It was the morning of the Weighing of the Wands, I had just walked to potions, when Harry and Ron has started a fight with Malfoy and his goons.
Severus had just stopped the fight, now Harry and Ron were making fun of him.
"Stop it!" I yelled, "Can't you see he's trying to be fair? Right?" I glared at the son of Hecate.
"Obviously, Mr Di Angelo, I was trying to be fair, but seeing that they were rude... Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
After everyone went in the room and sat down, he began the lesson.
"The Drought of Living Death!" said Severus, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly at the offending duo. "Begin!"
I glanced down at the textbook Severus had given me, it had very thorough steps.
1. Add the Infusion of Wormwood.
2. Add the powdered root of asphodel.
3. Stir twice clockwise.
4. Add the sloth brain.
5. Add the Sopophorous bean's juice.
6. Stir seven times anti-clockwise.
Then I looked at the notes in Ancient Greek, I could recognize it as Severus's elegant handwriting.
1. The Sopophorous bean should be crushed with a silver dagger, not cut, releases juices more efficiently.
2. The juice from 13 Sopophorous beans should be used, rather than 12.
3. Stir anticlockwise seven times and clockwise once instead.
I smiled, Very clever Severus, giving me a handbook with the right steps, written in Ancient Greek. But I don't need them.
I placed the book in my bag and started the potion without looking at the steps. I looked around the room, no one was watching me. I waved my hand over the cauldron of water and the previously clear liquid became a pale lilac color, then became a really pale pink color.
I raised my hand, "Severus, I'm finished!"
The Gryffindors all gasped, probably thinking I would be killed. The Slytherins all giggled, probably thinking the same thing and wanted me to get in trouble.
To their evident surprise, Severus didn't murder me, he stopped walking in front of me and dropped a leaf in the Drought. "Refrain from using my first name during school hours, Mr Di Angelo." He drawled.
The leaf that had gone in my potion, upon contact with the pale liquid, immediately disintegrated.
Severus smiled at me, with a smile so small, that only I could tell he was smiling. "A perfect Draught of Living Death. And within a couple of minutes... however did you do it? Five points to—"
He was interrupted by the door slamming open, a boy walked in.
"Colin!" Harry whispered, exitedly.
"Yes?" said Severus curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter and Nico di Angelo upstairs."
Severus stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.
"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," said Sevvy coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished. Di Angelo, you may go upstairs."
Colin went pink.
"Sir — sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . . ."
"Very well, very well," Severus snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your draught."
"Please, sir — he's got to take his things with him," squeaked Colin. "All the champions —"
"Very well!" said Severus. "Potter — take your bag and get out of my sight!"
I swung my bag over my shoulder, got up, and headed for the door, Harry following.
As I walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at us from every direction, I stifled a snort at the pins.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind us. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"
"Yeah, really amazing," said Harry heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"
"The Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Great," said Harry dully. "Exactly what I need. More publicity."
"Good luck!" said Colin when they had reached the right room. I knocked on the door and entered.
We were 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 I had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes. I glanced at the ceiling where two iridescent butterflies were hovering. I was so glad my sisters were there.
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. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.
I shuddered, that's so creepy!
Bagman suddenly spotted us, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here they are! Champion 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 —"
"Wand weighing?" I repeated nervously.
"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," said Bagman. "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 Harry and me.
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.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry and Nico before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly on us. "The youngest champions, you know . . . to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is — if they have no objection?"
"Er —" said Harry.
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and 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.
I gulped nervously, "So now I just do what?"
Bagman smiled at me, "Wait here for her to finish Harry, then it'll be your turn."
I nodded, then waited, and waited, and waited. Until after what seemed like forever, they came out of the room.
Rita Skeeter beckoned for me to go with her, and pulled me into the tiny room. "We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see . . . ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
I raised an eyebrow, We are in a broom closet. Are you serious?
"Come along, dear — that's right — lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing me down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing us into darkness. "Let's see now . . ."
She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.
"You won't mind, Nico, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally. . . ."
"Sorry, a what?" I asked.
Rita Skeeter's smile widened. I counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green 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.
"Testing . . . my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter."
I looked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter 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 —
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned towards me and said, "So, Nico . . . what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Um —" I said again, but I was distracted by the quill. Even though I wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake I could make out a fresh sentence:
The mysterious new student, Nico di Angelo. Coming to Hogwarts for the first time, in his fourth year-
"Ignore the quill, Nico," said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly, I looked up at her instead. "Now — why did you decide to enter the tournament, Nico?"
I shrugged, "My sister dared me to, we both put our names in the goblet."
Rita Skeeter looked scandalized, "So it didn't block you from entering? I thought there was an age line?"
"There was, me and my sister were old enough, I guess—she's in my year."
The age line that was supposed to keep out underaged participants that Dumbledore has placed so much trust in, fails. Nico di Angelo and his sister—both are fourth years—were able to cross the line and place their names within the goblet. Is Dumbledore's magic failing? Or is there something more nefarious going on at Hogwarts?
"How do you feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter. "Excited? Nervous?"
"I haven't really thought . . . yeah, nervous, I suppose," I said. My insides squirmed uncomfortably as I spoke.
"Champions have died in the past, haven't they?" said Rita Skeeter briskly. "Have you thought about that at all?"
"Well . . . they say it's going to be a lot safer this year," I said. "But I haven't died yet, so it would be fairly embarrassing to be killed by some tournament."
The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.
"Of course, you're going against someone that has seen death in the face, and three experienced, older students." said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"
I scoffed, "I highly doubt anyone else in this school—except the ghosts—have seen Death in the face."
"And why would you say that?" She questioned.
I gulped, "Oh, you meant metaphorically? I thought you meant, like, actually seeing Death in his face."
"So, you called death a he?" She questioned.
I nodded slowly, careful because she could twist anything I said into something else. "Yes, it's part of my religion."
"Interesting," She said, chewing on her quill. "What religion is that?"
I shrugged, "It's really more of a hobby than a religion, it's what people call Greek Myths." I winced at the words 'Myths' and hoped she wouldn't notice.
"There's no trace of you at any other wizarding schools, so that leads me to believe you've been with muggles your entire life? Did you get your Hogwarts letter?"
"Uh—Well, I didn't get my Hogwarts letter." Probably because when I was twelve, I was conspiring with King Minos. "And yes, I have not been with magical folk most of my life."
She nodded, "So about your family, we know you have a sister. What's her name? How many siblings? Which parent is a wizard or witch? And how did you find out about Hogwarts, if you have been with muggles?"
I cleared my throat, "Well, I have f—three siblings." I bit my lip, leaving out Bianca — it was too painful. "That are alive at least. My sister's names are Selena and Serena, they are my half-siblings. My mom's a muggle—I think. My dad? I'm not sure, I'll ask him. And I found out about Hogwarts when Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and his groupies, kidnapped me. Accusing me of conspiring with my evil ancestor, Voldemort."
She gasped, "They kidnapped you? You're descended from You-Know-Who?"
"They seem to think he's my evil great-uncle or something. I don't think he's my great-uncle, though. My grandparents only had female siblings." I looked at the paper, it said:
This reporter is scandalized to report that the famed Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter kidnapped Nico di Angelo from his home, accusing him of conspiring with the Dark Lord. Is the great Albus Dumbledore above the law? What other laws has he broken in his quest against the self proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort? Is this innocent child in front of me really related to the Dark Lord? These are questions that remain unanswered, but this reporter promises to find out the truth.
"Oh, you poor dear! May I ask about the other sibling?"
"Preferably not." I said coldly. "I believe this interrogation is over." I stood up and strode out of the closet (Not that kind of closet!), pushing past Dumbledore. I sat down in a chair next to the other champions, I pulled my wand out and twirled it around my fingers.
"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."
"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 Fleur was part veela, I thought, making a mental note to tell the twins . . . they carried a mysterious hatred towards veelas.
"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, apparently 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 Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you next."
Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.
"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 down at my own wand. I hadn't used it much, so it looked practically new.
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 wandmaker, 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. "Mr. Potter."
Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
"Aaaah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember."
Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
"Now, Mr. Di Angelo?"
I briskly walked over to him and handed my wand to him.
"Aaaah, very particular...." Mr. Ollivander looked up, "Where did you get this wand?"
I shrugged, "My half-brother gave it to me."
He looked surprised, "Really? Did you know it's made of Elder Wood and Thestral Tail-Hair?"
I nodded, "Yes?"
If possible, he looked even more surprised than before. His large eyes, growing larger. "There is only one other known wand made of the same material. Do you know what that is?"
I shook my head.
"The Elder Wand, the other one like this is the Elder Wand. It's rumored to be the most powerful wand in existence! Given to the original owner by Death himself!"
Rita Skeeter looked positively delighted by that piece of news, no doubt her quill was writing everything down.
"Mr. Ollivander?" Harry called,
"Yes?"
"I heard Nico say that a nickname for his brother is death, I was wondering if his wand is the Elder Wand?"
I shook my head, "Not possible, the wielder of the Elder Wand is Albus Dumbledore."
Mr. Ollivander chuckled. "My dear boy, you are correct! May I ask how you know of this? Dumbledore indeed holds the Elder Wand! Alas, Harry, I think it's possible that you are mistaken."
I noticed, with no small amount of satisfaction, look of shock on Harry's face.
I quickly added, "Oh, I think I read it in a book somewhere. I never knew that my wand was related to it though!"
"But how? It was a closely kept secret!" Mr. Ollivander said, surprise and shock evident on his wrinkled face.
I smirked, "A magician never reveals their secrets."
"Ok, now may I test your wand?" Mr. Ollivander asked.
I nodded, "Sure,"
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The pillow that had been on the table, flew through the air, and landed a couple of meters away. "Wow, very strong! Take good use of this wand, don't lose it." Mr. Ollivander said, handing it back to me.
I nodded, "I kind of can't lose it?"
Harry scoffed, "Of course you can lose it!"
I smiled, "I literally can't lose it, watch!" I threw my wand across the room, reached into my pocket, and pulled my wand out. "See?"
Harry stared at me in shock, "B—But how?"
I smirked, "Wouldn't you like to know? By the way — I'm not going to tell you!" I stood up to walk out the room.
"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 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 Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry and me into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, we were free to go.
I went down to dinner, it was lonely. Selena and Serena were both gone, I supposed they went to go spy on the others.