Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

wand had come from the same bird which had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort’s.
    Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort’s wand was something it couldn’t help – rather as he couldn’t help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr Ollivander wasn’t about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.
    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.
    ‘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, Harry 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 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, who Harry 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, they were free to go.
    Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn’t there – he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of all the extra work on Summoning Charms that he had to do. Up in the dormitory, he came across Ron.
    ‘You’ve had an owl,’ said Ron brusquely, the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry’s pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for him there.
    ‘Oh – right,’ said Harry.
    ‘And we’ve got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape’s dungeon,’ said Ron.
    He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at Harry. For a moment, Harry considered going after him – he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to talk to him or hit him, both seemed quite appealing – but the lure of Sirius’ answer was too strong. Harry strode over to the barn owl, took the letter off its leg, and unrolled it.
     
    Harry –
    I can’t say everything I would like to in a letter, it’s too risky in case the owl is intercepted – we need to talk, face to face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o’clock in the morning on the 22nd November?
    I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and while you’re around Dumbledore and Moody I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that Tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore’s nose.
    Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd November as quickly as you can.
    Sirius
     

 
     
— CHAPTER NINETEEN —
     
The Hungarian Horntail
    The prospect of talking face to face with Sirius was all that sustained Harry over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding himself school champion had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing him was starting to sink in. The first task was drawing steadily nearer; he felt as though it was crouching ahead of him like some horrific monster, barring his path. He had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything he had felt before a Quidditch match, not even his last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all, he felt as if his whole life had