TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 36 страница

“I quite understand, ” said Dumbledore. He lifted the basin, car- ried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry to sit down opposite him.

Harry did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had re- turned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze.

“What is it? ” Harry asked shakily.

“This? It is called a Pensieve, ” said Dumbledore. “I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind. ”

“Er, ” said Harry, who couldn’t truthfully say that he had ever felt anything of the sort.

“At these times, ” said Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin, “I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one’s mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one’s leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you under- stand, when they are in this form. ”

“You mean. . . that stuff’s your thoughts? ” Harry said, staring at

the swirling white substance in the basin.

“Certainly, ” said Dumbledore. “Let me show you. ” Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it — but then

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Harry saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Harry, astonished, saw his own face swimming around the surface of the bowl. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold. . . and Harry saw his own face change smoothly into Snape’s, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly.

“It’s coming back. . . Karkaroff’s too. . . stronger and clearer than ever. . . ”

“A connection I could have made without assistance, ” Dumble- dore sighed, “but never mind. ” He peered over the top of his half- moon spectacles at Harry, who was gaping at Snape’s face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. “I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention. ”

“I’m sorry, ” Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore shook his head. “Curiosity is not a sin, ” he said. “But we should exercise caution with our curiosity. . . yes, in- deed. . . ”

Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry or Professor Dumbledore. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape’s had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin. “He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I

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was only teasing him, sir. I only said I’d seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday. . . . ”

“But why, Bertha, ” said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, “why did you have to follow him in the first place? ”

“Bertha? ” Harry whispered, looking up at her. “Is that — was that Bertha Jorkins? ”

“Yes, ” said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. “That was Bertha as I remember her at school. ” The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore’s face, and it struck Harry suddenly how very old he was looking. He knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow he never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man.

“So, Harry, ” said Dumbledore quietly. “Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something. ”

“Yes, ” said Harry. “Professor — I was in Divination just now, and — er — I fell asleep. ”

He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, “Quite understandable. Continue. ” “Well, I had a dream, ” said Harry. “A dream about Lord Volde- mort. He was torturing Wormtail. . . you know who Wormtail —” “I do know, ” said Dumbledore promptly. “Please continue. ” “Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail’s blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn’t be fed to the snake — there was a snake beside his chair. He said — he said he’d be feeding me to it,

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instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail — and my scar hurt, ” Harry said. “It woke me up, it hurt so badly. ” Dumbledore merely looked at him.

“Er — that’s all, ” said Harry.

“I see, ” said Dumbledore quietly. “I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer? ”

“No, I — how did you know it woke me up over the summer? ” said Harry, astonished.

“You are not Sirius’s only correspondent, ” said Dumbledore. “I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay. ”

Dumbledore got up and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, re- moved another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pen- sieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Harry couldn’t make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color. “Professor? ” he said quietly, after a couple of minutes. Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry. “My apologies, ” he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk. “D’you — d’you know why my scar’s hurting me? ” Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, “I have a theory, no more than that. . . . It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred. ”

“But. . . why? ”

“Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed, ” said Dumbledore. “That is no ordinary scar. ”

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“So you think. . . that dream. . . did it really happen? ” “It is possible, ” said Dumbledore. “I would say — probable. Harry — did you see Voldemort? ”

“No, ” said Harry. “Just the back of his chair. But — there wouldn’t have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn’t got a body, has he? But. . . but then how could he have held the wand? ” Harry said slowly.

“How indeed? ” muttered Dumbledore. “How indeed. . . ” Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve.

“Professor, ” Harry said at last, “do you think he’s getting stronger? ”

“Voldemort? ” said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pen- sieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given him on other occasions, and always made Harry feel as though Dumbledore were seeing right through him in a way that even Moody’s magical eye could not. “Once again, Harry, I can only give you my suspicions. ”

Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever.

“The years of Voldemort’s ascent to power, ” he said, “were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared. . . within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I re- gret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where

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Voldemort’s father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends. ”

Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry.

“These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees — as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office. ”

Harry nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Harry felt as though he ought to go, but his curiosity held him in his chair.

“Professor? ” he said again.

“Yes, Harry? ” said Dumbledore.

“Er. . . could I ask you about. . . that court thing I was in. . . in the Pensieve? ”

“You could, ” said Dumbledore heavily. “I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than oth- ers. . . particularly now. . . . ”

“You know — you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch’s son? Well. . . were they talking about Neville’s parents? ”

Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look. “Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother? ” he said.

Harry shook his head, wondering, as he did so, how he could have failed to ask Neville this, in almost four years of knowing him. “Yes, they were talking about Neville’s parents, ” said Dumble- dore. “His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort’s whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard. ”

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“So they’re dead? ” said Harry quietly.

“No, ” said Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness Harry had never heard there before. “They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him. ”

Harry sat there, horror-struck. He had never known. . . never, in four years, bothered to find out. . .

“The Longbottoms were very popular, ” said Dumbledore. “The attacks on them came after Voldemort’s fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms’ evidence was — given their condition — none too reliable. ”

“Then Mr. Crouch’s son might not have been involved? ” said Harry slowly.

Dumbledore shook his head.

“As to that, I have no idea. ”

Harry sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There were two more questions he was burning to ask. . . but they concerned the guilt of living people. . . .

“Er, ” he said, “Mr. Bagman. . . ”

“. . . has never been accused of any Dark activity since, ” said Dumbledore calmly.

“Right, ” said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pen- sieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumble- dore had stopped adding thoughts. “And. . . er. . . ”

But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him.

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Snape’s face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry.

“No more has Professor Snape, ” he said.

Harry looked into Dumbledore’s light blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“What made you think he’d really stopped supporting Volde- mort, Professor? ”

Dumbledore held Harry’s gaze for a few seconds, and then said, “That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself. ” Harry knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Harry it was time to go. He stood up, and so did Dumbledore.

“Harry, ” he said as Harry reached the door. “Please do not speak about Neville’s parents to anybody else. He has the right to let peo- ple know, when he is ready. ”

“Yes, Professor, ” said Harry, turning to go.

“And —”

Harry looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at Harry for a moment, and then said, “Good luck with the third task. ”

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THE THIRD TASK

umbledore reckons You-Know-Who’s getting stronger

again as well? ” Ron whispered.

Everything Harry had seen in the Pensieve, nearly everything Dumbledore had told and shown him afterward, he had now shared with Ron and Hermione — and, of course, with Sirius, to whom Harry had sent an owl the moment he had left Dumble- dore’s office. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat up late in the common room once again that night, talking it all over until Harry’s mind was reeling, until he understood what Dumbledore had meant about a head becoming so full of thoughts that it would have been a relief to siphon them off.

Ron stared into the common room fire. Harry thought he saw Ron shiver slightly, even though the evening was warm.

“And he trusts Snape? ” Ron said. “He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater? ”

“Yes, ” said Harry.

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Hermione had not spoken for ten minutes. She was sitting with her forehead in her hands, staring at her knees. Harry thought she too looked as though she could have done with a Pensieve.

“Rita Skeeter, ” she muttered finally.

“How can you be worrying about her now? ” said Ron, in utter disbelief.

“I’m not worrying about her, ” Hermione said to her knees. “I’m just thinking. . . remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? ‘I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl. ’ This is what she meant, isn’t it? She reported his trial, she knew he’d passed information to the Death Eaters. And Winky too, remember. . . ‘Ludo Bagman’s a bad wizard. ’ Mr. Crouch would have been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home. ”

“Yeah, but Bagman didn’t pass information on purpose, did he? ” Hermione shrugged.

“And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch? ” Ron

said, turning back to Harry.

“Yeah, ” said Harry, “but he’s only saying that because Crouch disappeared near the Beauxbatons carriage. ”

“We never thought of her, did we? ” said Ron slowly. “Mind you, she’s definitely got giant blood, and she doesn’t want to admit it —”

“Of course she doesn’t, ” said Hermione sharply, looking up. “Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to conclusions about her, just be- cause she’s part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I’d proba- bly say I had big bones if I knew that’s what I’d get for telling the truth. ”

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Hermione looked at her watch. “We haven’t done any practic- ing! ” she said, looking shocked. “We were going to do the Impedi- ment Curse! We’ll have to really get down to it tomorrow! Come on, Harry, you need to get some sleep. ”

Harry and Ron went slowly upstairs to their dormitory. As Harry pulled on his pajamas, he looked over at Neville’s bed. True to his word to Dumbledore, he had not told Ron and Hermione about Neville’s parents. As Harry took off his glasses and climbed into his four-poster, he imagined how it must feel to have parents still living but unable to recognize you. He often got sympathy from strangers for being an orphan, but as he listened to Neville’s snores, he thought that Neville deserved it more than he did. Lying in the darkness, Harry felt a rush of anger and hate toward the peo- ple who had tortured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom. . . . He remem- bered the jeers of the crowd as Crouch’s son and his companions had been dragged from the court by the dementors. . . . He under- stood how they had felt. . . . Then he remembered the milk-white face of the screaming boy and realized with a jolt that he had died a year later. . . .

It was Voldemort, Harry thought, staring up at the canopy of his bed in the darkness, it all came back to Voldemort. . . . He was the one who had torn these families apart, who had ruined all these lives. . . .

Ron and Hermione were supposed to be studying for their exams, which would finish on the day of the third task, but they were putting most of their efforts into helping Harry prepare.

“Don’t worry about it, ” Hermione said shortly when Harry pointed this out to them and said he didn’t mind practicing on his

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own for a while, “at least we’ll get top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We’d never have found out about all these hexes in class. ”

“Good training for when we’re all Aurors, ” said Ron excitedly, attempting the Impediment Curse on a wasp that had buzzed into the room and making it stop dead in midair.

The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would take place a week before the end of term. Harry was practic- ing hexes at every available moment. He felt more confident about this task than either of the others. Difficult and dangerous though it would undoubtedly be, Moody was right: Harry had managed to find his way past monstrous creatures and enchanted barriers be- fore now, and this time he had some notice, some chance to pre- pare himself for what lay ahead.

Tired of walking in on Harry, Hermione, and Ron all over the school, Professor McGonagall had given them permission to use the empty Transfiguration classroom at lunchtimes. Harry had soon mastered the Impediment Curse, a spell to slow down and ob- struct attackers; the Reductor Curse, which would enable him to blast solid objects out of his way; and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione’s that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses; Hermi- one managed to shatter it with a well-placed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and Harry wobbled around the room for ten minutes afterward before she had looked up the counter-jinx.

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“You’re still doing really well, though, ” Hermione said encour- agingly, looking down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. “Some of these are bound to come in handy. ” “Come and look at this, ” said Ron, who was standing by the window. He was staring down onto the grounds. “What’s Malfoy doing? ”

Harry and Hermione went to see. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in the shadow of a tree below. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping a lookout; both were smirking. Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth and speaking into it.

“He looks like he’s using a walkie-talkie, ” said Harry curiously. “He can’t be, ” said Hermione, “I’ve told you, those sorts of things don’t work around Hogwarts. Come on, Harry, ” she added briskly, turning away from the window and moving back into the middle of the room, “let’s try that Shield Charm again. ”

Sirius was sending daily owls now. Like Hermione, he seemed to want to concentrate on getting Harry through the last task before they concerned themselves with anything else. He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry’s responsibility, nor was it within his power to influence it.

If Voldemort is really getting stronger again , he wrote, my

priority is to ensure your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on you while you are under Dumbledore’s protection, but all

the same, take no risks: Concentrate on getting through that

maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other

matters.

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Harry’s nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those he had felt before the first and sec- ond tasks. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another,

this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the tour-

nament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief.

Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. It was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front, but Harry appreciated it all the same. A screech owl arrived for Hermione,

carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She un-

folded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouth- ful of pumpkin juice all over it.

“What? ” said Harry and Ron together, staring at her. “Nothing, ” said Hermione quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it. He stared at the headline and said,

“No way. Not today. That old cow. ”

“What? ” said Harry. “Rita Skeeter again? ”

“No, ” said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.

“It’s about me, isn’t it? ” said Harry.

“No, ” said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone. But before Harry could demand to see the paper, Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table.

“Hey, Potter! Potter! How’s your head? You feeling all right? Sure

you’re not going to go berserk on us? ”

Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet too. Slytherins

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up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see Harry’s reaction.

“Let me see it, ” Harry said to Ron. “Give it here. ” Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and found himself staring at his own picture, beneath the banner headline:

HARRY POTTER

“DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS”

The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes

Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evi-

dence has recently come to light about Harry Pot- ter’s strange behavior, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.

Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal,

regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway through a

Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter

witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying.

It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo’s Hos- pital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Pot- ter’s brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon

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him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion.

“He might even be pretending, ” said one spe- cialist. “This could be a plea for attention. ”

The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed

worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has care- fully concealed from the wizarding public.

“Potter can speak Parseltongue, ” reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. “There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he’s made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he’d do anything for a bit of power. ”

Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue “as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspi- cious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with

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evildoers. ” Similarly, “anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence. ”

Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his des- peration to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening.

“Gone off me a bit, hasn’t she? ” said Harry lightly, folding up the paper.

Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at him, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling their tongues like snakes. “How did she know your scar hurt in Divination? ” Ron said. “There’s no way she was there, there’s no way she could’ve heard —” “The window was open, ” said Harry. “I opened it to breathe. ” “You were at the top of North Tower! ” Hermione said. “Your voice couldn’t have carried all the way down to the grounds! ” “Well, you’re the one who’s supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging! ” said Harry. “You tell me how she did it! ” “I’ve been trying! ” said Hermione. “But I. . . but. . . ”

An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermione’s face. She slowly raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you all right? ” said Ron, frowning at her.

“Yes, ” said Hermione breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, and then held her hand up to her mouth, as though

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speaking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry and Ron stared at each other.

“I’ve had an idea, ” Hermione said, gazing into space. “I think I know. . . because then no one would be able to see. . . even Moody. . . and she’d have been able to get onto the window

ledge. . . but she’s not allowed. . . she’s definitely not allowed. . . I

think we’ve got her! Just give me two seconds in the library — just to make sure! ”

With that, Hermione seized her school bag and dashed out of the Great Hall.

“Oi! ” Ron called after her. “We’ve got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes! Blimey, ” he said, turning back to Harry, “she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam. What’re you going to do in Binns’s class — read again? ” Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been sitting in the back of every exam class so far, looking up fresh hexes for the third task.

“S’pose so, ” Harry said to Ron; but just then, Professor McGo- nagall came walking alongside the Gryffindor table toward him. “Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast, ” she said.

“But the task’s not till tonight! ” said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time. “I’m aware of that, Potter, ” she said. “The champions’ families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them. ”

She moved away. Harry gaped after her.

“She doesn’t expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she? ” he asked Ron blankly.

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