When I woke up on Sunday morning, it took me a moment to remember why I felt so miserable and worn out.
I sat up and ripped back the curtains of my own four poster, thanking Merlin, Morgana and every deity out there for giving me some six hours sleep, without any troubles of the real world interfering.
I dressed myself and went down the spiral staircase into the common room.
The moment I appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again.
The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating me like some sort of hero, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow myself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to me to join them.
I went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. Despite skipping breakfast, I did not feel hungry at all, the stay at Dursley's had given me a habit of sorts, while they didn't left me starving I wasn't given sufficient food as well. So, one could easily say that this was normal for me.
It was a chilly morning, and I sat down on the edge of the Black Lake, and wrote a letter to Sirius, knowing that this Tournament is a big thing and press will be involved. And with that thought I once again went into my memories to check if the Potter Family has any shares in the Daily Prophet, which is a popular news paper and was quite happy to see that Potters did have 15% capital shares. Which means no sensible employee would dare to write anything against me.
Then finally I went up to the Owlery and tied my letter to Hedwig, and whispered to her softly, "Hey, is it okay if I cast a Colour Changing Charm on you?" She looked up at me and hooted, so, I softly smiled and said, "colovaria!" And watched as Hedwig's once white fur turned brownish grey like any other owl in owlery and stroked her gently.
She still looked beautiful and royalty. Of course she would, she was my companion after all.
"Okay, take this to Sirius, and be careful." I said softly as she nibbled my finger affectionately and flew off.
For the rest of the day, I spent most of my time reading books on Olde and Forgotten Magic Theories and thankfully other than some occasional pointing and glaring from the other houses, I was left alone.
The following day showed me that every other house believed that I hat entered my name in the Goblet of Fire, like Gryffindor but instead of Gryffindors proud and happy reaction there's was anger and hatred for me. And it was starting to feel like bloody second year all over again.
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 I 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.
Ron and Hermione weren't talking to me either which was considerably a very good news for me, as it saved me from their constant yammering.
I would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too — the first time I would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion. Not that their comments hurt me or anything, now that I think about it, with living with the mentally and physically abusive Dursley's I have become so thick-skinned that I don't think they could hurt me even if they tried.
Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.
"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of me. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt she's going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because 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 plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.
"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"
"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er — yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra pre- caution, like. Lyra — you come here an' help me with this big one. . . ."
Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to me away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to me and said, very seriously, "So — yer competin', Lyra. In the tournament. School champion."
"One of the champions," I corrected him instinctively.
Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.
"No idea who put yeh in fer it, Lyra?"
"You believe I didn't do it, then?" I asked, feeling gratitude that someone still believes in me, because no one has ever believed in me, I mean no one ever has, sure they believe my facade but not me.
Despite everything, however, strong, confident I portrayed myself, there was a constant reminder at the back of my head reminding me how no one would believe me if I shouted, screamed or sobbed for them to just believe something I say just once. . . just once. Not try to discredit me, not mock me, not taunt me, not try to get something from me. Just me. Without any facades, without any masks just believe in me.
I blinked away the tears quickly from my eyes and I looked at Hagrid giving him a genuine, real smile, which has been too long since, I have given it to some other human than Madam Pormfrey.
" 'Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh — an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."
The last statement filled me with bitter sentiments, despite caring for Hagrid a lot I knew he was very much under Dumbledore's thumb and for all I know Dumbledore may be the one who wrote my name in the Goblet of Fire, it will not be the first time that he wanted me to do something heroic and majestic to improve my skills.
Hagrid despite being under the influence of Dumbledore's greatness was the one who showed me some light away from the abusive Dursley's, introduced me to the Wizarding World, took me away from the world full of technologies to a world filled with fantasy and magic.
Something I would be forever grateful for. Magic—was the best thing that has happened to me, it was the very best part of me. Something that was pure, undiluted. Something that is just mine.
"Wish I knew who did do it," I said unable to hide the bitter tone.
The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty.
The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs — but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.
"Look like they're havin' fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily.
His statement despite the misery surrounding me, eating me made my lips twitch up to a small smile because I knew Hagrid was talking about the skrewts, because my darling class mates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.
"Ah, I don' know, Lyra," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at me with a worried expression on his face. "School champion . . . everythin' seems ter happen ter you, doesn' it?"
I didn't answer him back, to his rhetorical question because I truly didn't know how to answer that.
Everyone would just assume because everything happens to me I was going looking for trouble, if they only know that I just don't want anything that has happened to me. More than anyone could even imagine or know.
The next few days, I spend my time reading about previous TriWizard Tournaments that has happened before, and I was not surprised that it had ended with people dead, because the tasks were absolutely horrendous and horrid, with with last tournament having bloody cockatrice, which broke free and attacked and successfully injured three students when it broke into a rampage.
With the task coming close by and I knew that my parents will, is going to released tomorrow officially, to say I was stressed and tired was an easy term usage.
Hiring Lord Yaxley seemed to be a very good decision as he had gathered sufficient evidence to remove Sirius's charges, and subtly arranging a trial date which is going to be in January most probably. He had found enough evidence to remove the order for the Dementors chasing Padfoot and he was saying that with the help of a Truth Serum Padfoot would easily be declared innocent of his alleged crimes.
He was quick, focused and determined and straight to the point, things I appreciated and was making my job easier and I now knew that I only had to pay Lady Selwyn a few months more now, because Sirius wasn't officially disowned ever, hence, he was still the heir of Black Family name when he ran away from home.
I had of course told Sirius all about the new developments, and had successfully convinced him to remain in hiding for now and not trust Dumbledore till I have explained everything and to my surprise he agreed quickly saying he trusted me, which filled me with warmth because he didn't even know me and yet he trusted me enough to disobey his former mentor.
He had said that he was with Remus. Remus had learned all about the developments too quickly and after some protests regarding my safety they agreed with me quickly after I explained my whole plan rather quickly. Well some parts.
In fact Remus and Sirius had told me how to handle press which this tournament will ensure. They had told me since, I was a minor, no press handle could write about me officially. Something that relaxed me greatly as I could decline the Press vultures or specifically this Rita Skeeter quickly as it well within my rights.
However, inside the castle everything was going not so well, as like Gryffindors had every other house too believed that I had put my name in the Goblet they were making me some sort of pariah and being cold and detached at me, mostly like in year second when they all had thought I was the one who was petrifying the students in the castle as I was a parstletongue, and had believed me to be the Heiress of Slytherin.
However much I could understand the fickle attitude crowds carry, it didn't make me very happy, well nothing did. But I liked Hogwarts a lot more when they were not burning holes into my skull or at least only one house was drilling holes to my head.
I really could understand the Hufflepuffs' attitude, they had their own champion to support and they were often declared as push-overs so, them being angry at me was understandable as they were big on the whole loyal thing.
I expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins — as I was highly unpopular there and always had been, because I had helped Gryffindor beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship breaking their winning streak.
But the Ravenclaws were the surprising lot, even Michael had decided that I am an attention seeking bitch which I didn't have any problem with because I frankly didn't care much of his opinion.
Shocking however, was the fact that I had believed that Ravenclaws would have more brain than the other lot, to think through the situation. I was wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that I had been desperate to earn a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting my name, which at this point I wished I really could have done, because the Confusion Charm Moody suggested the Goblet was charmed to believe that I was from a Fourth School even though quite easy to cast was very difficult, and I mean very difficult to maintain on a magical artefact as old as the Goblet.
Professor Trelawney was predicting my death with every breath I took, and the Summoning Charm in Professor Flitwick's I was doing good at thankfully only made people more adamant on the fact that I had tricked the Goblet to take my name, as it was no surprise that I was a prodigy at Charms and DADA.
Double Potions was always a horrible experience and more than usual, as these days it was nothing short of torture and I would know.
Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish me as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing I could imagine as not only did I have to maintain my facade, I had to bite my tongue and hold in my magic and anger waiting to unleash on these pathetic people just to show them who they were daring to talk to.
Hermione and Ronald weren't talking to me either which honestly was more of a blessing than a curse, but that made people believe that I was vulnerable. Bloody parts, if only they knew that I was anything but weak in more than one way.
When I arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, I found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes.
For one wild moment I believed they were S.P.E.W. badges — then I saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:
"SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY—
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!"
"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as he saw me approaching. "And this isn't all they do — look!"
He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:
POTTER STINKS
The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around me, I felt my anger spike murderously and my forest green eyes which were usually very dull darkened in anger as I glared at them. I felt heat rushing to my cheeks in fury, as I clenched my hand arounding my wand, for some sort of comfort to smooth the anger.
"Oh very funny," I said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."
Ron and Hermione were standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. They weren't laughing, but looking at me blankly but I could see smugness in their eyes. That didn't help my anger a little bit.
"Want one, Potter? I have got loads but don't touch my hand I don't want anything of your mud blood mothers to slime it up. Oh? Wait I forgot they are dead, both are." Parkinson said as my anger exploded in my chest hearing her filthy mouth saying mom's name and my wand wiped out before I knew what I was doing and I muttered, "Comfringo!"
And I felt satisfaction when her body harshly slammed to wall behind her, effectively knocking her out but didn't hear anything breaking thankfully.
My chest heaved in fury, and I loudly asked, angrily, "Anyone else want to say anything about my parents?"
Silence. Absolute silence encased the grounds where everyone was laughing at me just a moment ago now, were looking at me and back to Parkinson's knocked out body in fear and awe.
After a while, of complete silence, one of the girls who was laughing with Parkinson, whom I recognised as Daphne Greengrass, the dubbed ice-queen of our year stepped forward and yelled out, " Densaugeo!"
I quickly flicked my wand and yelled out, "Protego!"
A white shield, absorbed the curse and I smirked at her coldly, tauntingly, showing openly that she was nothing compared to me. I could see from the corner of my eye, many of the students looking at with slacked jaws and wide eyes, clearly surprised. But I was too angry, to care about the consequences of the curse and magic I was using right now.
My eyes were dark flashing with danger and my messy hair was blowing from the light breeze and I was standing a little more taller, portraying the real Lyra Potter for the first time. Showing the dark, angry and clever Lyra Potter which I suppress with every passing moment. My cheeks were slightly flushed pink as I looked at the girl infront of me, who dared to stand up to me.
"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice, breaking me out of my anger and snap back to reality. I realised that my wand was threateningly pointed at Greengrass who had a terrified expression on her face unusual from her cold one. The Alarte Ascendare spell on the tip of my tongue waiting to be unleashed on the incompetent witch in front of me, my magic was slightly though not fully was surrounding the courtyard causing the breeze to pick up, which I saw made some people shudder clearly feeling the anger in my magic and clutched their coats or robes tighter.
But the arrival of Prof. Snape had caused me to retract my magic immediately, recognising and knowing that now was not the time for this. I slowly lowered my wand and took deep breaths to both control my magic which was swirling, waiting to be put in use and my anger, and strengthened made my demeanour to the golden girl once again.
The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed at Malfoy after walking up Parkinson up and I took some delight to the fact she stumbled before she could focus herself once again and said, "Explain."
"Potter and Parkinson were arguing and then Potter attacked Parkinson" Malfoy gave the most shortened version of truth, and it made my lips twitch up for a mili-second in amusement. I wasn't even slightly ashamed that I had attacked Parkinson, she deserved it very clearly.
Snape looked at me and Parkinson at the same time, me with malice and hatred filled eyes as I stared at him unbothered but made sure to keep a disbelieving facade.
"What was the argument about?" Snape to my utter surprise asked.
Before Parkinson could open her filthy mouth I answered my voice cold, yet still angry, "Parkinson decided to degrade my dead mother who died loving me because she is jealous her mother does not love her even if she is breathing." I said looking at Parkinson with a ghost of smirk on my mouth, taking delight in the fact as her eyes snapped up to mine. Her black eyes were filled with both pain, hurt and anger at me, making my lips twitch up to a small smile while my eyes were filled with malice.
Admittedly, mom and dad were a sore and soft topic for me. And anyone saying anything against them would face my wrath.
Some people started snickering at my words, forgetting about how they were laughing at me few moments ago, filling Parkinson's eyes fill with tears which she blinked away quickly. I knew that this should have bought some sort of guilt in me, but it didn't, I felt nothing but amusement at her pain, however much, I justify it I knew it was wrong to hit other people's soft spot.
But I didn't care, because no one did care for me ever. No one cared for my needs or wants so, why should I?
"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Twenty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
I didn't even bother saying anything, still bustling with anger inside at Parkinson's audacity to speak about such subjects.
On the other side of the dungeon, Parkinson and Greengrass turned their back and glared at me as I smiled sweetly at them which seemed to have taken them back for a second before my eyes flashed coldly and their backs straightened in fear as they did a double take, but I had hidden that part of me, making them wonder if they had imagined it.
I took my seat and wiped my wand with my handkerchief seeing the finger marks, I always have loved my wand a lot and made sure to take care for it nicely. Snape began the class quickly.
"Antidotes!" said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly.
"You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one. . . ."
Snape's eyes stopped for a second on Ronald, and it made my holes bundled up hoping accidentally Snape murders Ronald or at least causes severe pain to him.
And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on my thoughts.
It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at me and I force myself to not bang my head on the table repeatedly as he walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.
"Yes?" said Snape curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Lyra Potter upstairs." Snape stared down at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.
Sometimes I really enjoy Snape terrifying students, I thought briefly.
"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "She will come upstairs when this class is finished."
Colin went pink.
"Sir , Mr. Bagman wants her. All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . . ." Creevey explained enthusiastically as I forced myself to not groan in annoyance, I knew I could get out of the picture and article easily but still the thought was annoying.
"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."
"Please, sir — she's got to take his things with her. All the champions —" Creevey squeaked terrified now. How easily does this moods change?
"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!"
I swung my bag over my shoulder, got up, and headed for the door.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Lyra?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment I had closed the dungeon door behind me. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"
"Yeah, really amazing," I said entertaining the little runt sighing heavily, sarcasm very evident which he didn't pick up on. How much of an idiot is this kid?
I knocked at the door politely on the door and entered.
I noted that I 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 who was wearing magenta robes whom I recognised as Rita Skeeter, the famous gossip writer of the Daily Prophet and immediately knew she would try to get an exclusive with me.
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 I had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light and I knew for a fact that she was using her beauty for publicity. All this was her act and I saw Diggory was actually buying it!
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 me got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Lyra, 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 —"
I nodded, knowing what the wand weighing ceremony is from all the bloody books I had read about this ridiculous tournament.
"The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet. . . ."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on me eyeing me like she was the predator in this situation, if only she knew.
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.
In short, she looked horrible for the wear.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Lyra before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at me. "The youngest champion, you know . . . to add a bit of color?"
"No, I am a minor, so, nothing of me can be on a news paper." I said coldly smiling at the Reporter whose annoyed eyes flickered at me, and the Bagman looked nervous now.
"You certainly can." Rita said as she got up and held my hand in a tight hold as she tried to steer me away from there.
I quickly snatched my hand away in disgust, how dare she touch me?
My smile now looking rather fixed, I said sweetly, " I do apologise but I am a minor and without explicit permission nothing of me can go on a paper."
Rita Skeeters eyes narrowed at me sharply as her lips twisted to a scowl before she dropped it quickly and nodded seemingly polite.
Soon, Dumbledore came down and looked at Rita Skeeter as she was the nearest to him.
"How are you?" she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. "I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Conference?"
"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat."
I had to give it to her because she didn't look remotely abashed like every other people do under Dumbledore's dammed twinkle.
"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards in the street—"
"I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita," said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, "but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start."
The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and I sat down quickly next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting — Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman.
Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; I 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.
"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
I had met Mr. Ollivander before — he was the wand-maker from whom I had bought my own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley.
"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.
Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.
"Hmmm . . ." he said.
He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.
"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches . . . inflexible . . . rosewood . . . and containing . . . dear me . . ."
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela," said Fleur. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
So Delacour was part veela, this confirmed my suspicion.
"Yes" said Mr. Ollivander, "yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . .however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . ."
Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.
"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Delacour with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."
Delacour glided back to her seat, smiling at Diggory as he passed her, how fun is it to act all the time I thought sarcastically looking at her for a second, knowing it because I do it as well and knew the tell tale signs by now. And Delacour's smile was a little too tight. Hm, amateur bitch.
"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand.
"Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn . . . must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches . . . ash . . . pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. . . . You treat it regularly?"
"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.
I looked around bored as my gaze met Delacour's patronising look as I rolled my eyes and looked away not even trying to hide my detest for the other girl.
Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum, if you please."
Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck footed, toward Mr. Ollivander.
He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.
"Hmm," said Mr. Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I . . . however . . ."
He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.
"Yes . . . hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded.
"Rather thicker than one usually sees . . . quite rigid . . . ten and a quarter inches . . . Avis!"
The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
"Good," said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves . . . Miss. Potter."
I got to my feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander.
I handed over my wand to him.
"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."
I could remember too.
I could remember it as though it had happened yesterday. . . .
Four summers ago, on my eleventh birthday, I had entered Mr. Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy a wand.
Mr. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing me wands to try. I had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last I had found the one that suited me — this one, which was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix.
Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that I had been so compatible with this wand.
"Curious," he had said, "curious," and not until my patience wore thin and asked what was curious had Mr. Ollivander explained that the phoenix feather in my wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's.
I had obviously never shared this piece of information with anybody.
I was admittedly very fond of his wand, and as far as I was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help — rather as I couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. And Voldemort while echoing Ollivander's words was was great while terrible was great. And the former part was something I focused on more.
However, I really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it.
Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining my wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to me, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
"Thank you all," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —"
Feeling that at last something had gone right today, I got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"
"Er — yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon me again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."
The photographs 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 I 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 Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging me into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.
Unfortunately, my minor policy went out and Rita just listen it from one ear and then it escaped from her brain.
I ate my dinner silently and peacefully and ignored the slight whispering that seemed to be happening about me, no doubt about the incident from earlier this morning.
I quickly went to the Gryffindor Tower and as soon as I reached my dorm, dead on the feet's I went to sleep and finally after hours of restless moving my brain decided to shut up and I was able to get the comforts of sleep.