Chapter 28 The Madness Of Mr Crouch

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery after breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr. Crouch lately. They used Hedwig, because it had been so long since she'd had a job. When they had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, they proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks.

The house-elves gave them a very cheery welcome, bowing and curtsying and bustling around making tea again. Dobby was ecstatic about his present.

“Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!” he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.

“You saved my life with that gillyweed, Dobby, you really did,” said Harry.

“No chance of more of those eclairs, is there?” said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.

“You've just had breakfast!” said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of eclairs was already zooming toward them, supported by four elves.

“We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles,” Harry muttered.

“Good idea,” said Ron. “Give Pig something to do. You couldn't give us a bit of extra food, could you?” he said to the surrounding elves, and they bowed delightedly and hurried off to get some more.

“Dobby, where's Winky?” said Hermione, who was looking around.

“Winky is over there by the fire, miss,” said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione as she spotted Winky.

Harry looked over at the fireplace too. Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccup.

“Winky is getting through six bottles a day now,” Dobby whispered to Harry.

“Well, it's not strong, that stuff,” Harry said.

But Dobby shook his head. “'Tis strong for a house-elf, sir,” he said.

Winky hiccuped again. The elves who had brought the eclairs gave her disapproving looks as they returned to work.

“Winky is pining, Harry Potter,” Dobby whispered sadly. “Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr. Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now.”

“Hey, Winky,” said Harry, struck by a sudden inspiration, walking over to her, and bending down, “you don't know what Mr. Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he's stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament.”

Winky's eyes flickered. Her enormous pupils focused on Harry. She swayed slightly again and then said, “M - Master is stopped - hic - coming?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “we haven't seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet's saying he's ill.”

Winky swayed some more, staring blurrily at Harry.

“Master - hic - ill?”

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

“But we're not sure if that's true,” said Hermione quickly.

“Master is needing his - hic - Winky!” whimpered the elf. “Master cannot - hic - manage - hic - all by himself.…”

“Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky,” Hermione said severely.

“Winky - hic - is not only - hic - doing housework for Mr. Crouch!” Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. “Master is - hic - trusting Winky with - hic - the most important - hic - the most secret…”

“What?” said Harry.

But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more butterbeer down herself.

“Winky keeps - hic - her master's secrets,” she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. “You is - hic - nosing, you is.”

“Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!” said Dobby angrily. “Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!”

“He is nosing - hic - into my master's - hic - private and secret - hic - Winky is a good house-elf - hic - Winky keeps her silence - hic - people trying to - hic - pry and poke - hic -”

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

“We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss!” squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. “We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss!”

“She's unhappy!” said Hermione, exasperated. “Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?”

“Begging your pardon, miss,” said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, “but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served.”

“Oh for heavens sake!” Hermione cried. “Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told - look at Dobby!”

“Miss will please keep Dobby out of this,” Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

“We has your extra food!” squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into Harry's arms. “Good-bye!”

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of their backs.

“Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!” Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

“You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?” said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them. “They won't want us visiting them now! We could've tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!”

“Oh as if you care about that!” scoffed Hermione. “You only like coming down here for the food!”

It was an irritable sort of day after that. Harry got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that he took Sirius's food up to the Owlery that evening on his own.

Pigwidgeon was much too small to carry an entire ham up to the mountain by himself, so Harry enlisted the help of two school screech owls as well. When they had set off into the dusk, looking extremely odd carrying the large package between them. Harry leaned on the windowsill, looking out at the grounds, at the dark, rustling treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the rippling sails of the Durmstrang ship. An eagle owl flew through the coil of smoke rising from Hagrid's chimney; it soared toward the castle, around the Owlery, and out of sight. Looking down, Harry saw Hagrid digging energetically in front of his cabin. Harry wondered what he was doing; it looked as though he were making a new vegetable patch. As he watched, Madame Maxime emerged from the Beauxbatons carriage and walked over to Hagrid. She appeared to be trying to engage him in conversation. Hagrid leaned upon his spade, but did not seem keen to prolong their talk, because Madame Maxime returned to the carriage shortly afterward.

Unwilling to go back to Gryffindor Tower and listen to Ron and Hermione snarling at each other, Harry watched Hagrid digging until the darkness swallowed him and the owls around Harry began to awake, swooshing past him into the night.

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By breakfast the next day Ron's and Hermione's bad moods had burnt out, and to Harry's relief, Ron's dark predictions that the house-elves would send substandard food up to the Gryffindor table because Hermione had insulted them proved false; the bacon, eggs, and kippers were quite as good as usual.

When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something.

“Percy won't've had time to answer yet,” said Ron. “We only sent Hedwig yesterday.”

“No, it's not that,” said Hermione. “I've taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins.”

“Good thinking!” said Harry, also looking up at the owls. “Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck -”

A gray owl was soaring down toward Hermione.

“It hasn't got a newspaper, though,” she said, looking disappointed. “It's -”

But to her bewilderment, the gray owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl, and a tawny.

“How many subscriptions did you take out?” said Harry, seizing Hermione's goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.

“What on earth - ?” Hermione said, taking the letter from the gray owl, opening it, and starting to read. “Oh really!” she sputtered, going rather red.

“What's up?” said Ron.

“It's - oh how ridiculous -”

She thrust the letter at Harry, who saw that it was not handwritten, but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet.

YOU ARE A WICKED GIRL. HARRY POTTER DESERVES
BETTER. GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM MUGGLE.
“They're all like it!” said Hermione desperately, opening one letter after another. “'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you.…’ ‘You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn.…’ Ouch!”

She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils.

“Undiluted bubotuber pus!” said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

“Ow!” said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to rub the pus off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she were wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves.

“You'd better get up to the hospital wing,” said Harry as the owls around Hermione took flight. “We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone.…”

“I warned her!” said Ron as Hermione hurried out of the Great Hall, cradling her hands. “I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one…” He read out one of the letters Hermione had left behind: “I read In Witch Weekly about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.’ Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself.”

Hermione didn't turn up for Herbology. As Harry and Ron left the greenhouse for their Care of Magical Creatures class, they saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle descending the stone steps of the castle. Pansy Parkinson was whispering and giggling behind them with her gang of Slytherin girls. Catching sight of Harry, Pansy called, “Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?”

Harry ignored her; he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much trouble the Witch Weekly article had caused.

Hagrid, who had told them last lesson that they had finished with unicorns, was waiting for them outside his cabin with a fresh supply of open crates at his feet. Harry's heart sank at the sight of the crates - surely not another skrewt hatching? - but when he got near enough to see inside, he found himself looking at a number of flurry black creatures with long snouts. Their front paws were curiously flat, like spades, and they were blinking up at the class, looking politely puzzled at all the attention.

“These're nifflers,” said Hagrid, when the class had gathered around. “Yeh find ‘em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff.…There yeh go, look.”

One of the nifflers had suddenly leapt up and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She shrieked and jumped backward.

“Useful little treasure detectors,” said Hagrid happily. “Thought we'd have some fun with ‘em today. See over there?” He pointed at the large patch of freshly turned earth Harry had watched him digging from the Owlery window. “I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up most. Jus’ take off all yer valuables, an’ choose a niffler, an get ready ter set ‘em loose.”

Harry took off his watch, which he was only wearing out of habit, as it didn't work anymore, and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he picked up a niffler. It put its long snout in Harry's ear and sniffed enthusiastically. It was really quite cuddly.

“Hang on,” said Hagrid, looking down into the crate, “there's a spare niffler here…who's missin? Where's Hermione?”

“She had to go to the hospital wing,” said Ron.

“We'll explain later,” Harry muttered; Pansy Parkinson was listening.

It was easily the most fun they had ever had in Care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dived in and out of the patch of earth as though it were water, each scurrying back to the student who had released it and spitting gold into their hands. Ron's was particularly efficient; it had soon filled his lap with coins.

“Can you buy these as pets, Hagrid?” he asked excitedly as his niffler dived back into the soil, splattering his robes.

“Yer mum wouldn’ be happy, Ron,” said Hagrid, grinning. “They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot, now,” he added, pacing around the patch of earth while the nifflers continued to dive. “I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh there y'are, Hermione!”

Hermione was walking toward them across the lawn. Her hands were very heavily bandaged and she looked miserable. Pansy Parkinson was watching her beadily.

“Well, let's check how yeh've done!” said Hagrid. “Count yer coins! An’ there's no point tryin’ ter steal any, Goyle,” he added, his beetle-black eyes narrowed. “It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours.”

Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeyduke's chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione stayed behind to help Hagrid put the nifflers back in their boxes. Harry noticed Madame Maxime watching them out other carriage window.

“What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione?” said Hagrid, looking concerned.

Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus.

“Aaah, don’ worry,” said Hagrid gently, looking down at her. “I got some o’ those letters an all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou me mum. ‘Yeh're a monster an yeh should be put down.’ ‘Yer mother killed innocent people an if you had any decency you d jump in a lake.'”

“No!” said Hermione, looking shocked.

“Yeah,” said Hagrid, heaving the niffler crates over by his cabin wall. “They're jus’ nutters, Hermione. Don’ open ‘em if yeh get any more. Chuck ‘em straigh’ in the fire.”

“You missed a really good lesson,” Harry told Hermione as they headed back toward the castle. “They're good, nifflers, aren't they, Ron?”

Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.

“What's the matter?” said Harry. “Wrong flavor?”

“No,” said Ron shortly. “Why didn't you tell me about the gold?”

“What gold?” said Harry.

“The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup,” said Ron. “The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?”

Harry had to think for a moment before he realized what Ron was talking about.

“Oh…” he said, the memory coming back to him at last. “I dunno…I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?”

They climbed the steps into the entrance hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.

“Must be nice,” Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. “To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing.”

“Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!” said Harry impatiently. “We all did, remember?”

“I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes,” Ron muttered. “I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas.”

“Forget it, all right?” said Harry.

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, “I hate being poor.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Neither of them really knew what to say.

“It's rubbish,” said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. “I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler.”

“Well, we know what to get you next Christmas,” said Hermione brightly. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, “Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus.” Hermione was having a lot of difficulty managing her knife and fork, her fingers were so stiff and swollen. “I hate that Skeeter woman!” she burst out savagely. “I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!”

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Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week, and although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those people who didn't read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Harry-Krum-Hermione triangle now. Harry was getting sick of telling people that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend.

“It'll die down, though,” he told Hermione, “if we just ignore it.…People got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time.

“I want to know how she's listening into private conversations when she's supposed to be banned from the grounds!” said Hermione angrily.

Hermione hung back in their next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody something. The rest of the class was very eager to leave; Moody had given them such a rigorous test of hex-deflection that many of them were nursing small injuries. Harry had such a bad case of Twitchy Ears, he had to hold his hands clamped over them as he walked away from the class.

“Well, Rita's definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!” Hermione panted five minutes later, catching up with Harry and Ron in the entrance hall and pulling Harry's hand away from one of his wiggling ears so that he could hear her. “Moody says he didn't see her anywhere near the judges’ table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!”

“Hermione, is there any point in telling you to drop this?” said Ron.

“No!” said Hermione stubbornly. “I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! And how she found out about Hagrid's mum!”

“Maybe she had you bugged,” said Harry.

“Bugged?” said Ron blankly. “What…put fleas on her or something?”

Harry started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment. Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted them.

“Aren't you two ever going to read Hogwarts, A History”

“What's the point?” said Ron. “You know it by heart, we can just ask you.”

“All those substitutes for magic Muggles use - electricity, computers, and radar, and all those things - they all go haywire around Hogwarts, there's too much magic in the air. No, Rita's using magic to eavesdrop, she must be.…If I could just find out what it is…ooh, if it's illegal, I'll have her…”

“Haven't we got enough to worry about?” Ron asked her. “Do we have to start a vendetta against Rita Skeeter as well?”

“I'm not asking you to help!” Hermione snapped. “I'll do it on my own!”

She marched back up the marble staircase without a backward glance. Harry was quite sure she was going to the library.

“What's the betting she comes back with a box of / Hate Rita Skeeter badges?” said Ron.

Hermione, however, did not ask Harry and Ron to help her pursue vengeance against Rita Skeeter, for which they were both grateful, because their workload was mounting ever higher in the days before the Easter holidays. Harry frankly marveled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do. He was working flat-out just to get through all their homework, though he made a point of sending regular food packages up to the cave in the mountain for Sirius; after last summer, Harry had not forgotten what it felt like to be continually hungry. He enclosed notes to Sirius, telling him that nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and that they were still waiting for an answer from Percy.

Hedwig didn't return until the end of the Easter holidays. Percy's letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs. Weasley had sent. Both Harry's and Ron's were the size of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee. Hermione's, however, was smaller than a chicken egg. Her face fell when she saw it.

“Your mum doesn't read Witch Weekly, by any chance, does she, Ron?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” said Ron, whose mouth was full of toffee. “Gets it for the recipes.”

Hermione looked sadly at her tiny egg.

“Don't you want to see what Percy's written?” Harry asked her hastily.

Percy's letter was short and irritated.

As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr. Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instructions. No, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior's handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumors. Please don't bother me again unless it's something important. Happy Easter.
The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but he still didn't know what he would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.

“You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o'clock. Potter,” she told him. “Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.”

So at half past eight that night. Harry left Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

“What d'you reckon it's going to be?” he asked Harry as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. “Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we've got to find treasure.”

“That wouldn't be too bad,” said Harry, thinking that he would simply ask Hagrid for a niffler to do the job for him.

They walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turned through a gap in the stands, and walked out onto the field.

“What've they done to it?” Cedric said indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it that twisted and crisscrossed in every direction.

“They're hedges!” said Harry, bending to examine the nearest one.

“Hello there!” called a cheery voice.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Fleur beamed at Harry as he came nearer. Her attitude toward him had changed completely since he had saved her sister from the lake.

“Well, what d'you think?” said Bagman happily as Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. “Growing nicely, aren't they? Give them a month and Hagrid'll have them twenty feet high. Don't worry,” he added, grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry's and Cedric's faces, “you'll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we're making here?”

No one spoke for a moment. Then -

“Maze,” grunted Krum.

“That's right!” said Bagman. “A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

“We seemply ‘ave to get through the maze?” said Fleur.

“There will be obstacles,” said Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures…then there will be spells that must be broken…all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze.” Bagman grinned at Harry and Cedric. “Then Mr. Krum will enter…then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all. However, he nodded politely like the other champions.

“Very well…if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall we, it's a bit chilly.…”

Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help him again, but just then, Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Could I haff a vord?”

“Yeah, all right,” said Harry, slightly surprised.

“Vill you valk vith me?”

“Okay,” said Harry curiously.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed.

“I'll wait for you. Harry, shall I?”

“No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman,” said Harry, suppressing a smile, “I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks.”

Harry and Krum left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.

“What're we going this way for?” said Harry as they passed Hagrid's cabin and the illuminated Beauxbatons carriage.

“Don't vont to be overheard,” said Krum shortly.

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry.

“I vant to know,” he said, glowering, “vot there is between you and Hermy-own-ninny.”

Harry, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.

“Nothing,” he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated. “We're friends. She's not my girlfriend and she never has been. It's just that Skeeter woman making things up.”

“Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,” said Krum, looking suspiciously at Harry.

“Yeah,” said Harry, “because were friends.”

He couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he. Harry, was an equal - a real rival -

“You haff never…you haff not…”

“No,” said Harry very firmly.

Krum looked slightly happier. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, then said, “You fly very veil. I vos votching at the first task.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning broadly and suddenly feeling much taller himself. “I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint, you really -”

But something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Harry, who had some experience of the sort of thing that lurked in the forest, instinctively grabbed Krum's arm and pulled him around.

“Vot is it?”

Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he'd seen movement. He slipped his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand.

Suddenly a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn't recognize him…then he realized it was Mr. Crouch.

He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion. His neat hair and mustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see. He reminded Harry vividly of an old tramp he had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys. That man too had been conversing wildly with thin air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley's hand and pulled him across the road to avoid him; Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would like to do with beggars and vagrants.

“Vosn't he a judge?” said Krum, staring at Mr. Crouch. “Isn't he vith your Ministry?”

Harry nodded, hesitated for a moment, then walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch, who did not look at him, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.

“…and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve.…”

“Mr. Crouch?” said Harry cautiously.

“…and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen…do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will…”

Mr. Crouch's eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.

“Mr. Crouch?” Harry said loudly. “Are you all right?”

Crouch's eyes were rolling in his head. Harry looked around at Krum, who had followed him into the trees, and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.

“Vot is wrong with him?”

“No idea,” Harry muttered. “Listen, you'd better go and get someone -”

“Dumbledore!” gasped Mr. Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Harry's robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry's head. “I need…see…Dumbledore.…”

“Okay,” said Harry, “if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the-”

“I've done…stupid…thing…” Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. “Must…tell…Dumbledore…”

“Get up, Mr. Crouch,” said Harry loudly and clearly. “Get up, I'll take you to Dumbledore!”

Mr., Crouch's eyes rolled forward onto Harry.

“Who…you?” he whispered.

“I'm a student at the school,” said Harry, looking around at Krum for some help, but Krum was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.

“You're not…his?” whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.

“No,” said Harry, without the faintest idea what Crouch was talking about.

“Dumbledore's?”

“That's right,” said Harry.

Crouch was pulling him closer; Harry tried to loosen Crouch's grip on his robes, but it was too powerful.

“Warn…Dumbledore…”

“I'll get Dumbledore if you let go of me,” said Harry. “Just let go, Mr. Crouch, and I'll get him.…”

“Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr. and Mrs. Fudge.”

Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completely unaware that Harry was there, which surprised Harry so much he didn't notice that Crouch had released him.

“Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.s, most satisfactory, yes, thank you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the Andorran Minister of Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response.…”

“You stay here with him!” Harry said to Krum. “I'll get Dumbledore, I'll be quicker, I know where his office is -”

“He is mad,” said Krum doubtfully, staring down at Crouch, who was still gabbling to the tree, apparently convinced it was Percy.

“Just stay with him,” said Harry, starting to get up, but his movement seemed to trigger another abrupt change in Mr. Crouch, who seized him hard around the knees and pulled Harry back to the ground.

“Don't…leave…me!” he whispered, his eyes bulging again. “I…escaped…must warn…must tell…see Dumbledore…my fault…all my fault…Bertha…dead…all my fault…my son…my fault…tell Dumbledore …Harry Potter…the Dark Lord…stronger…Harry Potter…”

“I'll get Dumbledore if you let me go, Mr. Crouch!” said Harry. He looked furiously around at Krum. “Help me, will you?”

Looking extremely apprehensive, Krum moved forward and squatted down next to Mr. Crouch.

“Just keep him here,” said Harry, pulling himself free of Mr. Crouch. “I'll be back with Dumbledore.”

“Hurry, von't you?” Krum called after him as Harry sprinted away from the forest and up through the dark grounds. They were deserted; Bagman, Cedric, and Fleur had disappeared. Harry tore up the stone steps, through the oak front doors, and off up the marble staircase, toward the second floor.

Five minutes later he was hurtling toward a stone gargoyle standing halfway along an empty corridor.

“Sher - sherbet lemon!” he panted at it.

This was the password to the hidden staircase to Dumbledore's office - or at least, it had been two years ago. The password had evidently changed, however, for the stone gargoyle did not spring to life and jump aside, but stood frozen, glaring at Harry malevolently.

“Move!” Harry shouted at it. “C'mon!”

But nothing at Hogwarts had ever moved just because he shouted at it; he knew it was no good. He looked up and down the dark corridor. Perhaps Dumbledore was in the staffroom? He started running as fast as he could toward the staircase -

“POTTER!”

Harry skidded to a halt and looked around. Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him even as he beckoned Harry back toward him.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

“I need to see Professor Dumbledore!” said Harry, running back up the corridor and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape instead. “It's Mr. Crouch…he's just turned up…he's in the forest…he's asking -”

“What is this rubbish?” said Snape, his black eyes glittering. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Crouch!” Harry shouted. “From the Ministry! He's ill or something - he's in the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give me the password up to -”

“The headmaster is busy. Potter,” said Snape, his thin mouth curling into an unpleasant smile.

“I've got to tell Dumbledore!” Harry yelled.

“Didn't you hear me. Potter?”

Harry could tell Snape was thoroughly enjoying himself, denying Harry the thing he wanted when he was so panicky.

“Look,” said Harry angrily, “Crouch isn't right - he's - he's out of his mind - he says he wants to warn -”

The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes and a mildly curious expression. “Is there a problem?” he said, looking between Harry and Snape.

“Professor!” Harry said, sidestepping Snape before Snape could speak, “Mr. Crouch is here - he's down in the forest, he wants to speak to you!”

Harry expected Dumbledore to ask questions, but to his relief, Dumbledore did nothing of the sort.

“Lead the way,” he said promptly, and he swept off along the corridor behind Harry, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

“What did Mr. Crouch say. Harry?” said Dumbledore as they walked swiftly down the marble staircase.

“Said he wants to warn you…said he's done something terrible…he mentioned his son…and Bertha Jorkins…and - and Voldemort…something about Voldemort getting stronger.…”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore, and he quickened his pace as they hurried out into the pitch-darkness.

“He's not acting normally,” Harry said, hurrying along beside Dumbledore. “He doesn't seem to know where he is. He keeps talking like he thinks Percy Weasley's there, and then he changes, and says he needs to see you.…I left him with Viktor Krum.”

“You did?” said Dumbledore sharply, and he began to take longer strides still, so that Harry was running to keep up. “Do you know if anybody else saw Mr. Crouch?”

“No,” said Harry. “Krum and I were talking, Mr. Bagman had just finished telling us about the third task, we stayed behind, and then we saw Mr. Crouch coming out of the forest -”

“Where are they?” said Dumbledore as the Beauxbatons carriage emerged from the darkness.

“Over here,” said Harry, moving in front of Dumbledore, leading the way through the trees. He couldn't hear Crouch's voice anymore, but he knew where he was going; it hadn't been much past the Beauxbatons carriage…somewhere around here.…

“Viktor?” Harry shouted.

No one answered.

“They were here,” Harry said to Dumbledore. “They were definitely somewhere around here.…”

“Lumos,” Dumbledore said, lighting his wand and holding it up.

Its narrow beam traveled from black trunk to black trunk, illuminating the ground. And then it fell upon a pair of feet.

Harry and Dumbledore hurried forward. Krum was sprawled on the forest floor. He seemed to be unconscious. There was no sign at all of Mr. Crouch. Dumbledore bent over Krum and gently lifted one of his eyelids.

“Stunned,” he said softly. His half-moon glasses glittered in the wandlight as he peered around at the surrounding trees.

“Should I go and get someone?” said Harry. “Madam Pomfrey?”

“No,” said Dumbledore swiftly. “Stay here.”

He raised his wand into the air and pointed it in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. Harry saw something silvery dart out of it and streak away through the trees like a ghostly bird. Then Dumbledore bent over Krum again, pointed his wand at him, and muttered, “Ennervate.”

Krum opened his eyes. He looked dazed. When he saw Dumbledore, he tried to sit up, but Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and made him lie still.

“He attacked me!” Krum muttered, putting a hand up to his head. “The old madman attacked me! I vos looking around to see vare Potter had gone and he attacked from behind!”

“Lie still for a moment,” Dumbledore said.

The sound of thunderous footfalls reached them, and Hagrid came panting into sight with Fang at his heels. He was carrying his crossbow.

“Professor Dumbledore!” he said, his eyes widening. “Harry - what the -?”

“Hagrid, I need you to fetch Professor Karkaroff,” said Dumbledore. “His student has been attacked. When you've done that, kindly alert Professor Moody -”

“No need, Dumbledore,” said a wheezy growl. “I'm here.”

Moody was limping toward them, leaning on his staff, his wand lit.

“Damn leg,” he said furiously. “Would've been here quicker…what's happened? Snape said something about Crouch -”

“Crouch?” said Hagrid blankly.

“Karkaroff, please, Hagrid!” said Dumbledore sharply.

“Oh yeah…right y'are, Professor…” said Hagrid, and he turned and disappeared into the dark trees, Fang trotting after him.

“I don't know where Barty Crouch is,” Dumbledore told Moody, “but it is essential that we find him.”

“I'm onto it,” growled Moody, and he pulled out his wand and limped off into the forest.

Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke again until they heard the unmistakable sounds of Hagrid and Fang returning. Karkaroff was hurrying along behind them. He was wearing his sleek silver furs, and he looked pale and agitated.

“What is this?” he cried when he saw Krum on the ground and Dumbledore and Harry beside him. “What's going on?”

“I vos attacked!” said Krum, sitting up now and rubbing his head. “Mr. Crouch or votever his name -”

“Crouch attacked you? Crouch attacked you? The Triwizard judge?”

“Igor,” Dumbledore began, but Karkaroff had drawn himself up, clutching his furs around him, looking livid.

“Treachery!” he bellowed, pointing at Dumbledore. “It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretenses, Dumbledore! This is not an equal competition! First you sneak Potter into the tournament, though he is underage! Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put my champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in this whole affair, and you, Dumbledore, you, with your talk of closer international wizarding links, of rebuilding old ties, of forgetting old differences - here's what I think of you!”

Karkaroff spat onto the ground at Dumbledore's feet. In one swift movement, Hagrid seized the front of Karkaroff's furs, lifted him into the air, and slammed him against a nearby tree.

“Apologize!” Hagrid snarled as Karkaroff gasped for breath, Hagrid's massive fist at his throat, his feet dangling in midair.

“Hagrid, no!” Dumbledore shouted, his eyes flashing.

Hagrid removed the hand pinning Karkaroff to the tree, and Karkaroff slid all the way down the trunk and slumped in a huddle at its roots; a few twigs and leaves showered down upon his head.

“Kindly escort Harry back up to the castle, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply.

Breathing heavily, Hagrid gave Karkaroff a glowering look.

“Maybe I'd better stay here. Headmaster.…”

“You will take Harry back to school, Hagrid,” Dumbledore repeated firmly. “Take him right up to Gryffindor Tower. And Harry - I want you to stay there. Anything you might want to do - any owls you might want to send - they can wait until morning, do you understand me?”

“Er - yes,” said Harry, staring at him. How had Dumbledore known that, at that very moment, he had been thinking about sending Pigwidgeon straight to Sirius, to tell him what had happened?

“I'll leave Fang with yeh. Headmaster,” Hagrid said, staring menacingly at Karkaroff, who was still sprawled at the foot of the tree, tangled in furs and tree roots. “Stay, Fang. C'mon, Harry.”

They marched in silence past the Beauxbatons carriage and up toward the castle.

“How dare he,” Hagrid growled as they strode past the lake. “How dare he accuse Dumbledore. Like Dumbledore'd do anythin’ like that. Like Dumbledore wanted you in the tournament in the firs’ place. Worried! I dunno when I seen Dumbledore more worried than he's bin lately. An’ you!” Hagrid suddenly said angrily to Harry, who looked up at him, taken aback. “What were yeh doin', wanderin’ off with ruddy Krum? He's from Durmstrang, Harry! Coulda jinxed yeh right there, couldn he? Hasn’ Moody taught yeh nothin'? ‘Magine lettin him lure yeh off on yer own -”

“Krum's all right!” said Harry as they climbed the steps into the entrance hall. “He wasn't trying to jinx me, he just wanted to talk about Hermione -”

“I'll be havin’ a few words with her, an’ all,” said Hagrid grimly, stomping up the stairs. “The less you lot ‘ave ter do with these foreigners, the happier yeh'll be. Yeh can trust any of ‘em.”

“You were getting on all right with Madame Maxime,” Harry said, annoyed.

“Don’ you talk ter me abou’ her!” said Hagrid, and he looked quite frightening for a moment. “I've got her number now! Tryin’ ter get back in me good books, tryin’ ter get me ter tell her what's comin in the third task. Ha! You can’ trust any of'em!”

Hagrid was in such a bad mood, Harry was quite glad to say good-bye to him in front of the Fat Lady. He clambered through the portrait hole into the common room and hurried straight for the corner where Ron and Hermione were sitting, to tell them what had happened.

星期天早上哈利、罗恩和荷米恩吃完早餐后就去了奥里路，送封信给伯希，问他最近有没有看到克劳斯先生，因为西里斯曾叫他们问。他们派海维去送信，因为她已经很久没事干了。看着她消失在视野后，他们才下厨房去给多比一双新短袜。

　　房子里的精灵们非常热烈地欢迎他们，又是鞠躬又是行屈膝礼，在他们周围忙成一团，要给他们再沏一次茶。然而多比最近似乎恍恍惚惚的，不知道自己做了什么。

　　“哈利·波特对多比太好了！”他尖声说着，边擦去大大的眼睛里滚出的大滴泪珠。

　　“你用吉利草救了我的命，多比，真的，你救了我。”哈利说。

　　“可以再来一点那种奶油巧克力小蛋糕吗？”罗恩说，他正看着周围那些面带喜色，恭恭敬敬的小精灵们。

　　“你才刚刚吃完早餐！”荷米恩有点生气地说，但是四个小精灵已经托着一个装有奶油巧克力蛋糕的大银盘向他们走来了。

　　“我们真应该把某些家伙送到史纳皮先生那里。”哈利很不满地嘟哝着。

　　“好主意，”罗恩说，“哎，你们不能再给我们多点吃的吗？”他后一句话是对小精灵们说的，后者听了，高兴地鞠了一个躬便转身赶紧去拿更多的来。

　　“多比，温奇在哪里？”荷米恩说着，眼睛向四处张望。

　　“温奇在那边，火的旁边，小姐。”多比轻声说，他的耳朵有点丧气地耷拉下来。

　　“噢，天哪。”荷米恩说，这时她认出了温奇。

　　哈利也向壁炉那边看去：温奇像上次一样坐在同样的凳子上，但她却变得那样的脏，一时难以让人把她和她背后那被烟熏得黑黑的砖分辨开来。她的衣服破破烂烂的，像是很久没洗过了。手里抓着一瓶黄油啤酒，在凳子上轻轻摇晃，眼睛怔怔地凝视着炉子里的火。正当大家都把目光放在她身上时，她打了一个很响的嗝。

　　“温奇现在一天能喝六瓶了。”多比悄声对哈利说。

　　“噢，那些酒还不是很厉害！”哈利说。

　　但多比摇头说：“对一个精灵来说，先生，这它已经够烈的了。”

　　温奇又在打嗝了。那些小精灵们上完蛋糕后，又准备回去工作，他们纷纷向温奇投去很不满的眼神。

　　“温奇现在很痛苦，哈利。伯特，”多比伤心地悄声说，“温奇想回家，她仍然相信克劳斯先生是她的主人，我说什么也不能说服她丹伯多教授是她现在的主人。”

　　“嘿，温奇。”哈利说，他突然鼓起勇气向她走去，弯下腰对她说：“你不知道克劳斯先生将怎样，对不对？因为他不能去给三巫师争霸赛做裁判了。”

　　温奇的眼睛闪闪发光，她那巨大的瞳孔注视着哈利开始轻轻摇头，然后说：“主——主人不能——嗝——来？”

　　“是的，”哈利说，“自从第一次任务后，我们就再没有见过他，《先知日报》说他病了。”

　　温奇又摇了几下，目光呆滞地凝视着哈利。“主人——嗝——病了？”

　　她的下唇开始颤抖。

　　“但我们不确定那是否是真的。”荷米恩急忙说。

　　“主人需要……嗝……我！”这个小精灵啜泣着。“主人不能……嗝……自己……嗝……处理……嗝……所有的事情……”

　　“其它的人都自己做家务活，你知道的，温奇。”荷米恩严肃地说。

　　“温奇……嗝……不单只是……嗝……为克劳斯先生做家务！”

　　温奇气愤地尖声说，摇晃得更厉害了，啤酒泼到她那本已污迹斑斑的工作服上。“主人……嗝……信任温奇……嗝……把最重要……

　　嗝……最秘密的……“

　　“什么？”哈利说。

　　但是温奇用力地摇头，更多的啤酒泼到了它的身上。

　　“温奇帮……嗝……主人保密，”她抗议地说，她摇得非常厉害，闭着眼睛向哈利皱眉说：“你想打听，你一定是！”

　　“温奇不应该这样对哈利。伯特说话！”多比愤怒地说。“哈利。

　　伯特是勇敢的，高贵的；哈利。伯特不是爱打听的那种人！“

　　“他是在打听……嗝……打听主人的……嗝……隐私、秘密……温奇是个好精灵……嗝……温奇保持缄默……嗝……人们都想……嗝……打听别人的私事……嗝……”温奇的眼皮垂了下来，突然，她从凳子上滑下来滚到炉边，大声地打着耳鼾。啤酒的空瓶从石板铺的地面咕噜咕噜滚过去。

　　半打的小精灵急忙上前，看起来带着厌恶的神色。他们其中一个捡起瓶子，其他人用一块方格子花纹的桌布把她盖住并掖好布边，让她从大家的视线中消失。

　　“我们很抱歉让您看到这种情形，先生小姐们！”旁边的一个精灵尖声说，摇着头看起来很羞愧。“我们希望您不要以为我们都像温奇那样，先生小姐们！”

　　“她显然很不高兴！”荷米恩带着不满的神情说，“为什么你们不试着让她高兴起来反而把她盖住？”

　　“请您原谅，小姐，”小精灵说，又深深地鞠了一次躬，“但是小精灵是没有权利不高兴的，只有工作和为主人服务！”

　　“噢，看在上帝的份上！”荷米思愤怒地说。“听着，你们所有的人！你们有权像巫师一样不高兴！你们有权拿工资，有假期，有像样的衣服，你们不需要去做别人要你们做的任何事——看看多比！”

　　“小姐请别让多比卷进去。”多比喃喃地说，好像吓坏了。厨房周围的小精灵们看着荷米恩，高兴的笑容从脸上消失了。他们看着荷米恩的眼神突然变了，好像她是危险的疯子。

　　“我们只要你们吃剩的东西！”在哈利手肘上的一个小精灵尖声说，然后他把一大块火腿，一打蛋糕和一些水果推到哈利手臂中。

　　“再见！”

　　小精灵们围着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，并开始催他们出厨房，许多小手在推他们的背。

　　“谢谢你的短袜，哈利。伯特！”多比从炉旁悲伤地叫着，在他旁边就是被桌布包着的温奇。

　　“你就不能闭嘴吗？荷米恩？”罗恩气愤地说。厨房的门在他们身后砰一声地关上，“他们现在不要我们去做客了！我们本来可以从温奇身上问出更多关于克劳斯的事”。

　　“噢，好像你真的关心那事！”荷米恩讥讽地说，“你喜欢去那儿只是为了那儿的吃的！”

　　自从那事发生后，那一天大家都变得急躁易怒。在休息室里面，哈利觉得很厌烦，罗恩和荷米恩一直在为家庭作业互相冷嘲热讽，所以到了晚上他带上西里斯的食物一个人径直到奥里路去了。

　　要把整一条火腿运到山上去对于皮威军来说根本不可能，他太小了。所以哈利征募了两只猫头鹰，他们老在学校里发出怪叫，起飞的时候捕起大片的尘土。那个大包裹横在他们之间，这让他们看起来怪极了。哈利斜靠在窗台上，看向远处。黑暗之中，树顶沙沙作响，仿佛警告着这片树林是片禁地；远处丹姆斯安的船在航行，荡起一片微波：一个个烟圈从哈格力的烟囱里冒出来；一只猫头鹰嗖的一声穿过烟圈向上直冲城堡，绕着奥里路飞了一圈然后消失在黑暗中。向下看，哈利看到哈格力正在卖力地在他的茅屋前掘着土。哈利觉得很奇怪：他到底在干什么？看起来他好像正想开辟一块新菜地。正当哈利看着的时候，玛西姆夫人从比尔贝顿马车里走出来，走向哈格力，她显然有什么话要跟他说。哈格力斜靠着他的铁锹，但看起来不热心于谈话，因为玛西姆夫人很快就回到马车里去了。

　　哈利很不愿意回到格林芬顿塔去，因为满耳都是罗恩和荷米恩的对骂声，所以他一直看着哈格力在挖着，直到他被黑暗吞没，再也看不见为止。哈利身边的猫头鹰们开始变得精神抖擞怪叫着从他身边飞过，消失在茫茫的夜幕中。

　　第二天早上吃早饭的时候，罗恩和荷米恩的争吵已达到白热化的程度。因为荷米恩侮辱了小精灵们，罗恩预言今早的饭桌上的早餐肯定会很差，不过好在这个糟糕的预言并没有实现，哈利松了一口气，因为咸肉，鸡蛋和鲑鱼都像平时一样好。

　　当猫头鹰邮递员来到时，荷米恩急切地向上看，好像在期待着什么。

　　“伯希不可能这么快就回信，”罗恩说，“我们昨天才让海维送信去。”

　　“不，我不是盼望这个，”荷米恩说，“我已经订了《先知日报》，我讨厌老是什么都要问史林德林的那帮人。”

　　“不错的想法！”哈利说着，他也抬头看着猫头鹰。“嘿，荷米恩，我想你正走运呢……”

　　一只灰色的猫头鹰向着荷米恩俯冲过来。

　　“它好像不是在拿着一份报纸。”她说，看起来有点失望。“它是……”

　　但令她迷惑的是，这只灰色的猫头鹰落在她的碟子面前，很快又有四只谷仓猫头鹰落下来，二只棕色，二只茶色。

　　“你到底订了多少只？”哈利说着，并抢在这群猫头鹰把荷米恩的高脚酒杯撞倒之前～把把她抢过来。猫头鹰们推推挤挤，争抢着要先给荷米恩信。

　　“这到底是怎么……？”荷米恩说，拿过灰猫头鹰送来的信，并打开来看。“唉，天哪！”她气急败坏地说，脸都涨红了。

　　“什么事？”罗恩说。

　　“它是——噢，多荒谬啊——”她把信递给哈利，哈利看了一眼，信好像不是手写的，而是由从《先知日报》上剪下来的字母粘贴而成的：“你是一个缺德的讨厌鬼，哈利·波特比你好，你从马格的哪里来就滚回哪里去。

　　“其它的信都像这样！”荷米恩绝望地说，她打开一封又一封信：“哈利·波特能做得比你不知好多少倍……”“你应当被放到青蛙卵里去煮……”“哎哟！”

　　她已经打开了最后一封信，一种很浓的闻起来像汽油的黄绿色液体涌出来流遍了她的双手。她的手马上像开水一样冒出一个个很大的黄色的泡泡。

　　“浓布伯溶液！”罗恩说着，小心翼翼地拎起信封嗅了嗅。

　　“噢！”荷米恩说，眼泪在眼眶里直打转，她想用一块布或餐巾纸擦干净手，但她的手被裹上了一层厚厚的让她疼得要命的东西，这让她看起来好像戴了一副厚厚的满是小瘤的手套。

　　“你最好马上去校医室，”哈利说，“我们会告诉史包特教授你去哪了……”这时，围在荷米恩周围的猫头鹰们开始起飞离开。

　　“我已经警告过她了！”罗恩说，他看着荷米恩急急忙忙地边跑出大堂，一边摇着她的手。“我警告过她别惹恼了理特。史姬特！看看这个……”他把一封荷米恩留下的信大声读了出来：“我在《女巫周刊》上看到你是怎样捉弄折磨哈利·波特的，那可怜的男孩吃足了你的苦头。只要我一找到一个足够大的信封，那么下一封信我会给你一个我的诅咒‘，我的天哪！她真应该自己小心一点。”

　　荷米恩没有上草药学课。当哈利和罗恩离开温室去上魔法生物保护课时，他们看到马尔夫，克来伯和高尔正从城堡的石阶上下来。班西。帕金森和史林德林班的女孩子们走在后面，一边小声耳语一边咯咯窃笑。一见到哈利，班西叫道：“波特，你和你的女朋友分手了吗？为什么早饭的时候她看起来那么难过？”

　　哈利不理她。如果她知道那篇在《女巫周刊》上的文章引起了多大的麻烦，她一定会幸灾乐祸的，他才不想让她知道。

　　上节课哈格力已经告诉他们已经学完了独角兽这一课，他现在正在他的小屋外面等着他们，在他脚边的是一只只新的木箱，箱子是打开着的。哈利一看到箱子，心一下子沉了下去：别又是像史库斯一类的东西吧？但当他走近前一看，箱子里面是一些毛绒绒黑乎乎、鼻子长长的小东西，他们的前爪出奇的胖，像铲子。正对着大家直眨眼睛，似乎对这么多人看着他们感到迷惑不解。

　　“这是尼弗，”哈格力说，大家围拢上来。“你们一般可以在矿脉里面找到它们，它们喜欢闪闪发光的东西……你们过来看。”

　　正说着，其中一只尼弗突然跳起来想把班西。帕金森手腕上的手表咬下来，她发出一声惊叫急忙往后弹开。

　　“非常有用的宝藏勘探者，”哈格力高兴地说，“不过我们今天会跟它们玩个游戏。看到那儿没有？”他拍着那一大块新挖过的地，正是那天哈利从奥里路的窗户上看到他正在挖的那块。“我埋了一些金币在里面，你们中谁利用尼弗挖得最多我有奖。先把你们身上值钱的东西都摘下来。好了，现在你们每人挑一只尼弗，然后我喊预备，开始。”

　　哈利脱下他的手表。它早就坏了，但哈利习惯了戴着所以一直没脱下来。他把手表塞到口袋里去。然后他挑了一只尼弗。它老是把它那长鼻子弄到哈利的耳朵里去，还热情地在他身上嗅来嗅去。

　　真是个爱和人亲热的小家伙。

　　“快点，”哈格力说，他看了看纸箱：“这还有一只，谁没拿？

　　荷米恩去哪了？“

　　“她去了校医室。”罗恩说。

　　“我们迟些再跟您解释。”哈利小声说，班西。帕金森竖起了耳朵。

　　这是他们上魔法生物保护课以来最有趣的一节。尼弗们钻进钻出那块地，仿佛那不是土地而是水。每一个都急急忙忙地跑回它们的搭档学生那里，把金币吐到他们手上。罗恩的特别神速，很快他的脚边就满是金币。

　　“能买下它们做宠物吗？哈利。”他兴奋地问，它的尼弗又钻到土里去了，把他的衣服弄得沙沙响。“你妈会不高兴的，罗恩，”哈利笑着说，“它们会把房子给毁掉的，噢，我想它们应该差不多都挖完了吧。”他绕着那块地走了一圈，看着那些尼弗还在钻进钻出，“我只埋了一百个金币。噢，你来了，荷米恩！”

　　荷米恩正在草坪上向他们走来，她的手缠满了绷带，看起来很悲伤。班西。帕金森瞪着圆圆的小眼睛看着她。

　　“好吧，让我看看你们都干得怎样！”哈格力说，“数数你们的硬币。别想偷偷藏起来几个，高尔，”他加上一句，他那黑色突出的眼睛眯了起来，“它是小精灵的金子，几个小时后就会消失。”

　　高尔连忙把衣袋都翻出来，都是空的，他看起来很不高兴。最后胜利者是罗恩，哈格力给了他一大块巧克力作奖励。这时午饭钟响了，其他人都陆续回城堡去，只剩下哈利、罗恩和荷米恩留下帮哈格力把那些尼弗放回到箱子里去，哈利注意到玛西姆夫人从马车的窗户探出头来看着他们。

　　“你的手怎么了，荷米恩？”哈格力关心地问。

　　荷米恩告诉他，那天早上她收到一封可恨的信，信封里全是布伯浓液。

　　“别担心，”哈格力低头看着她，柔声说。“理特。史姬特写了我的妈妈后，我也收到一些那种信，像‘你是一个怪物，你应该被杀掉！’‘你妈妈杀了无辜的人，如果你还有羞耻心的话就应该去跳湖！？之类的。”

　　“不！”荷米恩说，看起来很震惊。

　　“是的，”哈格力说，他把装着尼弗的箱子都放到小屋的墙角边。“他们都是怪人，荷米恩。下次你再收到这样的信，别打开，直接扔到壁炉里去。”

　　“你错过了一节多棒的课啊。”哈利遗憾地对荷米恩说，他们开始返回到城堡里去。“他们很棒，尼弗们，不是吗，罗恩？”

　　罗恩此时却正对着哈格力给他的巧克力直皱眉。他好像在想什么。

　　“怎么回事？”哈利说，“不合口味？”

　　“不。”罗恩说，“为什么你不告诉我关于那些金子的事？”

　　“什么金子？”哈利说。

　　“就是在快迪斯世界杯赛上我给你的那些金子，”罗恩说，“我为望远镜而还给你的那些小精灵的金子，在上等厢里。为什么你不告诉我它消失了？”

　　哈利想了一会儿才想到罗恩是在指什么。

　　“噢……”他说，最后他想起来了。“我不知道……我从没留意到它不见了，我更应该担心的是我的魔杖，不是吗？”

　　他们走上石阶，进了门厅，然后到大堂里去吃午饭。

　　当他们坐下来，烤牛肉和约克郡布丁也开始送上来的时候。

　　“多好啊，”罗恩突然说，“有那么一大袋的钱掉了却不知道，真讽刺。”

　　“听着，那晚我还有其它事情要操心！”哈利不耐烦地说，“我们都要做很多其它的事，记得吗？”

　　“我不知道精灵金子会消失，”罗恩咕哝着，“我以为我还了