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

  “Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So… you lot got dates for the ball yet?”

  “Nope,” said Ron.

  “Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred.

  “Who’re you going with, then?” said Ron.

  “Angelina,” said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.

  “What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”

  “Good point,” said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!”

  Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

  “What?” she called back.

  “Want to come to the ball with me?”

  Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look.

  “All right, then,” she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

  “There you go,” said Fred to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.”

  He got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We’d better use a school owl then, George, come on…”

  They left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry.

  “We should get a move on, you know… ask someone. He’s right. We don’t want to end up with a pair of trolls.”

  Hermione let out a sputter of indignation.

  “A pair of… what, excuse me?”

  “Well—you know,” said Ron, shrugging. “I’d rather go alone than with—with Eloise Midgen, say.”

  “Her acne’s loads better lately—and she’s really nice!”

  “Her nose is off center,” said Ron.

  “Oh I see,” Hermione said, bristling. “So basically, you’re going to take the best looking girl who’ll have you, even if she’s completely horrible?”

  “Er—yeah, that sounds about right,” said Ron.

  “I’m going to bed,” Hermione snapped, and she swept off toward the girls’ staircase without another word.

  The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, Harry noticed that they were the most stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear “O Come, All Ye Faithful” sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

  And still, Harry hadn’t asked Cho to the ball. He and Ron were getting very nervous now, though as Harry pointed out, Ron would look much less stupid than he would without a partner; Harry was supposed to be starting the dancing with the other champions.

  “I suppose there’s always Moaning Myrtle,” he said gloomily, referring to the ghost who haunted the girls’ toilets on the second floor.

  “Harry—we’ve just got to grit our teeth and do it,” said Ron on Friday morning, in a tone that suggested they were planning the storming of an impregnable fortress. “When we get back to the common room tonight, we’ll both have partners—agreed?”

  “Er… okay,” said Harry.

  But every time he glimpsed Cho that day—during break, and then lunchtime, and once on the way to History of Magic—she was surrounded by friends. Didn’t she ever go anywhere alone? Could he perhaps ambush her as she was going into a bathroom? But no—she even seemed to go there with an escort of four or five girls. Yet if he didn’t do it soon, she was bound to have been asked by somebody else.

  He found it hard to concentrate on Snape’s Potions test, and consequently forgot to add the key ingredient—a bezoar—meaning that he received bottom marks. He didn’t care, though; he was too busy screwing up his courage for what he was about to do. When the bell rang, he grabbed his bag, and hurried to the dungeon door.

  “I’ll meet you at dinner,” he said to Ron and Hermione, and he dashed off upstairs.

  He’d just have to ask Cho for a private word, that was all… He hurried off through the packed corridors looking for her, and (rather sooner than he had expected) he found her, emerging from a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

  “Er—Cho? Could I have a word with you?”

  Giggling should be made illegal, Harry thought furiously, as all the girls around Cho started doing it. She didn’t, though. She said, “Okay,” and followed him out of earshot other classmates.

  Harry turned to look at her and his stomach gave a weird lurch as though he had missed a step going downstairs.

  “Er,” he said.

  He couldn’t ask her. He couldn’t. But he had to. Cho stood there looking puzzled, watching him. The words came out before Harry had quite got his tongue around them.

  “Wangoballwime?”

  “Sorry?” said Cho.

  “D’you—d’you want to go to the ball with me?” said Harry. Why did he have to go red now? Why?

  “Oh!” said Cho, and she went red too. “Oh Harry, I’m really sorry,” and she truly looked it. “I’ve already said I’ll go with someone else.”

  “Oh,” said Harry.

  It was odd; a moment before his insides had been writhing like snakes, but suddenly he didn’t seem to have any insides at all.

  “Oh okay,” he said, “no problem.”

  “I’m really sorry,” she said again.

  “That’s okay,” said Harry.

  They stood there looking at each other, and then Cho said, “Well—”

  “Yeah,” said Harry.

  “Well, ’bye,” said Cho, still very red. She walked away.

  Harry called after her, before he could stop himself.

  “Who’re you going with?”

  “Oh—Cedric,” she said. “Cedric Diggory.”

  “Oh—right,” said Harry.

  His insides had come back again. It felt as though they had been filled with lead in their absence.

  Completely forgetting about dinner, he walked slowly back up to Gryffindor Tower, Cho’s voice echoing in his ears with every step he took. “Cedric—Cedric Diggory.” He had been starting to quite like Cedric—prepared to overlook the fact that he had once beaten him at Quidditch, and was handsome, and popular, and nearly everyone’s favorite champion. Now he suddenly realized that Cedric was in fact a useless pretty boy who didn’t have enough brains to fill an eggcup.

  “Fairy lights,” he said dully to the Fat Lady—the password had been changed the previous day.

  “Yes, indeed, dear!” she trilled, straightening her new tinsel hair band as she swung forward to admit him.

  Entering the common room, Harry looked around, and to his surprise he saw Ron sitting ashen faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice.

  “What’s up, Ron?” said Harry, joining them.

  Ron looked up at Harry, a sort of blind horror in his face.

  “Why did I do it?” he said wildly. “I don’t know what made me do it!”

  “What?” said Harry.

  “He—er—just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron’s arm sympathetically.

  “You what?” said Harry.

  “I don’t know what made me do it!” Ron gasped again. “What was I playing at? There were people—all around—I’ve gone mad—everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me—and I asked her!”


  Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.

  “She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn’t even answer. And then—I dunno—I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it.”

  “She’s part veela,” said Harry. “You were right—her grandmother was one. It wasn’t your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it—but she was wasting her time. He’s going with Cho Chang.”

  Ron looked up.

  “I asked her to go with me just now,” Harry said dully, “and she told me.”

  Ginny had suddenly stopped smiling.

  “This is mad,” said Ron. “We’re the only ones left who haven’t got anyone—well, except Neville. Hey—guess who he asked? Hermione!”

  “What?” said Harry, completely distracted by this startling news.

  “Yeah, I know!” said Ron, some of the color coming back into his face as he started to laugh. “He told me after Potions! Said she’s always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff—but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn’t want to go with Neville… I mean, who would?”

  “Don’t!” said Ginny, annoyed. “Don’t laugh—”

  Just then Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole.

  “Why weren’t you two at dinner?” she said, coming over to join them.

  “Because—oh shut up laughing, you two—because they’ve both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!” said Ginny.

  That shut Harry and Ron up.

  “Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” said Ron sourly.

  “All the good looking ones taken, Ron?” said Hermione loftily. “Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone somewhere who’ll have you.”

  But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.

  “Hermione, Neville’s right—you are a girl…”

  “Oh well spotted,” she said acidly.

  “Well—you can come with one of us!”

  “No, I can’t,” snapped Hermione.

  “Oh come on,” he said impatiently, “we need partners, we’re going to look really stupid if we haven’t got any, everyone else has…”

  “I can’t come with you,” said Hermione, now blushing, “because I’m already going with someone.”

  “No, you’re not!” said Ron. “You just said that to get rid of Neville!”

  “Oh did I?” said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl!”

  Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again.

  “Okay, okay, we know you’re a girl,” he said. “That do? Will you come now?”

  “I’ve already told you!” Hermione said very angrily. “I’m going with someone else!” And she stormed off toward the girls’ dormitories again.

  “She’s lying,” said Ron flatly, watching her go.

  “She’s not,” said Ginny quietly.

  “Who is it then?” said Ron sharply.

  “I’m not telling you, it’s her business,” said Ginny.

  “Right,” said Ron, who looked extremely put out, “this is getting stupid. Ginny, you can go with Harry, and I’ll just—”

  “I can’t,” said Ginny, and she went scarlet too. “I’m going with—with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought… well… I’m not going to be able to go otherwise, I’m not in fourth year.” She looked extremely miserable. “I think I’ll go and have dinner,” she said, and she got up and walked off to the portrait hole, her head bowed.

  Ron goggled at Harry.

  “What’s got into them?” he demanded.

  But Harry had just seen Parvati and Lavender come in through the portrait hole. The time had come for drastic action.

  “Wait here,” he said to Ron, and he stood up, walked straight up to Parvati, and said, “Parvati? Will you go to the ball with me?”

  Parvati went into a fit of giggles. Harry waited for them to subside, his fingers crossed in the pocket of his robes.

  “Yes, all right then,” she said finally, blushing furiously.

  “Thanks,” said Harry, in relief. “Lavender—will you go with Ron?”

  “She’s going with Seamus,” said Parvati, and the pair of them giggled harder than ever.

  Harry sighed.

  “Can’t you think of anyone who’d go with Ron?” he said, lowering his voice so that Ron wouldn’t hear.

  “What about Hermione Granger?” said Parvati.

  “She’s going with someone else.”

  Parvati looked astonished.

  “Ooooh—who?” she said keenly.

  Harry shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “So what about Ron?”

  “Well…” said Parvati slowly, “I suppose my sister might… Padma, you know… in Ravenclaw. I’ll ask her if you like.”

  “Yeah, that would be great,” said Harry. “Let me know, will you?”

  And he went back over to Ron, feeling that this ball was a lot more trouble than it was worth, and hoping very much that Padma Patil’s nose was dead center.

  23. THE YULE BALL

  Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays, Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Harry that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. Harry made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future. He still hadn’t forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

  Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

  “It is too ’eavy, all zis ’Ogwarts food,” they heard her saying grumpily as they left the Great Hall behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur). “I will not fit into my dress robes!”

  “Oooh there’s a tragedy,” Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. “She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she?”

  “Hermione—who are you going to the ball with?” said Ron.

  He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, “I’m not telling you, you’ll just make fun of me.”

  “You’re joking, Weasley!” said Malfoy, behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked that to the ball? Not the long molared Mudblood?”

  Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy’s shoulder, “Hello, Professor Moody!”

  Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

  “Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” said Hermione scathingly, and she, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

  “Hermione,” said Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, “your tee
th…”

  “What about them?” she said.

  “Well, they’re different… I’ve just noticed…”

  “Of course they are—did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?”

  “No, I mean, they’re different to how they were before he put that hex on you… They’re all… straight and—and normal sized.”

  Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Harry noticed it too: It was a very different smile from the one he remembered.

  “Well… when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she said. “And I just… let her carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely. “Mum and Dad won’t be too pleased. I’ve been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they’re dentists, they just don’t think teeth and magic should—look! Pigwidgeon’s back!”

  Ron’s tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he cute?”

  “Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. “You bring letters to the addressee! You don’t hang around showing off!”

  Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron’s fist. The third year girls all looked very shocked.

  “Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. “Here—take it, Harry,” Ron added in an undertone as the third year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled Sirius’s reply off Pigwidgeon’s leg. Harry pocketed it, and they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it.

  Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:

  Dear Harry,

  Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn’t be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitus Curse, as a dragon’s eyes are its weakest point—