The Ceremony
"We cannot simply allow them to sit amongst us!" Constantine Malfoy said irritably. "They're morally different to us. You see the world we exist within. Muggles are bloodthirsty and imperialistic. We are not. Our beliefs do not align with one another."
"So, you would exclude someone because of their parentage?" Lord Smith questioned. "The suggestion is not to allow muggles to take up seats amongst us, but magicals who are born to them."
"It is not based on their parentage, Smith, but the culture from which they come," Malfoy elaborated. "Until the age of eleven, they are raised by muggles. Most attend Hogwarts, and then split their time between our world and the one they were born into. They possess magic, but in their hearts, the muggle world is their home. They do not ingratiate themselves fully into our way of living, and that could prove to be a threat. It is not about prejudices, but about preservation. Our world is better governed by our own kind."
Those within the chambers of the Wizengamot began talking amongst themselves, and though Harry could not quite believe he was thinking it, Malfoy made a valid and compelling point.
It was clear that the signature blond hair and blue eyes was a powerful, physical trait of the family. Both Draco and Lucius resembled Constantine quite uncannily.
"I say we cut the crap and tell it how it is," another man grunted as he stood. "They have no business being here. Our country and way of life was founded by the ancestors of all of us in this room. It is no place for the muggle filth. They may possess a semblance of magic, but it is weaker than ours. Ours is pure, strong, and virile. Salazar Slytherin knew this. That is why he left the school when it became a haven for inferior beings!"
"He left the school because he acted like a child!" Smith countered. "He could not face that the other founders disagreed so wholeheartedly with his bigotry. It is no secret that it has remained firmly in his descendants, is it, Gaunt?"
Gaunt?
Harry looked at the man carefully, frowning as he saw no resemblance to Mallory.
This Gaunt was rather unkempt, his bared teeth yellow, and his eyes a dirty brown that lacked any sign of warmth of wit.
Looking towards his hand, Harry's breath hitched in his chest.
The stone.
There it was in plain view of all, sitting in the housing of an intricate gold ring.
Did this Gaunt know what it was?
Harry shook his head.
No, if he did, he would not wear it so brazenly. It would only take one person to recognise the stone for what it truly was for the man to be murdered and be relieved of it.
Gaunt laughed.
"If the truth is bigotry, then consider me such," he replied with a grin.
Aggro Gaunt.
Harry had never heard of him but being within the vision of Percival Potter granted him that knowledge, even if his great grandfather several times over remained silent within his seat.
Most were wary of the Gaunts.
They had a propensity for violence and were rather adept at it. It was the only reason they were not called out for their incest or investigated for their alleged involvement in Muggle Hunting.
Of course, those within the room were well informed of it, but it would be all but impossible to prove.
The Gaunts were not a popular family. So much so that even if they were not so inclined towards their own kind, no self-respecting Lord would allow their children to marry into the line.
It may have once been amongst the most desirable of matched, but in the past half-dozen generations, they had fallen out of favour.
When Aggro finally passed on, it was likely his son would not be allowed to replace him on the Wizengamot.
Whomever the Minister was at that pivotal moment would not be able to ignore the transgressions of the family any longer.
"Come, Lord Gaunt, let this not become something personal towards them," Malfoy urged. "We should be sticking to facts and not personal feelings on the matter."
Gaunt grunted and took his seat.
"I am sorry, but I cannot in good conscience vote to make such an allowance. It is dangerous and would be foolish to merely make them feel included. Perhaps it is something that can be revisited in the future if things change, but for now, I'm afraid I must urge those who do not wish to take such a risk to vote against this bill."
"Very well, Lord Malfoy. Those in favour of scrapping the bill?" the Chief Warlock questioned.
Almost all of the wands within the room were raised, including that of Percival potter.
Whether the man truly believed that muggleborns should be excluded from government positions, Harry couldn't tell, but he got the impression that it was certainly a factor.
He could feel his ancestor's disdain for Gaunt and grudging respect for Constantine Malfoy as the meeting was dismissed.
Percival did not wait to speak with any of the other lords or ladies. He immediately left the chambers of the Wizengamot, and Harry was relieved to be out of the room.
His one experience within it had not been pleasant, and neither had this, for the most part. If Hermione was to learn that one of his ancestors had voted to exclude muggleborns, he'd likely never here the end of it.
Thankfully, she was unlikely to ever learn it.
It was not as though Harry was going to tell, and he certainly wouldn't reveal he'd somewhat agreed with the decision. Harry was far from being a bigot, but it made sense that the wizarding world would be governed by those that were born and remained within it to protect them from any of the more dangerous undertakings of their muggle counterparts.
Didn't it?
It was confusing to say the least, and Harry was grateful that he was pulled from the vision shortly after Percival Potter had left the Ministry.
The stone.
Despite everything else he had witnessed and experienced, it was the memory of the ring worn by Aggro Gaunt that stuck with him. At least now, he knew that Mallory's brother had taken her advice and added to the family and that it remained there until a few centuries ago.
Was it still there?
Harry could think of no reason why it wouldn't be, but where was the ring now?
From what little he knew, the only surviving Gaunt was currently residing in Azkaban. Would he have been allowed to keep possession of it?
Harry didn't know and thought it would perhaps be best to ask someone who would.
Sirius should be able to provide that piece of information, and then Harry could decide what to do from there.
Not that he intended on breaking into the infamous prison, but he would if that was what it took.
Shaking his head of those thoughts for the time being, he shifted his attention back to what he had been practicing. The first task of the tournament was creeping ever closer and the more time that passed, the more nervous Harry grew.
Dragons.
He still could not believe he would be faced with one of the behemoths in the coming days, and even though he had learned all he could about the creatures, it counted for so little.
One mistake would be the difference between life and death, or life and a lifechanging injury.
Harry was not keen on either.
He needed some air.
To keep his mind off the absolute worst outcomes, he often ventured outside and took a walk by the lake or flew on his Firebolt for a while when the grounds were quiet enough.
As had become his custom, he consulted the map before heading to the exit, pausing as he noted a lone figure pacing in the owlery above.
Perhaps some comic relief was needed?
With a snort, Harry covered himself in his cloak and took exited, making his way to the owlery where he managed to sneak in unnoticed.
Climbing on one of the parapets, he took a seat and waited for the right moment to strike, doing his best not to chuckle as the unsuspecting girl muttered to herself under her breath.
Whilst her back was to him, Harry hid his cloak with a wave of his wand.
"Did you put your underwear on the wrong way today, Greengrass?" he questioned.
Only a split second later, he found himself staring down the shaft of a wand, and the girl's eyes were narrowed in his direction, her breathing laboured from having been startled.
"You idiot!" she snapped. "What the hell are you doing sneaking around, Potter?"
"Just taking in the sights," Harry replied with a grin.
Daphne hummed as she lowered her wand, still glaring at him.
"I come here to think sometimes, but I suppose I'll have to find somewhere else now," she huffed, "and it will be a cold day in hell before I tell you anything about my underwear."
"Well, the French lot would call this hell. All they do is moan about the castle, and it is cold," he pointed out.
Despite her best efforts not to, the corner of Daphne's lips twitched in amusement.
"Just shut up," she grumbled irritably.
It wasn't as though they were friends. They interacted civilly enough, and Harry was grateful for the help she had given in getting Buckbeak off the hook. Occasionally, they still spoke in Runes, but never out of the classroom.
"So, what's bothering you?" Harry asked.
Daphne looked at him questioningly before sighing.
"Well, you might actually be able to help me with this," she conceded. "You do owe me a favour."
"Do I?"
"You know you do," Daphne returned, her eyes narrowing once more.
For someone so strikingly beautiful, she was not the friendliest of people.
More often than not, she looked upon others almost disapprovingly and a scowl firmly in place. Harry had learned she was rather aloof and kept mostly to herself to avoid the unpleasantness of her housemates.
"Fair enough, what can I assist you with, Miss Greengrass?"
Daphne tutted at him as she removed a roll of parchment from within her robes.
"I can't figure this out," she explained as she pointed to a set of Runes that had been carefully etched into the page.
Harry accepted the parchment with a frown and began reading through it.
The Runes were of Middle Eastern origin and were particularly difficult to translate as many were similar to others. It was one of the more confusing arrays that Harry had seen, and as he read through Daphne's notes, he almost missed the mistake she had made.
In truth, he only noticed it because he had made the same error.
"This one," he explained as he pointed to the offending rune. "You've translated it as 'enlightenment' instead of just 'lighten'.
Daphne blinked as she re-read her work and shook her head.
"That's it?" she asked irritably.
"That's it," Harry confirmed.
Daphne hummed as she took the parchment back.
"Not a word to anyone about this," she warned.
"My lips are sealed," Harry replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm not keen on the smell of owl droppings. Bye."
With that, he hurled himself backwards off the parapet as he listened to the scream of the girl he'd left behind.
Harry laughed as he removed his broom and was atop it long before he was in any danger of hitting the ground.
"YOU BLOODY PRAT!"
Harry merely offered the girl a wave as he headed towards the lake. He quite liked the idea of a few turns around it before getting back to work.
He chuckled to himself once more as he imagined Daphne's expression as he vanished over the side of the castle.
He may have taken many lessons from the Peverells of old via the visions he'd seen, but he was still very much a Potter deep down, and the lessons of Hardwin and Henry remained with him equally.
Both were quite partial to mischief, and it was a part of Harry he could not ignore.
He'd never been allowed to express it whilst living with the Dursleys, but with much of his life proving to be doom and gloom, he took inspiration from his Potter forebears and had realised that he needed to make time to simply laugh and enjoy life.
If he didn't and it was cut short, all he would have to show for it was a few paltry years of misery, and that was not a legacy he wished to leave behind.
(Break)
It wasn't that she hated it here.
Hogwarts was a beautiful place in its own way, and Fleur often found herself walking the grounds and even the halls of the castle when the students were in class. It was just that it was the same here as everywhere she went.
All her schooling life she had been subjected to poorly concealed whispers, gawping stares from boys, and jealous ones from girls.
Before her first day at Beauxbatons, Fleur had been excited to make friends, to begin her education and become the best witch she could be.
The reality, however, had fallen far short of her expectations.
Few wished to befriend her out of petty envy, and others simply did not wish to mix with her for what she was, even if the blood of her father was just as prominent as that of her mother within her.
To others, it didn't matter. To them, she was just another veela; a human-avian creature who wished to seduce unwitting men to do her bidding.
In a way, they were right.
Although Fleur was indeed half human, it was the veela traits that were more prominent. She was beautiful, and if she so wished, she could have many falling at her feet.
It made her experience of schooling a lonely one.
She'd made a few friends along the way, loyal friends who had stuck up for her, but it was the stigma she would remember, and though it felt like a betrayal to the naïve girl she had once been, Fleur would not be sad to leave.
In truth, she had expected nothing less from those at Hogwarts.
Britain did not have a veela colony, so to the natives, she was something of a commodity, but Fleur had prepared for that.
She was here for the tournament.
Nothing else mattered, and it would only be for a number of months until she could return home.
As she'd hoped, the goblet had chosen her and presented Fleur with the opportunity to prove that she was more than just a veela. She was a talented witch, and her showing throughout the tasks would demonstrate that, even if already the event had been tainted.
How a fourteen-year-old boy had managed to find himself entered was baffling to her, yet, that was what she faced.
Of course, she had heard the name of Harry Potter. He'd been mentioned during a lesson on the Unforgiveables at Beaxubatons, and even in France, he was well-known for the feat that granted him fame in his home country.
Still, to Fleur, he was just another competitor she would have to best, and although she was not pleased by his inclusion, it would be quite the accolade to carry in addition to being the Triwizard Champion.
She smiled to herself, frowning as a gentle knocking sounded at her door.
"Who is it?"
"Madame Maxime."
Fleur immediately stood to admit the headmistress, pausing, and blinking as she opened the door to four people instead of one larger lady.
"I will leave you to it."
Fleur could only gape as the form of her younger sister ploughed into her, almost sending them both crashing to the floor.
"What are you doing here?" she asked dumbly.
"Well, with the first task just around the corner, we thought we would visit," her father explained. "We couldn't come without bringing this one. So long as she keeps up with her work, that is."
Gabrielle nodded and finally released Fleur who felt the first wave of true happiness wash over her since she arrived in Scotland.
"Thank you," she whispered gratefully.
Her father and mother each offered her a beaming smile.
"So, what do you think of the place?" the former asked as her mother wrapped her arms around Fleur tightly.
Fleur shrugged.
"It's nice enough," she sighed. "The food is not so good, but I like the castle."
Her father chuckled.
"And the students?" he asked warily.
Fleur shook her head.
"As I expected."
Her father released a deep sigh as he shared a look with her mother who offered no comment.
Being a veela was difficult at the best of times, particularly as one who could not avoid mixing with magical humans.
"Not long left now," her father offered comfortingly. "What do you say you show us around?"
Fleur nodded and led her family from the room and out of the carriage. The sun was beginning to set which meant that the Hogwarts students would now be finishing their final classes for the day.
It would be best to wait a little while at least until they were in their Common Rooms before entering the castle.
She did not wish for Gabrielle to be greeted by an entire contingent of teenagers staring at her as they did Fleur.
"We will start in the grounds," she decided.
"Then lead the way," her mother urged.
Fleur did so, showing her parents and sister the interesting Whomping Willow they were advised to not get close to, and some of the architecture on offer here.
As ever, Gabrielle barely took a rest from speaking, and though it could become annoying at times, Fleur was simply happy to see her younger sister, so she allowed her to go on.
"Is it true that there is a giant squid that lives in the lake?" her mother asked curiously.
Fleur nodded.
"I've seen some of the students feeding it toast."
"Toast?" her father snorted amusedly. "This I have to see."
Fleur rolled her eyes as she followed the man.
For someone who held such a lofty position within the French Ministry of Magic, Sebastien Delacour often displayed moments of what her mother deemed to be 'boyhood wonder'.
It was rather sweet in a way, thought it appeared he had chosen a bad moment to express such curiosity as she spotted a lone figure walking along the shore of the lake.
"Maybe we should come back," Fleur suggested upon seeing him.
"Why?" her father asked confusedly.
Fleur said nothing but nodded towards the boy.
Her father frowned before nodding his understanding.
"Is that Harry Potter?" Gabrielle asked.
Again, Fleur nodded, and before she could stop her, Gabrielle took off towards him.
"Gabby, no!" she groaned.
Her younger sister was too curious and bold for her own good. Fleur had learned long ago to not approach others, and certainly not those like Harry Potter had proven himself to be.
She followed along with her parents and watched as Potter looked up at the approaching girl.
"Hello, Harry Potter," she greeted him in broken English. "Me Gabrielle Delacour."
Fleur wished the ground would swallow her up in that moment.
Gabrielle's grasp on the language was not so adept, and she would not be able to understand the boys' reply. He could say anything to her unsuspecting sister, and she would simply nod along ignorantly.
He stared at her as though it was a cat that was speaking to him before he smiled.
"Hello, Gabrielle," he said simply. "I do not think your sister wishes for you to speak with me," he added, gesturing towards Fleur.
Gabrielle looked at him confusedly before turning to her family.
"He does not think Fleur wishes for you to speak with him."
Gabrielle rolled her eyes and Fleur closed her own, wishing the interaction would end.
"Fleur…stupid sometimes," Gabrielle replied, eliciting a snort of amusement from Potter.
"Gabrielle!"
"Well, she is," Gabrielle returned petulantly. "See, he's not being rude!"
Fleur had of course written to her parents to explain the circumstances she faced in the tournament and had not neglected the details of the brief conversation she'd shared with the younger champion.
"I'm only rude to people who are rude to me," Potter spoke, and Gabrielle turned sharply towards him.
"You speak French? Why did you let me make a fool of myself?" she huffed.
Potter chuckled as he held up his hands.
"Why would I when you were doing such a good job?" he asked. "How long have you been learning?"
"Two years, but I'm not very good."
"That is because you do not practice enough," her mother pointed out.
"Well, you have lots of time to learn," Potter offered. "I bet by the time you start school; you'll be very good."
"I am at school!" Gabrielle retorted hotly. "I'm in my fourth year."
Potter was taken by surprise by the revelation and he shook his head almost apologetically.
"I've put my foot in it, haven't I?" he sighed. "I'm sorry if I offended you."
"So you should be!"
"Gabrielle," her father chided. "I'm sure the young man meant no offense. I suppose he does not understand your circumstances."
"Circumstances?"
Fleur groaned.
Veela were quite secretive of their ways, and certainly anything that pertained to the way they developed.
"Veela do not quite grow the same way as humans," her father explained. "It happens in short, rather dramatic stages, usually within month or so from one extreme to another. Gabrielle has not experienced that, so…"
"She looks younger than she is," Potter finished. "Well, I learned something, and you have my apologies," he said sincerely.
"Hmm, I forgive you this once," Gabrielle warned. "Wait, can't you feel my magic?"
"I was wondering the same thing," her father murmured.
"I can," Potter confirmed. "It's very warm."
Gabrielle frowned and looked towards her father questioningly.
"Perhaps he is immune to it?"
Potter shook his head.
"No, I can feel it trying to interact with me, but I'm fairly good at preventing foreign magics from doing so."
Her father frowned thoughtfully for a moment before his eyebrow quirked and he approached Potter.
"Sebastien Delacour," he introduced himself.
"Harry Potter."
"It was nice to meet you," her father offered interestedly. "Come, Gabrielle. Let us allow this young man to enjoy the rest of his evening. I'm sure he will be happy to talk with you again if your paths cross."
Gabrielle pouted but did as she was bid after waving enthusiastically to Potter.
Fleur was confused by the entire interaction but waited before they were some distance away before broaching the subject, though it was her mother that beat her to it.
"Sebastien?" she pressed.
Her father nodded as he continued to frown.
"What an interesting young man," he mused aloud. "I would not underestimate him if I were you, Fleur."
Fleur tutted irritably.
She was tired of hearing the same words from different people.
"Do not let your ego be the cause of your downfall," her father said sharply. "I expect the boy will be your toughest competition, unless Krum and Diggory have something particularly special to offer."
"What makes you say that, Sebastien?"
Her father smiled knowingly.
"He is an incredibly advanced practitioner of the Mind Arts," he revealed. "He is not immune to your magic but is able to resist it."
"The Mind Arts?" Gabrielle asked curiously.
"It is a branch of magic that offers many benefits. It can be used to shield your mind from those that would wish to damage it or trawl through your memories, and even imitate real emotion for certain kinds of magic. It is an exceptionally powerful tool that He has put much effort into. I suspect he could probably tell if someone was lying to him throughout a conversation."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Fleur asked.
Her father paused before they reached the steps of the castle.
"Because if he has put so much effort into such an obscure branch of magic, just think of how much he has put into the practical application of others," he urged.
Fleur was not entirely convinced, but she could not help but think that her father could be right.
There was something rather different about Harry Potter, and if he had managed to equally surprise and impress her father, it was undoubtedly something Fleur should pay attention to.
(Break)
It wasn't until he as in Potions the very next morning that Harry pondered how truly odd the conversation with the Delacours had been. He'd known immediately that the man who introduced himself as Sebastien had attempted to get a measure of him. He'd been polite and respectful enough, but he'd hidden his intention rather poorly.
Gabrielle, the younger sibling that Harry had mistaken for a little girl, had seemed to be innocent enough.
At first, she'd done her best to mitigate her rather sporadic pulses of magic that had probed at him curiously but failed to do so the longer the conversation continued.
Perhaps she no longer felt the need to when she realised that it was not impacting Harry, or she merely forgot to continue doing so.
What Harry did realise is that Mrs Delacour said very little throughout the exchange, and Fleur had not addressed him at all.
It was strange indeed, though he had been sincere with his apology to the younger girl.
He had made the very same mistake Fleur had when she'd labelled him a little boy'.
At least Harry had the decency to apologise for any offense he'd caused.
Fleur had done no such thing.
Still, not that it mattered to him.
She'd just proven further that she either lacked the manners or ability to correct herself.
"Potter, pay attention!"
The words of Professor Snape pulled Harry from his thoughts, and he returned to tending to his brew. He had improved significantly in his methods, but Potions would never become a favourite subject of his.
It was a shame.
The visions of the Potters he had witnessed depicted them as competent practitioners in the art, which left Harry wondering what had changed for them?
According to Professor McGonagall, his father had been exceptionally gifted in Transfiguration, but had been found lacking in the same way Harry did.
Regardless, he had no doubt that Severus Snape would still despise him, even if he was the best brewer in the castle.
"Excuse me, Professor Snape," a timid voice called from the door.
"What is it?"
"I'm here to take Harry Potter to meet with the other champions, Sir."
Snape's jaw tightened as he glared at Harry.
"Leave your things where they are, Potter," he instructed. "You can finish it when you return."
"Erm, he's supposed to bring his stuff with him, sir," Colin interjected once more, terrified of the response.
"Very well," Snape huffed. "Get out, Potter!"
With a shake of his head, Harry wasted not a second to comply, and in less than a minute, he was walking along with a relieved Colin Creevey through the corridor of the dungeon.
"He scares the crap out of me."
Harry snorted amusedly.
"He scares most people, Colin," Harry comforted. "What's this all about?"
Colin shrugged.
"I was just told to bring you to the room. I don't know anything else."
Harry nodded and the two of them walked in companionable silence until Colin gestured to a door on the second floor.
"They're in there. Good luck."
"Thanks, Colin."
With that, the younger boy took his leave, offering Harry a wave as he did so.
Not knowing what to expect inside, Harry took a breath prepare himself before pushing the door open.
Within, there was a myriad of people including both Bagman and Crouch who Harry had not taken a liking to, along with the three other champions, the heads of each school, and a few others that Harry did not recognise.
One person he did, however, was Mr Ollivander who smiled as their gazes met.
"Ah, now that everyone is here, we can finally begin," Crouch grumbled, shooting Harry a look of disapproval.
"What's this about?" Harry questioned.
"The weighing of the wands, boy," Crouch answered irritably.
"It is a ceremony to ensure that your wand is in full working order," Dumbledore explained. "It is a tradition of the tournament."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"You may proceed when you're ready, Ollivander," Crouch instructed, making his way to the other side of the room so that he wasn't near anyone else.
He was a strange man and not pleasant to be around, though Harry chose to focus on the rather excited wandmaker as he called Krum forward.
"Ah, a Gregorovitch creation," Ollivander declared interestedly. "10 inches, hornbeam, and with a dragon heartstring core. I expect this was one of his last before he took his well-deserved retirement."
Krum merely nodded in response as Ollivander checked the wand over.
"It is in fine condition," he informed the judges before flicking the wand, causing a flock of birds to explode from the end.
With a satisfied nod, he handed it back to Viktor who returned to Karkaroff's side.
"Miss Delacour, if you would?"
The veela walked confidently towards the man, handing over the wand, and waited for his verdict.
Ollivander accepted it, holding the length of wood gently before his eyes widened.
"9 inches, rosewood, and dear me…"
"A hair from my grandmother," Fleur announced proudly.
Ollivander hummed as he gave the wand a deep going over.
"Veela hair would usually be a very volatile core for any other, but if it works for you, who am I disagree," he chuckled, conjuring a dozen roses that he handed to the girl with her wand.
Fleur took the wand and offered Harry a smirk coupled with a look of speculation as she made her way back towards Madame Maxime.
"Mr Diggory?"
Cedric followed suit, handing his wand to Mr Ollivander, and waiting patiently for the man to make his assessment.
"Ah, now this is one of mine," Ollivander said fondly. "12 inches, ash, with a core from a rather ferocious male unicorn. Yes, I remember him well enough. You have taken excellent care of it, Mr Diggory."
"I polished it last night," Cedric replied, and Harry stifled the urge to laugh.
With a final nod and having cast a rather impressive plume of silver smoke, Ollivander deemed it to be in good order before his calculating gaze shifted to Harry.
"And finally, we have Mr Potter."
Harry slid his wand into his hand and offered it to the crafter, interested to hear what the man had to say.
"My, this is quite something," Ollivander whispered almost reverently as he took in every detail of the wand. "11 inches, holly, and with the core of a phoenix."
The only sound within the room was of a scratching quill that Harry had paid no mind to.
His focus was solely on Mr Ollivander and the attention he was paying to his wand.
"It is as flawless as any other I have seen," he murmured. "You certainly took everything I said on board, Mr Potter. Yes, the bond you and your wand have forged with one another is exceptional indeed. So much so that it is resisting my touch. I dare say that if I was to attempt to cast a spell, the wand would not take kindly to it. If you would."
Harry accepted the offered wand and felt a jolt of energy as it rushed to connect with him once more.
With a smile, he waved it, and from the tip, an enormous, fiery thestral erupted, heating the room for a moment before it dissipated.
"Excellent!" Ollivander cried jubilantly. "It warms my heart to see such a relationship."
Silence reigned once more, and Harry was acutely aware of the stares from all within the room he was receiving.
He pointedly ignored them, having no doubt that those who had been questioning his ability were now reconsidering that notion.
Clearing his throat, Ollivander turned towards Dumbledore who was looking at Harry with no small amount of pride.
"That concludes the ceremony," he declared.
"Then I see no reason…"
"Photos, Dumbledore," a blonde woman, one of the people Harry did not recognise within the room interjected.
"Ah, of course," Dumbledore acquiesced.
For the next several moments, the champions were moved around the room whilst several pictures were taken to the point that Harry began to grow irritable with the squabbling between the blonde woman and the man holding camera.
She did her utmost to showcase Harry in the centre of the group, whilst the man insisted on having Fleur in that position.
Harry couldn't care less.
In truth, he'd rather have no part of the affair at all.
Finally, they were satisfied, and the champions were free to leave, though when Harry made his way to the door before the others, he felt someone take hold of his wrist tightly.
He scowled at the blonde woman who was all but leering at him, doing her best disguise it beneath a smile.
"Rita Skeeter," she introduced herself. "I was hoping you would grant me a few moments of your time, Harry."
Harry's nostrils flared as he remembered why the name was familiar.
"I don't think so," he declined.
Her grip tightened around his arm as he attempted to turn away, and Harry pulled himself free.
"I am trying be polite with you, Miss Skeeter, but you are pushing your luck," he warned.
"Come now, Harry," the woman chided. "The public will wish to hear from you. Don't you think they deserve that?"
"I don't owe anything to anyone," Harry returned evenly. "I prefer my privacy, and I ask that you respect that."
Skeeter giggled and the others within the room began to pay attention to the back and forth between them.
"Privacy is a luxury afforded to those uninteresting enough to be granted it," Skeeter said dismissively. "You are a very interesting person, Harry. DO you not wish to connect with your fans?"
Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Fans?" he murmured humourlessly. "I do not want fans. I only want to be left alone, and you will respect that one way or another."
"My, you do have a temper, don't you?" Rita questioned.
Dumbledore approached to intervene, but Harry held up a hand to prevent him from doing so.
He wanted to put an end to any notion the woman had of having any further access to him.
"No, not a temper," he corrected, "but my patience only goes so far to those that wish to write falsehoods and sensationalise facts. I read your article, and I did not appreciate the picture you painted of me. I'm going to say this once, and I want you to look at me when I do."
Skeeter met his gaze and flinched immediately, but Harry had gotten all he needed in a single glimpse.
"We all have our secrets," he chuckled, relaxing considerably. "I prefer to keep mine to myself. If you insist on attempting to rile more by interfering with my private life, I will squash you like… a bug."
The widening of the woman's eyes was barely noticeable, but Harry did not miss it.
He knew many practitioners of the Mind Arts would frown upon what he had done, but to him, it had been for a good cause.
Evidently, Skeeter had not expected his ability and had let her guard down momentarily, just enough for Harry to glean something of value about her.
It was not a mistake she would make again, and even now; she avoided meeting his gaze as she nodded the grudging accord reached between the two.
"I do hope you enjoy the duration of the tournament," Harry offered before taking his leave of the room.
Should Skeeter leave him be, perhaps he would allow her to continue using her ability to learn whatever she wished. However, were she to not adhere to his request, he would make her life decidedly uncomfortable.
For now, Harry was willing to let it lie. He had other things to focus on, like the dragon he would be facing off with in a little over a week.