TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 32 страница

“Crouch’s son was caught? ” gasped Hermione.

“Yep, ” said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread,

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and tearing it in half. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while. . . gotten to know his own son. ”

He began to wolf down large pieces of bread.

“ Was his son a Death Eater? ” said Harry.

“No idea, ” said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. “I was in Azka- ban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I’d bet my life were Death Eaters — but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf. ” “Did Crouch try and get his son off? ” Hermione whispered.

Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. “Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she asso- ciated him with the Dark Mark again — doesn’t that tell you what he’s like? Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy. . . then he sent him straight to Azkaban. ”

“He gave his own son to the dementors? ” asked Harry quietly. “That’s right, ” said Sirius, and he didn’t look remotely amused now. “I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though. . .

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they all went quiet in the end. . . except when they shrieked in their sleep. . . . ”

For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius’s eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them. “So he’s still in Azkaban? ” Harry said.

“No, ” said Sirius dully. “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in. ”

“He died? ”

“He wasn’t the only one, ” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the de- mentors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry mem- ber, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it. ”

Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it. “So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made, ” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic. . . next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I’ve heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared

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much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magi- cal Cooperation. ”

There was a long silence. Harry was thinking of the way Crouch’s eyes had bulged as he’d looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry. “Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards, ” Harry told Sirius.

“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s become a bit of a mania with him, ” said Sir- ius, nodding. “If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater. ”

“And he sneaked up here to search Snape’s office! ” said Ron tri- umphantly, looking at Hermione.

“Yes, and that doesn’t make sense at all, ” said Sirius. “Yeah, it does! ” said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head. “Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn’t he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him. ”

“So you think Snape could be up to something, then? ” asked Harry, but Hermione broke in.

“Look, I don’t care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape —” “Oh give it a rest, Hermione, ” said Ron impatiently. “I know Dumbledore’s brilliant and everything, but that doesn’t mean a re- ally clever Dark wizard couldn’t fool him —”

“Why did Snape save Harry’s life in the first year, then? Why didn’t he just let him die? ”

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“I dunno — maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out —”

“What d’you think, Sirius? ” Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen.

“I think they’ve both got a point, ” said Sirius, looking thought- fully at Ron and Hermione. “Ever since I found out Snape was teach- ing here, I’ve wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was, ” Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. “Snape knew more curses when he ar- rived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters. ” Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names.

“Rosier and Wilkes — they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges — they’re a married couple — they’re in Azkaban. Avery — from what I’ve heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d been acting under the Imperius Curse — he’s still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater — not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape’s certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble. ”

“Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet, ” said Ron.

“Yeah, you should’ve seen Snape’s face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday! ” said Harry quickly. “Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape’s been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn’t see what it was. ”

“He showed Snape something on his arm? ” said Sirius, looking

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frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about. . . but if Karkaroff’s genuinely worried, and he’s going to Snape for answers. . . ”

Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration. “There’s still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn’t, but I just can’t see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he’d ever worked for Voldemort. ”

“Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape’s office then? ” said Ron stubbornly.

“Well, ” said Sirius slowly, “I wouldn’t put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher’s office when he got to Hog- warts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously,

Moody. I’m not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he’s

seen, it’s not surprising. I’ll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where pos- sible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though. . . he’s a different matter. . . is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape’s office? And if he’s not. . . what’s he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn’t turn up in the Top Box? What’s he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament? ”

Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron.

“You say your brother’s Crouch’s personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he’s seen Crouch lately? ”

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“I can try, ” said Ron doubtfully. “Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch. ”

“And you might try and find out whether they’ve got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you’re at it, ” said Sirius, gesturing to the

second copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Bagman told me they hadn’t, ” said Harry.

“Yes, he’s quoted in the article in there, ” said Sirius, nodding at the paper. “Blustering on about how bad Bertha’s memory is. Well, maybe she’s changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn’t forgetful at all — quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trou- ble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic. . . maybe that’s why Bagman didn’t bother to look for her for so long. . . . ”

Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes. “What’s the time? ”

Harry checked his watch, then remembered it hadn’t been work- ing since it had spent over an hour in the lake.

“It’s half past three, ” said Hermione.

“You’d better get back to school, ” Sirius said, getting to his feet. “Now listen. . . ” He looked particularly hard at Harry. “I don’t want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you’re not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you. ”

“No one’s tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows, ” Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him.

“I don’t care. . . I’ll breathe freely again when this tournament’s

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over, and that’s not until June. And don’t forget, if you’re talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay? ”

He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. “I’ll walk to the edge of the village with you, ” said Sirius, “see if I can scrounge another paper. ”

He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up to- ward Hogwarts.

“Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch? ” Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. “But maybe he doesn’t care. . . it’d probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He’d just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son. ”

“Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors, ” said Hermione severely.

“I don’t know, ” said Ron. “If he thought we were standing in the way of his career. . . Percy’s really ambitious, you know. . . . ” They walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward them from the Great Hall. “Poor old Snuffles, ” said Ron, breathing deeply. “He must really like you, Harry. . . . Imagine having to live off rats. ”

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MR. CROUCH

arry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery after

breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as

Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr. Crouch lately. They used Hedwig, because it had been so long since she’d had a job. When they had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, they proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks.

The house-elves gave them a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecsta- tic about his present.

“Harry Potter is too good to Dobby! ” he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.

“You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did, ” said Harry.

“No chance of more of those eclairs, is there? ” said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.

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“You’ve just had breakfast! ” said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of eclairs was already zooming toward them, sup- ported by four elves.

“We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles, ” Harry muttered.

“Good idea, ” said Ron. “Give Pig something to do. You couldn’t give us a bit of extra food, could you? ” he said to the surrounding elves, and they bowed delightedly and hurried off to get some more. “Dobby, where’s Winky? ” said Hermione, who was looking around.

“Winky is over there by the fire, miss, ” said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly.

“Oh dear, ” said Hermione as she spotted Winky. Harry looked over at the fireplace too. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

“Winky is getting through six bottles a day now, ” Dobby whis- pered to Harry.

“Well, it’s not strong, that stuff, ” Harry said.

But Dobby shook his head. “’Tis strong for a house-elf, sir, ” he said.

Winky hiccuped again. The elves who had brought the eclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.

“Winky is pining, Harry Potter, ” Dobby whispered sadly.

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“Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Profes- sor Dumbledore is her master now. ”

“Hey, Winky, ” said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walk- ing over to her, and bending down, “you don’t know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he’s stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament. ”

Winky’s eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, “M — Master is

stopped — hic — coming? ”

“Yeah, ” said Harry, “we haven’t seen him since the first task. The

Daily Prophet’s saying he’s ill. ”

Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry.

“Master — hic — ill? ”

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

“But we’re not sure if that’s true, ” said Hermione quickly.

“Master is needing his — hic — Winky! ” whimpered the elf.

“Master cannot — hic — manage — hic — all by himself. . . . ”

“Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky, ” Hermione said severely.

“Winky — hic — is not only — hic — doing housework for

Mr. Crouch! ” Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained

blouse. “Master is — hic — trusting Winky with — hic — the

most important — hic — the most secret —”

“What? ” said Harry.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

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“Winky keeps — hic — her master’s secrets, ” she said muti-

nously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her

eyes crossed. “You is — hic— nosing, you is. ”

“Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter! ” said Dobby an- grily. “Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!

“He is nosing — hic — into my master’s — hic — private and

secret — hic — Winky is a good house-elf — hic — Winky keeps

her silence — hic — people trying to — hic — pry and poke —

hic —”

Winky’s eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

“We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss! ” squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. “We is hop- ing you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss! ”

“She’s unhappy! ” said Hermione, exasperated. “Why don’t you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up? ”

“Begging your pardon, miss, ” said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, “but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served. ”

“Oh for heaven’s sake! ” Hermione cried. “Listen to me, all of you! You’ve got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You’ve got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don’t have to do everything you’re told — look at Dobby! ”

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“Miss will please keep Dobby out of this, ” Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

“We has your extra food! ” squeaked an elf at Harry’s elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into Harry’s arms. “Good-bye! ”

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of their backs.

“Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter! ” Dobby called miser- ably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione? ” said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them. “They won’t want us visiting them now! We could’ve tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch! ”

“Oh as if you care about that! ” scoffed Hermione. “You only like coming down here for the food! ”

It was an irritable sort of day after that. Harry got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that he took Sirius’s food up to the Owlery that evening on his own.

Pigwidgeon was much too small to carry an entire ham up to the mountain by himself, so Harry enlisted the help of two school screech owls as well. When they had set off into the dusk, looking extremely odd carrying the large package between them, Harry leaned on the windowsill, looking out at the grounds, at the dark, rustling treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the rippling sails of

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the Durmstrang ship. An eagle owl flew through the coil of smoke rising from Hagrid’s chimney; it soared toward the castle, around the Owlery, and out of sight. Looking down, Harry saw Hagrid digging energetically in front of his cabin. Harry wondered what he was doing; it looked as though he were making a new vegetable patch. As he watched, Madame Maxime emerged from the Beaux- batons carriage and walked over to Hagrid. She appeared to be try- ing to engage him in conversation. Hagrid leaned upon his spade, but did not seem keen to prolong their talk, because Madame Maxime returned to the carriage shortly afterward.

Unwilling to go back to Gryffindor Tower and listen to Ron and Hermione snarling at each other, Harry watched Hagrid digging until the darkness swallowed him and the owls around Harry be- gan to awake, swooshing past him into the night.

By breakfast the next day Ron’s and Hermione’s bad moods had burnt out, and to Harry’s relief, Ron’s dark predictions that the house-elves would send substandard food up to the Gryffindor table because Hermione had insulted them proved false; the bacon, eggs, and kippers were quite as good as usual.

When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something.

“Percy won’t’ve had time to answer yet, ” said Ron. “We only sent Hedwig yesterday. ”

“No, it’s not that, ” said Hermione. “I’ve taken out a subscription

to the Daily Prophet. I’m getting sick of finding everything out from

the Slytherins. ”

“Good thinking! ” said Harry, also looking up at the owls. “Hey, Hermione, I think you’re in luck —”

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A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione. “It hasn’t got a newspaper, though, ” she said, looking disap- pointed. “It’s —”

But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny. “How many subscriptions did you take out? ” said Harry, seizing Hermione’s goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.

“What on earth —? ” Hermione said, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. “Oh really! ” she sput- tered, going rather red.

“What’s up? ” said Ron.

“It’s — oh how ridiculous —”

She thrust the letter at Harry, who saw that it was not handwrit- ten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut

out of the Daily Prophet.

You are a WickEd giRL. HarRy PotTER desErves BeTteR. GO back wherE you cAMe from mUGgle.

“They’re all like it! ” said Hermione desperately, opening one let-

ter after another. “‘ Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of

you. . . . ’ ‘ You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn . . . . ’ Ouch! ”

She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils.

“Undiluted bubotuber pus! ” said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

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“Ow! ” said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves.

“You’d better get up to the hospital wing, ” said Harry as the owls around Hermione took flight. “We’ll tell Professor Sprout where you’ve gone. . . . ”

“I warned her! ” said Ron as Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands. “I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one. . . ” He read out one of the letters Hermione had

left behind: “‘ I read in Witch Weekly about how you are playing

Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough en-

velope. ’ Blimey, she’d better watch out for herself. ”

Hermione didn’t turn up for Herbology. As Harry and Ron left the greenhouse for their Care of Magical Creatures class, they saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle descending the stone steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson was whispering and giggling behind them with her gang of Slytherin girls. Catching sight of Harry, Pansy called, “Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so up- set at breakfast? ”

Harry ignored her; he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of

knowing how much trouble the Witch Weekly article had caused.

Hagrid, who had told them last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. Harry’s heart sank at the sight of the crates — surely not another skrewt hatching? — but when he got near enough to see inside, he found himself looking at a num- ber of fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws

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were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.

“These’re nifflers, ” said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. “Yeh find ’em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff. . . . There yeh go, look. ”

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson’s watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.

“Useful little treasure detectors, ” said Hagrid happily. “Thought we’d have some fun with ’em today. See over there? ” He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth Harry had watched him dig- ging from the Owlery window. “I’ve buried some gold coins. I’ve got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus’ take off all yer valuables, an’ choose a niffler, an’ get ready ter set ’em loose. ”

Harry took off his watch, which he was only wearing out of habit, as it didn’t work anymore, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in Harry’s ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was really quite cuddly.

“Hang on, ” said Hagrid, looking down into the crate, “there’s a spare niffler here. . . who’s missin’? Where’s Hermione? ”

“She had to go to the hospital wing, ” said Ron.

“We’ll explain later, ” Harry muttered; Pansy Parkinson was listening.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron’s was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

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“Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid? ” he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.

“Yer mum wouldn’ be happy, Ron, ” said Hagrid, grinning. “They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they’ve nearly got the lot, now, ” he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. “I on’y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y’are, Hermione! ”

Hermione was walking toward them across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily.

“Well, let’s check how yeh’ve done! ” said Hagrid. “Count yer coins! An’ there’s no point tryin’ ter steal any, Goyle, ” he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. “It’s leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours. ”

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron’s niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. Harry noticed Madame Maxime watching them out of her carriage window.

“What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione? ” said Hagrid, look- ing concerned.