Chapter 2

As Harry entered the Great Hall, the room looked different. Gone were the tables that he was so used to, and in their place, was a group of envoys from the other nations and coordinators of the tournament. Well, at least that was what Harry had guessed. Since one was the Minister from Bulgaria, that he had once met, Cornelius Fudge was off talking to some important looking people, French from the sounds of it, and others were interacting with Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman.

Crouch though, Harry didn't think he was doing too well, maybe because he got rid of his house-elf. ' His own fault' a thought that Harry quickly shrugged off.

To one corner, Harry saw the other Champions; but did not feel too welcome. It might have been his imagination; but he had been around Snape and Malfoy, too much, to not notice the spiteful looks.

Feeling awkward, Harry had no idea where to go, as he was unceremoniously dragged off, by some strange witch.

"Mr. Potter, Harry is it? You don't mind if I call you Harry, do you?"

"No, of course you don't. silly question of me," she laughed, not letting him reply.

"But of course you wouldn't. humble, that is how I often hear of you, a humble person wouldn't care. Now follow me."

It was not that Harry wanted to follow this strange lady. No, in truth, he wanted to be anywhere but here, with her. He felt a bad vibe coming from her. But the problem was, this small, gaudily dressed blond, with crazy looking glasses, was just too strong to get away from.

"No, not there, too many people," she muttered, as they moved throughout the room. The focus of everybody's attention. And for some reason, he was sure that not one of these people wanted anything to do with this woman.

Some even flinched, just from glancing at her.

This seemed like it was going to go over badly for him, and nobody seemed willing to step over and help him. Heck, some were happily snickering as they pointed at him.

"Ah, right, this place should do."

Most people at the sight of where she seemed to be taking him, would cringe. Even Ron's bedroom was larger than that area; but for Harry, it was like home, as they entered a small broom closet.

Just like his old room, it was filled with cleaning supplies and spider webs. Ron would have run screaming, as a large spider descended from the ceiling. Something Harry was used to.

"Lumos," she said, as the door closed behind them, and the room lit up.

Finding a nice bucket, only mildly dirty, she sat down on it.

"Don't be scared, I don't bite," she replied, with a bit of a glint in her eyes, that did not convince Harry of her words.

"Well, okay, maybe a little. But only because you are so adorable with that hesitant look on your face right now. But we don't have long, so shall I begin?"

"What am I saying, of course I shall."

"But first, you don't mind if I use my Quick-Quotes Quill, do you? It helps me to write everything down, without having to take the time?"

"Ah, sure," Harry replied. Feeling regret, after seeing the smile that adorned her face.

"Now Harry, it has been just a bit over thirteen years since the deaths of your parents, right? So, how do you think they would have felt seeing you here, after entering yourself into the tournament?"

"First off, I didn't enter myself into the tournament. At all," Harry replied.

"Harry, you don't need to hide it from me. You're a rebel, the readers love that type of stuff," she eerily replied with a smile. "Don't ever think you have to hide such things."

"But I'm not. I really didn't put my name in, and there is absolutely no way that I would be able to know what my parents would think."

Proud, I know that is what my parents would think. The-boy-who-lived replied to my question, as a single tear leaked from his eye.

I wish they were here, so I could prove myself to-

"What is this?" Harry asked, confused as he read the words.

"Oh, don't worry about that. It's just a rough draft."

"But…" Harry began, unsure of what was going on.

"No need to worry dear, the readers will love the theatrics. Worry not."

It was not that he was really worried. But…just who was this witch, and what did she mean by the readers?

It was just as these questions had crossed his mind, that Harry was shocked out of his stuporous musing, by a loud thunderous boom, of the door. Which left him almost wet in the pants.

"Rita!" Dumbledore boomed, as he stood next to the closet door. "I am so glad to see you. It has been ages."

"Ah--" he said, looking over to Harry, "and I see the slandering of my student has already begun."

"Oh…Albus. I see that you have gotten here already," Rita sighed, magicking her quill away.

"Oh, don't mind this fuddy old dingbat. I mean, I must have lost my marbles ages ago," as he said this, Harry noticed that the all too familiar twinkle, was nowhere to be found.

"Oh Albus, are you still not over that? I just meant—"

"Sticks and stones Rita. Sticks and stones. No matter what you say about me, I don't mind."

"I mean, after a hundred and fifty years of life, there is nothing that you could say that I haven't already heard. But as for my student, he is not used to people like you, so I would appreciate it, if you left him be."

"Albus, Albus, don't you understand, he is the-boy-who-lived, the defeater of Dark Lords. He is not just your student, he belongs to the people."

At this, Harry couldn't stand what he had heard, and chimed in, "I don't belong to nobody," and gulped, as he realized that he had never truly vocalized his thoughts like that before.

Especially to somebody who could even stand there and hold their ground to somebody like Dumbledore.

But with that, he felt some sort of power, not a power like magic. But maybe something even better than that. It was an emboldening feeling, and he liked it.

"Yes, yes," she said, in a dismissive tone that told him that she could care less about what he could say. "I understand that you think that; but as famous as you are, whether it be me; or some hack, two-bit reporter, you will always be in the spotlight."

"So, you should feel grateful that it is me, and not one of those nameless peons, and especially not that tripe of a reporter, Xenophilia Lovegood, something like The Quibbler is utter rubbish."

'That was it,' Harry though, he knew she reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place it. Now he knew, she seemed to have all the proper qualities to make her a Malfoy. The arrogance, the supreme assurity in herself, along with the self-righteous attitude. She would make a great Malfoy.

And for some unknown reason, Professor Dumbledore began to laugh, as he put his hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "Come on Harry, we have tarried here long enough, and she has gotten enough on you to give her own scoop, regardless of whether she speaks to you anymore."

"Happy writings, Rita," and with that, they walked away.

"Harry," the Headmaster said, in a gentile voice, the trademark twinkle, returning to his eyes.

"Yes Professor?"

"I understand that you are not one to desire that fame of yours. But please hear me out, as you may have guessed, that lady is a reporter, and right now she has her eyes on you. So, be weary of being alone with her, because she will want to make you out to be a martyr; before she destroys you, and she will do it quite publicly in the Daily Prophet, as their number one reporter."

"But sir…" inquired Harry "why exactly would she want to do that?" It was not that he was surprised by the fact, he saw it in the eyes of many who had looked at her. He just wanted to understand her reasoning for it.

"Honestly," the professor sighed, "I believe that it is just in her nature. She is the type who likes to control the masses, with her gaggle of followers, and she does have a lot of them, just to feed her own ego."

"I do not like belittling others, Harry, but with her, it is not so much belittling, as much as it is stating facts."

"She is a mongoose. She will feed you, groom you, wait for you to be cultivated, and then pounce on you like a snake. And not the the Slytherin type, either."

"If you take a look around this room, you will see it. The fear that is given off, she is not a person that even Cornelius wants to antagonize, as his reputation depends mostly on the press."

And he was right, Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, seemed to be actively trying to avoid her, as she made her way over to him.

"Okay," Harry replied, realizing something.

"But why exactly are there so many people here?"

"Yes, well, this event is rather highly diplomatic, and that is why Barty is running it. But the main reason is, because we have so few reasons to associate with our neighboring Witches and Wizards, as the British Wizarding Community is rather reclusive with our ways, and some think we need to spread our wings."

"And this would be something I could concur with. I believe it was the muggle God that said to love thy neighbor, and we seem not to acknowledge ours."

"I have noticed," Harry said, nodding his head. "In school, before I started Hogwarts, we learned about all sorts of things, things that happen all over the world. Or at least the history of it, and then I came here, where I had never even heard of other Wizarding Communities, before the World Cup, over the summer."

"Ah yes, a fault I have tried to rectify numerous times, but the Board of Governors, they can be a bit, um…how should I say? Old fashioned, no matter how many appeals I make, they seem to think that learning of these schools will make students want to go there. It is a bit of a pain," The Headmaster complained; "But without their approval, I can do nothing."

"I see," Harry answered. He had not fully understood the reasoning behind the board's decision; but he was even more confused because, if Dumbledore was the headmaster, shouldn't he be able to decide what happens at the school; and if not, what exactly was his role to begin with?

"I see you have noticed the hypocrisy of being an adult; but as much as I would like to have you understand, it is something you only learn through experience," the Headmaster laughed, making Harry feel as if his mind had been read.

"Now, we need get you up for the weighing of the wands."

HPatW-TS

After making his way across the Great Hall, Harry made it up to the seats of Champions.

This in itself, already created a great disparity between them, as Harry was completely ignored. Fleur, beautiful as she was, stuck her nose up at him, turning away. While Cedric just looked at him, with a look of disbelief and disappointment, though Viktor, he glanced at Harry, with a look that did not convey anything.

That though…that may just have been the fact that his expression was always so surly that he could never read it.

Taking a seat, a bit away from the rest, Harry seated himself. He felt a bit insecure, while not even beginning to understand why they wanted to weight their wands. Didn't everybody's wand have a different size and weight.

Well, pondering over such menial things never helped him much in the magical world, so he gave that thought up quick.

It was not long, before somebody finally made their way up to the podium of the stage. And the face of the person was actually familiar to Harry, as he was one of the first Wizards that Harry had actually met. Mr. Ollivander, the man who sold Harry his wand.

Not far behind the man, who gave Harry a chilled vibe, was the Headmaster, looking as jovial as ever.

As the two reached the podium, Professor Dumbledore tapped his throat. "Lady's and gentleman, Witches and Wizards alike, as I know that we all are already aware of the reason we are here, is for the weighing of wands; but as it is my job, I must inform you of this," at this dry attempt at humor, there were few laughs.

"And as many of you, those at least that have gone to Hogwarts, know the man standing next to me, an excellent wandmaker, Garrick Ollivander."

There were a few murmurs, as many of the people here did know him; but quickly they quieted down.

"Ahem," Mr. Ollivander coughed, getting the attention of the crowd. "Excellent, I see a great many faces here, that I recognize. Some, thankfully have only come in for a single wand, while others often are receiving replacements."

There was no dissatisfaction in his voice; but all there could tell of his disappointment. Harry included.

"Now, as I myself have made a great many wands in my time, arguably the greatest wands ever created—" his words were cut off, as a good number of foreign dignitaries disregarded his words as slander.

But if one were to truly take heed, they would notice that even among those diplomats, the complaints were few in number.

"Yes," Ollivander sighed, "If you truly wish to regard your own wandmaker as the greatest, go ahead. I am not here for an argument of egos."

"But, proceeding on, I am here to check the functionality of the Champions wands. So let us begin."

At this, silence truly enveloped the hall.

"Yes, so first I would call, Madame Fleur Delacour."

As her name was called, Fleur began to strut her way up the stage. It was odd, because one could call it a strut; but if you looked more carefully, and the way this beautiful girl moved, it demanded you pay attention, she sort of glided.

It was very distracting.

"Um, yes. Well, thank you for that Miss Delacour," Mr. Ollivander said, almost tripping over his own words. "I mean, yes, welcome, now would you let me see your wand," he blushed.

Quirking a brow, Fleur handed over her wand.

"Be carful whiz zat, zee hair belonged to zat of me granmuzzer."

Her accent was heavy; but one could tell that she was well versed in English, for being a foreigner. It was a bit off; but not bad.

"Hmm," he intoned, as he began to look it over, twirling and tapping and spinning her wand; before flourishing it, and presenting her with a bouquet of flower, after incanting the spell, "Orchideous!"

"Dear me, I have often used many differing sorts of cores; but is that?"

"It iz zee 'air from zee 'ead uv ze veela," she replied. "To be more precise, it wuz ze 'air uv my granmuzzer."

"Ah, that explains it," Harry thought. "Wouldn't Ron love to—" and the thought died right there. He and Ron were no longer friends. This was getting irritating.

"I see...well next would be Mister Viktor Krum."

And with that Fleur Left the podium.

It seemed to Harry as Krum made his way up to the Podium that he and Cedric. the two representing Hogwarts would be the last to go.

Maybe it was some sort of ego boost for the school to have them o last. Show their benevolance or something? Harry was unsure.

But even through his idle thoughts the weighing went on.