\ wherein she's too blind to realize /
WHEN I WOKE UP on Sunday morning, it took me a moment to remember why I had been feeling so miserable and worried the night before.
Then the memories came and hit me like a brick.
I opened my eyes weakly to see Hermione poring over a book, the tip of her wand lighting up the pages.
"Hello," she said, shutting her book and putting out the light. "I figured you'd need a friend at breakfast today, after..."
When it finally occurred to me that she wasn't under the impression I had entered myself, I let a small sigh of relief escape my lips.
"Thanks," I said gratefully, dragging myself out of bed.
The two of us got changed and escaped the muffling silence of our dormitory, there because Lavender and Parvati, our dormmates, were under the impression I had cheated; both of them were dreadfully in love with Fleur Delacour.
I understood where they were coming from, though, so I wasn't harsh on them about not believing me. Because, after all, who wasn't in love with Fleur?
We headed to the Great Hall while the sun streamed in through the glistening windows and sat across from a certain ginger, and I had no idea how he would react but I prayed for the best.
"Hello, Ron," I said faintly, sliding into the seat and pulling a plate towards me. "How're you?"
"Fine," he said stiffly. Hermione and I swapped anxious glances.
"Do you know if we have Potions homewo-"
"Tell me the truth: did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely not." I said promptly. He glared at his goblet for a second, and I was seventy percent sure he was trying to move it with his mind so it could spill all over me.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we've got a roll of parchment on some elixir."
"Oh," I said softly, but if he could tell how elated I was to find that he still found me as a friend, he didn't mention it.
"Actually," Hermione began, "we've got to study for a test tomorrow."
"A test?" Ron and I said, bewildered.
"On what?"
"On every potion we've learnt so far." said Hermione.
"Hermione, you brilliant woman, love of Ron's life, most incredible genius I have ever met-"
"Yes, yes, I'll give you my notes," Hermione said, rolling her eyes irritably with a twinge of pink visible on her cheeks.
"Ron, one more thing...Harry didn't put his name in either." I added cautiously; yes, I wasn't supposed to change the timeline, but Harry really needed his best friend supporting him. This changed Ron's mood drastically, though, because his faint smile dissipated immediately.
"Sure," he said tersely, gripping his fork so hard I was sure he would bend the metal any moment.
After we ate, wholly avoiding Harry as a whole topic, Hermione and I headed back to Gryffindor Tower together, and I was holding a stack of toast for the boy who would undoubtedly be in desperate need of a friend at the moment.
"Balderdash- Harry, the fuck-?"
Harry was standing like a statue in the middle of the common room, surrounded by people clapping and cheering him on, his face red. I rolled my eyes and stroed forward, grabbing his arm and completely ignoring the whoops that arose as I pulled him away.
"Hello," I said, putting the toast in his hand, covered with a napkin. We walked to the portrait hole, where Hermione was waiting for the two of us. "Want to go for a walk?"
"Please," he said gratefully, catching my eye.
We 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. It was a chilly morning, and we kept moving as Harry and I told Hermione exactly what had happened after we had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To Harry's obvious relief, Hermione accepted the story without question; it was pretty obvious, but it seemed he was a little on edge about losing his best friend.
"Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself," she said after he finished. "The look on your face when he called out your name! But...who put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry, Pheobe...I don't think any student could have done it...they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore's -"
"Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted, looking questioningly between Hermione and me.
Hermione and I swapped looks unsurely.
"Erm...yes...he was at breakfast," Hermione said hesitantly.
"Does he still think I entered myself?"
"Well...no, I don't think so...not really," she said awkwardly.
"What's that supposed to mean, 'not really'?"
"Oh, Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous of you!"
"Jealous?" Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"
"Look," I said after a second of Hermione staring at the grass determinedly, "it's always you who gets all the attention, Harry, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," I added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it...but - well - you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous - he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but..."
"Great," said Harry bitterly. "Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it....People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go...might as well just wear a permanent hat..."
"Tell him yourself, Harry, it's the only way-!"
"I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!" He said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or -"
"That's not funny," said Hermione quietly. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious. "Pheobe, Harry, I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"
"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the -"
"Write to Sirius." Hermione interrupted Harry. "You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts....It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me."
"Sirius? Black?" I asked, my eyes wide, "shit, that guy's awesome!"
"Come off it," said Harry, looking around to check that we couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament -"
"He'd want you to tell him," said Hermione sternly. "He's going to find out anyway."
"How?"
"Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet," said Hermione, very seriously. "This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing....You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know...and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would."
"Okay, okay, I'll write to him," said Harry, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake. The three of us stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface.
"The giant squid," I said softly. "Hermione, any chance a book says it has a name?"
"Er-" said Hermione, looking taken aback. "No, I don't- I don't think so."
"Then I'll call him Octavian," I grinned brightly, "Octavian the squid that won't ever judge us." we watched the lake for a few more seconds, and suddenly the tentacle rose out of the water once more and dropped a small silver ring on the shore before disappearing into the water. Hermione and Harry stared at me as I walked forward carefully and picked it up, reading 'S.O.B' engraved on the inside.
"Did that squid just propose to you?" Harry exclaimed.
"He beat you to it, that's for sure," Hermione shot with a smirk. I turned around as Harry's face turned red.
"What? I don't- I-"
"We've only known each other, like, three months, Hermione," I said with a roll of my eyes, slipping the ring onto my finger which somehow perfectly, "might want to wait a year or...ten. You guys know someone named 'S.O.B'?"
"No...unless it's from 'Snape Ogre Bitter.'"
If I had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of me being a champion, the following day showed me how right I had been, which was actually pretty surprising because I wasn't that right a lot of the time, to be honest.
Since I wasn't actually doing the tournament as a Hogwarts champion, they took to keeping me as a neutral opponent (mostly), and, to my absolute luck, the Beauxbatons students weren't being cold to me.
Instead, they came up to me and congratulated me, frequently giving me tips on styling myself better (that part I did mind).
They also told me to sit with them and gave me tips on preparing myself, minus Fleur who was still convinced I had entered myself, and two of the other girls who hated me mainly because they wanted to be in the tournament themselves.
Although since Harry was a Hogwarts champion, the Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of us. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this.
It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry 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 refused to talk to Harry as well, and Hermione and I had to sit awkwardly between Harry and Ron, but I couldn't help but feel a spark of pride that he had still chosen to remain my friend, even though he had met me barely two months ago, but that spark diminished the second I realized that a) he chose a stranger over his best friend and b) I wasn't supposed to even be in the timeline and therefore was messing everything up.
"Alrigh', clas, I want you to put a leash on each o' these crazy things and take 'em for a walk, yeah?" said Hagrid at our Care of Magical Creatures class.
Hagrid had been explaining- to everyone's pure horror- 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.
"Take this thing for a walk?" Malfoy 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 precaution, like. Harry, Pheobe - you come 'ere an' help me with this big one...."
Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to Harry and I away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to us and said, very seriously, "So - yer competin', Harry, Pheobe. In the tournament. School champion of Hogwarts and Beauxbatons." he nodded to each of us.
"One of the champions," Harry corrected him.
Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.
"No idea who put yeh in fer it, eh?"
"You believe I didn't do it, then?" said Harry.
"Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh - an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."
"Wish I knew who did do it," I muttered bitterly.
Hagrid nodded knowingly but Harry frowned, watching me questioningly as if to say, 'but you do know', but I put a finger to my lips and shook my head- just because Harry, Ron, and Hermione (along with almost all the teachers) knew I was from the future didn't mean I wanted everyone to know- in addition, Rita Skeeter was supposed to be lurking around, arriving either this chapter or the next, meaning I had to be extra careful with my words.
The three of us 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. I assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because my classmates 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, Harry, Pheobe," Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at us with a worried expression on his face. "School champion...everythin' seems ter happen ter you, doesn' it, Harry?"
Harry didn't answer, but I knew he was thinking of my words earlier.
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY-
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry, Hermione, and I walked through the courtyard to get to Double Potions a few days after the lesson with Hagrid and the skrewts. "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 us.
"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."
"Actually, more like obsessive," I huffed, "you made a whole badge just so that you could show it off to Harry- how sweet, Malfoy."
Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.
"Want one, Granger, Wilson?" said Malfoy, holding out two badges. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a couple Mudbloods sliming it up."
The next thing I knew, people were scrambling away towards the walls of the corridors and Harry had his wand aimed at Malfoy.
"Harry!" I hissed, "the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now - want to protect your girlfriend, eh- do it, if you've got the guts."
"Funnunculus!"
"Densaugeo!"
Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles - Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione, narrowly missing me. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up - Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!" I exclaimed, staring at her as I gently pried her hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth - already larger than average - were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry. Ron ran over, concern in his eyes no matter how hard he was trying to delete his emotions.
"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.
Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."
"Potter attacked me, sir -"
"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.
"- and he hit Goyle - look -"
Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.
"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"Malfoy got Hermione!" I shot. "Look!"
I motioned to her teeth which had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."
Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.
It was lucky, perhaps, that Harry, me, and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky our voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what we were calling him.
He got the gist, however.
"Let's see," he said, in his silkiest voice. "Seventy points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter, Wilson, and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions."
My ears were ringing as I walked to the back of the dungeons with Ron and Harry. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between us, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry and I by ourselves.
On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.
I sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him....
"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..."
I had a sudden vision of Snape poisoning me, but the door slamming open jolted me out of my thoughts.
It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at me, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.
"Yes?" said Snape curtly.
"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter and Pheobe Wilson upstairs." Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.
"Wilsona and Potter have another hour of Potions to complete," said Snape coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."
Colin went pink, and I instantly knew I would have given everything I owned to stop Colin saying the next sentence he did.
"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants them," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs..."
I chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling.
"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, Wilson, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."
"Please, sir - they've got to take their things with them," squeaked Colin. "All the champions..."
"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter- Wilson- take your bag and get out of my sight!"
I swung my bag over my shoulder, got up, and headed for the door as fast as I could.
"It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?" said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. "Isn't it, though? You being champion?"
"Yeah, really amazing," said Harry heavily as the three of us set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. "What do they want photos for, Colin?"
"The Daily Prophet, I think!"
"Great," I said dully.
"Good luck!" said Colin when they had reached the right room. I knocked on the door and entered.
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 I recognized almost instantly as the woman named Rita Skeeter.
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. She must have felt right at home, cameras watching her every move as people fawned over her. 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 Harry and I, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here they are! Champion numbers four and five! In you come, Harry, Pheobe, 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 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 Pheobe before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. "The youngest champions, you know...to add a bit of color? Together, of course-"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if they have no objection?"
"Er -"
"Lovely," said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had my upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering Harry and I out of the room again and opening a nearby door.
"We don't want to be in there with all that noise," she said. "Let's see...ah, yes, this is nice and cozy."
It was a broom cupboard. Harry and I stared at her.
"That sounds so wrong on so many different levels," I muttered under my breath.
"It- it's a broom cupboard," Harry stammered.
"Yes, well...you'll feel right at home, won't you?" Harry's jaw fell open.
"Come along, dear - that's right - lovely," said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry and I 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 we could see what we were doing.
"You won't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally..."
"Maybe not?" I muttered weakly.
"A what?" asked Harry.
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, who's 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, Pheobe...what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?"
"I didn't decide-" I began, but I was distracted by the quill which continued to write even though I had stopped talking. It was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake I could make out a fresh sentence:
An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes -
"Ignore the quill, Harry," said Rita Skeeter firmly and I looked up to see Rita now focusing in on Harry. "Now - why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?"
"I didn't," said Harry. "I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there."
Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.
"Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers hove a rebel."
"But I didn't enter," Harry repeated. "I don't know who -"
"How do you both feel about the tasks ahead?" said Rita Skeeter. "Excited? Nervous?"
"Annoyed," I murmured. "Irritated."
"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," said Harry.
The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.
"Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?" said Rita Skeeter, watching us closely. "How would you say that's affected you?"
"Er-"
"Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -"
"I didn't enter," said Harry, starting to feel irritated.
"Can you remember your parents at all?" said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.
"No," said Harry.
"How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?" I cast my eyes towards the parchment.
Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember, and a small blush covers his cheeks as he determinedly avoids the gaze of the girl beside him, the one he is hopelessly in love with-
"What in the hell is this shit?!" I exclaimed, having had enough.
"I have not got tears in my eyes, nor do I have a- a blush-!" said Harry loudly.
Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. I looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at the three of us, squashed into the cupboard.
"Dumbledore!" cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight - but I noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag. "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."
Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.
"I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbhedore, 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, and it cannot take place if two of our champions are hidden in a broom cupboard."
Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, I hurried back into the room with Harry. 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 looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window- the man who had given me a wand which was the sister one to Hermione's just a few months back.
"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. Olivander and handed him her wand.
"Hmm..." 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 chose 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."
"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-"
"Or her," I whispered softly. Fleur caught my eye and smiled softly.
"Or their." she mouthed.
I immediately decided that Fleur was an amazing person.
"-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, which still looked the same as it had when I had gotten it a few months ago, but I quickly wiped it with my robe just in case. Beside me, Harry was doing the same, although he was doing it less carefully- several gold sparks shot out of the end of his wand. I raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to Ollivander and Cedric.
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. "Now, Miss Wilson, if you please?"
I got to my feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander, handing over my wand.
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Olivander, his pale eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember. 11¾" long, made of rowan wood, dragon heartstring core, I believe," I nodded. He examined it for a few minutes before waving my wand and creating a floating mirror which he made disappear almost instantly just as I saw my gray eyes staring back at me through the glass. "Alright," he said as he handed me back my wand. "Now, last but not least...Mr. Potter." Harry was rubbing his wand slightly as he walked over before he handed it to Ollivander and the man's eyes suddenly lit up. "Ah, this one. I remember very, very well..."
Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's, I noticed, but he finally made a fountain of wine shoot out the tip of Harry's wand and decided it was clear.
"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 Harry again, and I silently thanked Merlin that she no longer cared about me. "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 into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions.
"At last," I grumbled to myself as Fleur, Cedric, Harry, Krum, and I left the room. "Free to go." I heard Cedric chuckle under his breath.
"Only took a couple hours, didn't it?" he grinned back.
"Yeah, took away Potions too- that bit I don't mind- but still, please, don't make me look Rita Skeeter in the eye ever again. I don't think I'd be able to manage it."
"That woman cares not about us," Viktor huffed, his deep voice giving me a small jump scare because it was one of the first times he had talked since I met him, "she just cares about her pictures."
"Especially," Fleur harrumphed, "of ze famous Harry Potter!" the five of us went silent for a moment, the small moment having seemingly coming to an end, before she added, "but of course, it iz very obvious why."
"And that is?" said Harry weakly.
"She iz in love," Fleur fluttered her eyelashes dramatically and all of us laughed, even Viktor.
"Even I agree, magenta woman has found love in the fourteen-year-old." Viktor chuckled.
"Now the biggest question..." Cedric smirked, "is whether he...returns the feelings, per se."
"Merlin, Harry, you didn't tell me you were into older women," I laughed.
"I'm not- I swear to Merlin, if any of you four spread that rumor around-"
"Won't have time to spread that rumor around, we won't," said Viktor gruffly.
"Ve'll die in zis tournament before ve have ze chance!" Fleur laughed airily, and I found myself laughing along with the rest of them as we walked to the Great Hall together, the five champions finally bonding.
.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.
"Morning," I said lightly the next day as I sat down next to Hermione and Harry at breakfast in the Great Hall.
"Morning," Hermione responded, and I frowned at her.
"What's up with your teeth-?" she grinned bashfully, and I realized my suspicions were correct- her teeth were smaller.
"Hermione, they're- they're normal-sized!" Harry said.
"I had Madam Pomfrey shrink them down just a little bit..." I rolled my eyes with a smirk as I picked up my cup of juice- which now had suddenly become pumpkin juice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fred and George grinning at me, and I studied the drink for a second, knowing they would never really hurt me, so I tipped the cup to my lips and drank the "juice", and a second later I was suddenly feeling weirdly bubbly inside.
"Who the hell drinks pumpkin juice at eight in the morning," Harry commented, rolling his eyes.
"Me, hello," I grinned.
"She's nutters," Harry shook his head, turning back to his eggs.
"Who's she? Ooh, does Harry have a crush on somebody?" I asked teasingly, grabbing a slice of toast.
"No."
"I do," I said instead with a small grin.
"Pheobe-"
"I like Potter Harry! I mean....I mean Harry Harry. No. I mean...Potter...Harry? Harry Potter! I got it! Yes! Fist bump!" I exclaimed, holding out a fist to Hermione, who returned it weakly, grimacing before she looked at Harry, who looked like he was frozen.
I grinned. "You're an ice sculpture."
"You like Potter Harry? I mean- Harry- er- me?" he repeated, his cheeks red but the corner of his lip twitching. "Really?"
"Yeah," I said, spreading jam over my toast thoughtfully. "Sophia makes fun of me all the time but I think he's kind of badass, you know? Too bad he's fictional and doesn't exist." Harry rolled his eyes.
"Am I? Must be great to be nonexistent." I nodded.
"Bet."
"Hello, ladies and gent," said Fred and George as they slid into the seats next to me.
"Hi," I said happily as Fred and George looked at Harry before turning to each other with a knowing look in their eyes.
"Would someone care to tell me why Harry's pupils are like mini-hearts?" said Fred. I looked to Harry who was shaking his head and frowning.
"What? No. What?"
"Did you drug Pheobe?" cut in Hermione sharply. I laughed.
"Nobody can drug me."
"We did." I gasped loudly, putting a hand to my heart.
"How could you?!"
"Needed to test our happy potion on someone," said George, watching me amusedly.
"Tested it on George first, of course, and it worked, figured we might as well just...slip some into her morning juice to make sure it works. Either way, she seemed oddly depressed lately, so.."
"Drugging someone without their knowledge is- is illegal!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Well, what's the counter-potion?"
"Why? From what we've seen, it seems you like happy Pheobe much more, Little Potty." he shook his head.
"No. I like regular Pheobe. Wait- like as in friend, because she's my friend- well, actually- y'know what, it's fine- what was I saying?" Fred and George glanced at each other before Fred pulled out a small vial and held it out for me.
"Drink up, Pheebster." My smile fell.
"My Dad used to call me Pheebster." I found myself saying, resting my chin on the table and looking up at the four of them. "He's in the hospital now, you know."
"What?"
"Sick," I said, frowning. "The doctors don't know what happened to him, only that he won't make it much longer."
"Pheobe, why didn't you tell us?" I shrugged as the four of them watched me for a moment.
"Alright, well, I don't know if it's just me," said Hermione bossily as she grabbed the vial from Fred, "but this seems like more of a sad-making potion than a happy potion, and it is not right to be learning about this stuff when Pheobe has clearly been keeping it private and- and suddenly you're slipping this all out of her with your stupid drug, so- so here, Pheobe." she held it out to me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, staring at the purple liquid.
"What now?"
"I can't tell you. I'm just sorry." I took the bottle before anyone could make me elaborate and held it to my lips, drinking it quickly and setting the bottle down on the table, feeling dazed.
"How're you feeling?" asked Hermione tentatively.
"Fine?" I asked with a frown, "what's wrong? Why're you all staring at me like that-"
"You okay?" I blinked.
"The fuck-? We've literally been talking for the last five minutes about-" I paused. "Wait, what were we talking about?"
"Er-"
"About how much of a bitch Umbridge is," Harry said. I frowned.
"You know who Umbridge is?"
"No, what?" he blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. "I made up a random name 'cause I was bored- is that actually a persons's name?"
"Um...nevermind," I said slowly, rubbing my head, "that's so weird, I don't remember anything about a totally-made-up person named Umbridge."
"You got distracted with your stupid pumpkin juice," Hermione said, pointing to it. I furrowed my eyebrows but nodded, though I knew there was something stiff about their expressions. Fred and George jumped to their feet and said they had to go, grabbing a small vial from the table and leaving strangely, and Harry and Hermione went back to eating.
"Pheobe," Hermione began, "um, what's your dad's name?"
"Er, Sirius," I said with a shrug, taking a bite of toast that I didn't even know how had gotten onto my plate.
"Sirius?!"
"Yeah, Sirius Wilson," I frowned, studying the two's expressions. "He took my mum's last name- why?"
"Do you know his last name before he changed it?" I thought for a second before shaking my head.
"If he told me, he told me when I was around ten, and I barely even remember what happened, like, five minutes ago, so..."
"Pheobe." Harry said suddenly, his eyes bright, "what if Sirius Black is your dad?" I stared at him.
"What? I think I'd know if my dad was the second coolest person of all time, Harry."
"Who's the first coolest?" Hermione asked curiously.
"My dad."
"But what if they're the same person?" Harry pressed, lowering his voice. "Think about it! You guys are so alike I'd be surprised if you weren't relate-"
"Why're you guys so interested din my dad all of a sudden?" I interrupted, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
"Never mind."