TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 12 страница

Hermione stared at him.

“But they get paid? ” she said. “They get holidays, don’t they?

And — and sick leave, and pensions, and everything? ”

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

“Sick leave and pensions? ” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don’t want sick leave and pensions! ”

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

“Oh c’mon, ’Er-my-knee, ” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops — sorry, ’Arry —” He swallowed. “You won’t get them sick leave by starving yourself! ” “Slave labor, ” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose.

“That’s what made this dinner. Slave labor. ”

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy

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ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings. “Treacle tart, Hermione! ” said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau! ”

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

“So! ” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered, ” (“Hmph! ” said Hermione) “I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. “Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty- seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it. ”

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched. He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogs- meade to all below third year.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year. ”

“ What? ” Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George,

his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing

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soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —”

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then be- gan to walk up toward the teachers’ table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He

reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man’s face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man’s eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was mov-

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ing ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, mutter- ing words Harry couldn’t hear. He seemed to be making some in- quiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? ” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody. ”

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody’s bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

“Moody? ” Harry muttered to Ron. “ Mad-Eye Moody? The one

your dad went to help this morning? ”

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“Must be, ” said Ron in a low, awed voice.

“What happened to him? ” Hermione whispered. “What hap-

pened to his face? ”

“Dunno, ” Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fasci- nation.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm wel- come. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, ” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tour- nament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year. ”

“You’re JOKING! ” said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuck- led appreciatively.

“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley, ” he said, “though now that you

mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar. . . ”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

“Er — but maybe this is not the time. . . no. . . ” said Dumble- dore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I

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hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short expla-

nation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of es- tablishing ties between young witches and wizards of different na- tionalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued. ”

“ Death toll? ” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her

anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing about the tourna- ment than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament, ” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of Interna- tional Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for

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the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money. ”

“I’m going for it! ” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, ” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put for- ward their names for consideration. This” — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no under- age student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hog- warts champion. ” His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred’s and George’s mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be ar- riving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted sup-

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port to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop! ”

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the en- trance hall.

“They can’t do that! ” said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glar- ing at Dumbledore. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot? ”

“They’re not stopping me entering, ” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money! ”

“Yeah, ” said Ron, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons. . . ”

“Come on, ” said Hermione, “we’ll be the only ones left here if you don’t move. ”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the en- trance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumble- dore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.

“Who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are? ” said Harry.

“Dunno, ” said Fred, “but it’s them we’ll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George. . . . ” “Dumbledore knows you’re not of age, though, ” said Ron.

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“Yeah, but he’s not the one who decides who the champion is, is he? ” said Fred shrewdly. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore’s trying to stop us giv- ing our names. ”

“People have died, though! ” said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

“Yeah, ” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn’t it? Any- way, where’s the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get ’round Dumbledore? Fancy entering? ”

“What d’you reckon? ” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn’t it? But I s’pose they might want someone older. . . . Dunno if we’ve learned enough. . . . ”

“I definitely haven’t, ” came Neville’s gloomy voice from behind Fred and George.

“I expect my gran’d want me to try, though. She’s always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I’ll just have to — oops. . . . ”

Neville’s foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particu- lar step, but Neville’s memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

“Shut it, you, ” said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower,

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which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

“Password? ” she said as they approached.

“Balderdash, ” said George, “a prefect downstairs told me. ” The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular com- mon room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Her- mione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry

distinctly heard her mutter “ Slave labor, ” before bidding them

good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls’ dormitory.

Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase un- til they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner’s trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it. “Mental, ” Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely sta- tionary soccer players.

Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed. Someone — a house-elf, no doubt — had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.

“I might go in for it, you know, ” Ron said sleepily through the darkness, “if Fred and George find out how to. . . the tourna- ment. . . you never know, do you? ”

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“S’pose not. . . . ”

Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures form- ing in his mind’s eye. . . . He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen. . . he had become Hogwarts champion. . . he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming. . . he had just won the Triwizard Tournament. . . . Cho’s face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration. . . .

Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn’t see what he could.

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MAD-EYE MOODY

he storm had blown itself out by the following morning,

though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Harry, Ron, and Hermi- one examined their new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical meth- ods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

“Today’s not bad. . . outside all morning, ” said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. “Her- bology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures. . . damn it, we’re still with the Slytherins. . . . ”

“Double Divination this afternoon, ” Harry groaned, looking down. Divination was his least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry’s death, which he found extremely annoying.

“You should have given it up like me, shouldn’t you? ” said

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Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. “Then you’d be do- ing something sensible like Arithmancy. ”

“You’re eating again, I notice, ” said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too.

“I’ve decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights, ” said Hermione haughtily.

“Yeah. . . and you were hungry, ” said Ron, grinning. There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, look- ing for the people to whom their letters and packages were ad- dressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap — Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy’s eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach, Harry returned to his por- ridge. Was it possible that something had happened to Hedwig, and that Sirius hadn’t even got his letter?

His preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until they arrived in greenhouse three, but here he was dis- tracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

“Bubotubers, ” Professor Sprout told them briskly. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus —”

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“The what? ” said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted.

“Pus, Finnigan, pus, ” said Professor Sprout, “and it’s extremely valuable, so don’t waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus. ”

Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish- green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

“This’ll keep Madam Pomfrey happy, ” said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples. ”

“Like poor Eloise Midgen, ” said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. “She tried to curse hers off. ”

“Silly girl, ” said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end. ”

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Huf- flepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid’s small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the con- tents more closely. As they drew nearer, an odd rattling noise

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reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

“Mornin’! ” Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Be’er wait fer the Slytherins, they won’ want ter miss this — Blast- Ended Skrewts! ”

“Come again? ” said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down into the crates.

“Eurgh! ” squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward. “Eurgh” just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in Harry’s opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks

would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it

would be propelled forward several inches.

“On’y jus’ hatched, ” said Hagrid proudly, “so yeh’ll be able ter raise ’em yerselves! Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it! ”

“And why would we want to raise them? ” said a cold voice.

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

“I mean, what do they do? ” asked Malfoy. “What is the point of

them? ”

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds’ pause, then he said roughly, “Tha’s next lesson, Mal- foy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ’em today. Now, yeh’ll wan’ ter try ’em on a few diff’rent things — I’ve never had ’em before, not sure what they’ll

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go fer — I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake — just try ’em out with a bit of each. ”

“First pus and now this, ” muttered Seamus.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, and Hermione pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry couldn’t suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn’t seem to have mouths.

“ Ouch! ” yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. “It got

me!

Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.

“Its end exploded! ” said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off, ” said Hagrid, nodding.

“Eurgh! ” said Lavender Brown again. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what’s that pointy thing on it? ”

“Ah, some of ’em have got stings, ” said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). “I reckon they’re the males. . . . The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies. . . . I think they might be ter suck blood. ”

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive, ” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once? ”

“Just because they’re not very pretty, it doesn’t mean they’re not useful, ” Hermione snapped. “Dragon blood’s amazingly magical, but you wouldn’t want a dragon for a pet, would you? ”

Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked

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nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew only too well — he had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.

“Well, at least the skrewts are small, ” said Ron as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later.

“They are now, ” said Hermione in an exasperated voice, “but

once Hagrid’s found out what they eat, I expect they’ll be six feet long. ”

“Well, that won’t matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it? ” said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up, ” said Hermione. “As a matter of fact I think he’s right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all. ”

They sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her.

“Er — is this the new stand on elf rights? ” said Ron. “You’re go- ing to make yourself puke instead? ”

“No, ” said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. “I just want to get to the library. ”

“ What? ” said Ron in disbelief. “Hermione — it’s the first day

back! We haven’t even got homework yet! ”

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, “See you at dinner! ” and departed at high speed.

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When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trap- door in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived. The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim red- dish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the same small circular table.

“Good day, ” said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump.

A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.