Author's Note: How are you guys liking this? Let me know in a review, please. I appreciate any feedback. Putting my writing next to JKR's at some points reminds me how bad my writing is, lol. Thanks for reading it! Hope you enjoy this slightly longer chapter.

Chapter 4: Wand Polishing Kit

From Chapter Three:

Daphne's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "I think we'll both need some time to… to process this. No training tonight, but starting tomorrow, three miles. You'll need it."

With that, she stood up, a neutral mask on her face, and left towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry didn't immediately follow her. He remained on the bench, sitting quietly in the comfort of the Quidditch Pitch. He knew the tournament was going to be dangerous - with all of his and Daphne's studying into the tournament, it was expected. Yet knowing he was going to take on a full grown adult dragon made it all real, and he shuddered at the thought.

Harry didn't understand how each year at this school his life seemed to be put into danger. First, the troll and Quirrell, then the Chamber and the basilisk, and then the dementors and the time turner. Sure, part of it was his own Gryffindor tendencies, but it seemed it only happened to him. It seemed like it was fate controlling him each year, and apparently he had done something in another life to enrage fate. "Why me?" he mused to himself. "I'm no one special."

Yet, everyone thought he was special. Except for the Dursleys. And Malfoy. Ever since he had somehow defeated Voldemort as a baby (how does a baby defeat a full grown powerful dark wizard anyways when other trained adults can anyways?), everyone saw him as a hero, yet he never wanted attention or fame. Didn't they understand that very day he became a "celebrity" he had lost his parents and his childhood had been doomed? He would've given anything to be a normal child with living parents.

For some reason he needed protection under blood wards that not even Dumbledore could provide similar protections at Hogwarts or anywhere else, and fate obviously had it out for him. Knowing his luck, something worse would happen in the Triwizard Tournament. By Murphy's Law, everything that would go wrong would go wrong, so he would have to be prepared for everything and all the unknowns.

Sighing, he headed up to the castle to grab breakfast. As he walked back in, he kept his head down in the hallways to avoid the callouts and insults. He stepped one foot ahead of the other, tracing the familiar steps up to the Great Hall. He could hear everyone in the hall before he reached the doors, the loud voices carrying. He felt a pang in his chest, knowing if maybe he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived he would be among those voices. Instead, not being able to be seen with Daphne, he grabbed an apple and headed back to his dormitory to change into school clothes and grab his school bag.

/

The school bell rang, and Harry headed to the ever-dreaded class: Potions. It seemed with this year's events, Snape somehow managed to hate Harry somewhat more than he already did. Hhis silky venomous voice spat out even more poisonous words, from insults about Harry's dad to his own intelligence. Harry always found it interesting that it was always James and not Lily.

"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared THE WEIGHING OF THE WANDS 301 your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one. . . ." (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire).

Not only was Snape's voice poisonous, but he was going to poison him. Harry groaned. He was not looking forward to this lesson.

Luckily, or so he thought, a knock on the door interrupted Snape's tirade about to burst. Harry figured with all that fate had against him, he had to win at least once. Snape barked, "Enter!" furious at being interrupted in class.

The door opened timidly and Colin Creevey hesitantly stepped into frame. His eyes searched the room, landing on Harry. He beamed, before Snape's throat cleared. "Creevey. I don't appreciate having my class interrupted. What business brings you here?" he asked with a sneer.

Colin stuttered, "I'm supposed to bring Harry upstairs, sir."

Snape stared down Colin. "Potter, unfortunately for both of us, has to brew an antidote for the next hour. You may bring him upstairs after," he said with a tone indicating that Colin was dismissed.

Harry looked at Colin curiously - what was he here for? Colin didn't seem to take the hint, not budging. "Sir, Mr. Bagman requested him. I'm supposed to bring him upstairs right now, no delays."

Snape stared him down. "Pray tell, Mr. Creevey, what requires Mr. Potter's presence that learning how to brew an antidote, if one of his precious friends is potioned, can be missed?"

Creevey shuddered under Snape's glare. "It's for all the champions, sir. Something for the tournament… I heard there's photographs too. Harry must be there."

Snape stood silent for a minute. Harry sighed when he heard there were photographs, of all the things it could be. One more thing for Snape and Malfoy and Ron to bully him about. He silently wished he could stay in Potions, but also - anything to get out of the greasy bat's dungeons. "Very well. Potter, go. I expect you back here promptly to test your classmate's antidotes."

Creevey stuttered, "Professor, please, he's not expected to come back. He must bring all his things."

Snape snapped, "Very well then. Both of you, out of my sight!"

Harry quickly packed up his things, rushing after Colin without looking back at Snape, who was probably glaring daggers into his back. Potter Stinks badges continued to flash at him from everyone he passed on his way out, except Daphne, who sat quietly in the background.

Once they had exited the dungeons, the silence that had started became awkward. "It must be exciting, right?" Colin asked, "I mean, getting picked as a Champion is such an honor it must be really exciting to be able to compete and represent the school."

"Yeah, yeah, so exciting to put my life in danger," Harry snapped.

"Sorry."

"What is this for anyways?"

Colin shrugged, "Something for the Daily Prophet! The publicity will be amazing! Some of the Wizarding World's top reporters and photographers will be here! Bagman didn't say much. He just grabbed me and told me to get you from Potions."

Harry sighed, replying flatly, "Great. Exactly what I want."

They reached their destination: a classroom Harry hadn't been before just off the Entrance Hall. He 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 Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes. (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)

"Good luck Harry!" Colin said brightly, before turning away.

Harry took a breath and entered, seeing Viktor Krum standing silently, exuding a brooding presence. Fleur chatted brightly with Cedric, seemingly having a nice conversation. A man with a camera was snapping away, until Bagman spotted Harry. "Harry, my boy! Champion number four! We can get started with the Weighing of the Wands ceremony now."

"Wand weighing?" Harry asked hesitantly. Colin had mentioned no ceremony of sorts.

"We need to make sure your wands are all fully functional before the tournament. Wouldn't look good if one of you started competing and then your wand misfires," Bagman replied jovially.

Harry wondered if Bagman meant it wouldn't look good on the champions or the Ministry. He figured it was probably the Ministry, the whole lot would do anything to save their asses.

"Come on, everyone, let's get seated," Bagman shouted over the noise in the room.

The press all stood in the space in the middle, while Bagman directed the champions to a set of chairs on the side. The judges sat at the velvet-covered table: Dumbledore, Maxine, Crouch, Karkaroff, and Bagman. Rita Skeeter was pushing to the front of the group of press, slipping out a piece of parchment and an envy-green quill.

Dumbledore stood up, pointing to an elderly wizard who Harry recognized as Ollivander. "May I introduce Mr. Garrick Olivander, who will be performing this ceremony?"

Ollivander waved at everyone, politely smiling. His pale eyes surveyed the room. "Hello Champions. I am here to ensure your wands are all properly functioning. Ms. Delacour, if you could please step forward."

Fleur gracefully stood up, gliding over to Ollivander who stood in front of the judges' table. "Your wand please, madam."

Ollivander's long fingers held Fleur's wand, twirling it in his fingered. He gave it a wave, and a bouquet of flowers erupted from the wand, which he handed to Fleur who gingerly accepted them. Examining the wand, he muttered, "Nine and a half inches. Rosewood, and a veela core? Quite uncommon, dearr me. Definitely not one of my wands. Quite inflexible."

Fleur nodded stiffly, "Yes, one of my grandmother's hairs."

"Of course," Olllivander replied, "I can't say I normally use veela hairs in my wands… they produce quite… capricious wands. However, I can find no fault with your wand. If this wand suits you, it seems to be in good working order."

With that, he returned Fleur her wand, who had somehow gotten rid of the flowers at this point. "Mr. Diggory, you next."

Cedric traded places with Fleur, and gave Ollivander a smile as he turned over his wand. "Ah yes, I remember. This one is one of mine. Twelve and a quarter inches. Unicorn hair, from one of the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest here. Quite a fine unicorn that has gifted me many hairs for use in my wands. Ash wood, springy. A nice polish. You polish your wand frequently?"

Cedric blushed, "Yes, just last night."

Harry stared. Polishing your wand was a thing people did? Clearly he had missed the memo, and he fidgeted. How did Cedric even hear of this ceremony? How had Daphne and him missed any mentions of this ceremony in the books? What would Ollivander have to say about his wand? Rubbing the wand against his robe, he attempted to clear some of the dirt on his wand, but it didn't have the shine that showed on Cedric's.

Up front, Ollivander waved Cedric's wand, nodding approvingly at the gold sparks that emitted. He returned Cedric's wand, and then said, "Mr. Krum, please come up."

Viktor silently stalked to the front, stiffly handing Olllivander his wand, who accepted it with a flourish. "Oh yes, one more that is not mine. 10 and a quarter inches. Hornbeam, quite an uncommon wood for me, and a dragon heartstring core, which is quite common. Quite thick and rigid...one of Gregorovitch's, I presume?"

Viktor nodded, almost insulted at Ollivander's tone in referencing Gregorovitch. Ollivander nodded, "Ah yes. Don't quite agree with some of his wand-making techniques, but, to each their own."

With that, he waved Viktor's wand, and a flock of birds flew out of his wand. "Well, to his credit, his wands work quite well. Your wand is fine, off with you. Mr. Potter, please come up."

Viktor's wand returned, he stalked back to his seat, ignoring Harry as they passed. Harry handed his wand over to Ollivander. "Ah, I quite remember this day." He paused, as if adding to the drama of it all.

Harry looked over to Rita, who was leaning forward, seemingly sensing a story. He then noticed Ollivander looked over to Dumbledore, who shook his head slightly. It wouldn't do good for the public to know he shared a twin wand with Voldemort, even if they thought he was dead. Harry remembered the day he had received his wand from Mr. Ollivander, and his reaction of "Curious."

Harry almost wished he hadn't asked what was so curious, and hopefully no one else would find out. He prayed to Merlin that Ollivander would not spill. "One of mine… oh yes. Eleven inches long, holly, with a phoenix feather core. One of Fawkes, if I'm not quite mistaken. Fawkes has only given me two cores - you should be quite honored to have one of them. Fawkes is an excellent judge of character… most of the time…" Ollivander trailed off.

Harry rolled his eyes. There must have been something in Riddle's magic for him to match with one of Fawkes' feathers. An excellent judge of character though, he wasn't sure of that. Ollivander seemed to examine Harry's wand more intensely than the others, scrunching his face up at times, the lack of luster as compared to Cedric's polished wand most likely causing him consternation. "It would do you well, Mr. Potter, to obtain yourself a wand polishing kit. Perhaps ask Mr. Diggory for some suggestions."

Fleur, or someone who sounded like her, snorted, and Harry blushed in embarrassment. Remaining silent, he watched as Ollivander released a fountain of wine from his wand, before nodding approvingly and returning the wand to Harry. "One of my finest creations… you are destined for great things, my boy."

Harry returned to his chair, as Dumbleldore stood up. "Thank you all for coming, let's let the Champions return to their days now, perhaps time for dinner. I'm sure their young stomachs are rumbling for some food. We will hope to see you all at the First Task next week."

The Champions turned to leave, before they turned at Bagman's voice. "Dumbledore, you seem to have forgotten the photos!"

Harry sighed, he thought he had gotten away with that. "For sure, we'll get some group photos with the judges, then of the champions, and perhaps some individual shots as well," replied a woman Harry believed to be Rita Skeeter.

Harry groaned.