The next few days were... confusing. No one really knew what to think or how to feel about Harry's entrance into the Tournament, even though he'd made it very clear that he was only cooperating with the judges and other officials because they had basically refused to even attempt to find him a way out of it. Harry's obvious friendship with four of the five other champions had gone a long way to diffuse any possible antagonistic behaviour towards him from the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingents, and the Hogwarts upper years had apparently unanimously decided to lay aside house rivalries to support their two champions.
The Hufflepuffs were the most confused, as was made obvious in his first class with them since Hallowe'en, Herbology. Most of them, namely Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchely, and Ernie MacMillan were overly friendly to him, as though their first thought was to be cold-shouldered towards him, and their second thought was to be ashamed of their un-Hufflepuff behaviour, so they overcompensated. Zacharias Smith was downright rude, but only slightly more than he normally was... Harry had no idea how he'd made it into Hufflepuff in the first place. Then there was Hannah Abbott, who seemed stuck between the two extremes. Even Professor Sprout seemed more distant than her usual cheerful self, but then again, she was the Head of Hufflepuff, and her champion was somewhat of a competitor to Harry.
Care of Magical Creatures was simply horrible. Parkinson was making increasingly snide and cruel remarks, the other Slytherins present, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, simply laughed with her and jeered at Harry. Hagrid's Skrewts had also gotten worse, since they'd apparently started to kill one another. Hagrid said it was just pent-up energy, but Harry and his friends silently disagreed, believing instead that the cross-breeding of Fire Crabs and Manticores simply made for horrifyingly cruel creatures who liked to kill things for fun.
The cruelty of those particular Slytherins was made worse when they had Potions on Friday. Snape was being somewhat kinder to non-Slytherins since his Dark Mark had been removed, no longer having to play the part of the devoted undercover servant of the Dark Lord, but he was still being preferential to his house. This included ignoring any nasty things they said to the Gryffindors across the room, as long as they didn't become louder than a loud whisper; he was still pretending that he hated James Potter, after all, and if Dumbledore got wind that this was no longer the case, he might decide that Snape was no longer useful to him. How Snape had managed to spin getting his Mark removed, he didn't know, and he didn't think he wanted to know, either. Mostly, he got through that class by muttering smart comebacks under his breath and listening to Hermione, who had intoned, "Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them," under her breath repeatedly.
The next Potions class was a double, which was sure to be absolute torture. For a start, every Slytherin except a visibly angry Blaise was wearing a large badge on their robes, whose glowing red messages read:
Support CEDRIC DIGGORY -
The ONLY Hogwarts Champion!
"Like them, Potter-Black?" screeched Parkinson in glee as Harry approached. "This isn't all they do-look!"
She pressed the badge, and the message swirled around, becoming green words:
POTTER STINKS!
The participating Slytherin howled with laughter and pressed their badges as well. Hermione gasped in outrage, Neville and Draco growled, Dean made to move towards them with his fists raised, but Seamus held him back even as he screwed up his face in hatred, and Blaise clenched his jaw and held back a fountain of insults, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Harry, too, wanted to insult and curse them, and he intended to act on it, damn the consequences. Before he could, though, Draco grabbed his arm to stop him just in time, for Professor Snape had opened the classroom door. "And what is all this noise about?" he asked in a quiet, deadly voice.
"We were just showing our school spirit to Potter-Black and his friends, Professor," Parkinson simpered.
Snape raised an eyebrow and looked at the badges as though only just noticing them. "As much as I appreciate that you support your school, Miss Parkinson, I will not have any advertisement of that disgusting Tournament in my classroom. It is bad enough that it is the only thing talked about at the moment."
"Yes, Professor," chimed in the badge-wearing Slytherins, doing as told before making their way inside the classroom.
Harry and his friends passed Snape on his way in, and the man gave a miniscule nod, which they returned in thanks. Harry had noticed that Ron had been strangely quiet and hadn't seemed to react at all throughout the drama, so when he sat down, he twisted so he could see Ron sitting down at the very back of the room. Ron saw him looking and pointedly looked away, which hurt a bit. Sure, Harry and he had drifted away from their friendship slowly during their time at Hogwarts, but he hadn't thought that it was so bad that Ron couldn't see past his jealousy that Harry had something that he didn't to realise that Harry hadn't wanted it in the first place.
He sighed and turned back to the front, where Snape began his short lecture on antidotes. "You should have all prepared your recipes by now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then we will be selecting someone on whom we will be testing theirs to see how effective it is. For a failed antidote, you will receive a Bezoar, and a Troll for the day, and a successful potion's grade will depend on how difficult your selected antidote was. You have one hour, and if it is not immediately obvious to me which antidote you have started, you will receive a Dreadful for the day. After that, you will have half an hour to finish your brew. Begin."
Antidotes were really quite fascinating, since the umbrella term covered such a large range of potions that, technically, a Calming Draught was an antidote to both a Cheering Charm and mental trauma, and a Blood-Replenishing Draught was an 'antidote' to extreme blood loss. Subsequently, the four had each chosen a different potion that was classified as an antidote which interested them-Draco had chosen an Elixir to Induce Euphoria, an antidote to depression, which, even though it was a sixth-year potion, had posed no problems to the future Potions Master; Neville had chosen a Tincture of Courage, which cured shyness and contained two Mimbulus Mimbletonia flowers; Hermione tried for the Wiggenweld Potion, as it was also quite difficult; and Harry had decided upon the far easier General Love Potion Antidote, since he figured that even though it was simple, it had the word 'antidote' in it, and he was positive he could do it well. Harry had only just added his base liquid and turned up the heat to simmer, when Colin knocked timidly on the open door and edged into the room.
"Yes?" Snape said curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter-Black upstairs," Colin almost whispered in fear.
"Potter is here for my lesson, and here he shall stay. He will come upstairs when the class is finished."
Colin went pink. "But-sir, Mr Bagman wants him. All the champions have to go, I think they want to take photos or something..."
"Very well, very well," Snape sneered. "Mr Potter-Black, leave your things here. I want you back down here later to test your antidote."
"Please, sir-he's got to take his things with him," Colin squeaked. "All the champions-"
"Very well!" said Snape harshly. "Take your bag with you. You will be completing and testing your antidote tonight, at seven o'clock." He turned to Colin and mocked, "Is he allowed to do that?"
Colin only gave a terrified squeak in answer and fled the classroom, Harry stifling his amusement as he followed him. As they made their way upstairs, Colin whispered, "I don't get why you find him funny. He's so scary!"
Harry grinned. "Well, when your boyfriend is his adopted son, you learn to look on the funny side rather than being terrified by every little thing he says."
"Oh, Merlin, that's worse!" Colin squeaked. "Remind me to look into how scary any potential boyfriends' parents are, will you?"
Harry thew his arm over Colin's shoulder. "Sure, Colin. Just remember that you can't let fear of anyone or any consequences prevent you from finding love."
Colin grinned back at him. "I'll remember, Harry. Merlin, you're like a big brother to me! I never expected to find someone like that at Hogwarts, now I just need to learn how to be just as good a big brother as you, so I can be the same for Dennis. Oh, here we are!"
They had arrived at a classroom, and with a final, "Good luck," Colin departed, and Harry was left to enter. Inside, he found all but three of the desks had been pushed to the back of the room, and the left-over ones had been covered by a length of deep purple velvet and moved to be near the blackboard, leaving a small gap between the desks and the blackboard. Also within the classroom were Bagman, Rita Skeeter, her photographer, and the five other champions; Viktor and Miro were conversing in low voices in the middle of the room, Fleur and Cedric were chatting happily about some of the secret passageways in Hogwarts, and how they'd discovered them, and Margaux Bernard was standing alone by the window, shooting small, disgusted looks towards Fleur.
At Harry's arrival, Bagman spotted him and got up quickly to get to him quickly. "Ah, here he is! Champion number six! In you come, Harry, 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-"
"Good to see you again, 'Arry," Fleur butted in, embracing him quickly. Margaux snorted, but was ignored by everyone.
Viktor came up and shook his hand, followed by Miro and Cedric.
Bagman decided to try to get back control of the situation. "This is Rita Skeeter," he gestured to the woman in introduction, "she's doing a small piece on the Tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," Skeeter said, hungrily staring at Harry. "I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start? The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of colour?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman.
Harry, however, had been prepared by Luna for this. "Actually," he said, drawing himself up slightly, "you'd have to take that up with my publicist."
"Your publicist?" asked Rita, puzzled. "Whatever would you need a publicist for?"
"Well, I am famous, no matter how much I wish I weren't. I'd rather not be maligned by someone just out for a bit of easy money, so it's her job to protect me. After that, I've got my lawyers to help me," he finished happily.
"Er-well," Rita stammered, "who's your publicist?"
"Oh, Luna Lovegood."
Rita blinked. "Lovegood? The daughter of the owner of The Quibbler?"
"Of course!"
A decade ago, The Quibbler had sued the Daily Prophet for stealing one of their more realistic articles and running it without paying a Knut for it, and the Daily Prophet had ended up paying well over a thousand Galleons because of the brilliant, if slightly bizarre, case that Xenophilius Lovegood had presented to the Wizengamot. It was a fact that had been covered up by the Daily Prophet as much as possible, but it was well-known by those who knew about the case that Luna had been taught her father's techniques, and had shown her proficiency by presenting the ending speech of the case.
Rita shivered. No way was she going to cross a Lovegood. "Erm, I might get into contact with her some time soon... How about pictures, are you allowed to be in those without her consent?" she asked desperately.
Harry shrugged. "I guess, but Luna would probably insist on having some sort of magically binding contract that no solo photographs be taken of me."
Rita nodded fervently. "Of course, of course! No contract needed!"
"Are you sure?" he asked innocently. "I have one she gave me earlier."
With a shaking hand, Rita took the contract he held out and read it, shivering at some of the... inventive punishments that magic would do to her if she broke the contract. Well, that made it impossible for her to sneak around him in her Animagus form-the contract specificallystated that if she tried to get a photo or information off him for an article while she was in any form, including, but not limited to, her normal self, under a glamour, transfigured various ways, Animagus forms, or Polyjuiced, she'd be stripped naked, covered in raspberry jam, forced to sit on an anthill, then run through Diagon Alley singing 'Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off'. Boy, was this family horrifying.
She signed it promptly, and it glowed golden then copied itself once. The original stayed with Harry, and she got the copy.
At that moment, Dumbledore and the other judges arrived with Ollivander in tow. "Ah, are we all here?" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Good! We can get started, then."
First up was Viktor, who handed over his wand for examination. Ollivander took it and hummed. "This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I... however..." He examined the wand closely, then spoke again. ""Hornbeam and dragon heartstring, yes?" Viktor nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"
Viktor's wand let out a loud blast, and some birds flew out the tip before flying out the window.
"Good, good," the man said, before gesturing to Margaux. "You next, my dear. Hmm, ah, yes... Walnut and phoenix feather! Slightly bendy... seven and three-quarter inches..." He transfigured his own hat into a white rabbit and back again. "Quite lovely wand, that."
Cedric was next, and after a tale of the unicorn that had provided the ash wand's core, Ollivander produced some silver smoke rings across the room.
Miro approached Ollivander at his behest. "Another Gregorovitch wand, yes? Sycamore, with a dragon heartstring core... twelve inches... flexible." A comfy chintz armchair appeared was conjured in the middle of the room, and Dumbledore immediately made a happy exclamation and sat down in it, immediately pulling out some knitting from somewhere. Perhaps the old goat had gone slightly senile?
"Mademoiselle Delacour, come forward, if you please," said Ollivander. She did so, and handed over her wand. "Nine and a half inches, inflexible... rosewood... and containing... dear me..."
"An 'air from ze 'ead of a Veela," Fleur said. "One of my grandmuzzer's."
"Yes, well I've found Veela hair to make quite temperamental wands, so I've never used it myself... but to each his own, and if this suits you... Orchideous!" a bunch of flowers burst from the wand, and he handed them and the wand to Fleur.
“Good. This leaves Mr Potter-Black.” Harry walked over and handed his wand to the man. However, Oliver was fairly quiet for his wand, merely saying, “Aaaah, yes. Yes, yes, yes, Morwenna told me about this one… not what I would have chosen for you, but it seems to have worked rather nicely for you...”
He took quite some time studying it, saying nothing, then handed it back with a perfunctory, "English oak and a dual core of thunderbird feather and phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, quite supple.”
After that, all the champions were clustered together for a series of photographs, in which Rita Skeeter kept moving him further towards the back in fear of Luna's consequences, and Fleur was moved further forwards by the photographer. Then, it was suddenly over, and Harry, Fleur, Viktor, Miro, and Cedric made plans to have lunch together, then study for their first tasks in the Room of Requirement that weekend.