The Potter Twins and the Goblet of Fire
Chapter 8: The Weighing of the Wands
When Michael and Harry woke up on Sunday morning, it took them a moment to remember why he felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over them.
When they got down to the common room, anyone there broke out into applause, much to the chagrin of the twins.
Hermione informed them that Ron was still acting like a big baby over the whole thing.
She also suggested that they write to Sirius about what was going on.
The letter went….
"Dear Sirius, you told us to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes, we don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament Is happening this year and on Saturday night, we got picked as a fourth and fifth champion. We don't know who put our names in the Goblet of Fire, because we didn't. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff. Hope you're okay, and Buckbeak as well. Harry and Michael."
If they had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of them being champions, the following day showed them how mistaken they were.
Fleet had at least kept himself snuggled up in Michael's scarf in order to give him some comfort.
They could no longer avoid the rest of the school once they were back at lessons, and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought the twins had entered themselves into the tournament somehow. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed. The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that the brothers had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that
Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch.
Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, with whom Harry and Michael normally got on very well, did not talk to them even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray, though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grip and smacked him hard in the face. Ron wasn't talking to them either. Hermione sat between them, making very forced conversation, but though they all answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other. Michael thought even Professor Sprout seemed distant with them, but then again, she was Head of Hufflepuff House.
What hurt the most, at least for Michael, was when Cho didn't really talk to him anymore.
They would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too, the first time they would come face-to-face with them since becoming champions.
Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.
Draco, "ah, look, boys, it's the champions. Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt they're going to be around much longer…. Half the Triwizard champions have died…. How long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter's? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet. Maybe the animal lover will last longer!"
Crabbe and Goyle laughed together, but Malfoy had to stop them when Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin, balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk.
The only good thing about this was that it distracted Malfoy completely.
Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to Harry and Michael alone. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and Michael and said, very seriously, "so…. Yer competin', boy's. In the tournament. School champions."
Harry, "two of the champions."
Hagrid's, "no idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry? Michael?"
Michael, "you believe we didn't do it, then?"
Hagrid, "'course I do. Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh, an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."
Harry, "wish we knew who did it."
Michael, "it would make all of this a LOT easier."
The three of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty.
Hagrid, "look like they're havin' fun, don' they?"
Harry and Michael assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because their classmates certainly weren't.
Hagrid, "ah, I don' know, Harry. Michael. School champions…. Everythin' seems ter happen ter you two, doesn' it?"
Harry and Michael didn't answer. Yes, everything did seem to happen to them…. That was more or less what Hermione had said as they had walked around the lake earlier, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to them….
….
The next few days were some of Michael and Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest they had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in their second year, when a large part of the school had suspected them of attacking their fellow students. But Ron had been on their side then. They thought they could have coped with the rest of the school's behavior if they could just have had Ron back as a friend, but they weren't going to try and persuade Ron to talk to them if Ron didn't want to. Nevertheless, it was lonely.
They could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, even if they didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. They expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins. They were highly unpopular there and always had been for multiple reasons. But they had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support them as much as Cedric. They were wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that they had been desperate to earn themselves a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting their names.
Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than they did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Krum.
Michael and Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime.
Meanwhile, there was no reply from Sirius, Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near them, Trelawney was predicting their deaths even more than usual, and they did so badly at Summoning Charms in Flitwick's class that they were given extra homework, the only people to get any, apart from Neville.
When they had gone to potions class, they had discovered people now wore badges declaring their admiration for Cedric, and their hatred of the brothers.
This ended up resulting in Harry and Draco sending attacks at one another.
This caused an accident, where Goyle received boils all over his nose, and Hermione's front teeth grew even larger.
Snape had demanded his own student head to the hospital wing. But when he had treated Hermione's situation with no care, it had been the only time Ron, Harry and Michael had gotten along since the whole tournament started, yelling at their teacher in rage.
This resulted in fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention for each of them.
But during potions, they had been called by Bagman to have their photos taken.
They couldn't decide which was worse.
They soon entered 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.
Six chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch the twins had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.
Michael seemed to think she looked familiar though.
Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. Fleur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
Bagman suddenly spotted the twins, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
Bagman, "ah, here they were! Champions number four and five! In you come, boys, 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."
Harry, "wand weighing?"
Bagman, "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. The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter. She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…."
Rita, "maybe not that small, Ludo."
Rita Skeeter had her eyes on Harry and Michael.
Now Michael remembered. This was the harlot who wrote so many articles badmouthing Mr. Weasley.
She was even more annoying in person.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.
Rita, "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry and Michael before we start? The youngest champions, you know…. To add a bit of color? Separately and everything."
Bagman, "certainly! That is, if Harry and Michael have no objections?"
Harry, "er-"
Michael, "I really-"
Rita, "lovely."
In a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door, and then closing them both inside.
Michael sighed as he tried talking to the other champions.
Fleur looked at Michael and said, "oh, uh, Meester Michael?"
Michael, "hello."
Fleur, "um, I wanted to apologize ze other night. I was, 'ow you say, rude."
Michael, "it's okay…. At least someone besides my ferret and my brother has said something nice to me."
Fleur, "your fereet?"
Fleet popped his head out of the scarf to look at Fleur.
Fleur, "oh, 'e is adorable."
Michael chuckled and pet Fleet, saying, "well, I'm sure Fleet appreciates that."
….
Meanwhile….
Rita, "we don't want to be in there with all that noise. Let's see…. Ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her in confusion.
Rita perched herself upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box
Rita., "come along, dear, that's right, lovely. Let's see now…. You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…."
Harry, "a what?"
Rita's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth.
She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acidgreen quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.
Rita, "testing…. My name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
Harry looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment: Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations-
Rita, "lovely."
Rita ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag.
She leaned toward Harry and said, "So, Harry…. What made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
Harry was distracted by the quill.
Even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake he could make out a fresh sentence:
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes-
Rita, "ignore the quill, Harry."
Reluctantly, Harry looked up at her instead.
Rita, "now, why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"
Harry, "I didn't. I don't know how either my or my brother's names got into the Goblet of Fire. We didn't put it in there."
Rita raised one heavily penciled eyebrow, "come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers love a rebel."
Harry, "but I didn't enter. I don't know who-"
Rita, "how do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Nervous?"
Harry, "I haven't really thought…. Yeah, nervous, I suppose."
Rita, "champions have died in the past, haven't they? Have you thought about that at all?"
Harry, "well, they say it's going to be a lot safer this year."
The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.
Rita, "of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you? How would you say that's affected you?"
Harry, "er-"
Rita, "do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because-"
Harry, "I didn't enter."
Rita, "can you remember your parents at all?"
Harry, "no."
Rita, "how do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?"
Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? He could feel Rita watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and looked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.
Harry, "I have NOT got tears in my eyes!"
Before Rita could say a word, Harry got up and stormed out.
Michael looked at his brother, concerned before his gaze drifted over to Rita as she said, "Michael, if you would?"
Michael rolled his eyes and walked into the room, nodding at his brother as he whispered, "be wary of her words."
Michaels sat across from Rita.
She asked, "so, Michael, what's it like? Being able to enter the tournament?"
Michael could see right through her as he said, "as Harry must have told you, we didn't enter. Someone else seems to have put our names into the Goblet. So don't assume anything."
Rita, "so how do you feel about these tasks? Afraid? Confident?"
Michael, "well, uh, it can't be any harder than what I've been through before."
Rita, "indeed. What you and your brother have faced! Death itself, hmm?"
Michael, "after facing a troll, dementors, werewolves, living chess pieces, giant spiders, giant snakes, and becoming an Animagus, I'm not surprised by much anymore."
Rita, "oh? You're an Animagus?"
Michaels went wide-eyed. He realized he had said too much. He felt like a fool.
Rita tried to take advantage and said, "and how do you think your parents would feel about all this?"
Michael snapped out of it and said, "how should I know? They're dead."
Rita, "but wouldn't you want to make them proud? To become the champion of this tournament? Wouldn't it make some of your trauma better?"
Michaels glanced at the parchment and yelled, "hey! My eyes are not swimming with the ghosts of my past!"
Before Rita could say anything else, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Michael looked around. Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore", cried Rita, with every appearance of delight, but Michael noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag, "how are you? I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
Dumbledore, "enchantingly nasty. I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."
Rita 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 -"
Dumbledore, "I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita. 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, Michael hurried back into the room with his brother. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and the twins sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting; Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Bagman. Rita settled herself down in a corner; Harry and Michsel 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.
Harry and Michael were at least happy to see that the one weighing their wands was Mr. Ollivander.
Each champion's wand seemed to be in very good condition.
The photographs after that took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry and Michael would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry and Michael into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.
Before they left, Fleet had run over and bit Rita on the ankle and ran back into Michael's arms before the twins ran off.
One of the few good things to happen that day.
They went to dinner and ate alone before returning to their dorm.
Ron briefly talked to them about their detention together, and then about a letter they got.
It read, "Harry, Michael. I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted. We need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore's nose. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd of November as quickly as you can. From, Sirius. P.S. Buckbeak is doing just fine. P.S.S. Dumbledore told me about Michael becoming an Animagus. Congratulations!"
….
Reviews:
denni19molly: okay. But why the same school as Yori?
Bailey Radcliff: thank you very much.
Canadude2029: yep. This is when things start to get intense. And yeah, Ron is a little dumb during this part. And yeah, I thought an Arctic Fox was a good choice. Cute little things.
….
