Chapter 17 The Four Champions

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

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

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

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

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

Both of them stared just as blankly back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?” he 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 rule book 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 reignite 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 toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there 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 honor 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 Defense 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 realizing 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 realized “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 honors?”

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

“Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes…the first task…”

He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, 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 Viktor, “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 overenthusiastic, if truth be told…”

“You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore.

“Come on, Barry, 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 burned 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…okay,” 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, he 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 that 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 fantasized 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 neighbor'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 forward 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 backward. 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.

“You should've told us you'd entered!” bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed.

“How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George.

“I didn't,” Harry said. “I don't know how -”

But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor -”

“You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!” shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers.

“We've got food, Harry, come and have some -”

“I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast -”

But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate.…Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands.…Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet.…

“I didn't,” he said, over and over again, “I don't know how it happened.”

But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all.

“I'm tired!” he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. “No, seriously, George - I'm going to bed -”

He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could.

To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him.

“Where've you been?” Harry said.

“Oh hello,” said Ron.

He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it.

“So,” he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. “Congratulations.”

“What d'you mean, congratulations?” said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace.

“Well…no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use - the Invisibility Cloak?”

“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly.

“Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak…because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?”

“Listen,” said Harry, “I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it.”

Ron raised his eyebrows.

“What would they do that for?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, “To kill me.”

Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

“It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said. “If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either.…”

“I didn't put my name in that goblet!” said Harry, starting to feel angry.

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric. “Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you.…I'm not stupid, you know.”

“You're doing a really good impression of it,” Harry snapped.

“Yeah?” said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. “You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something.”

He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him.

　哈利呆坐在那，觉察到巨厅里人人都转过头来看着他。全身麻木，他一定是在做梦。他一定听错了。

　　没有掌声，大厅里有的只是如蜜蜂发出的嗡嗡声。一些学生站起来，乘他呆坐在座位上时好好看看。

　　在最高桌那边，麦康娜教授站起来，经过露得。巴格蒙和卡可卡罗夫教授，急促地跟丹伯多教授低语，丹伯多教授凑过耳朵，眉头微皱。

　　哈利转过身，对着罗恩和荷米恩，他那边格林芬顿一整桌人都张大嘴看着他。

　　“我没有放名字过去，”哈利茫然地说。“你们知道我没有。”

　　他们两个也是茫然地瞪着他。

　　最高桌那边，丹伯多教授挺直身子朝麦康娜教授点头。

　　“哈利·波特！“他又叫。”哈利！请上这来！“

　　“去吧。”荷米恩低声说，轻轻推了推哈利。

　　哈利站起来，踩住了饱子下摆差点跌倒，他从史林德林桌和海夫巴夫桌间穿过。那条路好像没有尽头，最高桌似乎是遥不可及。

　　他感到成百上千双眼在注视他。而每双眼都仿佛是探照灯。嗡嗡声越来越响。感觉好像是过了1小时他才走到丹伯多前面，又感到所有老师的目光都在望着他。

　　“嗯……通过那扇门，哈利。”丹伯多说，他没有笑容。

　　哈利沿着老师的桌子向前走。哈格力就坐在另一头。他没有朝哈利眨眼，没有挥手，也没有任何他常有的问候动作。他完全惊呆了。哈利走过时，他和其他人一样，盯着他。哈利走出大会堂，发现自己进了一个挂满男巫女巫画像的小房间。正对他的是个火炉，炉火烧得正旺。

　　他一进去，画上的脸都朝他看来，只见一个干枯的女巫从她自己的相框里飞出来，飞进旁边一个长着海象胡子的男巫像里，在他耳边低语。

　　维特。克伦，赛德里克。迪格瑞还有芙璐·迪米高围坐在火边，映着火光，他们给人一种奇怪的印像。克伦拱着身子靠着壁炉架在沉思，与另两个分开，塞德里克背着手站着，盯着大门看，而哈利进去时，芙璐·迪来高四处张望，往后甩头发。

　　“什么事？”她问，“他们要我们回大厅去吗？”

　　她以为他是来捎口信的，对刚发生的事哈利不知该如何解释。

　　他只能站在那，看着那三位选手，发现他们高得惊人。

　　身后传来一阵忙乱的脚步，路得。巴格蒙进了房间，他牵着哈利的手向前走。

　　“真不寻常！”他咕哝着，拧着哈利的胳膊。“实在是不寻常！

　　先生们……小姐们。“他加了句，靠近火边，跟其他三个说：“请容许我介绍——有点不可思议——第四位三巫赛选手。“

　　维特。克伦直起身。打量着哈利，他傲慢的脸阴沉了下来。塞德里克迷惑不解地看看巴格蒙又看看哈利。好像怀疑自己是不是听错巴格蒙说的话了。而芙璐·迪来高则摇头笑着说，“呕，非常可笑的玩笑，巴格蒙先生。”

　　“玩笑？”巴格蒙重复了一下，有点迷惑，“不，不，根本不是玩笑。燃烧的高脚杯刚刚给出哈利的名字。”

　　芙璐皱起眉头。“但是明显是错了，”她轻蔑地对着巴格蒙说，“他不能参赛。他太小了。”

　　“嗯……是挺奇怪，”巴格蒙摸摸光滑的下巴朝哈利笑说。“但是，你知道，年龄限制是今年才加的特别安全措施。他的名字从杯中出来……我的意思是在这种情况下，我认为退出是不可能的了。

　　这是规则，你必须……哈利只要尽其所能——“

　　门又开了，一大群人走进来：丹伯多教授，紧跟着克劳斯先生，卡克罗夫教授，玛西姆夫人，麦康娜教授和史纳皮教授。哈利听到墙的另一边传来无数学生的嗡嗡声，麦康娜教授关上门。

　　“玛西姆夫人！”芙璐马上朝她的校长过去，“他们说这个小男孩也要参赛！”

　　在哈利满怀疑虑的麻木了的心灵某种却也泛起了怒浪，小男孩？

　　确实，相比哈利的矮个头玛西姆夫人显得相当高，她优美的头部都碰到点蜡的吊灯，而她那宽大的黑锻缎衣脑襟下也鼓起来了。

　　“这是什么意思嘛，丹伯多？”她傲慢地发问。

　　“我也想知道，丹伯多，”卡克罗夫教授也说。他笑容冷峻，目露寒光。“霍格瓦彻有两名选手。我可不记得有什么人说过东道主学校可以有两个选手的，是不是那些规则我读得还不够仔细？”

　　他发出刺耳的笑声。

　　“这不可能，”玛西姆夫人说，她那戴了许多猫眼石的大手放在芙璐的肩上。“霍格瓦彻不可以有两个选手，那样太不公平了。”

　　“丹伯多，我们都很相信你的年龄线能够阻止年少者报名。”卡克罗夫还是那副冷峻像，只是目光更加冷酷。“否则的话，我们当然也会从学校带多些候选人来，范围大一些。”

　　“这都是波特的错，卡克罗夫，”史纳皮温和地说。他的黑眼珠闪着邪恶的光芒。“不要因为哈利执意要违反规则而责备丹伯多，他从来这里起就在惹麻烦。”

　　“谢了，塞维鲁施。”丹伯多坚定地说。史纳皮不作声，但透过他那油腻的黑发可见他的双眼仍然闪着邪恶的光。

　　丹伯多教授看着哈利，哈利也在看他，试图解读教授半月镜片后的眼神。

　　“哈利，你有没有把名字放进燃烧的高脚杯了？”丹伯多发问，很冷静。

　　“没有，”哈利回答，他知道大家都在密切地注视着他。在暗处，史纳皮轻轻哼一声，显然是不耐烦，不信任。

　　丹伯多教授没理史纳皮，他继续问：“那你有没有叫比你大的学生帮你放？”

　　“没有！”哈利反应强烈。

　　“哼，他当然是撒谎！”玛西姆夫人说，史纳皮在摇头，双唇扭曲。

　　“他不可能越过年龄线。”麦康娜厉声说道，“我相信我们大家都同意——”

　　“丹伯多一定弄错年龄线了。”玛西姆夫人耸耸肩。

　　“当然，这有可能的。”丹伯多很有礼貌地回答。

　　“丹伯多，你没有弄错，这一点你知道得一清二楚。”麦康娜很生气。“真是废话！哈利自己没可能越过年龄线。如丹伯多教授所说他没有让哪个比他大的学生帮他放，但难保说有什么好心人帮他做了。”

　　她非常生气地瞟了史纳皮教授一眼。

　　“克劳斯先生，巴格蒙先生，”卡克罗夫油腔滑调地，“你们可是客观裁制，你们一定也认为这是最不合常理的吧。”

　　巴格蒙拿着条手帕擦脸。圆圆的脸，挺孩子气的。他在着克劳斯先生，后者站在火光圈外，脸隐藏在阴暗之中，阴森森的，黑暗使他显得老多了，也让人觉得他像个骷髅。他开口了，声音和平常一样散慢，“我们须遵守规则。规则上写得清清楚楚，凡是名字从燃烧的高脚杯中出来了的人就必须参加比赛。”

　　“巴地对条例书可是了如指掌。”巴格蒙笑着转过身对着卡克罗夫和玛西姆夫人，好像这条事就这么完结似的。

　　“我坚持我的其他学生再报一次名。”卡克罗夫一改油腔滑调，没有笑容，都是满脸丑恶，“你再把燃烧的高脚杯摆出来，我们继续往里扔名字，到每个学校有两名选手为止。只有这样才公平，丹伯多。”

　　“可是，卡克罗夫，那样不行，”巴格蒙。“燃烧的高脚杯刚熄，要到下次比赛开始才会再烧起来。”

　　“那么，哈利将不能参加比赛！”卡克罗夫爆出这样的话。“开了这么多会议，做了这么多协商让步，我压根没想到有这种事发生！现在我差不多想走了。”

　　“卡克罗夫，别做无谓的威胁了。”门边响起一个声音，“现在你可不能丢下你的选手不管。他还得比赛呢，他们都得比。如丹伯多所言，有约束力的魔力契约。方便吧，呃？”

　　莫迪刚进来，他一拐一拐地朝炉火这边走，他每走一步都发出铿锵巨响。

　　“方便？”卡克罗夫说话。“莫迪，恐怕我不明白你在说什么。”

　　哈利看得出他竭力扮清高，装出他根本就不知道莫迪说什么的样子，可惜他那握成拳头的双手背叛了他。

　　“是吗？”莫迪静静地说，“这很简单，卡克罗夫，有人把波特的名字放进杯子，他知道一旦被选中，波特就必须参赛。”

　　“显而易见，有人希望霍格瓦彻有更多获胜机会。”玛西姆夫人叫起来。

　　“我赞同您的看法，玛西姆夫人。”卡克罗夫朝她鞠躬。“我将向魔法部和国际巫师协会提出抗议。”

　　“要说有谁有理由抗议的话，那就是波特。”莫迪咆哮，“可笑的是，我没听到他说过一句话。”

　　“他有什么好抱怨的？”芙珊。迪来高跺脚冒出一句。“他得到了参赛的机会，不是吗？几周以来，我们都希望被选中参赛。为了学校的荣誉，为了那一千金币的奖金。这可是许多人梦寐以求的机会。

　　“可能有人希望哈利因此而亡。”莫迪带着咆哮的口吻。

　　话音刚落。房间里一片死寂。

　　露得。巴格蒙，看来真的很紧张，他不安地走来走去，“莫迪，你这老东西，说的是什么话。”

　　“我们都知道，午餐之前莫迪教授若还没找出六个暗算杀他的阴谋，他会觉得早晨白过了。”卡克罗夫大声说，“显然他在教他的学生也畏惧暗杀。丹伯多，这可是个冒犯我们的怪招。当然，你有你的理由。”

　　“说是我编造的？”莫迪吼道，“还不明白吗？呃？是某个技术高超的巫师把那孩子的名字放进杯里的……”

　　“你有什么证据？”玛西姆夫人大手一挥。

　　“因为他欺骗了一个魔力强大的东西！”莫迪说，“要迷惑高脚杯，使它忘记只有三所学校参赛，需要一个非常强的魔咒。我猜测他把波特的名字放在第四所学校，确保他是那类中唯一的一个。”

　　“莫迪，看来你考虑的还挺多的哦。”卡克罗夫冷冷地说，“当然，这个理论还挺高明的。我听说最近你把生日礼物中的一个漂亮杯子当作经过巧妙包装的蜥蜴蛋打了个粉碎，因此我们不把你的话当回事，你应该能理解吧。”

　　“有些人总想利用一些无关的事件，”莫迪用威胁的口气反驳。

　　“想那些阴险的巫师怎么做是我的事，卡克罗夫——你应该还记得……”

　　“阿拉施特！”丹伯多警告道。哈利一时不知道他是跟谁说，后来意识到这才是“魔眼”莫迪的真名。莫迪不作声，但还是得意地打量着卡克罗夫，后者已是怒火中烧。

　　“怎么会出现这种情况，我们不知道，”丹伯多对房间里的人说。“在我看来，除了接受事实外我们别无选择。塞德里克和哈利都被选中了参赛，那他们也只得……”

　　“丹伯多——可是——”

　　“亲爱的玛西姆夫人，您要是有什么好建议的话，我洗耳恭听。”

　　丹伯多等她说。可她没开口只是瞪着眼。不只她，史纳皮看来也很愤怒，卡克罗夫面色铁青，而巴格蒙却相当兴奋。

　　“那么我们就开始了。”他援搓手，笑视四周。“该给选手们指令了吧？巴地，有兴趣帮个忙吗？”

　　“行，指令，是了，第一个任务……”

　　巴地凑近火光。哈利觉得他病了。眼圈发黑，干枯的皮肤干瘦如纸。可快迪斯世界杯赛时，他不是那样的。

　　“第一个任务用来检测你们的胆量，”他告诉哈利，塞德里克，芙璐和克伦。“当然我们不会告诉你这是个什么任务。面对未知，勇气对一个巫师来说很重要，非常重要。”

　　“第一个任务将于十一月二十四号进行，当着全体裁判和学生的面。”

　　“完成参赛任务的过程中选手不能请老师帮忙，也不能接受老师任何形式的援助，选手们将在魔杖的帮助下进行第一个任务。完成第一个任务后他们才被告知有关第二个任务的信息。鉴于比赛的耗时费神性，选手们期末可以免试。”

　　克劳斯先生转身看丹伯多。“艾怕斯，我想就这么多，是吧？”

　　“我想也是。”丹伯多关切地看着克劳斯。“确实今晚不留在霍格瓦彻过夜了？巴地？”

　　“不留了，丹伯多，我得回部里去，”克劳斯先生说。“这阵子比较艰难，很忙……我让维塞拜负责，这小伙子很热心。不过，说句老实话，有点热心过头了。”

　　“那起码走之前来喝一杯吧？”

　　“巴地，留下来吧，我要呆在这。”巴格蒙快乐地说。“你知道，霍格瓦彻将有什么发生。留在这可比呆在办公室里好多了。”

　　“我不这么想，露得。”克劳斯又恢复那种不耐烦的神情。

　　“卡克罗夫教授——玛西姆夫人——睡前来一杯怎么样？”丹伯多问。

　　可玛西姆夫人早就搂着芙璐的肩，快步走出去了。哈利听到她们用法语快速地交谈。卡克罗夫示意克伦。他们俩个也静静地离去。

　　“哈利，塞德里克，你们也该去睡了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑，“我相信格林芬顿和海夫巴夫还等和你们一块庆祝呢，可别剥夺了他们这个制造混乱和噪音的好借口哟！”

　　哈利看看塞德里克，他点头了。于是俩人一块走。

　　大厅空荡荡的。蜡烛快烧完了，使南瓜们发出的光，参差不齐，摇曳着阴森。

　　“那，”塞德里克微微一笑。“我们又成了对手。”

　　“我想也是。”哈利说，实际上他想不出要说什么。头脑还是一片混乱，像被洗了脑一样。

　　“那，告诉我……”他们走到人口大厅的时候，塞德里克问，“你是怎么把名字放进去的？”

　　火把代替燃烧的高脚杯照亮大厅。

　　“我没有故名字进去。”哈利瞪着他，“我没有。我说的是真话。”

　　“啊，那好吧，再见。”哈利看得出塞德里克不相信他。

　　塞德里克不走大理石阶梯，向它右边的门走去。哈利站在那听他踏着石阶离去时的脚步声，这才上了大理石梯。

　　除了罗恩和荷米恩可能相信他之外，大家都认为为了参赛，是他自己把名字放进去的。但他们怎么可以那样想呢？要知道他面临的竞争对手比他多上了三年的魔法课，而且他还要当着众人的面完成那些非常危险的任务。没错，他是曾经想过，也为之着迷过，但实际上只是玩笑，一个白日梦。他真的从来就没有正儿八经地想过要参加的。

　　但有人却想到了。有人希望他参赛，而且还让他被选中了。为什么呢？是给他恩典吗？他可不这么想，可能是……

　　看他出丑？那他们很可能会如愿以偿。

　　想害死他？莫迪不也是这样想吗？还是有人恶意开他的玩笑？

　　没错，有人希望他死掉。从他一岁起就有人想他死……福尔得摩特？但他怎么能使他的名字进了燃烧的高脚杯呢？福尔得摩特现在应该是躲在某个遥远的国度，孤独，脆弱，无助。

　　但在他因疤疼醒来之前所做的梦里，福尔得摩特不是一个人，他和温太尔谈论关于谋杀波特的事。

　　波特突然发现自己在对着胖大婶，吓了一大跳，他没意识到自己一直在走。胖大婶不是一个人呆在相框里这也挺奇怪的。刚才他下楼时看到的那个飞到隔壁像框去的女巫正得意地坐在胖大婶旁。

　　她一定是飞过霍斯马得阶梯上挂着的每幅画像，赶在他前面到的，她们俩兴致勃勃，朝他上下打量。

　　“好呀，好呀。”胖大婶说，“维莉特把一切都告诉我了。那你被选中做代表了？”

　　“胡说八道。”哈利闷闷地说了句。

　　“当然不是胡说！”苍白女巫挺气愤地说。

　　“噢，噢，维，别生气，这是暗号。”胖大婶安慰她。胖大婶转了转枢纽开门让哈特进了公共休息室。

　　门一开，一阵吵闹声几乎把波特撞了回去。接着他就被房里的几十双手抓住，面对所有格林芬顿的人。个个又是尖叫又是鼓掌吹哨。

　　“你早该告诉我们你报名了。”弗来德大叫，半喜半怒。

　　“太厉害了，你怎么样不长白胡子就做到了呢？”乔治笑着吼。

　　“我没有，”哈利说，“我不知道怎么——”

　　恩格利纳已经朝他扑来。“虽然不是我，但好歹是格林芬顿一员。

　　“现在你可以一雪最后一场快迪斯比赛之耻，报复迪格瑞了！”

　　凯蒂·贝尔——格林芬顿队追捕者之一尖笑。

　　“我们拿了些食物，哈利，来吃点吧。”

　　“我不饿，晚宴上吃饱了。”

　　没人想听他说他不饿，也没人想听他说他没有把名字放进去。

　　也没有一个人注意到他根本没心情庆祝。李·乔丹不知从哪弄了块格林芬顿的旗，坚持要把旗裹在哈利身上，像件斗篷。哈利脱不了身，每次他试图从楼梯跑回宿舍去，众人就把他围在中间，强迫他再来一杯巴特酒，把甜点、花生往他手里塞。人人都想知道他是怎么做到的，他是怎样骗过丹伯多的年龄线，把名字放进去的……

　　“我没有。”他说了一遍又一遍，“我不知道这是怎么回事。”

　　从大家看他的那副样子判断，他说了也白说。

　　差不多半小时之后，他忍无可忍叫了起来，“我累了，乔治，真的，我要睡了。”

　　他最想做的事是找到罗恩和荷米恩。到他的那寻求理解。可看来两个都不在场。他坚持要去睡觉。在楼梯口，格利维弟兄俩试图拦住他不让他走，他差点把他们压倒在地。总算摆脱众人，他飞快地爬进宿舍。

　　在空空的宿舍里他发现罗恩和衣躺在床上，不由舒了口气。哈利使劲关上门。罗思才抬起头看他。

　　“你到哪去了？”哈利问他。

　　“嗨，你好啊！”罗恩在笑，笑得挺勉强也挺古怪。

　　哈利突然意识到自己还围着那面猩红色的格林芬顿旗。绑得太紧了，他扯了半天才把它弄下来。而罗恩躺在床上看着他，动也不动。

　　“那么，恭喜了。”见哈利扯下旗，把它扔到角落里，罗恩才说。

　　“恭喜？你这是什么意思？”哈利瞪着罗恩。罗恩笑得很异样，像狞笑。

　　“没其他人越过年龄线。”罗恩说。“弗来德和乔治部没能越过，你用了什么——隐身斗篷？”

　　“隐身斗篷也帮不了我越过那条年龄残。”哈利慢慢地说。

　　“不错，”罗恩说。“如果是隐身斗篷，你可能会告诉我。它可以把我们俩都裹住，不是吗？可你发现了另一个办法。”

　　“你给我听着，我没有把名字放进去。一定是别人干的。”

　　罗恩一挑眉。“他们为什么要那样做？”

　　“我不知道。”哈利觉得说“计划把我杀了”太荒唐。

　　“没关系的，你可以告诉我真相，”他说。“如果你不想让别人知道，那也没什么。可我不知道你干嘛使劲撒谎。你不会有麻烦的。胖大婶的朋友，那个维尔莉特早就告诉我们说丹伯多让你参加了。有1千金币和奖金，是吧？还有不用参加期末考试……”

　　“我没有把名字放进去！”哈利怒气上升。

　　“好吧，”罗恩用跟塞德里克一模一样的怀疑的口吻说，“你早晨还说，你也会在夜里放名字进去，那样没人会见到你。我可不是傻瓜。”

　　“你倒记得很清楚。”哈利打断他。

　　“是啊。”罗恩面无笑容，“哈利，你想睡了吧。我估计你明天一大早就要起身接可视电话，做诸如此类的事。”

　　他放下缠在柱子周围的布帘。哈利站在门进，瞪着那红天鹅绒的布帘。在那后面，躺着的是他曾坚信会相信他的少数朋友之一。