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[The chapter is edited by Editor: Alan_Loo/AlanL]

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Glad to have put Rita Skeeter in her place, Quinn walked back into the room. He glanced to his right to see the champions sitting in chairs near the door. Turning his eyes to the front, Quinn saw the five judges; Igor Karkaroff, Olympe Maxime, Bartemius Crouch Senior, Ludo Bagman, and Albus Dumbledore sitting on a velvet-covered table.

Glancing to his left, he noticed Rita Skeeter settle herself down in a corner. He saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment. Her professionalism fascinated Quinn. It was impressive how quickly Skeeter bounced back and was back to normal. Just as he promised, Quinn didn't stop her from writing as it wasn't about him or his close ones.

He silently walked to another wall and stood close to it, choosing not to lean against it.

"May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?" said Dumbledore, from his place at the judges' table and talking to the champions. "He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."

Quinn looked around, and with mild surprise, saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Quinn had met Ollivander once before— he was the wandmaker from whom Quinn had bought his own wand all those years ago in Diagon Alley.

'His presence sure is feeble,' thought Quinn. He overlooked the wandmaker when he entered the room.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?" said Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

"Hmmm…" he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton, and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and scrutinized it.

"Yes," he said quietly, "nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood... containing... Dear me..."

"A lock of hair from the head of a Veela," provided Fleur. "One of my grandmothers."

'Part Veela. Bullshit,' thought Quinn.

There were no male Veelas in existence and as such a daughter born from a Veela was a Veela and not a part-Veela like in the original works. Like her mother and grandmother, Fleur Delacour was a full Veela and not some illogical quarter-Veela as had been written by the Duchess of Magic.

"Yes," said Ollivander, "yes, I've never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands... however, to each his own, and if this suits you..."

Quinn turned his gaze to Fleur's silver hair, and the fact that her hair when she grew up could be used as a component of a magical focus fascinated him much.

'House-elf blood, Veela hair, Goblin heart, Dwarf bone,' listed Quinn in his mind, 'so many intelligent and humanoid races with a part of their body that can be used as a magical focus…'

He looked down at his hand and clenched it briefly before opening it to see the blood which had been pushed back return to his palm. Human blood had some magical properties but not enough to use as a magical focus. No part of the human body had enough magical characteristics; it made him wonder how his magic would have been if he was from a different race.

'If I was a Veela, could my hair be used as an internal focus? If I was from a race connected deeper to magic than a human... how would my magic have turned out,' he thought. He shook his head. He liked himself as a human, and there was no use in thinking about his race.

Ollivander ran his fingers along with the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, "Orchideous!" and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand-tip.

"Very well, very well, it's in fine working order," said Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. "Mr. Diggory, you are next."

Fleur sat back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

"Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?" said Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm. Cedric handed over his wand. "Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a magnificent male unicorn... must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches... ash... pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition... Do you take care of it regularly?"

"Polished it last night," said Cedric, grinning.

Harry, who was among the champions, looked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it. He gathered a fistful of the robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.

Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, "Mr. Krum if you please."

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

"Hmm," said Ollivander, "this is a Gregorovitch creation unless I'm mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I... however..."

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

"Yes... hornbeam and dragon heartstring?" he shot at Krum, who nodded. "Rather thicker than one usually sees... quite rigid... ten and a quarter inches... Avis!"

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and several small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

"Good," said Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves us... Mr. Potter."

Harry got to his feet, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see Quinn. He recalled the words the Ravenclaw had said to him... The fourth champion squared his shoulders, lifted his chin straight before confidently walking past Krum to Ollivander. He handed over his wand.

"Aaaah, yes," said Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. I remember it well."

Harry could remember it, too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday...

. . .

Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Ollivander's shop with his parents and Ivy to buy a wand. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. Harry had waved what felt like every wand in the shop until, at last, he had found the one that suited him— one that was made of holly, measured eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand.

"Curious," he had said, "curious," and not until Harry asked what was curious had Mr. Ollivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Voldemort's.

His parents hadn't been happy to hear that particular piece of information. They had made Ollivander show Harry some more wands, but in the end, Harry had come out of the shop with the holly, phoenix feather wand.

. . .

Harry had been forbidden to share this piece of information with anybody. And he was okay with that order, as he was very fond of his wand, and as far as Harry was concerned, its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't be helped. However, Harry really hoped that Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. Harry had a funny feeling that Rita Skeeter might just explode with excitement if he did.

Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges' table. "You may—"

"Now, now, Albus," interrupted Ollivander, "we have another student among us. How about I examine his wand first before you dismiss all of us?" Ollivander turned to his right, and with a smile in his pale eyes, he said, "Mr. West, please bring your wand to me. I will check it before I leave."

Everybody in the room looked at the lone non-champion student in the room. The eyes of Bartemius Crouch Senior and Ludo Bagman widened when they heard how Ollivander addressed the boy. They almost snapped their necks from the speed they turned their heads to look at the boy who was suddenly revealed to be from the West family.

Quinn acted as if he didn't notice the looks of the others. He shook his head towards the wandmaker with a smile. "As much as I would like my wand to get examined by you, Mr. Ollivander, unfortunately, I don't have my wand with me."

Dumbledore, who had gotten up from his chair, looked at Quinn in shock and surprise. "Mr. West... you don't have your wand with you?" The headmaster couldn't believe that Quinn —Quinn West in particular— didn't have his wand with him.

Quinn shifted his robes to reveal the left side of his trousers to show that the wand holster he usually magically merged with his clothes there was missing.

"Yes, Headmaster," chuckled Quinn at Dumbledore's surprise, "as strange it might seem, today, Professor McGonagall went to me just enough that I forgot my wand holster in my bookbag. I removed it for our potions' class... as, according to Professor Snape, it isn't a place for wand waving."

He turned to Ollivander and performed a short head-bow, "I will visit you in the summer, Mr. Ollivander; we can go over my wand then."

Quinn, of course, had thought of the possibility of his wand being asked for a friendly inspection. So he had purposely left his fake wand and holster in his book bag behind in his office.

"... I see," said Dumbledore slowly. "You may go back to your lessons now— or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as classes are about to end."

Feeling that he had diverted his wand situation well, Quinn took one step forward, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

"Photos, Dumbledore, photos!" cried Bagman excitedly. "All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?"

"Er— yes, let's do those first," said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. "And then perhaps some individual shots."

Quinn stayed put and decided to stay still and wait for the event to end, but it turned out that was a mistake.

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually, she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl.

Krum, whom Quinn would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

Quinn stepped outside of the room, stretching his slightly tired legs from standing still for too long. He wanted to go to his office and resume his work, but there was one thing he wanted to accomplish; the reason he had not left after delivering Harry for the press release.

He eyed the blue-eyed, blond man with rosy skin whose once athletic build had "gone to seed." It was akin to a sack of potatoes now.

"Mr. Bagman," he called out, stepping near the ex-Quidditch athlete.

Ludovic "Ludo" Bagman turned, and his eyes widened in surprise when he came across Quinn standing behind him. The now ministry employee knew what the child represented, so even though he was tired from the lengthy session, he greeted him with a smile.

"Quinn, was it? What can I do for you?"

"Walk with me," said Quinn and, without waiting for a reply, he started walking.

Ludo blinked a couple times but fell into step with Quinn, already under the influence of Quinn's momentum and rhythm.

"Mr. Bagman, if I'm correct, you'll be part of the judging panel for the tournament, correct?"

"Ah, yes. Along with the Headmasters and Mr. Crouch."

"Hmm, and you will also be hosting said tasks, correct?"

"Er— yes."

"Be honest with me, Mr. Bagman," asked Quinn, "are you truly interested in hosting the tasks?"

"Eh? I don't understand," replied Bagman.

"The Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports shouldn't be here for the Triwizard tournament," said Quinn. Bagman expected a "no offense" from him, but it didn't come. "The tournament might sound like it comes under the jurisdiction of your department, but it doesn't. That made me wonder, what were you actually doing here? So I did some light investigation and found that you volunteered for the judging committee."

He glanced at Bagman as he said, "I found that very peculiar."

Bagman, who saw the look in Quinn's eyes, gulped, "Why… do you think so?"

"I mean, wouldn't it make anyone wonder why a Head of a Department that hasn't had a single big initiative other than the World Cup- is suddenly becoming wildly interested in the Triwizard tournament?" Quinn spoke as if telling a story. "But then everything cleared up when I found that you are in debt— nay, crushing debt from the goblins. It became so apparent why you were here."

Bagman almost tripped on his own feet when he heard Quinn. His debt had been a well-kept secret. Despite the Goblins looking for him everywhere, he had been able to keep things under a hush.

"You definitely put in some effort in getting this job, didn't you? If Mr. Crouch had been the one in charge, I presume things wouldn't have been easy for you."

A fact that not many people knew about Ludo Bagman was that he had given information about the Ministry to Death Eaters during the First Wizarding War. He had given information to the Death Eater Unspeakable Augustus Rookwood, and after the Death Eaters fell, he had been put on trial for treason.

The one who spearheaded the trial was none other than the then Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Senior. He had tried hard to put Bagman in Azkaban, but Ludo was cleared of all charges to Crouch's extreme annoyance. This was partly due to him being a famous Quidditch player. One witch within the jury stood up and congratulated Bagman for his rather impressive play in the previous Quidditch match, with the others cheering him. Ludo was never accused of his allegiance with Death Eaters again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Ludo, pulling a smile on his face, but couldn't hide the fact of how uncomfortable he was feeling right now.

"Of course, of course, I'm sure I'm just misinformed," said Quinn, nodding. "But the fact remains that you're in soul-crushing debt and you need a way to pay it back. To do so, you need money which you are going to get by illegally betting on the tournament and stacking the odds in your favour. You'll manipulate the outcome to the best of your… ability."

Quinn suddenly stopped and fixed his eyes on Ludo Bagman, causing the man to stare into the stone-grey orbs; the thought that he was talking to a kid had exited his head ever since the start of the conversation.

"Mr. Bagman, I'm sure you realize what my family represents. I, right here and now, within a few minutes can," he snapped his fingers for a galleon to appear between his thumb and index finger, "snap your debt out of existence like it was never there. It won't take me any effort to do so, and by the time you wake up tomorrow, you could have a letter from Gringotts reading that your debt has been cleared."

Bagman's heart was beating loudly in his chest. The debt had been weighing on his head and chest ever since the Goblins had cornered after the World Cup finals. They had stunned him and stripped him down until he was completely nude to get their money back. He had been so shocked to find himself naked and in between a Death Eater raid after he got up that he decided to solve the problem by joining the judging panel and helping the Hogwarts Champion win the tournament.

When he found that Harry Potter had been chosen as the fourth champion, he thought his luck couldn't be better. Despite his reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived, the fourteen-year-old champion didn't inspire much confidence in the underground betting scene. So he decided that he would help Harry Potter win the tournament and pocket the huge returns from his bettings.

"I can solve your problems," said Quinn with a depthless smile, "all you have to do is to step inside after me."

He gracefully raised his hand and pointed it to his side.

Bagman's eyes followed Quinn's hand, and he saw a door. It was just like any other classroom doors in Hogwarts but with just one difference.

"What do I have to do?" asked Bagman.

Quinn smiled and opened the door, inviting Bagman and stepping inside after him.

The standard Hogwarts door was shut with an out-of-the-ordinary flat, black plaque hanging snug against the door pane. In golden letters, the plaque read:

「773H」

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Quinn West - MC - Really stepping up his game, isn't he?

Garrick Ollivander - Wandmaker - Thinks a lot about his work.

Ludovic Bagman - Under crushing debt - Stepped into the deal of a lifetime.

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