‘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 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 Hogwarts. He takes his Defence 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 possible. 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, searching 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?’
‘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 at 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 trouble, 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 working since it had spent 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 over, and that’s not until June. And don’t forget, if you’re talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, OK?’
He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask, and went to pat Buckbeak goodbye. ‘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 towards 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 towards them from the Great Hall.
‘Poor old Snuffles,’ said Ron, breathing deeply. ‘He must really like you, Harry … imagine having to live off rats.’
— CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT —
The Madness of Mr Crouch
Harry, 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 curtseying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic 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 éclairs, is there?’ said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.
‘You’ve just had breakfast!’ said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of éclairs was already zooming towards them, supported 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 hiccough.
‘Winky is getting through six bottles a day now,’ Dobby whispered 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 hiccoughed again. The elves who had brought the éclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.
‘Winky is pining, Harry Potter,’ Dobby whispered sadly. ‘Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now.’
‘Hey, Winky,’ said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over and bending down to speak to her, ‘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 fl
ickered. 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,’ said Hermione 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.
‘Winky keeps – hic – her master’s secrets,’ she said mutinously, 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 angrily. ‘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 onto 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 hoping 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!’ said Hermione angrily. ‘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!’
‘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 was 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. ‘Goodbye!’
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 miserably 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’ 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 window-sill, looking out at the grounds, at the dark, rustling treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the rippling sails of the Durmstrang ship. An eagle owl flew through the coil of smoke rising from Hagrid’s chimney; it soared towards 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 was making a new vegetable patch. As he watched, Madame Maxime emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage and walked over to Hagrid. She appeared to be trying to engage him in conversation. Hagrid leant upon his spade, but did not seem keen to prolong their talk, because Madame Maxime returned to the carriage shortly afterwards.
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 began to awake, swooshing past him, into the night.
*
By breakfast next day, Ron and Hermione’s bad moods had burnt out, and to Harry’s relief, Ron’s dark predictions that the house-elves would send sub-standard 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 new 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 –’
A grey owl was soaring down towards Hermione.
‘It hasn’t got a newspaper, though,’ she said, looking disappointed. ‘It’s –’
But to her bewilderment, the grey 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 grey owl, opening it and starting to read. ‘Oh, really!’ she spluttered, 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 handwritten, 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 letter 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.
‘Ow!’ said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub it off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she was 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 r
ead 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 envelope.” 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 from 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 upset 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 number of fluffy black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws 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 backwards.
‘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 digging 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 any more, and stuffed it in 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.
The Goblet of Fire Page 46
