Chapter 148: How A West Closes A Deal (1/2)
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The link is also in the synopsis.
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[The chapter is edited by Editor: Alan_Loo/AlanL]
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Glad to have put Rita Skeeter in her place, Quinn walked back into the room. He glanced to his right to see the champions sitting in chairs near the door. Turning his eyes to the front, Quinn saw the five judges; Igor Karkaroff, Olympe Maxime, Bartemius Crouch Senior, Ludo Bagman, and Albus Dumbledore sitting on a velvet-covered table.
Glancing to his left, he noticed Rita Skeeter settle herself down in a corner. He 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. Her professionalism fascinated Quinn. It was impressive how quickly Skeeter bounced back and was back to normal. Just as he promised, Quinn didn't stop her from writing as it wasn't about him or his close ones.
He silently walked to another wall and stood close to it, choosing not to lean against it.
”May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, from 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.”
Quinn looked around, and with mild surprise, saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Quinn had met Ollivander once before— he was the wandmaker from whom Quinn had bought his own wand all those years ago in Diagon Alley.
'His presence sure is feeble,' thought Quinn. He overlooked the wandmaker when he entered the room.
”Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said 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 scrutinized it.
”Yes,” he said quietly, ”nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood... containing... Dear me...”
”A lock of hair from the head of a Veela,” provided Fleur. ”One of my grandmothers.”
'Part Veela. Bullshit,' thought Quinn.
There were no male Veelas in existence and as such a daughter born from a Veela was a Veela and not a part-Veela like in the original works. Like her mother and grandmother, Fleur Delacour was a full Veela and not some illogical quarter-Veela as had been written by the Duchess of Magic.
”Yes,” said 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...”
Quinn turned his gaze to Fleur's silver hair, and the fact that her hair when she grew up could be used as a component of a magical focus fascinated him much.
'House-elf blood, Veela hair, Goblin heart, Dwarf bone,' listed Quinn in his mind, 'so many intelligent and humanoid races with a part of their body that can be used as a magical focus…'
He looked down at his hand and clenched it briefly before opening it to see the blood which had been pushed back return to his palm. Human blood had some magical properties but not enough to use as a magical focus. No part of the human body had enough magical characteristics; it made him wonder how his magic would have been if he was from a different race.
'If I was a Veela, could my hair be used as an internal focus? If I was from a race connected deeper to magic than a human... how would my magic have turned out,' he thought. He shook his head. He liked himself as a human, and there was no use in thinking about his race.
Ollivander ran his fingers along with 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 Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. ”Mr. Diggory, you are next.”
Fleur sat back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.
”Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?” said Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm. Cedric handed over his wand. ”Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a magnificent 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... Do you take care of it regularly?”
”Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning.
Harry, who was among the champions, looked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it. He gathered a fistful of the robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.
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 Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.
”Hmm,” said Ollivander, ”this is a Gregorovitch creation unless I'm 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 several small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.
”Good,” said Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. ”Which leaves us... Mr. Potter.”
Harry got to his feet, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see Quinn. He recalled the words the Ravenclaw had said to him... The fourth champion squared his shoulders, lifted his chin straight before confidently walking past Krum to Ollivander. He handed over his wand.
”Aaaah, yes,” said Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. ”Yes, yes, yes. I remember it well.”
Harry could remember it, too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday...
.. .
Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Ollivander's shop with his parents and Ivy to buy a wand. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. Harry had waved what felt like every wand in the shop until, at last, he had found the one that suited him— one that was made of holly, measured eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand.
”Curious,” he had said, ”curious,” and not until Harry asked what was curious had Mr. Ollivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Voldemort's.
His parents hadn't been happy to hear that particular piece of information. They had made Ollivander show Harry some more wands, but in the end, Harry had come out of the shop with the holly, phoenix feather wand.
.. .
Harry had been forbidden to share this piece of information with anybody. And he was okay with that order, as he was very fond of his wand, and as far as Harry was concerned, its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't be helped. However, Harry really hoped that Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. Harry had a funny feeling that Rita Skeeter might just explode with excitement if he did.
Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.
”Thank you,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. ”You may—”
”Now, now, Albus,” interrupted Ollivander, ”we have another student among us. How about I examine his wand first before you dismiss all of us?” Ollivander turned to his right, and with a smile in his pale eyes, he said, ”Mr. West, please bring your wand to me. I will check it before I leave.”
Everybody in the room looked at the lone non-champion student in the room. The eyes of Bartemius Crouch Senior and Ludo Bagman widened when they heard how Ollivander addressed the boy. They almost snapped their necks from the speed they turned their heads to look at the boy who was suddenly revealed to be from the West family.
Quinn acted as if he didn't notice the looks of the others. He shook his head towards the wandmaker with a smile. ”As much as I would like my wand to get examined by you, Mr. Ollivander, unfortunately, I don't have my wand with me.”
Dumbledore, who had gotten up from his chair, looked at Quinn in shock and surprise. ”Mr. West... you don't have your wand with you?” The headmaster couldn't believe that Quinn —Quinn West in particular— didn't have his wand with him.
Quinn shifted his robes to reveal the left side of his trousers to show that the wand holster he usually magically merged with his clothes there was missing.