THE WEIGHING OF THE WANDS Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry’s wand than anyone else’s. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition. “Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —” Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, 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.” The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast every- one 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 Harry 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 champi- ons. At last, they were free to go. Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn’t there — he sup- posed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor ‘311‘