The Goblet of Fire

by J. K. Rowling

  Everyone laughed, even Mrs Weasley.

  ‘Oh, your father’s coming!’ she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.

  Mr Weasley’s hand had suddenly spun from ‘work’ to ‘travelling’; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on ‘home’ with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen.

  ‘Coming, Arthur!’ called Mrs Weasley, hurrying out of the room.

  A few moments later, Mr Weasley had come into the warm living room, carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted.

  ‘Well, the fat’s really in the fire now,’ he told Mrs Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the fire and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower. ‘Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she’s found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that’ll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago.’

  ‘Mr Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks,’ said Percy swiftly.

  ‘Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn’t found out about Winky,’ said Mr Weasley irritably. ‘There’d be a week’s worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.’

  ‘I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?’ said Percy hotly.

  ‘If you ask me, Mr Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!’ said Hermione angrily.

  ‘Now, look here, Hermione!’ said Percy. ‘A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants –’

  ‘His slave, you mean!’ said Hermione, her voice rising shrilly. ‘Because he didn’t pay Winky, did he?’

  ‘I think you’d all better go upstairs and check that you’ve packed properly!’ said Mrs Weasley, breaking up the argument. ‘Come on, now, all of you …’

  Harry repacked his Broomstick Servicing Kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage again when they entered. The sight of the half-packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement.

  ‘Bung him some Owl Treats,’ said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry, ‘it might shut him up.’

  Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon’s cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig’s cage stood next to it, still empty.

  ‘It’s been over a week,’ Harry said, looking at Hedwig’s deserted perch. ‘Ron, you don’t reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?’

  ‘Nah, it would’ve been in the Daily Prophet,’ said Ron. ‘The Ministry would want to show they’d caught someone, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose …’

  ‘Look, here’s the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she’s got some gold out of your vault for you … and she’s washed all your socks.’

  He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry’s camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment and refills for his potion-making kit – he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.

  ‘What is that supposed to be?’

  He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a mouldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs.

  There was a knock on the door, and Mrs Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, sorting them into two. ‘Now, mind you pack them properly so they don’t crease.’

  ‘Mum, you’ve given me Ginny’s new dress,’ said Ron, holding it out to her.

  ‘Of course I haven’t,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘That’s for you. Dress robes.’

  ‘What?’ said Ron, looking horror-struck.

  ‘Dress robes!’ repeated Mrs Weasley. ‘It says on your school list that you’re supposed to have dress robes this year … robes for formal occasions.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Ron in disbelief. ‘I’m not wearing that, no way.’

  ‘Everyone wears them, Ron!’ said Mrs Weasley crossly. ‘They’re all like that! Your father’s got some for smart parties!’

  ‘I’ll go starkers before I put that on,’ said Ron stubbornly.

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ said Mrs Weasley, ‘you’ve got to have dress robes, they’re on your list! I got some for Harry, too … show him, Harry …’

  In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn’t have any lace on them at all; in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black.

  ‘I thought they’d bring out the colour of your eyes, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley fondly.

  ‘Well, they’re OK!’ said Ron angrily, looking at Harry’s robes. ‘Why couldn’t I have some like that?’

  ‘Because … well, I had to get yours second-hand, and there wasn’t a lot of choice!’ said Mrs Weasley, flushing.

  Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it.

  ‘I’m never wearing them,’ Ron was saying stubbornly. ‘Never.’

  ‘Fine,’ snapped Mrs Weasley. ‘Go naked. And Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.’

  She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat.

  ‘Why is everything I own rubbish?’ said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon’s beak.

  — CHAPTER ELEVEN —

  Aboard the Hogwarts Express

  There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

  He, Ron, Fred and George had just reached the first-floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed.

  ‘Arthur!’ she called up the staircase, ‘Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!’

  Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front, and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs Weasley rummaging anxiously in the dresser drawers – ‘I’ve got a quill here somewhere!’ – and Mr Weasley bending over the fire, talking to –

  Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly.

  Amos Diggory’s head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears.

  ‘… Muggle neighbours heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d’you-call-’ems – please-men. Arthur, you’ve got to get over there –’

  ‘Here!’ said Mrs Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink and a crumpled quill into Mr Weasley’s hands.

  ‘– it’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it,’ said Mr Diggory’s head, ‘I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off – if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur –’

  ‘What does Mad-Eye say happened?’ asked Mr Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill and prepar
ing to take notes.

  Mr Diggory’s head rolled its eyes. ‘Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says they were creeping towards the house, but they were ambushed by his dustbins.’

  ‘What did the dustbins do?’ asked Mr Weasley, scribbling frantically.

  ‘Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up –’

  Mr Weasley groaned. ‘And what about the intruder?’

  ‘Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,’ said Mr Diggory’s head, rolling its eyes again. ‘Someone creeping into his yard at the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shellshocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it – think of his record – we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department – what are exploding dustbins worth?’

  ‘Might be a caution,’ said Mr Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. ‘Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?’

  ‘I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,’ said Mr Diggory, ‘but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties.’

  ‘All right, I’m off,’ Mr Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again.

  Mr Diggory’s head looked around at Mrs Weasley.

  ‘Sorry about this, Molly,’ it said, more calmly, ‘bothering you so early and everything … but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night …’

  ‘Never mind, Amos,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘Sure you won’t have a bit of toast or anything before you go?’

  ‘Oh, go on, then,’ said Mr Diggory.

  Mrs Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs and transferred it into Mr Diggory’s mouth.

  ‘Fanks,’ he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished.

  Harry could hear Mr Weasley calling hurried goodbyes to Bill, Charlie, Percy and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair.

  ‘I’d better hurry – you have a good term, boys,’ said Mr Weasley to Harry, Ron and the twins, dragging a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. ‘Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King’s Cross?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘You just look after Mad-Eye, we’ll be fine.’

  As Mr Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen.

  ‘Did someone say Mad-Eye?’ Bill asked. ‘What’s he been up to now?’

  ‘He says someone tried to break into his house last night,’ said Mrs Weasley.

  ‘Mad-Eye Moody?’ said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. ‘Isn’t he that nutter –’

  ‘Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,’ said Mrs Weasley sternly.

  ‘Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn’t he?’ said Fred quietly, as Mrs Weasley left the room. ‘Birds of a feather …’

  ‘Moody was a great wizard in his time,’ said Bill.

  ‘He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Dumbledore’s not what you’d call normal, though, is he?’ said Fred. ‘I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything …’

  ‘Who is Mad-Eye?’ asked Harry.

  ‘He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry,’ said Charlie. ‘I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror – one of the best … a Dark-wizard-catcher,’ he added, seeing Harry’s blank look. ‘Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though … the families of people he caught, mainly … and I heard he’s been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone any more. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.’

  Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King’s Cross station, but Percy, apologising most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work.

  ‘I just can’t justify taking more time off at the moment,’ he told them. ‘Mr Crouch is really starting to rely on me.’

  ‘Yeah, you know what, Percy?’ said George seriously. ‘I reckon he’ll know your name soon.’

  Mrs Weasley had braved the telephone in the village Post Office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London.

  ‘Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us,’ Mrs Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. ‘But there weren’t any to spare … oh dear, they don’t look happy, do they?’

  Harry didn’t like to tell Mrs Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported over-excited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an ear-splitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Dr Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred’s trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man’s leg.

  The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron and Hermione were all severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King’s Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station.

  Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron and Hermione (the most conspicuous, as they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leant casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it … and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialised in front of them.

  The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform, to say goodbye to Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie.

  ‘I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,’ said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny goodbye.

  ‘Why?’ said Fred keenly.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Charlie. ‘Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it … it’s “classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it”, after all. ’

  ‘Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year,’ said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train.

  ‘Why?’ said George impatiently.

  ‘You’re going to have an interesting year,’ said Bill, his eyes twinkling. ‘I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it …’

  ‘A bit of what?’ said Ron.

  But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs Weasley chivvied them towards the train doors.

  ‘Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley,’ said Hermione, as they climbed on board, closed the door and leant out of the window to talk to her.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs Weasley,’ said Harry.

  ‘Oh, it was my pleasure, dears,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘I’d invite you for Christmas, but … well, I expect you’re all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with … one thing and another.’

  ‘Mum!’ said Ron irritably. ‘What d’you three know
that we don’t?’

  ‘You’ll find out this evening, I expect,’ said Mrs Weasley, smiling. ‘It’s going to be very exciting – mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules –’

  ‘What rules?’ said Harry, Ron, Fred and George together.

  ‘I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you … now, behave, won’t you? Won’t you, Fred? And you, George?’

  The pistons hissed loudly, and the train began to move.

  ‘Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!’ Fred bellowed out of the window, as Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie sped away from them. ‘What rules are they changing?’

  But Mrs Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill and Charlie had Disapparated.

  Harry, Ron and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon’s cage to muffle his hooting.

  ‘Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts,’ he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. ‘At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won’t say. Wonder what –’

  ‘Shh!’ Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing towards the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

  ‘… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man’s such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do …’

  Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy’s voice.

  ‘So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?’ she said angrily. ‘I wish he had gone, then we wouldn’t have had to put up with him.’

  ‘Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?’ said Harry.