Sirius and Remus had of him and then some. The spells he knew were just as basic as they had expected, but he packed an absolute wallop with even minor jinxes and moved like a snake, twisting and turning out of the way of every curse he could before striking back hard. he never got close to touching Sirius of course, but Sirius had spent months with Remus shaking off the rust from Azkaban.

Prior to his stint in that hellhole though, Sirius had been able to - and in fact had - go toe to toe with his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. Bella, the insane bint, had managed to forge herself into one of the fiercest dueling death eaters Voldemort had and perhaps only three or four of the order could match her like he could in his prime. Not including Dumbledore of course, but that was neither here nor there.

Rusty or not, there was no shame for Harry in not being able to touch him. Yet.

And that was the crucial word. Yet. Harry couldn't touch him yet. Harry wasn't making him sweat yet. The potential there however was so scary that it made him struggle to remember Harry was only in his fourth year. If he kept the work going this year, he'd cream the competition in this Triwizard Tournament. Merlin, it wouldn't take too long with enough work that Sirius would have to be making sure that Harry didn't put him on his arse.

More than anything though, Harry had no quit in him whatsoever. Sirius had made sure to push and probe and try and force Harry to his limits just as that mad bastard Moody had done with the Marauders and Lily to get them battle-ready. Him and James had been spoiled back then though, Lily had been soft - though not for much longer than the first arse kicking. Harry had none of that. Pain, exhaustion, getting the shit kicked out of him for an hour by an older, better wizard. None of it had phased him. He got up for as long as he was capable, and he never once lost the fight in his eyes.

"What the fuck is Dumbledore doing, Moony? He really has given him nothing to help. And he could be so much better if he'd been given even a scrap of help."

Remus looked uncomfortable, but to his credit didn't balk at the criticism of Albus Dumbledore like he had in the past. "I'm certain he has a plan but for the life of me I can't see it. It feels like he's leaving far too much up to chance. I just bring myself to go along with that with Harry - he deserves all the help we can give him."

"This could be Azkaban talking Moony," Sirius started darkly, "Is he using Harry as bait?"

Remus Lupin paused at that. The idea of using Harry as bait to draw out the Voldemort sympathiser out to harm Harry was ethically reprehensible to him. But strategically? It wouldn't be the first time Dumbledore had done such a thing in the war against Voldemort.

"I don't think we can rule that out, unfortunately. Capturing someone close to Voldemort and his plans for a resurrection would be an enormous boon."

"Not at that price, Moony. Not for anything."

"You know I agree Padfoot, but sometimes I wonder whether Dumbledore has been fighting wars against the darkness for so long that he no longer sees what the rest of us do."

The thought that they couldn't trust Dumbledore to do what was right anymore was one they had flirted with before, no matter how uncomfortable the idea made both of them. Sacrificing witches and wizards in a brutal decade-long war who had volunteered to give their lives to end it was one thing, what they were suggesting was quite another. Sirius was quite right though - Harry was too important to both of them to let him be used as a pawn in Dumbledore's war against Voldemort.

The only side that existed to them now was Harry's.


Harry traipsed with great trepidation across the grounds of Hogwarts, having been withdrawn from a Charms lesson early as planned for the very first event of the tournament. The weighing of the wands. It was his least favourite aspect of this entire affair so far. At least in the other events he was supposed to do something. Yeah, like try really hard not to die. Today though, all he would be required to do was stand about while people gawked and the wizarding newspapers tried to get their piece of him.

He'd rather fight a bloody dragon.

He was blessed so far in his short life that, despite his circumstantial and undeserved fame, he had managed to avoid any confrontations with the British magical newspapers. They seemed every bit as sensationalist and agenda driven as some of the worst muggle tabloids though but with less restrictions on how truthful what they print had to be. Worse still, there really only seemed to be one newspaper of note, the Daily Prophet, which he'd heard Arthur Weasley complain about on several occasions.

It was curious that he had never been contacted for interviews, or received any mail from anybody in the wizarding world. Now that he thought about it, it was even weirder that only his friends sent him owls nope that he was properly part of the magical world. If he had to guess, he would say Dumbledore probably had something to do with it, though he had no real reason to believe that.

Anything that got him away from having to give interviews he was grateful for.

He realised suddenly just how little attention he had been paying to his surroundings as he noticed Luna Lovegood had appeared next to him, walking as though she had been with him since he left the castle, gaze angled dreamily towards the clouds. She noticed him looking and started as though she was surprised to see him.

"Oh, hello Harry Potter." She said as though she was only partly aware she was even talking. "You looked like the nargles were bothering you, so I came to see if I can help."

Harry blinked, confused, but opted once again to simply roll with whatever Luna was saying.

"No nargles today, Luna. Just not keen on anything to do with this tournament. Nothing I can do about it though, which is the most frustrating thing."

"Hmm, are sure about those nargles, Harry Potter? Worrying about things that can't be changed is a classic symptom that they are interfering with your brain." She paused thoughtfully. "I could always examine it for you to make sure."

Harry almost snorted, before regarding Luna with a curious look. Dark humour like that most certainly did not match up with the idea of a girl who just drifts through life without really being aware of the reality around her, but before he could say something to address it, Luna said something else.

"It seems to me that there are things to do with today that you are more worried about than others. If you're certain it isn't the nargles - which I personally believe you should not be so quick to rule out - then what is making you scowl like somebody buttered your toast with kelpie slime?"

Harry was taken aback at yet another different side to the girl, now being incredibly abrupt, despite the amused smile that had found its way back onto his face.

"I suppose, it's the idea of having to give interviews and deal with the press. I've always hated being famous - it's this everpresent reminder of why I have no parents." Luna's face softened, and for the first time Harry realised just how tired the girl seemed. Dark rings hung under her eyes, and though she was usually almost ethereally pale, her skin seemed to lack it's usual shine and health. What Harry had thought was her usual drifting walk seemed right now more a bemused shuffle that Luna was struggling to maintain. "I would just rather get on with my life and let whatever it is about me that people think is special about me fade away and be forgotten."

"The saddest dreams are the ones that never had a chance to be fulfilled. I don't think it is in you to be forgotten, or normal Harry Potter." Some of the dreaminess crept back into her voice. "You and I find being normal too boring I think - much better to just enjoy what being different brings you and deal with the consequences. Pretending to be normal to avoid them would just mean being even more miserable."

Harry let out a long breath and gazed up at the wispy ribbons of cloud that laced the midday sky, free and remarkable all at the same time and Harry was struck with the thought that he reckoned he understood Luna Lovegood better than he ever thought possible.

She stopped abruptly, and Harry realised they had arrived. A large open-sided tent made from a deep red fabric traced with fine gold embroidery stood where the Quidditch pitch should be. People milled out around it, busily buzzing around the champions that were already there - Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum by the looks of things - and trying to get everything in order for the ceremony. Visible inside the tent was Albus Dumbledore talking amiably to Ollivander, Britain's premier wandmaker.

Ollivander would be performing the actual examinations of the wand and Harry wasn't sure whether that reassured him or made him feel uneasy. Probably both in all honesty. The man seemed to like him and seemed to have known his parents but also had the manner of somebody who knew things that they shouldn't. He and his shop seemed full of their own kind of magic that set the tiny hairs on the back of Harry's neck on end.

Plus the man had a stare that was, to put it bluntly, bloody creepy.

He turned to Luna with a grateful smile. He wasn't sure what had made him open up even a little to the slightly younger girl, but he genuinely felt much better after their conversation. "Thanks Luna, I really appreciate the company. I feel better and I honestly thought nothing could make me feel better about speaking to the Daily bloody Prophet, so thank you."

The girl simply smiled at something about four feet above his head, before waving at him and ambling off in a different direction - towards the Forest and Hagrid's hut. Harry stared for a moment at the bizzare girl's retreating back, before steeling himself and heading down towards the ceremony.

The actual weighing itself went about as Harry had imagined it would. The reporters had been asked to give the champions some peace before the ceremony - though Krum had taken it upon himself to speak to some of the Bulgarian contingent. Then, one by one the Champions were called forward to present their wands to Ollivander for inspection. The man seemed able to judge not only the condition of a wand, but also their cores and a wand's connection to it's owner just by looking and Harry couldn't help be curious about how he did it.

Krums wand was a light colour, Hornbeam and Dragon Heartstring and according to Ollivander was 'quite rigid'. The two seemed to have a bit a conflict when it came to the maker - Ollivander seemed to take Krum's declaration that Gregorovich wands were the best personally. Fluer was next, and the look of surprise on Ollivander's face when he discovered the girl's wand core was a Veela hair looked incredibly out of place on the man. In fairness, when Fluer, on brink of being grossly offended stated it was a hair from her grandmother, Ollivander conceded that though Veela hair apparently made for temperamental wands, the family connection could make for a well-suited and capable wand. Mollified slightly, Harry couldn't help but sardonically note that the French witch seemed about as temperamental herself as her wand would be. Well-suited is bloody spot on.

Harry's own wand, together with Cedric's were deemed more than acceptable - though Harry was glad he'd had the foresight to thoroughly clean his wand beforehand - and Harry only had to deal with the uncomfortable allusions Ollivander made to the fact that both he and Voldemort had the same wand core. Finally, he was released to the wolves and just as he was noting with surprise the eagerness of the foreign journalists to speak with him, large mannish hands with long, thickly painted in a garish red, fingernails grabbed him by the cheek.

"If it isn't the Boy-Who-Lived in the ever so adorable flesh." A woman with heavily pencilled eyebrows and jewelled spectacles crooned at him, manoeuvring herself between him and the other journalists with a face like a hawk that had just cornered a mouse. "Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet, Harry - charmed to meet you of course - and I simply must have your first, exclusive interview."

Harry fought an urge to run stronger than when he had first seen Slytherin's basilisk and decided he may as well get it over with. "If I have to do any, the first probably should be with the Prophet." Her smile grew even more predatory and he hurried to add, "but I can't promise that it will be exclusive. The Triwizard Tournament is an international event after all."

Her plastered-on smile faltered ever so slightly before regaining it's footing as she looped her arm around his shoulder and started to usher him away. "Of course I understand Harry, though I am forced to wonder how our readers will feel about your sense of celebrity. Now come with me Mr Potter, let's find somewhere that we can chat in peace."

In hindsight, that little veiled threat should have been a warning about what he was letting himself be ushered oh so quickly into. Rita sat him down in a conjured chair as soon as they were far enough away that she was confident they wouldn't be interrupted or eavesdropped on, before setting a large black quill out next to some parchment on a similarly conjured foot-stall between the two. She called it an automatic quill and without thinking anything beyond what a handy piece of spellwork it was, Harry agreed to it's use.

The interview started about as expected, with questions about how he entered and why and about as he thought she might, Rita refused to believe him when he said it. The quill she had set up danced across the page at lightning speed, seemingly writing far more than had actually been said. He tried surreptitiously to have a look, but every time he did so, Rita changed her angle of questioning, forcing him to consider how to answer without giving her an angle of attack.

Suddenly though, the interview took a turn. Smile still saccharine, Rita looked across at him in a mockery of sympathy and asked, "and how do you think your parents would feel about you entering, Harry? Worried? Proud?" A pause. "Disappointed?" Harry felt his entire demeanor, his mind even, harden at the mention of his family. His dead family. That this woman was callously exploiting for her paycheck. How the hell would he even know how to answer that question about people he had never known? Remus and Sirius probably could, if the decided not to rip this woman a new one, but not him.

"I didn't enter." He said, far too shortly to hide his loss of composure, and Rita's smile grew even as she stared at him intensely. He tried to avoid her stare and with a start he noticed her quill was still frantically scribbling. Without thinking he snatched up the piece of paper and started to read. Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember...

Fury filled him and for a good few moments he didn't even notice that the corners of the parchment he was holding were starting to smoulder emerald flames. "This interview is over." He ground out, Rita for the first time showing hesitation in dealing with him, and began to stomp away making sure she had no chance to take what she had written back. How dare she use his parents like that. She didn't know him or them. She had no idea what it was like to have grown up not even having known them, not even knowing if they had loved him. She didn't have the right.

He stormed across the grounds and realised to late to avoid being seen that he had wound up at Hagrid's hut, as though on autopilot. Hagrid had been outside, just ushering away his final class of the day - Harry's had been the first - and took in the boy in front of him, jovial smile morphing quickly into worried frown.

"Fancy coming in for a cup'a tea, Harry?"

Harry let what remained of Rita's parchment fall gently to the ground, mere glowing orange embers now, and followed his first ever real friend into his stone hut and felt fury give way to the grief that had followed him ever since he had been able to understand that his parents were dead.

"Thanks Hagrid." He whispered quietly as he followed the half giant into his cosy, if somewhat moth-eaten home.

"Anytime Harry, you know tha'. Anytime you need it, just come right down an' see me."