Amelia Black, daughter of Isabella Black. Starting her third year at Hogwarts, things begin to change. Previous family members stroll into her life. The real question is, will she be able to forgive and forget?
Unfortunately jk Rowling owns all Harr...
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They walked to the destination in silence. Amelia barely knew who Collin was, only that he was a tiny bit obsessed with Harry and the Potter family in general.
"Good luck!" said Colin when they had reached the right room. Amelia knocked on the door and entered.
She was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet.
Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Amelia had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.
Viktor Krum was stood in the corner moodily not talking to anyone but when Amelia entered the room he offered her a tight smile.
She smiled back not wanting to be rude.
Cedric and Fleur were engaged in conversation. Amelia didn't want to wander over there, she had a feeling Fleur didn't like her very much.
Bagman suddenly spotted Amelia, got up quickly, and bounded forward.
"Ah, here she is! Champion number four! In you come, Amelia, in you come... nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -"
"Wand weighing?" Amelia repeated nervously.
"We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead," said Bagman. "The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter," he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. "She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet..."
"Maybe not that small, Ludo," said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Amelia.
Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face.
She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.
"I wonder if I could have a little word with Amelia before we start?" she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Amelia. "The youngest champion, you know... to add a bit of color?"
"Certainly!" cried Bagman. "That is - if Amelia has no objection?"
Amelia did not like Rita Skeeter. Her mother used to complain to her about the woman, she always wrote about people in the worst ways possible.
It was a mystery how she was still writing pieces for the Daily Prophet.
"Actually." Amelia said, "I'm not feeling myself at the moment. Can it wait until later?"
