Chapter 18 The Weighing Of The Wands

When Harry woke up on Sunday morning, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over him. He sat up and ripped back the curtains of his own four-poster, intending to talk to Ron, to force Ron to believe him - only to find that Ron's bed was empty; he had obviously gone down to breakfast.

Harry dressed and went down the spiral staircase into the common room. The moment he appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again. The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating him like some sort of hero, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow himself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to him to join them. He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione.

“Hello,” she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. “I brought you this.…Want to go for a walk?”

“Good idea,” said Harry gratefully.

They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast, as Harry told Hermione exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To his immense relief, Hermione accepted his story without question.

“Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself,” she said when he'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry…I don't think any student could have done it…they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore's -”

“Have you seen Ron?” Harry interrupted.

Hermione hesitated.

“Erm…yes…he was at breakfast,” she said.

“Does he still think I entered myself?”

“Well…no, I don't think so…not really,” said Hermione awkwardly.

“What's that supposed to mean, ‘not really'?”

“Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?” Hermione said despairingly. “He's jealous!”

“Jealous?” Harry said incredulously. “Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?”

“Look,” said Hermione patiently, “it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault,” she added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. “I know you don't ask for it…but - well - you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous - he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…”

“Great,” said Harry bitterly. “Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it.…People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go…”

“I'm not teiling him anything,” Hermione said shortly. “Tell him yourself. It's the only way to sort this out.”

“I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!” Harry said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. “Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or -”

“That's not funny,” said Hermione quietly. “That's not funny at all.” She looked extremely anxious. “Harry, I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?”

“Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the -”

“Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts.…It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me -”

“Come off it,” said Harry, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament -”

“He'd want you to tell him,” said Hermione sternly. “He's going to find out anyway.”

“How?”

“Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet,” said Hermione, very seriously. “This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing.…You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know…and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would.”

“Okay, okay, I'll write to him,” said Harry, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake. They both stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Then they returned to the castle.

“Whose owl am I going to use?” Harry said as they climbed the stairs. “He told me not to use Hedwig again.”

“Ask Ron if you can borrow -”

“I'm not asking Ron for anything,” Harry said flatly.

“Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them,” said Hermione.

They went up to the Owlery. Hermione gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall and wrote his letter.

Dear Sirius,
You told me to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes - I don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year and on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don't who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff.
He paused at this point, thinking. He had an urge to say something about the large weight of anxiety that seemed to have settled inside his chest since last night, but he couldn't think how to translate this into words, so he simply dipped his quill back into the ink bottle and wrote,

Hope you're okay, and Buckbeak - Harry
“Finished,” he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig fluttered down onto his shoulder and held out her leg.

“I can't use you,” Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. “I've got to use one of these.”

Hedwig gave a very loud hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. She kept her back to Harry all the time he was tying his letter to the leg of a large barn owl. When the barn owl had flown off, Harry reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach.

“First Ron, then you,” Harry said angrily. “This isn't my fault.”

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If Harry had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day showed him how mistaken he was. He could no longer avoid the rest of the school once he was back at lessons - and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought Harry had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed.

The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin FinchFletchley, with whom Harry normally got on very well, did not talk to him even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray - though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grip and smacked him hard in the face. Ron wasn't talking to Harry either. Hermione sat between them, making very forced conversation, but though both answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other. Harry thought even Professor Sprout seemed distant with him - but then, she was Head of Hufflepuff House.

He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too - the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion.

Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

“Ah, look, boys, it's the champion,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. “Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer.…Half the Triwizard champions have died…how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet.”

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.

“Take this thing for a walk?” he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. “And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?”

“Roun’ the middle,” said Hagrid, demonstrating. “Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution, like. Harry - you come here an’ help me with this big one.…”

Hagrid's real intention, however, was totalk to Harry away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and said, very seriously, “So - yer competin', Harry. In the tournament. School champion.”

“One of the champions,” Harry corrected him.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.

“No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?”

“You believe I didn't do it, then?” said Harry, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid's words.

“Course I do,” Hagrid grunted. “Yeh say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yeh - an’ Dumbledore believes yer, an’ all.”

“Wish I knew who did do it,” said Harry bitterly.

The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs- but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control.

“Look like they're havin’ fun, don’ they?” Hagrid said happily. Harry assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts’ ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.

“Ah, I don’ know, Harry,” Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a worried expression on his face. “School champion…everythin’ seems ter happen ter you, doesn’ it?”

Harry didn't answer. Yes, everything did seem to happen to him…that was more or less what Hermione had said as they had walked around the lake, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to him.

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The next few days were some of Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in his second year, when a large part of the school had suspected him of attacking his fellow students. But Ron had been on his side then. He thought he could have coped with the rest of the school's behavior if he could just have had Ron back as a friend, but he wasn't going to try and persuade Ron to talk to him if Ron didn't want to. Nevertheless, it was lonely with dislike pouring in on him from all sides.

He could understand the Hufflepuffs’ attitude, even if he didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. He expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins - he was highly unpopular there and always had been, because he had helped Gryffindor beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But he had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support him as much as Cedric. He was wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that he had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name.

Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than he did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime.

Meanwhile there was no reply from Sirius, Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near him, Professor Trelawney was predicting his death with even more certainty than usual, and he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick's class that he was given extra homework - the only person to get any, apart from Neville.

“It's really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him as they left Flitwick's class - she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet for board dusters, wastepaper baskets, and lunascopes. “You just weren't concentrating properly -”

“Wonder why that was,” said Harry darkly as Cedric Diggory walked past, surrounded by a large group of simpering girls, all of whom looked at Harry as though he were a particularly large Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Still - never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to this afternoon…”

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning “ignore them, ignore them, ignore them” under her breath, and he couldn't see why today should be any better.

When he and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges - then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY-
THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
“Like them, Potter?” said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. “And this isn't all they do - look!”

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:

POTTER STINKS!
The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.

“Oh very funny,” Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, “really witty.”

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either.

“Want one, Granger?” said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. “I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Some of the anger Harry had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. He had reached for his wand before he'd thought what he was doing. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

“Harry!” Hermione said warningly.

“Go on, then, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. “Moody's not here to look after you now - do it, if you've got the guts -”

For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.

“Funnunculus!” Harry yelled.

“Densaugeo!” screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles - Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up - Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

“Hermione!”

Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth - already larger than average - were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

“And what is all this noise about?” said a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, “Explain.”

“Potter attacked me, sir -”

“We attacked each other at the same time!” Harry shouted.

“- and he hit Goyle - look -”

Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.

“Hospital wing, Goyle,” Snape said calmly.

“Malfoy got Hermione!” Ron said. “Look!”

He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, “I see no difference.”

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however.

“Let's see,” he said, in his silkiest voice. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions.”

Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.

Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him.…If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse…he'd have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching.…

“Antidotes!” said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…”

Snape's eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison him. Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head - And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on Harry's thoughts.

It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

“Yes?” said Snape curtly.

“Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.” Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

“Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” said Snape coldly. “He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”

Colin went pink.

“Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him,” he said nervously. “All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs…”

Harry would have given anything he owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. He chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling.

“Very well, very well,” Snape snapped. “Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote.”

“Please, sir - he's got to take his things with him,” squeaked Cohn. “All the champions…”

“Very well!” said Snape. “Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!”

Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at him from every direction.

“It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?” said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. “Isn't it, though? You being champion?”

“Yeah, really amazing,” said Harry heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. “What do they want photos for, Colin?”

“The Daily Prophet, I think!”

“Great,” said Harry dully. “Exactly what I need. More publicity.”

“Good luck!” said Colin when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and entered.

He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes.

Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fheur were in conversation. Fheur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward.

“Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come…nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -”

“Wand weighing?” Harry repeated nervously.

“We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead,” said Bagman. “The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. “She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet.…”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry.

Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. “The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of color?”

“Certainly!” cried Bagman. “That is - if Harry has no objection?”

“Er -” said Harry.

“Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door.

“We don't want to be in there with all that noise,” she said. “Let's see…ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.”

It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her.

“Come along, dear - that's right - lovely,” said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. “Let's see now…”

She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing.

“You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

“A what?” said Harry.

Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly.

“Testing…my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.”

Harry hooked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment:

Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations -
“Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said, “So, Harry…what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Er -” said Harry again, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake he could make out a fresh sentence:

An ugly scar, souvenier of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes -
“Ignore the quill, Harry,” said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly Harry looked up at her instead. “Now - why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?”

“I didn't,” said Harry. “I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there.”

Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow.

“Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers hove a rebel.”

“But I didn't enter,” Harry repeated. “I don't know who -”

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” said Rita Skeeter. “Excited? Nervous?”

“I haven't really thought…yeah, nervous, I suppose,” said Harry. His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke.

“Champions have died in the past, haven't they?” said Rita Skeeter briskly. “Have you thought about that at all?”

“Well…they say it's going to be a lot safer this year,” said Harry.

The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating.

“Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?” said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. “How would you say that's affected you?”

“Er,” said Harry, yet again.

“Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -”

“I didn't enter,” said Harry, starting to feel irritated.

“Can you remember your parents at all?” said Rita Skeeter, talking over him.

“No,” said Harry.

“How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?”

Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and hooked down at words the quill had just written:

Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.
“I have NOT got tears in my eyes!” said Harry loudly.

Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard.

“Dumbledore!” cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight - but Harry noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag. “How are you?” she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference?”

“Enchantingly nasty,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.”

Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed.

“I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbhedore, and that many wizards in the street -”

“I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, “but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard.”

Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Cedric, hooking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ table and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

Harry hooked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander before - he was the wand-maker from whom Harry had bought his own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Olhivander and handed him her wand.

“Hmm…” he said.

He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…”

“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer's.”

So Fleur was part veela, thought Harry, making a mental note to tell Ron…then he remembered that Ron wasn't speaking to him.

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands…however, to each his own, and if this suits you…”

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, “Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

“Very well, very well, it's in fine working order,” said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?” said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition…You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning.

Harry hooked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“Hmm,” said Mr. Olhivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I…however…”

He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

“Yes…hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees…quite rigid…ten and a quarter inches…Avis!”

The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

“Good,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves…Mr. Potter.”

Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand.

“Aaaah, yes,” said Mr. Ohlivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.”

Harry could remember too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday.…

Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Mr. Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy a wand. Mr. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. Harry had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last he had found the one that suited him - this one, which was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand. “Curious,” he had said, “curious,” and not until Harry asked what was curious had Mr. Olhivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's.

Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help - rather as he couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did.

Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -”

Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat.

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”

“Er - yes, let's do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go.

Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn't there - he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of all the extra work on Summoning Charms that he had to do. Up in the dormitory, he came across Ron.

“You've had an owl,” said Ron brusquely the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry's pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for him there.

“Oh - right,” said Harry.

“And we've got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape's dungeon,” said Ron.

He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at Harry. For a moment, Harry considered going after him - he wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk to him or hit him, both seemed quite appealing - but the lure of Sirius's answer was too strong. Harry strode over to the barn owl, took the letter off its leg, and unrolled it.

Harry -
I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd ofNovember?
I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbkdore's nose.
Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd ofNovember as quickly as you can.
Sirius

哈利星期天早上醒来，花了好一阵子才想起他为什么那么悲伤、苦恼。昨夜的一幕一幕浮上心头。他坐起身，挂好床帘，准备找罗恩说话，逼他相信自己——却发现罗恩的床空着，显然他吃早餐去了。

　　哈利穿好衣服，沿着螺旋楼梯进了公共休息室。他刚出现，吃完早餐的人们又鼓起掌来。到大厅去，面对那群把他当作英雄的人？恐怕前景不太乐观，可是留在这？

　　格利威兄弟俩会把他逼到角落，强迫他加入他们。他下定决心走向肖像往，拉开它，爬了出去，发现自己面对着荷米恩。

　　“嗨，”她举起手里的用餐纸包好的吐司。“我给你拿了这个……想出去走走吗？”

　　“好主意。”哈利挺感激地。

　　他们下楼，没往大厅里看，快快走过人口大厅，很快就走在了通往小湖的草坪上。丹姆斯安的小船停在湖边，阴暗的倒影在水中。早晨挺冷的。他们边走边啃吐司。哈利告诉她昨晚他离开格林芬顿桌后发生的一切。发现荷米恩没问什么就相信他说的话，他大大松了口气。

　　他告诉她离开大厅之后在那个房间里的情景。她说，“我当然知道你自己没有报名，看你听到丹伯多宣市你名字后的神情就知道啦！可问题在于是谁把名字放进去的呢？哈利，莫迪说的对，我想没有任何学生可以做到那一点……他们骗不了高脚杯也骗不了丹伯多的——”

　　“你有没有看见罗恩？”哈利打断她。

　　她犹豫了一下。

　　“嗯，见到了，他在吃早餐。”

　　“他是不是还认为是我自己报名的？”

　　“不是，我想不会吧，不真的是。”她有些尴尬。

　　“不真的是，那是什么意思？”

　　“哈利，那还不明显吗？”她绝望了。“他是妒忌。”

　　“妒忌？”哈利觉得不可理喻。“妒忌什么？他想在全校人面前出丑？”

　　“哪，”荷米恩耐心地解释给他听，“你知道，总是你得到关注。

　　我知道这不是你的错。“见他愤怒地张开嘴，她赶快地加了句，”我知道你也不想，可是，呃，你知道，在家里罗恩要和他的兄弟们竞争。你是他最要好的朋友，你真的太出名了。每次大家注意你的时候，他总是悄悄地退到一边。他在忍受着，虽然他从没提过。这一次，我估计，他再也忍受不了。“

　　“很好，真是很好。”哈利痛苦地说，“你去告诉他，任何时候，只要他想，我都愿意跟他换，告诉他，我欢迎他来换……换人们对我前额疤痕的关注……”

　　荷米恩立刻说，“我什么都不跟他说。你自己去说，这是唯一的解决办法。”

　　“我可不会在他身边跑来跑去，好让他成熟起来。”哈利说得很大声，惊飞了附近一棵树上的几只猫头鹰。“可能要等我掉了脑袋他才会相信我并不喜欢那一切。”

　　“别说笑了。”荷米恩轻声说了一句，“一点都不好玩。”看来她很紧张。“哈利，我一直在想，你知道我们该做什么了吧？我们一回城堡就该做的事？”

　　“知道，狠狠踢罗恩一脚，把他踢到——”

　　“是写信给西里斯！你必须告诉他发生了什么。他叫你写信告诉霍格瓦彻里发生的一切。很可能他已经料到会发生这种事。我带了支羽毛笔和一些羊皮纸。”

　　“算了吧。”哈利看看四周，以免有人偷听。周围一片荒凉。

　　“只因为我疤痛，他就到乡下来。要是我告诉他有人帮我报了名参加三巫赛，他不马上冲进城堡来才怪。”

　　“他希望你告诉他，”荷米恩态度坚决。“不管怎样，他总会知道这件事的。”

　　“怎么知道？”

　　“哈利，这事是藏不住的。”荷米恩很严肃。“这个比赛很出名，你也很有名，如果说《先知日报》上没有关于你参赛的任何消息，那才奇怪。大半名人大全的书里早有你的大名了。你知道的。西里斯，我相信他更乐意从你这知道这个消息。”

　　“好吧，好吧，我给他写信。”哈利把最后一片吐司扔进湖里。

　　他们双双站在那儿，看着那片面包在水上漂了一阵子，被水里伸出的一只大触角卷进水底。他们回到城堡。

　　“我用谁的猫头鹰好呢？”上楼时哈利问。“他叫我不要再用海维了。”

　　“问问罗恩，可不可以借一下——”

　　“我不要向他借东西。”哈利断然拒绝。

　　“那好吧，借只学校的吧，大家都可以用。”

　　他们上了奥拉路。荷米恩给哈利一张羊皮纸，一只羽毛笔，一瓶墨水。哈利就靠着墙坐下开始写信。她则在长长的栖木周围逛，观察不同的猫头鹰。

　　“亲爱的西里斯你叫我写信告诉你霍格瓦彻里发生的一切。现在我来告诉你。

　　不知你听说过没有，今年将举行三巫赛。星期六晚上我被选中做第四个参赛选手。我不知道是谁把我的名字放进燃烧的高脚杯里，反正不是我自己。霍格瓦彻学校的另一个选手叫塞德里克。迪格瑞，来自海夫巴夫。

　　写到这，他停笔想了想。他很想告诉他，自昨晚以来他内心的巨大压力。可他又不知道该怎么表达，最后他蘸了蘸笔写道：祝你和乌德巴克一切顺利——波特。“

　　“写好了。”他站起来，掸掸袍子上的皮屑。这时，海维飞下来停在他肩上，伸出爪子。

　　“我不能用你。”哈利告诉她，望了望四周的校鹰说，“我必须用它们中的……”

　　海维大叫一声飞离哈利的肩，她飞得太突然了，爪子都划伤了他的肩。哈利把信绑在一只谷仓猫头鹰的腿上，她背对着他，不理他。谷仓猫头鹰飞走之后，哈利伸手抚摸她，可她狠狠地啄了哈利一下，就飞到他够不着的椽上去了。

　　“先是罗恩，后是你，”哈利恨恨地说，“这又不是我的错。”

　　要是哈利认为一旦大家习惯了他做选手之后形势就会好转的话，那他可就大错特错了。他一回去上课就免不了碰到其他人。显然同那伙格林芬顿一样，其他人也认为是哈利自己报名参赛的。与格林芬顿人不同的是，他们一点也不高兴。

　　平时海夫巴夫的学生同格林芬顿的学生相处得挺好的，可是现在，他们全都变得很冷漠，一节草药学课就说明了这一切。明摆着，海夫巴夫的学生觉得哈利抢走他们选手的风头。这可能是因为他们太少拿到什么荣誉的缘故，所以他们为塞德里克——这位在快迪斯比赛中打败格林芬顿为他们争得荣誉的人打抱不平。玛克米斯还有弗来里平时跟哈利相处得挺好的，现在也不跟他说话了。虽然他们还在同一个盘上玩跳跳球，虽然有时见哈利的跳跳球出来击中他的脸，他们也会发笑。罗恩也不跟哈利说话，荷米恩坐在他们中间，强迫他们说话。虽然两人像平常一样回答她，他们却是谁也不看谁。哈利觉得史伯特教授对他疏远了好多——可以理解，她是海夫巴夫的头领。

　　正常情况下，他盼望着上哈格力的课，但是要上魔法生物保护课也就意味着会见到史林德林的人。这是他做选手来与他们的第一次会面。

　　意料之中，马尔夫带着他常有的那副讥笑神情来到哈格力的小屋。

　　“嘿，看哪，选手来了。”他故意在哈利听得到的地方对克来伯和高尔说。“带了签名本没有啊？最好现在就要个签名。我担心他活不长了……一半的三巫赛选手都死了……你以为你能熬多久，波特？我猜，第一个任务开始十分钟不到你就玩蛋了。”

　　克来伯和高尔哄然大笑，他们在拍马尔夫的马屁。马尔夫不说了，因为哈格力从屋后转了出来，捧着一个摇摇欲坠由木箱组成的塔楼，每个木箱里装着一只大史库斯。令人恐惧的是，哈格力开始解释为什么那些史库斯会互相屠杀，因为他们被禁锢的精力实在太旺盛了。解决的办法是每个同学给每只史库斯绑上皮带，带他去散散步。这个计划的唯一好处就是它完全分散了马尔夫对哈利的注意力。

　　“带这个东西去散步？”他朝盒子里看，觉得挺恶心的。“那要把皮带绑在它的哪一部位呢？螫周围，尾部，还是吸盘上？”

　　“绑在中部。”哈格力边说边演示。“呃，可能要戴上龙皮手套，作为特别的预防措施。哈利——你过来帮我看着这只大的……

　　其实他的用意是想单独同哈利谈谈，等到其他人都带着史库斯走后，他很严肃地对哈利说，“哈利，那么，你是要作为学校的选手参赛了？”

　　“学校的选手之一。”哈利纠正他。

　　哈格力浓眉下的那双近视眼看来很担忧。“哈利，到底谁把你名字放进去的，有没有头绪？”

　　“你相信不是我干的？”听了哈格力的话，哈利有点艰难地流露出他对此的感激之情。

　　“我当然相信。”哈格力哼了一声。“你说不是你就不是你。我相信，丹伯多也相信，大家都相信。”

　　“我真想知道是谁干的。”哈利挺痛苦的。

　　两人望着草坪，全班都散开了，挺费劲地，史库斯们有三英尺长了。

　　强壮有力，不再是无色无壳的，长出了厚厚一层闪亮的灰色盔甲，它们长得像巨蝎，也像被拉长的螃蟹。可惜还是没头没眼的。

　　现在他们很健壮，几乎难以驾驭了。

　　“看来他们玩得还挺开心的，嗯？”哈格力挺快乐的。哈利以为他是说史库斯。他的同学们一定不开心，因为任何一只史库斯时刻都可能“呼”地一声跳开，一般一跳就是几码远。那时候，拉着它的人可就惨了，会被它拉得趴下，现在那边已经有几个人趴下了，死命挣扎着站起来。

　　“咳，哈利，我不知道。”哈格力突然叹了口气，担心地看着他。“学校的选手，怎么什么事都让你给碰上了呢？”

　　哈利没有回答，是啊，好像什么事都给他赶上了。多少如荷米恩在湖边散步时对他说的那样，据她所知，这就是为什么罗恩不再跟他说话的原因。

　　接下来在霍格瓦彻的日子，对哈利来说真是糟透了。以前他也经历过类似的情况。那是二年级的时候，在那几个月里学校里的大部分人都怀疑是他袭击同学。不过那时有罗恩在他身边支持他。可现在，他想，要是有罗恩这个朋友在身边支持他，他就能应付学校里其他所有的同学。但如果罗恩不想跟他说话，他也不会试图去劝服他跟他说话。尽管如此，他觉得很孤独，承受着四面八方投来的厌恶目光。

　　尽管他讨厌海夫巴夫班学生的态度，他还是能理解他们，毕竟他们有自己的选手要支持。而从史林德林班那伙人那除了恶意污辱外，他没指望过他们会给他什么。在他们中间，他很不受欢迎。因为他常常帮助格林芬顿在快迪斯比赛和馆际冠军杯中打败他们。他原指望罗尼克劳会像支持塞德里克那样支持他，可他错了。大部分罗尼克劳同学认为他为了使自己名声更响而不惜耍手段欺骗了燃烧的高脚杯，让它接受了他的名字。

　　事实上，塞德里克比他更看重选手这个身份。他长相英俊非凡：挺拔的鼻梁、一头黑发、灰色的眼睛。很难说那时候究竟是他还是维特。克伦更受仰慕。一次午餐时，哈利看到曾经狂热地找克伦签名的那群六年级女生求塞德里克在她们的书包上签名。

　　西里斯还没回信。海维拒绝他靠近。特洛雷尼教授更常说他的死期快到了。还有菲利特威克教授上的召唤术课他感觉越来越难。

　　他成绩太差，做些额外的家庭作业，他是除了尼维尔之外唯一要做额外功课的学生。

　　上完菲利特威克的课之后，荷米恩想安慰他说，“哈利，真的没那么困难的。你只是没有专心听而已。”她已经在所有课上引起别人的非议，被当成是吸引尘土板、废纸篓和疯子观察器。

　　“真想不通这是怎么回事？”哈利忧郁地说。一群嘻嘻哈哈的女生拥着塞德里克。迪格瑞走过他身边，个个拿怪异的眼神看他，好像他是只特大的史库斯。“算了，下午还得上药剂课。”

　　药剂课向来是令人恐惧的。尤其这些日子，课上事事对哈利来说都是折磨。要和史纳皮，还有那群史林德林的人在地下室里呆1个半小时，这是哈利能想象到的最令人不快的事了。因为他们所有人都变着法子要惩罚他这个胆敢做选手的人。上个星期五是在荷米恩在身边不停的“别理他们，别理他们，别理他们”的低语声中，他才勉强熬过来。看来今天是好不到哪去。

　　午饭后，他和荷米恩一起到了地下室，发现那群史林德林的家伙围在门外，个个都在衣袍前襟别了个大徽章，开始哈利以为他们戴的是S.P.E.W章。后来他看见上面用闪亮的红字写着同样的话，字在微暗的背衬之下闪闪发光。上面写着：支持塞德里克。迪格瑞——真正的霍格瓦彻选手！

　　“喜欢吗？波特。”见哈利走近，马尔夫大声问：“这还不全是呢，你看——”

　　他往胸膛按按那个章，上面的字消失了，出现了另一行发绿的字：波特恶臭熏天。

　　他们哄然大笑。个个都按住徽章。“波特恶臭熏天。”全都亮起来，哈利被绿光围绕着，面红耳赤。

　　“哦，很好玩哪。”荷米恩挖苦班西。帕金森和她那伙人。她们笑得比谁都大声，“挺聪明的。”

　　罗恩和迪恩还有西摩斯倚着墙站着，他没有笑，但也没有为哈利辩护。

　　“格林佐？要一个吗？”他递了一个给荷米恩。“我多的是！拿吧，但别碰到我的手，我刚洗过，你也知道我可不想让个混血儿弄脏我的手。”

　　哈利连日来受的气一下子涌上心头。他不知不觉拔出魔杖，周围的人吓得直往走廊后退。

　　“哈利！”荷米恩告诫他。

　　“波特，那就来吧。”马尔夫挺冷静，也抽出了魔杖。“现在莫迪不在这，他关照不了你。来啊，你有胆就上。”

　　瞬间，他们彼此对望一眼，同时出手。

　　“法南克鲁丝！”哈利喊道。

　　“登朔驹偶。”马尔夫尖叫。

　　两只魔杖飞到半空，从不同角度来回对台，火花四溅。哈利的魔杖击中高尔的脸，而马尔夫的击中了荷米恩。高尔大叫一声，双手捂住鼻子，他的鼻子流出一大难让人恶心的鼻涕。荷米恩吓哭了，捂着嘴呜咽。

　　“荷米恩！”罗恩跑进来看她怎么了。

　　哈利转身见到罗恩拿开荷米恩捂嘴的手。她那副样子不敢恭维。她的门牙本来就大了，现在更是以惊人的速度变长。她的门牙越来越长，看起来更像只海狸了，门牙长到下唇，向下巴延伸。感觉到这一变化，她吓坏了，发现恐惧的叫声。

　　“怎么这么吵？”一个死气沉沉的声音响起，史纳皮来了。

　　史林德林班的人抢着解释。史纳皮伸出一个黄手指，指着马尔夫，“你说。”

　　“老师，波利攻击我。”

　　“我们是同时进攻对方的！”哈利叫起来。

　　“他打中了高尔，您看。”

　　史纳皮看了高尔，他的脸跟家里那些书上画的毒菌一样。

　　“高尔，到医院去看看。”史纲皮冷静地吩咐。

　　“马尔夫击中了荷米恩！”罗恩说，“您看！”

　　他强迫荷米恩把牙给史纳皮看。她竭力用手捂住牙，但是很困难，因为它们已经长到衣领了。帕金森和其他女孩都笑弯了腰。他们在史纳皮背后对荷米恩指指点点。

　　史纳皮冷漠地看了眼荷米恩，说，“没什么不同的呀。”

　　荷米恩呜咽了一声，双眼充满了泪水。转身拔腿就跑，一直跑上走廊，消失在视野中。

　　哈利和罗恩同时朝史纳皮吼。他们的声音回荡在石厅里，震耳欲袭。太大声又大吵了，史纳皮没听清楚他们骂他什么，但他也听了个大概。

　　“让我想想，”他用最柔和的语调说，“罚50分。波特和威斯里各关禁闭一周。现在进去，否则再加一星期禁闭。”

　　哈利双耳轰鸣，这太不公平了，他很不得将史纳皮咒成污秽的碎片。他经过史纳皮和罗恩走到地牢后面，把书包重重地往桌上一扔。罗恩也气得全身发抖。那一瞬，感觉像回到了从前。可罗恩又转身走了，和迪恩、西摩斯他们坐一块，留下哈利孤零零地坐在那。地下室另一边，马尔夫背对着马尔夫摁了摁他的徽章，得意的笑。“波特恶臭熏天”的光再次亮起。

　　开始上课了，哈利坐在那瞪着马尔夫，想象他将遇到的种种恐怖事物。要是他会施克鲁希尔特斯咒语就好了。他一定会把马尔夫变成那只蜘蛛，四脚朝天，挣扎扭动着。

　　“解毒剂！”史纳皮环视大家，冷酷的黑眼睛闪着令人不快的光芒。“你们应该都准备好秘方了吧。希望你们仔细泡制，之后我们会选个人来试试。”

　　史纳皮与哈利对视，哈利知道等待他的是什么了。史纳皮想毒死他。哈利想象他举起大汽锅，冲到教室前端，往史纳皮那油腻腻的头上浇。

　　敲门声打断了哈利的思绪。

　　是柯林。他挤进教室，冲哈利笑笑，朝立在教室前端的马尔夫走去。

　　“有事吗？”史纳皮问了句。

　　“老师，我要带哈利波特上楼去。”

　　史纳皮鹰钩鼻向下，瞪着柯林，笑容渐渐消失。

　　“波特还要泡制半小时的药剂，”史纳皮冷冷地说。“等上完课他会上楼去的。”

　　柯林脸红了。

　　“老——老师，是巴格蒙先生找他的，”他紧张地说，“所有的选手都得去，我想他们要照相……”

　　要是他能阻止柯林说出这最后几个字的话，哈利真愿意把他们拥有的一切都给他。他偶尔瞟瞟罗恩，可罗恩在专注地盯着天花板。

　　“行了，行了。”史纳皮打断他，“波特，把东西留在这，我希望你过后下来检测你的解毒剂。”

　　“老师——他必须把东西都带走。”柯林小声地说，“所有的选手——”

　　“够了！”史纳皮叫道。“波特，拿上书包，不要让我再看到你。”

　　波特把包往肩上一甩，站起身朝门走去。他穿过史林德林的课桌时，“波特恶臭熏天”发出的光从四面八方向他射来。

　　哈利一关上门，柯林就开始说话，“太令人惊讶了，哈利不是吗？你是选手耶！”

　　“是啊，真的太令人惊奇了。”哈利沉重地说。他们沿阶梯向入口大厅走去。“柯林，他们干嘛要照片？”

　　“我想是给《先知日报》吧。”

　　“哦。”哈利闷闷不乐，“我们真的需要更多的公众注意力？”

　　“祝你好运！”到了右边房间柯林向他告别，哈利敲敲门，走了进去。

　　这个教室挺小，大部分的课桌被移到后面中间空出一大块。他们三个早就坐在那了。一块长天鹅绒盖住了黑板，铺盖着天鹅绒的课桌后放着5把椅子。露得。巴格蒙坐在其中一把上，在和一个穿紫红施子的巫师说话。哈利以前从没见过那个巫师。

　　维特。克伦跟平时一样，神情忧郁地呆在角落，不与任何人说话。塞德里克和芙璐在聊天。哈利从来没见过芙璐这么高兴。她时不时甩一下头，好用头发引人注目。一个挺着大肚子的男人举着一个远在冒着轻烟的黑色大相机，拿眼角膘她。

　　巴格蒙突然认出哈利，很快站起来，跳向前，“哈，他来啦！

　　四号选手！进来，哈利，进来，没什么好怕的，一个魔杖测量典礼而已，其他裁判很快就到了。“

　　“魔杖测量？”哈利紧张了，重复了一遍。

　　“我们必须检查一下，确保你们的魔杖一切正常，没有毛病。

　　要知道，它们可是你们完成面临的任务的重要工具。“巴格蒙说，”专家现在在楼上，和丹伯多一起。我们还要照张像。这位是理特。

　　史姬特。“他加了一句，朝紫袍巫师作了个手势，”她为《先知日报》写篇有关大赛的小报道。“

　　“可能不太小，霍得。”理特。史姬特将视线停留在哈利身上。

　　她的头发精心梳理成僵硬的卷曲，跟她的大下巴相比，显得特别古怪。她戴了副镶珠宝的眼镜。指甲有两寸长，除了深红的指甲油。肥胖的手紧抓着她的鳄鱼皮包。

　　“在开始之前，我想可不可以和哈利先聊几句呢？”她问巴格蒙，但还是盯着哈利看。“最年轻的选手，你知道……增添些色彩。”

　　“当然可以！”巴格蒙说，“哈利不反对吧？”

　　“这——”哈利犹豫了。

　　“亲爱的，”转眼之前，理特。史姬特猩红的手已经抓住哈利的手臂——她的力气大得惊人——把他又带到房间外面。她打开最近的一间房门。

　　“我们不想呆在那么吵的地方。”她说，“让我看看，啊，对了，这里还不错，温暖又舒适。”

　　可这是放扫帚的壁橱。哈利瞪着她看。

　　“来吧，亲爱的，没关系的，”理特。史姬特又叫了。她自己坐在一个倒置的篮子上，摇摇晃晃地。她把哈利推进壁橱，关上门，他们沉浸在黑暗之中。“现在看看……”

　　她打开鳄鱼皮包，拉出一小把蜡烛，手轻轻一挥把它们点亮，停留在半空中，这样一来，他们干活就看得清了。

　　“哈利，你不介意我用速记笔吧？那样我就可以正常自如地跟你说话了。”

　　“用什么？”

　　她笑得更开心了。哈利数出她有三只金牙。她又把手伸进皮包，掏出一支绿色的羽毛笔，一卷羊皮纸，她把羊皮纸摊开摆在一个木箱上。其实木箱是史科特太太的多功能魔力除污器。她把笔尖放进嘴里，像吃什么美味一样吮了一会，再把它竖