Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4

by J. K. Rowling

  “Dunno,” said Harry. “Hang around, I suppose… Madame Maxime’s staying to judge, isn’t she?”

  When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madame Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again.

  “Where are they sleeping, then?” said Ron, moving toward the front doors and staring after them.

  A loud rattling noise behind them announced Hermione’s reappearance with the box of S.P.E.W. badges.

  “Oh good, hurry up,” said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime.

  As they neared Hagrid’s cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons’ sleeping quarters was solved. The gigantic powder blue carriage in which they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid’s front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.

  Harry knocked on Hagrid’s door, and Fang’s booming barks answered instantly.

  “Bout time!” said Hagrid, when he’d flung open the door. “Thought you lot’d forgotten where I live!”

  “We’ve been really busy, Hag—” Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words.

  Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow and orange tie. This wasn’t the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches—perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill’s, but found he had too much hair. The look didn’t really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, “Erm—where are the skrewts.”

  “Out by the pumpkin patch,” said Hagrid happily. “They’re gettin’ massive, mus’ be nearly three foot long now. On’y trouble is, they’ve started killin’ each other.”

  “Oh no, really?” said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid’s odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it.

  “Yeah,” said Hagrid sadly. “S’ okay, though, I’ve got ’em in separate boxes now. Still got abou’ twenty.”

  “Well, that’s lucky,” said Ron.

  Hagrid missed the sarcasm.

  Hagrid’s cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. They sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as they were.

  “You wait,” he said, grinning. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh’ve never seen before. Firs’ task… ah, but I’m not supposed ter say.”

  “Go on, Hagrid!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning.

  “I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh,” said Hagrid. “But it’s gonna be spectacular, I’ll tell yeh that. Them champions’re going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I’d live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!”

  They ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though they didn’t eat much—Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she, Harry, and Ron rather lost their appetites. However, they enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid tell them what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet.

  A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves—for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges.

  “It’d be doin’ ’em an unkindness, Hermione,” he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. “It’s in their nature ter look after humans, that’s what they like, see? Yeh’d be makin’ ’em unhappy ter take away their work, an’ insutin’ ’em if yeh tried ter pay ’em.”

  “But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!” said Hermione. “And we heard he’s asking for wages now!”

  “Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I’m not sayin’ there isn’t the odd elf who’d take freedom, but yeh’ll never persuade most of ’em ter do it—no, nothin’ doin’, Hermione.”

  Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket.

  By half past five it was growing dark, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast—and, more important, the announcement of the school champions.

  “I’ll come with yeh,” said Hagrid, putting away his darning. “Jus’ give us a sec.”

  Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for something inside it. They didn’t pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached their nostrils. Coughing, Ron said, “Hagrid, what’s that?”

  “Eh?” said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. “Don’ yeh like it?”

  “Is that aftershave?” said Hermione in a slightly choked voice.

  “Er—eau de cologne,” Hagrid muttered. He was blushing.

  “Maybe it’s a bit much,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go take it off, hang on…”

  He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window.

  “Eau de cologne?” said Hermione in amazement. “Hagrid?”

  “And what’s with the hair and the suit?” said Harry in an undertone.

  “Look!” said Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window. Hagrid had just straightened up and turned ’round. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to their feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn’t spot them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. They couldn’t hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty eyed expression Harry had only ever seen him wear once before—when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert.

  “He’s going up to the castle with her!” said Hermione indignantly. “I thought he was waiting for us!”

  Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides.

  “He fancies her!” said Ron incredulously. “Well, if they end up having children, they’ll be setting a world record—bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton.”

  They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves, they set off up the sloping lawns.

  “Ooh it’s them, look!” Hermione whispered.

  The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them. Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around as he reached the front doors a little ahead of Hermione, Ron, and Harry and proceeded through them.

  When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore’s empty chair at the teachers’ table. Fred and George—clean shaven again—seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

  “Hope it’s Angelina,” said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down.

  �
�So do I!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Well, we’ll soon know!”

  The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Harry didn’t seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions.

  At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

  “Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber”—he indicated the door behind the staff table—“where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

  He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting… A few people kept checking their watches…

  “Any second,” Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Harry.

  The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it—the whole room gasped.

  Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue white.

  “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

  “No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

  “Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!”

  The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

  “The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

  “It’s her, Ron!” Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

  “Oh look, they’re all disappointed,” Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. “Disappointed” was a bit of an understatement, Harry thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

  When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next…

  And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

  “The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

  “No!” said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

  “Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—”

  But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him.

  The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

  Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out

  “Harry Potter.”

  17. THE FOUR CHAMPIONS

  Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly.

  There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat.

  Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly.

  Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed.

  “I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn’t.”

  Both of them stared just as blankly back.

  At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

  “Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”

  “Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push.

  Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn’t seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him.

  “Well… through the door, Harry,” said Dumbledore. He wasn’t smiling.

  Harry moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else. Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him.

  The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear.

  Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

  “What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

  She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn
’t know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were.

  There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward.

  “Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry’s arm. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce—incredible though it may seem—the fourth Triwizard champion?”

  Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.”

  “Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Harry’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

  Krum’s thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned.

  “But evidently zair ’as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “’E cannot compete. ’E is too young.”

  “Well… it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the goblet… I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage… It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged… Harry will just have to do the best he—”

  The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door.

  “Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!”