TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 31 страница

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the final lesson of the afternoon — double Potions — feeling con- siderably more cheerful than he usually did when descending the steps to the dungeons.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson’s gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn’t see and snig- gering heartily. Pansy’s pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle’s broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached. “There they are, there they are! ” she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her

hands — Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a

curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

“You might find something to interest you in there, Granger! ” Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today’s potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled:

Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache

A boy like no other, perhaps — yet a boy suffering

all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita

Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise

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of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffer- ing yet another emotional blow in a life already lit- tered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Vik- tor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toy- ing with both boys’ affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl. ”

However, it might not be Miss Granger’s doubt- ful natural charms that have captured these unfor- tunate boys’ interest.

“She’s really ugly, ” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but she’d be well up to making a Love Potion, she’s quite brainy. I think that’s how she’s doing it. ”

Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hog- warts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate.

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“I told you! ” Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the

article. “I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She’s made you out to

be some sort of — of scarlet woman! ”

Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter.

“ Scarlet woman? ” she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as

she looked around at Ron.

“It’s what my mum calls them, ” Ron muttered, his ears going red.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch, ” said Her-

mione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty

chair beside her. “What a pile of old rubbish. ”

She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion.

“There’s something funny, though, ” said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. “How could Rita Skeeter have known. . . ? ”

“Known what? ” said Ron quickly. “You haven’t been mixing up

Love Potions, have you? ”

“Don’t be stupid, ” Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. “No, it’s just. . . how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer? ”

Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron’s eyes.

“What? ” said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk. “He asked me right after he’d pulled me out of the lake, ”

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Hermione muttered. “After he’d got rid of his shark’s head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn’t hear, and he said, if I wasn’t doing anything over the summer, would I like to —”

“And what did you say? ” said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione.

“And he did say he’d never felt the same way about anyone else, ”

Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her, “but how could Rita Skeeter have heard

him? She wasn’t there. . . or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisi-

bility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the sec- ond task. . . . ”

“And what did you say? ” Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk.

“Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to —”

“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger, ” said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor. ”

Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them; Malfoy took the op-

portunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry.

“Ah. . . reading magazines under the table as well? ” Snape

added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. “A further ten points

from Gryffindor. . . oh but of course. . . ” Snape’s black eyes glit- tered as they fell on Rita Skeeter’s article. “Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings. . . . ”

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The dungeon rang with the Slytherins’ laughter, and an un- pleasant smile curled Snape’s thin mouth. To Harry’s fury, he began to read the article aloud.

“‘Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache. . . dear, dear, Potter, what’s ail-

ing you now? ‘A boy like no other, perhaps. . . ’”

Harry could feel his face burning. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.

“‘. . . Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he be-

stows his heart upon a worthier candidate. ’ How very touching, ”

sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. “Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter — that table in front of my desk. Move. Now. ”

Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his caul- dron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry un- load his cauldron. Determined not to look at Snape, Harry re- sumed the mashing of his scarab beetles, imagining each one to have Snape’s face.

“All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over- large head, Potter, ” said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again.

Harry didn’t answer. He knew Snape was trying to provoke him; he had done this before. No doubt he was hoping for an excuse to take a round fifty points from Gryffindor before the end of the class.

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“You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wiz- arding world is impressed with you, ” Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him (Harry continued to pound his scarab beetles, even though he had already reduced them to a very fine powder), “but I don’t care how many times your picture ap- pears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty lit- tle boy who considers rules to be beneath him. ”

Harry tipped the powdered beetles into his cauldron and started cutting up his ginger roots. His hands were shaking slightly out of anger, but he kept his eyes down, as though he couldn’t hear what Snape was saying to him.

“So I give you fair warning, Potter, ” Snape continued in a softer and more dangerous voice, “pint-sized celebrity or not — if I catch you breaking into my office one more time —”

“I haven’t been anywhere near your office! ” said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness.

“Don’t lie to me, ” Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry’s. “Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them. ”

Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink or to look guilty. In truth, he hadn’t stolen either of these things from Snape. Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in their second year — they had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion — and while Snape had suspected Harry at the time, he had never been able to prove it. Dobby, of course, had stolen the gillyweed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ” Harry lied coldly. “You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into! ” Snape hissed. “I know it, Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior!

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One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!

“Right, ” said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there. ”

Snape’s eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him — then he saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear po- tion. Harry stared at it.

“Do you know what this is, Potter? ” Snape said, his eyes glitter- ing dangerously again.

“No, ” said Harry, with complete honesty this time. “It is Veritaserum — a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear, ” said Snape viciously. “Now, the use of this potion is con- trolled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch

your step, you might just find that my hand slips ” — he shook the

crystal bottle slightly — “right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then, Potter. . . then we’ll find out whether you’ve been in my office or not. ”

Harry said nothing. He turned back to his ginger roots once more, picked up his knife, and started slicing them again. He didn’t like the sound of that Truth Potion at all, nor would he put it past Snape to slip him some. He repressed a shudder at the thought of what might come spilling out of his mouth if Snape did it. . . quite apart from landing a whole lot of people in trouble — Hermione and Dobby for a start — there were all the other things he was concealing. . . like the fact that he was in contact with Sirius. . . and — his insides squirmed at the thought — how he felt about

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Cho. . . . He tipped his ginger roots into the cauldron too, and wondered whether he ought to take a leaf out of Moody’s book and start drinking only from a private hip flask.

There was a knock on the dungeon door.

“Enter, ” said Snape in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape’s desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated.

“We need to talk, ” said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. Harry kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard.

“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff, ” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me. ”

“After the lesson, ” Snape snapped.

Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he’d poured out enough armadillo bile, Harry sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape’s desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck

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down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door.

“What’s so urgent? ” he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

“ This, ” said Karkaroff, and Harry, peering around the edge of his

cauldron, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.

“Well? ” said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never since —”

“Put it away! ” snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the class- room.

“But you must have noticed —” Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

“We can talk later, Karkaroff! ” spat Snape. “Potter! What are you doing? ”

“Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor, ” said Harry inno- cently, straightening up and showing Snape the sodden rag he was holding.

Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry threw his books and ingredi- ents back into his bag and left at top speed to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just witnessed.

They left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all three of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in

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Harry’s bag; they had sneaked a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table.

They went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where they had fun selecting the most lurid socks they could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly. Then, at half past one, they made their way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village.

Harry had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; they were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then they turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar. . . .

“Hello, Sirius, ” said Harry when they had reached him. The black dog sniffed Harry’s bag eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed over the stile and followed. Sirius led them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were soon out of breath. They followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour they climbed a steep, winding, and stony

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path, following Sirius’s wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoul- der straps of Harry’s bag cutting into his shoulders.

Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when they reached the place where he had vanished, they saw a narrow fissure in the rock. They squeezed into it and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant ea- gle, Buckbeak’s fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of them. All three of them bowed low to him, and after regarding them imperi- ously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and al- lowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry, however, was looking at the black dog, which had just turned into his godfather.

Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin.

“Chicken! ” he said hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets

from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor. Harry pulled open his bag and handed over the bundle of chicken legs and bread.

“Thanks, ” said Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. “I’ve been living off rats mostly. Can’t steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I’d draw attention to myself. ”

He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly.

“What’re you doing here, Sirius? ” he said.

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“Fulfilling my duty as godfather, ” said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. “Don’t worry about it, I’m pre- tending to be a lovable stray. ”

He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry’s face, said more seriously, “I want to be on the spot. Your last letter. . . well, let’s just say things are getting fishier. I’ve been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I’m not the only one who’s getting worried. ”

He nodded at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and

Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Harry, however, contin- ued to stare at Sirius.

“What if they catch you? What if you’re seen? ” “You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I’m an Animagus, ” said Sirius, shrugging, and continuing to devour the chicken leg.

Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. There

were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius

Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing — Minister of

Magic Now Personally Involved.

Harry scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at

him: hasn’t been seen in public since November . . . house appears

deserted. . . St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

decline comment. . . Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical

illness. . . .

“They’re making it sound like he’s dying, ” said Harry slowly. “But he can’t be that ill if he managed to get up here. . . . ”

“My brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant, ” Ron informed Sirius. “He says Crouch is suffering from overwork. ”

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“Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close, ” said

Harry slowly, still reading the story. “The night my name came out of the goblet. . . . ”

“Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn’t he? ” said Hermione, an edge to her voice. She was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up Sirius’s chicken bones. “I bet he wishes he hadn’t done it now — bet he feels the difference now she’s not there to look after him. ”

“Hermione’s obsessed with house-elfs, ” Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looked interested. “Crouch sacked his house-elf? ”

“Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup, ” said Harry, and he launched into the story of the Dark Mark’s appearance, and Winky being found with Harry’s wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch’s fury. When Harry had finished, Sirius was on his feet again and had started pacing up and down the cave.

“Let me get this straight, ” he said after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. “You first saw the elf in the Top Box. She was sav- ing Crouch a seat, right? ”

“Right, ” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together. “But Crouch didn’t turn up for the match? ”

“No, ” said Harry. “I think he said he’d been too busy. ” Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. Then he said, “Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you’d left the Top Box? ”

“Erm. . . ” Harry thought hard. “No, ” he said finally. “I didn’t need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars. ” He

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stared at Sirius. “Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box? ”

“It’s possible, ” said Sirius.

“Winky didn’t steal that wand! ” Hermione insisted. “The elf wasn’t the only one in that box, ” said Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. “Who else was sitting behind you? ”

“Loads of people, ” said Harry. “Some Bulgarian ministers. . . Cornelius Fudge. . . the Malfoys. . . ”

“The Malfoys! ” said Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak tossed his head ner- vously. “I bet it was Lucius Malfoy! ”

“Anyone else? ” said Sirius.

“No one, ” said Harry.

“Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman, ” Hermione reminded him.

“Oh yeah. . . ”

“I don’t know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, ” said Sirius, still pacing. “What’s he like? ”

“He’s okay, ” said Harry. “He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament. ”

“Does he, now? ” said Sirius, frowning more deeply. “I wonder why he’d do that? ”

“Says he’s taken a liking to me, ” said Harry.

“Hmm, ” said Sirius, looking thoughtful.

“We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared, ” Hermione told Sirius. “Remember? ” she said to Harry and Ron.

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“Yeah, but he didn’t stay in the forest, did he? ” said Ron. “The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite. ” “How d’you know? ” Hermione shot back. “How d’you know where he Disapparated to? ”

“Come off it, ” said Ron incredulously. “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark? ”

“It’s more likely he did it than Winky, ” said Hermione stubbornly.

“Told you, ” said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “told you she’s obsessed with house —”

But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron.

“When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry’s wand, what did Crouch do? ”

“Went to look in the bushes, ” said Harry, “but there wasn’t any- one else there. ”

“Of course, ” Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, “of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone but his own elf. . . and then he sacked her? ”

“Yes, ” said Hermione in a heated voice, “he sacked her, just be- cause she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled —” “Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf! ” said Ron.

Sirius shook his head and said, “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals. ”

He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard. “All these absences of Barty Crouch’s. . . he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn’t bother to turn up and watch. He works

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very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too. . . . It’s not like Crouch. If he’s ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I’ll eat Buckbeak. ”

“D’you know Crouch, then? ” said Harry.

Sirius’s face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer.

“Oh I know Crouch all right, ” he said quietly. “He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban — without a trial. ”

“ What? ” said Ron and Hermione together.

“You’re kidding! ” said Harry.

“No, I’m not, ” said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. “Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law En- forcement, didn’t you know? ”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads.

“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic, ” said Sirius. “He’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical — and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter, ” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very out- spoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side. . . well, you wouldn’t understand. . . you’re too young. . . . ”

“That’s what my dad said at the World Cup, ” said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Try us, why don’t you? ”

A grin flashed across Sirius’s thin face.

“All right, I’ll try you. . . . ” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working

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for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more tortur- ing. . . the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere. . . panic. . . confusion. . . that’s how it used to be.

“Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the be- ginning — I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers — powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you — plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened. . . . ” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who’d managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Appar- ently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power. ”