Chapter 12 Triwizard Tournament

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase.

“Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak - ARRGH!”

A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.

“PEEVES!” yelled an angry voice. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!”

Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling.

“Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -”

“That's all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.

“Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles.

“Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!” And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

“I shall call the headmaster!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “I'm warning you, Peeves -”

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.

“Well, move along, then!” said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck.

“Good evening,” he said, beaming at them.

“Says who?” said Harry, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. “Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving.”

The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table.

“Hiya, Harry!”

It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was something of a hero.

“Hi, Colin,” said Harry warily.

“Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!”

“Er - good,” said Harry.

“He's really excited!” said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. “I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?”

“Er - yeah, all right,” said Harry. He turned back to Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick. “Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?” he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.

“Oh no, not necessarily,” said Hermione. “Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?”

Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Harry couldn't think who else was missing.

“Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.

They had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. He looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.

“Maybe they couldn't get anyone!” said Hermione, looking anxious.

Harry scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape - Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts. Harry's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry had helped Sirius escape right under Snape's overlarge nose - Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own school days.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Harry guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and he had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

“Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, beside Harry, “I could eat a hippogriff.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school - all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it hooked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

A thousand years or more ago,
When I was newly sewn,There lived four wizards of renown,
Whose names are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,
Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,
Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,
Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.
They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,
They hatched a daring plan
To educate young sorcerers
Thus Hogwarts School began.
Now each of these four founders
Formed their own house, for each
Did value different virtues
In the ones they had to teach.
By Gryffindor, the bravest were
Prized far beyond the rest;
For Ravenclaw, the cleverest
Would always be the best;
For Hufflepuff, hard workers were
Most worthy of admission;
And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition.
While still alive they did divide
Their favorites from the throng,
Yet how to pick the worthy ones
When they were dead and gone?
Twas Gryffindor who found the way,
He whipped me off his head
The founders put some brains in me
So I could choose instead!
Now slip me snug about your ears,
I've never yet been wrong,
I'll have a look inside your mind
And tell where you belong!

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

“That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us,” said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

“Sings a different one every year,” said Ron. “It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.”

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment.

“When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first years. “When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.

“Ackerley, Stewart!”

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool.

“RAVENCLAW!” shouted the hat.

Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Harry caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, Harry had a strange desire to join the Ravenclaw table too.

“Baddock, Malcolm!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Harry could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Harry wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down.

“Branstone, Eleanor!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Cauldwell, Owen!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Creevey, Dennis!”

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers’ table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming - a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide -

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.

“Colin, I fell in!” he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. “It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!”

“Cool!” said Colin, just as excitedly. “It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!”

“Wow!” said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.

“Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?”

Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma Dobbs.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.

“Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.

“Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food,” said Nearly Headless Nick as “Madley, Laura!” became a Hufflepuff.

“Course it is, if you're dead,” snapped Ron.

“I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,” said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as “McDonald, Natalie!” joined the Gryffindor table. “We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?”

Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row.

“Pritchard, Graham!”

“SLYTHERIN!”

“Quirke, Orla!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

And finally, with “Whitby, Kevin!” ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.

“About time,” said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome.

“I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.”

“Hear, hear!” said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded their own plates.

“Aaah, ‘at's be'er,” said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.

“You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.”

“Why? Wha’ ‘appened?” said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak.

“Peeves, of course,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance - but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.”

The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves.

“Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” said Ron darkly. “So what did he do in the kitchens?”

“Oh the usual,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -”

Clang.

Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention.

“There are house-elves here?” she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. “Here at Hogwarts?”

“Certainly,” said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. “The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.”

“I've never seen one!” said Hermione.

“Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” said Nearly Headless Nick. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning…see to the fires and so on.…I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?”

Hermione stared at him.

“But they get paid?” she said. “They get holidays, don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?”

Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck.

“Sick leave and pensions?” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!”

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.

“Oh c'mon, ‘Er-my-knee,” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops - sorry, ‘Arry -” He swallowed. “You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!”

“Slave labor,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. “That's what made this dinner. Slave labor.”

And she refused to eat another bite.

The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings.

“Treacle tart, Hermione!” said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!”

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up.

When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered,” ("Hmph!” said Hermione) “I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it.”

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

“What?” Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbhedore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -”

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers’ table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.

The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen.It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbhedore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.

The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.”

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

“Moody?” Harry muttered to Ron. “Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?”

“Must be,” said Ron in a low, awed voice.

“What happened to him?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to his face?”

“Dunno,” Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You're JOKING!” said Fred Weasley loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.

“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

“Er - but maybe this is not the time…no…” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament…well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.”

“Death toll?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

“I'm going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This -” Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!”

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

“They can't do that!” said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. “We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?”

“They're not stopping me entering,” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

“Yeah,” said Ron, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons.…”

“Come on,” said Hermione, “we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament.

“Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?” said Harry.

“Dunno,” said Fred, “but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…”

“Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though,” said Ron.

“Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?” said Fred shrewdly. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names.”

“People have died, though!” said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

“Yeah,” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get ‘round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?”

“What d'you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older….Dunno if we've learned enough…”

“I definitely haven't,” came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George.

“I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to - oops…”

Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.

“Shut it, you,” said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed.

They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.

“Password?” she said as they approached.

“Balderdash,” said George, “a prefect downstairs told me.”

The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter “Slave labor” before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls’ dormitory.

Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it.

“Mental,” Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players.

Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed. Someone - a house-elf, no doubt - had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside.

“I might go in for it, you know,” Ron said sleepily through the darkness, “if Fred and George find out how to…the tournament.…you never know, do you?”

“S'pose not.…”

Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye….He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen.…he had become Hogwarts champion…he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming…he had just won the Triwizard Tournament. Cho's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration….

Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could.

穿过两边满是有翼公猪雕像的一道道门，车子沿着陡峭的坡路前进着，在随即形成的疾风中危险地晃动。靠着窗户，哈利可以看到霍格瓦彻越来越近了，它那许许多多亮着灯的窗户在厚厚的雨帘后闪闪烁烁。当他们的车子在巨大的橡木门面前停下来时，一道霹雳划过天空，大门由一段石阶进入堡里。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和尼维尔从车子里跳下来，也急忙登上台阶。直到安全地进入大门，来到点看火把的砌着华美的大理石阶梯的前厅时，他们才抬起了头。

　　“布林米，”罗恩说，摇摇头上的雨水，“要是再这样下雨的话，湖沟要涨满了，我浑身湿透了——啊啾！”

　　一个巨大的充满水的红色汽球从屋顶落到罗恩的头上，炸裂了。全身湿漉漉的，还滴着水，罗恩踉跄地闪到哈利侧边，正好第二枚水弹落下来——差点击中荷米恩，它在哈利的脚边炸开，冷水浅到他的袜子上，周围的人全都尖叫着，互相推撞，试图逃离现场。哈利抬起头，看到在他们头顶上20英尺处飘浮的皮维斯——喧哗鬼，他是个戴着饰有铃铛的帽子、系着橙色领结的矮小的鬼魂，当他再次瞄准时，邪恶的脸因过于专注而变形了。

　　“皮维斯！”一个愤怒的声音喊道，“皮维斯，立即下来！”副校长兼格林芬顿主任麦康娜教授，从大厅里急走进来，她在湿湿的地板上滑了一下，她抓住荷米恩的颈部以免再滑下去。“哎哟！——对不起，格林佐小姐。”

　　“没关系，教授。”荷米恩揉揉喉咙，喘着气说。

　　“皮维斯，立即下来！”麦康娜教授喝道，扶直她有圆点的帽子，透过方框眼镜往上怒视。

　　“没什么！”皮维斯一边咯咯地笑一边朝几个五年级女生丢下一个水弹，那些女孩们尖叫着俯冲进大厅。“他们早就湿透了，不是吗？小家伙们！唿……！”他又将另一枚炸弹瞄向刚刚到达的一群二年级学生。

　　“我要叫校长来！”麦康娜教授怒吼道，“我警告你，皮维斯。”

　　皮维斯伸伸舌头，把他最后一枚水弹扔在空中，陡然落在大理石台阶上，疯子般咯咯地笑起来。

　　“哎，继续前进！”麦康娜教授厉声对惊慌失措的学生说，“快点，进大厅！”

　　哈利、罗恩和荷米思溜过前厅，穿过右边的双层门，罗恩一边把湿透的头发从脸上拨开，一边恼怒地嘟味着。

　　大厅还是它以往那副金碧辉煌的样子，因开学庆典而装饰一新，金色的盘子和高脚杯在成百支浮在半空中的蜡烛的光辉中闪闪发亮，四张长长的大桌子坐满了闲聊的学生，在大厅顶部，教工职员坐在第五张桌子边，面对着他们的学生。这儿暖和多了，哈利。

　　罗恩和荷米思经过史林德林、卫文卡罗和海夫巴夫，和其余的格林芬顿一起，远远地坐在大厅的另一边，靠近几乎无头的尼克，尼克全身珍珠白、半透明，今晚穿着他平常的紧身袍子，系着一个特大领结，这个领结有双重作用，一可以显得特别有节日气氛，二可以保证他的脑袋不至于在部分切开的脖子上晃得太厉害。

　　“晚上好。”他朝着他们笑。

　　“谁在说？”哈利脱下鞋子倒掉里面的水，“希望他们赶紧结束给学生分类，我饿极了。”

　　每学年开学都要将新生分类！进入不同的班，但由于不走运，哈利自他那年分类后，再也没赶上过一次学生的分类，他对此向往已久了。

　　正在那时，一个极为兴奋，摒住呼吸的声音从上边桌子传下来，“嗨呀，哈利！”

　　“那是柯林。”哈利小心地说。

　　“哈利，你猜猜，你猜猜，哈利，我的弟弟开学了，我的弟弟丹尼斯！”

　　“嗯，不错。”哈利说。

　　“他兴奋极了！”柯林说，一边熟练地在他的座位上跳上跳下，“我就指望他分到格林芬顿！哎！哈利，为他祈福吧。”

　　“嗯，好的。”哈利说，他转向荷米恩、罗恩和尼维尔，“兄弟姐妹通常分在同一种班里，是吗？”他说，他正依威斯里家的孩子作判断，他们七个全被分进格林芬顿了。

　　“噢，那倒不一定。”荷米恩说，“帕维提。帕提的双胞胎都在卫文卡罗，因为她们是双胞姐妹，你就认为她们会在一块，对吗？”

　　哈利抬头看着教工那张桌子，那儿似乎比往日多了不少空位子。哈格力，当然还和一年级新生一起奋战在湖上；麦康娜教授可能在监督别人弄干前厅的地板，但那还是有个空位，他想不起还缺了谁。

　　“新来的黑巫术防御老师在哪儿？”荷米恩在看着老师们说。

　　他们从未有过能维持三学期以上的黑巫术防御老师，到目前为止，哈利最喜欢的老师是露平教授，他去年辞职了。他上上下下地看了一遍教工桌子，那儿绝没有新脸孔。

　　“可能他们没法找到下一位！”荷米恩说，他看上去很着急。

　　哈利更仔细地测览过桌子，小菲特威克教授即咒语老师，正坐在一大堆垫子上，他旁边是草苗老师——史包特教授，她戴在飞出灰白的头发上的帽子不是很正，她在和天文系的希尼斯特教授讲话，在希尼斯特教授的另一边是黄脸钩界，头发油腻腻的药脂老师史纳皮——霍格瓦彻最受讨厌的人，哈利对史纳皮的憎恶与史纳皮对他的厌恨是相当的。可能的话，史纳皮对他的厌恨自去年已加剧了，那时哈利帮助西里斯——史纳皮和西里斯早在学生时代就是仇敌了——从史纳皮的眼皮底下逃脱了。

　　在史纳皮的另一边是个空座位，哈利猜想可能是麦康娜教授的，与座位相邻，在桌子的正中坐着校长丹伯多教授。他的满头银发和长领在烛光中闪耀着，他那华美的深绿的饱子绣着许多星星和月亮。他细长手指并在一起，托着下巴，他透过半月形的眼镜盯着天花板，似乎陷入了沉思。哈利也向天花板扫视一番，它被施了法术，看起来像外面的天空。他从未见过像这样的天空，征兆着暴风雨的黑色和紫色的云翻滚过空中，随着外面又一阵雷声响起，一道霹雳划过。

　　“噢，快点吧。”罗恩在哈利旁边抱怨，“我可以吃下一个希普格利夫。”

　　他的话音刚落，大厅打开了，人们立即安静下来，麦康娜教授领着一长列一年级新生走上大厅里边。要是哈利、罗恩和荷米恩是湿的话，那与这些新生们相比可算不了什么，他们看上去是游过湖泊而不是用船渡过来的，他们全都因寒冷和紧张而颤抖着。他们站成一列，对着其他师生，停了下来，所有的新生都这样，除了他们之中那个最小的男孩之外，他长着小鼠般的头发，包在哈利认为是哈格力的鼹鼠皮大衣里，衣服对于他显得过分的大，看上去，他像套在一个毛茸茸的黑帐篷里。他的小脸从衣领上伸出来，看样子似乎兴奋得发痛了，当他和惊恐的同伴们站成一队时，他碰上柯林的视线，竖起大拇指，用口型说，“我掉进了湖里。”他倒是对此很高兴。

　　在一年级新生面前，麦康娜教授现在往地上摆了张四脚板凳，在凳子上面，是一个极为破旧肮脏的补着补丁的巫师帽，新生们盯着帽子，其他人也盯着帽子。一时间，一片沉寂，随即，帽沿边的一道裂缝像嘴巴似的张开，帽子开始唱歌了：“至少一千年以前当我刚刚织成时有四位有名的魔法师他们的名字仍然广为人们所识勇敢的格林芬顿，来自荒原公正的卫文卡罗，来自峡谷甜蜜的海夫巴夫所来之处山谷绵绵精明的史林德林从沼泽地中走出他们怀有共同的愿望、希望和梦想他们提出大胆的方案来教育年轻的一代这样霍格瓦彻学校创办而今这四位前辈每一位都把各自的班来开每一班都有不同之品德值的珍藏对于格林芬顿，最勇敢的嘉奖总在其余的之前对于卫文卡罗，最聪明的总是最好的对于海天巴夫，勤奋的工人是最值得欣赏追求权势的文林德林偏爱那些抱负远大的他们在世时可以挑选当他们逝去多年汤玛利格林芬顿找到了办法他将我从他头上驱下先驱给了我一些法力所以我能够让他们选择，作为代替把我舒服地从你们身边滑过我从来没有出借我能看穿你们的心思告诉你们立身之处。”

　　分类帽唱完歌，大厅里响起震耳的掌声。

　　“这不是它给我们分类时唱的那首。”哈利和别人一起鼓掌说道。

　　“每年都唱一首不同的歌。”罗恩说，“过着帽子的生活，总是相当烦人的，对不？我想它花整年的时间来编造下一首歌。”

　　麦康娜教授现在展开了一大卷羊皮纸。

　　“当我叫到你的名字时，你就戴上帽子，坐在凳上。”她吩咐新生们，“帽子宣布你的班之后，你就去坐到相应的桌子边去。”

　　“阿克利。史德瓦特！”

　　一位男孩走上前，很明显地从头到脚地发着抖，他抬起分类帽，戴上，坐在凳上。

　　“卫文卡罗。”帽子叫道。

　　他脱下帽子，急步走到卫文卡罗桌边的座位上，他周围的人都鼓掌欢迎他。哈利瞥了一眼罗尼文劳搜索者单，她正朝着刚坐下的阿克利。史德瓦特欢呼，一时之间，哈利也想加入卫文卡罗，这个奇怪的念头在他脑中一闪而过。

　　“巴德克。迈可姆！”

　　“史林德林班！”

　　大厅另一端的桌子爆发出欢呼声，哈利看到当巴德克加入史林德林时，马尔夫在拍掌，哈利怀疑巴德克是否知道史林德林班创造了比任何别的班都多的邪术魔法。弗来德和乔治则向准备就座的巴德克发出嘘声。

　　“希朗斯场。艾娜！”

　　“海夫巴夫！”

　　“可德威尔。欧文！”

　　“海夫巴夫！”

　　“克利威。丹尼斯！”‘小丹尼斯往前蹒跚一步，差点绊倒在哈格力的鼹鼠皮衣里，他那时正从教工桌后的一道门侧身溜进了大厅。哈格力的身高是常人的两倍，块头则至少比别人多两倍，他蓄着又长又乱打结的黑发，留了胡子，看上去有点让人警惕。这可是个误导的印像，罗恩和荷米恩知道哈格力有副好心肠，他在教工桌尽头处坐下，朝他们眨了眨眼，然后观看丹尼斯戴上分类帽，帽沿的缝张开的很大——“格林芬顿！”帽子喊道。

　　哈格力和格林芬顿班的学生一齐鼓起掌来，丹尼斯灿烂地笑开了，他脱下帽子，放回凳上，跑向他哥哥。

　　“柯林，我掉进湖了！”他尖叫着倒在一张空位上，“太神奇了！

　　水里有个东西抓住我，把我推回到船上！“

　　“真爽！”柯林也同样兴奋，“很可能是大鲸鱼哪，丹尼斯！”

　　“哇！”丹尼斯叫起来，似像即使在最离奇的幻想中也没人幻想象到掉到风雨大作，泛着泡沫的湖里，然后又被一只巨大的海怪推出水面的经历。

　　“丹尼斯！丹尼斯！看到那边的男孩没有？那个黑头发戴眼镜的，看到了吗？知道是谁吗？丹尼斯！”

　　哈利往远处专注地看那分类帽，它正在给艾姆分班。

　　分班进行着。男孩，女孩们各自带着程度不一的害怕的神情，一个接一个地走向三脚凳，队列慢慢缩短了。麦刚那高教授念到姓氏以“L”开头的学生了。

　　“噢，快点。”罗恩揉着肚子嘟味着。

　　“喂，罗恩，分班可是比吃饭重要多了。”赫斯。尼克说道，“一个叫玛德利。罗拉的女孩被分去了海夫巴天那里。”

　　“见鬼，要是你死了才好！”罗恩还口。

　　“好希望今年分到的这批人是够标准的。”尼克边为加入到格林芬顿桌来的迈克顿特和纳特里鼓掌边说，“我们可不想中断向来的成功。”

　　格林芬顿在近三年中连续在校内锦标赛中获胜。

　　“浦林杰格拉！”

　　“史林德林！”

　　“凯尔。欧拉！”

　　“卫文卡罗！”

　　最后，“凯文，”他被分去了海夫巴夫那里，分班结束了，麦康娜教授拾起帽子和凳子，把它们拿开。

　　“时候到了。”罗恩抓起刀叉，期待地望着他金色的盘子。

　　丹伯多教授站了起来，微笑着张开双臂欢迎学生们。

　　“我只说两个字，”他对学生讲，“吃吧。”他深沉的话音回荡在大厅里。

　　“听听，听听！”哈利和罗恩大嚷，眼前的空盘神奇地堆满了食物。

　　“啊，还是吃饭好。”罗恩嘴里满是土豆泥。

　　“你知道，今晚还算走运，毕竟有顿大餐。”尼克说，“早些时，厨房出乱子了。”

　　“哇？出什么事了？”哈利咬着一大块肉排说。

　　“当然是皮维斯的那家伙。”尼克摇着头说，他的头晃的好像要掉下来，他把领结扯高一些，“你知道，还不是以前那番争论。他想参加庆典——那是不可能的，像他那样满口服话，看到一盘食物就禁不住乱扔的家伙！我们开了幽灵委员会！法特。芙莱想给他这次机会，但我认为最明智的是布莱蒂。巴伦反对这事。”

　　布莱蒂。巴伦是史林德林的幽灵，他身材削瘦，沉默寡言，身上覆盖着银色的血迹，他是霍格瓦彻中唯—一位真正可以控制皮维斯的人。

　　“对了，我们也觉的皮维斯似乎在找碴。”罗恩郁郁地说，“他在厨房里干什么？”

　　“噢，平常那套把戏。”尼克耸耸肩，“泄愤地制造大乱，四处乱扔盘子罐子，在汤里游泳，把养的小精灵吓傻。”

　　“铿！”荷米思弄翻了她的全盘，南瓜汁慢慢地渗到桌布上，把白亚麻染成橙色，但荷米恩可不管。

　　“学校养的小精灵？”荷米恩问。

　　“嗯，白天他们很少走出厨房。”尼克说，“他们晚上出来做点清洁工作……看看炉火等等……我说，你不会想见他们吧。

　　荷米恩盯着他。

　　“他们有工资吧。”她说，“他们也能享受假期、病体和养老金等各种待遇，对吗？”尼克大笑起来，他笑过了头，领结滑下来，他的头也掉了，连着点皮肉从脖子上垂下。

　　“病休？养老金？”他把头推回脖子上，围好领结以免再次掉下，“校养精灵不要病休和养老金！”

　　荷米恩低头看了一下她几乎没怎么碰的食物，把刀叉放在盘子上，推走了盘子。

　　“噢，这不希奇，哎，我的膝盖。”罗恩说着，不小心把约克郡布丁喷到哈利身上，“啊，对不起！”“啊”地一声，他吞下布丁，“你不会饿着自己而给他们病休的！”“做苦工的奴隶。”荷米恩用鼻子深深吸了口气，“就是做苦工的奴隶们做了这顿饭。”

　　她一点都吃不下了。

　　雨点仍击鼓般敲着又高又黑的窗子，又一阵雷声震撼了窗户，乌云密布的天空掠过霹雳，照亮了金盘子，盘子上第一道菜的残余消失了，随即换上了布丁。

　　“糖浆烘饼，荷米恩！”罗恩故意把香味?向她，“眼尖的侦探，看呐，巧克力奶油蛋糕！”

　　但荷米恩的神情很像麦康娜教授，他便不再引诱她。

　　布丁也吃光了，最后一点碎屑从盘中消失的干干净净，艾伯斯。丹伯多又站了起来，厅里嗡嗡的谈话声立刻停止了，只可听到低吼的风声和大雨的敲击声。

　　“注意了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑着。“现在我们全都吃饱喝足了。”（“哼”！荷米恩说〕，“我的提醒你们要注意，我要通知几件事。”

　　“风纪长费驰先生要我告诉你们，今年学校忌禁清单上增加了例如：呦呦尖叫，齿边飞盘和回飞镖等等，整个清单共计四百三十七项。我想，感兴趣的学生可以到费驰先生的办公室里查看。”

　　丹伯多的嘴角动了一下。

　　他继续说，“我还是要提醒你们，平地的那片森林是不许学生进入的，三年级以下的还不能去汉格米尔村。”

　　“我还要遗憾地告诉你们，今年的校内决迪斯杯赛将不举行。”

　　“什么？”哈利倒抽一口气，他环顾着在快迪斯队的同伙弗来德和乔治，他们对着丹伯多无声地张着嘴，显然是太惊愕而说不出话来。

　　丹伯多又说，“这是因为一场开始于十月份，并将持续整个学年的赛事。它占去了老师们的很多时间和精力——但我保证，你们会很喜欢这场赛事的，我很高兴宣布，霍格瓦彻，今年——”

　　就在那时，震耳欲聋的雷声响起了，大厅的门砰地一声打开了。

　　有个人站在走廊上，拄着一根长长的拐杖，盖着黑色旅行用斗篷，大厅里的每个人都转过头来看着这个外来客。突然间一道霹雳划过屋顶，照亮了他，他解下兜帽，一缕灰色的长鬃毛和深灰色的头发垂落下来。他开始向教工桌走去。

　　他每走一步，大厅就回荡起沉沉的咯咯声，他走到桌子尽头，向右转身，走向丹伯多，又一道霹雳划过屋顶，荷米恩屏住呼吸。

　　霹雳清晰地显示了那人的脸，一张哈利从未见过的脸，对一个对人类的脸只有一点点模糊的概念的人来说，它似乎是从朽木上刻出来的一样，雕刻者对怎么用凿似乎也毫无经验，脸上每一寸皮肤好像都结了疤，嘴巴像个斜切的深口子，鼻梁的一大段缺了，但让哈利害怕的是那人的眼睛。

　　其中一只眼如同珠子，又小又黑，另一只眼睛则像个硬币，又大又圆，还是湛蓝色的。这个蓝眼睛不停地转动着，也不眨一下，上转下转，左看右看，很不像个正常的眼，蓝眼睛转到右边去了，向着他的后脑勺，所以他们只能看到他的眼白。

　　陌生人走近了丹伯多，他伸出跟他的脸一样结满疤的手，丹伯多与他握手，说些什么，哈利没法听清，他好像在询问那陌生人，而陌生人则压着嗓子面无笑容地摇着头回答。丹伯多点点头，示意那人坐到他右手边的空位上去。

　　陌生人坐下了，拨开脸边深灰色的鬃毛，拉过一盘香肠，拿起盘子用他那残存的鼻子闻了闻，然后从袋里掏出把小刀，叉起香肠的一端，开始吃起来，他那只正常的眼盯着香肠，但他的蓝眼还在眼窝里不停地转，环视整个大厅和学生们。

　　“让我介绍一下我们新来的黑巫术防御老师。”丹伯多打破沉寂高兴地说，“他是莫迪教授。”

　　“莫迪？”哈利对罗恩说，“魔眼莫迪？你爸今早去帮忙的那个人？”

　　“可能是。”罗恩敬畏地低声回答。

　　“他怎么啦？”荷米恩悄声问，“他的脸怎么啦？”

　　“不知道。”罗恩也悄悄地说。一边饶有兴趣地看着莫迪。

　　莫迪看起来对并不热情的欢迎一点也不在乎，他的手伸进旅行用斗篷，掏出一个大腹瓶子，大大吸了一口，他对面前的那罐南瓜汁并不理会，在他抬起手臂喝东西时，他的斗篷在离地面尺寸的地方拉开了一些，哈利看到了一只有爪的脚在桌下木桌脚边露了出来。

　　丹伯多又清了清喉咙。

　　“我刚才说到，”他对学生微笑着说，所有的学生仍在目瞪口呆地看着魔眼莫迪。“我们很荣幸在下个月承办一场极为激动人心的盛事，它已有一个多世纪没举行了，我很高兴告知你们，魔法三人对抗赛，今年将在霍格瓦彻举行！”

　　“你在开玩笑吧！”弗来德。威斯里大声说。

　　自莫迪的到来而充斥着大厅的紧张气氛被打破了。

　　几乎每个人都笑了起来，丹伯多也发出理解的笑声。

　　“我不是开玩笑，威斯里先生。”他说，“既然你提到笑话，我这个夏天倒听了个不赖的笑话，讲的是一个洞仙，一个女巫和一个老巫土，他们全都去了一间酒吧——”

　　麦康娜教授大声地清了清喉咙。

　　“嗯——或许现在还不是讲笑话的时候吧。”丹伯多说，“我讲到哪儿了？对了，魔法三人对抗赛，你们中有些人不知道这个联赛是怎么回事，所以我希望那些知道的可以容许我稍稍作个解释，知情的学生可以关注些别的东西。”

　　“魔法三人对抗赛于大约七百年前，作为三大魔法学校霍格瓦彻、比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安间的一种友好竞赛。每所学校选出一名冠军选手作代表，这三个选手则在三场魔法中竞技。魔法学校每五年轮流承办一次比赛，为众人所认可，这是一个在年轻的法师们之间建立联系的最佳办法，直到死亡人数太多时，比赛便中止了。”

　　“死亡人数？”荷米恩警觉起来，低声说道。但厅里其他的学生似乎并不分担她的忧虑，许多学生彼此兴奋地耳语，而哈利他自己对多听一些关于比赛的事比担忧几百年前的死亡则来劲得多。

　　“几个世纪以来，人们几次尝试着恢复比赛。”丹伯多接着说，“没有一次是较成功的，然而，我们的国标魔法合作系和魔法竞赛系认为再作一次尝试的是时机已成熟了，整个夏天我们都在为之努力着。这一次，冠军选手不会走火入魔的。”

　　“比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的校长会携同他们筛选出来的选手在十月份到达我校，三名选手的选拔赛则在万圣节时举行，届时将由一名公正无私的裁判来决定哪一位最有资格赢取三巫术赛奖杯，那将是他们学校的光荣，并可得到一千帆船币个人奖金。”

　　“我要参加！”弗来德。威斯里在桌子下边咝咝沙沙地说。想到了能得到的光荣和财富，他热情洋溢，容光焕发。他并不是把自己视为霍格瓦彻冠军选手的唯—一人。在每张桌子，哈利可以看到学生们要么全神贯注地看着丹伯多，要么时不时地与邻座窃窃私语，但当丹伯多又说话时，大厅再次静了下来。

　　“虽然我知道你们都想为霍格瓦彻带来三巫术赛奖杯，”他说，“参赛学校的校长和魔法部都同意这次对选手的年龄作个限制，只有达到年龄的学生——即十七岁或十七岁以上，才被允许报名参选。这个——”丹伯多听到几个人对他的话颇有微词，威斯里双胞胎兄弟看上去突然变得极为愤慨，他提高话音，“这是我们认为必要的措施，因为无论怎么预防，赛项将仍是困难重重，危险性很大的。低于六七年级的学生没什么可能可以应付它，我将亲自出马，保证不够年龄的学生无法糊弄我们公正的裁判，使他们成为霍格瓦彻的冠军选手。”他看到弗来德和乔治叛逆的脸时，他浅蓝的眼睛眨了几下。“所以对那些不满十七岁的，我请你们别浪费时间为自己提名。”

　　“比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的代表队将于十月份抵达，今年的大部分时间都会和我们在一起，我知道你们在他们逗留期间会给外宾们全部的热诚，并且全心支持霍格瓦彻的冠军选手的，现在时候不早了，我希望你们明天上课时得保持清醒，放松头脑，这非常重要，快去休息吧。”

　　丹伯多又坐了下来转向魔眼，和他说话。学生们站起来蜂拥向前厅的双层门。一片擦擦声和砰砰响了起来。

　　“他们怎么能那样做？”乔治。威斯里说，他没有随人群走向大门，站立着盯着丹伯多，“明年四月我们就十七了，为什么我们不能试一试？”

　　““他们拦不住我的。”弗来德固执地说，也对着上边的桌子怒目而视，“冠军们可以做任何事，而你连正当的事都不让我们干，哪还有一千帆船币奖金！”

　　“是啊。”罗恩的心思好像飘到远方，“是啊，一千帆船币……”

　　“走吧。”荷米恩说，“你再不走的，这儿就只剩我们了。”

　　哈利、罗恩、荷米恩、弗来德和乔治走向前厅，弗来德和乔治在争论著丹伯多为阻止不满十七岁的学生参赛可能采取的方法。

　　“决定参赛冠军的公正裁判是谁？”哈利问。

　　“不知道。”弗来德说，“但我们要糊弄的正是他们，我想几滴陈年药水大概有用吧。乔治……”

　　“但丹伯多知道你不到年龄呀。”罗恩说。

　　“是的，但他可不是决定谁赢得比赛的人，对吗？”弗来德狡黠地说，“我觉得一旦挑选想参加的人，他会从每个学校中挑出最优秀的，而不会计较他们的年龄，丹伯多不过试图不让我们说出自己的名字。”

　　“但死过人了！”荷米恩忧心忡忡地说，他们穿过一道隐藏在挂毯后面的门，登上另一段狭窄的楼梯。

　　“是啊。”弗来德漫不经心地说，“但是几年前的事了，对吗？

　　不管怎样，没有一点风险，哪来的乐趣？嘿，罗恩，要是我们避开丹伯多会怎样呢？想不想参赛？“

　　“你说什么？”罗恩问哈利，“参赛当然很爽，但我想他们可能要些年长点的，而不论我们是否学够了……”

　　“我绝对没学够。”尼维尔郁郁的话音从弗来德和乔治身后传来。“但我想我的奶奶会要我试试的，她总是说我该如何光宗耀祖，我不得不，呼……”

　　尼维尔的脚正好从楼梯中间的一级台阶上陷了下去，在霍格瓦彻有许多这样的圈套，大多数较年长的学生都会跳过这级特设的台阶，养成一种第二本能，但尼维尔是有名的健忘，哈利和罗恩抓住他手臂，把他拖出来，一套盔甲在楼梯顶端喘着气铛啷铿锵地笑着。

　　“你给我闭嘴。”罗恩说，他们经过盔甲时，罗恩重重打了一下它的面甲。

　　他们摸索着向格里哈特塔的入口走去，入口被截在一幅巨大的穿着粉色绸衣的胖大婶的画像后边。

　　“咒语是？”他们靠近人口时她问道。

　　“布拉丁打希。”格林佐说：“楼下的级长告诉我的。”

　　画像往前晃动，露出墙上的一个洞，他们全都爬过墙洞，一堆呼呼燃烧的火温暖了流通室，流通室里到处是矮矮的椅子和桌子。

　　向欢快地跳动的火苗投去冷冷的一瞥，他们互相道晚安，荷米恩消失在通往女生宿舍的走廊中。哈利清楚鼓舞着她说，“做苦力和奴隶。”

　　哈利、罗恩和尼维尔爬上最后一段螺形楼梯，到了位于塔顶的宿舍。五张四往床各有一挂深红色的帘子向着墙，床脚边放着各人的行李箱，迪恩和谢默斯早已在床上了，谢默斯把他爱尔兰袍子挂在顶板上，迪恩钉了幅维特。克伦的海报在床头桌上，他原来的西部汉姆球队的海报被钉在旁边。

　　“神经病！”罗恩叹了口气，对着一动也不动的球员叹了口气，摇了摇头。

　　哈利、罗恩和尼维尔换上睡衣上了床，有人——无疑是一个校养精灵在床单间放了保温平锅。躺在床上，聆听外面的暴风雨声，特别舒适。

　　“我或许要为之努力，你知道的。”罗恩渴睡的声音从黑暗中传来，“如果弗来德和乔治找到法子……比赛……你不知道是吗？”

　　“假如不……”哈利在床上翻一下身，一系列醒目的新画面从他心头涌起……他已糊弄了公正裁判，让他相信是十七岁……他已成为霍格瓦彻的冠军……他站在地上，向全校师生胜利地举起手臂，他们全都欢呼尖叫起来……他刚刚赢得了魔法三人对抗赛……

　　卓的脸容在模糊的人群中分外清晰，脸上满是敬慕之情，笑容灿烂。

　　哈利在枕上开心地笑了，尤为高兴的是罗恩不能看到他能看到的图景。