TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 13 страница

“You are preoccupied, my dear, ” she said mournfully to Harry. “My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas. . . most difficult. . . I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass. . . and perhaps sooner than you think. . . . ”

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply ad- mired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her.

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“My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars, ” she said. “The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Hu- man destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle. . . ”

But Harry’s thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made him feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney’s rambling talks on fortune-telling never held him exactly spell- bound — though he couldn’t help thinking about what she had just

said to him. “‘ I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass . . . ’”

But Hermione was right, Harry thought irritably, Professor Trelawney really was an old fraud. He wasn’t dreading anything at the moment at all. . . well, unless you counted his fears that Sirius had been caught. . . but what did Professor Trelawney know? He had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortune- telling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.

Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again. . . and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry had described it to him. . . .

“ Harry! ” Ron muttered.

“What? ”

Harry looked around; the whole class was staring at him. He sat up straight; he had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts.

“I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn, ” said Professor Trelawney, a faint note

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of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.

“Born under — what, sorry? ” said Harry.

“Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn! ” said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he wasn’t riveted by this news. “I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth. . . . Your dark hair. . . your mean stature. . . tragic losses so young in life. . . I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter? ”

“No, ” said Harry, “I was born in July. ”

Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough. Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles.

“I’ve got two Neptunes here, ” said Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece of parchment, “that can’t be right, can it? ” “Aaaaah, ” said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney’s mystical whisper, “when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry. . . ”

Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Laven- der Brown — “Oh Professor, look! I think I’ve got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one’s that, Professor? ”

“It is Uranus, my dear, ” said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.

“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender? ” said Ron. Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was

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this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class.

“A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart, ” she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGona- gall than her usual airy-fairy self. “I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses! ”

“Miserable old bat, ” said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. “That’ll take all weekend, that will. . . . ”

“Lots of homework? ” said Hermione brightly, catching up with

them. “Professor Vector didn’t give us any at all! ”

“Well, bully for Professor Vector, ” said Ron moodily. They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them.

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley! ”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

“What? ” said Ron shortly.

“Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley! ” said Malfoy, brandishing a

copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that every-

one in the packed entrance hall could hear. “Listen to this!

FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles

are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special

Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor

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crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh

embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold

Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. ” Malfoy looked up.

“Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it? ” he crowed. Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on:

Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (“policemen”) over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and at- tempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape

from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily

Prophet questions about why he had involved the

Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.

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“And there’s a picture, Weasley! ” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with los- ing a bit of weight, couldn’t she? ”

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him. “Get stuffed, Malfoy, ” said Harry. “C’mon, Ron. . . . ” “Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter? ” sneered Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture? ”

“You know your mother, Malfoy? ” said Harry — both he and

Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy — “that expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her? ”

Malfoy’s pale face went slightly pink.

“Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter. ”

“Keep your fat mouth shut, then, ” said Harry, turning away. BANG!

Several people screamed — Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his face — he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he’d even touched it, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE! ”

Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry —

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at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

“Did he get you? ” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

“No, ” said Harry, “missed. ”

“LEAVE IT! ” Moody shouted.

“Leave — what? ” Harry said, bewildered.

“Not you — him! ” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody’s rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

“I don’t think so! ” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again — it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned, ” growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do. . . . ”

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. “Never — do — that — again —” said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. “Professor Moody! ” said a shocked voice.

Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall, ” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

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“What — what are you doing? ” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret’s progress through the air. “Teaching, ” said Moody.

“Teach — Moody, is that a student? ” shrieked Professor McGo-

nagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

“Yep, ” said Moody.

“No! ” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment! ” said

Professor McGonagall weakly. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that? ”

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah, ” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock —”

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House! ”

“I’ll do that, then, ” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and hu- miliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered some- thing in which the words “my father” were distinguishable.

“Oh yeah? ” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the

dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I

know your father of old, boy. . . . You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son. . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it? ”

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“Yes, ” said Malfoy resentfully.

“Another old friend, ” growled Moody. “I’ve been looking for- ward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . . . ”

And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few mo- ments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

“Don’t talk to me, ” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, sur- rounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. “Why not? ” said Hermione in surprise.

“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever, ” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret. . . ”

Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began dol- ing beef casserole onto each of their plates.

“He could have really hurt Malfoy, though, ” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it —” “Hermione! ” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you’re ruining the best moment of my life! ”

Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again.

“Don’t tell me you’re going back to the library this evening? ” said Harry, watching her.

“Got to, ” said Hermione thickly. “Loads to do. ” “But you told us Professor Vector —”

“It’s not schoolwork, ” she said. Within five minutes, she had

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cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley.

“Moody! ” he said. “How cool is he? ”

“Beyond cool, ” said George, sitting down opposite Fred. “Supercool, ” said the twins’ best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. “We had him this afternoon, ” he told Harry and Ron.

“What was it like? ” said Harry eagerly.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. “Never had a lesson like it, ” said Fred.

“He knows, man, ” said Lee.

“Knows what? ” said Ron, leaning forward.

“Knows what it’s like to be out there doing it, ” said George

impressively.

“Doing what? ” said Harry.

“Fighting the Dark Arts, ” said Fred.

“He’s seen it all, ” said George.

“’Mazing, ” said Lee.

Ron dived into his bag for his schedule.

“We haven’t got him till Thursday! ” he said in a disappointed voice.

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he next two days passed without great incident, unless you

counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Pro-

fessor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictive- ness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disem- bowel a barrel full of horned toads.

“You know why Snape’s in such a foul mood, don’t you? ” said Ron to Harry as they watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scour- ing Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails. “Yeah, ” said Harry. “Moody. ”

It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year run- ning. Snape had disliked all of their previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it — but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry saw the two of them together — at mealtimes, or when they passed in the

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corridors — he had the distinct impression that Snape was avoid- ing Moody’s eye, whether magical or normal.

“I reckon Snape’s a bit scared of him, you know, ” Harry said thoughtfully.

“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad, ” said Ron, his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon. . . . ” The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody’s first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson.

“Been in the —”

“Library. ” Harry finished her sentence for her. “C’mon, quick, or we won’t get decent seats. ”

They hurried into three chairs right in front of the teacher’s

desk, took out their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-

Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon they heard Moody’s

distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from under- neath his robes.

“You can put those away, ” he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won’t need them. ”

They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking excited. Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his mag- ical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

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“Right then, ” he said, when the last person had declared them- selves present, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures — you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right? ”

There was a general murmur of assent.

“But you’re behind — very behind — on dealing with curses, ” said Moody. “So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wiz- ards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —”

“What, aren’t you staying? ” Ron blurted out.

Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled — the first time Harry had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved.

“You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh? ” Moody said. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago. . . . Yeah, I’m stay- ing just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore. . . . One year, and then back to my quiet retirement. ”

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

“So — straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves,

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he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking. ”

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody’s magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head.

“So. . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily pun- ished by wizarding law? ”

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron’s and Hermione’s. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender.

“Er, ” said Ron tentatively, “my dad told me about one. . . . Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something? ”

“Ah, yes, ” said Moody appreciatively. “Your father would know

that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Im- perius Curse. ”

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scut- tling around inside it. Harry felt Ron recoil slightly next to him — Ron hated spiders.

Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then

pointed his wand at it and muttered, “ Imperio! ”

The spider leapt from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk and

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began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in cir- cles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. Everyone was laughing — everyone except Moody.

“Think it’s funny, do you? ” he growled. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you? ”

The laughter died away almost instantly.

“Total control, ” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats. . . ” Ron gave an involuntary shudder.

“Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being con- trolled by the Imperius Curse, ” said Moody, and Harry knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-pow- erful. “Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will.

“The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! ” he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar.

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse? ” Hermione’s hand flew into the air again and so, to Harry’s slight surprise, did Neville’s. The only class in which Neville usually vol- unteered information was Herbology, which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

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“Yes? ” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

“There’s one — the Cruciatus Curse, ” said Neville in a small but distinct voice.

Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

“Your name’s Longbottom? ” he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again.

Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further in- quiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it re- mained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

“The Cruciatus Curse, ” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea, ” he said, pointing his wand at the spider.

“ Engorgio! ”

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Aban- doning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody’s desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and mut-

tered, “ Crucio! ”

At once, the spider’s legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently —

“Stop it! ” Hermione said shrilly.

Harry looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, and Harry, following her gaze, saw that Neville’s

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hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider’s legs relaxed, but it contin- ued to twitch.

“ Reducio, ” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its

proper size. He put it back into the jar.

“Pain, ” said Moody softly. “You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. . . . That one was very popular once too.

“Right. . . anyone know any others? ”

Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone’s faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione’s hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.

“Yes? ” said Moody, looking at her.

“ Avada Kedavra, ” Hermione whispered.

Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron. “Ah, ” said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided

mouth. “Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra. . . the Killing

Curse. ”

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody’s fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding.

“ Avada Kedavra! ” Moody roared.

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There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air — instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor. “Not nice, ” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there’s no countercurse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me. ”

Harry felt his face redden as Moody’s eyes (both of them) looked into his own. He could feel everyone else looking around at him too. Harry stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all. . . .

So that was how his parents had died. . . exactly like that spider. Had they been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies?

Harry had been picturing his parents’ deaths over and over again for three years now, ever since he’d found out they had been murdered, ever since he’d found out what had happened that night: Wormtail had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find them at their cottage. How Voldemort had killed Harry’s father first. How James Potter had tried to hold him off, while he shouted at his wife to take Harry and run. . . Voldemort had advanced on Lily Potter, told her to move aside so that he could kill Harry. . . how she had begged him to kill her instead, refused to stop shielding her son. . . and so

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Voldemort had murdered her too, before turning his wand on Harry. . . .

Harry knew these details because he had heard his parents’ voices when he had fought the dementors last year — for that was the terrible power of the dementors: to force their victims to relive the worst memories of their lives, and drown, powerless, in their own despair. . . .

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. With a massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying.