A Cadmean Victory by DarknessEnthroned

Chapter 13: Thirteen Yellow Roses

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

Sorry, this one took a while to write and is a tiny bit shorter than the rest because I liked ending it as it is. (Only a couple hundred words were lost though.)

And it's Fleur, triple disappointment ;)

Chapter 13

Fleur was the last champion to arrive at the wand-weighing ceremony, slipping embarrassedly through the door until she realised the wand-maker was not yet present and relaxed. Krum was leaning against the wall on the far side of the small room, staring at nothing in a rather broody fashion. The strong-browed Bulgarian looked slightly unkempt, his robes ever so slightly disarrayed, as if he had been interrupted from doing something rather more active. His headmaster, in contrast, was immaculately dressed. The silver-goateed man stood, close-mouthed and rigid, next to his champion, warily eying anyone in the room that passed too near to either of them.

The Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory, stood in the centre of the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels as they waited. He seemed oddly at ease, even with Madam Maxime towering over him.

The final competitor, though Fleur hesitated to think of him as such, had been abandoned to the wiles of the reporter Rita Skeeter. The two of them had withdrawn into the only unoccupied corner as the colourful, blond woman sought to extract anything she could write about.

Better him than me, Fleur decided, though she was a little put out the reporter had not tried to speak to her, or any of the other champions from the look of things. She would have thought he first target should be the ones that were chosen properly, and actually had a chance of winning.

The boy looked surprisingly unruffled at being the focus of Miss Skeeter. He had composed his face into the sort of effortless, charming smile Fleur normally found herself the target off and was nodding along attentively to whatever the woman was saying.

He had not, Fleur noted, actually answered any of her questions with anything more than that bright smile and a few vague words. This was something that the woman's bright, green quill seemed to find distressing as it hovered agitatedly behind her, swaying, twirling and often dipping towards her notes, but never getting so far as writing anything.

A Quick-Quotes Quill.

They were a sure sign of a reporter who liked to give their articles a personal touch. The sort of characteristic flourish that left the article's subject wondering just how their words had been so misrepresented when they read it the next day.

The boy was doing a masterful job of fending Rita Skeeter off and from what Fleur could see she didn't seem to have noticed. The reporter's eyes were sparkling with unsuppressed glee, even as her quill writhed disconsolately behind her.

It was then that she noticed the tip of Harry's wand protruding from his sleeve and tucked alongside the inside of his palm. It was glowing ever so faintly. Rita Skeeter could not possibly see it from the way his hand was angled and no hint of anything suspicious could be seen from his relaxed, casual posture. The only sign that the fourteen year old had outwitted the journalist was that subtly concealed two inches of wand and an ever so slightly amused glint in his eyes.

He earned a little of her respect for that.

'I think it is time the ceremony began.' Albus Dumbledore had entered the room and, as he always did, commanded its attention with a gentle, aged authority. He gestured very politely at the wall that was least in the way of proceedings. 'If you'd be so kind as to release our youngest champion, Rita.'