TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 8 страница

“Levski — Dimitrov — Moran — Troy — Mullet — Ivanova — Moran again — Moran — MORAN SCORES! ”

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry mem- bers’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov —

The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum’s nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn’t blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn’t blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight.

Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same.

“Time-out! Ah, come on, he can’t play like that, look at him —”

“ Look at Lynch! ” Harry yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry

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was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing. . . .

“He’s seen the Snitch! ” Harry shouted. “He’s seen it! Look at him go! ”

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on. . . but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again — “They’re going to crash! ” shrieked Hermione.

“They’re not! ” roared Ron.

“Lynch is! ” yelled Harry.

And he was right — for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela.

“The Snitch, where’s the Snitch? ” bellowed Charlie, along the row.

“He’s got it — Krum’s got it — it’s all over! ” shouted Harry. Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was ris- ing gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170

across the crowd, who didn’t seem to have realized what had hap- pened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

“IRELAND WINS! ” Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

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“KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that! ”

“What did he catch the Snitch for? ” Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. “He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot! ”

“He knew they were never going to catch up! ” Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. “The Irish Chasers were too good. . . . He wanted to end it on his terms, that’s all. . . . ” “He was very brave, wasn’t he? ” Hermione said, leaning forward

to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. “He looks a terrible mess. . . . ”

Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming de- lightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, sur- rounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrink- ing back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn.

“Vell, ve fought bravely, ” said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

“You can speak English! ” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day! ”

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“Vell, it vos very funny, ” said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging. “And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box! ” roared Bagman.

Harry’s eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very dis- gruntled that he’d been using sign language all day for nothing. “Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria! ” Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectac- ularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum’s name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar.

And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being sup- ported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned

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happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry’s hands were numb with clapping.

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Con- nolly’s, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a be- mused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and

muttered, “ Quietus. ”

“They’ll be talking about this one for years, ” he said hoarsely, “a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn’t have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you. . . how much? ”

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

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on’t tell your mother you’ve been gambling, ” Mr. Weasley

implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

“Don’t worry, Dad, ” said Fred gleefully, “we’ve got big plans for this money. We don’t want it confiscated. ”

Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn’t want to know.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing

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enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagree- ment about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and in- sisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pa- jamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

“Oh I am glad I’m not on duty, ” muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. “I wouldn’t fancy having to go and tell the Irish they’ve got to stop celebrating. ”

Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional lep- rechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum’s more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint. . . . Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling dia- grams what that move was supposed to look like. . . . Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman’s voice echoed throughout the stadium, “I give

you. . . Potter! ”

Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep — his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams — all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting.

“Get up! Ron — Harry — come on now, get up, this is urgent! ”

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Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas. “’S’ matter? ” he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, “No time, Harry — just grab a jacket and get outside — quickly! ”

Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them. . . . They didn’t seem to have faces. . . . Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the

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marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. “That’s sick, ” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick. . . . ”

Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys’ tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out. “We’re going to help the Ministry! ” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot — get into the

woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted

this out! ”

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer. “C’mon, ” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George fol- lowed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd

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beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were re- verberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

“What happened? ” said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. “Ron, where are you? Oh this

is stupid — lumos! ”

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

“Tripped over a tree root, ” he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

“Well, with feet that size, hard not to, ” said a drawling voice from behind them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly re- laxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley

“Language, Weasley, ” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Had-

n’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spot-

ted, would you? ”

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He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light mo- mentarily lit the trees around them.

“What’s that supposed to mean? ” said Hermione defiantly.

“Granger, they’re after Muggles, ” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be

showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around. . . they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh. ” “Hermione’s a witch, ” Harry snarled.

“Have it your own way, Potter, ” said Malfoy, grinning mali- ciously. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are. ”

“You watch your mouth! ” shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that “Mudblood” was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

“Never mind, Ron, ” said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron’s arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly.

“Scare easily, don’t they? ” he said lazily. “I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What’s he up to — trying to rescue the Muggles? ”

“Where’re your parents? ” said Harry, his temper rising. “Out

there wearing masks, are they? ”

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling.

“Well. . . if they were, I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, would I, Potter? ”

“Oh come on, ” said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, “let’s go and find the others. ”

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“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger, ” sneered Malfoy.

“Come on, ” Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron

up the path again.

“I’ll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot! ” said

Ron hotly.

“Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him! ” said Her- mione fervently. “Oh I can’t believe this. Where have the others got to? ”

Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl

with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, “ Oщ est Madame

Maxime? Nous l’avons perdue —”

“Er — what? ” said Ron.

“Oh. . . ” The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, “’Ogwarts. ” “Beauxbatons, ” muttered Hermione.

“Sorry? ” said Harry.

“They must go to Beauxbatons, ” said Hermione. “You know. . .

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. . . I read about it in An Appraisal

of Magical Education in Europe. ”

“Oh. . . yeah. . . right, ” said Harry.

“Fred and George can’t have gone that far, ” said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione’s, and squinting up the path. Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand — but it wasn’t there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. “Ah, no, I don’t believe it. . . I’ve lost my wand! ”

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“You’re kidding! ”

Ron and Hermione raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen.

“Maybe it’s back in the tent, ” said Ron.

“Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running? ” Hermione suggested anxiously.

“Yeah, ” said Harry, “maybe. . . ”

He usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and finding himself without it in the midst of a scene like this made him feel very vulnerable.

A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great diffi- culty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back.

“There is bad wizards about! ” she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. “People high — high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way! ”

And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

“What’s up with her? ” said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. “Why can’t she run properly? ”

“Bet she didn’t ask permission to hide, ” said Harry. He was thinking of Dobby: Every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn’t like, the house-elf had been forced to start beat- ing himself up.

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“You know, house-elves get a very raw deal! ” said Hermione in-

dignantly. “It’s slavery, that’s what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he’s got her bewitched so she can’t even run when they start trampling

tents! Why doesn’t anyone do something about it? ”

“Well, the elves are happy, aren’t they? ” Ron said. “You heard old Winky back at the match. . . ‘House-elves is not supposed to have fun’. . . that’s what she likes, being bossed around. . . . ”

“It’s people like you, Ron, ” Hermione began hotly, “who prop up

rotten and unjust systems, just because they’re too lazy to —” Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

“Let’s just keep moving, shall we? ” said Ron, and Harry saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy

had said; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were.

They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn’t there.

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had un- doubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.

“I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year! ” one of them shouted. “I’m a dragon killer for the Committee for the Dis- posal of Dangerous Creatures. ”

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“No, you’re not! ” yelled his friend. “You’re a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron. . . . but I’m a vampire hunter, I’ve killed about ninety so far —”

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, “I’m about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am. ”

Harry snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron’s face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, “Did I tell you I’ve invented a broomstick that’ll reach Jupiter? ”

“ Honestly! ” said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron

firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away. By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

Harry looked around. “I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We’ll hear anyone coming a mile off. ”

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them.

Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoy- ant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained.

“Who’s that? ” he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. “What are you doing in here, all alone? ”

They looked at one another, surprised.

“Well — there’s a sort of riot going on, ” said Ron.

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Bagman stared at him.

“What? ”

“At the campsite. . . some people have got hold of a family of Muggles. . . . ”

Bagman swore loudly.

“Damn them! ” he said, looking quite distracted, and without

another word, he Disapparated with a small pop!

“Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he? ” said Hermione, frowning.

“He was a great Beater, though, ” said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. “The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them. ”

He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry was listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over.

“I hope the others are okay, ” said Hermione after a while. “They’ll be fine, ” said Ron.

“Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy, ” said Harry, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouch- ing over the fallen leaves. “He’s always said he’d like to get some- thing on him. ”

“That’d wipe the smirk off old Draco’s face, all right, ” said Ron. “Those poor Muggles, though, ” said Hermione nervously. “What if they can’t get them down? ”

“They will, ” said Ron reassuringly. “They’ll find a way. ”

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“Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Min- istry of Magic’s out here tonight! ” said Hermione. “I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they’ve been drink- ing, or are they just —”

But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Harry and Ron looked quickly around too. It sounded as though some- one was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the foot- steps came to a sudden halt.

“Hello? ” called Harry.

There was silence. Harry got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but he could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision.

“Who’s there? ” he said.

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice un- like any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell.

“ MORSMORDRE! ”

And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Harry’s eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky.

“What the —? ” gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, star- ing up at the thing that had appeared.

For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun for- mation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

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Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn’t understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn’t see anyone.

“Who’s there? ” he called again.

“Harry, come on, move! ” Hermione had seized the collar of his

jacket and was tugging him backward.

“What’s the matter? ” Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

“It’s the Dark Mark, Harry! ” Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. “You-Know-Who’s sign! ”

? Voldemort’s —? ”

“Harry, come on! ”

Harry turned — Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum — the three of them started across the clearing — but be- fore they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: Each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was point- ing right at himself, Ron, and Hermione.

Without pausing to think, he yelled, “DUCK! ” He seized the other two and pulled them down onto the ground.

“ STUPEFY! ” roared twenty voices — there was a blinding series