Chapter 202
"Of course, Miss Delacour. You'll go first, won't you?" said Garrick Ollivander as he stepped into the open space in the middle of the room, preparing to examine the wand.
"Very well, sir."
Fleur Delacour walked forward lightly and handed him her wand.
"Hm…" he murmured.
He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a conductor's baton. Pink and gold sparks spilled from the tip. Then he brought it close to his eye, examining it carefully.
"Not bad," he said softly. "Nine and a half inches… inflexible… maple… contains—ah…"
"Contains a Veela hair," Fleur said. "From my grandmother."
"Yes… yes, of course," said Ollivander. "I have never personally used Veela hair. I find such wands… rather temperamental. But every wandmaker has their own preferences—and if it suits you…"
He ran his fingers along the length of the wand, checking for imperfections. Then he gave it a gentle flick.
"Orchideous!"
A bouquet of flowers blossomed from the tip.
"Very good, very good," Ollivander said, gathering the flowers and handing them to Fleur. "Mr. Malfoy, your turn."
Malfoy stepped forward and handed over his wand.
"Let me see…" Ollivander closed his eyes briefly, as if recalling something. "Yes… this is one of mine. Ten inches, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core—correct?"
He opened his eyes and gently stroked the wand, then tapped it lightly with a finger. It vibrated faintly, producing a crisp, clear tone.
"I remember you surprised me greatly back then, Mr. Malfoy."
Without waiting for a reply, Ollivander flicked the wand.
"Ventus!"
A sudden gust tore through the quiet room like a miniature storm. The portraits on the walls rattled violently, some nearly falling. Papers flew everywhere, some even spiraling up toward the ceiling.
"Ah—my apologies. Back to normal."
With another wave, everything settled. The scattered parchments returned neatly to their places.
"You've taken excellent care of it," Ollivander said, handing the wand back. "A wand is a wizard's second life. Continue to treat it as such."
"Thank you for the advice," Malfoy replied, taking it back.
Then Ron already lost his 'second life' once, Harry thought unconsciously. He remembered how Ron's wand had snapped in second year when they flew to school in Mr. Weasley's car.
Ollivander then turned to Viktor Krum.
Krum's wand was made of ebony and contained dragon heartstring. It was noticeably thicker than most.
Different wandmakers had different styles. This one, crafted by Gregorovitch, carried a harsher, more rugged feel—perhaps shaped by the colder climates and sterner traditions of the north.
"Avifors!"
The wand cracked sharply, like a pistol shot. A flock of birds burst from the tip, flapping wildly before flying out into the pale sunlight beyond the window.
"Very good," Ollivander said, returning it. "And finally… Mr. Potter."
"Mr. Potter, your turn."
Harry snapped back to reality.
"O-Okay."
He stepped forward and handed over his wand.
"Twin cores…" Ollivander murmured under his breath as he examined it.
After repeating the same process, all four wands were finally inspected.
"May I leave now?" Fleur asked. Her tone suggested urgency.
Gabrielle was still in the carriage, and Fleur felt she should spend more time with her.
Her younger sister had come along as family. Being under eleven, Gabrielle couldn't enroll at Beauxbatons, leaving her with little to do.
That created a problem—Gabrielle's days would be painfully dull.
For both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, there were practical inconveniences. Not every student who accompanied the delegations could be Champions, and their studies couldn't simply be ignored.
Durmstrang's solution was blunt: all accompanying students attended intensive lessons, leaving them exhausted even during holidays.
Beauxbatons chose a gentler approach. Madame Maxime had already arranged with Albus Dumbledore for her students to attend classes alongside Hogwarts students—ensuring their studies continued while exposing them to British magical education.
Dumbledore had readily agreed.
But Gabrielle, too young for even first-year classes, was left with nothing.
Just as Fleur was about to leave, Ludo Bagman spoke up enthusiastically.
"Dear Champions, this may take a little time. Wouldn't you like to have some commemorative photographs taken before the Tournament?"
"Photographs?" Fleur repeated. Instinctively, she adjusted her long silver hair, revealing her white teeth as she practiced a perfect smile.
Appearance mattered greatly to her—she wanted to be flawless in every picture.
"Yes, photographs," Bagman said brightly. "I'm sure the headmasters wouldn't mind either, would they?"
At once, Igor Karkaroff smoothed his goatee carefully. Madame Maxime adjusted her hair. Even Dumbledore nudged his spectacles into a more dignified position.
In the end, however, the photographer struggled.
No matter how they arranged themselves, Madame Maxime's towering height made it impossible not to block at least several people in every shot.