Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4

by J. K. Rowling

  She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.

  “One of their fake wands again!” she shouted. “How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?”

  She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.

  “C’mon,” Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, “let’s go and help Bill and Charlie.”

  They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.

  They had only gone a few paces when Hermione’s bandy legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other’s out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.

  Bill’s table caught Charlie’s with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy’s head poking out of a window on the second floor.

  “Will you keep it down?!” he bellowed.

  “Sorry, Perce,” said Bill, grinning. “How’re the cauldron bottoms coming on?”

  “Very badly,” said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

  By seven o’clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad.

  At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

  “I’ve told Mr. Crouch that I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying pompously. “That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman—”

  “I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble—a lawnmower with unnatural powers—I smoothed the whole thing over.”

  “Oh Bagman’s likable enough, of course,” said Percy dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department… when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can’t see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”

  “Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha’s gotten lost plenty of times before now—though must say, if it was someone in my department, I’d be worried…”

  “Oh Bertha’s hopeless, all right,” said Percy. “I hear she’s been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she’s worth… but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her—but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However”—Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine—“we’ve got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.”

  Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. “You know the one I’m talking about, Father.” He raised his voice slightly. “The top-secret one.”

  Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, “He’s been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick bottomed cauldrons.”

  In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.

  “…with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”

  “Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” said Bill patiently.

  “And your hair’s getting silly, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. “I wish you’d let me give it a trim…”

  “I like it,” said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. “You’re so old fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it’s nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore’s…”

  Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.

  “It’s got to be Ireland,” said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.”

  “Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred.

  “Krum’s one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” said Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.”

  “What happened?” said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive.

  “Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.”

  Harry had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned one of the best racing brooms in the world, a Firebolt. Flying came more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world, and he played in the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor House team.

  Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.

  Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, “So—have you heard from Sirius lately?” Hermione looked around, listening closely.

  “Yeah,” said Harry softly, “twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I’m here.”

  He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him… but he really didn’t want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.

  “Look at the time,” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you—you’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I’ll get your things for you tomorrow in Dia
gon Alley. I’m getting everyone else’s. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.”

  “Wow—hope it does this time!” said Harry enthusiastically.

  “Well, I certainly don’t,” said Percy sanctimoniously. “I shudder to think what the state of my in tray would be if I was away from work for five days.”

  “Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” said Fred.

  “That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” said Percy, going very red in the face. “It was nothing personal!”

  “It was,” Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. “We sent it.”

  6. THE PORTKEY

  Harry felt as though he had barely lain down to sleep in Ron’s room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.

  “Time to go, Harry, dear,” she whispered, moving away to wake Ron.

  Harry felt around for his glasses, put them on, and sat up. It was still dark outside. Ron muttered indistinctly as his mother roused him. At the foot of Harry’s mattress he saw two large, disheveled shapes emerging from tangles of blankets.

  “’S’ time already?” said Fred groggily.

  They dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the four of them headed downstairs into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.

  “What d’you think?” he asked anxiously. “We’re supposed to go incognito—do I look like a Muggle, Harry?”

  “Yeah,” said Harry, smiling, “very good.”

  “Where’re Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?” said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.

  “Well, they’re Apparating, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. “So they can have a bit of a lie in.”

  Harry knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult.

  “So they’re still in bed?” said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. “Why can’t we Apparate too?”

  “Because you’re not of age and you haven’t passed your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “And where have those girls got to?”

  She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs.

  “You have to pass a test to Apparate?” Harry asked.

  “Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It’s not easy, Apparition, and when it’s not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I’m talking about went and splinched themselves.”

  Everyone around the table except Harry winced.

  “Er—splinched?” said Harry.

  “They left half of themselves behind,” said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. “So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn’t move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they’d left behind…”

  Harry had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive.

  “Were they okay?” he asked, startled.

  “Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. “But they got a heavy fine, and I don’t think they’ll be trying it again in a hurry. You don’t mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don’t bother with it. Prefer brooms—slower, but safer.”

  “But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?”

  “Charlie had to take the test twice,” said Fred, grinning. “He failed the first time. Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?”

  “Yes, well, he passed the second time,” said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers.

  “Percy only passed two weeks ago,” said George. “He’s been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.”

  There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy.

  “Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

  “We’ve got a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley.

  “Walk?” said Harry. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?”

  “No, no, that’s miles away,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We only need to walk a short way. It’s just that it’s very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup…”

  “George!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and they all jumped.

  “What?” said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

  “What is that in your pocket?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Don’t you lie to me!”

  Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George’s pocket and said, “Accio!”

  Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George’s pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley’s outstretched hand.

  “We told you to destroy them!” said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!”

  It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.

  “Accio! Accio! Accio!” she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George’s jacket and the turn ups of Fred’s jeans.

  “We spent six months developing those!” Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.

  “Oh a fine way to spend six months!” she shrieked. “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.L.s!”

  All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.

  “Well, have a lovely time,” said Mrs. Weasley, “and behave yourselves,” she called after the twins’ retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. “I’ll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday,” Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

  It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley.

  “So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?” he asked.

  “It’s been a massive organizational problem,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven’t got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can’t penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry’s been working on it for months. Fi
rst, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can’t have too many clogging up their buses and trains—remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there’s a handy wood they’re using as the Apparition point. For those who don’t want to Apparate, or can’t, we use Portkeys. They’re objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re headed.”

  Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

  “What sort of objects are Portkeys?” said Harry curiously.

  “Well, they can be anything,” said Mr. Weasley. “Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don’t go picking them up and playing with them… stuff they’ll just think is litter…”

  They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry’s hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.

  They didn’t have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.

  “Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. “Well, we’ve made good time—we’ve got ten minutes.”

  Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.

  “Now we just need the Portkey,” said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. “It won’t be big… Come on…”