Chapter 4

I had taken to sitting beside Harry in class. We spent most of the lessons we had together huddled in the back of classrooms - trying to avoid the attention of the rest of the school.

I had never experienced such treatment at the hands of my fellow students. They were all convinced that we had entered ourselves into the tournament. As a result, we were either being spat at by students who thought we had robbed them of their chance to compete or ignored as people pretended we had vanished from existence. Even with the explanation that it took powerful magic to trick the goblet, that didn't change their minds - for, they decided, it must take powerful magic to survive the killing curse at the age of one.

That was the reason we were so famous you see. The night of Halloween, three months after our first birthday, had been the day that the darkest wizard alive - Voldermort - had come to our house in Godrics Hollow to murder our family. Both my parents had fallen to the killing curse. However, when the wizard pointed his wand at Harry the curse failed. Harry can't remember what happened after that, I think he might have blacked out. Though I can remember a gasp of surprise before a mutter, then a green light surrounding my small body. Something happened that night. Though I don't know whether it changed me for better or worse. People say Voldermort died that night. But I know he didn't - I can feel his life force.

About a week after my name had come out of the goblet I found myself in a potions class. Nothing practically different. That is until a small third year came knocking at the door. Colin Creevey - a small, annoying Griffindor well known for his photography skills - nervously entered the potions dungeon.

"What is it?" growled Snape.

"S-sir," stuttered the frightened student, "the D-Daily Prophet w-wants to interview Harry and K-Kirsty, sir."

"Very well," he replied, not looking particularly pleased, "Kirsty have you finished?"

"Nearly sir," I answered, "it just has to be left to boil for the next 30 minutes. Then it can be bottled."

"I shall bottle it for you," he told me before turning to my brother, "Mr Potter that is not going to turn out correct, I imagine that if I leave that to boil we shall have a mess on our hands."

With that he flicked his wand and Harry's work disappeared in a flash of smoke. I shot him a sympathetic look before grabbing my wand and book bag.

When we arrived at a spare classroom on the third floor I was surprised it was so full. The man we had met at the Quidditch world cup, Ludo Bagman, welcomed us into the room. My eyes scanned the other occupants and I was quick to spot the other two champions. They were both in deep discussion with their Headmaster and Headmistress at the other side of the room. I could also spot a number of other faces that I didn't recognise.

Staring intently at us was a women who looked like she was a predator that had cornered her prey. Her long blond curls were clipped neatly around her face and a 'Quick Quotes Quill' (A fairly popular Quill within the magazine industry) was floating beside her - noting her words (an then some) on a piece of parchment.

"Ludo!" she greeted, fluttering her eyes at him, "my I borrow these two? I want to write an article about I all /I of the champions. I thought, perhaps, I could start with the youngest two?"

I watched the man beside me fool for it. Hook, line and sinker. He looked ready to give her the world if she asked,

"Of course Rita," he grovelled, "take them."

Though I had already decided that I would much rather be eaten by a pack of rabid dogs, I could not protest as she steered us into a very cramped broom cupboard.

"I am surprised that your using that quill Rita," I commented, smiling innocently in her direction, "I thought that you were far more professional than that."

The woman shot me an evil glare before turning to my brother. I really hated that women and I had a bad feeling about this so called 'article' that she was planning to write. Her tall tales seemed to always stuff up some sort of hatred towards someone. I don't think she even knew how to tell a story straight.

"So Mr Potter, do you mind if I start with you first?" without waiting for an answer she continued, "I bet you were ever so pleased when you name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Can you please tell my readers how you managed to place your name in?"

"I didn't…." he replied, he sounded like a fish out of water.

"Harry don't worry, you're famous. Everyone understands you just wanted some attention…"

"Rita!" I exclaimed, "Just stop it. Neither of us put our name in that Goblet. Neither of us wanted 'eternal glory'. Harry, come on."

I made as if to stand when I felt sharp fingernails around my wrist,

"You're a Slytherin Miss Potter," hissed the reporter, "I can make the public hate you in a second. Potter or not."

"Miss Skeeter could you please unhand my student!" ordered an angry voice from the door.

Our three heads turned to see the Headmaster standing before us. His face showed obvious displeasure and his eyes flickered from the women's hand on my wrist to her face.

"Albus," she simpered, releasing my arm, "such a pleasure to see you…"

"Thanks sir," I greeted, dragging Harry with me as I disappeared back into the other room.

Settling ourselves on two spare seats that had been provided we waited to see what would happen next. Looking around me I saw that the other occupants of the room had also seated themselves. The head's of the three schools sat to the right of us. In front of us was seated Ludo, Mr Crouch - the tournament organiser - and Mr Ollivander - the most well known wand maker in the UK. Looking back in the direction of the broom cupboard I watched as a disgruntled Rita Skeeter positioned herself with a camera and her Quill. I was not looking forward to tomorrows edition of the Daily Prophet.

"This ceremony," began Mr Couch, "is known as the 'Weighing of the Wands'. Its purpose is to ensure everyone's wands are in full working order and suitable to participate in the tournament. I shall leave you in the capable hands of Mr Ollivander."

I watched as the man walked rigidly back to his seat. Something was up with him. I could feel something wasn't right with that man.

The English wand maker rose from his seat and stood before us. Harry and I watched as the French girl had wand checked, then the Bulgarian.

"Miss Potter?" he asked.

I rose from my seat, wand in hand. Harry had sat beside me attempting to clean his with his robes. However, I wasn't too bothered. The cleanliness of the wand made no difference the its magical capabilities.

"Hello Mr Ollivander," I greeted. I liked this man. Though he had spooked me out a bit on our first meeting…

I

Ding, ding.

I listened to the rings of the door as they faded into nothing. My eyes were firmly centred on Ron who was beside me - feeling equally nervous. Fred and George, his older twin brothers, had spun us a tale about how we would need to fight a giant to find out which wand we would have. I think Ron may have swallowed it, judging by the look on his face. However, I was just nervous and excited. This was what I had been looking forward to ever since I had been told I was a witch.

The twins were sitting beside us. Their mother, Molly Weasley, was with their younger sister Ginny and older brother Percy. I was pleased to get away from the younger girl. She seemed to follow me everywhere and talked about nothing but my twin brother - asking questions about him constantly. I mean, how was I supposed to know? I hadn't even met him yet.

"Hello Mr Ollivander," greeted George.

"We're here to ensure that our younger brother Ron and unofficially adopted sister Kirsty," continued Fred.

"Get their wands."

I giggled to myself as I watched the old man glare at the two twins. This double act, apparently, had been in place ever since they could talk. It was weird but funny.

"Miss Potter?" he asked.

I looked up, "yes sir?"

He sent me a small smile before gesturing for me to come over. Once I was stood a small measuring tape appeared out of nowhere and began its work. Once it had taken all the necessary measurements Mr Ollivander clicked his fingers and it fell to the floor.

"Hmm…." he murmured to himself.

Half an hour later I was still standing there, a large pile of tried wands beside me. I was beginning to wonder if they had made a mistake, that I wasn't really a witch. However, his eyes seemed to go dull for a moment before he dashed deep into his dusty store.

He reappeared moments later with a deep emerald green box. It was, unlike the others, covered in fabric and, judging by the amount of dust that came off when he blow it away, it hadn't seen the light of day in centauries. I wasn't wrong either.

"Try this." he whispered, as if worried someone would overhear.

I nodded and obediently took the jet black wand he offered me. A smile broke across my face as green and silver sparks erupted from my wand.

"This is it!" I exclaimed, happy I had found one.

"Yes it is," he whispered in amazement, "Miss you are holding in your hand the wand of Salazar Slytherin. We expect great things from you, for good and for bad."

I smiled nervously at him as I went and sat down. The others hadn't heard our whispered conversation. The twins congratulated me on finally finding a wand.

We appeared back into the August sunlight 15 minutes later, Ron had thankfully found his quickly.

/I

I had never told anyone about the history behind my wand. It wasn't something I wanted to share for some reason. I just had a bad feeling about today…

"Hello Miss Potter," he replied, "has the wand been working well for you?"

"Brilliant, thank you, it's been fine."

"Good….Good…"

He studied it for a long moment before giving it a strong flick. The room watched nervously as three jet black snakes appeared before us.

"What do you wish for us to do?" hissed one.

"Please miss," hissed another, "may we bite one?"

The third remained silent as it slithered towards Rita Skeeter. The woman screamed before jumping upon her chair.

"Leave her," I hissed.

The snakes disappeared as Ollivander flicked the wand for a second time. The room hand gone silent and only Dumbledore, who knew of my ability to speak Parsletongue - the language of snakes - and my brother Harry, who could also speak it, remained smiling.

I groaned, "perhaps that wasn't the best spell to use sir."

The wand maker nodded, "I did not know you spoke it."

"Perhaps you should remember the wand's history," I explained, "it choose me for a reason I imagine."

Dumbledore looked at me for a minute, as if hoping I would elaborate. I did not.

The history of my wand would remain hidden, for today….

A/N: The plot thickens….I think…It's all a matter of how you're reading the story. Another info chapter really…but it takes the story on nicely.

So any thoughts?

TBC…..