Chapter 362 - – An Interview with Rita Skeeter (2/2)

Rowan doesn't deem a response as Skeeter quickly moves ahead. ”How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Exited? Nervous?”

”Utterly revolted,” Rowan flatly answered. ”If I die because of this, I'll come back as a ghost and haunt all of them.”

Skeeter clearly wasn't expecting that answer and instead wrote, Nervous.

”Onward, then,” Skeeter said. ”Do you think that the death of your father has anything to do with your desire to enter the Triwizard tournament?” The air suddenly turns chilly as the candles seem to flicker to an unseen breeze.

”This interview is over,” Rowan said as she stood up and towered over the sitting witch. Leaning over she whispers, ”Miss Skeeter, I'd hate for a curious beetle to be accidentally caught or worse crushed underfoot.”

Skeeter flinches backward falling onto her backside. Rowan ignores the sprawled witch and makes her way out of the broom closet. She blinks at the light and makes her way over to Amundsen, who seems surprised. ”Well, that was quick.”

Rowan comes to sit down next to Delacour as Skeeter emerges rather pale from the broom closet. Straightening her clothes, she firmly puts Amundsen between her person and Rowan. They didn't have to wait long as a few seconds later the rest of the headmasters arrive including Stephen Flint. They all take a seat in the five seats while, Rita Skeeter settles herself down in a corner. Her parchment was out of her bag and spread across her knees as she sucks on her green acid quill.

”May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” Dumbledore said, ”He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

Rowan stared at the old wandmaker with large, pale eyes standing quietly beneath a window. Mr. Ollivander stepped forth into the empty space in the middle of the room. ”Monsieur Delacour, if you would please.”

Jean Delacour stepped forth and hand him his wand. ”Ten and a half inches…...firm, but springy...black walnut….and unicorn hair. A good loyal wand,” Ollivander pronounced with some satisfaction.

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps. Finally, he muttered, ”Orchideious,” a bouquet of flowers burst from the wand tip.

”Very well, it's in fine working order,” Mr. Ollivander said, scooping up the flowers and handing them over to Delacour. Jean happily takes the bouquet of flowers and presents them with a bow to Madame Maxime, who nods her head in approval.

”Mr. Karkaroff, you're next please,” Mr. Ollivander said as the dark-haired, rail-thin wizard with a weak chin approached him. He thrust his wand at Ollivander and curled his lips in a haughty sneer.

”Hmm, yes, Gergorovitch's creation,” Mr. Ollivander muttered out loud. ”A fine wand-maker though the style is never-.” Ollivander cut off as he lifted the wand, and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

”Elm and dragon heartstring,” Ollivander glanced at Karkaroff, who seemed rather proud. ”But a tad crooked and thinner than usual….9 inches and three quarters…...Avis!” The elm wand let off a blast like a gun as a number of small twittering birds flew out of the end and through an open window into the watery sunlight.

”Here you are,” Mr. Ollivander said, handing Karkaroff back his wand.

”And now yours, Miss Prince,” Mr. Ollivander said as his pale eyes began to gleam. ”Oh, yes, I remember the wand quite well.” And so, did Rowan for that matter.

Rowan handed her wand over as Mr. Ollivander spent much more time examining her wand than anyone else's. At one point he stared at her as if knowingly on how the wand had grown in power. But for one reason or another Mr. Ollivander only muttered that her wand was 13 inches long but didn't announce the wood nor the core as he mumbled the words all jumbled together.

With a wave of Rowan's wand, a fountain of wine shot out, before gushing off. Ollivander handed the wand back and announced that the wand was in perfect condition. But for a tad moment longer, Rowan and Ollivander stared at each other, before Ollivander released her wand back into her possession.

”Thank you all,” said Dumbledore. ”You may all return to your lessons now.”

Rowan eagerly makes her way to escape until Amundsen says, ”Ah yes, the photos! Miss Prince, we need to take a commemorative photo of today!”

Grinding her teeth together, Rowan gives a thin smile, before trotting back. The photos take a long time. The photographer had to keep stepping back to make sure Madam Maxime was in the frame. After that, they all took separate shots, before they were free to go.