Chapter 3 - Weighing of the Wands
“Richard! Richard, are you all right?”
Richard vaguely felt someone shaking him.
“Don’t touch him,” he heard the sharp voice of Headmistress Derwent say. “Mr Cudney? Mr Cudney, please wake up.” A cool hand touched his forehead.
Richard opened his eyes, dazed. “He’ll be fine,” Headmistress Derwent announced as she gently helped Richard stand up. A blur of red, blue, and black surrounded him. Richard’s sight was still hazy, but he could make out the concerned faces of his friends, the scornful looks of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and the outraged expressions of his fellow Hogwarts students.
Embarrassed, Richard shook off the headmistress as she tried to help him to the front and hobbled as quickly as he could, avoiding eye contact, to stand with the other two champions. Mihail smirked at Richard before turning to Sylvie. “A very good start as champion, no?” he stage-whispered.
Richard heard Headmaster Mirko declare, “You are all dismissed. Please make your way to your rooms. The three champions are to stay behind.” From the slight tremble in his voice, Richard knew the Durmstrang headmaster was struggling to not laugh. Richard stared resolutely forward as the scrapings and clamoring of the dining hall faded.
Suddenly, the torches were relit. Richard blinked rapidly as his pupils adjusted to the light. “Now then.” Headmaster Mirko walked around the high table to get a better look at the three champions. “Your first task will take place two Saturdays from today. No clue will be given about what you will face, for this task is to test your courage in the face of extreme danger. The order by which your parchment came forth from the goblet will be the order with which you will face your task. Mr Veneva of Durmstrang will go first, followed by Miss Bontecue, and lastly Mr Cudney. But first, Mr Platt here,” a man whom Richard hadn’t noticed walked forward, “will weigh your wands. Routine procedure.”
Perplexed, Richard observed the shriveled man carefully as he took Sylvie’s wand. Mr Platt scrutinized the wand from all angles before coming to his conclusion. “Ten inches of willow with a core of baby unicorn hair. Sturdy.” He muttered an incantation under his breath and flicked the wand. A nearby chair turned instantly into a stork. Mr Platt attempted a smile, though he only succeeded in wrinkling his already drooping face further.
“Mr Veneva?” Mihail handed his wand though he’d glanced at his headmaster before doing so. “A whole ten and a half inches “ of birch and…odd…a feather from a Golden Snidget?” Mr Pratt looked up, frowning deeply.
“Mr Veneva, what is the meaning of this?” Headmistress Derwent strode forward, glaring sternly at the suddenly dwarfed Mihail. “Golden Snidgets have been protected under international law for ages. Plucking even a single feather from one is a very serious offense!”
Headmaster Mirko was by his student’s side in an instant. He stared coldly at Headmistress Derwent. “I shall not have my student wrongfully accused of such crimes right under my very nose.” There was no trace of the little friendliness he had in his voice. “Mihail has a very logical explanation for the core of his wand.”
“The wand was “ that is “ it belonged to an ancestor of mine.” Mihail trembled slightly as he explained. Richard secretly did not believe a word he said.
“Vat year, child, was it made?” Lady Larogue peered suspiciously at the wand in question.
“1100s for certain,” Mihail answered, sounding slightly more certain. “Before Golden Snidgets were protected by international law.”
Apparently Headmistress Derwent did not either. “Mr Pratt. I’m sure you have a way to confirm his story?”
Above Headmaster Mirko’s cry of outrage, Mr Pratt squeaked, “Yes, I do.” He hesitated when he glanced at Mirko’s red face, but when prompted by the severe-looking Derwent, he proceeded in a whisper, “The particular type of birch in Mr Veneva’s wand is indigenous to the new world. Due to the Apparation restrictions of the 1100s, when intercontinental travel was limited strictly to Muggle modes of transportation and when Muggles had yet to discover North America…” Mr Pratt hesitated again. “Well, Professor Derwent, the birch and the Golden Snidget feather of this wand had to have come together around the late fifteenth century when Golden Snidgets were already protected by wizard law.”
Richard stared shocked at what the wandmaker had revealed. Mihail himself had blanched, and Mirko trembled with suppressed fury. Headmistress Derwent gazed at Mihail steadily before stating, “I think we need to have a chat, Headmaster Mirko.”
After the Headmaster and Headmistress led Mihail out of the room, Mr Pratt tried to finish the weighing of the wands. He swiftly checked Richard’s wand (“Nine and a half inches of oak and thestral hair. A very speedy wand”), and a quiet Durmstrang professor dismissed Sylvie and Richard to bed. Before leaving, Richard glanced back at the small room where Mihail was most likely receiving a few harsh warnings about the core of his wand.
The next morning, Richard told Cecil and Eliza all about the weighing of the wands. When he finished, Cecil muttered, “Odd how Mihail would lie about something so obvious. Everyone knows there was to be a weighing of the wands.”
Eliza seemed to be deep in thought. “But why would having a Golden Snidget core be such a violation of rules?”
Just as Richard began to shrug, a lilting laughter floated down from above them. “Are you not the girl who’d boasted to be from the smartest House in Hogwarts?” Sylvie Bontecou smoothly slid into the empty chair at the table, ignoring Eliza’s sputters in protest. “The Golden Snidget core,” she said, now looking directly at Richard, “is not only illegal because of the protection of the Golden Snidget, it gives the wand, and its owner, an advantage. Golden Snidgets are fast and unbelievably agile, capable of changing directions at an instant’s notice. So, too, are the wands containing Golden Snidget feathers. Wizards have argued, and some have even proven, that such cores give its owners quicker reflexes and thus an unfair advantage in this tournament.”
Cecil blinked while Richard stared at the calm newcomer who was now helping herself to some grapes. “Why are you here?” Eliza growled through clenched teeth. Richard noticed her grip on the edge of the table tightened. “Don’t you have your own friends to bother?”
Sylvie tsked, making a sound not unlike what Mrs Flaherty had made on the platform. “School unity, Miss Flaherty. I encourage you to do the same. You meet so many interesting characters that way.” Sylvie flashed Richard another smile. “But you are right, Miss Flaherty. I do have my friends to greet. Cheerio,” she mocked and glided away to her friends.
“She’s a funny girl, that one,” Cecil watched Sylvie’s retreating back as he popped a grape into his mouth. “Her English is surprisingly good.” Upon seeing Eliza’s seething glare, he added hastily, “Though she does slur her words at the end.”
“Mother’s English,” Eliza explained offhandedly. Turning to Richard, she warned, “Be careful, Richard. She’s very clever and manipulates people very easily. Don’t be fooled by her pretty face.”
Richard chortled though he blushed slightly. “Don’t be silly, Eliza. She’s perfectly harmless. And even if she did try something funny, she can’t possibly be more dangerous than Mihail.”
Cecil shook his head. “Still can’t believe that goof would try to cheat. Tournament hasn’t even started yet.”