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

  “Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ secrets, Igor,” said Dumbledore amicably. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon—or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.”

  Harry snorted into his plate of goulash. Percy frowned, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore had given him a very small wink.

  Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies.

  “Zis is nothing,” she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. “At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we ’ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course… zey are like ’uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we ’ave choirs of wood nymphs, ’oo serenade us as we eat. We ’ave none of zis ugly armor in ze ’alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, ’e would be expelled like zat.” She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently.

  Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harry had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying.

  “Absolutely right,” he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. “Like that. Yeah.”

  Harry looked around the Hall. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. Harry saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight.

  Hermione was now teaching Krum to say her name properly; he kept calling her “Hermy-own.”

  “Her-my-oh-nee,” she said slowly and clearly.

  “Herm-own-ninny.”

  “Close enough,” she said, catching Harry’s eye and grinning.

  When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

  The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up.

  “Come on!” Parvati hissed. “We’re supposed to dance!”

  Harry tripped over his dress robes as he stood up. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, carefully avoiding catching anyone’s eye (he could see Seamus and Dean waving at him and sniggering), and next moment, Parvati had seized his hands, placed one around her waist, and was holding the other tightly in hers.

  It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Harry thought, revolving slowly on the spot (Parvati was steering). He kept his eyes fixed over the heads of the watching people, and very soon many of them too had come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby—he could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet—and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg.

  “Nice socks, Potter,” Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry’s robes.

  “Oh—yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me,” said Harry, grinning.

  “He is so creepy!” Parvati whispered as Moody clunked away. “I don’t think that eye should be allowed.”

  Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with relief. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall once more, and Harry let go of Parvati at once.

  “Let’s sit down, shall we?”

  “Oh—but—this is a really good one!” Parvati said as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster.

  “No, I don’t like it,” Harry lied, and he led her away from the dance floor, past Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exhuberantly that people around them were backing away in fear of injury, and over to the table where Ron and Padma were sitting.

  “How’s it going?” Harry asked Ron, sitting down and opening a bottle of butterbeer.

  Ron didn’t answer. He was glaring at Hermione and Krum, who were dancing nearby. Padma was sitting with her arms and legs crossed, one foot jiggling in time to the music. Every now and then she threw a disgruntled look at Ron, who was completely ignoring her. Parvati sat down on Harry’s other side, crossed her arms and legs too, and within minutes was asked to dance by a boy from Beauxbatons.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Harry?” Parvati said.

  “What?” said Harry, who was now watching Cho and Cedric.

  “Oh—never mind,” snapped Parvati, and she went off with the boy from Beauxbatons. When the song ended, she did not return.

  Hermione came over and sat down in Parvati’s empty chair. She was a bit pink in the face from dancing.

  “Hi,” said Harry. Ron didn’t say anything.

  “It’s hot, isn’t it?” said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand. “Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks.”

  Ron gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

  Hermione looked at him in surprise. “What’s up with you?” she said.

  “If you don’t know,” said Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

  Hermione stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged.

  “Ron, what—?”

  “He’s from Durmstrang!” spat Ron. “He’s competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You—you’re—” Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione’s crime, “fraternizing with the enemy, that’s what you’re doing!”

  Hermione’s mouth fell open.

  “Don’t be so stupid!” she said after a moment. “The enemy! Honestly—who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who’s got a model of him up in their dormitory?”

  Ron chose to ignore this. “I s’pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?”

  “Yes, he did,” said Hermione, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. “So what?”

  “What happened—trying to get him to join spew, were you?”

  “No, I wasn’t! If you really want to know, he—he said he’d been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage!”

  Hermione said this very quickly, and blushed so deeply that she was the same color as Parvati’s robes.

  “Yeah, well—that’s his story,” said Ron nastily.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Obvious, isn’t it? He’s Karkaroff’s student, isn’t he? He knows who you hang around with… He’s just trying to get closer to Harry—get inside information on him—or get near enough to jinx him—”

  Hermione looked as though Ron had slapped her. When she spoke, her voice quivered.

  “For your information, he hasn’t asked me one single thing about Harry, not one—”

&
nbsp; Ron changed tack at the speed of light.

  “Then he’s hoping you’ll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you’ve been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions—”

  “I’d never help him work out that egg!” said Hermione, looking outraged. “Never. How could you say something like that—I want Harry to win the tournament. Harry knows that, don’t you, Harry?”

  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” sneered Ron.

  “This whole tournament’s supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!” said Hermione hotly.

  “No it isn’t!” shouted Ron. “It’s about winning!”

  People were starting to stare at them.

  “Ron,” said Harry quietly, “I haven’t got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum—”

  But Ron ignored Harry too.

  “Why don’t you go and find Vicky, he’ll be wondering where you are,” said Ron.

  “Don’t call him Vicky!”

  Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Ron watched her go with a mixture of anger and satisfaction on his face.

  “Are you going to ask me to dance at all?” Padma asked him.

  “No,” said Ron, still glaring after Hermione.

  “Fine,” snapped Padma, and she got up and went to join Parvati and the Beauxbatons boy, who conjured up one of his friends to join them so fast that Harry could have sworn he had zoomed him there by a Summoning Charm.

  “Vare is Herm own ninny?” said a voice.

  Krum had just arrived at their table clutching two butterbeers.

  “No idea,” said Ron mulishly, looking up at him. “Lost her, have you?”

  Krum was looking surly again.

  “Veil, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks,” he said, and he slouched off.

  “Made friends with Viktor Krum, have you, Ron?”

  Percy had bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous.

  “Excellent! That’s the whole point, you know—international magical cooperation!”

  To Harry’s displeasure, Percy now took Padma’s vacated seat. The top table was now empty; Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall; Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. When the next song ended, everybody applauded once more, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman kiss Professor McGonagall’s hand and make his way back through the crowds, at which point Fred and George accosted him.

  “What do they think they’re doing, annoying senior Ministry members?” Percy hissed, watching Fred and George suspiciously. “No respect…”

  Ludo Bagman shook off Fred and George fairly quickly, however, and, spotting Harry, waved and came over to their table.

  “I hope my brothers weren’t bothering you, Mr. Bagman?” said Percy at once.

  “What? Oh not at all, not at all!” said Bagman. “No, they were just telling me a bit more about those fake wands of theirs. Wondering if I could advise them on the marketing. I’ve promised to put them in touch with a couple of contacts of mine at Zonko’s Joke Shop…”

  Percy didn’t look happy about this at all, and Harry was prepared to bet he would be rushing to tell Mrs. Weasley about this the moment he got home. Apparently Fred and George’s plans had grown even more ambitious lately, if they were hoping to sell to the public. Bagman opened his mouth to ask Harry something, but Percy diverted him.

  “How do you feel the tournament’s going, Mr. Bagman? Our department’s quite satisfied—the hitch with the Goblet of Fire”—he glanced at Harry—“was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone very smoothly since, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes,” Bagman said cheerfully, “it’s all been enormous fun. How’s old Barty doing? Shame he couldn’t come.”

  “Oh I’m sure Mr. Crouch will be up and about in no time,” said Percy importantly, “but in the meantime, I’m more than willing to take up the slack. Of course, it’s not all attending balls”—he laughed airily—“oh no, I’ve had to deal with all sorts of things that have cropped up in his absence—you heard Ali Bashir was caught smuggling a consignment of flying carpets into the country? And then we’ve been trying to persuade the Transylvanians to sign the International Ban on Dueling. I’ve got a meeting with their Head of Magical Cooperation in the new year—”

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Ron muttered to Harry, “get away from Percy…”

  Pretending they wanted more drinks, Harry and Ron left the table, edged around the dance floor, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes; winding, ornamental paths; and large stone statues. Harry could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. He and Ron set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes, but they had gone only a short way when they heard an unpleasantly familiar voice.

  “…don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

  “Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it—”

  “Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee—I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

  Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them.

  “Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!” Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. “And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!” as a boy went rushing after her. “And what are you two doing?” he added, catching sight of Harry and Ron on the path ahead. Karkaroff, Harry saw, looked slightly discomposed to see them standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger.

  “We’re walking,” Ron told Snape shortly. “Not against the law, is it?”

  “Keep walking, then!” Snape snarled, and he brushed past them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Karkaroff hurried away after Snape. Harry and Ron continued down the path.

  “What’s got Karkaroff all worried?” Ron muttered.

  “And since when have he and Snape been on first name terms?” said Harry slowly.

  They had reached a large stone reindeer now, over which they could see the sparkling jets of a tall fountain. The shadowy outlines of two enormous people were visible on a stone bench, watching the water in the moonlight. And then Harry heard Hagrid speak.

  “Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew,” he was saying, in an oddly husky voice.

  Harry and Ron froze. This didn’t sound like the sort of scene they ought to walk in on, somehow… Harry looked around, back up the path, and saw Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies standing half concealed in a rosebush nearby. He tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head toward them, meaning that they could easily sneak off that way without being noticed (Fleur and Davies looked very busy to Harry), but Ron, eyes widening in horror at the sight of Fleur, shook his head vigorously, and pulled Harry deeper into the shadows behind the reindeer.

  “What did you know, ’Agrid?” said Madame Maxime, a purr in her low voice.

  Harry definitely didn’t want to listen to this; he knew Hagrid would hate to be overheard in a situation like this (he certainly would have)—if it had been possible he would have put his fingers in his ears and hummed loudly, but that wasn’t really an option. Instead he tried to interest himself in a beetle crawling along the stone reindeer’s back, but the beetle just wasn’t interesting enough to block out Hagrid’s next words.


  “I jus’ knew… knew you were like me… Was it yer mother or yer father?”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean, ’Agrid…”

  “It was my mother,” said Hagrid quietly. “She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. ’Course, I can’ remember her too well… she left, see. When I was abou’ three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well… it’s not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her… might be dead fer all I know…”

  Madame Maxime didn’t say anything. And Harry, in spite of himself, took his eyes off the beetle and looked over the top of the reindeer’s antlers, listening… He had never heard Hagrid talk about his childhood before.

  “Me dad was broken hearted when she wen’. Tiny little bloke, my dad was. By the time I was six I could lift him up an’ put him on top o’ the dresser if he annoyed me. Used ter make him laugh…” Hagrid’s deep voice broke. Madame Maxime was listening, motionless, apparently staring at the silvery fountain. “Dad raised me… but he died, o’ course, jus’ after I started school. Sorta had ter make me own way after that. Dumbledore was a real help, mind. Very kind ter me, he was…”

  Hagrid pulled out a large spotted silk handkerchief and blew his nose heavily.

  “So… anyway… enough abou’ me. What about you? Which side you got it on?”

  But Madame Maxime had suddenly got to her feet.

  “It is chilly,” she said—but whatever the weather was doing, it was nowhere near as cold as her voice. “I think I will go in now.”

  “Eh?” said Hagrid blankly. “No, don go! I’ve—I’ve never met another one before!”

  “Anuzzer what, precisely?” said Madame Maxime, her tone icy.

  Harry could have told Hagrid it was best not to answer; he stood there in the shadows gritting his teeth, hoping against hope he wouldn’t—but it was no good.

  “Another half giant, o’ course!” said Hagrid.

  “’Ow dare you!” shrieked Madame Maxime. Her voice exploded through the peaceful night air like a foghorn; behind him, Harry heard Fleur and Roger fall out of their rosebush. “I ’ave nevair been more insulted in my life! ’Alf giant? Moi? I ’ave—I ’ave big bones!”