Why Is Your Wand So Dark Green?

Upon hearing what Phoebe said, Madame Maxime smiled kindly.

"Child," she said, "You must understand that the Triwizard Tournament isn't just a competition organized by three schools; it's an ancient and prestigious event. The British wizarding world has made countless preparations for this Triwizard Tournament. Do you think the media will pass up this opportunity?"

"A chance to make a big splash," Harry muttered to himself.

"What did you say, child?" Madame Maxime didn't hear what Harry was muttering.

"It's nothing, I was just thinking we need to be careful of these reporters," Harry said quickly. "You know, reporters always like to create a big story to grab attention."

"That's something I didn't expect," Madame Maxime nodded. "I've heard that your country's Daily Prophet likes to embellish its reports, even fabricating facts to attract attention."

"But their comments about the Ministry of Magic are indeed classic." Harry glanced at Mr. Crouch almost casually, then said easily amidst the man's somber expression, "The British Ministry of Magic is undoubtedly superior because they have overcome difficulties that other countries don't have—."

Viktor lowered his head, his lips pressed tightly together, trying not to laugh out loud.

Phoebe lay on her back, trying her best to recall the most painful thing she had ever experienced in her life.

Mr. Bagman, on the other hand, was much more relaxed. He and Dumbledore exchanged a glance and burst into laughter.

"This is a smear campaign, Mr. Potter, a complete and utter smear campaign," Mr. Crouch said unhappily.

"It's really funny, isn't it?" Harry shrugged.

"Alright," Dumbledore cleared his throat and said to them, "You can go back now. Get a good night's sleep and relax tonight, okay? We have some things to do tomorrow morning. Also, especially you, Harry, I think the Gryffindor students can't wait to share the joy of becoming a Hogwarts champion with you."

As he said this, Dumbledore winked at Harry.

Harry almost threw up.

Come on, Headmaster, you should use that wit on Gellert instead.

After bidding farewell to the three Headmaster, the two champions, and Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch, Harry left the cottage and returned to his beloved Gryffindor Common Room.

"I heard Gryffindor has produced another champion?" The Fat Lady wasn't in a hurry to ask for the password. "I just heard this big news. Well done, Mr. Potter. So, the password."

"I'm a champion representing Gryffindor, and you still need my password?" Harry was starting to question his sanity.

"You know perfectly well who I am!"

"Yes, of course I know you are, but rules are rules." The Fat Lady cleared her throat, glanced around, and seeing that the portraits weren't paying attention, said to herself, "Oh, the password is 'Warrior,' so come in, Mr. Potter."

As she spoke, she stepped aside to let Harry pass.

"Thank you," Harry said with a smile, and slipped into the Gryffindor Common Room.

As soon as he went in, he heard a loud bang and his head was sprayed with a bunch of colored streamers.

It was the Weasley family Twins welcoming him in this special way.

"Looks like you've missed me a lot," Harry said with a grin. "What a unique welcome!"

3

"Let us welcome the Lion King of Gryffindor back to his faithful Common Room!"

The Weasley twins cheered loudly, and their classmates jumped up and down, raising their hands as if to welcome Harry.

That posture looks pretty standard!

"Although the Goblet of Fire didn't choose me, it's good that Gryffindor," Angelina exclaimed. "As long as other houses don't snatch them away, especially Slytherin —ha, I feel like I can hold my head high whenever I encounter Slytherin from now on, don't you think?"

"Kill Slytherin!" everyone shouted.

"Let the beautiful women of Slytherin get pregnant with Gryffindor's children—I don't know who started this idea, but it got everyone's unanimous agreement."

After all, there's a difference between the two houses. Look at the Gryffindor girls, they only have a robe that covers their entire bodies completely—and then look at the Slytherin girls? They have a bunch of inexplicable elements on their bodies, and they're even showing their thighs.

She really knows how to rock fashion.

"We've prepared some food, Harry, come and have some—"

Ron sat on the stool, holding a chicken leg in his hand.

"I'm not hungry, I actually ate enough—but nobody wanted to listen to him say he wasn't hungry, so they just dragged him into celebrating in the Common Room."

Harry felt like Tom, forced to perform by his mischievous friends. Lee Jordan somehow produced a Gryffindor House flag and insisted on wrapping it around Harry like a cloak.

Harry had no way to escape. Whenever he tried to sneak up the stairs to the dormitory, the crowd would gather around him, forcing him to drink another Butterbeer or shoving cookies and peanuts into his hands.

They partied until midnight before reluctantly ending their celebration.

"We'll continue to celebrate after you win your First Task," Lee Jordan said loudly. "I've already spoken to Diggory, you know, Cedric Diggory, that pretty boy. He'll help us get in touch with the Hogwarts Kitchen, on the condition that the Hufflepuff join us too."

We should celebrate?

Harry felt completely overwhelmed.

Back in his dorm, Harry was about to go to sleep when the Crystal Ball ball started bouncing around.

It was Veratia; she got through to Harry on the phone.

"Congratulations!" Veratia smiled sweetly. "I heard you became Hogwarts Champion, that's wonderful news!"

"You knew that?"

Harry glanced at his watch in surprise. "If I'm not mistaken, it's been less than five hours since I became a champion. How did you know?"

"I just knew it," Veratia said with a smile. "Of course, I hope you can win the final championship."

"To represent Hogwarts as the ultimate victor."

"Yes." Harry nodded.

After a moment of silence, Harry spoke first.

"I miss you, Veratia."

"How much do you want to?" Veratia asked with a smile.

"There's a kind of, um—" Harry glanced around, coughed twice, and said, "Anyway, the kind of longing that can't be heard by anyone. I'm still in my dorm."

The implication is that you should be careful not to say anything offensive that others might overhear.

Veratia understood Harry's meaning, gave him a charming smile, and then said, "I know,"

Don't worry—I might have some time around Christmas, and we can meet up—or rather, I remember your Apparition is pretty good, so why not take advantage of this Charms and meet up during the holidays, have some beers, and have a good chat about life?

That's a great suggestion, Harry was really tempted.

"How about today?"

"I'm sorry, not today, honey," Veratia said, shaking her head. "We can book a day in advance, and I'll arrange the time."

"Have you been very busy lately?" Harry asked with concern.

"Hmm—something, actually." Veratia nodded. "I've been working on some things lately—well, things that are more likely to attract media attention."

"What is it?" Harry asked curiously.

"This is a secret of the Austrian Ministry of Magic, Harry," Veratia said helplessly. "In principle, you shouldn't be able to know."

"But I know you wouldn't keep it from me," Harry said with a smile.

Veratia rubbed her eyes and, after a moment, said, "Okay—it's nothing important, it's just that, um—I've been representing the Austrian and Hungarian Ministry of Magic Austrian Ministry of Magic of Magic in merger negotiations recently. I think Europe doesn't need so many Ministry of Magic; they're far too bloated. What do you think?"

"Why specifically Hungary?" Harry asked curiously. "Are you trying to restore the glory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire?"

"Hmm," Veratia lightly touched her lips with her index finger, "So you mean—you want me to choose another country? Let me think... um, that's right, Austria was historically the Holy Roman Empire. If we're talking about merging, Germany would be a good choice. Hmm... German-Austrian Merger? What do you think of German-Austrian Merger?"

When they said this, they both felt a slight itch under their noses, though they weren't sure if it was just their imagination.

It looks like I'm about to grow a beard.

"This shouldn't be a problem in the Magical World," Harry said, scratching his chin. "But if you mentioned that word in the Muggle World, I think they'd think you're crazy, or they'd just have the police throw you in jail."

Veratia laughed twice, whether amused by Harry or because she thought it was Muggle dream for a Muggle to capture her.

The two lingered for a while longer before Harry reluctantly hung up the phone.

On the one hand, he had important things to do tomorrow, and on the other hand, Veratia had been very busy lately.

He didn't know that Veratia had taken his suggestion seriously; he had just thought she was joking.

After all, no one could have imagined that someone would actually push for the German-Austrian Merger decades later. Wouldn't that be like stabbing the US and Germany in the heart?

France: My Maginot Line has been breached, I'm done playing!

Poland: Why do I feel like I'm dying again? One by one? Why should I say it again?

When Harry woke up the next morning, he found the floor under his bed covered with flower petals.

The flower petals guided him toward the door.

As he left his dorm room, he found the Weasley twins saluting him in a very comical manner, using the Muggle army's salute.

"Attention, everyone!" the Twins commanded, standing ramrod straight. "Salute to the brave warrior!"

"Loyalty! Honesty!" the students shouted.

That shout was reminiscent of the old Lobsterbacks, startling Harry. You can't shout like that; it feels a bit ominous.

Colin Creevey struck an extremely contorted pose and snapped several photos of Harry.

"I think we should have Professor Trelawney do Divination for Harry," Neville said in a low voice, "To see if Harry can really become the ultimate champion."

"Come on," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Given Professor Trelawney's usual style, she'll definitely say Harry is Grim, that his life is in danger, 'Oh, my dear, you're Grim!' Believe it or not?"

"You imitated it perfectly," Ron praised, giving a thumbs up.

"If she dares to say that, we'll have to use some Harmless Minor Curses to teach her what to say," Hermione slammed her fist on the table, clearly still harboring a grudge against Professor Trelawney. "Why don't you have your clone brothers do it? Just throw a Dungbomb in Professor Trelawney's face and yell at her, 'Damn it, how dare you say he can't be the champion!'"

Hermione's facial expression twisted slightly as she said this.

It's clear she's still holding a grudge.

"It's what we should do." The Twins were eager to try, after all, they had received quite a few Grim Prophecy from Professor Trelawney.

During breakfast, the Gryffindor students sat in the Great Hall with their chests out and heads held high, looking quite proud.

Harry's Hufflepuff classmates were much more outgoing; they all crowded around him asking for Harry.

And then there were the Ravenclaw girls, who came over in small groups, surrounding Harry completely around the pool.

Cassandra sat in her Slytherin seat, coldly staring at the group of girls. If looks could kill, they would probably be riddled with holes by Cassandra's gaze.

After dinner, Harry planned to go for a walk to clear his head, but he was unexpectedly told to go to the hut for a check-up.

Just as they reached the door, Pabbie brought a fragrant breeze with her.

Harry —poor Harry, he got almost a minute of suffocation.

"You really are a champion!" Pabbie exclaimed joyfully, not forgetting to pull Harry out of her bosom. "You really are a champion—congratulations, congratulations—"

"There's nothing to congratulate me on," Harry rolled his eyes and said in a low voice, "After all, it's a bit unfair to win this competition alongside them—but I'll still do my best to participate."

Pabbie raised an eyebrow, then suddenly Niffler at Harry.

After sniffing twice, Pabbie's expression changed slightly.

"Oh," she said, "I have something to do, you go in first—um, I'll call you later when you're done, okay?"

"Okay." Harry reached out and pinched Pabbie's cheek. To be honest, it didn't feel bad.

He waved to Pabbie and pushed open the door to walk into the classroom.

This is a small classroom, with most of the desks pushed to the back, leaving a large open space in the middle.

However, there were three desks connected together in front of the blackboard, covered with a long piece of velvet.

Behind the velvet-covered desks were five chairs, one of which sat Ludo Bagman, who was talking to Rita Ms. Skeeter, the reporter from the Daily Prophet.

Viktor Krum stood in a corner with his usual gloomy face, not speaking to anyone. Phoebe sat in a chair, looking very quiet, and seemed to have no interest in talking to anyone.

A portly man was holding a large, slightly smoking black camera and was glancing at Phoebe out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly saw Harry, quickly stood up, and jumped forward.

"Ah, here he is! The Hogwarts Champion! Come in, Harry, come in—there's nothing to worry about, it's just the wand-testing ceremony, the other referees will be here soon—"

"A detection wand?" Harry asked, puzzled. He felt like he had forgotten something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"We need to check that your wands are fully functional and in good working order, because they will be your most important equipment in the upcoming competitions," Bagman said. "The experts are upstairs with Dumbledore. Then we'll take some photos. This is Rita Skeeter." He said, pointing to Ms. Skeeter. Rita Skeeter in her magenta robe, "She's writing a short article for the Daily Prophet about the Triwizard Tournament..."

"It may not be a small matter, Ludo," Rita Skeeter said, giving Harry a somewhat stiff, polite smile after noticing Harry gaze.

Of course she knew who Harry was.

As she sized up Harry, Harry was also sizing her up.

Ms. Skeeter's hair was styled into elaborate, stiff, and oddly shaped curls, which looked particularly awkward against her large chin.

She wore a pair of jeweled glasses. Her thick, fleshy fingers gripped a crocodile-skin handbag, her nails about two inches long and painted bright red.

But this outfit does indeed fit her persona very well.

However, Rita, contrary to her usual behavior, showed no interest in chatting with Harry. She glanced at him briefly before immediately looking away, preparing to resume her conversation with Mr. Bagman.

Harry sat down next to Phoebe. Noticing Harry approaching, Phoebe spoke to him gently.

Good morning, young master of Hogwarts.

"I'm not a kid anymore," Harry tried to prove himself. Although the silver- Veela was beautiful, she was still a bit short of Veratia.

"Hmm, you're not young." Phoebe looked at him with a smile. "Alright, I'll go easy on you in the next match."

Harry glanced at her but didn't say anything.

Arguing with a woman is a waste of energy.

After exchanging a few words, Dumbledore led the two Headmaster in.

Following at the very back of them was an old man whom Harry recognized.

It was none other than Mr. Ollivander, who began making staffs around 300 BC.

They took their seats in the referee's box, while Rita Skeeter, who had originally taken Mr. Crouch's seat, had to stand up and give up her place, finding a corner to sit in instead.

When Mr. Crouch saw her, he clearly didn't have a good look on his face; his expression was as if he were looking at a pile of shit.

Harry held back his laughter.

Rita secretly took a roll of Parchment from her handbag, laid it on her lap, smacked the tip of her Quick-Quotes Quill, and placed it vertically on the Parchment Quick-Quotes Quill.

"Please allow me to introduce Mr. Ollivander," Dumbledore said to the warriors as he sat down in the referee's box. "He will be inspecting your wands to make sure they are in good condition before the match."

Just then, Mr. Ollivander stood up.

"Miss Delacour, would you like to go first?" Mr. Ollivander said, walking to the open space in the center of the room.

Phoebe Delacour gracefully approached Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmm—" he murmured.

Mr. Ollivander twirled the wand between his long, slender fingers as if he were conducting a conductor's baton, and the wand emitted many pink and gold sparks—then he brought the wand close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

"Not bad," he said softly, "Nine and a half inches is very strong—made of wood—it contains—... Oh, my God—."

"It contains a Veela hair," Phoebe said. "It's my grandmother's hair."

Oh, it really is Veela.

Yuli felt that her guess was correct; this girl, whose beauty was second only to Veratia, really did have Veela blood.

However, this has little to do with him.

"That's right," said Mr. Ollivander. "Yes, of course. I myself have never used Veela hair, and it would be too sensitive and capricious for me to use a wand made of Veela hair. But everyone has their own preferences."

Since it suits you

Mr. Ollivander touched the wand with his finger, apparently checking it for scratches and dents. Then,

He whispered, "Orchids Bloom!" A bouquet of flowers bloomed on the wand.

"Very good, very good, you're in good shape," said Mr. Ollivander, gathering the flowers and handing them, along with his wand, to Phoebe. "Mr. Krum, it's your turn."

Viktor Krum stood up, his round shoulders swaying, and walked listlessly toward Mr. Ollivander with his pigeon-toed gait.

He shoved the wand into his hand, stood there frowning, his hands in the pockets of his robe.

"Well," said Mr. Ollivander, "if I'm not mistaken, this is a product of Gregorovitch. He's an excellent wandmaker, although I'm not entirely sure about his smokers—but—"

He raised his wand and examined it carefully, turning it over and over in front of him.

"That's right—hornbeam wood, containing the Dragon Heartstring, isn't it?" He glanced at Krum — Krum nodded—"Much thicker than people usually make—very stiff—ten and a quarter inches—like Birdsong!"

The hornwood wand shattered with a loud crack, like a pistol firing, and a small bird flapped its wings and flew out of the wand's head, flying into the soft sunlight through the broken window.

"Very well," said Mr. Ollivander, handing the wand back to Krum. "There's one last one— Mr. Potter."

Harry stood up, brushed past Krum, and walked toward Mr. Ollivander.

He handed his wand to Mr. Ollivander.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Ollivander, taking the wand, his light-colored eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. "Yes, yes, yes—I delivered it clearly."

"Beechwood, Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches—" He repeated what he had said years ago, "I told you this long ago, that a beechwood wand should be truly suited to someone who, if a teenager, possesses wisdom beyond their years; or, if an adult, is reasonable and experienced—"

"And I forgave you back then," Yuli said with a smile, recalling what happened at Ollivanders's Wand Shop.

"Your magnanimity can light up the entire Hogwarts Great Hall," Mr. Ollivander said with a smile.

Clearly, Mr. Ollivander was delighted when he looked at the wand. After all, two of the three heroes in the Triwizard Tournament didn't have wands made by him, so it was only natural that he was happy to see a wand that belonged to him.

"Then," Mr. Ollivander said, raising his wand and pointing it upwards.

A stream of wine suddenly sprayed out from the wand—but here's the problem: it was green wine.

Ollivanders:?

No, why is the wine sprayed from your wand green?

Is it because of environmental protection?

Mr. Ollivander examined the wand again, this time secretly using the detection Charms Yuli finally remembered what he had forgotten—he had used this wand to cast the Avada Kedavra in Professor Moody's class.

He wasn't nervous at all. Even if people found out he had used the Killing Curse, it didn't matter. After all, it was Professor Moody who told him to use it, and he was just doing what he was supposed to do—obeying orders.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Crouch, who had been silent all along, asked, but his eyes were glancing at Harry.

Mr. Ollivander glanced at Yuli, took a deep breath, and said, "It's nothing, Mr. Crouch. I should say the wand is in pretty good condition. I made a mistake just now."

Mr. Crouch frowned, telling him that something was wrong, nine parts wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.

Why would wine be green? Even if Ollivanders made a mistake, this shouldn't be happening.

However, he still chose to believe the judgment of a cane maker, and after giving Yuli a deep look, he said nothing more.

Mr. Ollivander returned the wand to Yuli, smiled, and said, "Very well, here's your wand back. I hope you'll continue to take good care of it."

"I will, Mr. Ollivander," Yuli replied with a smile.

Mr. Ollivander nodded, intending to find some time to discuss his recent discovery with Dumbledore. He took the opportunity to examine the wand to see what he had done and what he had sensed.

"Thank you, everyone," Dumbledore said as Yuli sat back down. He stood up by the referee's table. "Now you can go back and rest—or perhaps it would be more convenient to go down to lunch. Anyway, it's almost lunchtime, and we've done enough inspections." Yuli stood up to leave, but the man with the black camera suddenly jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Take a picture, Dumbledore, take a picture!" Bagman shouted excitedly. "How about the referee and the warriors take a picture together, Rita?"

It's clear that Bagman enjoys having his picture taken, because his smile is genuine.

Mr. Crouch, however, seemed reluctant. He sat there with a frown, even covering his face with his top hat.

But Mr. Bagman, being so enthusiastic, pulled Mr. Crouch up and made him pose for a photo together.

"Hmm—okay, let's take a group photo first," Rita Ski said, her gaze falling on Yuli again. "Maybe we'll take a few individual photos later."

Rita felt a little guilty as she said this, because her heart was with Yuli, or Sirius, with his Godfather.

If she offends Yuli, she'll really be in deep trouble.

The photo shoot took a long time, not because it was slow, but because the combination was so difficult to arrange perfectly.

No matter where Madame Maxime stood, she blocked everyone else out, and the room was too small for the photographer to stand far enough to get her in the shot; in the end, she had to sit down, and everyone else stood around her.

Karkaroff kept circling his flock of goats with his fingers, trying to curl them into a ball.

As for Krum, Yuli thought he was used to this kind of thing, but unexpectedly he Winky behind everyone else.

Who would have thought that such a burly man would be so socially awkward? This made Yu Li feel quite Yuli. The photographer seemed eager to have Phoebe stand in front, but Ludo Bagman and Rita Schizzo both agreed that the fourth-year student's height was not outstanding and he should be placed at the very front.

Then she insisted on taking individual photos of each of the warriors. It took them a long time to finally get free.

"I'm exhausted," Phoebe said, rubbing her sore shoulders. "I thought taking photos would be quick, but it turned out to be such a tiring thing—I swear, there's nothing more tiring in the world."

"This is much better than Potions Class," Yuli said with a chuckle. "I don't know if you've ever taken Professor Snape's Potions Class. If you had, you wouldn't have said that."

"Oh, I missed the last Potions Class," Phoebe said.

"That's such a shame," Yuli said sincerely. "To come to Hogwarts as a short-term exchange student and not experience Potions Class that is highly regarded among all the students and faculty, would be a complete waste of the exchange opportunity!"

"Really?" Phoebe was intrigued. "I know you're being sarcastic, but I'm curious why you all hate Potions Class so much. Is it because the Potions Teacher doesn't wash his hair?"

"It's true he doesn't wash his hair, but that's only a small part of the reason," Yuli shrugged. "I admit his scalp smells oily, but the smell of brewing Potions in Potions Class is enough to mask that smell. What really bothers us is his teaching style—of course, teaching behind someone's back isn't a good thing, so if you want to know what Potions Class is really like, you'll have to experience it for yourself."

As he finished speaking, Yuli remembered Snape's olfactory ability, which was practically a weapon of causality.

He glanced back and saw that there was no one there, so he breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness, I'm not Ron.

Otherwise, Snape would definitely have arrested him on the spot.