The Goblet of Fire

by J. K. Rowling

  ‘My mistake,’ Moody said calmly. ‘It’s mine – must’ve dropped it earlier –’

  But Snape’s black eyes were darting from the egg in Filch’s arms to the map in Moody’s hand, and Harry could tell he was putting two and two together, as only Snape could …

  ‘Potter,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Moody calmly, folding up the map and pocketing it.

  ‘Potter!’ Snape snarled, and he actually turned his head and stared right at the place where Harry was, as though he could suddenly see him. ‘That egg is Potter’s egg. That piece of parchment belongs to Potter. I have seen it before, I recognise it! Potter is here! Potter, in his Invisibility Cloak!’

  Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man, and began to move up the stairs; Harry could have sworn his overlarge nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff Harry out – trapped, Harry leant backwards, trying to avoid Snape’s fingertips, but any moment now –

  ‘There’s nothing there, Snape!’ barked Moody. ‘But I’ll be happy to tell the Headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to Harry Potter!’

  ‘Meaning what?’ snarled Snape, turning again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from Harry’s chest.

  ‘Meaning that Dumbledore’s very interested to know who’s got it in for that boy!’ said Moody, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs. ‘And so am I, Snape … very interested …’ The torchlight flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.

  Snape was looking down at Moody, and Harry couldn’t see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands.

  ‘I merely thought,’ said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, ‘that if Potter was wandering around after hours again … it’s an unfortunate habit of his … he should be stopped. For – for his own safety.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Moody softly. ‘Got Potter’s best interests at heart, have you?’

  There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other. Mrs Norris gave a loud miaow, still peering around Filch’s legs, looking for the source of Harry’s bubble-bath smell.

  ‘I think I will go back to bed,’ Snape said curtly.

  ‘Best idea you’ve had all night,’ said Moody. ‘Now, Filch, if you’ll just give me that egg –’

  ‘No!’ said Filch, clutching the egg as though it was his first-born son. ‘Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves’s treachery!’

  ‘It’s the property of the champion he stole it from,’ said Moody. ‘Hand it over, now.’

  Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs Norris, who stared blankly at Harry for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast, Harry heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg, and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs Norris, ‘Never mind, my sweet … we’ll see Dumbledore in the morning … tell him what Peeves was up to …’

  A door slammed. Harry was left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottom-most stair, and started to climb laboriously towards him, a dull clunk on every other step.

  ‘Close shave, Potter,’ he muttered.

  ‘Yeah … I – er … thanks,’ said Harry weakly.

  ‘What is this thing?’ said Moody, drawing the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket and unfolding it.

  ‘Map of Hogwarts,’ said Harry, hoping Moody was going to pull him out of the staircase soon; his leg was really hurting him.

  ‘Merlin’s beard,’ Moody whispered, staring at the map, his magical eye going haywire. ‘This … this is some map, Potter!’

  ‘Yeah, it’s … quite useful,’ Harry said. His eyes were starting to water from the pain. ‘Er – Professor Moody, d’you think you could help me –?’

  ‘What? Oh! Yes … yes, of course …’

  Moody took hold of Harry’s arms and pulled; Harry’s leg came free of the trick step, and he climbed onto the one above it.

  Moody was still gazing at the map. ‘Potter …’ he said slowly, ‘you didn’t happen, by any chance, to see who broke into Snape’s office, did you? On this map, I mean?’

  ‘Er … yeah, I did …’ Harry admitted. ‘It was Mr Crouch.’

  Moody’s magical eye whizzed over the entire surface of the map. He looked suddenly alarmed.

  ‘Crouch?’ he said. ‘You’re – you’re sure, Potter?’

  ‘Positive,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, he’s not here any more,’ said Moody, his eye still whizzing over the map. ‘Crouch … that’s very – very interesting …’

  He said nothing for almost a minute, still staring at the map. Harry could tell that this news meant something to Moody, and very much wanted to know what it was. He wondered whether he dared ask. Moody scared him slightly … yet Moody had just helped him avoid an awful lot of trouble …

  ‘Er … Professor Moody … why d’you reckon Mr Crouch wanted to look around Snape’s office?’

  Moody’s magical eye left the map and fixed, quivering, upon Harry. It was a penetrating glare, and Harry had the impression that Moody was sizing him up, wondering whether to answer or not, or how much to tell him.

  ‘Put it this way, Potter,’ Moody muttered finally, ‘they say old Mad-Eye’s obsessed with catching Dark wizards … but Mad-Eye’s nothing – nothing – compared to Barty Crouch.’

  He continued to stare at the map. Harry was burning to know more.

  ‘Professor Moody?’ he said again. ‘D’you think … could this have anything to do with … maybe Mr Crouch thinks there’s something going on …’

  ‘Like what?’ said Moody sharply.

  Harry wondered how much he dare say. He didn’t want Moody to guess that he had a source of information outside Hogwarts; that might lead to tricky questions about Sirius.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Harry muttered, ‘odd stuff’s been happening lately, hasn’t it? It’s been in the Daily Prophet … the Dark Mark at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters and everything …’

  Both of Moody’s mismatched eyes widened.

  ‘You’re a sharp boy, Potter,’ he said. His magical eye roved back to the Marauder’s Map. ‘Crouch could be thinking along those lines,’ he said slowly. ‘Very possible … there have been some funny rumours flying around lately – helped along by Rita Skeeter, of course. It’s making a lot of people nervous, I reckon.’ A grim smile twisted his lop-sided mouth. ‘Oh, if there’s one thing I hate,’ he muttered, more to himself than Harry, and his magical eye was fixed on the bottom left-hand corner of the map, ‘it’s a Death Eater who walked free …’

  Harry stared at him. Could Moody possibly mean what Harry thought he meant?

  ‘And now I want to ask you a question, Potter,’ said Moody, in a more businesslike tone.

  Harry’s heart sank; he had thought this was coming. Moody was going to ask where he had got this map, which was a very dubious magical object – and the story of how it had fallen into his hands incriminated not only him, but his own father, Fred and George Weasley, and Professor Lupin, their last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Moody waved the map in front of Harry, who braced himself –

  ‘Can I borrow this?’

  ‘Oh!’ said Harry. He was very fond of his map, but on the other hand, he was extremely relieved that Moody wasn’t asking where he’d got it, and there was no doubt that he owed Moody a favour. ‘Yeah, OK.’

  ‘Good boy,’ growled Moody. ‘I can make good use of this … this might be exactly what I’ve been looking for … right, bed, Potter, come on, now …’

  They climbed to the top of the stairs together, Moody still examining the map as though it was a treasure the like of which he had never seen before. They walked in silence to the door of Moody’s office, where he stopped, and looked up at Harry. ‘You ever thought of a career as an Auror, Potter?’

  ‘No,�
�� said Harry, taken aback.

  ‘You want to consider it,’ said Moody, nodding, and looking at Harry thoughtfully. ‘Yes, indeed … and incidentally … I’m guessing you weren’t just taking that egg for a walk tonight?’

  ‘Er – no,’ said Harry, grinning. ‘I’ve been working out the clue.’

  Moody winked at him, his magical eye going haywire again. ‘Nothing like a night-time stroll to give you ideas, Potter … see you in the morning …’ He went back into his office, staring down at the Marauder’s Map again, and closed the door behind him.

  Harry walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower, lost in thought about Snape, and Crouch, and what it all meant … Why was Crouch pretending to be ill, if he could manage to get to Hogwarts when he wanted to? What did he think Snape was concealing in his office?

  And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea … but as Harry got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the Cloak now safely back in his trunk, he somehow thought he’d like to check how scarred the rest of them were, before he chose it as a career.

  — CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX —

  The Second Task

  ‘You said you’d already worked out that egg clue!’ said Hermione indignantly.

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ said Harry crossly. ‘I just need to – sort of fine-tune it, all right?’

  He, Ron and Hermione were sitting at the very back of the Charms class with a table to themselves. They were supposed to be practising the opposite of the Summoning Charm today – the Banishing Charm. Owing to the potential for nasty accidents when objects kept flying across the room, Professor Flitwick had given each student a stack of cushions on which to practise, the theory being that these wouldn’t hurt anyone if they went off target. It was a good theory, but it wasn’t working very well. Neville’s aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room – Professor Flitwick, for instance.

  ‘Just forget the egg for a minute, all right?’ Harry hissed, as Professor Flitwick went whizzing resignedly past them, landing on top of a large cabinet. ‘I’m trying to tell you about Snape and Moody …’

  This class was ideal cover for a private conversation, as everyone was having far too much fun to pay them any attention. Harry had been recounting his adventures of the previous night in whispered instalments for the last half an hour.

  ‘Snape said Moody’s searched his office as well?’ Ron whispered, his eyes alight with interest as he Banished a cushion with a sweep of his wand (it soared into the air and knocked Parvati’s hat off). ‘What … d’you reckon Moody’s here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?’

  ‘Well, I dunno if that’s what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he’s definitely doing it,’ said Harry, waving his wand without paying much attention, so that his cushion did an odd sort of belly flop off the desk. ‘Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he’s giving him a second chance or something …’

  ‘What?’ said Ron, his eyes widening, his next cushion spinning high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier and dropping heavily onto Flitwick’s desk. ‘Harry … maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name in the Goblet of Fire!’

  ‘Oh, Ron,’ said Hermione, shaking her head sceptically, ‘we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving Harry’s life, remember?’

  She Banished a cushion and it flew across the room and landed in the box they were all supposed to be aiming at. Harry looked at Hermione, thinking … it was true that Snape had saved his life once, but the odd thing was, Snape definitely loathed him, just as he’d loathed Harry’s father when they had been at school together. Snape loved taking points from Harry, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give him punishments, or even to suggest that he should be suspended from the school.

  ‘I don’t care what Moody says,’ Hermione went on, ‘Dumbledore’s not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn’t have given them jobs, so why shouldn’t he be right about Snape, even if Snape is a bit –’

  ‘– evil,’ said Ron promptly. ‘Come on, Hermione, why are all these Dark-wizard-catchers searching his office, then?’

  ‘Why has Mr Crouch been pretending to be ill?’ said Hermione, ignoring Ron. ‘It’s a bit funny, isn’t it, that he can’t manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?’

  ‘You just don’t like Crouch because of that elf, Winky,’ said Ron, sending a cushion soaring into the window.

  ‘You just want to think Snape’s up to something,’ said Hermione, sending her cushion zooming neatly into the box.

  ‘I just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he’s on his second one,’ said Harry grimly, and his cushion, to his very great surprise, flew straight across the room, and landed neatly on top of Hermione’s.

  *

  Obedient to Sirius’ wish of hearing about anything odd at Hogwarts, Harry sent him a letter by brown owl that night, explaining all about Mr Crouch breaking into Snape’s office, and Moody and Snape’s conversation. Then Harry turned his attention in earnest to the most urgent problem facing him: how to survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth of February.

  Ron quite liked the idea of using the Summoning Charm again – Harry had explained about aqualungs, and Ron couldn’t see why Harry shouldn’t Summon one from the nearest Muggle town. Hermione squashed this plan by pointing out that, in the unlikely event that Harry managed to learn how to operate an aqualung within the set limit of an hour, he was sure to be disqualified for breaking the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy – it was too much to hope that no Muggles would spot an aqualung zooming across the countryside to Hogwarts.

  ‘Of course, the ideal solution would be for you to Transfigure yourself into a submarine or something,’ she said. ‘If only we’d done human Transfiguration already! But I don’t think we start that until sixth year, and it can go badly wrong if you don’t know what you’re doing …’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t fancy walking around with a periscope sticking out of my head,’ said Harry. ‘I s’pose I could always attack someone in front of Moody, he might do it for me …’

  ‘I don’t think he’d let you choose what you wanted to be turned into, though,’ said Hermione seriously. ‘No, I think your best chance is some sort of charm.’

  So Harry, thinking that he would soon have had enough of the library to last him a lifetime, buried himself once more among the dusty volumes, looking for any spell that might enable a human to survive without oxygen. However, though he, Ron and Hermione searched through their lunchtimes, evenings and whole weekends – though Harry asked Professor McGonagall for a note of permission to use the Restricted Section, and even asked the irritable, vulture-like librarian, Madam Pince, for help – they found nothing whatsoever that would enable Harry to spend an hour underwater and live to tell the tale.

  Familiar flutterings of panic were starting to disturb Harry now, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate in lessons again. The lake, which Harry had always taken for granted as just another feature of the grounds, drew his eyes whenever he was near a classroom window, a great, iron-grey mass of chilly water, whose dark and icy depths were starting to seem as distant as the moon.

  Just as it had done before he had faced the Horntail, time was slipping away as though somebody had bewitched the clocks to go extra fast. There was a week to go before February the twenty-fourth (there was still time) … there were five days to go (he was bound to find something soon) … three days to go (please let me find something … please …).

  With two days left, Harry started to go off food again. The only good thing about breakfast on Monday was the return of the brown owl he had sent to Sirius. He pulled off the parchment, unrolled it, and saw the shortest letter Sirius had ever written to him.

  Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl.
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br />   Harry turned the parchment over and looked at the back, hoping to see something else, but it was blank.

  ‘Weekend after next,’ whispered Hermione, who had read the note over Harry’s shoulder. ‘Here – take my quill and send this owl back straight away.’

  Harry scribbled the dates down on the back of Sirius’ letter, tied it back onto the brown owl’s leg, and watched it take flight again. What had he expected? Advice on how to survive underwater? He had been so intent on telling Sirius all about Snape and Moody, he had completely forgotten to mention the egg’s clue.

  ‘What’s he want to know about the next Hogsmeade weekend for?’ said Ron.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Harry dully. The momentary happiness that had flared inside him at the sight of the owl had died. ‘Come on … Care of Magical Creatures.’

  Whether Hagrid was trying to make up for the Blast-Ended Skrewts, or because there were now only two Skrewts left, or because he was trying to prove he could do anything that Professor Grubbly-Plank could, Harry didn’t know, but he had been continuing her lessons on unicorns ever since he’d returned to work. It turned out that Hagrid knew quite as much about unicorns as he did about monsters, though it was clear that he found their lack of poisonous fangs disappointing.

  Today he had managed to capture two unicorn foals. Unlike full-grown unicorns, they were pure gold. Parvati and Lavender went into transports of delight at the sight of them, and even Pansy Parkinson had to work hard to conceal how much she liked them.

  ‘Easier ter spot than the adults,’ Hagrid told the class. ‘They turn silver when they’re abou’ two years old, an’ they grow horns at aroun’ four. Don’ go pure white ’til they’re full-grown, round about seven. They’re a bit more trustin’ when they’re babies … don’ mind boys so much … c’mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat ’em if yeh want … give ’em a few o’ these sugar lumps …

  ‘You OK, Harry?’ Hagrid muttered, moving aside slightly, while most of the others swarmed around the baby unicorns.