Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4 Read online

“His slave, you mean!” said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, “because he didn’t pay Winky, did he?”

  “I think you’d all better go upstairs and check that you’ve packed properly!” said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. “Come on now, all of you…”

  Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage when they entered. The sight of the half packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement.

  “Bung him some Owl Treats,” said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry. “It might shut him up.”

  Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon’s cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig’s cage stood next to it, still empty.

  “It’s been over a week,” Harry said, looking at Hedwig’s deserted perch. “Ron, you don’t reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?”

  “Nah, it would’ve been in the Daily Prophet,” said Ron. “The Ministry would want to show they’d caught someone, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yeah, I suppose…”

  “Look, here’s the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she’s got some gold out of your vault for you… and she’s washed all your socks.”

  He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry’s camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion making kit—he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.

  “What is that supposed to be?”

  He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

  There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.

  “Here you are,” she said, sorting them into two piles. “Now, mind you pack them properly so they don’t crease.”

  “Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress,” said Ron, handing it out to her.

  “Of course I haven’t,” said Mrs. Weasley. “That’s for you. Dress robes.”

  “What?” said Ron, looking horror-struck.

  “Dress robes!” repeated Mrs. Weasley. “It says on your school list that you’re supposed to have dress robes this year… robes for formal occasions.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Ron in disbelief. “I’m not wearing that, no way.”

  “Everyone wears them, Ron!” said Mrs. Weasley crossly. “They’re all like that! Your father’s got some for smart parties!”

  “I’ll go starkers before I put that on,” said Ron stubbornly.

  “Don’t be so silly,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You’ve got to have dress robes, they’re on your list! I got some for Harry too… show him, Harry…”

  In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn’t have any lace on them at all—in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black.

  “I thought they’d bring out the color of your eyes, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley fondly.

  “Well, they’re okay!” said Ron angrily, looking at Harry’s robes. “Why couldn’t I have some like that?”

  “Because… well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn’t a lot of choice!” said Mrs. Weasley, flushing.

  Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it.

  “I’m never wearing them,” Ron was saying stubbornly. “Never.”

  “Fine,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.”

  She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat.

  “Why is everything I own rubbish?” said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon’s beak.

  11. ABOARD THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS

  There was a definite end of the holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

  He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

  “Arthur!” she called up the staircase. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!”

  Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back to front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers—“I’ve got a quill here somewhere!”—and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to—

  Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly.

  Amos Diggory’s head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears.

  “…Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what d’you call ’em—please men. Arthur, you’ve got to get over there—”

  “Here!” said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley’s hands.

  “It’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it,” said Mr. Diggory’s head. “I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off—if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur—”

  “What does Mad-Eye say happened?” asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.

  Mr. Diggory’s head rolled its eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins.”

  “What did the dustbins do?” asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically.

  “Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Diggory. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please men turned up—”

  Mr. Weasley groaned.

  “And what about the intruder?”

  “Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Diggory’s head, rolling its eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shell shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it—think of his record—we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department—what are exploding dustbins worth?”

  “Might be a caution,” said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. “Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?”

  “I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,” said Mr. Diggory, “but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties.”

  “All right, I’m off,” Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.

  Mr. Diggory’s head looked around at Mrs. Weasley.

  “Sorry about this, Molly,” it said, more calmly, “bothering you so early and everything… but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had
to choose last night…”

  “Never mind, Amos,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sure you won’t have a bit of toast or anything before you go?”

  “Oh go on, then,” said Mr. Diggory.

  Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory’s mouth.

  “Fanks,” he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.

  Harry could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.

  “I’d better hurry—you have a good term, boys,” said Mr. Weasley to Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King’s Cross?”

  “Of course I will,” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we’ll be fine.”

  As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.

  “Did someone say Mad-Eye?” Bill asked. “What’s he been up to now?”

  “He says someone tried to break into his house last night,” said Mrs. Weasley.

  “Mad-Eye Moody?” said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. “Isn’t he that nutter—”

  “Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly.

  “Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn’t he?” said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather…”

  “Moody was a great wizard in his time,” said Bill.

  “He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he?” said Charlie.

  “Dumbledore’s not what you’d call normal, though, is he?” said Fred. “I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything…”

  “Who is Mad-Eye?” asked Harry.

  “He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry,” said Charlie. “I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror—one of the best… a Dark wizard catcher,” he added, seeing Harry’s blank look. “Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though… the families of people he caught, mainly… and I heard he’s been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.”

  Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King’s Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.

  “I just can’t justify taking more time off at the moment,” he told them. “Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me.”

  “Yeah, you know what, Percy?” said George seriously. “I reckon he’ll know your name soon.”

  Mrs. Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London.

  “Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us,” Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. “But there weren’t any to spare… Oh dear, they don’t look happy, do they?”

  Harry didn’t like to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster’s Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred’s trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man’s leg.

  The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King’s Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station.

  Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it… and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of them.

  The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie.

  “I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.

  “Why?” said Fred keenly.

  “You’ll see,” said Charlie. “Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it… it’s ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,’ after all.”

  “Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year,” said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

  “Why?” said George impatiently.

  “You’re going to have an interesting year,” said Bill, his eyes twinkling. “I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it.”

  “A bit of what?” said Ron.

  But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors.

  “Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her.

  “Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry.

  “Oh it was my pleasure, dears,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I’d invite you for Christmas, but… well, I expect you’re all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing and another.”

  “Mum!” said Ron irritably. “What d’you three know that we don’t?”

  “You’ll find out this evening, I expect,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “It’s going to be very exciting—mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules—”

  “What rules?” said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together.

  “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… Now, behave, won’t you? Won’t you, Fred? And you, George?”

  The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.

  “Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. “What rules are they changing?”

  But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.

  Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon’s cage to muffle his hooting.

  “Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts,” he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won’t say. Wonder what—”

  “Shh!” Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

  “…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man’s such a Mudblood lover—and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang
takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do…”

  Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy’s voice.

  “So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?” she said angrily. “I wish he had gone, then we wouldn’t have to put up with him.”

  “Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?” said Harry.

  “Yes,” said Hermione sniffily, “and it’s got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.”

  “I think I’ve heard of it,” said Ron vaguely. “Where is it? What country?”

  “Well, nobody knows, do they?” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

  “Er—why not?” said Harry.

  “There’s traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets,” said Hermione matter of factly.

  “Come off it,” said Ron, starting to laugh. “Durmstrang’s got to be about the same size as Hogwarts—how are you going to hide a great big castle?”

  “But Hogwarts is hidden,” said Hermione, in surprise. “Everyone knows that… well, everyone who’s read Hogwarts, A History, anyway.”

  “Just you, then,” said Ron. “So go on—how d’you hide a place like Hogwarts?”

  “It’s bewitched,” said Hermione. “If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.”

  “So Durmstrang’ll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?”

  “Maybe,” said Hermione, shrugging, “or it might have Muggle repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they’ll have made it Unplottable—”

  “Come again?”

  “Well, you can enchant a building so it’s impossible to plot on a map, can’t you?”

  “Er… if you say so,” said Harry.

  “But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Somewhere very cold, because they’ve got fur capes as part of their uniforms.”