Harry Potter and the Elemental Wands

Harry Potter and the Elemental Wands
Chapter 3 - Of Stings, Songs and Sortings

Harry's disbelief for Professor McGonagall's announcement lasted for several days after it. Ron, too, was making a habit of pacing around with his jaw dropped. Hermione took it slightly better, her shock wearing off in time to remind Harry that he had to be in the Quidditch pitch to watch Arandelle play. He wondered vaguely how she knew about it, thanked her and set off in the general direction of the pitch. Unfortunately, his mind was still on other things and he took a wrong turn, ending up in the East Tower instead of outside. Gradually, his mind cleared and he finally got where he was supposed to be - several hours late.

The pitch itself was empty, but Arandelle was flying above it on her broom. It seemed as though she was flying rather slowly but Harry soon realised that it was because she had a Nimbus Two Thousand and One as opposed to his champion Firebolt. Her small figure zoomed closer and closer to the ground until he could clearly make out her distinctive features.

'You're Harry, aren't you?' she said as her broom slowed to a stop on the field.

'Yeah,' Harry nodded vaguely. 'I take it I'm late?'

She nodded. 'But no one else has turned up. I guess the prospect of Hogwarts having a Talent Contest was a bit much for everyone.'

He grinned. 'It was almost a bit much for me, too. I was wandering around the towers for ages before I finally realised that I was going in the wrong direction.'

She smiled back, a little mysteriously. 'Well, if no one else is going to turn up, I guess they'll have to take your word for my performance. The Quidditch season will start soon and they can't afford to play without a Keeper, even if it isn't me.'

Harry shrugged and seated himself on the bench that normally belonged to Madam Hooch. 'Ok, I'm ready.'

Arandelle blushed slightly, obviously a little embarrassed. 'What do you want me to do?' she asked hesitantly.

'Sorry,' he apologised, standing up again. 'I guess I'll throw some golf balls at you or something - maybe we could even get our hands on a practice Quaffle.'

He rummaged around in the Quidditch store room while Arandelle took off on her broom again. The sky was darkening rather rapidly, turning her into no more than a shadow. When he emerged from the store room, a bucket of golf balls in hand, she returned to the ground and came smoothly to a stop, her black hair a wild maelstrom around her shoulders.

'This is how Oliver Wood tested me the first time,' Harry told her. 'I'm going to throw gold balls at you - from the ground since I didn't bring my Firebolt. Try to catch as many as you can.'

She nodded and took off again. Harry strode onto the pitch and began to throw golf balls in every direction as fast as he could.

She darted around on her Nimbus, snatching at the air around her for the balls. Harry stopped throwing at intervals to let her deposit her armfuls of golf balls in his bucket. This continued for almost an hour until it got so dark that she could no longer see the balls flying at her and nearly got hit in the face with one. She landed beside him, her amber eyes reflecting what little light there was.

'We should go and pick up all those balls I missed,' Arandelle suggested. Then, without waiting for an answer, pulled out her wand from the folds of her black Hogwarts cloak and lit the tip of it with a single word; 'Lumos'.

Harry followed suit and moments later, the two were hunting around in the grass looking for the hard, notched balls.

'I can't find any,' she admitted at last, straightening up.

Harry searched the rest of the pitch briefly with a single glance. 'Neither can I. I guess you must have caught them all. Congratulations,' he added, smiling.

'Why, thank you, Harry,' she said, her eyes twinkling. 'I'm sure you did the same thing,' she added with an almost impish smile.

Harry winced at having his compliment thrown back at him. 'Actually I did,' he said.

'And since Firebolts and Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones weren't invented then, you would have had a different broom - most likely a Nimbus Two Thousand, am I correct?' Her grin broadened.

Harry made a face. OK, I'll stop trying to praise you. I did the same thing that you did, only with an older broom, is that what you're trying to say?'

'Almost. You didn't have practice. It was your second time on a broom.'

'Do you do this to everyone you meet?' he asked almost suspiciously.

Arandelle laughed. 'Not quite. There are a few people that haven't met the real me yet. Would you believe that some people in
my year nicknamed me Dandy, thinking that I am a sort of delicate butterfly?'

'I'd never think of it,' Harry murmured as they made their way back towards the castle.

She giggled. 'What they now know is that this butterfly has a sting that most people notice a bit too late.'

'I've noticed that,' Harry grinned. 'And it hurts.'

'Of course,' she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 'What good is a sting if it doesn't hurt?'

---

Hermione didn't take her usual spot with Ron and Harry at dinner. Instead, she sat next to Arandelle further down the table. Ron glanced at the two girls talking and shook his head in a disapproving manner.

'What?' Harry asked curiously.

'Nothing.'

Harry noticed something tight in Ron's tone. OK,' he replied, trying to sound hurt. 'If that's the way you want it. I thought I was a good enough friend to be trusted by you Ron, but maybe I'm wrong.'

'You know it's nothing like that,' Ron said a bit harshly. He cast a sidelong glance down the table again then, noticing Harry watching him, he changed the subject abruptly.

'What do you think is going to happen with this Talent Contest thing?' he asked, helping himself to some sort of pie.

Harry shrugged. 'Honestly, I wouldn't have a clue. I've got enough stuff to worry about right now - that Prophecy thing, Sirius coming back here, that weird Arandelle character. I'm not giving a second thought to entering. You can, though, if you want.'

'I wonder if there's a prize?' Ron wondered, wistfully. 'It'd be great to have some more money ...'

'I'm sure there is a prize,' Harry reassured him. 'But what are you going to do as a talent?'

Ron sighed, resigned. 'I don't know, Harry. There's nothing I can do that's ostentatious enough to catch the judges' eyes.'

'I'm sure you'll think of something. If I thought I'd be of any help, I'd do an act with you. But I'm as hopeless as you are at that sort of thing. No offense intended, of course,' he added as Ron turned his eyes on him.

The youngest Weasley boy turned back to his food for a few minutes, the Talent Contest obviously resting heavily on his mind. Harry, too, ate steadily, trying to come up with a way to help his friend enter the Contest, and possibly win.

'Can you play a musical instrument?' he suggested.

'Uh ... not really.'

'Can you sing?'

Ron gave Harry a queer look. 'No.' He shook his head with an air of finality.

'Can you dance?'

'Absolutely not.'

'Can you baton tw- never mind.'

'What?'

'Don't worry,' Harry assured him. 'You wouldn't want to do it anyway.'

Ron sighed again. 'Thanks anyway, Harry, but I don't think I have anything that could possibly be of use in this part of my life.'

'Cheer up, Ron,' Harry said kindly. 'At least I'll be sitting here with you when we go to watch it.'

---

The next week whizzed by in a blur of confusion and teachers. Professor Dale, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was very similar to Professor McGonagall - she made no hesitation in announcing that she was here to teach and that if anyone got in her way, they would be dealt with. She left it at that, and the class very delicately let it drop.

Professor Trelawney, the moth like Divination teacher stuck to her weekly ritual and predicted Harry's death several times, describing each of them in a wealth of detail. Severus Snape was no merrier than he ever had been and was criticizing his Gryffindor students like he was paid for it. Harry himself had considered this several times but had always come to the same conclusion - no insane headmaster, not even Dumbledore for all his peculiarities, would pay someone to criticize students. Flitwick was the same tiny Charms teacher they had ever known but Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, had become even more boring than before, if that was humanly (or inhumanly) possible.

It was a week to the day when Professor McGonagall climbed up on to the stage in the Great Hall during dinner. All the students were immediately quiet and she had no trouble speaking over them.

'Many of you have been preparing for this day,' she informed them. 'Tonight, as you all should know, is the night of the Talent Contest.' Harry heard Ron sigh next to him. 'The performances will begin right after you have all finished dinner and will progress into the night. We have adjudicators who will judge the person who they think has the best talent and they will be
awarded a small prize. When dinner is finished, we will begin.'

Most people finished eating right after that announcement. A few less interested people, mostly those who sat at the Slytherin table, Harry's rival Draco Malfoy among them, took their time in finishing their meal. However, they had to stop sometime and the moment they did, the dishes cleared and Professor McGonagall was up on the stage once more, to introduce the first of the competitors.

The next few hours were filled with singing, other musical achievements, jokes and even one boy who demonstrated his yoga skills by twisting his legs over his head and clasping his hands together around his back at the same time. The Weasley twins Fred and George had entered themselves as joke tellers, sending the audience in bouts of uncontrollable laughter and sending blushes into many of the girls' faces until they were finally hauled off the stage by McGonagall herself.

It was towards the end that Harry spotted another familiar face. Arandelle, the girl with the golden eyes, climbed somewhat nervously onto the stage.

'This is Arandelle Winters,' Professor McGonagall said, her voice sounding as if she was starting to get tired. 'Please make her welcome.'

The hall filled for the umpteenth time with polite applause. Arandelle smiled faintly, as though she was amused. Then, with quiet modesty, she opened her mouth and sang.

Her rich, warm voice was as smooth as honey and just as sweet. The song she sang echoed of untold sadness and losses, of romance found and turned away. Harry felt his jaw drop and his green eyes widen.

The song Arandelle Winters was singing, the Phoenix Song, was the very same one he had heard the night before he had left for Hogwarts.

---

Harry continued to stare throughout Arandelle's song. The melody was very familiar, even though this was the second time he had heard it out loud, not including the time he had demonstrated it to Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione. The tune ended with a heartbreaking climax note that sent the astonished audience into rapturous applause. She smiled almost shyly at them, giving the image of a modest, sweet little girl, but Harry knew better. Her tongue was as sharp as her golden eyes were and her brain had no trouble thinking up witty remarks for it to use. Professor McGonagall, also clapping enthusiastically, climbed onto the stage to lead her away, calmly ignoring the many calls for an encore.

'Now does that sound familiar or what?' Hermione asked him sarcastically.

'You recognised it too?' Harry asked incredulously, before remembering he was the one who had hummed the tune for her.

'What do you think, coincidence or genuine?'

'Dumbledore said phoenixes are rare,' Ron pointed out from Harry's other side. 'I think it's unlikely that she's heard a phoenix song so many times that she could remember it well enough.'

'I did,' Harry reminded him.

'Oh. But you're special, Harry,' Ron smirked.

'Shut up, Ron.'

'She could have a phoenix for a pet, I suppose,' Hermione said dubiously.

'Actually she has an owl,' Harry informed her, recalling the time she was surrounded by adoring owls at breakfast. 'In fact, she has several. From what I've seen they all seem to love her to death.

'That still doesn't mean she doesn't have a phoenix. Just because it doesn't deliver mail to her doesn't mean that it doesn't exist.

'I guess,' Ron admitted reluctantly.

'Great,' Harry muttered bitterly, half to himself. 'One more thing to worry about.'

As she was being guided off stage, Arandelle's golden eyes met his disbelieving gaze and she immediately began to pull away from McGonagall. Harry rose from his seat at the Gryffindor table, a sudden suspicious welling up inside him. He began to weave his way through the other students towards the stage, starting at a fast walk which slowly progressed into a sprint. He needed some answers and from her desperation to get away form him sparked his interest - to say the least.

With a wild look in her eyes, she made a dash for a door that Harry had only ever seen once. It was the door that lead to the room where first year students waited before the Sorting every year. Arandelle, though what some people would call pretty, was not tall and he had no trouble in catching up with her as they wove their way around the room which had been turned into a temporary backstage. Finally, he managed to grab her shoulder, making her stop and whirl around, her black hair spreading out like a glimmering fan for a split instant before falling by her elbows once more.

'Let go of me!' she snapped in an uncharacteristic fierceness that almost made him do just that. He caught himself just in time and held her all the firmer. 'You're hurting me.'

'What's wrong, Arandelle?' he asked the obviously distressed girl. 'Why did you run away from me?'

'You're hurting me,' she repeated, causing him to let go of her completely. She rubbed at her shoulders but did not run away from him again.

'How do you know the Phoenix Song?' Harry persisted.

Her eyes were full of pity. 'I'm sorry, Harry, I really am ...'

'Sorry about what?'

'The Phoenix Song.' She looked up, her amber eyes glowing with an uncontrolled sadness. 'I caused it. I reached across half the country and gave you that dream. That's what's making this happen.'

'Making what happen?'

'Dumbledore read me that stupid prophecy too, you know, Harry. I know exactly what's going to happen and nothing anyone can do will stop it. It's awake now, and it will do what needs to be done in order for those Wands to get into the right hands.'

He stared at her. 'How do you know about the prophecy? And how did you send me that song?'

She flinched as if he had hit her. 'I thought you would've figured it out by now,' she said, her tears gone, though traces remained around her eyes. 'Dumbledore told you about the three others who are going to wield the Elemental Wands. I am the One who lives in Dreams, Harry Potter. I will wield the Wand of the Air. It is my Fate.'

Confusion overwhelmed Harry's mind. 'And I'm the Parselmouth. You wouldn't happen to know who the others are, would you?'

Arandelle gave him a cold stare. 'Ron Weasley is the One among Many, if you must know, and Hermione Granger is She who is Sharp.'

Of course! Harry felt like slapping himself. Sharp was another word for intelligent or bright, and he knew no one more intelligent or brighter than Hermione Granger and he recalled the time that the Mirror of the Erised had shown Ron by himself, standing apart from his large family.

'How do you know all this?' Harry asked breathlessly.

'I'm part of the prophecy, Harry. Dumbledore read it to me a few years ago. Three years ago there were rumors going around about you being a Parselmouth. I knew instantly who one of the four was. I've been watching you since then. It was easy to figure out who the others were after that.'

'One more thing, Arandelle-'

She gazed at him with undisguised foreboding.

'Why are you so distressed about all this? And why did you say you were sorry?'

She began to cry again, even though her stare did not falter. 'Oh God, Harry,' she said, her voice crackling. 'If only you hadn't asked ...'

He did his best to comfort her, patting her awkwardly and smoothing her hair in what he thought would be a sort of fatherly way. 'I'm sorry this time, but it is my right to know. If there's any danger or anything that you know about already, then it's only fair that we should all know.'

'Yes, you should all know what I know, in case one of you dies,' she said bitterly. 'And that's exactly what's going to happen, Harry. One of us is going to die.'

---

The sickening sensation in Harry's stomach had not gone away by the time he had lead Arandelle back to the Gryffindor Common Room. She was crying silently now, tears falling from her eyes like silver diamonds and falling behind them onto the floor. Harry, grim faced, spoke the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady and as she swung open, stepped into the tower, still gripping his captive's hand firmly which made it rather awkward for her. She managed, however, and he lead her into the round Common Room where Hermione and Ron were waiting. There were no other students there as the Talent Contest had finished rather late, but it seemed that his two friends had been curious about his actions and had waited for him to return to question him about it.

'Where have you been, Harry?' Ron asked, curiously glancing at his grip around her hand.

Harry grunted and pulled up two chairs next to Hermione's recliner. 'Sit,' he commanded Arandelle and she sat, her amber eyes large and full of regret. Hermione reached over and put her arm around the girl's shoulder in an attempt to comfort her but 'Dandy' pulled away. Hermione looked at her in surpass.

'Why's Arandelle so upset?' Ron persisted. 'What'd you do to her?'

Harry gave him a withering look. 'I didn't do anything. We needed answers and I got some, that's all.'

'You didn't force them out of her, did you?' Ron gasped incredulously.

Hermione ignored her friend's outburst. 'Let's hear them, then.'

Harry repeated their conversation for their benefit, the grim look not sliding off his face at all. Both Ron and Hermione's expression had become similar to his by the end of it. They also found themselves glaring, rather involuntarily, at Arandelle. She stared back at them, her golden eyes unblinking.

'It's not my fault that one of us is going to die,' she said in a small voice. 'All I know is that the wielding of a Wand will cost one of us our lives. It is the price of power, the will of the prophecy, I am not the prophecy, despite what you may think. It could even be Voldemort who dies, for all I know.'

Ron exchanged a dubious glance with Harry. 'She's got a point, I guess,' he said at last.

'Something is still wrong here, though,' Hermione said, her expression reverting into a more common one. 'There's something that we've been told that I can't quite figure out. In fact, for some strange reason, I can't even remember what it is.'

'We have the information, now,' Harry said, relenting his gaze on Arandelle. 'We just need a way to sort it ...'

Ron jumped out of his chair, suddenly ecstatic. 'That's it, Harry! You're brilliant!' he told his friend, who looked confused.

'Maybe you'd better explain this to the rest of us,' Arandelle suggested mildly.

Ron grinned. 'It's perfect! I think it's time we paid a visit to an old friend ....'