‘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 was 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.
‘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 towards 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, looking concerned.
Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning, and the envelope full of Bubotuber pus.
‘Aaah, don’ worry,’ said Hagrid gently, looking down at her. ‘I got some o’ those letters an’ all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou’ me mum. “Yeh’re a monster an’ yeh should be put down.” “Yer mother killed innocent people an’ if you had any decency you’d jump in a lake.”’
‘No!’ said Hermione, looking shocked.
‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid, heaving the Niffler crates over by his cabin wall. ‘They’re jus’ nutters, Hermione. Don’ open ’em if yeh get any more. Chuck ’em straigh’ in the fire.’
‘You missed a really good lesson,’ Harry told Hermione, as they headed back towards the castle. ‘They’re good, Nifflers, aren’t they, Ron?’
Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Harry. ‘Wrong flavour?’
‘No,’ said Ron shortly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the gold?’
‘What gold?’ said Harry.
‘The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup,’ said Ron. ‘The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn’t you tell me it disappeared?’
Harry had to think for a moment before he realised what Ron was talking about.
‘Oh …’ he said, the memory coming back to him at last. ‘I dunno … I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn’t I?’
They climbed the steps into the Entrance Hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.
‘Must be nice,’ Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. ‘To have so much money you don’t notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing.’
‘Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!’ said Harry impatiently. ‘We all did, remember?’
‘I didn’t know leprechaun gold vanishes,’ Ron muttered. ‘I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn’t’ve given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas.’
‘Forget it, all right?’ said Harry.
Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, ‘I hate being poor.’
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Neither of them really knew what to say.
‘It’s rubbish,’ said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. ‘I don’t blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a Niffler.’
‘Well, we know what to get you next Christmas,’ said Hermione brightly. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, ‘Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren’t full of pus.’ Hermione was having a lot of difficulty managing her knife and fork, her fingers were so stiff and swollen. ‘I hate that Skeeter woman!’ she burst out savagely. ‘I’ll get her back for this if it’s the last thing I do!’
*
Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week, and although she followed Hagrid’s advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn’t read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Harry–Krum–Hermione triangle now. Harry was getting sick of telling people that Hermione wasn’t his girlfriend.
‘It’ll die down, though,’ he told Hermione, ‘if we just ignore it … people got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time –’
‘I want to know how she’s listening into private conversations when she’s supposed to be banned from the grounds!’ said Hermione angrily.
Hermione hung back in their next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class were very eager to leave; Moody had given them such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of them were nursing small injuries. Harry had such a bad case of Twitchy Ears, he had to hold his hands clamped over them as he walked away from the class.
‘Well, Rita’s definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!’ Hermione panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron in the Entrance Hall and pulling Harry’s hand away from one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear. ‘Moody says he didn’t see her anywhere near the judges’ table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!’
‘Hermione, is there any point telling you to drop this?’ said Ron.
‘No!’ said Hermione stubbornly. ‘I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! And how she found out about Hagrid’s mum!’
‘Maybe she had you bugged,’ said Harry.
‘Bugged?’ said Ron blankly. ‘What … put fleas on her or something?’
Harry started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment.
Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted them. ‘Aren’t you two ever going to read Hogwarts: A History?’
‘What’s the point?’ said Ron. ‘You know it off by heart, we can just ask you.’
‘All those substitutes for magic Muggles use – electricity, and computers and radar, and all those things – they all go haywire around Hogwarts, there’s too much magic in the air. No, Rita’s using magic to eavesdrop, she must be … if I could just find out what it is … ooh, if it’s illegal, I’ll have her …’
‘Haven’t we got enough to worry about?’ Ron asked her. ‘Do we have to start a vendetta against Rita Skeeter as well?’
‘I’m not asking you to help!’ Hermione snapped. ‘I’ll do it on my own!’
She marched back up the marble staircase without a backward glance. Harry was quite sure she was going to the library.
‘What’s the betting she comes back with a box of I Hate Rita Skeeter badges?’ said Ron.
Hermione, however, did not ask Harry and Ron to help her pursue vengeance against Rita Skeeter, for which they were both grateful, because their workload was mounting ever higher in the run-up to the Easter holidays. Harry frankly marvelled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do. He was w
orking flat out just to get through all their homework, though he made a point of sending regular food packages up to the cave in the mountain for Sirius; after last summer, he had not forgotten what it felt like to be continually hungry. He enclosed notes to Sirius, telling him that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and that they were still waiting for an answer from Percy.
Hedwig didn’t return until the end of the Easter holidays. Percy’s letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs Weasley had sent. Both Harry’s and Ron’s were the size of dragon eggs, and full of home-made toffee. Hermione’s, however, was smaller than a chicken’s egg. Her face fell when she saw it.
‘Your mum doesn’t read Witch Weekly, by any chance, does she, Ron?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yeah,’ said Ron, whose mouth was full of toffee. ‘Gets it for the recipes.’
Hermione looked sadly at her tiny egg.
‘Don’t you want to see what Percy’s written?’ Harry asked her hastily.
Percy’s letter was short and irritable.
As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instructions. No, I haven’t actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior’s handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumours. Please don’t bother me again unless it’s something important. Happy Easter.
*
The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but he still didn’t know what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.
‘You are to go down to the Quidditch pitch tonight at nine o’clock, Potter,’ she told him. ‘Mr Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.’
So at half past eight that night, Harry left Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower, and went downstairs. As he crossed the Entrance Hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.
‘What d’you reckon it’s going to be?’ he asked Harry, as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. ‘Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels, she reckons we’ve got to find treasure.’
‘That wouldn’t be too bad,’ said Harry, thinking that he would simply ask Hagrid for a Niffler to do the job for him.
They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the pitch.
‘What’ve they done to it?’ Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.
The Quidditch pitch was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it, twisting and criss-crossing in every direction.
‘They’re hedges!’ said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.
‘Hello there!’ called a cheery voice.
Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the pitch with Krum and Fleur. Harry and Cedric made their way towards them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. Her attitude to him had changed completely since he had pulled her sister out of the lake.
‘Well, what d’you think?’ said Bagman happily, as Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. ‘Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty foot high. Don’t worry,’ he added grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry and Cedric’s faces, ‘you’ll have your Quidditch pitch back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?’
No one spoke for a moment. Then –
‘Maze,’ grunted Krum.
‘That’s right!’ said Bagman. ‘A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.’
‘We seemply ’ave to get through the maze?’ said Fleur.
‘There will be obstacles,’ said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘Hagrid is providing a number of creatures … then there will be spells that must be broken … all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze.’ Bagman grinned at Harry and Cedric. ‘Then Mr Krum will enter … then Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?’
Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.
‘Very well … if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly …’
Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help him again, but just then, Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.
‘Could I haff a vord?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry, slightly surprised.
‘Vill you valk vith me?’
‘OK,’ said Harry curiously.
Bagman looked slightly perturbed. ‘I’ll wait for you, Harry, shall I?’
‘No, it’s OK, Mr Bagman,’ said Harry, suppressing a smile, ‘I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks.’
Harry and Krum left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked towards the Forest.
‘What’re we going this way for?’ said Harry, as they passed Hagrid’s cabin, and the illuminated Beauxbatons carriage.
‘Don’t vant to be overheard,’ said Krum shortly.
When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground, a short way from the Beauxbatons’ horses’ paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.
‘I vant to know,’ he said, glowering, ‘vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny.’
Harry, who from Krum’s secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.
‘Nothing,’ he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated. ‘We’re friends. She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been. It’s just that Skeeter woman making things up.’
‘Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,’ said Krum, looking suspiciously at Harry.
‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘because we’re friends.’
He couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous international Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal – a real rival –
‘You haff never … you haff not …’
‘No,’ said Harry, very firmly.
Krum looked slightly happier. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, then said, ‘You fly very well. I vos votching at the first task.’
‘Thanks,’ said Harry, grinning broadly, and suddenly feeling much taller himself. ‘I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint, you really –’
But something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Harry, who had some experience of the sort of thing that lurked in the Forest, instinctively grabbed Krum’s arm and pulled him around.
‘Vot is it?’
Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he’d seen movement. He slipped his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand.
Next moment a man had staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn’t recognise him … then he realised it was Mr Crouch.
He looked as though he had been travelling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody; his face scratched; he was unshaven and grey with exhaustion. His neat hair and moustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gestic
ulating, Mr Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see. He reminded Harry vividly of an old tramp he had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys. That man, too, had been conversing wildly with thin air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley’s hand and pulled him across the road to avoid him; Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would like to do with beggars and vagrants.
‘Vosn’t he a judge?’ said Krum, staring at Mr Crouch. ‘Isn’t he vith your Ministry?’
Harry nodded, hesitated for a moment, then walked slowly towards Mr Crouch, who did not look at him, but continued to talk to a nearby tree: ‘… and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the Tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve …’
‘Mr Crouch?’ said Harry cautiously.
‘… and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now Karkaroff’s made it a round dozen … do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will …’ Mr Crouch’s eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways, and fell to his knees.
‘Mr Crouch?’ Harry said loudly. ‘Are you all right?’
Crouch’s eyes were rolling in his head. Harry looked around at Krum, who had followed him into the trees, and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.
‘Vot is wrong with him?’
‘No idea,’ Harry muttered. ‘Listen, you’d better go and get someone –’
‘Dumbledore!’ gasped Mr Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Harry’s robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry’s head. ‘I need … see … Dumbledore …’
‘OK,’ said Harry, ‘if you get up, Mr Crouch, we can go up to the –’
‘I’ve done … stupid … thing …’ Mr Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. ‘Must … tell … Dumbledore …’
The Goblet of Fire Page 47
