Chapter 170 — For the Record

The first thing I summoned in Monday’s Charms lesson was a wooden spool. I threw a prepared piece, said Accio spool and watched it travel about an inch before stopping and falling over.

Flitwick looked from the spool to the ash. ‘You began the movement,’ he said. ‘What happened to the destination?’

‘I lost it when it started moving.’ I considered the answer, then looked towards his hand. His demonstration had carried the spool the length of the table; mine apparently considered its brief journey sufficient evidence of cooperation.

I had prepared three pieces from the structure on the board. Each needed to hold the intention of bringing the object to me after the paper left my fingers. Letting its landing place become the destination pulled towards the wrong thing, while losing the object left the rest of the work with little to do.

On my second attempt I threw, spoke and kept my attention on the spool. It came rather enthusiastically, eluding both hands, bouncing against my chest and landing in the folded cloth Flitwick had placed before me. Ron made a strangled noise.

‘You can laugh,’ I told him while rubbing my chest. He thanked me and did, leaving Flitwick to ask what I would change.

‘Less force at the end,’ I said. The Professor agreed, but wanted a steadier arrival too. Persuading it to cross the table did not require convincing it to cross the classroom afterwards.

I studied the final piece and chose the spool before allowing myself a breath. This time, when I threw and spoke, its destination stayed clear. It travelled above the table, slowed near me and dropped into my hand. I closed my fingers round it before anything could go wrong.

‘Good,’ Flitwick said. ‘Now you have something useful to repeat.’

I returned the spool afterwards with an unreasonable amount of affection for it. That evening I prepared one more Accio piece from the corrected arrangement and let it dry before placing it in a separate sleeve. I trusted it with a light object, a clear route and a modest distance. Larger ambitions could wait until I stopped remembering the bruise.

The summons to the trophy room came the following day, this time for photographs. I washed, put on clean school robes and checked for ink along my hand. Representing Hogwarts apparently included looking as though I had slept.

Fleur waited in Beauxbatons blue while Krum listened to the photographer’s instructions. The damaged brass bracket had been removed, leaving an empty place I noticed before greeting her. She returned the greeting with a small nod. I had no reason to expect more warmth.

The photographer placed me between them, reconsidered, moved Krum and asked whether we could stop looking as though we faced an examination. Fleur asked whether we did not, and Krum’s mouth twitched just before the flash.

Several attempts followed. I managed not to blink in one, Krum moved his chin and then moved it back, and Fleur refused to turn so far that her school badge disappeared. By the end I understood why famous people looked tired before anyone asked them a question.

Rita Skeeter approached while the photographer packed a plate away. ‘Our three champions,’ she said, her gaze returning to me after passing over the others. ‘Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet. My readers like to meet the person behind an achievement.’

‘We’ve seen you working,’ Krum replied. He made no attempt to supply the excitement which seemed to be missing from her introduction.

Rita offered Fleur a hand, then lifted the other towards her face while describing the interest she would attract. Fleur stepped back, leaving the hand suspended between them.

‘You can ask me a question without doing that,’ she said. Rita converted the movement into a gesture towards the chairs.

‘Of course, dear.’ She turned to Krum. ‘And with such a sporting career, one wonders what ambition drives you into another dangerous contest.’

‘I also go to school,’ he said. Rita acknowledged that as though accepting an inconvenient scheduling detail, then selected me to go first.

Her fingers closed on my sleeve. ‘There’s a quieter room through here,’ she said, moving towards it until my failure to follow brought her back round.

‘I’d prefer to talk here.’ I drew my sleeve gently from her hand. ‘You wanted to interview the three champions. Here we are.’

She suggested that privacy often made people comfortable. I assured her that the present room suited me and pulled forward a spare chair, leaving enough for all four of us. Fleur sat, followed after a moment by Krum.

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Rita looked towards the adjoining room. I had seen her leave her pad and acid-green quill on the little table just inside its open doorway while we were being arranged for the photographs. Now she explained that her things were through there.

‘Shall I bring the quill over?’ I asked. At her reluctant agreement, I took the new Accio piece from its sleeve. The feather was visible, the distance short and the route empty.

I threw towards the table and spoke. The green quill lifted, travelled through the doorway and dipped before reaching my hand with a small tug against my fingers. I offered it to her while Fleur glanced at the spent paper.

‘You prepare that one too?’ she asked. I confirmed it, and she wanted to know how long I had been using the charm.

‘Successfully? Since yesterday.’ Krum looked amused, so I admitted that the spool had been less cooperative. Rita took the quill before she could hear much more about my education, fetched her pad and sat facing me.

The nib rose above the paper. ‘Oswald, as a twelve-year-old suddenly thrust into a tournament for older students—’

‘Fourteen,’ I said, and the nib hesitated. ‘Since the fourth of April.’

Rita called that an easy detail to correct. I expressed relief that we had caught it before publication, making Fleur lower her eyes towards her hands. The quill resumed work.

‘You’re still younger than your fellow champions,’ Rita said. ‘They have years of experience you haven’t had. Are you afraid?’

‘Yes.’ She leaned forward, and I continued before she could help explain my answer. ‘That’s why I’m taking the organisers’ assurances seriously. International cooperation, public confidence, proper preparation. The Ministry gave all three considerable attention.’

‘I’m asking about your feelings,’ she said. The quill tilted towards a fresh part of the page.

‘They’re affected by the arrangements.’ I kept my hands in my lap. ‘I would feel better with clearer answers about those.’

I had read the programme. I had also heard enough reassuring public statements in my previous life to recognise the usefulness of repeating them while asking what someone intended to do. Rita could criticise Fudge or me as much as she wanted. I wanted it to be difficult to describe a frightened boy without mentioning the adults promising to look after him.

‘Surely there’s excitement too,’ she suggested. ‘Fame, a thousand Galleons and the chance to prove yourself?’

‘And the Ministry’s chance to demonstrate its concern for all three champions.’ I gave her an attentive look. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing that part work.’

Fleur’s shoulders moved once. Rita observed that I seemed keen to discuss the Ministry, and I pointed out that it had organised the event. She added the schools, earning my agreement that it was a splendid example of cooperation.

The quill scratched loudly enough to hear. Rita checked the page before returning her attention to me.

‘Some students think you found a way round the age restriction,’ she said. ‘What would you say to them?’

‘I didn’t put my name in the Goblet or ask anybody else to do it.’ I watched the feather move. ‘I’ve given that account to the Headmaster and Mr Crouch.’

‘But you’ve accepted the position.’ Her voice softened around the word, encouraging me to agree.

‘I’ve been told the selection is binding while it’s reviewed,’ I answered. ‘That’s a different statement. I intend to prepare, and do well if I have to face the tasks. I also want to know how my name got there.’

Rita waited, perhaps hoping silence might improve the answer. I waited too, listening to the clock behind her until she changed the subject.

‘Your parents died when you were very young.’ I felt the room change before deciding how to respond, and nodded. ‘Do you think the loss explains a need for recognition which other children receive at home?’

I looked at the poised quill. Emma’s drawing lay folded inside the letter in my trunk, the crooked kitchen table with my place marked beside it.

‘I receive recognition at home,’ I said. Rita began to explain what she had meant, but I continued. ‘I’m proud of my parents. I miss the chance to know them. Neither fact explains why I entered a competition I didn’t enter.’

Fleur looked directly at Rita. The reporter’s smile softened further as she observed that it must be difficult to discuss.

‘Which is why I’d rather discuss the Ministry’s commitment to supporting students,’ I replied. Krum coughed, and I kept my attention on Rita. ‘Was that the part of the programme about public confidence?’

‘We have discussed the programme.’ She glanced down at the quill, which continued despite her pause.

‘There’s quite a lot of it,’ I said. For several seconds only the nib moved.

She tried the Mercer businesses next. I described the people doing the daily work and the need to account for money committed to a project. When she suggested that private resources gave me an exceptional advantage, I agreed that the organisers should ensure every competitor had the instruction and equipment required.

‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she asked. Her smile had become much more effortful.

‘Not for who wrote my name.’ I held her gaze until she turned to Fleur.

The remaining questions were brief. Fleur discussed her school and preparation; Krum explained that Quidditch before a large crowd did not tell him what an unknown task required. Rita offered each a more dramatic version of their answer, which neither accepted. She gathered the pad with less gentleness than she had used to place it on her knee.

‘I have enough,’ she said. I asked her to keep the correction to my age, and she assured me she had heard it before leaving with the photographer.

Krum waited until the door closed, then laughed. ‘I’ve never heard anyone discuss a programme so much,’ he said, clapping my shoulder.

I told him I wanted my reading time’s worth. Fleur kept looking towards the door before pointing out that Rita could still write things I had not said.

‘Yes,’ I admitted. They both looked at me, and Fleur asked what the point had been. ‘Now two other people heard the questions and answers. That won’t stop her writing. It makes it harder to pretend nobody can contradict her.’

Krum nodded slowly and said he would remember that. Fleur rose, asking whether I had meant everything about the Minister.

‘The part about keeping the organisers’ promises,’ I said, picking up my bag. ‘People sometimes listen more carefully when you agree in an inconvenient amount of detail.’

This time she smiled. It was small, and it did not remove the empty space where the bracket had hung. I was glad of it anyway.