The Goblet of Fire

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘How do you get in there?’ Hermione said, in an innocently casual sort of voice.

  ‘Easy,’ said Fred, ‘concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and –’ He stopped, and looked suspiciously at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Hermione quickly.

  ‘Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?’ said George. ‘Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?’

  Several people chortled. Hermione didn’t answer.

  ‘Don’t you go upsetting them and telling them they’ve got to take clothes and salaries!’ said Fred warningly. ‘You’ll put them off their cooking!’

  Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.

  ‘Oh – sorry, Neville!’ Fred shouted, over all the laughter. ‘I forgot – it was the custard creams we hexed –’

  Within a minute, however, Neville had moulted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.

  ‘Canary Creams!’ Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. ‘George and I invented them – seven Sickles each, bargain!’

  It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut, Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point … they were all right, really, dragons …

  *

  The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Draughty though the castle always was in winter, Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly, too. Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime’s horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whisky; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock were enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible Skrewts, and needed their wits about them.

  ‘I’m not sure whether they hibernate or not,’ Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. ‘Thought we’d jus’ try an’ see if they fancied a kip … We’ll jus’ settle ’em down in these boxes …’

  There were now only ten Skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill each other had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick grey armour, their powerful, scuttling legs, their fire-blasting ends, their stings and their suckers, combined to make the Skrewts the most repulsive things Harry had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

  ‘We’ll jus’ lead ’em in here,’ Hagrid said, ‘an’ put the lids on, and we’ll see what happens.’

  But the Skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling ‘Don’ panic, now, don’ panic!’ while the Skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class – Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in the lead – had fled into Hagrid’s cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Harry, Ron and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the Skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one Skrewt was left.

  ‘Don’ frighten him, now!’ Hagrid shouted, as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the Skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. ‘Jus’ try an’ slip the rope round his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!’

  ‘Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!’ Ron shouted angrily, as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid’s cabin, still holding the Skrewt off with their sparks.

  ‘Well, well, well … this does look like fun.’

  Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

  Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the Skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

  ‘Who’re you?’ Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter, as he slipped a loop of rope around the Skrewt’s sting and tightened it.

  ‘Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,’ Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

  ‘Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school any more?’ said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed Skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.

  Rita acted as though she hadn’t heard what Hagrid had said.

  ‘What are these fascinating creatures called?’ she asked, beaming still more widely.

  ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts,’ grunted Hagrid.

  ‘Really?’ said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. ‘I’ve never heard of them before … where do they come from?’

  Harry noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid’s wild black beard, and his heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the Skrewts from?

  Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines, said quickly, ‘They’re very interesting, aren’t they? Aren’t they, Harry?’

  ‘What? Oh, yeah … ouch … interesting,’ said Harry, as she stepped on his foot.

  ‘Ah, you’re here, Harry!’ said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. ‘So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favourite lessons?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him.

  ‘Lovely,’ said Rita. ‘Really lovely. Been teaching long?’ she added to Hagrid.

  Harry noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek), Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass, waiting to see if the coast was clear.

  ‘This is on’y me second year,’ said Hagrid.

  ‘Lovely … I don’t suppose you’d like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I’m sure you know. We could feature these – er – Bang-Ended Scoots.’

  ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts,’ Hagrid said eagerly. ‘Er – yeah, why not?’

  Harry had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so he had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signalling the end of the lesson.

  ‘Well, goodbye, Harry!’ Rita Skeeter called merrily to him, as he set off with Ron and Hermione. ‘Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!’

  ‘She’ll twist everything he says,’ Harry said under his breath.

  ‘Just as long as he didn’t import those Skrewts illegally or anything,’ said Hermione desperately. They looked at each other – it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do.

  ‘Hagrid’s been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore’s never sacked him,’ said Ron consolingly. ‘Worst that can happen is Hagrid’ll have to get rid of the Skrewts. Sorry … did I say worst? I meant best.’

  Harry and Hermione laughed, and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch.

  Harry thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that he and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professo
r Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life.

  ‘I would think,’ she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, ‘that some of us’ – she stared very meaningfully at Harry – ‘might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen, during my crystal-gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths … and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?’

  ‘An ugly old bat in outsize specs?’ Ron muttered under his breath.

  Harry fought hard to keep his face straight.

  ‘Death, my dears.’

  Parvati and Lavender both put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified.

  ‘Yes,’ said Professor Trelawney, nodding impressively, ‘it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower … ever lower over the castle …’

  She stared pointedly at Harry, who yawned very widely and obviously.

  ‘It’d be a bit more impressive if she hadn’t done it about eighty times before,’ Harry said, as they finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney’s room. ‘But if I’d dropped dead every time she’s told me I’m going to, I’d be a medical miracle.’

  ‘You’d be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost,’ said Ron, chortling, as they passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly. ‘At least we didn’t get homework. I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector, I love not working when she is …’

  But Hermione wasn’t at dinner, and nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterwards. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph – but then Ron realised that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.

  ‘Wonder where she’s got to?’ Ron said, as he and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower.

  ‘Dunno … Balderdash.’

  But the Fat Lady had barely begun to swing forwards, when the sound of racing feet behind them announced Hermione’s arrival.

  ‘Harry!’ she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). ‘Harry, you’ve got to come – you’ve got to come, the most amazing thing’s happened – please –’

  She seized Harry’s arm and started to try and drag him back along the corridor.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Harry said.

  ‘I’ll show you when we get there – oh, come on, quick –’

  Harry looked around at Ron; he looked back at Harry, intrigued.

  ‘OK,’ Harry said, starting off back down the corridor with Hermione, Ron hurrying to keep up.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me!’ the Fat Lady called irritably after them. ‘Don’t apologise for bothering me! I’ll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks,’ Ron shouted over his shoulder.

  ‘Hermione, where are we going?’ Harry asked, after she had led them down through six floors, and started down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall.

  ‘You’ll see, you’ll see in a minute!’ said Hermione excitedly.

  She turned left at the bottom of the staircase, and hurried towards the door through which Cedric Diggory had gone the night after the Goblet of Fire had regurgitated his and Harry’s names. Harry had never been through here before. He and Ron followed Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one which led to Snape’s dungeon, they found themselves in a broad, stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food.

  ‘Oh, hang on …’ said Harry slowly, halfway down the corridor. ‘Wait a minute, Hermione …’

  ‘What?’ She turned around to look at him, anticipation all over her face.

  ‘I know what this is about,’ said Harry.

  He nudged Ron, and pointed to the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit-bowl.

  ‘Hermione!’ said Ron, cottoning on. ‘You’re trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!’

  ‘No, no, I’m not!’ she said hastily. ‘And it’s not spew, Ron –’

  ‘Changed the name, have you?’ said Ron, frowning at her. ‘What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I’m not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I’m not doing it –’

  ‘I’m not asking you to!’ Hermione said impatiently. ‘I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found – oh, come on, Harry, I want to show you!’

  She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit-bowl, stretched out her forefinger and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside.

  He had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled towards him from the middle of the room, squealing, ‘Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!’

  Next second all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly he thought his ribs would break.

  ‘D-Dobby?’ Harry gasped.

  ‘It is Dobby, sir, it is!’ squealed the voice from somewhere around his navel. ‘Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!’

  Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him; the pencil-shaped nose, the bat-like ears, the long fingers and feet – all except the clothes, which were very different.

  When Dobby had worked for the Malfoys, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Harry had ever seen; he had made an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup. He was wearing a tea-cosy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children’s football shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Harry saw, was the black one he had removed from his own foot and tricked Mr Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes.

  ‘Dobby, what’re you doing here?’ Harry said in amazement.

  ‘Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!’ Dobby squealed excitedly. ‘Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir!’

  ‘Winky?’ said Harry. ‘She’s here, too?’

  ‘Yes, sir, yes!’ said Dobby, and he seized Harry’s hand, and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Harry noticed as he passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four house tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but he supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above.

  At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing and curtseying as Dobby led Harry past them. They were all wearing the same uniform; a tea-towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied, as Winky’s had been, like a toga.

  Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace, and pointed.

  ‘Winky, sir!’ he said.

  Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had ob
viously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby’s strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand new, Winky was plainly not taking care of her clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt.

  ‘Hello, Winky,’ said Harry.

  Winky’s lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Hermione. She and Ron had followed Harry and Dobby to the end of the kitchen. ‘Winky, don’t cry, please don’t …’

  But Winky cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Harry.

  ‘Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?’ he squeaked loudly, over Winky’s sobs.

  ‘Er – yeah, OK,’ said Harry.

  Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron and Hermione, a milk jug and a large plate of biscuits.

  ‘Good service!’ Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated.

  ‘How long have you been here, Dobby?’ Harry asked, as Dobby handed round the tea.

  ‘Only a week, Harry Potter, sir!’ said Dobby happily. ‘Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed –’

  At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow.

  ‘Dobby has travelled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!’ Dobby squeaked. ‘But Dobby hasn’t found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!’

  The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing.

  Hermione, however, said, ‘Good for you, Dobby!’