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Chapter 507: Are You Really a Hufflepuff?
🕑 Added 2025-02-17 12:34:45 +0000 UTCOllivander stepped into the clearing at the center of the room, his sharp eyes scanning the three Champions standing before him. His gaze settled on Fleur Delacour.
“Miss Delacour, would you mind going first?” he asked with a polite nod.
As an expert on wands, Ollivander immediately recognized Fleur’s as particularly unique, his curiosity piqued.
“Okay,” Fleur replied gracefully, stepping forward and handing over her wand.
“Ah, very interesting,” Ollivander murmured, holding the wand close to his eye and examining it with practiced precision. “Nine and a half inches... inflexible...rosewood... and the core is... ah, Veela hair.”
“It’s my grandmother’s hair,” Fleur explained softly.
“Fascinating,” Ollivander remarked. “Although I must say, wands with Veela hair cores can be a touch temperamental. But if it serves you well, that is all that matters.”
He gave the wand a delicate wave. “Orchideous!”
From the tip of the wand, a bouquet of flowers blossomed, their vivid colors bright against the muted room.
“Very good, very good,” Ollivander said approvingly. “Your wand is in excellent condition.” He handed the flowers back to Fleur along with her wand.
“Mr. Krum, your turn,” he called.
Viktor Krum rose sluggishly, handing over his wand with a disinterested expression. Ollivander took it but was noticeably less enthused this time.
“Ah, a Gregorovitch creation,” Ollivander remarked with a hint of restraint. “Hornbeam... dragon heartstring core... ten and a quarter inches...” He gave the wand a quick flick. “Avis!”
With a sharp pop, a small flock of birds burst forth from the wand, flapping briefly before disappearing.
“Very good,” Ollivander said tersely, handing Krum’s wand back. “And now for the last one...”
Kyle stepped forward, offering his wand. Ollivander’s face lit up with genuine excitement.
“Ah, this is one of mine!” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm unmistakable. Unlike before, his tone was no longer purely professional—it was personal.
“Yes, I remember this one very well...” Ollivander said, his voice growing nostalgic. “The wood is from an exceptionally tall cedar I found in the heart of the Black Forest. Negotiating with the Bowtruckles there took days—very protective creatures. And the core... a tail feather from a Phoenix—an incredibly rare specimen.”
Ollivander’s recounting was more detailed and drawn out than his examinations of the previous wands, as he seemed lost in the memory of crafting it. Nearly five minutes passed before he finally gave the wand a simple wave.
“Lumos.”
A soft, white light glowed warmly from the tip of Kyle’s wand. Satisfied, Ollivander handed it back with a smile.
“Thank you all!” Dumbledore announced, rising from the judges’ table. “You may now return to class—or, as the day is nearly done, perhaps go straight to dinner.”
The Champions were then gathered for a group photo, followed by a series of individual shots. When the photography session concluded, the room began to empty. The judges made their way upstairs to the headmaster’s office, while Kyle and Fleur headed downstairs toward the Great Hall for dinner.
However, just as Kyle reached the top of the staircase, a claw-like hand seized his arm.
“What’s the meaning of this, Madam Skeeter?” Kyle asked sharply, his brow furrowing.
“Just a few little questions, dear... for The Daily Prophet,” Rita Skeeter replied, her smile as fake as her saccharine tone.
“I believe I already made it clear that I won’t be giving you an interview,” Kyle said firmly.
But Skeeter’s grip tightened slightly, and her expression turned almost gleeful. Her crocodile-skin handbag was open, revealing a lurid green quill that was busily scribbling away on a roll of parchment:
“The young and handsome Champion has finally found his true love at Hogwarts. He is utterly captivated by Fleur Delacour's stunning beauty and seems to want to spend every moment near her…”
“Forget the quill, Kyle,” Rita Skeeter interjected smoothly. “Can you tell me why you chose to sign up for the tournament?”
“Let’s go, Kyle. Ignore her,” Fleur urged, her tone firm.
Kyle hesitated briefly before a small smile spread across his face. “No, I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I’ve decided to accept Madam Skeeter’s interview.”
The Self-Writing Quill in his satchel sprang to life, its tip darting across the parchment.
“He is eager to boost his fame, and even the prestigious Order of Merlin cannot satisfy him. To achieve greater renown, he has sacrificed a date with Miss Fleur…”
Kyle took a deep breath, glad Fleur couldn’t see the quill’s scrawling from her position. He exchanged a few reassuring words with her before stepping into an empty classroom with Skeeter trailing behind.
“Tell me how you feel about the competition,” Rita Skeeter asked eagerly the moment the door closed. “Are you excited? Nervous?”
“A bit of both,” Kyle replied as he sat casually in a chair. “But mostly, I’m happy. I feel very lucky.”
“Lucky? Oh?” Skeeter tilted her head, intrigued. “Because you were chosen?”
“No,” Kyle said, his tone turning mischievous. “Because you’re here. You’ve given me the perfect excuse.”
“Excuse?” Skeeter blinked, her professional confidence wavering for the first time. “What do you mean?”
Kyle leaned back in his chair, his smile widening. “An excuse for failure, of course. I’ve read your articles, Miss Skeeter, and to call them rubbish would be an understatement.”
“You…” Skeeter’s face tightened, but Kyle waved her off, continuing unfazed.
“Relax. Don’t worry, Miss Skeeter, just hear me out. As I said, your articles are rather lacking in credibility. But they have their uses. If I perform poorly in the tournament, I can tell everyone it’s because I was so distracted by your article that I couldn’t focus. Nobody will scold me then. Isn’t that fortunate for me?”
Kyle chuckled lightly, amused by his own reasoning.
Rita Skeeter laughed as well, though her tone was strained. “You won’t fail. You’re an Order of Merlin…”
“Oh, but I will,” Kyle interrupted calmly. “You said it yourself—I’m only fifteen, the youngest Champion. Winning will be tough. But failure isn’t the problem here; the issue is preserving my reputation. If Hogwarts performs poorly in the Triwizard Tournament, especially on its own turf, someone will need to take the blame. The school’s pride can’t handle such a loss without a scapegoat.”
Skeeter’s crocodile-skin handbag quivered as she clenched it tightly. Her quill, sensing the tension, stopped its frenetic movements mid-sentence.
Kyle continued, his tone casual yet cutting, “So, I’ve already thought of the perfect scapegoat—you, Madam Skeeter. Whether or not your article is truly at fault doesn’t matter. People just need someone to point fingers at, and who better than you?”
He stood, offering a polite bow. “Thank you again for your cooperation.”
Rita Skeeter’s face darkened like a thundercloud. As someone well-versed in sensationalism, she understood better than anyone that the truth was secondary to public opinion. If Kyle followed through with his veiled threat, she could become the ultimate villain in the narrative surrounding Hogwarts’ potential failure.
Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
When Skeeter had arrived, she had expected to deal with a typical Hufflepuff—diligent, polite, and unassuming. Instead, Kyle had completely overturned her expectations. Looking at his calm, smiling face, she realized she’d been outmaneuvered.
“Are you really a Hufflepuff?” she asked dryly.
“As real as they come,” Kyle replied, stepping toward the door. He paused and turned back, his grin playful. “Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you after the tournament. Let’s say… a hundred Galleons?”
“Aren’t you afraid I won’t publish the article?” Skeeter asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m confident you will,” Kyle said with a shrug. “You’re famous for defying authority, aren’t you? Refusing to publish just because I rattled you would go against everything people believe about the bold and fearless Rita Skeeter.”
With that, he walked out, leaving Skeeter alone in the room.
She stood motionless, her expression shifting between fury and grudging admiration. At last, she picked up the parchment filled with her quill’s frantic scribbling and tore it to shreds, a mocking sneer curling her lips.
“We’ll see,” she muttered to herself, her eyes glinting with determination. “You really shouldn’t have told me this, Kyle.”
