The Goblet of Fire

by J. K. Rowling

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

  Harry moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was sat 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 moustache. 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 forwards.

  ‘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!’

  Somewhere under Harry’s numb disbelief, he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy?

  Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black satin bosom swelled.

  ‘What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?’ she said imperiously.

  ‘I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,’ said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. ‘Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions – or have I not read the rules carefully enough?’

  He gave a short and nasty laugh.

  ‘C’est impossible,’ said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur’s shoulder.‘’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two champions. It is most injust.’

  ‘We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,’ said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. ‘Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.’

  ‘It’s no one’s fault but Potter’s, Karkaroff,’ said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. ‘Don’t go blaming Dumbledore for Potter’s determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here –’

  ‘Thank you, Severus,’ said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair.

  Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.

  ‘Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?’ Dumbledore asked calmly.

  ‘No,’ said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.

  ‘Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?’ said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape.

  ‘No,’ said Harry vehemently.

  ‘Ah, but of course ’e is lying!’ cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling.

  ‘He could not have crossed the Age Line,’ said Professor McGonagall sharply. ‘I am sure we are all agreed on that –’

  ‘Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,’ said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

  ‘It is possible, of course,’ said Dumbledore politely.

  ‘Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!’ said Professor McGonagall angrily. ‘Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I’m sure that should be good enough for everybody else!’

  She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape.

  ‘Mr Crouch … Mr Bagman,’ said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, ‘you are our – er – objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?’

  Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. ‘We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament.’

  ‘Well, Barty knows the rulebook back to front,’ said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

  ‘I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,’ said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. ‘You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.’

  ‘But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,’ said Bagman. ‘The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won’t re-ignite until the start of the next Tournament –’

  ‘– in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!’ exploded Karkaroff. ‘After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!’

  ‘Empty threat, Karkaroff,’ growled a voice from near the door. ‘You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?’

  Moody had just entered the room. He limped towards the fire, and with every right step he took, th
ere was a loud clunk.

  ‘Convenient?’ said Karkaroff. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.’

  Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

  ‘Don’t you?’ said Moody quietly. ‘It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that Goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.’

  ‘Evidently, someone ’oo wished to give ’Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!’ said Madame Maxime.

  ‘I quite agree, Madame Maxime,’ said Karkaroff, bowing to her. ‘I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards –’

  ‘If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter,’ growled Moody, ‘but … funny thing … I don’t hear him saying a word …’

  ‘Why should ’e complain?’ burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot.‘’E ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!’

  ‘Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it,’ said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

  An extremely tense silence followed these words.

  Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, ‘Moody, old man … what a thing to say!’

  ‘We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,’ said Karkaroff loudly. ‘Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination, too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.’

  ‘Imagining things, am I?’ growled Moody. ‘Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy’s name in that Goblet …’

  ‘Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?’ said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

  ‘Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!’ said Moody. ‘It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that Goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the Tournament … I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category …’

  ‘You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,’ said Karkaroff coldly, ‘and a very ingenious theory it is – though, of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realising it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously …’

  ‘There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,’ Moody retorted in a menacing voice. ‘It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff – as you ought to remember …’

  ‘Alastor!’ said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realised ‘Mad-Eye’ could hardly be Moody’s real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction – Karkaroff’s face was burning.

  ‘How this situation arose, we do not know,’ said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. ‘It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do …’

  ‘Ah, but Dumbly-dorr –’

  ‘My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.’

  Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one, either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid. Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

  ‘Well, shall we crack on, then?’ he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. ‘Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?’

  Mr Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘instructions. Yes … the first task …’

  He moved forwards into the firelight. Close to, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup.

  ‘The first task is designed to test your daring,’ he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur and Krum, ‘so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important …

  ‘The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.

  ‘The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.’

  Mr Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. ‘I think that’s all, is it, Albus?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr Crouch with mild concern. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?’

  ‘No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,’ said Mr Crouch. ‘It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment … I’ve left young Weatherby in charge … very enthusiastic … a little over-enthusiastic, if truth be told …’

  ‘You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?’ said Dumbledore.

  ‘Come on, Barty, I’m staying!’ said Bagman brightly. ‘It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!’

  ‘I think not, Ludo,’ said Crouch, with a touch of his old impatience.

  ‘Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?’ said Dumbledore.

  But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders, and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

  ‘Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,’ said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. ‘I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.’

  Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together.

  The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burnt low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

  ‘So,’ said Cedric, with a slight smile. ‘We’re playing against each other again!’

  ‘I s’pose,’ said Harry. He really couldn’t think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked.

  ‘So … tell me …’ said Cedric, as they reached the Entrance Hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. ‘How did you get your name in?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Harry, staring up at him. ‘I didn’t put it in. I was telling the truth.’

  ‘Ah … OK,’ said Cedric. Harry could tell Cedric didn’t believe him. ‘Well … see you, then.’

  Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, started to climb the marble ones.

  Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he’d put himself in for the Tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who’d had three years’ more magical education than he had – when he was now facing tasks which not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he’d thought about it … he’d fantasised about it … but it had been a
joke, really, an idle sort of dream … he’d never really, seriously considered entering …

  But someone else had considered it … someone else had wanted him in the Tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn’t think so, somehow …

  To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish …

  But to get him killed? Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn’t someone have put Harry’s name in the Goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead?

  Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old … Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry’s name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone … feeble and powerless …

  Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone … he had been talking to Wormtail … plotting Harry’s murder …

  Harry got a shock to find himself facing the Fat Lady already. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbour’s painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said the Fat Lady, ‘Violet’s just told me everything. Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?’

  ‘Balderdash,’ said Harry dully.

  ‘It most certainly isn’t!’ said the pale witch indignantly.

  ‘No, no, Vi, it’s the password,’ said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forwards on her hinges to let Harry into the common room.

  The blast of noise that met Harry’s ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backwards. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor house, all of whom were screaming, applauding and whistling.