The Goblet of Fire Read online

  ‘What’s a bummer?’ Ron asked George.

  ‘Having a nosy git like you for a brother,’ said George.

  ‘You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?’ Harry asked. ‘Thought any more about trying to enter?’

  ‘I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn’t telling,’ said George bitterly. ‘She just told me to shut up and get on with Transfiguring my raccoon.’

  ‘Wonder what the tasks are going to be?’ said Ron thoughtfully. ‘You know, I bet we could do them, Harry, we’ve done dangerous stuff before …’

  ‘Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven’t,’ said Fred. ‘McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they’ve done the tasks.’

  ‘Who are the judges?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,’ said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, ‘because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.’

  She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, ‘It’s all in Hogwarts: A History. Though, of course, that book’s not entirely reliable. “A Revised History of Hogwarts” would be a more accurate title. Or “A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School”.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ said Ron, though Harry thought he knew what was coming.

  ‘House-elves!’ said Hermione loudly and proving Harry right. ‘Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts: A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!’

  Harry shook his head, and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. His and Ron’s lack of enthusiasm had done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione’s determination to pursue justice for house-elves. True, both of them had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but they had only done it to keep her quiet. Their Sickles had been wasted, however; if anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, firstly to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses.

  ‘You do realise that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?’ she kept saying fiercely.

  Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke.

  Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leant towards Hermione.

  ‘Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Hermione curtly, ‘I hardly think students are supposed to –’

  ‘Well, we have,’ said George, indicating Fred, ‘loads of times, to nick food. And we’ve met them, and they’re happy. They think they’ve got the best job in the world –’

  ‘That’s because they’re uneducated and brainwashed!’ Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead which announced the arrival of the post owls. Harry looked up at once, and saw Hedwig soaring towards him. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Hedwig anxiously, as she fluttered down onto Harry’s shoulder, folded her wings and held out her leg wearily.

  Harry pulled off Sirius’ reply and offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry read out Sirius’ letter in a whisper to Ron and Hermione.

  Nice try, Harry.

  I’m back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that’s going on at Hogwarts. Don’t use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don’t worry about me, just watch out for yourself. Don’t forget what I said about your scar.

  Sirius

  ‘Why d’you have to keep changing owls?’ Ron asked in a low voice.

  ‘Hedwig’ll attract too much attention,’ said Hermione at once. ‘She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he’s hiding … I mean, they’re not native birds, are they?’

  Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes, wondering whether he felt more or less worried than before. He supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. He couldn’t deny, either, that the idea that Sirius was much nearer was reassuring; at least he wouldn’t have to wait so long for a response every time he wrote.

  ‘Thanks, Hedwig,’ he said, stroking her. She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery.

  There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks and rushed back downstairs into the Entrance Hall.

  The Heads of houses were ordering their students into lines.

  ‘Weasley, straighten your hat,’ Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. ‘Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.’

  Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

  ‘Follow me, please,’ said Professor McGonagall, ‘first-years in front … no pushing …’

  They filed down the front steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first-years.

  ‘Nearly six,’ said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive which led to the front gates. ‘How d’you reckon they’re coming? The train?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Hermione.

  ‘How, then? Broomsticks?’ Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky.

  ‘I don’t think so … not from that far away …’

  ‘A Portkey?’ Ron suggested. ‘Or they could Apparate – maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?’

  ‘You can’t Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?’ said Hermione impatiently.

  They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent and quite as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold. He wished they’d hurry up … maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance … he remembered what Mr Weasley had said back on the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup – ‘Always the same, we can’t resist showing off when we get together …’

  And then Dumbledore called out from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers – ‘Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!’

  ‘Where?’ said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

  ‘There!’ yelled a sixth-year, pointing over the Forest.

  Something large, much larger than a broomstick – or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks – was hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger all the time.

  ‘It’s a dragon!’ shrieked one of the first-years, losing her head completely.

  ‘Don’t be stup
id … it’s a flying house!’ said Dennis Creevey.

  Dennis’s guess was closer … as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

  The front three rows of students drew backwards as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed – then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backwards onto a Slytherin fifth-year’s foot – the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

  Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.

  A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forwards, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage – a shoe the size of a child’s sled – followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped.

  Harry had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; he doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow – maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid – this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid-looking eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

  Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.

  Her face relaxed into a gracious smile, and she walked forwards towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

  ‘My dear Madame Maxime,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Hogwarts.’

  ‘Dumbly-dorr,’ said Madame Maxime, in a deep voice. ‘I ’ope I find you well?’

  ‘On excellent form, I thank you,’ said Dumbledore.

  ‘My pupils,’ said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

  Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that around a dozen boys and girls – all, by the look of them, in their late teens – had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few of them had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry could see of their faces (they were standing in Madame Maxime’s enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

  ‘’As Karkaroff arrived yet?’ Madame Maxime asked.

  ‘He should be here any moment,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?’

  ‘Warm up, I think,’ said Madame Maxime. ‘But ze ’orses –’

  ‘Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,’ said Dumbledore, ‘the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation which has arisen with some of his other – er – charges.’

  ‘Skrewts,’ Ron muttered to Harry, grinning.

  ‘My steeds require – er – forceful ’andling,’ said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. ‘Zey are very strong …’

  ‘I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,’ said Dumbledore, smiling.

  ‘Very well,’ said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly, ‘will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink only single-malt whisky?’

  ‘It will be attended to,’ said Dumbledore, also bowing.

  ‘Come,’ said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

  ‘How big d’you reckon Durmstrang’s horses are going to be?’ Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron.

  ‘Well, if they’re any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won’t be able to handle them,’ said Harry. ‘That’s if he hasn’t been attacked by his Skrewts. Wonder what’s up with them?’

  ‘Maybe they’ve escaped,’ said Ron hopefully.

  ‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Hermione, with a shudder. ‘Imagine that lot loose in the grounds …’

  They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime’s huge horses snorting and stamping. But then –

  ‘Can you hear something?’ said Ron suddenly.

  Harry listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting towards them from out of the darkness; a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner was moving along a river-bed …

  ‘The lake!’ yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. ‘Look at the lake!’

  From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water – except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the centre; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks – and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor …

  What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool … and then Harry saw the rigging …

  ‘It’s a mast!’ he said to Ron and Hermione.

  Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it was a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide towards the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

  People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle … but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the Entrance Hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort; sleek and silver, like his hair.

  ‘Dumbledore!’ he called heartily, as he walked up the slope. ‘How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?’

  ‘Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,’ Dumbledore replied.

  Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

  ‘Dear old Hogwarts,’ he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. ‘How good it is t
o be here, how good … Viktor, come along, into the warmth … you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold …’

  Karkaroff beckoned forwards one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent, curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn’t need the punch on the arm Ron gave him, or the hiss in his ear, to recognise that profile.

  ‘Harry – it’s Krum!’

  — CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

  The Goblet of Fire

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. ‘Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Ron, he’s only a Quidditch player,’ said Hermione.

  ‘Only a Quidditch player?’ Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Hermione – he’s one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!’

  As they recrossed the Entrance Hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students, heading for the Great Hall, Harry saw Lee Jordan jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum’s head. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked – ‘Oh, I don’t believe it, I haven’t got a single quill on me –’ ‘D’you think he’d sign my hat in lipstick?’

  ‘Really,’ Hermione said loftily, as they passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick.

  ‘I’m getting his autograph if I can,’ said Ron, ‘you haven’t got a quill, have you, Harry?’

  ‘Nope, they’re upstairs in my bag,’ said Harry.

  They walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron took care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.