Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire hp-4

by J. K. Rowling

  “That was a really good lesson,” said Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. “I didn’t know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni—”

  “Look at this!” Harry snarled, and he shoved the Daily Prophet article under Hermione’s nose.

  Hermione’s mouth fell open as she read. Her reaction was exactly the same as Ron’s.

  “How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don’t think Hagrid told her?”

  “No,” said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. “He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn’t give her loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to get him back.”

  “Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball,” said Hermione quietly.

  “We’d have seen her in the garden!” said Ron. “Anyway, she’s not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her…”

  “Maybe she’s got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. “Sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it, hide in bushes listening to people.”

  “Like you and Ron did, you mean,” said Hermione.

  “We weren’t trying to hear him!” said Ron indignantly. “We didn’t have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!”

  “We’ve got to go and see him,” said Harry. “This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back… you do want him back?” he shot at Hermione.

  “I—well, I’m not going to pretend it didn’t make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once—but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!” Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry’s furious stare.

  So that evening after dinner, the three of them left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid’s cabin. They knocked, and Fang’s booming barks answered.

  “Hagrid, it’s us!” Harry shouted, pounding on the door. “Open up!”

  Hagrid didn’t answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn’t open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.

  “What’s he avoiding us for?” Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. “He surely doesn’t think we’d care about him being half giant?”

  But it seemed that Hagrid did care. They didn’t see a sign of him all week. He didn’t appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn’t see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity.

  “Missing your half breed pal?” he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry’s retaliation. “Missing the elephant man?”

  There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going to go.

  “I just thought you’d want to take advantage of the common room being quiet,” she said. “Really get to work on that egg.”

  “Oh I—I reckon I’ve got a pretty good idea what it’s about now,” Harry lied.

  “Have you really?” said Hermione, looking impressed. “Well done!”

  Harry’s insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages… whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.

  He, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.

  “He’s mad!” said Harry, staring at Krums dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. “It must be freezing, it’s January!”

  “It’s a lot colder where he comes from,” said Hermione. “I suppose it feels quite warm to him.”

  “Yeah, but there’s still the giant squid,” said Ron. He didn’t sound anxious—if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned.

  “He’s really nice, you know,” she said. “He’s not at all like you’d think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me.”

  Ron said nothing. He hadn’t mentioned Viktor Krum since the ball, but Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes.

  Harry kept his eyes skinned for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, and suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once he had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops.

  The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry that Hagrid wasn’t there. Heart sinking, he went up to the bar with Ron and Hermione, ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that he might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all.

  “Doesn’t he ever go into the office?” Hermione whispered suddenly. “Look!”

  She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

  It was indeed odd. Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up.

  “In a moment, in a moment!” Harry heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward Harry, his boyish grin back in place.

  “Harry!” he said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”

  “Fine, thanks,” said Harry.

  “Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?” said Bagman eagerly. “You couldn’t give us a moment, you two, could you?”

  “Er—okay,” said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table.

  Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta.

  “Well, I just thought I’d congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry,” said Bagman. “Really superb.”

  “Thanks,” said Harry, but he knew this couldn’t be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of Ron and Hermione. Bagman didn’t seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes.

  “Absolute nightmare,” said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins too. “Their English isn’t too good… it’s like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup… but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobbledegook… and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means ‘pickax.’ I don’t like to use it in case they think I’m threatening them.” He gave a short, booming laugh.

  “What do they want?” Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.

  “Er—well…” said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. “They… er… they’re looking for Barty Crouch.”

  “Why are they looking for him here?” said Harry. “He’s at the Ministry in London, isn’t he?”

>   “Er… as a matter of fact, I’ve no idea where he is,” said Bagman. “He’s sort of… stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he’s ill. Apparently he’s just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone, Harry? Because Rita Skeeter’s still poking around everywhere she can, and I’m willing to bet she’d work up Barty’s illness into something sinister. Probably say he’s gone missing like Bertha Jorkins.”

  “Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?” Harry asked.

  “No,” said Bagman, looking strained again. “I’ve got people looking, of course…” (About time, thought Harry) “and it’s all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin’s house to go south and see an aunt… and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she’s got to… she doesn’t seem the type to elope, for instance… but still… What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you”—he lowered his voice—“how are you getting on with your golden egg?”

  “Er… not bad,” Harry said untruthfully.

  Bagman seemed to know he wasn’t being honest.

  “Listen, Harry,” he said (still in a very low voice), “I feel very bad about all this… you were thrown into this tournament, you didn’t volunteer for it… and if…” (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) “if I can help at all… a prod in the right direction… I’ve taken a liking to you… the way you got past that dragon!… well, just say the word.”

  Harry stared up into Bagman’s round, rosy face and his wide, baby blue eyes.

  “We’re supposed to work out the clues alone, aren’t we?” he said, careful to keep his voice casual and not sound as though he was accusing the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.

  “Well… well, yes,” said Bagman impatiently, “but—come on, Harry—we all want a Hogwarts victory, don’t we?”

  “Have you offered Cedric help?” Harry said.

  The smallest of frowns creased Bagman’s smooth face. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “I—well, like I say, I’ve taken a liking to you. Just thought I’d offer…”

  “Well, thanks,” said Harry, “but I think I’m nearly there with the egg… couple more days should crack it.”

  He wasn’t entirely sure why he was refusing Bagman’s help, except that Bagman was almost a stranger to him, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius.

  Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn’t say much more as Fred and George turned up at that point.

  “Hello, Mr. Bagman,” said Fred brightly. “Can we buy you a drink?”

  “Er… no,” said Bagman, with a last disappointed glance at Harry, “no, thank you, boys…”

  Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down badly.

  “Well, I must dash,” he said. “Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry.”

  He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin Ron and Hermione.

  “What did he want?” Ron said, the moment Harry had sat down.

  “He offered to help me with the golden egg,” said Harry.

  “He shouldn’t be doing that!” said Hermione, looking very shocked. “He’s one of the judges! And anyway, you’ve already worked it out—haven’t you?”

  “Er… nearly,” said Harry.

  “Well, I don’t think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!” said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving. “I hope he’s trying to help Cedric as much!”

  “He’s not, I asked,” said Harry.

  “Who cares if Diggory’s getting help?” said Ron. Harry privately agreed.

  “Those goblins didn’t look very friendly,” said Hermione, sipping her butterbeer. “What were they doing here?”

  “Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman,” said Harry. “He’s still ill. Hasn’t been into work.”

  “Maybe Percy’s poisoning him,” said Ron. “Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he’ll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

  Hermione gave Ron a don’t joke about things like that look, and said, “Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch… They’d normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

  “Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though,” said Harry. “Maybe they need an interpreter.”

  “Worrying about poor ’ickle goblins, now, are you?” Ron asked Hermione. “Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” said Hermione sarcastically. “Goblins don’t need protection. Haven’t you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?”

  “No,” said Harry and Ron together.

  “Well, they’re quite capable of dealing with wizards,” said Hermione, taking another sip of butterbeer. “They’re very clever. They’re not like house-elves, who never stick up for themselves.”

  “Uh oh,” said Ron, staring at the door.

  Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.

  “…didn’t seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what’s he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights… what nonsense… he was always a bad liar. Reckon something’s up? Think we should do a bit of digging? ‘Disgraced Ex Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman…’ Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo—we just need to find a story to fit it—”

  “Trying to ruin someone else’s life?” said Harry loudly.

  A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.

  “Harry!” she said, beaming. “How lovely! Why don’t you come and join?”

  “I wouldn’t come near you with a ten foot broomstick,” said Harry furiously. “What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?”

  Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.

  “Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—”

  “Who cares if he’s half giant?” Harry shouted. “There’s nothing wrong with him!”

  The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.

  Rita Skeeter’s smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, “How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?”

  Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.

  “You horrible woman,” she said, through gritted teeth, “you don’t care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, wont they? Even Ludo Bagman—”

  “Sit down, you silly little girl, and don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. “I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl… not that it needs it—” she added, eyeing Hermione’s bushy hair.

  “Let’s go,” said Hermione, “c’mon, Harry—Ron…”

  They left; many people were staring at them as they went. Harry
glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter’s Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.

  “She’ll be after you next, Hermione,” said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.

  “Let her try!” said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. “I’ll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I’ll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid…”

  “You don’t want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter,” said Ron nervously. “I’m serious, Hermione, she’ll dig up something on you—”

  “My parents don’t read the Daily Prophet. She can’t scare me into hiding!” said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all Harry and Ron could do to keep up with her. The last time Harry had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. “And Hagrid isn’t hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!”

  Breaking into a run, she led them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid’s cabin.

  The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.

  “Hagrid!” Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. “Hagrid, that’s enough! We know you’re in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can’t let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you’re just being—”

  The door opened. Hermione said, “stupid!” and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face to face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.

  “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.

  “We—er—we wanted to see Hagrid,” said Hermione in a rather small voice.

  “Yes, I surmised as much,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Why don’t you come in?”

  “Oh… um… okay,” said Hermione.

  She, Ron, and Harry went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around.