Chapter 1 The Riddle House
The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it “the Riddle House,” even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied. 
The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was “creepy.” Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead. 
The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village and roused as many people as she could. 
“Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!” 
The police were summoned, and the whole of Little Hangleton had seethed with shocked curiosity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted their breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Riddle had been rich, snobbish, and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been, if anything, worse. All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer - for plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night. 
The Hanged Man, the village pub, did a roaring trade that night; the whole village seemed to have turned out to discuss the murders. They were rewarded for leaving their firesides when the Riddles’ cook arrived dramatically in their midst and announced to the suddenly silent pub that a man called Frank Bryce had just been arrested. 
“Frank!” cried several people. “Never!” 
Frank Bryce was the Riddles’ gardener. He lived alone in a run-down cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since. 
There was a rush to buy the cook drinks and hear more details. 
“Always thought he was odd,” she told the eagerly listening villagers, after her fourth sherry. “Unfriendly, like. I'm sure if I've offered him a cuppa once, I've offered it a hundred times. Never wanted to mix, he didn't.” 
“Ah, now,” said a woman at the bar, “he had a hard war, Frank. He likes the quiet life. That's no reason to -” 
“Who else had a key to the back door, then?” barked the cook. “There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we was all sleeping…” 
The villagers exchanged dark looks. 
“I always thought that he had a nasty look about him, right enough,” grunted a man at the bar. 
“War turned him funny, if you ask me,” said the landlord. 
“Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?” said an excited woman in the corner. 
“Horrible temper,” said Dot, nodding fervently. “I remember, when he was a kid…” 
By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles. 
But over in the neighboring town of Great Hangleton, in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddles’ deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale. Nobody else in the village had seen any such boy, and the police were quite sure Frank had invented him. 
Then, just when things were looking very serious for Frank, the report on the Riddles’ bodies came back and changed everything. 
The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangles, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health - apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death? 
As there was no proof that the Riddles had been murdered at all, the police were forced to let Frank go. The Riddles were buried in the Little Hangleton churchyard, and their graves remained objects of curiosity for a while. To everyone's surprise, and amid a cloud of suspicion, Frank Bryce returned to his cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. 
“As far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say,” said Dot in the Hanged Man. “And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we knows he did it.” 
But Frank did not leave. He stayed to tend the garden for the next family who lived in the Riddle House, and then the next - for neither family stayed long. Perhaps it was partly because of Frank that the new owners said there was a nasty feeling about the place, which, in the absence of inhabitants, started to fall into disrepair. 
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The wealthy man who owned the Riddle House these days neither lived there nor put it to any use; they said in the village that he kept it for “tax reasons,” though nobody was very clear what these might be. The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening, however. Frank was nearing his seventy-seventh birthday now, very deaf, his bad leg stiffer than ever, but could be seen pottering around the flower beds in fine weather, even though the weeds were starting to creep up on him, try as he might to suppress them. 
Weeds were not the only things Frank had to contend with either. Boys from the village made a habit of throwing stones through the windows of the Riddle House. They rode their bicycles over the lawns Frank worked so hard to keep smooth. Once or twice, they broke into the old house for a dare. They knew that old Frank's devotion to the house and the grounds amounted almost to an obsession, and it amused them to see him limping across the garden, brandishing his stick and yelling croakily at them. Frank, for his part, believed the boys tormented him because they, like their parents and grandparents, though him a murderer. So when Frank awoke one night in August and saw something very odd up at the old house, he merely assumed that the boys had gone one step further in their attempts to punish him. 
It was Frank's bad leg that woke him; it was paining him worse than ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen with the idea of refilling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked up at the Riddle House and saw lights glimmering in its upper windows. Frank knew at once what was going on. The boys had broken into the house again, and judging by the flickering quality of the light, they had started a fire. 
Frank had no telephone, in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning about the Riddles’ deaths. He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and removing a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night. 
The front door of the Riddle House bore no sign of being forced, nor did any of the windows. Frank limped around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock, and opened the door noiselessly. 
He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years; nevertheless, although it was very dark, he remembered where the door into the hall was, and he groped his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of footsteps or voices from overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick. 
On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: At the every end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond. 
The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful. 
“There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry.” 
“Later,” said a second voice. This too belonged to a man - but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.” 
Frank turned his right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again. 
“Where is Nagini?” said the cold voice. 
“I - I don't know, My Lord,” said the first voice nervously. “She set out to explore the house, I think…” 
“You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,” said the second voice. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.” 
Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again. 
“My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?” 
“A week,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.” 
Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word “Quidditch,” which was not a word at all. 
“The - the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?” said Wormtail. (Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear.) “Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?” 
“Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.” 
Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words “Ministry of Magic,” “wizards,” and “Muggles.” Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code: spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still. 
“Your Lordship is still determined, then?” Wormtail said quietly. 
“Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.” There was a note of menace in the cold voice now. 
A slight pause followed - and the Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve. 
“It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord.” 
Another pause, more protracted, and then - 
“Without Harry Potter?” breathed the second voice softly. “I see…” 
“My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!” said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. “The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -” 
“I could use another wizard,” said the cold voice softly, “that is true…” 
“My Lord, it makes sense,” said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. “Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected -” 
“And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder…perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?” 
“My Lord! I - I have no wish to leave you, none at all -” 
“Do not lie to me!” hissed the second voice. “I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me…” 
“No! My devotion to Your Lordship -” 
“Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?” 
“But you seem so much stronger, My Lord -” 
“Liar,” breathed the second voice. “I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!” 
Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. The second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss. 
“I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldermort's wrath -” 
“My Lord, I must speak!” said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. “All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -” 
“If?” whispered the second voice. “If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition…Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -” 
“I am a faithful servant,” said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice. 
“Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement.” 
“I found you,” said Wormtail, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. “I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.” 
“That is true,” said the second man, sounding amused. “A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?” 
“I - I thought she might be useful, My Lord -” 
“Liar,” said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…” 
“R-really, My Lord? What -?” Wormtail sounded terrified again. 
“Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end…but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.” 
“You…you…” Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. “You…are going…to kill me too?” 
“Wormtail, Wormtail,” said the cold voice silkily, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns…” 
Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech. 
“We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail.” 
Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse - with amusement. He was dangerous - a madman. And he was planning more murders - this boy, Harry Potter, whoever he was - was in danger - 
Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village…but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might. 
“One more murder…my faithful servant at Hogwarts…Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet…I think I hear Nagini…” 
And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure. 
And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look, and found himself paralyzed with fright. 
Something was slithering toward him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realized with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - What was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where the two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him - 
But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap. 
There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea…This man could talk to snakes. 
Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again. 
“Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,” it said. 
“In-indeed, My Lord?” said Wormtail. 
“Indeed, yes,” said the voice, “According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.” 
Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps and then the door of the room was flung wide open. 
A short, balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm in his face. 
“Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?” 
The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn't see the speaker. the snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog. 
Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip on his walking stick and limped over the threshold. 
The fire was the only source of light in the room; it cast long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head. 
“You heard everything, Muggle?” said the cold voice. 
“What's that you're calling me?” said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war. 
“I am calling you a Muggle,” said the voice coolly. “It means that you are not a wizard.” 
“I don't know what you mean by wizard,” said Frank, his voice growing steadier. “All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too,” he added, on a sudden inspiration, “my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -” 
“You have no wife,” said the cold voice, very quietly. “Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows…he always knows…” 
“Is that right?” said Frank roughly. “Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn ‘round and face me like a man, why don't you?” 
“But I am not a man, Muggle,” said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. “I am much, much more than a man. However…why not? I will face you…Wormtail, come turn my chair around.” 
The servant gave a whimper. 
“You heard me, Wormtail.” 
Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug. 
And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor. 
Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start. 
小汉格林顿的村民还叫它“谜宅”，尽管理德家很多年前曾居住在那里。谜宅坐落在小山上，山下是村庄，有时窗户用板封着，屋顶上瓦片不全，常青藤爬满屋前，已很久无人打理。它一度是一座华丽的庄园，是方圆几里内最大最雄伟的建筑物，但现在却潮湿阴霾，残桓断壁，无人居住。 
　　村里人都认为谜宅令人毛骨悚然。半个世纪以前，那里发生了些稀奇古怪的事情，村里的老人在缺少聊天的话题时都喜欢谈论这件事。故事讲来讲去如此多遍，如此多次，以致于谁也不能确定事实到底是怎样的。但是每个版本的故事都有同样一个开头：五十年前，一个晴朗夏日的早晨，天刚刚亮，那时“谜宅”保养良好，一个女佣进入大堂，结果发现：谜宅的主人——理德一家三口都死了。 
　　女佣尖叫着跑下山去，跑进村庄，尽量多唤醒些村民。 
　　“躺在那里眼睛睁得大大的！像冰一样冷！还穿着晚宴服。” 
　　警察来了。小村子整个骚动起来，村民们充满好奇、吃惊、掩饰不住的兴奋。没有谁需要假装伤悲，因为理德一家在村子里最不受欢迎。老理德夫妇非常有钱，但却很势利，而且待人刻薄，他们的儿子——汤姆，更是比他父母有过之而无不及。所有村民关心的是要证实他们确实被谋杀，显而易见，三个身体凉爽的人不可能因为自然死而死于同一个晚上。 
　　那天晚上“闲士”酒吧做了一笔大生意，全村人都在聚论谋杀案。当理德家的厨师戏剧性地加入他们时，他们都自然而然地离开烤火炉，厨师对忽然静下来的酒吧宣布，一个叫弗兰克·布来斯的人刚刚被捕。 
　　“弗兰克·布来斯！”几个人惊叫起来。“不可能！” 
　　弗兰克怖来斯是“谜宅”的园丁。他独自住在谜宅地盘上的一座已停工的农舍里，孤单一人。弗兰克退役归来，一条腿不灵活，极不喜欢群居。他不喜欢嘈杂喧闹，自从退役以来一直就在为理德干活。 
　　有人冲上来给厨师酒喝，想听更多的详情。 
　　喝了第四杯酒，他告诉这些急着想听的村民：“我总是觉得他有些古里古怪的，也不对人友好，我每次都把茶送到他那，因为，他从来不和别人混在一起，从来不。” 
　　酒馆里一位女士说，“啊，我说，他打了场很艰苦的仗，他喜欢宁静的生活，没有理由去——” 
　　厨师反驳说，“除了他还有谁有后门钥匙？我记得在农舍里有一把备用钥匙，昨天晚上没有人强行破门，窗子也没有破坏，弗兰克·布来斯只需要爬到大房子里去，而我们都在熟睡……” 
　　村民们交换了他们的眼色。 
　　酒吧里一位男士咕哝道，“我总觉得他很邋遏。” 
　　酒吧老板说：“战争把他搞得滑里滑稽的。” 
　　角落里一个妇女兴奋得叫了起来，“我不是告诉你我不想说弗兰克·布来斯的坏话吗，多特？” 
　　多特猛地点头，说道，“他的脾气太可怕了，我记得当他还是个孩子的时候……” 
　　到第二天早晨为止，村子里几乎没有人再怀疑不是弗兰克·布来斯杀了理德全家。 
　　但在汉格林顿邻镇那边，昏暗的警察局里，弗兰克固执地重复他是无辜的，他说在理德一家被杀的那天晚上，他只看见一个十几岁的男孩在他们家附近，那男孩从未见过，黑头发，面色苍白。但没有任何村民看见过这个男孩，警察断定弗兰克。布来斯是凭空捏造的。 
　　就在情形对弗兰克·布来斯看起来很不利时，验尸报告拿回来了，从而改变了一切。 
　　警察们从来没有见过这样离奇的验尸报告。法医们十分谨慎地验尸，结论是理德一家不是被毒死、枪杀、刺杀、扼杀，也不是被闷死的，甚至根本没受伤。事实上，验尸仍在继续，但实在让人迷惑不解，理德家除了的确死了以外，身体是处于完全凉爽的状态。 
　　法医们特别注明（虽然他们决意要找出死者身上有什么不妥之处），理德一家人的脸上均有恐怖之色。但据灰心丧气的警察说，有谁听说过三个人同时被吓死的？ 
　　既然没有证据证明理德一家是死于谋杀，警察不得不释放弗兰克·布来斯。死者葬在小汉格林顿镇的墓地。他们的坟墓也一度引起人们的好奇。令人吃惊的是，弗兰克·布来斯又回到理德家地盘上的农舍，这一切都充满疑云。 
　　“闲士”酒吧里，多特说，“就我而言，是他杀了他们，我不管警察说啥。”“如果他还有脸的话，他会离开这里，他应知道我们晓得是他干的。”另一个人说。 
　　但弗兰克没有走。他留下来为新搬来谜宅的一家照顾花园，接着又是新的一家，但两家都呆得不久。也许正是因为有弗兰克，两个新主人都说，这地方有一种阴冷的感觉，叫人起鸡皮疙瘩，渐渐地，这里因无人居住而年久失修。 
　　现在的“谜宅”主人不住在里面，也不投入使用。他们说老板拥有它只是因为税务方面的原因，尽管谁也不清楚这些原因是什么。宅主有钱，弗兰克做园丁，宅主就付钱。弗兰克都快要七十七岁了，聋得很厉害，什么也听不见，他那条腿更加不能动弹，但天气晴朗的日子还可以见他在花床周围闲逛，虽然野草都开始把他淹没了。 
　　弗兰克不光只与野草斗，村里的男孩常常向谜宅的窗户扔石子。弗兰克劳了很大的劲让草坪乎乎整整，而孩子们却在上面骑车，偶尔一两次他们竟破“宅”而人进行挑衅。他们知道弗兰克忠于谜宅和那片土地。孩子们看着弗兰克跛着腿走过花园，他们感到很有趣。弗兰克有时会挥舞着拐杖，对他们呱呱乱叫。对弗兰克来说他认为孩子们曲解了他，就像他们的父母、祖父母一样认为他是杀人凶手。八月一天夜间弗兰克一觉醒来，看到旧屋里有个怪物，他只不过认为一定是那些孩子们想进一步惩罚他。 
　　是他那不中用的腿弄醒他，年纪大了，疼得更加厉害了。他站起来，破着下楼梯，进到厨房，想给暖水瓶再次加热水以镇镇膝痛。他站在水龙头边，灌水壶，仰起头来看“谜宅”，上面窗户里灯光闪烁。弗兰克马上意识到了到底是怎么回事。男孩们再次破门而入，从这闪烁的光来看，他们在那儿生了火。 
　　弗兰克没有电话，不管怎么说，自从当初警察把他抓起来，盘问他关于理德一家的死因后，他对警察就抱着深深的不信任。他马上放下水壶，尽快地上楼，又很快地返回厨房，穿好了衣服，从门钩那里取下那柄生锈的旧钥匙，他拿起靠在墙边的拐杖，一头冲进夜里。 
　　谜宅前门没有被破坏的痕迹，窗子也没有遭到破坏。弗兰克跛着腿到屋后一条完全被常青藤隐住的门的前面，他拿出钥匙，插进锁里，悄无声息地开了门。 
　　他走进空荡荡的厨房。弗兰克已经很多年没有进来过了。虽然厨房很黑，但他还记得通往大厅的门在哪里，他的鼻子里满是腐烂的气味，耳朵竖起倾听脚步声及上面的任何声音。他到了大厅，因为前门两边窗子有竖条栏杆，比厨房光亮一些。他开始一步一步往上爬楼梯，多亏了石级上厚厚的灰尘，这样使得没人可以听得见他的脚步声及拐杖声。 
　　一爬上楼，弗兰克向右转，马上就看见了入侵者在什么方位。 
　　就在走廊尽头，大门半开半掩，摇动的光从门缝里透了出来，在黑黑的地板上投下金黄色的长条亮影。弗兰克慢慢地往门边靠近，拐杖握得紧紧的。离门口只有几英尺了，可以看见房间里狭窄的一部分。 
　　他看清了，火烧在暖气炉里。这令他很惊讶。他停止向前走，专心地听，有一个人在屋里说话，声音听起来紧张、胆怯：“主人啊，如果还饿的话，瓶子里还有一点。” 
　　“过一会。”第二个人的声育，也是男音，不可思议的高音，像刺骨寒风突然爆裂一样冰冷。这声音有那么点东西使得弗兰克后脑勺上的几根稀松的头发也竖了起来。 
　　“把我移得离火近点，温太尔！” 
　　弗兰克用右耳贴近门面，听得清楚些。一个瓶子呕当一声放到一个坚硬的表面上，紧跟着是椅子拖过地板沉闷的刮地声。弗兰克瞥见了一个矮个子，背朝门，推着椅子靠近火炉。他身被一个长长的黑斗篷，后脑勺上没有头发。然后这小矮人就不见了。 
　　“南格尼在哪里？”那冷酷的声音说话了。 
　　“我不知道，主人，”第一个声音紧张地回应道，“我想她出去打探情况了……” 
　　“温太尔，在我们睡觉前，你给她挤奶，”第二个声音说，“我夜里需要喂奶，长途旅行让我筋疲力竭。” 
　　弗兰克眉头紧锁，额头上堆起深深皱纹，他把右耳再贴近些，十分艰难地听着。好阵子没有声息。然后那个叫做温太尔的人又说话了。 
　　“主人啊！您能告诉我们在此呆多久吗？” 
　　“一周，”冷音答，“也许还会长些。这地方总算还舒服。计划不能进行下去。在快迪斯世界杯赛结束之前行动是愚蠢可笑的。” 
　　弗兰克把一个多节瘤的手指塞进耳朵里，掏转。毫无疑问，由于耳里有耳屎，他听见了“快迪斯”，其实这根本不是一个词。 
　　“主人啊！快迪斯世界杯！”（弗兰克手指掏耳朵更用力了）“请您原谅我吧，但是我不懂，为什么我们要等到世界杯赛结束？” 
　　“傻瓜，因为在现在这个时候，全世界的巫师们都像潮水一般涌入这个国家，魔法部管事的都在值班，都在观察任何不同寻常活动的迹像，检查，再检查你的身份。他们很注意安全问题，我们不要行动，以免让马格人注意到什么。因此我们必须等待。” 
　　弗兰克停止掏耳朵。他清楚地听到了“魔法部”、“巫师”、“马格人”。很显然，这些词语都表示某种神秘意义。弗兰克只能想起两种用暗号讲话的人，间谍和罪犯。弗兰克再次握紧手中的拐杖，更加注意地听下去。 
　　温太尔静静地说，“那您的统治地位仍然很稳固吧？” 
　　“当然很稳固。”冷酷的声音中有一种威胁。 
　　又稍微一段时间没有人讲话。接着温太尔说话了，这些话一下子从嘴里倒出来，好像在强迫自己在失去理智前一定要说完这些。 
　　“主人啊！如果没有哈利·波特，我们早就成功了。” 
　　又是一阵沉默，比刚才又要长些，接着第二个声音轻声说，“没有哈利·波特，让我想想……” 
　　温太尔的声音越来越尖：“主人啊！我这样说并不是出于关心哈利·波特，这男孩对我来说一钱不值，根本无足轻重。只是如果用另一个女巫，或男巫，哪怕是任何巫师，这件事可以完成得快得多！假如您允许我离开您一会，您知道我将会最有效地伪装自己，并可以在短短的两天时间内，带来一个合适的人选。” 
　　第二个声音轻轻地说，“我可以用另一个人，那倒是真的……” 
　　“主人啊！这样比较现实，”温太尔说，他的声音现在好像完全如释重负，“要碰哈利·波特，很难，他被保护得太好了。” 
　　“你自愿去找回另一个人。我想，也许照顾我的任务已经使你厌烦，温太尔？你建议放弃这个计划会不会是想丢下我不管？” 
　　“主人啊！我没想过要离开您，压根不想这样做！” 
　　第二个声音嘘声说道，“不要对我撒谎了，温太尔，我还可以分辨。你在后悔又回到我身边。我对你不满意。当你看我时，我看见你害怕，当你碰我时，我觉得你在发抖……” 
　　“不是这样，我对您忠心不二……” 
　　“你的忠心只不过是怯懦而已。如果你有任何别的地方去，你不会呆在这里。每几小时我需要喂食，你不在这里我如何可以生存下去？谁去南格尼那里取奶？” 
　　“但您好像已经强壮得多了，主人啊！……” 
　　“骗子！”第二个声音说，“我并不强壮。过不了几天就可以把我在你愚笨的照顾下恢复的凉爽折腾殆尽。住嘴吧！” 
　　温太尔一直在急速地讲话，语无伦次，一下子静了下来。接着第二个声音又说话了，但是悄声说的，简直就是嘶嘶声。 
　　“我有我的理由要用这个男孩。我已经跟你解释过了，我不会用第二个。我等待了十三年。再等几个月没什么关系。至于那孩子周围的保护，我相信我的计划将会是有效的。而所需要的东西是来自你的勇气，温太尔，你要鼓起勇气，如果你不想让福尔得摩特公爵盛怒的话。” 
　　“主人啊，我一定要说！”温太尔说，声音里充满恐惧，“在整个旅途中我脑海里不断思考这个计划，珀茜·佐金斯的失踪过不了多久就会让人发现，如果我们继续下去，如果我诅咒——” 
　　第二个声音悄声说，“假使？假使你继续这一计划，温太尔，部里将没有人会知道还有人失踪。你要静悄悄地干，不能忙中出错，我只希望我能自己干，但我现在这种情形，……来吧，温太尔，又一个障碍排除了，我们离哈利·波特又近一步。我不会要你一个人干，届时我忠实的仆人将再次加入我们……” 
　　温太尔说，“我是一个忠实仆人。”声音有点阴沉。 
　　“温太尔，我需要有脑筋的人，也需要从不动摇他的忠诚的人，但这两种要求你都达不到。” 
　　“是我发现了您。”温太尔说，他的声音几乎接近有些不高兴了，“正是我找到您，我把珀茜·佐金斯带给了您。” 
　　“那倒是真的。”第二个人说，听起来很快活。“我意想不到你那么聪明，温太尔，讲老实话，你不知道你抓到她时，她是多么有用，是吧！” 
　　“我，我认为她可能会有用，主人啊！” 
　　“撒谎。”第二个声音更大了，既冷酷又兴奋，“可是，我不否认她的信息是无价的，没有她的信息，我的计划不可能形成，因此，你也要得到奖赏。温太尔，我将让你代我完成一个重大的任务，我的许多追随者都用他们的右手去完成……” 
　　“真的吗，主人啊！什么——？”温太尔听起来又吓坏了。 
　　“啊，温太尔，你吃惊吧？你的任务将在最后到来……但我答应你，你将会得到和珀茜·佐金斯一样的荣誉。” 
　　“您，您……”温太尔声音突然变得十分沙哑，好像他的嘴巴十分的干渴，“您……将……也要把我杀了？” 
　　“温太尔，温太尔，”冰冷声音变得柔和起来，“我为什么要杀你呢？我杀珀茜因为我实在迫不得已。我问完她后，她已不适合什么事情，已经完全无用。如果她回到部里说在她度假的时候碰到了你，那什么乱七八糟的问题都可能被问到。他们不会想到本来应该死掉的男巫们却会安然无事，还在路边旅馆里遇到的魔法部里的女巫们……” 
　　温太尔喃喃自语，太小声音，弗兰克听不见，第二个人却笑了。尽管说话冰酷，但笑得却很开心。 
　　“我们可能改变了她的记忆吗？当我问她时，已经证明了记忆咒语可以被一位法力强大的男巫破除。如果不用我从她那儿得到的信息，那是对她记忆的侮辱，温太尔。” 
　　走廊外面，弗兰克突然意识到抓拐杖的手满是冷汗。那冷冷的人已杀了一个女人。他讲这件事完全没有不安，后悔，却带有风趣。他是个危险人物，是个疯子，在计划更多的谋杀，哈利·波特这个男孩，不管他是谁，正处于危险之中。 
　　弗兰克知道他必须干点什么。现在是报警的时候，他要爬出去，直奔村里的电话亭，但冰冷之声又说话了，弗兰克原地不动，十分投入地听着。 
　　“还有一个诅咒，……我忠实的猎场看守仆人在霍格瓦彻……，哈利·波特像矿藏一样珍贵，温太尔，就这么定了。以后不要再讨论这件事，安静……我认为我听见南格尼……” 
　　第二个声音改变了，他开始发出弗兰克从来未听到过的噪音，他在不断发出嘶嘶声和呼噜声，弗兰克认为他一定是某种痰病发作。 
　　接着，弗兰克听见漆黑的长廊里有动静，就在他身后，他朝身后看去，惊骇得瘫着不能动弹。 
　　某东西正在漆黑的地板上朝他爬过来，当快接近灯光长影时，弗兰克惊恐万分地发现，那是条巨大的蛇，至少有十二英尺长。太惶恐了，太可怕了，弗兰克瞪着它的眼睛一动也不动，那蛇身如同波浪一样起伏不平，在厚厚的尘土上扭开一道宽宽的弯弯曲曲的灰沟。逃身的唯一办法就是进屋，但屋里有两人正在策划谋杀，假使果在原地那可是必死无疑。 
　　但是他还未来得及作出决定，那蛇已经在他身边了，接着，那蛇不可思议地，奇迹般地闪过，原来它是听从那吐液声，嘶嘶声，服从那冰冷的声音，转眼间那钻石型的尾巴也在灰沟里消失了。 
　　弗兰克的额头上也大汗淋漓，握杖之手已开始发颤，室内冰冷之声还在发出嘶嘶声，弗兰克突然闪一个怪念头。这个人可以与蛇讲话。 
　　弗兰克不懂正在发生的是什么，他现在要做的远不止是去拿热水壶上床暖腿。因为他两腿好像不能动。他站在那儿发抖，他努力地控制自己，冰冷之声突然转用英语说：“南格尼有一则有趣的消息，温太尔！” 
　　“真——真的吗，主人啊！”温太尔说。 
　　“真的如此！”那声音说，“根据南格尼所说，屋内有一个老家伙，听到了我们说的每一个词。” 
　　弗兰克没有机会隐藏。有脚步声，房门一下子大开。 
　　一个秃顶灰发，尖鼻子的矮个子站在地面前，眼睛小而湿润，脸上全是惊恐。害怕。 
　　“请他进屋来，温太尔，你的礼貌到哪儿去了！” 
　　那冰冷的声音是从炉火前的一把古旧的椅子上发出来的，弗兰克看不见说话人，那蛇在壁炉前的地毯上蟋伏成一堆，像一只小狗做一些滑稽的动作。 
　　温太尔示意让弗兰克进屋。尽管还是发抖，弗兰克使劲地紧了紧手杖，破过了门槛。 
　　火是房里的灯光来源，火在墙上映上长长的细亮的影子。弗兰克盯住椅子后面，里面的人好像还要比仆人矮，连他的后脑勺也看不见。 
　　冰冷之声说话了，“你听见了所有的东西吗，马格？” 
　　“你在叫我什么？”弗兰克挑战似地说，现在已经进了屋，是采取行动的时候，他觉得要勇敢了一点，他在战场上总是这样的。 
　　“我在叫你，马格，”冷音冷冷地说，“那就是说你不是巫师！” 
　　“我不明白你用‘巫师’一词说的是什么意思，”弗兰克声音越来越沉稳，“我只知道我今晚所听见的足够让警察感兴趣，你曾经杀过人，并且你在计划更多的谋杀，”不知从哪里来的灵感，他又说：“我老婆知道我上来了，如果我不回去的话……” 
　　“你没有老婆，”冷音静静地说，“没有人知道你在这里，你并未告诉任何人你来这里，不要对福尔得摩特撒谎，笨蛋，因为他是什么都知道的。” 
　　“是吗？”弗兰克粗声说，“福尔得摩特，是吗？我不管你那么多。转过来，像个男人一样面对我，你为什么不呢？” 
　　“但我并不是人，马格，”冷声说，在火苗的噼啪声中，几乎听不见，“我可是大大超过你们人类，为什么不呢？我就面对你，来，温太尔转动椅子。” 
　　仆人发出一声抱怨。 
　　“你听见我说话了吗？温太尔。” 
　　矮个子慢慢地向前走去，脸扭曲着，好像他宁愿干任何事情也不愿去接近他的主人和那条蛇躺着的地毯，他开始转动椅子。椅腿钩破地毯，那蛇抬起它那丑恶的三角头，发出轻轻的嘶嘶声。 
　　接着，椅子面对着弗兰克，他看见椅子里面有什么，他的手杖“咣当”一声掉在地板上。他张开嘴，尖叫起来，他的尖叫声音太大，听不见椅子里面的东西举起魔杖时所说的话，一道绿光一闪，加上呼啸之声，弗兰克·布来斯倒下了，他还未倒在地上就已经死了。 
　　在两百英里以外的地方，那个叫做哈利·波特的男孩猛地惊醒。 
Chapter 2 The Scar
Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. 
He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other hand reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window. 
Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened his wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging. 
Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real…There had been two people he knew and one he didn't…He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember… 
The dim picture of a darkened room came to him…There had been a snake on a hearth rug…a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail…and a cold, high voice…the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought… 
He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible…All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken him…or had that been the pain in his scar? 
And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; Harry had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. Harry put his face into his hands, blocking out his bedroom, trying to hold on to the picture of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in his cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as he tried to hold on to them…Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harry could not remember the name…and they had been plotting to kill someone else…him! 
Harry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. As it happened, there was an extraordinary number of unusual things in this room. A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of his bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of his desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which his snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched. On the floor beside his bed a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball to one another. 
Harry walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch - in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world - couldn't distract him at the moment. He placed Flying with the Cannons on his bedside table, crossed to the window, and drew back the curtains to survey the street below. 
Privet Drive looked exactly as a respectable suburban street would be expected to look in the early hours of Saturday morning. All the curtains were closed. As far as Harry could see through the darkness, there wasn't a living creature in sight, not even a cat. 
And yet…and yet…Harry went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasn't the pain that bothered him; Harry was no stranger to pain and injury. He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble. 
No, the thing that was bothering Harry was the last time his scar had hurt him, it had been because Voldemort had been close by…But Voldemort couldn't be here, now…The idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive was absurd, impossible… 
Harry listened closely to the silence around him. Was he half expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then he jumped slightly as he heard his cousin Dudley give a tremendous grunting snore from the next room. 
Harry shook himself mentally; he was being stupid. There was no one in the house with him except Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and they were plainly still asleep, their dreams untroubled and painless. 
Asleep was the way Harry liked the Dursleys best; it wasn't as though they were ever any help to him awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their house as dry rot. They had explained away Harry's long absences at Hogwarts over the last three years by telling everyone that he went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. They knew perfectly well that, as an underage wizard, Harry wasn't allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts, but they were still apt to blame him for anything that went wrong about the house. Harry had never been able to confide in them or tell them anything about his life in the wizarding world. The very idea of going to them when they awoke, and telling them about his scar hurting him, and about his worries about Voldemort, was laughable. 
And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harry had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry would not have had the lightning scar on his forehead. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry would still have had parents.… 
Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort - the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years - arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power - and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort's followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had become famous. 
It had been enough of a shock for Harry to discover, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew his name. Harry had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed him wherever he went. But he was used to it now: At the end of this summer, he would be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry was already counting the days until he would be back at the castle again. 
But there was still a fortnight to go before he went back to school. He looked hopelessly around his room again, and his eye paused on the birthday cards his two best friends had sent him at the end of July. What would they say if Harry wrote to them and told them about his scar hurting? 
At once, Hermione Granger's voice seemed to fill his head, shrill and panicky. 
“Your scar hurt? Harry, that's really serious…Write to Professor Dumbledore! nd I'll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions…Maybe there's something in there about curse scars.…” 
Yes, that would be Hermione's advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. Harry stared out of the window at the inky blue-black sky. He doubted very much whether a book could help him now. As far as he knew, he was the only living person to have survived a curse like Voldemort's; it was highly unlikely, therefore, that he would find his symptoms listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full length wizard's robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry's owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? 
Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. 
Even inside his head the words sounded stupid. 
And so he tried to imagine his other best friend, Ron Weasley's, reaction, and in a moment, Ron's red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harry, wearing a bemused expression. 
“Your scar hurt? But…but You-Know-Who can't be near you now, can he? I mean…you'd know, wouldn't you? He'd be trying to do you in again, wouldn't be? I dunno, Harry, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit…I'll ask Dad…” 
Mr. Weasley was a fully qualified wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didn't have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as Harry knew. In any case, Harry didn't like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that he, Harry, was getting jumpy about a few moments’ pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione, and Fred and George, Ron's sixteen year old twin brothers, might think Harry was losing his nerve. The Weasleys were Harry's favorite family in the world; he was hoping that they might invite him to stay any time now (Ron had mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup), and he somehow didn't want his visit punctuated with anxious inquiries about his scar. 
Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. What he really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to himself) was someone like - someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about him, who had had experience with Dark Magic.… 
And then the solution came to him. It was so simple, and so obvious, that he couldn't believe it had taken so long - Sirius. 
Harry leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room, and sat down at his desk; he pulled a piece of parchment toward him, loaded his eagle-feather quill with ink, wrote Dear Sirius, then paused, wondering how best to phrase his problem, still marveling at the fact that he hadn't thought of Sirius straight away. But then, perhaps it wasn't so surprising - after all, he had only found out that Sirius was his godfather two months ago. 
There was a simple reason for Sirius's complete absence from Harry's life until then - Sirius had been in Azkaban, the terrifying wizard jail guarded by creatures called dementors, sightless, soul-sucking fiends who had come to search for Sirius at Hogwarts when he had escaped. Yet Sirius had been innocent - the murders for which he had been convicted had been committed by Wormtail, Voldemort's supporter, whom nearly everybody now believed dead. Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew otherwise, however; they had come face-to-face with Wormtail only the previous year, though only Professor Dumbledore had believed their story. 
For one glorious hour, Harry had believed that he was leaving the Dursleys at last, because Sirius had offered him a home once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from him - Wormtail had escaped before they could take him to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius had had to flee for his life. Harry had helped him escape on the back of a hippogriff called Buckbeak, and since then, Sirius had been on the run. The home Harry might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been haunting him all summer. It had been doubly hard to return to the Dursleys knowing that he had so nearly escaped them forever. 
Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn't be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather - for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent. 
Harry had received two letters from Sirius since he had been back at Privet Drive. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards), but by large, brightly colored tropical birds. Hedwig had not approved of these flashy intruders; she had been most reluctant to allow them to drink from her water tray before flying off again. Harry, on the other hand, had liked them; they put him in mind of palm trees and white sand, and he hoped that, wherever Sirius was (Sirius never said, in case the letters were intercepted), he was enjoying himself. Somehow, Harry found it hard to imaging dementors surviving for long in bright sunlight, perhaps that was why Sirius had gone South. Sirius's letters, which were now hidden beneath the highly useful loose floorboards under Harry's bed, sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harry to call on him if ever Harry needed to. Well, he needed to right now, all right.… 
Harry's lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room. Finally, when the sun had risen, when his bedroom walls had turned gold, and when sounds of movement could be heard from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's room, Harry cleared his desk of crumpled pieces of parchment and reread his finished letter. 
Dear Sirius, Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous; it could hardly get through my window. Things are the same as usual here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn't even got Mega-Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things. I'm okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to. A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? I'll send this with Hedwig when she gets back; she's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me. Harry Yes, thought Harry, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream; he didn't want it to look as though he was too worried. He folded up the parchment and laid it aside on his desk, ready for when Hedwig returned. Then he got to his feet, stretched, and opened his wardrobe once more. Without glancing at his reflection he started to get dressed before going down to breakfast. 
　哈利平平地仰卧着，呼吸艰难，好像他在奔跑似的。一个逼真的梦把他唤醒，他用手捂住脸。额头上的那条像霹雳一样的旧疤形，在手指下面灼烧，仿佛有人用烧得红红的铁丝按在他的皮肤上。 
　　他坐起身来，一手按着伤疤，在黑暗中用另一只手去抓眼镜，眼镜就放在床边的桌上。他戴上眼镜，卧室看得清楚些了，因为微弱得像雾一样的橙黄的灯光透过窗帘照在房间里。 
　　哈利用手指摸过伤痕，还在疼，他开亮身旁的灯，一骨碌从床上爬起来，走到房间另一头，打开衣柜，朝柜门里面的镜子里看去：一个清瘦的十四岁男孩看着他，黑黑的头发已凌乱不堪，一对绿色明亮大眼露出迷惑不解的神色。他靠近一点衣镜审视霹雳形伤痕。它看起来很正常，但还是有一种火辣辣的感觉。 
　　哈利努力地去回忆醒来前梦里的事情，这一切好像如此真实，……有两个人，他认识的，还有一个，他不认识。他拼命地集中精力，努力地去记起…… 
　　阴暗房间的暗淡画面向他走来，在炉前地毯上有一条蛇，有一个矮子叫彼得，绰号温太尔，还有一个冰冷高音，是福尔得摩特的声音。想到这里，他感到好像吞了一大块冰…… 
　　他紧闭双眼，努力地去想福尔得摩特的样子，但这是不可能的，所有哈利能记起的，就是当福尔得摩特的椅子转动时，他感觉到的恐惧、抽搐弄醒了脑……，或许是伤疤的疼痛弄醒了他？。 
　　那老人是谁？因为肯定有那么一个老人。哈利看见他倒在地上。这一切变得模糊不清，哈利用双手捂住脸，用他的房子作构图，努力地去抓住那阴暗房间的画面，但这样做就像用合成杯形的手去勺水一样，当他想记起那些细节时，它们反而都溜之大吉了……福尔得摩特与温太尔在谈论他们已经杀了的人，那人的名字却怎么也记不起来……而且他们在计划再杀某人……他…… 
　　哈利拿开双手，睁开眼睛，环顾房间四周，好像想看到有什么不同寻常的东西。是的，他的房间里真的有许多不同寻常的东西。 
　　床脚边的一个大箱子打开着，露出一只大汽锅、扫帚，黑施子，不同种类的拼写课本。一卷卷羊皮纸散乱在他的书桌上，没有放进那个又大又空的笼子，笼子是他那雪白猫头鹰栖息的地方。床边地板匕有一本书，打开着，昨天晚上入睡前他还读过。书本里的图画都在动。身着鲜橙色长袍的人骑在扫帚上飞驰，一会儿看得见，一会儿看不见，相互间投看一个红色的球。 
　　哈利朝这本书走去，拿起来，看到一个巫师在给一个好球打分，办法是把球抛过一个五十英尺高的环架。他猛地把书合上。在哈利看来，甚至快迪斯世界杯赛中最好的运动在此刻都不能吸引他。他把《驾着大炮飞翔》放到床边的桌子上，走到窗子前，拉开窗帘，看下面的街道。 
　　在星期六早上，普里怀特街仍像一条不错的郊区大街。所有的窗帘紧闭，黑暗中哈利目之所及的地方，没有一个人，甚至连一只猫也没有。 
　　可是……可是……哈利烦躁不安地走回床边，坐下来，用手指摸头上伤痕。不是疼痛让他烦恼，哈利对伤痛、疼痛并不陌生，曾经右臂的骨头全没有了，而且还得忍受一夜间再长出来的巨痛。过后不久同样又是右臂遭到几乎一尺长的毒牙刺穿。仅仅去年又从五十英尺高的正在飞行的扫帚上掉下来。他已习惯于古里古怪的事故和伤痛。只要你进了霍格瓦彻的巫师学校，就有办法惹麻烦，这些事情都是不可避免的。 
　　不是，让哈利心烦的是最近这次，伤痕在刺痛他。也许福尔得磨特曾经就在附近……但福尔得摩特现在不可能在这里……想想福尔得摩特就走在普里怀特街，这种想法真荒谬，完全不可能…… 
　　哈利在一片静寂中仔细地听着。他盼望听到楼梯的吱咯声音，他盼望听到外套的沙沙声。接着当他听到邻房里达德里表兄的大鼾声时微微跳了一下。 
　　哈利生气地摇晃了一下身子，刚才太蠢了，房屋里除了维能姨丈，帕尤妮亚姨妈，达德里表兄外并无他人，他们都还在睡觉，不受干扰，没有痛苦。 
　　哈利最喜欢他们的时候就是他们睡着的时候，即使他们醒了也不会对他有任何帮助，他们三人是哈利世上唯一的亲人。他们都不是巫师，他们憎恨魔法的，藐视魔法，哈利在他们家当然可想而知。哈利前三年不在这里，去霍格瓦彻上学，他们解释给街邻说哈利去圣莫多的少管所。他们十分清楚一个未成年的巫师，是不允许在霍格瓦彻外使用魔法，但一旦这房子有什么问题，他们都会责备他。哈利从来不会相信他们，也不会把他在巫师世界里的生活经历讲给他们听，至于等他们睡醒后到他们那儿去，告诉他们伤痕的事以及担心福尔得库特的事，都是荒唐可笑的。 
　　然而，正是因为福尔得库特，哈利才来这里与达德里住在一起，如果不是因为福尔得摩特，哈利还不会有前额上的伤痕，如果不是因为福尔得摩特，哈利的双亲将仍然还在世上…… 
　　那天晚上福尔得摩特，本世纪最强大的黑暗巫师，执政十一年，到了他家里杀害了他的父亲、母亲，那时哈利才一岁。最后福尔得摩特把魔杖指向哈利，福尔得摩特要施那种曾毁掉了许多成年男女巫师的咒语，这曾使他一步一步迈向了权利的顶端，但难以置信的是，咒语没有起作用。不仅没有杀掉哈利且福尔得摩特还因此遭到报应。哈利除了额头上有一道霹雳样的伤痕以外活下来了，而福尔得摩特却几乎被消灭了。他的力量消失了，他的精神几乎全部崩溃，他逃走了。巫师群体中的恐惧也因此不在，福尔得摩特的追随者们作鸟兽散。哈利·波特因此一举成名。 
　　十一岁那年生日时，哈利发现他是一个巫师，这已经够令他吃惊的了，更令他吃惊的是，他发现在隐秘的巫师世界里，人人都知道他的名字。哈利曾到过霍格瓦彻，发现无论他去到哪里人人都转过头去，在他后面窃窃私语。但现在已经习惯了，今年夏天一完，在霍格瓦彻的第四学年将要开始，返回城堡的日子屈指可数了。 
　　但是还有两周才开学。他渺望了一下四周，眼睛停留在生日卡上，那是他两个最好的朋友七月底送来的。如果写信去告诉他们伤痕的事，他们会怎么说呢？ 
　　马上，荷米恩。格林佐的声音在他脑子里响起，声音刺耳又有些惊慌。 
　　“你的伤痕疼吗？哈利，那真的很严重。给丹伯多教授写信。 
　　我将去普通魔病科一下，也许那里可以治符咒留下来的伤痕……“ 
　　对，那确实会是荷米恩的建议，直接去找霍格瓦彻校长，同时找书看看。哈利望了望外面蓝黑的天，他很怀疑有没有这样一本书可以帮他。据他所知，他是在福尔得摩特的诅咒下唯一逃生的巫师。所以几乎没有可能在普通魔病科那里找到列出的疼痛症状。至于要告诉校长，放假后就不知道他去了哪里自娱自乐了。他为校长勾勒出一幅画面：长白胡子，长长巫师袍，尖顶帽子，躺在海滩的某处正把防晒露擦到他那又长又弯的鼻子。不论他在哪里，哈利确信海维能找到他，哈利的猫头鹰还没有失败过，它总是可以准确地把信交给任何人，哪怕没有地址也一样。但是他写些什么呢？ 
　　亲爱的丹伯多教授，很抱歉打扰您，但今天早上我的伤痕刺痛。您忠实的，哈利·波特。 
　　甚至在他大脑里，这些词听起来愚蠢可笑。 
　　于是他努力地去想另外一位最好的朋友罗恩。威斯里的反应，一会儿，罗恩那长鼻子，布满麻斑的脸好像向地漂过来，一副呆呆的，迷惑的表情。 
　　“你的伤痕疼吗？但是……但‘那个人’不是靠近不了你了吗？ 
　　我是说……你知道的，不是吗？他可能又想杀死你，不是吗？我不知道，哈利，也许诅咒伤痕总会疼一下……我会问爸爸……“ 
　　威斯里先生是一个完全合格的巫师，在魔法部办公室工作，但在诅咒事务方面没有专门经验。不管怎样，哈利不想让威斯里全家都为了他几分钟的刺痛而到处折腾。威斯里夫人将会比荷米恩说得更糟糕，还有弗来德，乔治，罗恩的十六岁的孪生兄弟，可能认为哈利发神经。威斯里家是哈利最喜爱的一家。他希望他们会邀请他去待些时间，（罗恩已经提及关于快迪斯世界杯赛），不管怎样，他不想他拜访他们时他们因为担心而问这问那。 
　　哈利用手指关节操揉前额，他真正需要的是某个像父母一样的人（他觉得有点害羞），需要一个成年巫师，可以问他，请教他，而不会感到愚蠢，需要一个真正关心他，而在黑魔法方面又有经验好啦，有了办法啦，太简单，太明显，他简直不相信花了那么久才搞掂——找西里斯。 
　　哈利从床上跳下来，走到房间的那边去，拿出一张羊皮纸，将羽毛笔注满墨水，写道，“亲爱的西里渐”然后停止了，不知道如何写出他的问题，他仍然对为什么没有直接想到西里斯而感到惊奇，但是，也许这并不是那么让人吃惊的，毕竟他两个月前才发现西里斯是他的教父。 
　　西里斯直到现在才露面，原因很简单。他去了阿兹克班这个令人害怕的巫师监狱。当西里斯逃跑后，那些看不见的，吸人灵魂的敌人，来霍格瓦彻搜寻西里斯，可是西里斯是无辜的，他所被诬告的谋杀实际上是温太尔干的。但人人都相信温太尔已经死了，哈利、罗恩、荷米恩却知道他没死，因为，前年他们曾面对面见过，但这点只有丹伯多教授相信。 
　　有那么一时，哈利相信他终于要离开了达德里家。一旦西里斯的名声昭雪了，他答应给哈利一个家。但机会又失去了，温太尔逃跑了，没有能够押送到魔法部。西里斯不得不再度逃命。哈利曾经帮助西里斯逃跑。如果不是温太尔逃跑，哈利就会在自己家里过暑假。既然以为自己可以永远离开了达德里家了，又要回来真是让他更加难受。 
　　但是，西里斯对哈利很有帮助，即使他们不在一起。正是因为西里斯，他的书箱才会和他在一起。达德里家以前从来不允许这样。他们总的愿望是尽量让哈利觉得痛苦。而且他们害怕哈利的力量，今年夏天来这之前，他的书箱总是被锁在楼梯下面的茶柜里。 
　　自从他们知道哈利有一个危险的杀人犯做教父，他们的态度完全改变了。哈利忘记告诉他们西里斯是无辜的。 
　　哈利自从回到普里怀特街，已从西里斯那接到两封信。两封都不是猫头鹰带来的（巫师通常用猫头鹰），而是用又大，又色彩鲜艳的热带鸟传递。海维还没有认可这些虚有其表的外来者。她极不情愿地让它们在飞走前喝她水盘里的水。哈利却已喜欢上了它们。 
　　他希望西里斯快乐，无论他在哪里，其实对他来说，万一信件被截获就麻烦了。不知怎的，哈利发现很难想象得蒙特可以在阳光下活很久，也许正是这个原因，西里斯去了南方。西里斯的信件隐藏在床下地板下面，地板是松动。信中言辞恳切，两封信都提醒哈利有问题时要找他。哦，现在就是需要的时候…… 
　　灰冷的光线慢慢爬进房间，哈利的灯好像暗了一些。最后，太阳升起，卧室的墙壁都变得金黄，听见了维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈的动静，哈利清醒了，把桌子上羊皮纸清理好，把写完的信件又看了遍：亲爱的西里斯谢谢你最近的来信，那鸟很大，几乎飞不进窗来。 
　　情况同以前差不多。达德里的伙食不太好。姨妈发现他昨天把油炸圈饼弄进房间，他们说如果他不改，他们将削减他的零用钱，因此，达德里大怒，把游戏机抛出窗外。那是一种可以玩游戏的计算机，真的有点蠢，现在他不再专心做事。 
　　我没事，主要因为达德里一家很害怕，担心你会出现或者我会叫你把他们揍一顿。 
　　但今天早上发生了件怪事。我的伤痕又痛了。上次痛是因为福尔得摩特在霍格瓦彻，但我认为他现在不在我附近。你知不知道诅咒伤痕以后还会疼吗？ 
　　我将用海维发送这封信，现在她去捕食去了还未回来。请代我问比克贝好。 
　　哈利是的，哈利想，那样看上去很好。没有提梦里的事，他不想让他自己看起来很担忧。他把羊皮纸折好，放在一边，好等海维回来发。接着他站起身来，伸了个懒腰，又打开衣柜，这次没看镜子，他开始穿衣准备下去吃早餐。 
Chapter 3 The Invitation
By the time Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as he entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon's large red face was hidden behind the morning's Daily Mail, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horse-like teeth. 
Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley's plate with a tremulous “There you are, Diddy darling,” Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report. 
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual: Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn't understand him, while Uncle Vernon maintained that “he didn't want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway.” They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report - “He's a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn't hurt a fly!” Aunt Petunia had said tearfully. 
However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well-chosen comments from the school nurse that not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was really puppy fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn't stock knickerbockers big enough for him anymore. The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia's eyes - so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neighbors - simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale. 
So - after many tantrums, after arguments that shook Harry's bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia - the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley's favorite things - fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called “rabbit food.” To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley's. Aunt Petunia seemed to feet that the best way to keep up Dudley's morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry. 
But Aunt Petunia didn't know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Hermione's house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks. (Hermione's parents were dentists.) Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn't touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid's cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies. Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry's birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius. Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he ate his grapefruit without complaint. 
Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter. 
“Is this it?” he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia. 
Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing Harry's with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes. 
Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon. 
The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon's grapefruit. 
Harry heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly. Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall. 
Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had got to. She didn't have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid. 
“You,” he barked at Harry. “In the living room. Now.” 
Bewildered, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time, Harry got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind both of them. 
“So,” he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry as though he were about to pronounce him under arrest. “So.” 
Harry would have dearly loved to have said, “So what?” but he didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested this early in the morning, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. He therefore settled for looking politely puzzled. 
“This just arrived,” said Uncle Vernon. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry. “A letter. About you.” 
Harry's confusion increased. Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about him? Who did he know who sent letters by the postman? 
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud: 
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron. As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school. It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is. Hoping to see Harry soon, Yours sincerely, Molly Weasley P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on. Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else. 
“Look at this,” he growled. 
He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing. 
“She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make. His uncle's eyes flashed. 
“The postman noticed,” he said through gritted teeth. “Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny.” 
Harry didn't say anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but Harry had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that someone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley. 
Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. If he didn't do or say anything stupid, he might just be in for the treat of a lifetime. He waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence. 
“So - can I go then?” he asked. 
A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon's large purple face. The mustache bristled. Harry thought he knew what was going on behind the mustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernon's most fundamental instincts came into conflict. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to disappear to the Weasleys’ for the rest of the summer would get rid of him two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley's letter again. 
“Who is this woman?” he said, staring at the signature with distaste. 
“You've seen her,” said Harry. “She's my friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog - off the school train at the end of last term.” 
He had almost said “Hogwarts Express,” and that was a sure way to get his uncle's temper up. Nobody ever mentioned the name of Harry's school aloud in the Dursley household. 
Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant. 
“Dumpy sort of woman?” he growled finally. “Load of children with red hair?” 
Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone “dumpy,” when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he'd been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall. 
Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again. 
“Quidditch,” he muttered under his breath. “Quidditch - what is this rubbish?” 
Harry felt a second stab of annoyance. 
“It's a sport,” he said shortly. “Played on broom-” 
“All right, all right!” said Uncle Vernon loudly. Harry saw, with some satisfaction, that his uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves couldn't stand the sound of the word “broomsticks” in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. Harry saw his lips form the words “send us your answer…in the normal way.” He scowled. 
“What does she mean, ‘the normal way'?” he spat. 
“Normal for us,” said Harry, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, “you know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards.” 
Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the glass. 
“How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?” he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. “You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back -” 
“Only after Dudley finished with them,” said Harry coldly, and indeed, he was dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five times so as to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his extremely baggy jeans. 
“I will not be spoken to like that!” said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage. 
But Harry wasn't going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys’ stupid rules. He wasn't following Dudley's diet, and he wasn't going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then said, “Okay, I can't see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I've got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know - my godfather.” 
He had done it, he had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon's face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream. 
“You're - you're writing to him, are you?” said Uncle Vernon, in a would-be calm voice - but Harry had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear. 
“Well - yeah,” said Harry, casually. “It's been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn't he might start thinking something's wrong.” 
He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon's thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told Harry he couldn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell Sirius, who would know Harry was being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his uncle's mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep his own face as blank as possible. And then - 
“Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy…this stupid…this World Cup thing. You write and tell these - these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather…tell him…tell him you're going.” 
“Okay then,” said Harry brightly. 
He turned and walked toward the living room door, fighting the urge to jump into the air and whoop. He was going…he was going to the Weasleys', he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup! 
Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off. He looked shocked to see the broad grin on Harry's face. 
“That was an excellent breakfast, wasn't it?” said Harry. “I feel really full, don't you?” 
Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley's face, Harry took the stairs three at a time, and hurled himself back into his bedroom. 
The first thing he saw was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage, staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, and clicking her beak in the way that meant she was annoyed about something. Exactly what was annoying her became apparent almost at once. 
“OUCH!” said Harry as what appeared to be a small, gray, feathery tennis ball collided with the side of his head. Harry massaged the spot furiously, looking up to see what had hit him, and saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework. Harry then realized that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet. Harry bent down, recognized Ron's handwriting, then tore open the envelope. Inside was a hastily scribbled note. 
Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway. Harry stared at the word “Pig,” then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn't read Ron's writing. He went back to the letter: 
We're coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway. Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you. See you soon - Ron “Calm down!” Harry said as the small owl flew low over his head, twittering madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right person. “Come here, I need you to take my answer back!” 
The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwig's cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as though daring it to try and come any closer. 
Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote: 
Ron, it's all okay, the Muggles say I can come. See you five o'clock tomorrow. Can't wait. Harry He folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owl's leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight. 
Harry turned to Hedwig. 
“Feeling up to a long journey?” he asked her. 
Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of a way. 
“Can you take this to Sirius for me?” he said, picking up his letter. “Hang on…I just want to finish it.” 
He unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript. 
If you want to contact me, I'll be at my friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup! The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwig's leg; she kept unusually still, as though determined to show him how a real post owl should behave. 
“I'll be at Ron's when you get back, all right?” Harry told her. 
She nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her enormous wings and soared out of the open window. 
Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. He sat there on the floor eating it, savoring the happiness that was flooding through him. He had cake, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer's day, he would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything - even Lord Voldemort. 
　哈利到达厨房时，三位已经围桌而坐了。他送来、坐下都一直没有人抬起头来。姨丈的大红脸被早报给遮住了，姨妈在把西柚分成四份，她的牙像马牙一样，嘴唇缩拢着。 
　　达德里看起来盛怒，生气，好像要占比平常更多的地方。这个方桌他总是占据整整一条边。当姨妈把四份之一不太甜的葡萄放到他盘子上的时候，他生气地瞪了她一眼，姨妈还是对她说，“你的，吃吧，亲爱的！”自从夏天带年终学习报告回来后，他的生活就变得很不愉快。 
　　维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈像往日一样为他们儿子的低分找出借口，姨妈说达德里是一个极有才赋的孩子，可惜老师并不理解他，姨丈则说他不要儿子太苦读。对成绩单上的批评话句，他们也只是一语带过，姨妈满眼泪花地说，“他是个性情狂暴的小孩，但却不会伤害一只苍蝇。” 
　　然而，成绩单结尾处有一段学校护士的评语，姨丈姨妈怎么也解释不了。不管姨妈怎样哀怨达德里是如何骨骼大，按每磅所费的费用真是跟一个小狗差不多，说他是在长身体的时候，需要足够食物。但却改变不了这一事实，学校服装售货员说已找不到那么大的短灯笼裤供达德里穿。学校护士注意到姨妈的眼睛只有当有人在她闪亮墙壁上弄了胜指印和在观察邻居来来往往方面才会锐利，但对儿子的问题却视而不见，达德里并不需要营养，实际上已经在体重、大小方面达到了一头杀人鲸的份量。 
　　发了许多脾气，通过争论，简直让哈利卧室地板也颤抖，姨妈流了许多眼泪，新的摄食法清单开始了。食物清单是学校护士送的，贴在冰箱上，除去所有达德里最喜欢吃的东西：起泡的饮料，蛋糕，巧克力糖，汉堡包，而塞进去的是水果，蔬菜，以及姨丈称之为“兔食”的食品，为了让达德里感觉好一点，姨妈坚持全家都跟新的食品清单进食。她现在把一份西柚给哈利，哈利注意到他的那份比达德里的那份要小许多。姨妈好像感觉到保持达德里斗志的最好方法就是让达德里确信，他确实吃的比哈利多。 
　　但是姨妈还不知道楼上地板下所藏的东西。她不知道哈利根本就没有跟食谱吃。他一得到可能要一个暑假都吃胡萝卜过活的风声后，他马上放出海维向朋友恳求帮助，他们均慷慨相助。海维从荷米恩的家里带回一个大盒子无糖点心（荷米恩的父母都是牙医）。 
　　哈利的学校管理员给了一袋石饼，自己家做的（哈利还没有动，他对管理员的烹调手艺大清楚了）。威斯里夫人派她家的猫头鹰（厄罗）送来了大袋水果饼，及各种各样的肉馅饼，可怜的厄罗，上了年纪及身体虚弱，需要五天才能恢复体力。后来哈利的生日那天（杜斯理完全忽略了）他收到四个大蛋糕，罗恩，荷米恩，查理，西里斯一人送了一个。哈利还留了两个，做真正的早餐。他开始吃袖子，没有丝毫抱怨。 
　　姨丈放开他的报纸，对此嗤之以鼻，很不赞成，然后他看看自己的那份水果。 
　　“就这些吗？”他咕哝地对姨妈说。 
　　姨妈严厉地看了他一眼，看着达德里点了点头，达德里早已吃完他的那份，他那贪婪的小眼睛还酸酸地看着哈利的那份。 
　　姨丈长叹一气，弄乱了他那一大把浓密的胡子，他拿起汤匙。 
　　门铃响了，姨丈从椅子里起来，到大厅里去，达德里趁他妈妈忙于给水壶加水霹雳般地把他爸爸的那份剩下的全吃了。 
　　哈利听到门口讲话，有人笑，姨丈粗鲁地应答。接着前门关闭，从厅里传来撕纸的声音。 
　　姨妈把茶壶放在桌上，好奇地环顾四周，想知道姨丈去哪了。 
　　她不必等很久就知道答案了：过了约一分钟，他就回来了。他看起来很生气。 
　　他对哈利吼道，“你，到起居室里去，就现在！” 
　　哈利迷惑不解，不知道这次他到底做了些什么，哈利站起来，跟着姨丈出了厨房，进了另一个房间，姨丈“砰”地一声关了门。 
　　“因此，”他边说边走到壁炉进，转过身对着哈利，仿佛要逮捕哈利似的怒吼道，“因此。” 
　　哈利本来要反问：“因此，什么？”但他觉得不要一大清早惹姨丈，尤其是在早餐食物不足高度紧张的情况下。因此他站在那里，彬彬有礼但看起来大惑不解。 
　　“这刚刚收到，”姨丈说，他对哈利挥舞着一张紫色信纸，“一封信。你的。” 
　　哈利更加迷惑了。谁在给姨丈写信讲关于他的事呢？谁又知道通过邮政人员传寄信件呢？ 
　　姨文对哈利怒目而视，然后向下看信，大声读道：亲爱的杜斯利先生及夫人，我们素未谋面，但我确信你们知道许多关于我儿子罗恩的事情。 
　　哈利也许告诉你们了，快迪斯决赛将于下周一晚上举行，我丈夫亚瑟通过关系在魔法运动部里弄到了票。 
　　我希望你们允许我们接哈利去看比赛，因为这可是终生中唯一的机会。 
　　美国已经三十年没有做东道主了，票特别难买，我们当然很高兴让哈利在我们这里度过剩余的假日，直至送他平安登上火车返回学校。 
　　最好让哈利尽快回信给我们，以正常方式，因为非魔界邮递员从来不给我们家送信，我不确信他是否知道地址。 
　　希望不久就见哈利，你真诚的摩莉。威斯里附言；我确实希望我们已贴够邮票。 
　　姨丈读完信，手又放回胸间口袋，又拉出一样东西。 
　　“看看这个吧！”他咆哮道。 
　　他举起威斯里夫人的信纸，哈利不得不压住想笑的冲动。信封上满是邮票，除了一小条用小写字体写的杜斯利家的地址。 
　　哈利说，“她可贴足了邮票，”尽量说得听起来好像威斯里夫人犯了一个任何人都可能犯的错误一样。姨丈的眼睛闪了闪。 
　　姨丈牙齿咬得响响的，他说，“邮递员注意到了，而且很有趣地想知道这信从哪里来，他按门铃就是这个道理。他好像认为这样很滑稽。” 
　　哈利一句话也说不出来。别人不懂姨丈为什么会对邮票过多吹毛求疵，但哈利和达德里住在一起太久了，不会不知道他们会对任何超出寻常的事情过敏。他们最担心的是别人把他们和威斯里夫人这样的人联系在一起。 
　　维能姨丈还是瞪着哈利，哈利尽力地去强作自然，不说蠢话，不做蠢事。他等维能姨丈说话。但他只是瞪眼。哈利决定打破寂寞。 
　　“那么——我可以走了吗？”他问道。 
　　姨丈紫色大脸上一阵抽搐，胡子也竖起来了。哈利知道那胡子后面，姨丈最根本的两种本性在激烈交锋。允许哈利走会让哈利快乐，这就与十三年来，姨丈一直为之奋斗的目标相反，另一方面，让哈利到威斯里去度余假，提前两周走，这是其他人求之不得的事。姨丈真是恨哈利在他家里。好像要给他自己考虑的时间，他又看看威斯里夫人的信封。 
　　“这女人是谁？”他说，嫌恶地盯住签名。 
　　“您已经见过的，”哈利说，“她是我朋友罗恩的母亲，她接他下霍格——，下学校的火车，那是上学期未。” 
　　他几乎说出“霍格瓦彻快车”，那准会让姨丈怒发冲冠。没有人斗胆敢在杜斯利家里提哈利学校的名字。 
　　姨丈脸上皱起一道道皱纹好像在努力记起某些极不愉快的事。 
　　“矮胖类型的女人？”他最后咆哮说，“一大堆红头发的孩子？” 
　　哈利皱眉了，姨丈可以叫任何人“矮胖型”，但对他自己的儿子却绝对不行，自从三岁起就不准这样叫。 
　　姨丈又再次看了看信件。 
　　“快迪斯，”他屏住呼吸喃喃说道，“这是什么垃圾？” 
　　哈利又一次被愤怒刺了一下。 
　　“这是一种运动，”他说得很短，“在扫帚上进行比赛。” 
　　“对，对！”姨大大声说。哈利有几分满意，他看见姨丈有些恐惧。很明显，他的神经忍受不了“扫帚”这个词在他的起居室里被说出。他通过看信转移注意力。哈利看见他的嘴唇似乎在说：“以正常方式给我们答复。”他怒目而视。 
　　“正常方式？她是什么意思？”他质问道。 
　　“对我们来说正常，“哈利说，姨丈还没有制止他，他又补充说，”您知道，用猫头鹰寄信。那对于巫师来说是正常。“ 
　　维能姨丈看起来勃然大怒，仿佛哈利刚刚说了句令人恶心的誓言。气得浑身发抖，他不安地朝窗外看去，好像要看见有几个邻居用耳朵贴在玻璃上偷听。 
　　“多少次我告诉你不要在家里提那些不自然的东西？”他说，脸完全变成了猪肝色。“你站在那里，你这个忘恩负义的东西穿我和你姨妈给你的衣服——” 
　　“只是达德里穿了不要了的！”哈利冷冷地说，的确，他穿的汗衫太大，衣袖要卷五卷才伸提出手，汗衫长过膝头，他的牛仔裤也特别肥大。 
　　“不允许跟我这样讲话！”维能姨丈说，气得发抖。 
　　但是哈利不准备再忍受这些。那些被迫去服从杜斯利家的条条规则的日子过去了，他不会按达德里的食谱进食。他不会让维能姨丈阻止他去看快迪斯世界杯赛。 
　　哈利深深地吸了口气，说道，“OK，我不能看世界杯。我可以走了吗？现在？我要给西里斯写封信，信未写完。您知道，西里斯，我教父！” 
　　他这样做了，像说了些有魔力的话，现在他看到姨丈脸上紫色褪去，布满汗滴，看起来像混有黑醋粒的冰淇淋。 
　　“你会给他写信，是吗？”姨丈说，想镇定下来，但哈利看见他因害怕而瞳孔收缩。 
　　“噢，”哈利随便地说，“自从他收到我的信已有一阵子了，您知道，假如他没有收到我的信，他可能开始考虑是不是有什么麻烦。” 
　　他站在那里，得意地体会这些话的效果。他几乎能看到姨丈在想什么。假使他阻止哈利给西里斯写信，西里斯将认为哈利在受虐待。假如他不允许哈利去看世界杯，哈利会写信告诉西里斯，他也会认为哈利在受虐待。那么姨丈只能做一件事情。哈利仿佛能看见结论正在姨丈大脑中形成，仿佛他的大脑是透明的。哈利尽量装得没有表情，接着——“那好，你可以去看这愚蠢的——世界杯赛。你写信告诉这些，这些威斯里家的人，要他们来接你，我没有时间去送你。你可以在那里度余假。你可以告诉你的——你的教父。告诉他……告诉他……你要去。” 
　　“OK。”哈利高兴地说。 
　　他转过身来，朝卧室门口走去，压住想跳跃想欢呼的冲动。他要去，要去威斯里家，他要去看世界杯！ 
　　大厅外面他差点与达德里撞了个满怀，达德里一直在门后偷听，明显想听到他父亲叫哈利走。但当他看到哈利露齿而笑时却大吃一惊。 
　　“那可真是精美早餐，不是吗？”哈利说，“我真觉得饱了，你不是吗？” 
　　达德里脸上大惊失色，哈利大声地笑着，一次三阶地上楼梯，匆匆回到卧室。 
　　他看见的第一个东西是海维回来了。她正坐在笼子里，大大的琥珀眼一动不动地看着哈利，鸟嘴咯当响，意思是为某原因生气。 
　　的确，那正让她生气的事马上就明了了。 
　　“哎哟。”哈利说。 
　　好像有一个小小的有羽毛的灰色的网球撞了一下哈利的头顶，哈利恼火地摸了摸头，仰起头来看究竟是什么撞了他。他看见了一个很小的猫头鹰，小得可以放在手掌心，在屋子里飞驰，就像烟火爆炸时那样，哈利意识到猫头鹰丢了封信到他脚边，他弯下腰，认出是罗恩的手迹，接着哈利打开信封，里面有一张草写的便条：哈利，父亲弄了票，爱尔兰对保加尼亚，星期一晚上。妈妈写信给你要你来住。他们可能已经寄了信。我不知道邮递员快不快。 
　　因此我叫猪把这信送给你。 
　　哈利盯着“猪”这词看，哈利看了半天也没有发现小猫头鹰身上有像猪的地方。然后抬起头看着小猫头鹰，它正在天花板上的灯影里飞来飞去，哈利从来也没有看见像它身上有任何像猪的地方。 
　　也许是他看错了罗恩写的信，因此他又继续看了下去：不管他们喜欢不喜欢，我们来接你，你不能错过这次世界杯赛，只是爸妈认为先征求他们意见好些。如果他们说“好”，让猪及时回来回答我，我们星期天五点来接你。如果他们说“不行”，也让猪回来，我们也是在周日五点来接你。 
　　荷米恩今天下午到达。伯希已经开始工作——国际魔法合作分部的工作，你在这里时不要提及国外的任何事情。 
　　不久见——罗恩“静一静吧。”小猫头鹰低飞时哈利说，它不断鸣叫，仿佛让哈利知道他很自豪地将信件投送给了该收的人。“来这里吧，我需要你把答案带回去。” 
　　小猫头鹰一下子飞落到笼子上面，海维冷冷地向上看，仿佛在激它再近些。 
　　哈利又一次抓住羽毛笔，拿出一张羊皮纸，写道：罗恩，这件事OK.他们说我可以去。明天5点钟见。我迫不及待想见你们。 
　　哈利他把它折得很小，费了很大劲才绑在小猫头鹰腿上，而它却兴奋得跳来跳去。便条一系好，它就又走了，飞出窗户，飞得不见了。 
　　哈利转向海维。 
　　“感觉可以长途旅行吗？”他问她。 
　　海维充满自豪地霍霍叫唤。 
　　“你能为我把它送给西里斯吗？”他说着，拿起信件，“等着，我就写完它。” 
　　他把羊皮纸打开，很快写了附言。 
　　假如你要跟我联系，我将在罗恩。威斯里家里过完假日。他父亲给我们弄到了世界杯票。 
　　信写完了，他把它绑在海维腿上，她保持出人意料的静，仿佛决心显示出一只真正的空中邮鹰的风姿。 
　　哈利告诉她，“你回来去罗恩那里。” 
　　她爱抚地啄了啄他的手指，轻轻地叫了一声，张开巨大翅膀，飞出了窗户。 
　　哈利望着她直到完全看不见。然后爬到床下，掀开松地板，拿出一大块蛋糕。他坐在地板上吃生日蛋糕，边吃边品味这满心的快乐。他有蛋糕吃，而达德里只有柚子吃，真是个明媚的夏天。明天他就要离开普里怀特街，他的伤痕完全恢复正常，他将去看快迪斯世界杯赛，此时此刻，什么事情都不会再担心了，哪怕是福尔得摩特公爵。
Chapter 4 Back To The Burrow
By twelve o'clock the next day, Harry's school trunk was packed with his school things and all his most prized possessions - the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, the broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of Hogwarts he had been given by Fred and George Weasley last year. He had emptied his hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, double-checked every nook and cranny of his bedroom for forgotten spellbooks or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which he liked to cross off the days remaining until his return to Hogwarts. 
The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day. 
“I hope you told them to dress properly, these people,” he snarled at once. “I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all.” 
Harry felt a slight sense of foreboding. He had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call “normal.” Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness. Harry wasn't bothered about what the neighbors would think, but he was anxious about how rude the Dursleys might be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards. 
Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Harry knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully grown wizard with a curly pig's tail poking out of the seat of his trousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for its removal at a private hospital in London. It wasn't altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervously over his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so as not to present the same target to the enemy. 
Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't, eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry. 
“They'll be driving, of course?” Uncle Vernon barked across the table. 
“Er,” said Harry. 
He hadn't thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick him up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today? 
“I think so,” said Harry. 
Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari. 
Harry spent most of the afternoon in his bedroom; he couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry went back downstairs and into the living room. 
Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Harry couldn't take the tension; he left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, his eyes on his watch and his heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves. 
But five o'clock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly. 
“They're late!” he snarled at Harry. 
“I know,” said Harry. “Maybe - er - the traffic's bad, or something.” 
Ten past five…then a quarter past five…Harry was starting to feel anxious himself now. At half past, he heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia conversing in terse mutters in the living room. 
“No consideration at all.” 
“We might've had an engagement.” 
“Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late.” 
“Well, they most certainly won't be,” said Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. “They'll take the boy and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d -AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!” 
Harry jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified. 
“What happened?” said Harry. “What's the matter?” 
But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. Harry hurried into the living room. 
Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys’ boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it. 
“What is it?” gasped Aunt Petunia, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. “What is it, Vernon?” 
But they were left in doubt barely a second longer. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace. 
“Ouch! Fred, no - go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake - tell George not to - OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron -” 
“Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe he'll be able to let us out -” 
There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire. 
“Harry? Harry, can you hear us?” 
The Dursleys rounded on Harry like a pair of angry wolverines. 
“What is this?” growled Uncle Vernon. “What's going on?” 
“They - they've tried to get here by Floo powder,” said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. “They can travel by fire - only you've blocked the fireplace - hang on -” 
He approached the fireplace and called through the boards. 
“Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?” 
The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney piece said, “Shh!” 
“Mr. Weasley, it's Harry…the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there.” 
“Damn!” said Mr. Weasley's voice. “What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?” 
“They've got an electric fire,” Harry explained. 
“Really?” said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. “Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that….Let's think…Ouch, Ron!” 
Ron's voice now joined the others'. 
“What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?” 
“Oh no, Ron,” came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.” 
“Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here,” said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall. 
“Boys, boys…” said Mr. Weasley vaguely. “I'm trying to think what to do….Yes…only way…Stand back, Harry.” 
Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward. 
“Wait a moment!” he bellowed at the fire. “What exactly are you going to -” 
BANG. 
The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair, including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle. 
“That's better,” panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. “Ah - you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!” 
Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years. 
“Er - yes - sorry about that,” said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. “It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see - just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate.” 
Harry was ready to bet that the Dursleys hadn't understood a single word of this. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon. 
“Hello, Harry!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. “Got your trunk ready?” 
“It's upstairs,” said Harry, grinning back. 
“We'll get it,” said Fred at once. Winking at Harry, he and George left the room. They knew where Harry's bedroom was, having once rescued him from it in the dead of night. Harry suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from Harry. 
“Well,” said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. “Very - erm - very nice place you've got here.” 
As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything. 
Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder. 
“They run off eckeltricity, do they?” he said knowledgeably. “Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs,” he added to Uncle Vernon. “And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are.” 
Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack. 
Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Harry could hear the clunk of his trunk on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley. 
“Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry?” said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation. 
“Yep,” said Harry, “that's Dudley.” 
He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. Indeed, from the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry was quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought he was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sympathy rather than fear. 
“Having a good holiday, Dudley?” he said kindly. 
Dudley whimpered. Harry saw his hands tighten still harder over his massive backside. 
Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins. 
“Ah, right,” said Mr. Weasley. “Better get cracking then.” 
He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry saw the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one. 
“Incendio!” said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him. 
Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever. 
“Off you go then, Fred,” said Mr. Weasley. 
“Coming,” said Fred. “Oh no - hang on -” 
A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. 
Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire, saying “the Burrow!” Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished. 
“Right then, George,” said Mr. Weasley, “you and the trunk.” 
Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried “the Burrow!” and vanished too. 
“Ron, you next,” said Mr. Weasley. 
“See you,” said Ron brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted “the Burrow!” and disappeared. 
Now Harry and Mr. Weasley alone remained. 
“Well…'bye then,” Harry said to the Dursleys. 
They didn't say anything at all. Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement. 
“Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn't you hear him?” 
“It doesn't matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don't care.” 
Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry's shoulder. 
“You aren't going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you're going to say good-bye?” 
Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully, “Good-bye, then.” 
“See you,” said Harry, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like warm breath. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and Aunt Petunia started to scream. 
Harry wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, Harry realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue - and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him. 
Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard. 
“Not to worry, I can sort him out!” he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley. 
“No, really!” said Mr. Weasley desperately. “It's a simple process it was the toffee - my son Fred - real practical joker - but it's only an Engorgement Charm - at least, I think it is - please, I can correct it -” 
But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic- stricken; Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out; Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue; and Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace. 
“Now really!” said Mr. Weasley angrily, brandishing his wand. “I'm trying to help!” 
Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament. 
“Harry, go! Just go!” Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. “I'll sort this out!” 
Harry didn't want to miss the fun, but Uncle Vernon's second ornament narrowly missed his left ear, and on balance he thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. He stepped into the fire, looking over his shoulder as he said “the Burrow!” His last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a third ornament out of Uncle Vernon's hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley's tongue lolling around like a great slimy python. But next moment Harry had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys’ living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames. 
第二天十二时前，哈利的行李箱塞满了上学用品，也塞满了所有的奖品——他从父亲那里继承下来的隐身衣，西里斯那里得到的扫帚，去年弗来德和乔治给的霍格瓦彻魔法地图。他清空了地板底下的所有吃的东西，小心翼翼地检查每个角落，每个缝隙，不要忘记拼写课本及羽毛笔，从墙取下一直划到9月1日的时间表——哈利划去的，为了早日返回霍格瓦彻。 
　　普里怀特街四号里面的气氛特别紧张。一批巫师就要到他们家，达德里一家坐立不安，暴躁易怒。哈利告诉他威斯里家人五点到，维能看上去完全处于惊恐之中。 
　　“我希望你已告诉他们穿得体面些，这些人，”他马上厉声说道，“我曾经看见过你们这些人穿的那种衣服，他们最好体面地穿上正常服装。就这些。” 
　　哈利有一种预感。他从来没有见过威斯里夫妇穿杜斯利夫妇称之为正常的衣服。假期，他们的孩子们可能穿马格的衣服，仅威斯里夫妻俩通常穿肮脏无比的长袍。哈利不担心邻居们会怎么想，他担心当威斯里穿的是维能姨丈最厌恶的那种样子，维能姨丈对威斯里一家将会何等粗鲁。 
　　维能姨丈穿上他最好的衣服。对某些人来说，这样可能是出于表示欢迎，但哈利知道姨丈是要给别人留下深刻印像，同样对别人也是一种威胁。达德里却精神没那么好。不是因为新食谱终于起作用，而是由于害怕。他上次遇到了一个大巫师用一个卷毛猪尾刺穿他的座位并刺进了他的屁股。为此不得不付笔钱让他在伦敦一家私人医院取出猪尾。因此，达德里总是一边紧张地从一个房间踱到另一个房间，一边用手摸屁股，好像不会让同一目标再送给敌人似的。 
　　午餐悄悄地进行。达德里也不抱怨食物（农家奶酪，磨碎了的芹菜）。姨妈什么也不吃。她撑着胳膊，双唇紧闭，好像在嚼舌头，虽然她想狠狠地怒斥哈利，但又缩了回去。 
　　“他们开车来的吧？”对面姨丈说话。 
　　“呃。”哈利说。 
　　他本想过，他们将怎样接他走呢？他们也没有车，曾经有的那辆旧福得。安利亚现在正在霍格瓦彻禁林里狂奔。但威斯里先生去年从魔法部里借了部车，也许今天也一样？ 
　　“我想是这样。”哈利说。 
　　维能姨丈嗤之以鼻。通常情况下，姨丈会再问威斯里先生开什么样的车，他趋向于根据车的大小，车的昂贵程度来判断他人。但哈利怀疑即使威斯里先生开法拉利来，他也会无动于衷。 
　　下午大部分时间哈利都是在卧室里度过。姨妈每隔一会就朝窗帘外看去，好像有人警告说一头犀牛在逃窜。哈利实在受不了。终于，四点四十五分时，哈利下了楼，来到客厅。 
　　姨妈粗暴地把沙发坐垫弄直。姨丈在假装着报，但他的小眼睛却未动，哈利肯定他实际上在全神贯注地听是否有小车在开过来。 
　　达德里坐在手扶椅上，肥肥大手放在屁股下，牢牢地钳住。哈利没有办法消除紧张局面，他离开房间，坐在大厅里的楼梯上，眼睛看着大门，因为兴奋，心跳得飞快。 
　　但五点到了，很快又过了五点，姨丈穿着的衣服都被汗浸湿，他打开前门，往街上两头望望，然后很快就回来了。 
　　“他们迟到了。”他对哈利说。 
　　“我知道。”哈利说，“也许，塞车，或者别的原因。” 
　　五点过五分，……接着五点过十分……哈利现在开始感到不安。五点半时，他听到姨丈和姨妈在客厅里简短地对话。 
　　“根本没有考虑别人。” 
　　“我们本来有个约会。” 
　　“也许他们认为如果迟些我们会请他们吃饭。” 
　　“他们最好别想。”姨丈说，哈利听见他站起来，在客厅来回踱步。“他们来接这个孩子后马上就得走，周围没有什么好逗留的。 
　　那是说他们来的话。也许搞错了日期。我敢说他们那种人根本不知道做事情要一丝不苟。要么这样，他们开了辆破车，在路上环！“ 
　　从客厅另一边的门那儿，传来杜斯利一家三口惊恐的叫声。接着达德里飞一般回到大厅，看起来受了惊吓。 
　　哈利跳了起来说，“怎么回事？有什么不妥？” 
　　但达德里好像说不出话来。双手还是护着屁股，他尽快走进厨房。哈利匆忙来到客厅。 
　　杜斯利家的暖火炉后面传来很大的“砰”及“刮到”声，炉子有煤火堵在前面。 
　　“那是什么？”姨妈说，她已回到墙那边，眼睛一动不动，看着炉火吓坏了。“那是什么？维能？” 
　　但很快他们就知道真相了，壁炉里面传出了声音。 
　　“噢，弗来德，不要——回去吧，回去吧，有点毛病，叫乔治不要——哎哟！不要，没有地方，马上回去，告诉罗恩——” 
　　“也许哈利能听见我们说话，也许他会让我们出去。” 
　　电炉后面传来用拳头敲打木板的声音。 
　　“哈利？哈利，你能听见吗？” 
　　杜斯利一家围住哈利，就像几个发怒的狼罐一样。 
　　“这是什么？”姨丈咆哮说，“这是怎么回事？” 
　　“他们想用芙露粉到这里。”哈利说，真想大笑起来，“他们会在火上行，只是你们封住了壁炉的出口——等一等——” 
　　他靠近炉子，对着木板喊叫。 
　　“威斯里先生，你能听见我说话吗？” 
　　敲打声停止了。烟囱里有人说，“是”。 
　　“威斯里先生，是哈利呀。壁炉被封住了，您过不来。” 
　　“该死的！”威斯里先生说，“他们究竟为什么要封住壁炉？” 
　　“他们有电炉。”哈利解释说。 
　　“真的吗？”威斯里先生说，他很兴奋，“电吗，你说？有插头？ 
　　天哪，我得看看，让我们想想……哎哟，罗恩！“ 
　　罗恩的声音现在加入了。 
　　“我们在这里干啥？有什么问题吗产”噢，没有，罗恩，“弗来德说，好像有点讥讽的口气。”这里刚好是咱们的目的地。“ 
　　“噫，我们在享受人生，”乔治说，他的声音很低，好像头撞到了墙。 
　　威斯里先生含糊不清地说，“孩子们，我在想怎么办。是的……唯一的办法……往后站，哈利！” 
　　哈利退后到沙发。可姨丈却向上前走。 
　　“等一下！”他对着火炉说：“你们究竟要干什么？” 
　　嘭！ 
　　木板壁炉向外迸裂出来，电炉射过房间，威斯里，弗来德，乔治，罗恩满是石头碎片，木屑片洒了一地。姨妈尖叫着向后倒向咖啡桌，姨丈在她还未倒在地上扶起了她，目瞪口呆，一句话也说不出来。这几位威斯里家人，全部都是红红的头发，包括弗来德、乔治，他们完全一样。 
　　“这下好了，”威斯里先生上气不接下气地说，刷刷他那绿色长施上的灰尘，正了正眼镜，“啊——你们一定就是哈利的姨丈、姨妈吧！” 
　　又高又瘦还完头的威斯里先生朝姨丈走去，伸出手，但姨丈却后退了几步，拉住姨妈，姨丈完全说不出话来。他最好的衣服上满是灰尘，连头发，胡子里也是这样，使他看上去好像老了三十年。 
　　“呃——真是的——抱歉，”威斯里先生说，他放下手，低头看了看炸了的炉子，“都是我的错，我们从另一端出不来，我不应该这样的。我把您的炉子连到福仑网上，只接一个下午，这样我们就可以接哈利，你们的炉子是不应该连接在一起的，严格地说起来就是这样，但我事先进行了有用的连接……我可以在顷刻之间把它恢复原样。别担心。我会升堆火把孩子们送回去。在我走前，我可以为您修好炉子。” 
　　哈利敢打赌杜斯利一家完全不懂威斯里的意思。他们惊得目瞪口呆。姨妈摇摇晃晃，站立不安，干脆躲到姨丈身后去了。 
　　“喂，哈利，”威斯里说，“把你的行李箱准备好！” 
　　“在楼上。”哈利笑着说。 
　　“我们去拿，”弗来德马上说，对哈利眨眨眼睛，弗来德和乔治离开了房间。他们知道哈利的卧室在哪里。哈利怀疑他们可能只是想看一眼达德里，他们从他那里听说过很多关于他的事。 
　　“噢，”威斯里先生甩了甩手，他想搜索枯肠找些话来打破这令人不快的沉默。“很，很好的地方，你们这个地方不错。” 
　　这平常一尘不染的客厅现在满是尘土，砖砾，这样说对杜斯利一家来说并不是太好。姨丈的脸又一次变紫，姨妈又开始嚼舌头。 
　　然而他们好像太怕了，什么也说不出。 
　　威斯里先生环顾四周。他喜爱马格人的一切东西。哈利可以看出他想去看看电视机，录像机。 
　　“他们关掉了电源，是吧？”他好像知道似地说。 
　　“呵！我可以看见插头，我收集插头。”他对维能姨文说。“还有电池。收集一大堆电池。我妻子认为我有毛病，但哪有这回事。” 
　　维能姨丈也认为威斯里疯了。他慢慢地往右靠，挡住姨妈，好像认为威斯里会突然扑过去对他们发动袭击似的。 
　　达德里突然又在房间里出现。哈利听见楼上关行李箱的声音，知道这声音把达德里吓得从厨房跑了出来。达德里靠着墙边走，眼里充满恐惧，盯着威斯里先生看，想躲在他妈妈爸爸的身后。不幸的是，他爸爸的身躯足可以遮着他妈妈，但怎么也遮不住他。 
　　“呵！这是你表兄，哈利？”威斯里尝试着说。 
　　“是，”哈利说，“他是达德里。” 
　　他和罗恩交换了一下眼色，随即离开了，因为很难抗拒想笑的诱惑。达德里还是护住他的屁股，生怕掉下来。威斯里先生可真的关心达德里这个特别动作。从他下句话的语气来看，哈利很肯定威斯里认为达德里疯了，就如同达德里认为他疯了一样，所不同的是，威斯里感到同情而不是害怕。 
　　“假期过得好吧，达德里？”他和蔼地说。 
　　达德里开始啜泣。哈利看见他的手握得他那硕大的屁股更紧更紧了。 
　　弗来德和乔治返回房间，手里拿着哈利的行李箱。当他们进来时向四周看了看，认出了达德里，同时都邪邪地笑了笑。 
　　“呵，好，”威斯里说，“最好大笑。” 
　　他捋了捋袖子，拿出魔杖，哈利看见杜斯利三人朝墙靠，挤得像一个人一样。 
　　“点火，”威斯里把魔杖指向他身后的墙洞，说道。 
　　壁炉里火炮随即升起，噼哩作响，好像已烧了几小时。威斯里从口袋里掏出一个系绳袋，打开它，取出一点粉扔到火焰上，火焰变成了翠绿色，烧得比以前更高更猛。 
　　“弗来德，你去吧！”威斯里说。 
　　“来了，”弗来德说，“不，等一下。” 
　　一袋糖果排出来了，滚得满地都是，又大又肥的太妃糖，包装得很漂亮。 
　　弗来德到处爬找，把糖果又塞了回去。然后高兴地朝达德里挥挥手，向前走去，走进火里，说了声“回洞”，姨妈浑浑发抖，屏住了呼吸，“飕”的一声，弗来德不见了。 
　　“乔治，来，”威斯里说，“你和行李箱。” 
　　哈利帮助乔治把行李箱拿过火里，乔治说了声“回洞”，“飕” 
　　的一声，乔治也不见了。 
　　“罗恩，你下一个。”威斯里说。 
　　“再见。”罗恩很高兴地对达德里说。他对哈利唏唏一笑，走进火里，说了声“回洞”，消失了。 
　　现在只有哈利，威斯里先生了。 
　　“那么，再见吧。”哈利对姨文家人说。 
　　他们什么也没说。哈利往火里走去。就在他快走到达炉边时，威斯里伸出手并把他拉了回来，他对达德里一家的反映感到很惊讶。 
　　“哈利跟你们说再见，”他说，“你们听不见吗？” 
　　“没关系。”哈利喃喃地对威斯里先生说，“我真不在意。” 
　　威斯里先生没有松开他的手，仍放在哈利肩上。 
　　“要到明年夏天你才会见到你的侄子，”他有几分义愤地对维能姨丈说，“你当然要向他说再见。” 
　　姨丈脸上愠怒于色。被一个炸掉半个客厅的人教训好像让他很难受。 
　　然而，威斯里的魔杖在手，姨丈的小眼瞅了瞅它一眼，很怨恨地说道，“再见吧。” 
　　“再见”。哈利说，一脚踏进绿焰，仿佛觉得是温暖的呼吸一样。就在那时，身后传来可怕的呕吐声。姨妈开始惊叫。 
　　哈利转过身来。达德里不再站在他父母身后。他跪在咖啡桌边，并且在呕吐，从他口中伸出的一个一英尺长的紫色细条物在嘛啪作响。惶恐了一会后哈利才意识到了那一英尺长的细物是达德里的舌头，那个漂亮的太妃糖纸就在他前面的地板上。 
　　姨妈不顾一切地向达德里身边的地板扑过去。抓住达德里浮肿舌头的一端，想把它从口中拨出来，一点也不奇怪，达德里叫得更凶，吐得更厉害，他想把他妈妈推开。维能姨丈大吼大叫，挥动胳膊兜圈子，威斯里不得不大叫才能让他们听得见。 
　　“别担心，我能有办法，”他伸出魔杖，朝达德里走去，但姨妈叫得更厉害了，趴在达德里身上，不想让威斯里接近达德里。 
　　“不，真的，”威斯里先生绝望他说，“这是一个简单的过程。 
　　就是因为那太妃糖，我儿子弗来德，真的喜欢开玩笑，但这是一个咒语，至少，我认为，我可以纠正它——“ 
　　但是这远远没有让杜斯利一家清除疑虑，他们变得更加惶恐。 
　　姨妈歇斯底里的哭泣，拉住达德里的舌头好像决心要把它拉出来，在他母亲和舌头的双重压力下达德里几乎窒息。姨丈已完全失去控制，抓住一个厨柜里的陶瓷像向威斯里用力砸去，威斯里低下头躲过，这装饰品却在壁炉里摔得粉碎。 
　　“现在，真的，”威斯里说，他生气了，挥舞着魔杖，“我来试试看。” 
　　维能姨丈像一头受伤的河马，大喊大叫，抓起了另一件装饰物。 
　　“哈利，走吧。”威斯里吼道，魔杖打在姨丈身上。 
　　哈利不想错过这热闹。但姨丈的第二个装饰物就在他左耳边经过，权衡一下后，他认为最好还是把这种局面交给威斯里先生来处理。他向火里走去，说了声“回洞”，最后看见威斯里用魔杖让姨文手中的第三个装饰物飞出去后炸掉。姨妈尖叫着，躺在杜斯利身上，达德里的舌头筋疲力竭地靠着她，像一条巨大的黏滑的蟒蛇。 
　　但哈利已开始快速打转，在绿色火焰中刹那间飞出了达德里的客厅。 
Chapter 5,6
Chapter 5 Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes
Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him, until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys’ kitchen fire.
“Did he eat it?” said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.
“Yeah,” said Harry, straightening up. “What was it?”
“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” said Fred brightly. “George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer.…”
The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.
“How're you doing, Harry?” said the nearer of the two, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.
Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was - there was no other word for it - cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.
Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him.
“That wasn't funny Fred!” he shouted. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?”
“I didn't give him anything,” said Fred, with another evil grin. I just dropped it….It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.”
“You dropped it on purpose!” roared Mr. Weasley. “You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -”
“How big did his tongue get?” George asked eagerly.
“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!”
Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.
“It isn't funny!” Mr. Weasley shouted. “That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons
“We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!” said Fred indignantly.
“No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git,” said George. “Isn't he, Harry?”
“Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry earnestly.
“That's not the point!” raged Mr. Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother -”
“Tell me what?” said a voice behind them.
Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.
“Oh hello, Harry, dear,” she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. “Tell me what, Arthur?”
Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry's and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet - she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow.
“Tell me what, Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.
“It's nothing, Molly,” mumbled Mr. Weasley, “Fred and George just - but I've had words with them -”
“What have they done this time?” said Mrs. Weasley. “If it's got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes -”
“Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?” said Hermione from the doorway.
“He knows where he's sleeping,” said Ron, “in my room, he slept there last -”
“We can all go,” said Hermione pointedly.
“Oh,” said Ron, cottoning on. “Right.”
“Yeah, we'll come too,” said George.
“You stay where you are!” snarled Mrs. Weasley.
Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and they, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.
“What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked as they climbed.
Ron and Ginny both laughed, although Hermione didn't.
“Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room,” said Ron quietly. “Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that…”
“We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things,” said Ginny. “We thought they just liked the noise.”
“Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous,” said Ron, “and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms….She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected.”
O.W.L.s were Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the examinations Hogwarts students took at the age of fifteen.
“And then there was this big row,” Ginny said, “because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.”
Just then a door on the second landing opened, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.
“Hi, Percy,” said Harry.
“Oh hello, Harry,” said Percy. “I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.”
“We're not thundering, “said Ron irritably. “We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.”
“What are you working on?” said Harry.
“A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” said Percy smugly. “We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -”
“That'll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.”
Percy went slightly pink.
“You might sneer, Ron,” he said heatedly, “but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger -”
“Yeah, yeah, all right,” said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry, Hermione, and Ginny followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.
The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.
“Shut up, Pig,” said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. “Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room,” he told Harry. “Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work.”
“Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?” Harry asked Ron.
“Because he's being stupid,” said Ginny, “Its proper name is Pigwidgeon.”
“Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all,” said Ron sarcastically. “Ginny named him,” he explained to Harry. “She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that.
Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.
“Where's Crookshanks?” Harry asked Hermione now.
“Out in the garden, I expect,” she said. “He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before.”
“Percy's enjoying work, then?” said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.
“Enjoying it?” said Ron darkly. “I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch…as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion…Mr. Crouch was telling me…They'll be announcing their engagement any day now.”
“Have you had a good summer, Harry?” said Hermione. “Did you get our food parcels and everything?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot,” said Harry. “They saved my life, those cakes.”
“And have you heard from -?” Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about Harry's godfather as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.
“I think they've stopped arguing,” said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?”
“Yeah, all right,” said Ron. The four of them left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.
“We're eating out in the garden,” she said when they came in. “There's just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two,” she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.
“Oh for heaven's sake,” she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. “Those two!” she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and Harry knew she meant Fred and George. I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can….”
Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.
“It's not as though they haven't got brains, she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, “but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office.”
Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.
“I don't know where we went wrong with them,” said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. “It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to - OH NOT AGAIN!”
She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.
“One of their fake wands again!” she shouted. “How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?”
She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.
“C'mon,” Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, “let's go and help Bill and Charlie.”
They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.
They had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle-brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.
Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.
“Will you keep it down?!” he bellowed.
“Sorry, Perce,” said Bill, grinning. “How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?”
“Very badly,” said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.
By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad.
At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.
“I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying pompously. “That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman -”
“I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over.”
“Oh Bagman's likable enough, of course,” said Percy dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department…when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”
“Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried.…”
“Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right,” said Percy. “I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth…but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However” - Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine - “we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.”
Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. “You know the one I'm talking about, Father.” He raised his voice slightly. “The top-secret one.”
Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, “He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”
In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.
“…with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”
“Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” said Bill patiently.
“And your hair's getting silly, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly.” I wish you'd let me give it a trim.…”
“I like it,” said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. “You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's….”
Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.
“It's got to be Ireland,” said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.”
“Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred.
“Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” said Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.”
“What happened?” said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive.
“Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.”
Harry had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned one of the best racing brooms in the world, a Firebolt. Flying came more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world, and he played in the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor House team.
Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.
Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, “So - have you heard from Sirius lately?”
Hermione looked around, listening closely.
“Yeah,” said Harry softly, “twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here.”
He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him…but he really didn't want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.
“Look at the time,” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.”
“Wow - hope it does this time!” said Harry enthusiastically.
“Well, I certainly don't,” said Percy sanctimoniously. “I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.”
“Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” said Fred.
“That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” said Percy, going very red in the face. “It was nothing personal!”
“It was,” Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. “We sent it.”
　　哈利转得越来越快，肘子紧贴身子，朦胧的火炉在他身旁闪闪而过，直至他感到恶心，闭上了眼睛。然后他感到速度慢了下来，因此他伸出手来，以免面朝下跌倒，随后走出了威斯里的壁炉。
　　“他吃了吗？”弗来德兴奋地说，伸出手拉哈利到身边。
　　“是的，”哈利说边边伸直了腰，“那究竟是什么？”
　　“长舌太妃糖，”弗来德高兴地说，“我和乔治发明的。我们一个夏天都在找人做试验……”
　　小小厨房笑声如雷。
　　哈利环顾四周，看见罗恩、乔治坐在一张擦得干干净净的木桌旁，另外还有有两个红头发的人，哈利从来未见过。但他马上意识到了他们是谁：比尔和查理，威斯里兄弟中的两个年纪大的。
　　“哈利，你好！”两个中比较靠近哈利的那位说道，他对哈利笑了笑，伸出他的大手，哈利和他握了握手，觉得手指下面有硬茧及水泡。他一定是查理，他在罗马尼亚和龙一起生活。查理相貌像孪生兄弟俩，但比伯希，罗恩矮胖，而他们却修长。他的脸很大，自然，太阳晒得厉害，多斑，看起来完全被太阳晒黑了，双臂肌肉强健，一只胳膊上有一个疤。
　　比尔微笑着站起来，也和哈利握了握手。他的到来有几分令哈利吃惊。他为一家魔界银行工作，他曾经是霍格瓦彻的孩子王。比尔真像伯希的翻版，但比他老，他们都对破坏规定的事非常敏感，小题大作，而且喜欢对别人颐指气使。可是对比尔没有别的话可以形容他的冷淡。他个子高大，长头发，留成马尾型。他戴一个耳环，像吊着一颗毒牙。他的衣服看起来比较适合摇滚音乐会，哈利认得他的靴子不是皮革的，而是龙皮做的。
　　谁都还未来得及说别的，就听见一声“砰”的轻响，威斯里先生回来了，站在乔治肩膀旁边。他看起来很生气，哈利从来也没有看见过他如此生气过。
　　“那不是闹着玩的，弗来德，”他吼道，“你究竟给他吃了什么？”
　　“我没有给他任何东西，”弗来德说，又诡秘地笑了一下，“我只是掉下它，……这是他自己的错，他自己走过去吃了它，我从来也没叫他吃。”
　　“你是有意掉的，”威斯里吼道，“你知道他会吃的，你知道他贪吃……”
　　“他的舌头变多大啦？”乔治急切地问道。
　　“在他父母要我缩小它前，四英尺长。”
　　哈利和威斯里家人又哄堂大笑。
　　“一点也不好笑！”威斯里先生说，“那种行为严重破坏了巫师与马格人的关系！我花了半辈子来解除马格人对我们的误解，然而我的儿子却——”
　　弗来德愤怒地说，“我们就是因为他是马格人才没有把糖给他。”
　　“不，我们给了他，因为他喜欢欺负弱小，”乔治说，“对吧，哈利？”
　　“是的，他是，威斯里先生。”哈利认真地说。
　　“不是那样！”威斯里生气地说，“你们等着我告诉你们的母亲……”
　　“告诉我什么？”身后的声音说道。
　　威斯里夫人刚刚进屋。她是一个矮小而丰满的女人，有着一张慈祥的脸，此时却因为疑惑而眼睛眯着。
　　“喂，哈利，亲爱的，”她笑着对哈利问好后眼睛又很快地转向她丈夫，“亚瑟，告诉我什么？”
　　威斯里先生犹豫了。哈利知道无论他对弗来德、乔治多么生气，他都并不是真的想把事情告诉威斯里夫人的。威斯里先生的眼睛紧张地注视着威斯里夫人，又是一阵沉默。接着威斯里夫人后面的厨房门口出现了两个女孩。其中一个有一头茂密的棕发，大门牙，是哈利和罗恩的朋友，名字叫荷米恩。格林佐，另外一个，小小个，红头发，是罗恩的妹妹，名字叫金妮。哈利对她们笑了笑，金妮的脸一下子红了，自从上次“回洞”金妮就喜欢上哈利了。
　　“亚瑟，告诉我什么？”威斯里夫人又问道，口气很硬。
　　“没有什么，”威斯里先生说，“是弗来德和乔治，刚才我跟他们吵了一架。”
　　“他们这次做了什么？”威斯里夫人说。“如果这件事与威斯里巫师爆笑弹有什么关系的话……”
　　“为什么不让哈利看看他睡在哪里呢，罗恩？”荷米恩在门口说。
　　“他知道他睡哪里，”罗恩说，“在我房间，他睡那……上——”
　　“我们都可以去。”荷米恩说，指了指。
　　“噢，”罗恩说着，也明白了，“好吧。”
　　“好，我们也来。”乔治说。
　　“你就在这里！”威斯里夫人说。
　　哈利和罗恩慢慢地出了厨房，与荷米恩和金妮走过长长的走廊，上了摇摇晃晃的楼梯。
　　“威斯里的巫师咆哮弹是什么意思？”边爬楼梯，哈利边问道。
　　罗恩和金妮笑了，荷米恩却没笑。
　　“妈妈在整理弗来德和乔治的房间时发现了一堆订货单。”罗恩平静地说。“很长的价目表，上面是他们自己发明的东西。都是些搞笑的东西，你知道的。假魔杖、魔法糖……很有趣，我从来不知道他们在搞发明……”
　　“我们很久以前就听见过爆炸声从他们房间里传出来，但我们从来没想到他们真的在‘造’东西，”金妮说，“我们认为他们只是喜欢那种声音。”
　　“只是，大多数的东西——噢，所有的东西——都有点危险，”
　　罗恩说，“他们准备在霍格瓦彻卖，赚些钱，妈妈气得发疯。叫他们不准再造任何东西，并烧掉所有的订单……她真的对他们大发雷霆。他们没有达到她期望的O.W.L。”
　　O.W.L是普通巫师水平考试，霍格瓦彻学生在十五岁时参加这种考试。
　　“那么现在肯定吵翻了天，”金妮说，“因为妈妈要他们像爸爸一样进魔法部，而他们却说他们想开搞笑商店。”
　　就在那时，第二平台上的一扇门打开了，探出一张脸来，戴着鹿角镶边的眼镜，一副很生气的表情。
　　“嗨，伯希。”哈利说。
　　“噢，哈利，”伯希说。“我在想谁那么吵。我在干活，我有份报告要完成，有人在楼上楼下像打雷似的来回走，我很难集中注意力。”
　　“我们没有像打雷一样走，”罗恩生气地说，“我们在走路，如果我们打搅了魔法部的超级秘密工作，那很抱歉。”
　　“你在忙些什么呢？”哈利说。
　　“为国家魔法合作部写报告，”伯希自命不凡地说，“我们要把大锅的厚度标准化。有些进口货太薄了一点，每年渗漏增加率为百分之三。”
　　伯希的脸色有点红了。
　　“罗恩，你可以耻笑，”他热烈地说，“但如果没有某项国际法制定的话，我们会发现市场上将充满品质低劣、浅底的物品，严重危及……”
　　“对，对。”罗恩打断他的话后开始上楼，伯希砰的一声关上房门。哈利，荷术恩，金妮跟着罗恩又上了三段楼梯，厨房里传来很大的吼叫声，好像威斯里先生已把“太妃糖”的事告诉了威斯里夫人。
　　罗恩的房间在房子顶层，看起来跟上次哈利来时一样。一样的贴着罗恩最喜欢的快迪斯队的海报；库得利加能大炮挂在墙上，在有点倾斜的天花板上旋转；窗台上以前装过青蛙卵的鱼缸里，现在有一只特别大的青蛙。罗恩的老鼠斯卡伯斯不在了，却有一只很小的灰色猫头鹰，它曾帮助罗恩把信送到普里怀特街给哈利，它在一个小笼子里上下窜跳，得意非凡地叽叽喳喳讲个不停。
　　“好了吧，猪，”罗恩说，房里挤着四张床，他走进两张床的中间，接着说，“弗来德，乔治和我们在一起，比尔，查理在他们的房里，”他告诉哈利，“伯希一个人一个屋，因为他要工作。”
　　“呃，你为什么要叫那只猫头鹰‘猪’呢？”哈利问罗恩。
　　“因为他有点蠢，”金妮说，“它‘猪’名字叫皮威军。”
　　“是的，那才不像‘猪’一样是个蠢名，”罗恩讥讽地说，“是金妮给它取的名，”他跟哈利解释说，“她认为这名字很甜，我想改它，但太迟了，叫别的它根本不答应。因此，它成了‘猪’，我不得不在这里养它，因为它惹恼了厄罗尔和荷米恩，它也让我恼火，来吧。”
　　猫头鹰在绕笼飞驰，开心得尖声霍霍叫。哈利太了解罗恩了，知道罗恩并不会太喜欢它，不停地叼念着他的旧伴老鼠斯卡伯斯，但荷米恩的猫克路殊克前不久吃掉了它，这点尤其让罗恩觉得痛心。
　　“克路殊克（猫）在哪里？”哈利问荷米恩。
　　“在外面花园里，我想，”她说，“它喜欢追逐地精，但它从来没有见过。”
　　“伯希很喜欢工作？哈利一张床上坐下来，看着库得利加能大炮在天花板的海报上驶进驶出。
　　“喜欢？”罗恩秘密地说，“如果不是爸爸要他回来，他是不会回来的，他着迷了，不要提及他老板的话题，根据克劳斯先生……
　　像我跟克劳斯先生说的那样……据克劳斯先生看来……克劳斯先生告诉我，他们将随时宣布他们的雇用契约。“
　　“你夏天过得不错吧，哈利？”荷米恩说。“你收到了我们给你的食物包裹等东西了吗？”
　　“收到了，太感谢了，”哈利说，“那些蛋糕，救了我的命。”
　　“你收到……？”罗恩开始问，但哈利的眼神使他没有说下去。
　　哈利知道罗恩将问及西里斯，罗恩和荷米恩在帮助西里斯逃出魔法部时出了很大力，他们对西里斯的关心就跟哈利一样。但在金妮面前讨论这件事不好。只有他们自己和丹伯多教授知道西里斯是如何逃跑的，也只有他们几个相信西里斯是无辜的。
　　“我认为他们已不再争吵了，”荷米恩说，想消除这尴尬的局面，金妮正在好奇地打量罗恩和哈利，“我们下去帮妈妈做饭，好吗？”
　　“好，”罗恩说完，四人就离开了罗恩的房间，下了楼，看见威斯里夫人独坐在厨房，看起来脾气特别坏。
　　“我们将在花园外面吃！”她说，“这里没有十一个人的地方。
　　孩子们，你们可以把盘子拿到外面去吗？比尔和查理在摆桌子，你们两个负责刀叉。“他对罗恩和哈利说。她把魔杖指向地窖里的马铃薯，一大堆马铃薯一个个都剥了皮从天花板上、墙上跳飞过来。
　　“噢，看在上帝的份上，”她说着，一边指向簸箕，旋即它从那边跳起来，滑过房间地板，把那些土豆捞起装在里面。她很粗暴地说，“那两个家伙，”她正在把厨柜里的锅、壶拉出来，哈利知道那两个家伙指谁，当然是弗来德和乔治，“我不知道他们会发生什么事，真的不知道。没有抱负，除非你不想惹他们那么多的麻烦……”
　　她把一个很大的铜炖锅放在餐桌上，开始挥舞魔杖在里面搅，乳脂色的酱从魔杖棒尖往下流。
　　“他们并不蠢，”她继续说，越说越气，把铜锅放到炉子上，摆了一下魔杖点燃了炉子，“但他们在自暴自弃，如果他们两个自己不拉自己一把，他们真的有麻烦。从霍格瓦彻飞来的关于他们的猫头鹰比其余的加在一起还要多。假如他们继续走现在走的路，他们将在滥用魔法办公室里玩完。”
　　威斯里夫人对刀具抽屉捅了一下魔杖，抽屉打开了。哈利和罗恩都闪开让路，几把刀从抽屉里飞出来，飞过厨房，开始切土豆，簸箕装着它们并把它们送入水槽。
　　“我不知道我们哪里和他们不同，”威斯里夫人说，她放下魔杖，拉出更多的铜锅。“好多年都是这样子，一件事接另一件事的。
　　他们就是不听，噢，没脑子！“
　　她捡起魔杖，发出一声巨大吱吱叫，魔杖变成了一只巨大的橡皮老鼠。
　　“又是他们的一根假魔杖，”她吼叫，“我多少次叫他们不要把它们放在附近。”
　　她抓起她的真杖，转过身来发现炉上的酱已在冒烟。
　　“来，”罗恩匆忙地对哈利说，从开着的抽屉里抓了一把刀具，“让我们去帮比尔和查理吧！”
　　他们离开了威斯里夫人，出了后门，来到庭院。
　　他们才刚走几步，突然荷米恩的麦黄色o型腿的猫——克库圣克斯快速跑出花园，瓶刷似的猫尾竖在空中，正在追逐一个有腿的土豆泥，哈利马上就认出那就是地精。不到十英寸高，喇叭形的小脚啪哒啪哒地跑，尽量快地跑过庭院，一头扎进一只防水长靴——门的四周有许多这样的长靴，哈利听见地精咯咯笑，因为描伸出爪子想抓他。就在这里，房屋另一边传来撞击声，他们进到花园就知道这是怎么回事了。原来比尔和查理两人各拿魔杖在手，让两台破旧的桌子飞上天空，在草坪上相互碰撞，都想碰碎对方的桌子。弗来德和乔治在欢呼，金妮在大笑，荷米恩在篱笆周围徘徊，很明显，她在好玩与担心间左右为难。
　　比尔的桌子碰上了查理的桌子，“砰”的一声，一条腿撞得掉了下来。头顶上有人大声说话，他们都仰起头来，伯希已从三楼窗户里探出头来。
　　“你把它弄下来，好吗？”他火吼道。
　　“抱歉，伯希。”比尔对他大笑，“锅底怎么样了？”
　　“真是太糟糕了，”伯希恼怒地说，他又关上了窗子。
　　比尔和查理放声大笑，把桌子安全地放到草坪上，比尔用魔杖轻打了一下，再次把桌腿接上，并用魔法不知从哪里变出了桌布。
　　七点钟，两台桌子上放满了威斯里夫人做得极好的饭菜，九个威斯里家人加上哈利、荷米恩在深蓝色万里无云的天空下吃晚餐。
　　对于一个整个夏天都吃味道不新鲜的蛋糕的孩子来说，这简直是天堂，起先，哈利只是听着别人谈话而没有加入，他正忙着吃鸡蛋火腿馅饼，煮土豆还有沙拉。
　　在桌子的那边，伯希在告诉他父亲关于锅底的报告。
　　“我告诉克劳斯先生我要在周二前搞好它，”伯希得意洋洋地说。“那比他意料的要快一点，我总是要走在前面。我及时完成，他会感激我的，现在这一阵子我们部门特别忙，因为世界杯的各种安排，我们就没有从魔法运动部那里得到我们需要的帮助。露得。
　　巴格蒙——“
　　“我喜欢露得，”威斯里先生柔和地说。“他为我们弄到这样的好票。我也给了他一点恩惠：他的兄弟，奥特，惹了点麻烦，用不正常的动力割草机，我为他把整个事情弄好了。”
　　“噢，巴格蒙是讨人喜欢的人，”伯希很听话地说，“但他怎么会成为部门的头呢？当我把他同克劳斯先生相比，我看，克劳斯先生不会失去我们部门的任何一票。您注意到了珀茜•佐金斯已失踪一个多月了吗？她去了阿尔巴尼亚度假后就再也没回来。”
　　“是的，我刚问过露得，”威斯里先生皱了皱眉头说，“他说珀茜以前已经失踪过好几次了，但如果是我部门里的某一位，我就会担心了。”
　　“噢，珀茜是没有希望了，对吧，”伯希说，“我听说她从一个部门降职到另一个部门，一直有许多麻烦，许多年来都是这样。巴格蒙应该设法找到她。克劳斯先生个人对她产生了兴趣，她一度也在我们部门待过，我想克劳斯先生很喜欢她。然而巴格蒙只是笑她可能看错了地图，去了澳大利亚，而不是阿尔巴尼亚。”伯希长叹一声，“还去找其它部门的成员？光是自己部门的事就已经够多了。
　　您知道，世界杯后，我们要组织另外一件大事。“
　　他清了清嗓子，朝桌子一路看过去，那边哈利、罗恩和荷米恩坐在那里。“您知道我在讲什么，父亲，”他稍微提高了嗓门，“顶级秘密的那件。”
　　罗恩眨眨他的眼睛，对哈利和荷米恩说，“他一直想让我们问他，自从他开始工作后的那件大事。也许是厚底大锅的展览会。”
　　桌子中间，威斯里夫人正与比尔争论耳环的事，好像是近段时间才戴的。
　　“……真的像带了一个可怕的大毒牙，银行里他们怎么说？”
　　“妈妈，只要我给家里带来极大的财富，银行里没有人对我的穿戴说三道四。”比尔耐心地说。
　　“你的头发有点傻乎乎的，亲爱的，”威斯里夫人说，爱抚地用手指摸了摸魔杖，“我希望你让我为你修剪一下……”
　　“我喜欢，”金妮说，她坐在比尔旁边，“您的想法不时髦了，妈妈，换句话说，丹伯多教授也一样。”
　　在威斯里夫人的旁边弗来德、乔治和查理都兴高采烈地谈论世界杯。
　　“肯定是爱尔兰，”查理说，满口土豆。“他们在半决赛中摆平了——秘鲁。”
　　“保加利亚有了维特。克伦。”弗来德说。
　　“克伦是一个像样的选手，但爱尔兰有七个。”查理说，“我希望英国通杀，但那是令人尴尬，那真是……”
　　“什么？”哈利关心地说，对他同巫师世界隔绝，回到了普里怀特街感到非常遗憾，哈利可是很忠心爱国的。
　　“输给了特雷西维尼亚，390比10。”查理不快地说。“令人震惊，威尔士输给了乌干达，苏格兰被卢森堡宰了。”
　　威斯里先生用魔法变出了蜡烛照亮了漆黑的花园，他们还没有吃自制的草毒冰淇淋，待吃完的时候，飞蛾在吧嗒吧嗒地响，飞得低低的，桌子上方到处都是。这湿热空气总是伴有草和忍冬的香味。哈利感觉特别饱，地精在玫瑰丛中疾奔，笑得前仰后合，后面那只克路殊克猫紧追不舍。
　　罗恩抬起头来仔细打量，发现家里的其他人都在忙着讲话，他很小声地对哈利说，“最近你收到了西里斯的信吗？”
　　荷米恩也四周看了看，靠了过来听。
　　“是的，”哈利轻声说，“两次。他说OK，前天我给他写了信，他将写回信到这里。”
　　他突然记起了他给西里斯写信的原因，一时间，差点就要告诉罗恩和荷米恩伤痕疼痛的事，告诉他们惊醒他的可怕的梦，……他不想要他们现在为他担心，而且此时此刻他自己此时此刻也感觉如此开心，如此和平安详，他也不想说这些破坏好的气氛。
　　“看看时间，”威斯里夫人突然说，她看了看手表。“你们真的要睡觉了，你们所有的人，破晓的时候都要起床看世界杯赛，哈利，假如你把学校用品清单给我，明天我就到蒂琼。艾丽去为你办。
　　其他人的我都买好了啦。世界杯开始后恐怕就没有时间买了，上次比赛就进行了五天时间。“
　　“哦，希望这次也一样！”哈利热情地说。
　　“噢，我可不希望那么久，”伯希假装神圣地说。“如果我五天不工作，想想我盘里的将会变成什么样的东西，我简直会发抖。”
　　“是的，有人可能又会在里面放龙屎，伯希？”弗来德说。
　　“还可是从挪威弄来的样品。”伯希说，涨红了脸。
　　“那可不是私货！”
　　“就是。”弗来德悄声对哈利说：“是我们找人寄过来的。”他们边说边从桌上起身。
Chapter 6 The Portkey
Harry felt as though he had barely lain down to steep in Ron's room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.
“Time to go, Harry, dear,” she whispered, moving away to wake Ron.
Harry felt around for his glasses, put them on, and sat up. It was still dark outside. Ron muttered indistinctly as his mother roused him. At the foot of Harry's mattress he saw two large, disheveled shapes emerging from tangles of blankets.
“'S time already?” said Fred groggily.
They dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the four of them headed downstairs into the kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt.
“What d'you think?” he asked anxiously. “We're supposed to go incognito - do I look like a Muggle, Harry?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, smiling, “very good.”
“Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?” said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn.
“Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?” said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. “So they can have a bit of a lie-in.”
Harry knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult.
“So they're still in bed?” said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. “Why can't we Apparate too?”
“Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “And where have those girls got to?”
She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs.
“You have to pass a test to Apparate?” Harry asked.
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done property it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves.”
Everyone around the table except Harry winced.
“Er - splinched?” said Harry.
“They left half of themselves behind,” said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. “So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind…..”
Harry had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive.
“Were they okay?” he asked, startled.
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. “But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms - slower, but safer.”
“But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?”
“Charlie had to take the test twice,” said Fred, grinning. “He failed the first time. Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?”
“Yes, well, he passed the second time,” said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers.
“Percy only passed two weeks ago,” said George. “He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.”
There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy.
“Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.
“We've got a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley.
“Walk?” said Harry. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?”
“No, no, that's miles away,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup…”
“George!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and they all jumped.
“What?” said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.
“What is that in your pocket?”
“Nothing!”
“Don't you lie to me!”
Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, “Accio!”
Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.
“We told you to destroy them!” said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!”
It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all.
“Accio! Accio! Accio!” she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.
“We spent six months developing those!” Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.
“Oh a fine way to spend six months!” she shrieked. “No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!”
All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her.
“Well, have a lovely time,” said Mrs. Weasley, “and behave yourselves,” she called after the twins’ retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. “I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday,” Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.
It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley.
“So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?” he asked.
“It's been a massive organizational problem,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains - remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed.”
Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.
“What sort of objects are Portkeys?” said Harry curiously.
“Well, they can be anything,” said Mr. Weasley. “Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them…stuff they'll just think is litter….”
They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry's hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch.
They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground.
“Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. “Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes.”
Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side.
“Now we just need the Portkey,” said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. “It won't be big….Come on…”
They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air.
“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it.”
Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.
“Amos!” said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed.
Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand.
“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”
Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.
“Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at them all.
Everybody said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.
“Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric's father asked. “Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?”
“Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still…not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy.…” Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?”
“Oh no, only the redheads,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend -”
“Merlin's beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “Harry? Harry Potter?”
“Er - yeah,” said Harry.
Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always made him feel uncomfortable.
“Ced's talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year…I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will….You beat Harry Potter!”
Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed.
“Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. I told you…it was an accident….”
“Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman…but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!”
“Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. “Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?”
“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets,” said Mr. Diggory. “There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?”
“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Weasley. “Yes, it's a minute off…We'd better get ready….”
He looked around at Harry and Hermione.
“You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -”
With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory.
They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now…nine people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting….
“Three…” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, two…one…”
It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then -
His feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud.
Harry looked up. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground.
“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” said a voice.

当哈利被威斯里太太摇醒时，他觉得他几乎没有在罗恩的房间睡着似的。
　　“亲爱的哈利，该走了。”她小声说完后就走开去叫罗恩起床了。
　　哈利到处摸索着找他的眼镜，找到后戴上并坐了起来。外面仍然很黑，当他妈妈叫醒他时，罗恩含糊地抱怨。在哈利的床角，他看到两个大大的，凌乱的东西从毛毯边冒了出来。
　　“时间到了吗？”佛来德摇摇摆摆地问。
　　他们安静地一边穿好衣服，一边打着阿吹。因为大家都太困了，都不想说话。然后他们一行四人沿着楼梯走进了厨房。
　　威斯里太太正在搅拌着火炉上的大锅，而威斯里先生坐在桌子边，看着一叠很大的羊皮纸做成的票子。当男孩们进来时，他抬起头，张开他的双臂。这样，他们能更清楚地观察他的衣服。他穿着一件适于打高尔夫球的衬衣，一条很旧的牛仔裤，而且那条牛仔裤有点大，他得束上一条牛皮皮带才能勒紧裤头。
　　“怎么样？”他紧张地问：“我们得隐姓埋名，哈利，你觉得我看起来像个马格吗？”
　　“比尔、查理和伯希去哪里了？”乔治问，打了个大大的呵吹。
　　“他们会移身术，对吧？”威斯里太太过说边把那个大锅放在桌子上，开始往碗里倒粥。“这样他们就能睡懒觉。”
　　哈利知道移身术是很难的，那意味着从一个地方消失，然后马上出现在另一个地方。
　　“那么他们还在床上喽。”说：“为什么我们不会移身术呢？”
　　“因为你还没到那年龄，而且你还没通过考试。”威斯里太太打断地，“那些女孩们都去哪里了？”
　　她冲出厨房，然后传来爬楼梯的声音。
　　“学会移身术必须通过考试吗？”哈利问。
　　“噢，是的，”威斯里先生说，并小心翼翼地把票放进他牛仔裤后面的裤袋子里。“一些人几天前被魔法交通部罚款，因为他们用了移身术却又没有执照。移身术是不简单的，如果做得不好的话，会导致很严重的后果。我所说的那两个人就因为这样，最后把自己分成了两半。”
　　除了哈利以外，桌子周围的每个人都打了个冷颤。
　　“呃。被分开了？”哈利问。
　　“他们把自己的一半留在原处了，”说着，威斯里先生舀了一大勺的糖浆放进稀饭中。“所以，当然，他们现在被困住了，哪边都动不了，只有
Chapter 7 Bagman And Crouch
Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. 
“Morning, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football. 
“Hello there, Arthur,” said Basil wearily. “Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some….We've been here all night….You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite….Weasley…Weasley….” He consulted his parchment list. “About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory…second field…ask for Mr. Payne.” 
“Thanks, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him. 
They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door. 
A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them. 
“Morning!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. 
“Morning,” said the Muggle. 
“Would you be Mr. Roberts?” 
“Aye, I would,” said Mr. Roberts. “And who're you?” 
“Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?” 
“Aye,” said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. “You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?” 
“That's it,” said Mr. Weasley. 
“You'll be paying now, then?” said Mr. Roberts. 
“Ah - right - certainly -” said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. “Help me, Harry,” he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. “This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now…So this is a five?” 
“A twenty,” Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word. 
“Ah yes, so it is….I don't know, these little bits of paper…” 
“You foreign?” said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes. 
“Foreign?” repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled. 
“You're not the first one who's had trouble with money,” said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. “I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.” 
“Did you really?” said Mr. Weasley nervously. 
Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. 
“Never been this crowded,” he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. “Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up….” 
“Is that right?” said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him. 
“Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking ‘round in a kilt and a poncho.” 
“Shouldn't he?” said Mr. Weasley anxiously. 
“It's like some sort of…I dunno…like some sort of rally,” said Mr. Roberts. “They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.” 
At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door. 
“Obliviate!” he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts. 
Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified. 
“A map of the campsite for you,” Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. “And your change.” 
“Thanks very much,” said Mr. Weasley. 
The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.” 
He Disapparated. 
“I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports,” said Ginny, looking surprised. “He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?” 
“He should,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, “but Ludo's always been a bit…well…lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.” 
They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain. 
“Always the same,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.” 
They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY. 
“Couldn't have a better spot!” said Mr. Weasley happily. “The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be.” He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. “Right,” he said excitedly, “no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult….Muggles do it all the time….Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?” 
Harry had never been camping in his life; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. 
All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem too; she gave Harry a quizzical look as Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent. 
“We'll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.” 
Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats. 
“Well, it's not for long,” said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago.” 
He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. “We'll need water….” 
“There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us,” said Ron, who had followed Harry inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. “It's on the other side of the field.” 
“Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione go and get us some water then -” Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans “- and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?” 
“But we've got an oven,” said Ron. “Why can't we just -” 
“Ron, anti-Muggle security!” said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. “When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!” 
After a quick tour of the girls’ tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. 
Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries. 
Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent. 
“How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh!” 
She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells “You bust slug! You bust slug!” 
A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, “In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -” 
Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: THE SALEM WITCHES’ INSTITUTE. Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited. 
“Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron. 
It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names. 
“Harry! Ron! Hermione!” 
It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor. 
“Like the decorations?” said Seamus, grinning. “The Ministry's not too happy.” 
“Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?” said Mrs. Finnigan. “You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?” she added, eyeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione beadily. When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, “Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot.” 
“I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?” said Hermione. 
“Let's go and have a look,” said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze. 
The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl. 
“Krum,” said Ron quietly. 
“What?” said Hermione. 
“Krum!” said Ron. “Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!” 
“He looks really grumpy,” said Hermione, looking around at the many Krum's blinking and scowling at them. 
“'Really grumpy?” Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. “Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see.” 
There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation. 
“Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious -” 
“I bought this in a Muggle shop,” said the old wizard stubbornly. “Muggles wear them.” 
“Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,” said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. 
“I'm not putting them on,” said old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ‘round my privates, thanks.” 
Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away. 
Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. More to stop Ron from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before. 
“Who d'you reckon they are?” he said. “They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?” 
“'Spect they go to some foreign school,” said Ron. “I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil…this was years and years ago…and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up.” 
Harry laughed but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. He glanced at Hermione, who looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other. 
“You've been ages,” said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys’ tents. 
“Met a few people,” said Ron, setting the water down. “You've not got that fire started yet?” 
“Dad's having fun with the matches,” said Fred. 
Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life. 
“Oops!” he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise. 
“Come here, Mr. Weasley,” said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly. 
At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested. 
“That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office….Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now…Hello, Arnie…Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know…and that's Bode and Croaker…they're Unspeakables….” 
“They're what?” 
“From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to….” 
At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them. 
“Just Apparated, Dad,” said Percy loudly. “Ah, excellent, lunch!” 
They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. “Aha!” he said. “The man of the moment! Ludo!” 
Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy. 
“Ahoy there!” Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement. 
“Arthur, old man,” he puffed as he reached the campfire, “what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming…and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements….Not much for me to do!” 
Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air. 
Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression. 
“Ah - yes,” said Mr. Weasley, grinning, “this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.” 
Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead. 
“Everyone,” Mr. Weasley continued, “this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -” 
Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing. 
“Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?” he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. “I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match.” 
“Oh…go on then,” said Mr. Weasley. “Let's see…a Galleon on Ireland to win?” 
“A Galleon?” Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. “Very well, very well…any other takers?” 
“They're a bit young to be gambling,” said Mr. Weasley. “Molly wouldn't like -” 
“We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,” said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, “that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand.” 
“You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that,” Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter. 
“Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!” 
Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. 
“Boys,” said Mr. Weasley under his breath, “I don't want you betting….That's all your savings….Your mother -” 
“Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!” boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. “They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance….I'll give you excellent odds on that one….We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we….” 
Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins’ names. 
“Cheers,” said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley. 
“Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.” 
“Mr. Crouch?” said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. “He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll.…” 
“Anyone can speak Troll,” said Fred dismissively. “All you have to do is point and grunt.” 
Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil. 
“Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?” Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all. 
“Not a dicky bird,” said Bagman comfortably. “But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha…memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July.” 
“You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?” Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea. 
“Barty Crouch keeps saying that,” said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, “but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!” 
A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was. 
“Pull up a bit of grass, Barry,” said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him. 
“No thank you, Ludo,” said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. “I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.” 
“Oh is that what they're after?” said Bagman. I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.” 
“Mr. Crouch!” said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of halfbow that made him look like a hunchback. “Would you like a cup of tea?” 
“Oh,” said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. “Yes - thank you, Weatherby.” 
Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle. 
“Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur,” said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. “Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.” 
Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh. 
“I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?” 
“I doubt it,” said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. “He's desperate to export here.” 
“Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?” said Bagman. 
“Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle, said Mr. Crouch. “I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before carpets were banned, of course.” 
He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law. 
“So, been keeping busy, Barty?” said Bagman breezily. 
“Fairly,” said Mr. Crouch dryly. “Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.” 
“I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?” said Mr. Weasley. 
Ludo Bagman looked shocked. 
“Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun….Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to took forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?” 
Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. 
“We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -” 
“Oh details!” said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. “They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts -” 
“Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,” said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. “Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.” 
He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily. 
“See you all later!” he said. “You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!” He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated. 
“What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?” said Fred at once. “What were they talking about?” 
“You'll find out soon enough,” said Mr.Weasley, smiling. 
“It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,” said Percy stiffly. “Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it.” 
“Oh shut up, Weatherby,” said Fred. 
A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere. 
Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. 
“Been saving my pocket money all summer for this,” Ron told Harry as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. 
“Wow, look at these!” said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials. 
“Omnioculars,” said the saleswizard eagerly. “You can replay action…slow everything down…and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each.” 
“Wish I hadn't bought this now,” said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars. 
“Three pairs,” said Harry firmly to the wizard. 
“No - don't bother,” said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did. 
“You won't be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. “For about ten years, mind.” 
“Fair enough,” said Ron, grinning. 
“Oooh, thanks, Harry,” said Hermione. “And I'll get us some programs, look -” 
Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold. 
And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. 
“It's time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let's go!” 
哈利把自己和罗恩松开，站了起来，他们到了一个看起来十分荒凉的、雾气蒙蒙的荒野。在他们前面是一对看起来很累很粗暴的巫师。他们其中一个拿着一只大金表，另一个拿着一卷厚厚的羊皮纸和一支羽毛笔。两个都穿得像马格似的，不过看起来很拙劣。拿着表的男人穿着一件苏格兰粗呢外套，他的同事穿着一件有褶裥的裙子和一件宽大的防水衣。 
　　“早上好，巴西人。”威斯里先生打着招呼，拿起靴子，把它递给穿裙子的巫士。他把靴子扔进了旁边的一个装着用过的波奇的大箱子里；哈利可以看到一份旧报纸，一个空饮料罐和一个有洞的足球。 
　　“你好，亚瑟，”巴西人疲倦地说，“不用值班吧？对某些人来说是好事……我们已经在这里一个晚上了……你最好让让路，一大群人即将到达，他们来自黑森林，五点十五分出发的，等一下，我找一下你的营地……威斯里……威斯里……”他查看着羊皮纸上的名单，“在那边，大约四分之一英里，你去一号营地，找派恩先生。” 
　　“谢谢！”威斯里先生叫其他人跟着他。 
　　他们穿过荒野出发了。大约二十分钟以后，在路的旁边，有石头小屋出现在眼前。除了这个，哈利还可以看到成百上千个外型丑陋的帐篷，布满了这片原野。他们同迪格瑞父子道别后，走向小屋。 
　　一个男人站在门口，望向那些帐篷。哈利一眼就看出他是这方圆几英亩内唯一的真正马格。当他听到脚步声后转了过来，看向他们。 
　　“早上好！”威斯里先生聪明地说。 
　　“早上好！”马格说。 
　　“您是罗伯特先生吗？” 
　　“是的，”罗伯特先生回答，“你是谁？” 
　　“威斯里，两个帐篷，几天前就预订了。” 
　　“啊，”查看了一下钉在门上的名单，罗伯特先生说，“你的在森林的旁边，只是一晚，对吗？” 
　　“是的。”威斯里先生说。 
　　“你是现在付钱还是迟些呢？”罗伯特先生问道。 
　　“啊，现在，好，当然！”说着，威斯里先生走出小屋去叫哈利到他这里来。“帮我，哈利，”他低声说，从口袋里拿出一卷马格人的钱，开始把它分开。“这是一个……十？啊，对，我看到上面的小数字！……所以这是一个五？” 
　　“二十。”哈利小声地纠正他，非常担心地发现罗伯特先生正在努力地听他们在谈什么。 
　　“啊，对，是的……我不知道，这些小纸张……” 
　　当威斯里先生拿着正确数目的钱回来时，罗伯特先生问：“你是外国人吗？” 
　　“外国人？”威斯里先生重复着，十分迷惑。 
　　“你并不是第一个不懂得用钱的，”罗伯特先生说着，凑近去仔细观察威斯里先生，“十分钟以前有两个人竟然想用如瓶盖那么大的金币付钱。” 
　　“真的吗？”威斯里先生紧张地问。 
　　罗伯特先生在一个铝罐中找零钱。 
　　“这里从来没有这么拥挤过，”他突然说，又看了一下迷蒙的田野。“成百上千个人都预订了。有些刚刚才出现……” 
　　“真的吗？”威斯里先生问着，他伸出手去拿他的零钱，但罗伯特先生没有给他。 
　　“啊，”他若有听思地说，“那些人来自世界各地，有很多外国人，不仅仅是外国人，还有很多古怪的人，你知道吗？有个家伙穿着裙子和风衣到处走。” 
　　“他怎么可以这样？”威斯里先生十分紧张地说。 
　　“看起来像……我想……像某种集合，”罗伯特先生说，“他们似乎都互相认识，像一个大聚会。” 
　　在那时候，一个巫土悄悄地出现在罗伯特先生的前面。 
　　“遗忘！”他用魔杖指着罗伯特先生厉声说道。 
　　一瞬间，罗伯特先生的眼睛马上失去焦距，他的眉毛松散，脸上呈现出一种漠不关心的样子。哈利认得这种症状，那意味着的他的记忆被限制住了。 
　　“你的营地地图，”罗伯特先生平静地对威斯里先生说，“这是你的零钱。” 
　　“非常感谢。”威斯里先生说。 
　　刚才那个巫士陪着他们走到营地的门口，他看起来十分疲惫，他的下巴是蓝色的，布满了胡茬，眼睛下面有深紫色的眼圈。一出罗伯特先生的听力范围，他就对威斯里先生小声说：“这家伙非常麻烦。一天需要施十次记忆魔法才能让他高兴。露得。巴格蒙不肯帮忙。特洛厅到处大声地谈论布鲁佐球和可尔夫球，一点也不担心防御马格系统的安全情况。啊呀！当这一切结束时，我一定会很高兴的。待会见，亚瑟！” 
　　他消失了。 
　　“我想巴格蒙先生是魔法运动部的领导吧？”金妮说，看起来十分惊讶。“他应该知道在马格人旁边谈论布鲁佐球是怎么样的，对吗？” 
　　“他应该知道，”威斯里先生笑着说，把他们引进营地，“但是露得总是对安全情况比较大意。即使如此，再也没有比他更热情积极的运动部门的领导了。你知道他为英格兰打快迪斯，他是温包尔黄蜂队最优秀的队员。” 
　　池们在迷蒙的田野上的一排排帐篷中艰难地走着。绝大部分看起来很平常；它们的主人已经尽量把它们弄得像马格人一样，如加上了烟囱、铃钟，或者风向标。然而，到处都有帐篷实在是太明显了，哈利对罗伯特先生的怀疑一点也不感到惊讶。半路上，有一个过度奢侈、矫揉造作的作品，挂着一条一条的丝绸，就像宫殿一样。在人口还系着几个活着的孔雀。木久他们经过一个三层高，有几个角楼的帐篷；前面几米，有个帐篷前面设有花园，里面还建有水盆、日规和喷泉。 
　　“总是这样，”威斯里先生笑着说，“当我们聚到一起时，我们总是忍不住要显示一下自己。啊，我们的在这里，看，这是我们的。” 
　　他们到达了森林的边上，在田野的最前方。这是一个空旷的地方，只有一个小小的用铁锤打在地面上的标志，上面写着“威斯里”。 
　　“这真是个再好不过的地方！”威斯里先生十分高兴地说。“搭帐篷的地方正好在森林的另一边，我们要尽可能地接近。”他从臂膀上拿下他的背包，“好了，”他兴奋地说，“不许用魔法，严格地说，我们将用手把帐篷搭起来！不会太困难的……马格人经常做……这里，哈利，你认为我们应该从哪里开始呢？” 
　　哈利一生中还从没有露营过，杜斯利一家在假期从来没有带他外出过，他们情愿把他放在一个老邻居菲格太太家里。虽然如此，他和荷术恩还是决定了在哪里应该打柱子和桩子。当威斯里开始用木锤时，他实在是兴奋过度了。他成一个障碍，帮不上什么忙。但是，最后他们还是搭起了两个简陋帐篷。 
　　所有的人都站到后面去欣赏他们亲手做的物品。哈利想没有人会猜到这些帐篷是由巫上造成的。但是问题是一旦比尔、查理和伯希到后，他们将会是十个人。荷米恩似乎想到了这个问题。当威斯里先生，第一个进入帐篷时，她投给哈利一个戏弄的眼神。 
　　“我们将会很拥挤的，”他说，“但我认为我们都可以挤进去。 
　　来看一下吧。“ 
　　哈利弯下腰来，有三个房间，还有沐浴室和厨房。巧合的是，它的样式跟菲格太太家的完全一样，在椅子上有钩针织品的盖布，一点也不搭配，还有一股很浓的猫味。 
　　“呃，不是住很久的，”威斯里先生说着，用手帕擦他的光头，斜看着房间里的四张床铺。“我向帕金的办公室借的。他现在不露营了。可怜的家伙，他现在正腰痛。” 
　　他拿起那个满是灰尘的水壶，斜视了下里面，“我们需要水……” 
　　“在马格人给我们的地图中可以看到一个水龙头，”罗恩说，他跟着哈利走进了帐篷，而且看起来对里面的情况一点儿也不感到奇怪。“在田野的另一边。” 
　　“好。不如你、哈利和荷米恩去取一些水，好吗？”威斯里先生把水壶递过来，还有一个锅，“其余的将去找些木材，因为我们需要火。” 
　　“但是我们有火炉，”罗恩说，“为什么我们不能只是……？” 
　　“罗恩，这是为了安全，防御马格人！”威斯里先生说，他的脸上充满了期待。“当真正的马格人露营时，他们用火在户外煮东西，我见过这些！” 
　　很快地看了一下女孩子的帐篷后，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩拿着水壶和锅，穿过营地出发了。女孩子的帐篷只是比男孩的稍微小了一点，但没有那股猫味。 
　　现在，太阳刚刚升起，雾也小了很多，他们可以看到这个帐篷的世界向各个方向伸展。他们慢慢地穿过那一排排的帐篷，到处张望。只有哈利会在想这个世界上到底有多少的巫婆和巫士；他从来没有想过那些在其它国家的巫士。 
　　其他的露营者开始起床了。首先是一些有着小孩子的家庭；哈利从来没有见过这么年幼的小巫婆和巫士。一个不超过两岁的小男孩从一个金字塔形的帐篷爬了出来，拿着一个魔杖，十分高兴地戳着草地上的一个慢慢膨胀得像意大利香肠那么大的蛞蝓。当他们走近他时，他的妈妈急忙从帐篷里走了出来。 
　　“多少次了，凯文？你不可以碰爸爸的魔杖！” 
　　她踩了一下那巨大的蜡输，那蛞蝓便裂开了。她的骂声，混合了小男孩的哭喊声“你弄破了蛞蝓！你弄破了蛞蝓！”飘荡在宁静的空中。 
　　不远处，他们看到两个小巫婆，和凯文年龄差不多。她们正骑着一个玩具扫帚，只能升到一个女孩的脚趾头那么高，仅仅可以掠过带有露珠的小草。一位巫士官员发现了她们，经过哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，他急忙跑向她们，并不停地发牢骚：“都大白天了，父母还在睡懒觉，我想……” 
　　四周的巫婆和巫士们都从帐篷里出来了，开始准备早餐。有些偷偷地看一下四周，然后用魔杖点火；有些充满怀疑地试着用火柴点火，好像这是不可能似的。三个非洲的巫婆正在严肃地交谈，她们都穿着长长的白色泡子，而一群中年的美国巫上坐在一个亮晶晶的标语下面十分高兴的闲谈。那个标语挂在他们帐篷之间，上面写着“巫土沙龙”。当他们经过这些帐篷时，哈利听到里面正用一种奇怪的语言交谈，虽然他听不懂，但每个声音的语调都是非常兴奋的。 
　　“呃，是我眼睛的问题，还是有些东西变绿了？”罗恩问。 
　　不仅仅是罗恩眼睛的问题。他们走进了一个帐篷的营地，那里所有的帐篷看起来都像用三叶草盖着，透过那些打开人口的帐篷可以看到一张张笑脸，忽然，在他们后面，他们听到了有人叫他们的名字。 
　　“哈利！罗恩！荷米恩！” 
　　是谢默斯。芬尼更——格林芬顿的队友。他正坐在他自己的有三叶草盖着的帐篷前，旁边有红发妇女，应该是他的妈妈，还有他的最好的朋友，迪恩，也是格林芬顿的队友。 
　　“好像装饰品吧？”谢默斯嘴笑着问，笑着当哈利、罗恩和荷米思走过来打招呼时。“内阁不是很高兴。” 
　　“啊，为什么我们不能用我们喜欢的颜色呢？”芬尼更太太问，“你们应当看一下保加利亚是拿什么来炫耀的。你们当真会支持爱尔兰？”她补充说，盯着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩。 
　　当他们保证他们真的支持爱尔兰后，他们又重新出发了，不过，正如罗恩所说的：“在那种情况下，我们必须说些东西。” 
　　“我对于保加利亚人放在他们帐篷上，拿来炫耀的东西很好奇。”荷米恩说。 
　　“我们去看一下吧。”哈利说着，并指向前方那片大的营地，在那里，保加利亚的红、绿、白国旗，在风中飘扬。 
　　帐篷不是用植物来装饰，而是每一个都帖着同样的海报。一张印有一个深黑色眉毛的傲慢的脸。这张画不断地移动，但画中的脸却是不断地眨眼和皱眉。 
　　“克伦。”罗恩小声地说。 
　　“什么？”荷米恩问。 
　　“克伦！”罗恩说，“维特。克伦，保加利亚的搜索者！” 
　　“他看起来真是很粗鲁。”荷米恩说，看着周围这么多克伦在向他们眨眼和皱眉。 
　　“真的很粗鲁吗？”罗恩抬起头望着天空。“谁在乎他长得怎么样呢？他简直是不可思议，他也真的很年轻。只有十八岁左右，他是一个天才，到今天晚上，你就可以看到了。” 
　　在田野角落的水龙头旁，早就已经有一小队人在等了。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩加入了他们，站在两个男人后面，他们正在激烈地争论著。 
　　其中一个是个非常老的巫土，穿着一件花花的长睡衣，另一个是一个巫主官员，他拿着一件细条纹裤几乎要愤怒地哭了。 
　　“穿上它，阿奇卡，你是一个好家伙，你不能这样到处走。在门口的马格人早就怀疑了。” 
　　“我在马格人的店里买的，”老巫士顽固地说，“马格人也穿这些。” 
　　“马格女人才穿这个，阿奇卡是男人，应该穿这些。”巫主官员挥动着细条纹长裤说。 
　　“我不穿这些，”阿奇卡生气地说，“我喜欢感受凉爽的微风，谢谢！” 
　　荷米恩对这种情形忍不住大笑起来，她赶紧从队伍中走出来。 
　　直到阿奇卡装了水离开后才回来。 
　　因为水的重量，他们现在走得更慢了。他们艰难地穿过营地往回走，并在周围看到更多熟悉的面孔——其他的霍格瓦彻的学生和他们的家人，奥立弗。伍德，哈利的快迪斯队的老队长，他刚刚离开霍格瓦彻队。他把哈利拉到他的父母的帐篷，把他介绍给大家，并兴奋地告诉哈利他刚刚和联合队签了约。接着，他们遇到到了埃尼。马米安，一个海夫巴夫的队员。接着，不远处，他们看到了卓，一个非常漂亮的女孩子，她在卫文卡罗队打搜索者的位置。她朝着哈利招手和微笑，而哈利向她抬手时，溅出了不少的水。罗恩不断的傻笑。哈利急忙指出一大组他从来没有见过的少年。 
　　“你猜他们是谁？”他问，“他们不去霍格瓦彻，对吗？” 
　　“他们去某个外国学校，”罗恩说，“我知道有些人，看到对方也不知道彼此认识。比尔有个笔友在巴西，这是很多年前的事了，他想去作一个交换旅行，但爸妈无法支付。当他说他不去并送给了对方一顶受诅咒的帽子，他的笔友觉得被冒犯了。那帽子使他的耳朵枯萎了。” 
　　哈利笑了，但没有比当他听到其它巫士学校时感到很有趣。他想，他在营地看到那么多国家，到现在他才发现自己曾经多么愚蠢，竟然没有意识到霍格瓦彻并不是唯一的一个。他盯着荷米恩，她对这消息竟然一点也不惊讶。那不奇怪，她在书或其它地方已经看到过关于巫士学校的新闻。 
　　当他们最后回到威斯里的帐篷时，乔治对他们说：“你们去了好久啊！” 
　　“我们遇到了一些人，”罗恩说，并把水放好，“你们还没有点火呢？” 
　　“爸爸正在玩火柴玩得高兴呢！”弗来德说。 
　　威斯里先生怎样也无法把火点着，但并不是因为缺少尝试。他把火柴散在他的周围，但他看起来似乎已经试了一辈子的时间了。 
　　“糟糕！”他说着，因为他终于擦着了一根火柴，并惊讶地把它扔到地上。 
　　“来这里，威斯里先生。”荷米恩温柔地说，她把盒子拿过来，并开始教他应该怎样做才是正确的。 
　　最后，他们终于把火点起来了，但如果要等到它热到可以煮东西，那将至少还要一个小时。当他们等待的时候，周围有很多东西可以观赏。因为，他们的帐篷看来是搭在合适的地方了，内阁的巫士们不断地急急忙忙地跑上跑下，当他们经过时，热情地同威斯里先生打招呼。因为哈利和荷米思的缘故，威斯里先生要不断的解释，而他自己的孩子已经太熟悉那个内阁了，并没有引起大家的很大兴趣。 
　　“那个是凯斯伯。迈克居，妖精联络办公室的领导，这个是盖波。威伯，他是魔法实验委员会的委员，他有是角的，等一下，现在，你好，阿姆斯波斯顿，他是魔法意外修理队的成员……” 
　　“他们是什么人？” 
　　“来自机密部门，高度机密，没人知道他们要做什么。” 
　　最后，火已经准备好了，当比尔、查理和伯希从森林走向他们时，他们刚刚开始煮鸡蛋和香肠。 
　　“刚刚瞬间移动来到这，爸爸，”伯希大声地说，“啊，太好了，午餐！” 
　　当他们吃香肠和鸡蛋吃到一半时，忽然威斯里先生跳了起来，朝着一个正在走向他们的人招手和微笑。“啊，”他说，“当今风流人物！露得！” 
　　露得。巴格蒙很显然是到目前为止哈利所见到的人当中最引人注目的一个人，甚至包括穿着花长睡衣的老阿奇卡。他穿着一件快迪斯长袍，上面有一条条鲜艳的黄和黑的水平条纹。一个巨大的黄蜂的图案在他胸前。他拥有一个强壮的男子的体格。因为他的大肚脯，长袍显得有点紧，看来在他不再为英格兰打快迪斯后，他肯定已经没再穿了。他的鼻子弯弯的，哈利想它可能是被一个碟子打断的，但是他圆圆的蓝眼睛，短短的金发和红色的皮肤让他看起来像个成熟得过早的男孩。 
　　“啊，那里！”巴格蒙十分高兴地喊着。他走起来像脚下有一个弹簧似的，非常的兴奋。 
　　“亚瑟，老家伙，”当他到营火旁，便吹嘘，“多美妙的一天，呃？多美妙的一天！再也找不到比这更好的天气的。一个无云的夜晚正来临……整个组织一点障碍都没有，我都没什么事好干了！” 
　　在他后面，一组憔悴的内阁巫士急急忙忙地经过，跑向着远方发着火光的、有二十英尺高的魔法营火。 
　　伯希急忙跟着跑了过去。很显然，虽然他不赞成露得。巴格蒙管理他的部门的方式，但这并不阻止他想给他留下一个好印像。 
　　“啊，是的，”威斯里先生笑着说，“这是我的儿子伯希，他刚刚开始在内阁工作，这是弗来德，比尔、查理、罗恩，这是金妮和罗恩的朋友荷米恩。格林佐和哈利·波特。” 
　　当巴格蒙听到哈利的名字时，他有一点怀疑，而且他的眼睛也扫视了一下哈利额头的伤疤。 
　　“孩子们，”威斯里先生继续说，“这是露得。巴格蒙，你们知道他是谁。真该感谢他让我们拿到那么好的票！” 
　　巴格蒙高兴的笑着，挥着手，好像在说，这没什么。 
　　“请一下比赛的结果吧，亚瑟！”他热切地说，身上发出叮叮当当的响，好像他的黄黑色的长袍口袋里有一大堆的金子。“我早就和露迪。旁特尼打赌，保加利亚会先得分，我给他漂亮的奇怪的东西，考虑到爱尔兰的前三号是我这么多年来看到的最优秀的。还有小阿哥西。厅西把她的鳗鱼池塘的一半的股份放在为期一个星期的比赛上。” 
　　“噢，走着瞧，”威斯里先生说，“我赌一个帆船币，爱尔兰赢！” 
　　“只一个帆船币？”露得。巴格蒙看起来有点失望，但是他很快恢复常态。“很好，很好……还有谁想参加？” 
　　“他们太年轻了，不能赌钱，”威斯里先生说，“摩莉不会喜欢的……” 
　　“我们将赌三十七帆船币，十五镰刀币，三克拉币，”弗来德说，他和乔治迅速清点他们的钱，“爱尔兰赢，但是维特。克伦获得史尼斯球。噢，我们将加上一个假魔杖。” 
　　伯希不满地说：“你们不要把那种垃圾东西拿给巴格蒙先生看。”但巴格蒙得一点儿也不认为那个魔杖是垃圾，相反，当他从弗来德那里看到那个魔杖后，他孩子气的脸上因兴奋而发光，还有当魔杖叭叭响，并变成一个橡皮鸡后，巴格蒙高兴得呱呱叫。 
　　“精彩极了！我多年来还从未看到过这样一种东西！我愿意出五个帆船币来买它！” 
　　伯希看到这种情况，呆住了。 
　　“孩子们，”威斯里先生小声地说，“我不想你们赌钱，那是你们所有的积蓄……你们的妈妈……” 
　　“不要扫大家的兴了，亚瑟！“露得。巴格蒙抗议道，他兴奋地让他的口袋嘎嘎响，”他们已经长大了，知道又己需要什么！你们认为爱尔兰会赢但克伦将获得史尼斯球吗？没有机会的，孩子们，没有机会的……我将加五个帆船币买那个可爱的魔杖，我们可以……“ 
　　威斯里先生失望地看着露得。巴格蒙拿出一个笔记本和一支羽毛笔，匆匆记下了双胞胎的名字。 
　　“加油！”乔治说着，拿着巴格蒙递给他的那卷羊皮纸，把它塞进他的长袍的前面。 
　　巴格蒙非常兴奋地转向威斯里先生，“我想图谋不会成功的，我无法留意巴地。克劳斯的，我的保加利亚对手已在制造困难，我无法听懂他讲的一个字。巴地可以弄明白，他可以讲一百五十种语口0”克劳斯先生吗？“伯希问，突然，他放弃了异议，因为兴奋而非常苦恼。”他可以讲超过两百种！“ 
　　“有人可以说思洞语吗？”弗来德轻视地说。 
　　伯希非常厌恶地看了弗来德一眼，往火里添柴，使火烧得更猛烈，水壶里的水又开了。 
　　当巴格蒙坐到他们旁边的草地时，“有关于珀茜·佐金斯的消息吗，露得？”威斯里先生问道。 
　　“一点也没有，”巴格蒙舒服地说，“但她将会出现。可怜的巴格蒙……忘记就像一个有漏洞的大汽锅，一点方向感也没有。她将在十月的某个时候游游荡荡地回办公室，还以为仍然是七月份。” 
　　“你不认为是时候该派人去寻找她了吗？”威斯里先生试探着建议。伯希把茶递给了巴格蒙。 
　　“巴地。克劳斯总是这样说，”巴格蒙说，睁大他的天真的圆眼睛，“但是在这个时候我们腾不出人来干这事。噢，不要那个可恶的家伙了！巴地！” 
　　一个巫士刚刚瞬间转移来到他们的营火边，他与巴格蒙先生的印有黄蜂的旧长袍形成鲜明的对比。巴地。克劳斯是一个严厉的、正直的、年老的男人，他穿着没有瑕庇的外套，打着领带。他的短发直得非常的不自然，还有他那窄长的牙刷形的胡子看起来好像他用直尺修剪似的。他的鞋子被刷得光亮亮的。哈利马上就明白为什么伯希崇拜他了。伯希是一个崇信严格纪律的人，而克劳斯先生完全根据马格人编纂的纪律条规行事。他做得那么地认真全面，几乎可以做一个银行的经理。 
　　哈利怀疑即使是维能姨丈是否也可以讲出他的真正身份。 
　　“坐一下吧，巴地。”露得高兴地说，拍着他旁边的地面。 
　　“不了，谢谢，露得。”克劳斯说，而且他的语气显得很不耐烦。“我到处找你，保加利亚人坚持要求我们增加十二个席位给他们。” 
　　“噢，那就是他们追求的吗？”巴格蒙说，“我想那个家伙想借一把钳子。” 
　　“克劳斯先生！”伯希气喘吁吁的叫着，他半鞠躬，那使他看起来很恶心，“您要杯茶吗？” 
　　“噢，好的，谢谢你。”克劳斯先生说看，很惊讶地看了下伯希。 
　　弗来德和乔治十分气愤，只是埋头喝茶。怕希忙着弄水壶。 
　　“我，我一直想跟你谈一下，亚瑟！”克劳斯先生说，他锐利的注视着威斯里先生，“阿里。贝希尔正在出征的路上，他想跟你谈一下你禁止使用的飞毯。” 
　　威斯里先生深深叹了口气，“我上个星期才刚刚送三个猫头鹰给他。我已经跟他讲过几百次了：飞毯被看成马格人的工艺品，这是由魔法禁止物品登记处决定的，但他会听吗？” 
　　“我十分怀疑，”克劳斯先生说，接过伯希递过来的茶。“他非常希望从这里把它偷出去。” 
　　“呃，在英国它们永远也无法取代扫帚，对吗？”巴格蒙问。 
　　“阿里认为在市场上有一种壁灶，非常运会用于家庭交通工具，”克劳斯先生说，“我记得我的祖母有一种毛毯，可以坐十二个人——但那当然是在飞毯被禁用之前。” 
　　他讲着，好像他想让每个人毫无疑问地清楚他的祖先是严守法律的。 
　　“所以，巴地，你一直很忙？”巴格蒙笑着说。 
　　“还可以啦，”克劳斯先生冷冰冰地回答，“组织波奇通过五大洲并不是一件什么大事，露得。” 
　　露得。巴格蒙看起来像愣住了，“太好了！我再也找不到比这些更有趣的事了。还有，看起来好像我们可以找到任何事来做了。 
　　呃？巴地？还有很多需要组织，对吗？“ 
　　克劳斯先生对巴格蒙扬了一下眉毛，“我们答应过直到细节弄好才公布的……” 
　　“哦，细节！”巴格蒙先生喊道，“他们已经签了，对吗？我想这些孩子很快就会清楚地知道。我的意思是，这些发生在霍格瓦彻”露得，我们需要会见保利亚人，你知道的。“克劳斯先锐声说道。打断了巴格蒙的话，”谢谢你的茶，孩子。“ 
　　他把他未喝的茶递回给伯希，等待露得站起来。巴格蒙重新艰难地站起来，倒掉了他最后的茶，他口袋里的金子又在叮当叮当地n向。 
　　“待会见！”他说，“你们将在头等厢见到我！我做评解！”他挥挥手，巴地。克劳斯有礼貌地点点头‘然后他们两人都消失了。 
　　“霍格瓦彻发生什么事了，爸爸？”弗来德马上就问，“他们在讲什么？” 
　　“你很快就可以清楚地知道了。”威斯里先生笑着说。 
　　“这是机密消息，直到恰当时候，内阁才决定公开，”伯希严肃地说，“克劳斯先生没有说出来，做得很对。”“哦，闭嘴！”弗来德喊道。 
　　在下午，营地中洋溢着一种兴奋的感觉。到了黄昏时分，静止的夏天空气好像也因为期待而颤抖。当黑夜像窗帘一样降到成千上万个期待着的巫士身上的时候，最后伪装的痕迹也消失了，禁止党相斗争炫耀魔法的标语相继被打破了。 
　　销售员每几步地瞬间移动，拿着盘子，推着小车，里面装满特别的商品。有发亮的玫瑰花结——绿色代表爱尔兰，红色代表保加利亚——上面还有队员的名字。绿色的帽子用三叶草来装饰，保加利亚围巾则用在吼叫的狮子装饰，两个国家的国旗在不同的国歌声中挥动。还有小的燃烧的箭头模型，真的能飞；还有用于收集的著名队员的模型，可以在掌心走动，自己打扮自己。 
　　“我存了整个夏天的钱就是为这个。”罗恩告诉哈利，当他们和荷米恩经过销售员时，他们停下来买纪念品。罗恩买了一个跳舞用的三叶草帽子和一个大的绿色的玫瑰花结，她也买了一个小的维特。克伦的模型。微型的克伦在罗恩的手中向前和向后走，对着他上面的绿色玫瑰花结皱眉。 
　　“哇，看这些！”哈利兴奋地叫着，急忙冲向一个堆满了看起来像铜制的双筒望远镜的小车，上面盖着各式各样的奇异的抽屉辆和刻度盘。 
　　“望远镜，”销售巫士热切地说，你可以设置焦距，还可以放慢一些镜头，如果你需要的话，十分便宜，每个才十个帆船币。“ 
　　“我现在希望我没有买这个。”罗恩指着他的跳舞三叶草帽子，渴望地望着那望远镜。 
　　“三个。”哈利肯定地对巫士说。 
　　“不，不要麻烦了。”罗恩红着脸说。他总是对哈利的钱比他多而神经过敏，因为哈利从他父母手中继承了一小笔的财产。 
　　“你在圣诞节时就拿不到任何东西了，”哈利告诉他，并把望远镜塞到他和荷米恩的手中。“记住，大约十年。” 
　　“十分公平。”罗恩笑道说。 
　　他们的钱袋很明显地轻了很多后就回到帐篷。比尔、查理和金妮都买了绿色的玫瑰花结，而威斯里先生拿着一面爱尔兰旗。弗来德和乔治没有买纪念品，因为他们所有的金子都给了巴格蒙。 
　　接着，在森林某处的上空响起一阵巨响，绿色的和红色灯笼在树丛中燃烧起来，照亮了一条到帐篷地区的路。 
　　“时间到了，”威斯里先生喊着，看起来和其他人一样兴奋。 
　　“来吧，我们走！” 
Chapter 8 The Quidditch World Cup
Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it. 
“Seats a hundred thousand,” said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. “Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again…bless them,” he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards. 
“Prime seats!” said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go.” 
The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined. 
A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field. 
The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer…Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!…Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade… Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar…. 
“Dobby?” said Harry incredulously. 
The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby - it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family. 
“Did sir just call me Dobby?” squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf - that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest. 
“Sorry,” Harry told the elf, “I just thought you were someone I knew.” 
“But I knows Dobby too, sir!” squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. “My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -” Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. “You is surely Harry Potter!” 
“Yeah, I am,” said Harry. 
“But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!” she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. 
“How is he?” said Harry. “How's freedom suiting him?” 
“Ah, sir,” said Winky, shaking her head, “ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.” 
“Why?” said Harry, taken aback. “What's wrong with him?” 
“Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir, ” said Winky sadly. “Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir.” 
“Why not?” said Harry. 
Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, “He is wanting paying for his work, sir.” 
“Paying?” said Harry blankly. “Well - why shouldn't he be paid?” 
Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again. 
“House-elves is not paid, sir!” she said in a muffled squeak. “No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.” 
“Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun,” said Harry. 
“House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,” said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. “House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter” - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - “but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.” 
“Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?” said Harry, frowning. 
“Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy,” said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. “Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf.” 
She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others. 
“So that's a house-elf?” Ron muttered. “Weird things, aren't they?” 
“Dobby was weirder,” said Harry fervently. 
Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. 
“Wild!” he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again…and again…and again…” 
Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvetcovered, tasseled program. 
“'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,"’ she read aloud. 
“Oh that's always worth watching,” said Mr. Weasley. “National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.” 
The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him. 
“Harry Potter, you know,” he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. “Harry Potter…oh come on now, you know who he is…the boy who survived You-Know-Who…you do know who he is -” 
The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. 
“Knew we'd get there in the end,” said Fudge wearily to Harry. “I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat….Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places…ah, and here's Lucius!” 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother. 
Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose. 
“Ah, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. “How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?” 
“How do you do, how do you do?” said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?” 
It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts’ bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row. 
“Good lord, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?” 
Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest.” 
“How - how nice,” said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile. 
Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father. 
“Slimy gits,” Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box. 
“Everyone ready?” he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. “Minister - ready to go?” 
“Ready when you are, Ludo,” said Fudge comfortably. 
Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said “Sonorus!” and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. 
“Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” 
The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. 
“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” 
The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval. 
“I wonder what they've brought,” said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. “Aaah!” He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. “Veela!” 
“What are veel -?” 
But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women…the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen…except that they weren't - they couldn't be - human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind…but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human - in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all. 
The veela had started to dance, and Harry's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. 
And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry's dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea…but would it be good enough? 
“Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione's voice from a long way off. 
The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard. 
Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands. 
“You'll be wanting that,” he said, “once Ireland have had their say.” 
“Huh?” said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field. 
Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. “Honestly!” she said. 
“And now,” roared Ludo Bagman's voice, “kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!” 
Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it - 
“Excellent!” yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green. 
“Leprechauns!” said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold. 
“There you go,” Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, “for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!” 
The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match. 
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!” 
A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. 
“Ivanova!” 
A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out. 
“Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!” 
“That's him, that's him!” yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own. 
Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen. 
“And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!” yelled Bagman. “Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!” 
Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word “Firebolt” on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs. 
“And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!” 
A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls. 
“Theeeeeeeey're OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!” 
It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums. 
HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it - “TROY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to Ireland!” 
“What?” Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. “But Levski's got the Quaffle!” 
“Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!” shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily. 
Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed. 
Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest kept squeaking their names: “Troy - Mullet - Moran!” And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters. 
The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal. 
“Fingers in your ears!” bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle. 
“Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!” roared Bagman. 
One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was - 
“They're going to crash!” screamed Hermione next to Harry. 
She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats. 
“Fool!” moaned Mr. Weasley. “Krum was feinting!” 
“It's time-out!” yelled Bagman's voice, “as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!” 
“He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!” Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. “Which is what Krum was after, of course.…” 
Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes. 
He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT - DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference. 
Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far. 
After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. 
As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Harry didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul. 
“And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!” Bagman informed the roaring spectators. “And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!” 
The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words “HA, HA, HA!” 
The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again. 
As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Harry's arm. He turned to look at her, and she pulled his fingers impatiently out of his ears. 
“Look at the referee!” she said, giggling. 
Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly. 
“Now, we can't have that!” said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. “Somebody slap the referee!” 
A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous. 
“And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!” said Bagman's voice. “Now there's something we haven't seen before…Oh this could turn nasty… 
It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words “HEE, HEE, HEE.” Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians’ arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle. 
“Two penalties for Ireland!” shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. “And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms…yes…there they go…and Troy takes the Quaffle…” 
Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom. 
“Foul!” roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green. 
“Foul!” echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. “Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!” 
The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders - 
“And that, boys,” yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, “is why you should never go for looks alone!” 
Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet. 
“Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!” 
But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov - 
The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. 
There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight. 
Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same. 
“Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -” 
“Look at Lynch!” Harry yelled. 
For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing… 
“He's seen the Snitch!” Harry shouted. “He's seen it! Look at him go!” 
Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on…but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again - 
“They're going to crash!” shrieked Hermione. 
“They're not!” roared Ron. 
“Lynch is!” yelled Harry. 
And he was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela. 
“The Snitch, where's the Snitch?” bellowed Charlie, along the row. 
“He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!” shouted Harry. 
Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. 
The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight. 
“IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. 
“KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!” 
“What did he catch the Snitch for?” Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. “He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!” 
“He knew they were never going to catch up!” Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. “The Irish Chasers were too good…He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all.… 
“He was very brave, wasn't he?” Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. “He looks a terrible mess.…” 
Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn. 
“Vell, ve fought bravely,” said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. 
“You can speak English!” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you've been letting me mime everything all day!” 
“Veil, it vos very funny,” said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging. 
“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!” roared Bagman. 
Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing. 
“Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!” Bagman shouted. 
And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction. 
One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar. 
And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry's hands were numb with clapping. 
At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, “Quietus.” 
“They'll be talking about this one for years,” he said hoarsely, “a really unexpected twist, that.…shame it couldn't have lasted longer.…Ah yes…yes, I owe you.…how much?” 
For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. 
各自拿着自己买的东西，大家沿着由灯笼照亮的小道，急急忙忙地往森林里赶，威斯里先生走在最前面。他们可以听到成千上万的人在他们四周移动的声音——叫声，笑声和歌声。大家都被这狂热兴奋的气氛而深深感动了，哈利一直都咧嘴大笑。他们在森林走了三十分钟，沿途一直大声地谈话和开玩笑，最后，终于到达森林的另一端，发现在自己的前面有一个巨大的体育馆。虽然哈利只能看见环绕在搭帐篷地区周围的一部分，但肯定一点也不会拥挤。 
　　威斯里先生注意到哈利脸上敬畏的表情后，对他说：“可以坐十万人。在这一年里内阁雇佣了五百人来建这个体育馆。这里的每一英寸都有防御马格人的魔法。在这一年中，每一次马格人接近这里时，他们就要马上重新市署，并再次飞快地跑开……上帝保佑他们。”他情深地补充道。威斯里先生带领大家走向最近的一个人口，在那里，早就聚集了一大群吵吵嚷嚷的巫婆和巫士们。 
　　“前座！”一个在门口的巫婆官员看了他们的票后，说：“上等厢！直上楼梯，亚瑟，走到最高处。” 
　　进入体育馆的楼梯铺着豪华的紫色的地毯。他们和人群一起爬着楼梯。慢慢地，有的人转入楼梯左边或右边的门中。威斯里先生～行人继续沿着楼梯往上爬，最后到达了楼梯顶部的小阁，他们发现自己进入了一个小箱子里。这个小箱设在体育馆的最高处，刚好在两个金色的边线柱子中间。大约有二十张紫色、镀金的椅子，分成两排。哈利跟着威斯里先生坐到前排去，往下看到了一个他永远无法想象的场景。 
　　在椭圆的广场里，下面的椅子按一定的比例一排比一排高一点，十万个巫婆巫士坐在他们的座位上。整个体育馆都弥漫着一种神秘的金色的光，就像体育馆自己发出来的似的。从他们处于高处的位置看来，广场就像天鹅绒一样的光滑，并且两端都有三个用于进球的铁环，十五英尺高；在他们的正对面，几乎与哈利的目光平行的地方有一个巨大的的黑板，金色的字在上面潦草书写；又马上把它擦去。看了一会儿后，哈利才发现上面写着的是广告。 
　　蓝瓶：一个适用于全家使用的扫帚——安全、可靠，装有防卫巴格拉的汽笛……史高水太太的魔法清理器：无痛无斑点！……格来杰斯巫士杂货铺——伦敦巴黎、霍斯马得…… 
　　哈利把目光从那个广告移开，转过头看包厢里除了他们以外还有谁。到目前为止，还没有其他人，除了一个微小的生物正坐在他们后面的倒数第二排。这个生物的腿非常短，因此它把腿放在座位上。它穿着一条茶几盖市，看起来像古罗马市民容的宽外袍，它正把它的脸埋在手里。而那双长的，像蝙蝠一样的耳朵非常奇怪，但又似曾相识。 
　　“是多比吗？”哈利难以相信地问。 
　　那个小生物抬起头，张开它的手指，张开它大大的棕色眼睛，它的鼻子的大小和形状就好像一个西红柿。它不是多比。然而，毫无疑问，它是一个佣人小精灵，就好像哈利的朋友多比一样。哈利已经把多比从它的前主人马尔夫家中解救出来了。 
　　“先生叫我多比吗？”这个精灵好奇从它的指缝中吱吱地问。它的声音比多比的要大一点，那是一种极小的，发抖的吱吱声。虽然和精灵交谈是很困难的，但哈利猜这个精灵是个女的。罗恩和荷米恩也从他们的座位站起来，跑过去看。虽然他们已经听哈利讲了很多关于多比的事，但他们从来没见过他，甚至威斯里先生也很感兴趣地向四周张望。 
　　哈利对小精灵说：“对不起，我刚才以为你是我认识的一个朋友。” 
　　“但是我也认识多比，”小精灵吱吱地说。她捂着脸，好像光会弄瞎她的眼睛似的，事实上等厢的光线一点也不强烈。“我叫温奇。 
　　先生，您叫……“当她的目光停在哈利的伤疤上时，她睁大了她棕黑色的眼睛，”你一定是哈利·波特！“ 
　　“嗯，我是。”哈利说。 
　　她说：“多比整天都在讲你，先生！”她稍微放下她的手，非常敬畏地望着哈利。 
　　“他怎么样了？”哈利问。 
　　“先生，我并不是想冒犯你，但是我不认为当你给多比自由时，你帮了他一个忙。”温奇说。 
　　“为什么不是呢？”哈利问。温奇降低八度，低声说：“他正在等著有人为他的工作付款，先生！” 
　　“付钱？”哈利茫然地问，“为什么别人不能付钱给他？” 
　　温奇看起来被这种想法吓坏了。她慢慢合起她的手指，这样一半脸又被藏起来了。 
　　“佣人精灵是没有钱收的，”她低沉地吱吱说，“不，不，不，我跟多比说，我说，出去后为自己找一个好的家庭，然后安顿下来。他现在沉醉于各种幻想中，这对一个佣人精灵来说是非常不好的。我说：“多比，如果你继续这样放纵下去，那么我很快就可以听到关于你像某些普通的妖精一样，被送到魔法生物纪律条规部门的消息了。“ 
　　“但是，该是时候让他放松一下，娱乐一下了。”哈利说。 
　　“佣人精灵是不可以娱乐的，哈利·波特，”温奇严厉地说。“佣人精灵必须做主人要它们做的任何事，我有畏高症，”她望了一眼包厢的边缘，哭泣地说：“但是我的主人派我来上等厢，我就只好来了。” 
　　“如果他知道你畏高，他为什么还派你来这里？”哈利皱着眉头问。 
　　“主人，主人要我帮他占个座位，哈利·波特，他非常忙。”温奇说着，用头点了一下旁边的空位，温奇希望回到主人的帐篷中，但是她必须做她被吩咐做的事，她是个很好的佣人精灵。 
　　她又敬畏地看了一眼包厢的边缘，又完全把眼睛闭上。哈利转向其他人。 
　　“这就是那种佣人小精灵？”罗恩小声地说，“不可思议的东西，是不是？” 
　　“多比更不可思议。”哈利激动地说。 
　　罗恩拿出他的望远镜，开始测试它。用它来望体育馆的另外一边的人们。 
　　“太刺激了！”他说着，一边旋转着旁边的球形纽，“我可以让那个老家伙不断地抓他的鼻子，一次又一次。” 
　　同时，荷米恩迫不及特地浏览着她的盖着天鹅绒的节目表。 
　　“队伍的吉祥物将在比赛前先展示。”她大声读出来。 
　　“懊，那总是值得一看的，”威斯里先生说，“你知道吗？国家队从他们本国带来生物，展示在这个地上。” 
　　接着过了半小时，包厢里的人逐渐多了，大家坐在他们周围。 
　　威斯里不断地和那些显然是重要人物的巫士握手。伯希经常跳起来，好像坐在一个刺猾上似的。当魔法大臣可尼斯。法治到达时，伯希深深地鞠了个躬，使得他的眼镜摔到地上打碎了。他非常尴尬地用他的魔杖把它修好。从那以后就乖乖地坐在他的座位上。当他看到可尼斯就像老朋友似的同哈利打招呼时，他非常妒忌地看看哈利。他们以前见过面，法治就像父亲一样，慈祥地与哈利握手，问他现在怎样，又把他两边的巫士介绍给他认识。 
　　“你认识的，哈利·波特，”他大声地告诉保加利亚的大臣。他穿着一件华丽的黑色的天鹅绒长袍，下摆镶着金色，看起来似乎不懂英语，“哈利·波特，过来。你知道他是谁，他是从‘那个人’手中唯一逃生的男孩。你们肯定知道他是谁。” 
　　这个保加利亚巫士突然注意到哈利的伤疤，然后开始兴奋地大声地指着它讲个不停。 
　　“我们应该让他简短点，”法治疲惫地对哈利说，“我并不擅长于多国语言，在这方面，我需要巴地。克劳斯帮忙。啊，我看到他的佣人精灵给他占了个位。干得很好！这些保加利亚的讨厌鬼，老是嚷着要最好的座位……啊，这位是露布斯！” 
　　哈利，罗恩和荷米恩马上转过来。走向第二排最后三个空着的座位，正好在威斯里后面的，不是别人，正是多比以前的主人——露布斯。马尔夫，他的儿子杰高和一个女人，哈利猜一定是杰高的妈妈。 
　　自从他们一同去霍格瓦彻以来，哈利和杰高。马尔夫就成为了敌人。杰高看起来很像他父亲，是一个苍白、尖头，有着金发的男孩。他的妈妈也是金发的，很高，很苗条。如果她不是带着一副好像这里有一股难闻气味的表情的话，她是长得很好看的。 
　　“啊，法治，”马尔夫先生伸出手与魔法大臣握手，“你最近好吗？你还没见过我的太太南希斯和我的儿子杰高吧？” 
　　“你们好，你们好。”法治笑着说，并稍微向马尔夭太太鞠了个躬。“让我来介绍一下，这位是……奥布龙斯科先生，他是保加利亚的魔法大臣，但他听不懂我讲的话，没关系。这位是……我敢肯定你认识他，亚瑟。威斯里。” 
　　这是一个很紧张的时刻，威斯里先生和马尔夫先生体看看我，我看看你。哈利马上想起了上一次他们面对面的情景。那是在布鲁。特斯书店，他们打了一架。马尔夫先生冷酷的灰眼睛扫过威斯里先生，然后走了过来。 
　　“亲爱的亚瑟，”他轻声说，“你卖了什么才能得到这个上等厢的票？你的屋子肯定值不了那么多钱。” 
　　法治没有听到，说：“露市斯刚刚捐了一大笔钱给圣曼哥的魔法疾病和伤残医院，他是我的客人。” 
　　“太、太好了！”威斯里先生勉强地笑了笑。 
　　马尔夫先生的视线又转到了荷米恩身上。荷米恩的脸红红的，意志坚定地盯着他。哈利十分清楚是什么令马尔夫先生嘟了一下嘴。马尔夫家对于自己的纯种血液感到无比骄傲，换一句而言，他们认为任何一个马格人都是低等的，像荷米恩，是第二阶层的，然而，在魔法大臣的注视下，他没有说什么。他轻蔑地朝威斯里先生点了点头，继续走到他座位上去。杰高轻蔑地膘了哈利、罗恩和荷米思一眼，然后坐到他爸爸和妈妈中间。 
　　“卑陋的杂种！”罗恩咕哝着。当哈利和荷米恩再转向广场时，一会儿，露得。巴格蒙也进了包厢。 
　　“大家都准备好了吗？”他问着，圆圆的像干酪一样的脸看起来很兴奋。“长官，可以开始了吗？” 
　　“露得，你准备好就可以了。”法治温柔地说。 
　　露得拿出他的魔杖，指着自己的喉咙，说：“索尼勒！”然后对着挤满体育馆的人说话。他的声音回荡在整个体育馆，每个角落都能听到他的声音：“女士们！先生们！欢迎大家！欢迎大家来到快迪斯世界杯总决赛的现场！” 
　　观众们尖叫着，热烈地鼓掌，挥动着成千上万的旗子，夹杂着各自的国歌。他们对面的大黑板上已经擦去了刚才的信息——“贝迪波特的美味豆——让你不得不试”，现在上面写着的是：保加利亚：零，爱尔兰：零。 
　　“现在，刻不容缓，让我来介绍……保加利亚队的吉祥物！” 
　　在架子的右边，一个鲜红色的滑车冲了出来。 
　　“我很好奇他们带来了什么？”威斯里先生说，身体向前探。 
　　“啊！”他忽然摘下他的眼镜，急忙把它塞到长袍里去，“米拉！” 
　　但是当一百个米拉滑到广场上时，哈利的问题就得到了解答。 
　　米拉是女人……哈利所见过的最美丽的女人……但是她们绝对不是人类。这让哈利困惑了一会儿，他尽力地猜她们到底是什么？是什么让她们的皮肤像月光一样的白皙光亮？是什么令她们金色的头发在没有风的情况下飞扬……但是当音乐响起时，哈利就不再为她们不是人类而烦恼了。事实上，他开始不再为任何事而烦恼。 
　　那些米拉开始跳舞了。哈利的头脑一片空白，沉浸在喜悦当中。现在最重要的事是观看米拉们跳舞，因为如果她们停止跳舞，恐怖的事情将会发生。 
　　当米拉越跳越快的时候，一些疯狂的、不成形的思想开始在哈利混顿的头脑中跳跃。他想马上做些给人以深刻印像的事情。“从包厢跳到体育馆中去，这似乎是个好主意，但是吗？” 
　　“哈利，你在做什么？”荷米恩的声音从远处传来。 
　　音乐结束了，哈利眨了眨眼。他正站着，一只腿放在包厢的墙上。在他旁边，罗恩僵住了，好像他刚从一个跳板上跳水似的。 
　　生气的叫喊声响遍了体育馆。大家都不希望米拉走。哈利也和他们一样。他当然是可以支持保加利亚队的，而且他一点也不明白自己为什么把一个绿色的三叶草放在胸前。同时，罗恩也漫不经心地在撕他帽子上的三叶草。威斯里先生微微一笑，倾向罗恩，把他手中的帽子拿了过来。 
　　“你会需要它的，”他说，“一旦爱尔兰队开始说话时。” 
　　“哦？”罗恩张大嘴望着在广场的边上排队的米拉。 
　　荷米恩不耐烦地大声说了声“嘘！”她站起来，把哈利拉回他的座位，说：“老实点！” 
　　“现在，”露得。巴格蒙的声音响起，“请把你们魔杖举起来…… 
　　因为爱尔兰队的吉祥物将要出场了！“ 
　　下一秒，看起来像一个大的绿色的、金色的像彗星一样的东西嗡嗡地来到育馆。它在体育馆绕场一周，后分成两个小一点的彗星，每个都飞向球门。一道彩虹忽然出场在广场上，连接着这两个球。人群中不断发出“哇”和“啊”的声音，好像在看烟花汇演似的。现在彩虹淡去，两个发光的球又重新溶合为～体。他们形成了一张巨大的，闪闪发光的三叶草，它升到天空，并开始在上空飞翔，有一种像金雨似的东西纷纷下落。 
　　“精彩极了！”罗恩喊道。三叶草在他们上方飞，重重的金币落了下来，散在他们的头上和座位上。瞟了一眼三叶草，哈利发现它由成千上万个小的、有胡子、穿着红色背心的人组成的，每个人都拿着一个金色或绿色的灯。 
　　“这是矮精灵！”威斯里先生说。场内响着激烈的掌声，群情汹涌，很多人为拿椅子下面的金子而不惜大打出手。 
　　“这个给你，”罗恩高兴地喊着，把满满一手的金币塞到哈利的手中，“给你望远镜的钱，现在你得买给我圣诞礼物了，哈哈！” 
　　“现在，女士们，先生们！让我们热烈欢迎——保加利亚国家快迪斯队！” 
　　一个骑在扫帚上面的，穿着鲜红色的身影，在巨大的鼓掌声中出现在入口处。 
　　“艾文努！” 
　　第二个队员出现了。 
　　“周格莱夫！莱思基！维尔可努！福尔可夫！啊！克伦！” 
　　“是他了，是他了！”罗恩喊着，拿他的望远镜盯着克伦看。哈利也马上将自己的调好焦距。 
　　维特。克伦是一个瘦黑的人，他有一个弯鼻子，深黑色的眉毛。 
　　他看起来很老成。实在很难相信他只有十八岁。 
　　“现在，让我们来欢迎——爱尔兰国家快迪斯队！”巴格蒙喊着，“出场——克农利！莱恩！特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！快格利！啊！ 
　　莱恩斯！“ 
　　七个穿绿色衣服的人出现在广场中。哈利旋转着望远镜旁的掣，把队员的动作调慢，看到了队员们扫帚上的字，还有他们背上的用银色装饰的名字。 
　　“这位是不远千里，来自埃及的裁判，由魔法国际快迪斯协会承认的海森。莫斯特夫！” 
　　一个瘦小的巫士大步走到广场中。他的头全秃了，有着像维能姨文一样的胡子，穿着一个纯金色的抱子，与体育馆的颜色十分相衬。他含着一个银哨子，在胳膀下面夹着一个大的木箱，另一边夹着他的扫帚。哈利把他的望远镜又调回正常，清晰地看到莫斯特夫骑上他的扫帚，把木箱打开——四个球蹦到空中，鲜红色的叫可尔夫球，两个黑色的叫布鲁佐球（哈利快速扫现了它一眼），还有小的，有翅膀的金色的史尼斯球。在一声哨子声中，莫斯特夫也飞到空中。 
　　“他……们……，开始了！”巴格蒙喊着。“这是摩莉特！特洛！ 
　　莫兰！迪米特弗！又回到摩莉特！特洛！莱思基！莫兰！“ 
　　这就是快迪斯，哈利以前从来没有打过。他紧紧地把望远镜放在眼前，而他的眼镜被望远镜压在了他的鼻梁上。队员的速度快得难以置信——追逐者之间传递可尔夫球的速度太快了，巴格蒙只有时间讲他们的名字。哈利投了一下望远镜上的放慢速度的键，又按了一下“重复播放”的键，这样，他马上就可以看到慢动作。镜头在闪闪地发着紫光，巨大的叫喊声震撼着他的耳膜。 
　　“鹰头进攻模式。”他说看。三个爱尔兰追逐者紧紧地站在一起，特洛在中间，稍前方是摩莉特和莫兰，他们一起防御着保加利亚人、接着，特洛假装要扔出可尔夫球，把保加利亚的追逐手艾文努引开，并赶紧把可尔夫球传给莫兰，一个保加利亚进攻手福尔可夫，用他的小棍大力地击打飞过来的布鲁位球，把它打到莫兰这边，莫兰低下头，避过了布鲁佐球，用力投可尔夫球；在他下面的莱恩斯接住了。 
　　“特洛得分！”巴格蒙大声喊道，体育馆响起了雷鸣般的掌声和欢呼声。“十比零，爱尔兰领先！” 
　　“什么？”哈利一边透过望远镜看，一边喊，“但是莱恩斯才刚刚接到可尔夫球！” 
　　“哈利，如果你不用正常速度看，你会错过很多精彩片段的！” 
　　荷米恩喊道，而她正高兴地跳舞，用力地挥动着手臂，因为特洛得分了。哈利赶忙从望远镜的上方看去，看到在旁边观看的矮精灵已经又升到空中，形成了一个巨大的发光的三叶草。在场地的另一边，米拉正愠怒地看着。 
　　当比赛又开始时，哈利生气地把望远镜的速度又调回正常。 
　　哈利通过快迪斯，发现爱尔兰追逐者真是很优秀。他们队伍的配合天衣无缝，看到对方的位置，就能想到他想做什么，哈和胸前的玫瑰花结吱吱地叫着他们的名字：“特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！”接着，在十分钟内，爱尔兰队又拿了两次分，把他们的比分改写成“三十比零”，领先三十分！而他们的支持者也不断地发出一浪又一浪震耳欲聋的欢呼声和掌声。 
　　比赛越来越快，也越来越暴力。保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努，大力地向爱尔兰追逐者击打着布鲁佐球，并开始阻碍他们的团体移动。有两次他们被迫分散，最后，艾文努终于冲破了他们的阵列，避开守门员莱恩，为保加利亚取得了第一分。哈利把他的眼睛也闭上了。他想把精力集中在比赛上。过了几秒钟，他瞟了广场一眼，发现米拉已经不再跳舞，而保加利亚人又一次拿着可尔夫球。 
　　“迪米特弗！莱思基！迪米特弗！迪米特弗，哦，我说……” 
　　巴格蒙大声地喊着。 
　　当两名搜索者克伦和林科在追逐者当中骤然下跌时，十万个巫婆和巫士都停住了呼吸，他们看起来就好像不用降落而从飞机上跳下来一样。哈利透过望远镜，看着他们下落的过程，想看一下史尼斯球在哪里。 
　　“他们要摔到地面了！”在哈利旁边的荷米恩尖叫着。 
　　她只对了一半。在最后一秒钟，维特。克伦从下跌中旋身，控制自己，而林科重重地撞到地面去，那响声整个体育馆都可以听得到。爱尔兰人的座位响起一阵巨大的呻吟声。 
　　“傻瓜！”威斯里先生悲叹道，“克伦使诈！” 
　　“中场休息！”巴格蒙叫道，“一个受过训练的巫上医生急忙跑到广场中，去检查艾丹。林科！” 
　　“他会没事的！只是伤了脊骨！”查理向金妮保证，而金妮正冲到包厢前面，紧张地看着，她吓坏了。“这当然就是克伦想得到的结果！” 
　　哈利不断按望远镜上的“重播”和“分播”的按键，旋转控制速度的表盘，然后把望远镜放到眼前去看。 
　　他用慢动作看了一遍克伦和林科下落的动作。镜头上显示了一行紫色的字“使诈！一种十分危险的搜索者决策！”他看到当克伦开始下跌时，及时地集中注意力，脸部都扭曲变形了，而克伦看起来就好像没有用扫帚一样，看起来似乎是没有支持物，一点重量也没有。哈利又把他的望远镜调回正常，把它对准克伦。他正在林科的上空绕圈，而巫医正在喂林科喝一杯药水。哈利正仔细地观察他的脸，发现他的黑眼睛正投向一百英尺下的地面。他正在利用林科接受治疗的时间寻找史尼斯球，一点也不受到干扰。 
　　林科最后终于又站了起来，骑上他的扫帚，又重新回到空中去。全场的穿绿衣服的支持者对此而大声欢呼。他的恢复给爱尔兰队增添了信心。当莫斯特夫又吹哨子时，追逐者们又风驰电掣在空中，那速度之快，是哈利所从未见的。 
　　在十五分钟速度的运动中，爱尔兰又得了十次分，扩大了比分的距离。他们现在一百三十比十而领先。比赛开始变得更加激烈了。 
　　当摩莉特又一次把球投向球门时，保加利亚的守门员周格莱夫紧紧地用手臂夹住了飞向她的可夫尔球。这一切发生得太快了，哈利还未看清楚。但爱尔兰人都生气地尖叫，而莫斯特夫先生的长哨声告诉了他这是犯规的。 
　　“莫斯特夫判保加利亚守门员犯规，她用了手肘！”巴格蒙先生大叫地告诉观众。“对了，爱尔兰点球！” 
　　当看到摩莉特被判犯规后，矮精灵们像一群发光的大黄蜂，生气地升到空中，形成“哈！哈！哈！”几个字。在广场另一边的米拉也跳了起来，生气地摇摆着头发，又开始了跳舞。 
　　马上，所有威斯里家的男孩和哈利把他们的手指塞到耳朵里，但荷米恩不需要这样做，她拉拉哈利的手。他转过来看着她，她不耐烦地把他的手指拉出他的耳朵。 
　　“看那个裁判！”她小声地说。 
　　哈利往广场看去。海森。莫斯特夫降落在跳舞的米拉前，他的动作十分奇怪。他弯曲着他的胳膊，显示他的肌肉，并十分兴奋地摸着他的胡子。 
　　“现在不能这样！”露得。巴格蒙说，虽然听起来他也很兴奋。 
　　“有人可以用力打一下裁判吗？” 
　　巫医穿过广场，他也把手指塞在自己的耳朵上。他用力地踢了一下莫斯特夫。莫斯特夫似乎清醒了很多，他正在对那些停止跳舞，看起来很生气的米拉大叫。 
　　“如果我没猜错的话，莫斯特夫正在试图驱逐保加利亚队的吉祥物！”巴格蒙先生的声音响起，“现在发生的事是我们以前从未遇见过的，哦，这会变得很糟糕的。” 
　　果然不出所料，保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努落到莫斯特夫的两边，并开始十分生气地和他争吵，指着正在高兴地形成“嘻！嘻！嘻！”字样的矮精灵。莫斯特夫不理会保加利人的争论。 
　　他指着空中叫他们重新回到空中去。当他们拒绝后，他吹了两声短哨。 
　　“爱尔兰两个点球！”巴格蒙叫道，保加利亚人群生气地吵闹着。“现在福尔克夫和维尔可努最好回到扫帚上去。好的，他们走了，现在特洛拿着可尔夫球……” 
　　比赛现在进入一种极度野蛮的状态。两队的进攻者都毫无怜悯地互相进攻：特别是福尔可夫和维尔可努，他们看起来根本不在乎他们的木棍是打到布鲁位球还是人。迪米特弗直接冲向拿着可尔夫球的莫兰身上，使她几乎从扫帚上摔下来。 
　　“犯规！”当一个爱尔兰支持者吼出来后，所有的爱尔兰支持者都站了起来，形成一遍绿色的浪潮。 
　　“犯规！”露得回巴格蒙的强调的声音也响起。“迪米特弗擦过莫兰，不顾一切地撞向她，这应该又罚一个点球！是的，哨声响起！” 
　　矮精灵又升到空中，这一次，他们形成一个巨大的手，这对对面的米拉来说，是一个很粗鲁的标志。这时候，米拉失去了控制，她们穿过广场，把一些看似火球的东西扔向矮精灵。哈利通过他的望远镜看到这一切，他现在觉得米拉一点也不美丽了。相反，她们的睑伸长成尖的鸟嘴形，有鳞的翅膀从她们肩膀上爆裂出来。 
　　“孩子，就是为什么你们不可以独自来看的原因。”威斯里先生看着下面骚动的人群说。 
　　巫士官员涌到场地去分开米拉和矮精灵，但是没有成功。同时，下面的战斗并没有影响上面的人。哈利赶紧又用他的望远镜去观看空中的比赛。可夫尔球就像子弹似的传到另一个人手中。 
　　“莱思基一迪米特弗一莫兰一特洛一摩莉特一艾文努又传给莫兰，莫兰，莫兰得分！” 
　　但是因为米拉的尖叫声，内阁成员魔杖发出的声音，保加利亚人生气的吼叫，几乎都没办法听得到爱尔兰支持者的欢呼声。比赛马上又开始了，现在莱思基拿着可尔夫球。 
　　爱尔兰的进攻者凯里大力地把飞过的布鲁位球未向克伦。克伦没有来得及低下头，布鲁佐球重重地打在了他的脸上。 
　　人群中响起了大声的呻吟声。克伦的鼻子好像打断了，正在流血，但是海森。莫斯特夫没有吹哨。他刚才分散了注意力。哈利认为这不能责怪他，因为刚才一个米拉向他扔了一个火球，他扫帚的尾部着火了。 
　　哈利希望有人意识到克伦受伤了。虽然他是支持爱尔兰的，但克伦是球场上最优秀的队员。很显然，罗恩也是这样认为的。 
　　“暂停！啊，快！他不可以这样继续比赛！看他！” 
　　“看林科！”哈利大叫。 
　　因为这个爱尔兰搜索者突然俯冲，哈利很肯定这不是在使诈，这次是真的…… 
　　“他看见史尼斯球了！”哈利喊着，“他看见它了！看他走的方向！” 
　　一半人都似乎意识发生什么事了，爱尔兰观众又站了起来，开始做绿色的人浪，他们对着自己的搜索者尖叫……但是克伦跟在他后面。他怎么可以看见他是往哪里走呢？哈利对此无法理解。在他后面有红色的斑点在空中飞，但他现在已经追上了林科，然后他们两人又一起跃向地面。 
　　“他们要摔到地面了！”荷米恩尖叫。 
　　“他们不会的。”罗恩吼着。 
　　哈利叫道：“林科会的！” 
　　他是对的，因为下一秒，林科又重重地摔到了地面，他马上被大群生气的米拉进攻。 
　　
Chapter 9 The Dark Mark
“Don't tell your mother you've been gambling,” Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs. 
“Don't worry, Dad,” said Fred gleefully, “we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated.” 
Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. 
They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. 
“Oh I am glad I'm not on duty,” muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. “I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating.” 
Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint.…Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like.…Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, “I give you.…Potter!” 
Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep - his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams - all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting. 
“Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!” 
Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas. 
“'S’ matter?” he said. 
Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, “No time, Harry - just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!” 
Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels. 
By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene. 
A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them.…They didn't seem to have faces.…Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. 
More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder. 
The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. 
“That's sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick.…” 
Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys’ tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out. 
“We're going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!” 
Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer. 
“C'mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall. 
The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain. 
“What happened?” said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. “Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - lumos!” 
She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground. 
“Tripped over a tree root,” he said angrily, getting to his feet again. 
“Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” said a drawling voice from behind them. 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees. 
Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley. 
“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?” 
He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. 
“What's that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly. 
“Granger, they're after Muggles, “said Malfoy. “D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around.…they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” 
“Hermione's a witch,” Harry snarled. 
“Have it your own way, Potter,” said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. “If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.” 
“You watch your mouth!” shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that “Mudblood” was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage. 
“Never mind, Ron,” said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy. 
There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly. 
“Scare easily, don't they?” he said lazily. “I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?” 
“Where're your parents?” said Harry, his temper rising. “Out there wearing masks, are they?” 
Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling. 
“Well…if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?” 
“Oh come on,” said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, “let's go and find the others.” 
“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,” sneered Malfoy. 
“Come on,” Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron up the path again. 
“I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!” said Ron hotly. 
“Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!” said Hermione fervently. “Oh I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?” 
Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, “Oü est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue -” 
“Er - what?” said Ron. 
“Oh…” The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, “'Ogwarts.” 
“Beauxbatons,” muttered Hermione. 
“Sorry?” said Harry. 
“They must go to Beauxbatons,” said Hermione. “You know…Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.…I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe.” 
“Oh…yeah…right,” said Harry. 
“Fred and George can't have gone that far,” said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path. Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand - but it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. 
“Ah, no, I don't believe it…I've lost my wand!” 
“You're kidding!” 
Ron and Hermione raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen. 
“Maybe it's back in the tent,” said Ron. 
“Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?” Hermione suggested anxiously. 
“Yeah,” said Harry, “maybe…” 
He usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and finding himself without it in the midst of a scene like this made him feel very vulnerable. 
A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back. 
“There is bad wizards about!” she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. “People high - high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!” 
And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her. 
“What's up with her?” said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. “Why can't she run properly?” 
“Bet she didn't ask permission to hide,” said Harry. He was thinking of Dobby: Every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the house-elf had been forced to start beating himself up. 
“You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!” said Hermione indignantly. “It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?” 
“Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?” Ron said. “You heard old Winky back at the match…'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'…that's what she likes, being bossed around.…” 
“It's people like you, Ron,” Hermione began hotly, “who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to -” 
Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood. 
“Let's just keep moving, shall we?” said Ron, and Harry saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy had said; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were. They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there. 
They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly. 
“I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!” one of them shouted. “I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.” 
“No, you're not!” yelled his friend. “You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron…but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far -” 
A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, “I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am.” 
Harry snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, “Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?” 
“Honestly!” said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away. By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter. 
Harry looked around. “I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off.” 
The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them. 
Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained. 
“Who's that?” he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. “What are you doing in here, all alone?” 
They looked at one another, surprised. 
“Well - there's a sort of riot going on,” said Ron. 
Bagman stared at him. 
“What?” 
“At the campsite…some people have got hold of a family of Muggles.…” 
Bagman swore loudly. 
“Damn them!” he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop! 
“Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?” said Hermione, frowning. 
“He was a great Beater, though,” said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. “The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them.” 
He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry was listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over. 
“I hope the others are okay,” said Hermione after a while. 
“They'll be fine,” said Ron. 
“Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy,” said Harry, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. “He's always said he'd like to get something on him.” 
“That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right,” said Ron. 
“Those poor Muggles, though,” said Hermione nervously. “What if they can't get them down?” 
“They will,” said Ron reassuringly. “They'll find a way.” 
“Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!” said Hermione. “I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -” 
But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Harry and Ron looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt. 
“Hello?” called Harry. 
There was silence. Harry got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but he could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision. 
“Who's there?” he said. 
And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell. 
“MORSMORDRE!” 
And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Harry's eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky. 
“What the -?” gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared. 
For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. 
Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone. 
“Who's there?” he called again. 
“Harry, come on, move!” Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward. 
“What's the matter?” Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified. 
“It's the Dark Mark, Harry!” Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. “You-Know-Who's sign!” 
“Voldemort's - ?” 
“Harry, come on!” 
Harry turned - Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum - the three of them started across the clearing - but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them. 
Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: Each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Ron, and Hermione. 
Without pausing to think, he yelled, “DUCK!” 
He seized the other two and pulled them down onto the ground. 
“STUPEFY!” roared twenty voices - there was a blinding series of flashes and Harry felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch he saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards’ wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness - 
“Stop!” yelled a voice he recognized. “STOP! That's my son!” 
Harry's hair stopped blowing about. He raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of him had lowered his wand. He rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified. 
“Ron - Harry” - his voice sounded shaky - “Hermione - are you all right?” 
“Out of the way, Arthur,” said a cold, curt voice. 
It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage. 
“Which of you did it?” he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. “Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?” 
“We didn't do that!” said Harry, gesturing up at the skull. 
“We didn't do anything!” said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. “What did you want to attack us for?” 
“Do not lie, sir!” shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. “You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!” 
“Barty,” whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, “they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to -” 
“Where did the Mark come from, you three?” said Mr. Weasley quickly. 
“Over there,” said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. “There was someone behind the trees…they shouted words - an incantation -” 
“Oh, stood over there, did they?” said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. “Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy -” 
But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, or Hermione had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees. 
“We're too late,” said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. “They'll have Disapparated.” 
“I don't think so,” said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. “Our Stunners went right through those trees.…There's a good chance we got them.…” 
“Amos, be careful!” said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth. 
A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout. 
“Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's - but - blimey…” 
“You've got someone?” shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. “Who? Who is it?” 
They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky. 
Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again. 
“This - cannot - be,” he said jerkily. “No -” 
He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky. 
“No point, Mr. Crouch,” Mr. Diggory called after him. “There's no one else there.” 
But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching. 
“Bit embarrassing,” Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. “Barty Crouch's house-elf.…I mean to say…” 
“Come off it, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand.” 
“Yeah,” said Mr. Diggory, “and she had a wand.” 
“What?” said Mr. Weasley. 
“Here, look.” Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. “Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand.” 
Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull. 
“The Dark Mark!” he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. “Who did it? Did you get them? Barry! What's going on?” 
Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching. 
“Where have you been, Barty?” said Bagman. “Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too - gulping gargoyles!” Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. “What happened to her?” 
“I have been busy, Ludo,” said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. “And my elf has been stunned.” 
“Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why -?” 
Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch. 
“No!” he said. “Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!” 
“And she had one,” said Mr. Diggory. “I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself.” 
Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, “Ennervate!” 
Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. 
She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs. 
“Elf!” said Mr. Diggory sternly. “Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!” 
Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience. 
“As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago,” said Mr. Diggory. “And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!” 
“I - I - I is not doing it, sir!” Winky gasped. “I is not knowing how, sir!” 
“You were found with a wand in your hand!” barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it 
“Hey - that's mine!” he said 
Everyone in the clearing looked at him. 
“Excuse me?” said Mr. Diggory, incredulously. 
“That's my wand!” said Harry. “I dropped it!” 
“You dropped it?” repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. “Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?” 
“Amos, think who you're talking to!” said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. “Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?” 
“Er - of course not,” mumbled Mr. Diggory. “Sorry…carried away…” 
“I didn't drop it there, anyway,” said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. “I missed it right after we got into the wood.” 
“So,” said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. “You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?” 
“I is not doing magic with it, sir!” squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. “I is…I is…I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!” 
“It wasn't her!” said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. “Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!” She looked around at Harry and Ron, appealing for their support. “It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?” 
“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It definitely didn't sound like an elf.” 
“Yeah, it was a human voice,” said Ron. 
“Well, we'll soon see,” growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. “There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?” 
Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's. 
“Prior Incantato!” roared Mr. Diggory. 
Harry heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell. 
“Deletrius!” Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke. 
“So,” said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively. 
“I is not doing it!” she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. “I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!” 
“You've been caught red-handed, elf!” Mr. Diggory roared. “Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!” 
“Amos,” said Mr. Weasley loudly, “think about it…precious few wizards know how to do that spell.…Where would she have learned it?” 
“Perhaps Amos is suggesting,” said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, “that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?” 
There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. “Mr. Crouch…not…not at all. 
“You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!” barked Mr. Crouch. “Harry Potter - and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?” 
“Of course - everyone knows -” muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted. 
“And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?” Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again. 
“Mr. Crouch, I - I never suggested you had anything to do with it!” Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard. 
“If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” shouted Mr. Crouch. “Where else would she have learned to conjure it?” 
“She - she might've picked it up anywhere -” 
“Precisely, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley. “She might have picked it up anywhere.…Winky?” he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. “Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?” 
Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. 
“I - I is finding it…finding it there, sir…” she whispered, “there…in the trees, sir. 
“You see, Amos?” said Mr. Weasley. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.” 
“But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!” said Mr. Diggory impatiently. “Elf? Did you see anyone?” 
Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, “I is seeing no one, sir…no one…” 
“Amos,” said Mr. Crouch curtly, “I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.” 
Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him. 
“You may rest assured that she will be punished,” Mr. Crouch added coldly. 
“M-m-master…” Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. “M-m-master, p-p-please…” 
Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze. 
“Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible,” he said slowly. “I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes.” 
“No!” shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. “No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!” 
Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet. 
“But she was frightened!” Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. “Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!” 
Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes. 
“I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,” he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. “I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation.” 
Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, “Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -” 
Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it. 
“Come on, you three,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. “Hermione!” Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees. 
“What's going to happen to Winky?” said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing. 
“I don't know,” said Mr. Weasley. 
“The way they were treating her!” said Hermione furiously. “Mr. Diggory, calling her ‘elf’ all the time…and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!” 
“Well, she's not,” said Ron. 
Hermione rounded on him. 
“That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way -” 
“Hermione, I agree with you,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, “but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?” 
“We lost them in the dark,” said Ron. “Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?” 
“I'll explain everything back at the tent,” said Mr. Weasley tensely. 
But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward. 
“What's going on in there?” 
“Who conjured it?” 
“Arthur - it's not - Him?” 
“Of course it's not Him,” said Mr. Weasley impatiently. “We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.” 
He led Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking. 
Charlie's head was poking out of the boys’ tent. 
“Dad, what's going on?” he called through the dark. “Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others -” 
“I've got them here,” said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered after him. 
Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken. 
“Did you get them, Dad?” said Bill sharply. “The person who conjured the Mark?” 
“No,” said Mr. Weasley. “We found Barry Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conured the Mark.” 
“What?” said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together. 
“Harry's wand?” said Fred. 
“Mr. Crouch's elf?” said Percy, sounding thunderstruck. 
With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly. 
“Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!” he said. “Running away when he'd expressly told her not to…embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry…how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control -” 
“She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy - better, indeed, than any of the others. 
“Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!” said Percy pompously, recovering himself. 
“She didn't run amok!” shouted Hermione. “She just picked it up off the ground!” 
“Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?” said Ron impatiently. “It wasn't hurting anyone.…Why's it such a big deal?” 
“I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron,” said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. “I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.” 
“And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years,” said Mr. Weasley quietly. “Of course people panicked…it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again.” 
“I don't get it,” said Ron, frowning. “I mean…it's still only a shape in the sky…” 
“Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,” said Mr. Weasley. “The terror it inspired…you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside.…” Mr. Weasley winced. “Everyone's worst fear…the very worst…” 
There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, “Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now.” 
“Death Eaters?” said Harry. “What are Death Eaters?” 
“It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves,” said Bill. “I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway.” 
“We can't prove it was them, Bill,” said Mr. Weasley. “Though it probably was,” he added hopelessly. 
“Yeah, I bet it was!” said Ron suddenly . “Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!” 
“But what were Voldemort's supporters -” Harry began. Everybody flinched - like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. “Sorry,” said Harry quickly. “What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?” 
“The point?” said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. “Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them,” he finished disgustedly. 
“But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?” said Ron. “They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?” 
“Use your brains, Ron,” said Bill. “If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives.…I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?” 
“So…whoever conjured the Dark Mark…” said Hermione slowly, “were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?” 
“Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione,” said Mr. Weasley. “But I'll tell you this…it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now.…Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here.” 
Harry got back into his bunk with his head buzzing. He knew he ought to feel exhausted: It was nearly three in the morning, but he felt wide-awake - wide-awake, and worried. 
Three days ago - it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days - he had awoken with his scar burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean? 
He thought of the letter he had written to Sirius before leaving Privet Drive. Would Sirius have gotten it yet? When would he reply? Harry lay looking up at the canvas, but no flying fantasies came to him now to ease him to sleep, and it was a long time after Charlie's snores filled the tent that Harry finally dozed off. 
当他们走下紫地毯铺着的楼梯时，威斯里先生恳求他们说：“不要告诉你们的妈妈，你们赌钱了。” 
　　“别担心，爸爸，”弗来德高兴地说，“我们对怎样花这笔钱有个伟大的计划，我们不想让它被没收。” 
　　威斯里先生看起来好像想问他们的伟大的计划是什么，但想了一会儿后，决定他还是不要知道为好。 
　　他们很快就跟上了涌出体育馆的人群，并和大家一起走回营地。当他们走在被灯笼照亮的小道上时，到处都听到沙哑的歌声，呵呵地笑着和拿着灯笼的矮精灵在他们头上飞。当他们最后到达帐篷后，都没有睡意。因为他们不断地制造吵闹声，最后威斯里先生不得不同意他们在睡觉之前再喝一杯可可。大家都兴高采烈地谈论著比赛。威斯里先生很不同意查理的观点。最后，因为金妮困倦，趴在小桌子上并打翻了一杯热可可，因此威斯里先生宣布停止讨论，每一个都必须去睡觉。荷米恩和金妮走进另一个帐篷，哈利和其余威斯里家的男孩换上睡衣，爬上了他们的床铺。他们仍然可以听到营地的另一边传来的歌声和砰砰的撞击声。 
　　“哦，我太高兴我不用值班了，”威斯里先生十分困倦地咕哝，“我无法想象要怎样才能使那些爱尔兰人停止庆祝。” 
　　哈利睡在罗恩的上铺，看着帐篷的帆布顶，看到一个矮精灵拿着灯笼飞过，然后又想象一些克伦迅速移动的精彩画面。他怎样骑回他的扫帚，又设计出骗局来欺骗林科……林科永远也无法作出这样快速扭动的曲线。这种移动就像……哈利看到自己穿着后面印有名字的袍子，想象着自己处于那种场景，听到千万欢呼声，露得。 
　　巴格蒙的声音在体育馆中回荡：“波特出场！” 
　　哈利不清楚自己到底睡着了没有，他想，如果像克伦那样飞可能只是在做梦。忽然，威斯里先生大叫着。 
　　“起床了，罗恩、哈利！快点，起床，非常紧急！” 
　　哈利马上坐起来，头碰到了帐篷的帆布顶。 
　　“什么事？”他问。 
　　朦朦胧胧地，他不知道有何不妥。营地的声音变了。歌声没有了，他可以听到尖叫声和人们奔跑的声音。 
　　他从床铺滑下来，拿起他的衣服。但是刚把牛仔裤套在他睡衣上的威斯里先生说：“没时间了，哈利，拿一件夹克就行，出去，快！” 
　　哈利听到后，急忙跑出帐篷，罗恩跟在他后面。 
　　借着仍在燃烧的火堆，他可以看到人们正跑进森林，躲避着某种穿过田野追逐着他们的东西，某种发出奇怪的像喝醉了的吵闹声向他们飘来，然后射来一阵强烈的绿光，照亮了整个场地。 
　　一群包裹得严严实实的巫士，手里拿着魔杖指向前方，正在慢慢地穿过田野。哈利瞟了他们一眼，他们好像没有睑……然后意识到他们的头用头巾包着，戴着面具。在他的上面，半空中飘着四个打斗的身影，扭曲成十分怪异的形状。好像在地上带着面具的巫士是在操纵木偶，在上面的人像木偶像被魔杖发出了一条条无形的线控制着。其中的两个身影十分小。 
　　更多的巫土加入了游行队伍，一边笑一边指着飘浮着的身影。 
　　当游行队伍膨胀后，帐篷被压弯，倒了下来。有一两次，哈利看到游行队伍中的人用魔杖点燃帐篷。连续几个帐篷都烧着了，尖叫声更加大。 
　　当飘动的身影经过一个烧着的帐篷时，它们突然被照亮了，哈利发现他们当中一个是罗伯特先生——营地的管理人员。另外三个看起来可能是他的妻子和孩子。下面的～个游行人用魔杖轻弹一下罗伯特太太，她马上上下颠倒了，她的睡裙滑了下来，露出了她的内裤。她努力去盖住自己，而下面的人群高兴地尖叫。 
　　“太过分了！”罗恩低声说，看看最小的马格小孩，他因为在六十英尺的高空，头不稳定地摇来摇去，已经开始吐了。“真是太过分了！” 
　　荷米恩和金妮急急忙忙地跑问他们，在她们的睡裙上披上外套，威斯里先生就在他们后面。同时，衣冠整齐的比尔、查理和伯希也从男孩的帐篷里出来了，他们卷着袖子，拿着他们的魔杖。 
　　“我们要去帮内阁，”威斯里先生大声地喊着，卷起他的袖子。 
　　“你们跑进森林，站在一起。当我们搞定一切后，会去接你们的。” 
　　比尔、查理和伯希早就全速冲向游行队伍，威斯里先生跟在他们后面，内阁成员也从各个方向冲向混乱的来源，在罗伯特一家下面的人群越走越近了。 
　　“快走！”弗来德抓住金妮的手，拖着往森林里面去。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和乔治跟在他们后面。当他们到达森林时，他们都往后看。罗伯特家下面的人越来越多了。他们看到内阁的巫士正努力地要穿过去，盖住中间的巫士，但是他们有很大困难，看起来他们害怕太暴力会让罗伯特一家从上面摔下来。 
　　照亮通往体育馆的颜色各异的灯笼已经熄了。黑黑的身影在森林中乱撞，小孩都在哭。紧张的叫唤声、吓坏的尖叫声响遍了寒冷的夜空。哈利觉得自己被人一会推向这边，一会推向那边，但看不见他们的脸。忽然，他听到罗恩痛苦的叫声。 
　　“发生什么事了？”荷米恩紧张地问，她突然停住，哈利撞了上去。“罗恩，你在哪里？噢，真该死！” 
　　她点亮她的魔杖，靠微弱的光线寻找罗恩，看见罗恩趴在地上。 
　　“我被一个树根绊倒了。”他生气地说，又站了起来。 
　　“哦，有那样的脚，真是很难不被绊到。”一个声音从他们后面传来。 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米恩马上转过身，看到杰高。马尔夫自己一人站在他们旁边，靠着树，非常高兴。他抱着臂，他似乎可以透过之间的缝隙，看到营地里发生的一切。 
　　“威斯里，”马尔夫说，他的灰眼睛闪闪发光，“你现在最好快点，你也不想让她发现，对吧？” 
　　他向荷米恩点点头，在那时候，营地传来好像是爆炸的声音，一道绿光顿时照亮了森林。 
　　“那意味着什么？”荷米恩大胆地问。 
　　“格林佐！他们在追马格人，”马尔夫说，“你想把你的内裤显示在半空中吗？因为如果你想，吊起来……他们正在朝这走来，我们可以大笑一通。” 
　　“荷米恩是一个女巫。”哈利吼道。 
　　“少多管闲事，波特，”马尔夫邪恶地笑着说，“如果你以为他们分辨不出一个杂种，就继续这样吧。” 
　　“注意你的话！”罗恩叫道。每个在场的人都知道，“杂种”对于一个有马格人血统的女巫或巫土，是一个很无礼的词语。 
　　森林的另一边传来一声巨响，他们附近的一些人尖叫了。 
　　马尔夫轻轻一笑，“太容易被吓到了，不是吗？”他慢悠悠地说：“我想你们的爸爸叫你们躲起来。他去哪里了？想拯救那些马格人吗？” 
　　“你的父母呢？”哈利问道，他生气了。“他们在哪里戴着面具，对吧？” 
　　马尔夫转向哈利，仍然笑着。“呃，如果他们是的，我也不可能告诉你，对吧，波特？” 
　　“哦，快走，”荷米恩说着，厌恶地看了马尔夫一眼。“我们去找其他人吧。” 
　　“继续往下走吧，格林佐！”马尔夫轻蔑地说。 
　　“走吧，”荷米恩重复一遍，接着她拉着哈利和罗恩又回到路上。 
　　“我敢打赌，他爸爸在戴面具的人群当中。”罗恩生气地说。 
　　“上帝保佑，最好内阁可以抓住他！”荷米恩生气地说：“噢，难以置信，其他人都去哪里了？” 
　　看不到弗来德、乔治和金妮。路上挤满了人，大家都紧张地向后看着营地。 
　　不远处一群穿着睡衣的少年正激烈地在路上争论著。当他们看到哈利、罗恩和荷米恩时，一个有着厚厚的卷头发的女孩转过身，快速地讲了一些他们听不懂的话。 
　　“呃，什么？”罗恩问。 
　　“哦，”刚才讲话的女孩转身去了，当他们继续走时，他们清楚地听到她说：“欧杰沃斯。” 
　　“比尔贝顿。”荷米恩低声说。 
　　“对不起，你说什么？”哈利问。 
　　“他们一定是去比尔贝顿，”荷米恩说，“你知道比尔贝顿，魔法学院。我在《欧洲魔法教育》中看到过。” 
　　“噢，对！”哈利说。 
　　“弗来德和乔治不可能走这么远。”罗恩说着，拿出他的魔杖，像荷米恩一样点亮它，照了一下小路。哈利把手伸进口袋找他的魔杖——但没有！他能找到的东西只有他的望远镜。 
　　“噢，我不相信！我的魔杖不见了！” 
　　“你在这开玩笑吧！” 
　　罗恩和荷米恩高举他们的魔杖，几束分散的光线照亮了地面。 
　　哈利到处找，但是仍然看不见他的魔杖。 
　　“可能在帐篷里。”罗恩说。 
　　“可能在我们跑时，它掉出来了。”荷米恩紧张地说。 
　　“对，”哈利说，“可能……” 
　　在魔法世界，他总是整天都拿着魔杖，发现自己没有了它以后，他觉得自己是非常易受伤害的。 
　　一个沙沙声使他们三人都跳了起来，温奇，那个佣人精灵，正在树丛中挣扎着找路。她处于一种最奇异的状态。很显然，她有很大困难，就好像有个无形的人要把她抓回去。 
　　“到处都有坏的巫士！”她发狂地吱吱叫，她钻出来后，继续拼命跑。 
　　她气喘吁吁地跑着消失在树林中。 
　　“她在干什么？”罗恩好奇地望着温奇，“为什么她不能在路上跑？” 
　　“我打赌她应该没有被允许躲起来。”哈利说。他想到了多比：每一次他试图去做一些马尔夫家不允许的事，他就要被责打。 
　　“你知道吧？佣人精灵被很残忍地对待！”荷米恩愤愤不平地说，“这是奴隶制。当克劳斯先生叫她去体育馆的顶部，她吓坏了。 
　　他使她吓呆了，所以当他们拆帐篷时，她甚至不可以跑！为什么不能为他们做一些事呢？“ 
　　“呃，精灵是高兴这样的，不是吗？”罗恩说，“你在赛场也听到温奇说‘佣人精灵是不可以有快乐的’，这就是说她喜欢被人指使。” 
　　“就是像你这样的人，”荷米恩激怒地说，“支撑着这个腐朽、不公平的制度，因为你们太懒了……” 
　　另一个从森林边传来的巨响回荡在森林中。 
　　“我们继续走吧，好吗？”罗恩说。哈利看到他生气地盯着荷米恩。或许马尔夫所说的是对的，荷米恩比他们更危险。他们又出发了，哈利仍然在口袋里搜索着，即使他知道魔杖已不在那里了。 
　　他们沿着黑黑的道路走进森林深处，仍然到处找弗来德、乔治和金妮。他们经过一群妖精时，发现他们正对着一袋金子呵呵地笑，毫无疑问，他们是因比赛打赌而赢的，而且他们看起来似乎不受营地的混乱的影响。再走几步，他们进入一条有银色灯的路，当看向森林时，发现三个美丽的米拉被一群年轻的巫土围着，他们在大声地讲话。 
　　“我一年拿一百袋的帆船币，”他们当中的一个叫道，“我是危险生物销毁委员会的杀手。” 
　　“不，你不是，”他的朋友喊，“你是李奇。高尔顿的洗碟工人，但我是吸血鬼的猎手，我到目前为止杀了九十个……” 
　　第三个年轻的巫士插口说：“我将会成为魔法大臣。”即使在米拉昏暗的银光下，他脸上的青春痘也可以很清楚的看到。 
　　哈利轻蔑地笑着。他认识那个长着青春痘的巫士，他的名字叫史丹。圣派克，他实际上是汽车公司的售票员。 
　　他转向罗恩，想告诉他。但是罗恩的脸变得非常的苍白，下一秒钟，他喊道：“我不是告诉过你我已经发明一种扫帚，可以到达木星吗？” 
　　“冷静点！”荷米恩说，她和哈利紧紧地抓住他的胳膊，把他拉到一边去。这时候，米拉和她们的崇拜者的声音慢慢消失了，他们进入了森林的中心。好像周围只有他们，四周非常的安静。 
　　哈利向四周张望，“我想我们可以在这里等，因为这里可以听到一里内的声音。” 
　　话音刚落，露得。巴格蒙忽然从一棵树后走出来，站在他们的前面。 
　　即使是靠着微弱的灯光，哈利也可以看到巴格蒙的巨大变化。 
　　他不再是兴高采烈的，脸色红红的，他的脚下也不再有弹簧，他看起来十分苍白和痛苦。 
　　“谁？”他向他们眨眼，想看清他们的脸，“你们在这里干什么？ 
　　就你们几个？“ 
　　他们惊讶地互相看着对方。 
　　“呃，外面有骚乱。”罗恩说。 
　　“什么？”巴格蒙盯着他。 
　　“在营地上……一些人抓住了一个马格人家庭。” 
　　巴格蒙大声地诅咒说：“该死！”他看起来很迷惑。他不再说一句话，“砰”的一声，他便瞬间移动了。 
　　“巴格蒙并不是能控制一切事情的，对吗？”荷米恩皱着眉头说。 
　　“但他还是一个优秀的进攻手，”罗恩说，坐在一棵树下的干草上。“当他在温布尔登黄蜂队时，这支队赢了三次。” 
　　他从口袋中拿出克伦的模型，把它放在地上，看它走路，就像真的克伦一样，这个模型有鸭子似的脚和圆肩膀，它分开的双脚比它的扫帚更令人注意。哈利听着从营地来的声音。一切都显得很安静，可能骚乱已经结束了。 
　　过了一会儿，荷米恩说：“我希望其他人没事。” 
　　“他们会没事的。”罗恩说。 
　　“想想如果你爸爸抓住了露布斯。马尔夫，”哈利说着，坐到罗恩旁边，看着小克伦模型在落叶上走路，“你爸爸总是说要从他身上找出些什么东西。” 
　　“那会扯破老杰高的假面具，太好了！”罗恩说。 
　　“那些可怜的马格人，”荷米恩紧张地说，“如果他们弄不下来，那该怎么办？” 
　　“他们会的，”罗恩保证道，“他们会找方法的。” 
　　“太疯狂了。在所有的魔法内阁成员都在这里的时候做这种事情！”荷米恩说。“我是指，他们还想着逃脱吗？你认为是因为他们喝了酒，还是……” 
　　但她忽然停了下来，往身后看。哈利和罗恩也马上向四周看。 
　　听起来好像有人正朝他们这边走来。他们一边听着从黑色森林后面传来的参差的脚步声，一边等着。但那些脚步声忽然停止了。 
　　“有人吗？”哈利喊道。 
　　没有回答，哈利站起来，到处张望。实在太黑了，并不能看得很远，但是他可以感到某人正站在他的视线范围之外。 
　　“谁在哪里？”他问。 
　　然而，在毫无预告的情况，沉默被一个他们从未听过的声音打破。这不是一个吓坏了的声音，而是像在拼写似的。 
　　“摩斯莫雷德！” 
　　从黑暗中迸出一个巨大的，发着绿光的东西。哈利尽力透过它看清楚，它开始上升，超过树顶，进入天空。 
　　“这是什么？”罗恩气喘吁吁地问，他赶快站起来，看着刚刚出现的东西。 
　　过了几秒钟，哈利以为这是矮精灵的另一个排列。然后他意识到这是一个巨大的头颅，由像绿宝石的星星组成，还有一条蛇从嘴里伸出来，像舌头似的。当他们在看时，它越升越高，发出绿色的烟，在黑色的天空的映衬下，像一个新的星座。 
　　忽然，整个森林充满了尖叫声。哈利不明白是怎么一回事，唯一的可能就是头颅的突然出现。现在这个头颅越升越高，已经可以照亮整个森林，就像一个狰狞的霓虹灯标志。他扫视一下森林，想找出变出头顿的人，但见不到任何人。 
　　“谁在那里？”他又问了一次。 
　　“哈利，快跑！”荷米恩抓住他背后的夹克，拖着他向后跑。 
　　“是黑色标记，哈利！”荷米恩吼道，拼命拉着他，“是——是——‘那个人’的标志！” 
　　“福尔得摩特？” 
　　“哈利，快！” 
　　哈利转过身，罗恩急忙拿起他的微型克伦，他们三人开始穿过这片林地，但是还没走到几步，一系列的“砰”声告诉了他们二十个巫士来了，他们出现在空中，包围着他们三人。 
　　哈利转过身，几秒内，他知道一个事实：每个巫士都拿着魔杖指着他，罗恩和荷米恩想都没来得及想，他便大喊：“低头！”他抓另外两个人，把他们推到地面。 
　　“吓呆了！”二十个声音叫着，有一道强得刺眼的光闪过，哈利感到他头发都飘动了，就好像有一股强风扫过这片林地。稍微抬起头，他看见从巫士的魔杖飞出很多发着如火光的喷气，正在向他们飞来。 
　　“住手！”一个他认识的声音响起，“住手！那是我的儿子。” 
　　哈利的头发不再飘动。他把头抬高一点。站在他前面的巫士放下魔杖。他翻滚过来，当看到威斯里先生正如他们大步走来时，吓坏了。 
　　“罗恩，哈利，荷米恩，你们没事吧？”他的声音在颤动。 
　　“走开，亚瑟。”传来一个简短、冷酷的声音。 
　　是克劳斯先生，他和其他内阁巫士走近他们。哈利站起来，面对着他们。克劳斯先生的脸因愤怒而绷得紧紧的。 
　　“谁做的？”他问道，他锐厉的眼睛盯着他们，“是谁变出黑色标记的？” 
　　“我们没有！”哈利指着那头颅说。 
　　“我们什么都没做，”罗恩擦着他的手肘，愤愤不平地看着他的爸爸。“你们为什么要攻击我们？” 
　　“不要说谎！”克劳斯先生厉声喝道，他的魔杖仍然直接指着罗恩，他的眼睛睁得大大的，他看起来有点疯了似的。“你们在犯罪的现场！” 
　　“巴地，”一个穿着长裙子的巫婆小声地说，“他们是孩子，巴地，他们无法做得到了。” 
　　“你们三个，标记是从哪里来的？”威斯里先生马上问。 
　　“在那里，”荷米恩说，指着他们听到声音的地方，手在发抖，“有人躲在林的后面……他们讲了一个词，是咒语。” 
　　“在那里，是吗？”克劳斯先生问，把他的大眼睛转向荷米恩，脸上写满了怀
Chapter 10 Mayhem At The Ministry
Mr. Weasley woke them after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague “Merry Christmas.” 
“He'll be all right,” said Mr. Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. “Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while…and that was a big thing they had to make him forget.” 
They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when they reached it, they found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. They walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of their breakfast. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane. 
“Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!” 
Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. 
“Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried -” 
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Harry saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. 
“You're all right,” Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, “you're alive.…Oh boys…” 
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together. 
“Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -” 
“I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. “It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred…George…” 
“Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay,” said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. “Bill,” he added in an undertone, “pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…” 
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder. 
“I knew it,” said Mr. Weasley heavily. “Ministry blunders…culprits not apprehended…lax security…Dark wizards running unchecked…national disgrace.…Who wrote this? Ah…of course…Rita Skeeter.” 
“That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” said Percy furiously. “Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -” 
“Do us a favor, Perce,” said Bill, yawning, “and shut up.” 
“I'm mentioned,” said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article. 
“Where?” spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. “If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!” 
“Not by name,” said Mr. Weasley. “Listen to this: ‘If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'.Oh really,” said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. “Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods…well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that.” 
He heaved a deep sigh. “Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over.” 
“I'll come with you, Father,” said Percy importantly. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person.” 
He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset. 
“Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?” 
“I've got to go, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley. “I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off.…” 
“Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry suddenly, unable to contain himself, “Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?” 
“Hedwig, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. “No…no, there hasn't been any post at all.” 
Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry. With a meaningful look at both of them he said, “All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?” 
“Yeah…think I will too,” said Ron at once. “Hermione?” 
“Yes,” she said quickly, and the three of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs. 
“What's up, Harry?” said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them. 
“There's something I haven't told you,” Harry said. “On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again.” 
Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Harry had imagined them back in his bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck. 
“But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?” 
“I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive,” said Harry. “But I was dreaming about him…him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill…someone.” 
He had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying “me,” but couldn't bring himself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did. 
“It was only a dream,” said Ron bracingly. “Just a nightmare.” 
“Yeah, but was it, though?” said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. “It's weird, isn't it?…My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again.” 
“Don't - say - his - name!” Ron hissed through gritted teeth. 
“And remember what Professor Trelawney said?” Harry went on, ignoring Ron. “At the end of last year?” 
Professor Trelawney was their Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort. 
“Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?” 
“You weren't there,” said Harry. “You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again…greater and more terrible than ever before…and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him…and that night Wormtail escaped.” 
There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread. 
“Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Are you expecting a letter?” 
“I told Sirius about my scar,” said Harry, shrugging. “I'm waiting for his answer.” 
“Good thinking!” said Ron, his expression clearing. “I bet Sirius'll know what to do!” 
“I hoped he'd get back to me quickly,” said Harry. 
“But we don't know where Sirius is…he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?” said Hermione reasonably. “Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days.” 
“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, but there was a leaden feeling in his stomach as he looked out of the window at the Hedwig-free sky. 
“Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry” said Ron. “Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play.…You can try out the Wronski Feint.…” 
“Ron,” said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, “Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now.…He's worried, and he's tired.…We all need to go to bed…” 
“Yeah, I want to play Quidditch,” said Harry suddenly. “Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt.” 
Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like “Boys.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night. 
“It's been an absolute uproar,” Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. “I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders.” 
“Why are they all sending Howlers?” asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire. 
“Complaining about security at the World Cup,” said Percy. “They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks.” 
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. “Home,” “school,” and “work” were there, but there was also “traveling,” “lost,” “hospital,” “prison,” and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, “mortal peril.” 
Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the “home” position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to “work.” Mrs. Weasley sighed. 
“Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who,” she said. “They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon.” 
“Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?” said Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -” 
“Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once. 
“If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented,” said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charm Breakers once, and called me ‘a long-haired pillock'?” 
“Well, it is a bit long, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley gently. “If you'd just let me -” 
“No, Mum.” 
Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. 
“What are you two up to?” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins. 
“Homework,” said Fred vaguely. 
“Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday,” said Mrs. Weasley. 
“Yeah, we've left it a bit late,” said George. 
“You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. “You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?” 
“Now, Mum,” said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. “If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?” 
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley. 
“Oh your father's coming!” she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again. 
Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from “work” to “traveling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on “home” with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen. 
“Coming, Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room. 
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted. 
“Well, the fat's really in the fire now,” he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. “Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago.” 
“Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks,” said Percy swiftly. 
“Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky,” said Mr. Weasley irritably. “There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.” 
“I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?” said Percy hotly. 
“If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!” said Hermione angrily. 
“Now look here, Hermione!” said Percy. “A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -” 
“His slave, you mean!” said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, “because he didn't pay Winky, did he?” 
“I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!” said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. “Come on now, all of you.…” 
Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage when they entered. The sight of the half-packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement. 
“Bung him some Owl Treats,” said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry. “It might shut him up.” 
Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon's cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig's cage stood next to it, still empty. 
“It's been over a week,” Harry said, looking at Hedwig's deserted perch. “Ron, you don't reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?” 
“Nah, it would've been in the Daily Prophet,” said Ron. “The Ministry would want to show they'd caught someone, wouldn't they?” 
“Yeah, I suppose.…” 
“Look, here's the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold out of your vault for you…and she's washed all your socks.” 
He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry's camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit - he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him. 
“What is that supposed to be?” 
He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs. 
There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes. 
“Here you are,” she said, sorting them into two piles. “Now, mind you pack them properly so they don't crease.” 
“Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress,” said Ron, handing it out to her. 
“Of course I haven't,” said Mrs. Weasley. “That's for you. Dress robes.” 
“What?” said Ron, looking horror-struck. 
“Dress robes!” repeated Mrs. Weasley. “It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year…robes for formal occasions.” 
“You've got to be kidding,” said Ron in disbelief. “I'm not wearing that, no way.” 
“Everyone wears them, Ron!” said Mrs. Weasley crossly. “They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!” 
“I'll go starkers before I put that on,” said Ron stubbornly. 
“Don't be so silly,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You've got to have dress robes, they're on your list! I got some for Harry too…show him, Harry.…” 
In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn't as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn't have any lace on them at all - in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black. 
“I thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley fondly. 
“Well, they're okay!” said Ron angrily, looking at Harry's robes. “Why couldn't I have some like that?” 
“Because…well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!” said Mrs. Weasley, flushing. 
Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it. 
“I'm never wearing them,” Ron was saying stubbornly. “Never.” 
“Fine,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.” 
She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat. 
“Why is everything I own rubbish?” said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak. 
他们睡了没多久，威斯里先生就把他们叫醒了，他用魔法把帐篷收了起来，然后他尽可能快的离开了露营地。在罗伯特先生的石屋门前，他们遇上了他，罗伯特先生用奇怪的眼光盯着威斯里先生，然后他一边作手势，一边含糊的说了声“圣诞快乐”。 
　　“他很快就没事的。”威斯里先生很快的说，然后他们进了沼泽地。有时候，当一个人的记忆受到限制时，他就会变得有点不知方向……要让他忘记，那就难了。 
　　当他们到达放着波奇的地方时，他们听到紧急的呼声并且发现许多女巫和男巫在贝希尔周围（贝希尔是波奇的守护人）。他们都狂叫着要尽可能快的离开露营地。威斯里先生跟贝希尔很快的商量了一下，他们加入到队伍中去，并能够在太阳真正升起之前拿到一个旧的橡胶轮船到石头山去。在黎明的微光中，他们穿过奥特里卡波街向穴口走去。他们太累了，所以很少说话，一心想着他们的早餐。当穴口就在眼前时，突然从潮湿的小道上传来一声尖叫的回声。 
　　“噢，感谢上帝，感谢上帝！” 
　　威斯里夫人显然已经在院子前在等他们。她跑向他们，还穿着拖鞋，脸色苍白而严肃，手中紧紧的抓着一张《先知日报》：“亚瑟——我好担心，好担心……” 
　　她用她的手臂紧紧的绕在威斯里先生的脖上，那份《先知日报》也掉到地上去了。哈利往下一看，看到正面的标题：“快迪斯世界杯的恐怖场景”，还附一张从树顶拍的黑色标记的黑白照片，那照片上黑色标记闪闪发光。 
　　“你们都好吧？”威斯里夫人放开威斯里先生，低声说着，眼睛红红的盯着他们看，“你们都还活着……，噢，孩子们……” 
　　让每个人都吃惊的是，她抓住弗来德和乔治，把他们推到一块，挨得紧紧的，以至他们的头碰了头。 
　　“噢！妈妈——你会勒死我们的——” 
　　“你们走的时候，我嘱咐过你们！”威斯里夫人开始抽泣着说，“我只是想着，如果‘那个人’害了你们，我说的最后一件事将是你们还没有得到足够的O.W.L吗？噢，弗来德……乔治……” 
　　“好了，摩莉，我们现在非常非常好，行了吗？”威斯里先生抚慰着她，让她离开那对双胞胎，带着她向家里走去。“比尔，”他低声说道。“把那张报纸拣起来，我想知道上面说些什么……” 
　　当他们都挤到厨房里后，荷米恩给威斯里先生冲了一杯浓茶。 
　　威斯里先生坚持要加一些老威士忌过去。比尔这时把那张报纸给了他爸爸。威斯里先生扫了一眼头版，伯希也从他肩上望了过去看着。 
　　“我知道了，”威斯里先生沉重的说，“内阁犯下大错……犯人没有被逮捕……安全被疏忽了……黑巫师不可抑止的狂奔……国家耻辱……谁写的？啊……当然是……理特。史姬特”。 
　　“那个女人乱造魔法部的谣！”伯希恼怒地说，“上星期她还说我们浪费时间挑大汽锅厚度的毛病，说我们应该找出诈骗者。好像那些都没有在‘关于处理非巫师的规定’的第十二段特殊注明似的。”‘“伯希，请帮帮忙，”比尔一边说一边打着哈欠，“请住嘴。” 
　　“我也被提到了，”威斯里先生说道，他的眼镜下的眼睛睁得大大的，视线落到了《先知日报》底部的文章。 
　　“哪里？”威斯里夫人激动地说，被她的茶和威士忌呛着了。 
　　“如果我看到了那篇章，我就会知道你们还活着的！” 
　　“没有指名道姓，”威斯里先生说，“听这段话，‘如果那些受惊的女巫和男巫们——他们正在树林边屏住呼吸的听消息——预料到魔法部的再次保证，他们会很伤心，很失望的，一个内阁官员在黑色标记出现后露过一次面，声称没有人受伤，便拒绝泄露任何其它消息。这个声明是否能粉碎那个说一小时后将有许多人被转移的谣言，这还有待进一步观察。”’“噢，真的吗！”威斯里先生恼怒地说着，把报纸递给了伯希，“没有人受伤，那我还能说什么？谣言说许多人将被转移出树林……这下好了，她这样一写，当然会有谣言了。” 
　　他长叹一声，说：“摩莉，我得去一趟办公室，这一次是为了澄清一下。” 
　　“我要跟你一起去，爸爸，”伯希很郑重地说。“劳克斯先生会需要各种人手来帮忙的，我可以亲自给他提供汽锅的报告。” 
　　他催促着走出了厨房。 
　　威斯里夫人看起来很伤心。“亚瑟，你应该是在度假啊！这事跟你的公事毫无关系，没有你，他们肯定也能解决的！” 
　　“我必须去，摩莉，”威斯里先生答道，“是我使事情变得更糟的，我要换制服，现在就走……” 
　　“威斯里夫人，”哈利突然说，自己确定地问，“海维还没有送信给我，是吗？” 
　　“海维，亲爱的，”威斯里夫人迷惑地说：“不……不，根本没有什么信。” 
　　罗恩和荷米恩好奇地看着哈利。 
　　他带着某种含意的望着他们说：“如果我去把我的东西放到你房间，可不可以，罗恩？” 
　　“是的……我也这么想。”罗恩马上说，“荷米恩？” 
　　“是的。”她很快地答道，然后他们三个就出了厨房，爬上楼去了。 
　　“怎么回事，哈利？”罗恩问道他们在阁楼把门给关了。 
　　“我有些事没告诉你们，”哈利说道，“星期天早上，我睡醒时，我的疤开始疼了。” 
　　罗恩和荷米恩的反应跟哈利在布莱维特时所想象的差不多，荷米恩一边喘着气一边开始提建议，提出了一系列的参考书和咨询人，从艾伯斯。丹伯多到波姆弗雷夫人——霍格瓦彻保姆。 
　　罗恩惊呆了，“但是——他不在那里，不是吗？‘那个人’？我的意思是——上次你的伤疤正疼的时候，他在霍格瓦彻，不是吗？” 
　　“我肯定他不在普里怀特，”哈利说，“但我梦到了他……他和彼得——你知道，温太尔，我记不清所有事情了，但他们正谋划着去杀……某个人。” 
　　他在要说到“我”时，停住了。但这也没有罗恩令荷米恩放心，而且觉得更害怕。 
　　“那只是个梦，”罗恩激动地说，“只是个恶梦。” 
　　“是的，但它毕竟是！”哈利说，转身望着窗外正逐渐变得明朗的天空。“很奇怪，不是吗？……我的伤疤疼起来了。三天后食尸者们就开始活动起来，福尔得摩特的标记又在天空呈现。” 
　　“不要说他的名字！”罗恩咬着牙说道。 
　　“记得特雷络尼教授说过什么吗？”哈利继续说道，不理会罗思，“去年年底？” 
　　特雷络尼教授是他们在霍格瓦彻的神学老师。 
　　荷米恩恐惧的表情消失了，她放意吸了吸鼻子，说：“噢，哈利，你不会对那些骗人的故事感兴趣吧？” 
　　“你不在那里，”哈利说道，“你没有听到怎么说，这次不用了，我告诉你，她进入神游——一次真正的神游。她说黑爵士会再次出现……和以前更强大更恐怖。他会成功的，因为他的仆人将会回到他身办……而那天晚上温太尔逃走了。” 
　　大家安静了下来，罗恩烦躁不安，心神不宁，直望着他那库得利加能床单的一个洞。 
　　“如果海维回来的话，你有什么要问，哈利？”荷米恩问道：“你等着一封信？” 
　　“我告诉了西里斯有关我的伤疤的事。”哈利答道。耸了耸肩，“我在等他的回复。” 
　　“好主意！”罗恩说道，他的表情变得明朗起来。“我敢打赌，西里斯肯定知道该怎么做！” 
　　“我希望他能尽快回来。”哈利说道。 
　　“但我们不知道西里斯在哪儿……他可能会在非洲，或什么别的地方，不是吗？”荷米恩理智地说。海维不可能在短短几天内到来的。 
　　“是的，我知道。”哈利说道，但在他的心里，有一种沉闷、沮丧的感觉，他透过窗户向海推自由翱翔的天空望去。 
　　“来果园玩快迪斯游戏吧，哈利，”罗恩叫道，“来吧——三对三，比尔、查理和弗来德。乔治将玩……” 
　　“罗恩，”荷米恩用一种“你一点也不理智”的口吻说道，“哈利现在不想玩快迪斯……他很担心，而且他也很累了……我们都想去睡觉。” 
　　“不，我想玩快迪斯。”哈利突然说道，“等一下，我去拿我的火螺丝。” 
　　荷米恩离开了房间，一路含糊地说着什么，好像是说“男孩子们”之类的东西。 
　　接下来的一个星期，威斯里先生和伯希都不在家。每天他们都是在全家起来之前离开，晚饭后才回来。 
　　“这显然是一场骚乱，”在他们回霍格瓦彻前的星期天晚上，伯希郑重其事地对他们说：“我已经努力去平息了，人们还是继续寄咆哮弹来，当然，如果你不直接打开咆哮弹，它就会爆炸，烧焦的印记在我桌上到处都是。我最好的羽毛笔已经成了灰。” 
　　“为什么他们要寄咆哮弹？”金妮问道，她正走在居室炉火前的地毯上用咒符胶贴她的那本《一千种魔法草药和菌类》。 
　　“他们对世界杯赛的安全措施感到不满而抱怨，”伯希答道，“他们要求对他们被损坏的财产进行补偿。曼丹塔斯。弗雷斯的要求得到一套十二个睡房的，带史威特的帐篷。但我已经得到他的实际情况了。我知道，事实上，他当时睡在一个棍子支撑起来的斗篷底下。” 
　　威斯里先生看看角落里的老爷钟。哈利喜欢这座钟，虽然你想从它身上知道时间的话，它毫无用处，但它很有价值。它有九个金指针，每一个指针上都有威斯里家族中一个人的名字。在钟表面没有数字，显示着每一个家庭成员可能在的地方。有“家”，“学校” 
　　和“工作”，但也有“失踪”，“医院”，“监狱”关且在普通钟数字12应该在的地方，有“致命的危险”的字样。有八个指钟正指在“家”的位置，但那个最长的指针，代表威斯里先生的，还指着“工作”，威斯里太太叹了口气：“咱从‘那个人’事件之后，你们的爸爸就得周末在办公室了，”她说道，“他们让他工作得太多了，他如果不马上回来的话，他的晚餐又泡汤了。” 
　　“爸爸是想为他在比赛时的过失弥补点什么吗？”伯希说道，“事实上，他在他向部门内部澄清之前就对公众作出声明有一点不明智——” 
　　“不要因为那个可恶的女人史姬特写的东西而指责你爸爸！”威斯里太太马上激动地反驳道。 
　　“如果爸爸什么都不说，老理特又会说内阁没有人出来作出解释，这是很耻辱的事情，”比尔说道，他正和罗恩下棋，“理特。史姬特让谁都没面子，记得她采访了所有的格林高斯咒语的破除者，还叫我是长头发的蠢猪。” 
　　“噢，亲爱的，稍微长了一点。”威斯里太太说道，“如果你肯让我——” 
　　“不，妈妈。” 
　　雨敲打着起居室的窗户，荷米恩沉迷在《标准符咒课本。四年级》那本书里，那是威斯里太太、哈利和罗恩在迪安更。安利买的。 
　　查理正在缝一条防火用长头巾，哈利正在给他的火炮枪上油。荷米恩送给他的十三岁生日礼物扫帚的配套原件被打开了，放在他的脚边。弗来德和乔治正在较远的一个角落，剔着牙，悄悄地说着话，他们的头凑在一张羊皮纸上。 
　　“你们两个在干什么？”威斯里太太尖声说道，她的眼尖地落在这对双胞胎身上。 
　　“家庭作业！”弗来德含糊地答道。 
　　“别傻了，你正在度假期！”威斯里太太说道。 
　　“是，我们已经迟做了。”乔治答道。 
　　“你们不是要写出一个新的订单吧？”威斯里太太敏感地问。 
　　“你们不会想着重新开始吧？” 
　　“妈妈，”弗来德说道，抬起头来看着她，脸上带着痛苦的神情，“如果明天，霍格瓦彻快车撞毁，乔治和我死了，当你知道我们最后听到的竟是毫无根据的指责，你会怎么想？” 
　　每个人都笑了起来，甚至连威斯里太太也是。 
　　“噢，你的爸爸回来了！”她突然说，再次看了一下钟。 
　　威斯里先生的指钟突然从“工作”跳到“旅行”，一秒钟后，又突然跳到了“家”，跟其它人的在一起，他们听到他从厨房里叫他们。 
　　“来了，亚瑟！”威斯里太太一边说，一边起身从房间里出来了。 
　　不一会儿，威斯里已经来到了温暖的起居室，手里拿着装着的晚餐的碟子，他看起来累极了。 
　　“现在，真是麻烦了。”他一边对威斯里太太说，一边坐在火炉的扶手椅上，没精打采地玩弄着像花菜一样的皱着的东西，“理特。 
　　史姬特整个星期都在搜索资料，希望找到内阁乱成一团糟的报道，她现在已经找出可怜的珀茜失踪的消息了，这将会是明天《先知日报》的头条，我已经告诉巴格蒙，叫他派人去找她。“ 
　　“克劳斯先生已经一而再、再而三地说过了。”伯希很快地说道。 
　　“克劳斯很幸运，理特还没有发现温奇的事。”威斯里先生恼怒地说，“他的精灵被人发现拿着放出黑色标记的魔杖，这将会成为整个星期的头条。” 
　　“我相信我们都同意，尽管那个精灵不理智，但它确实没有放出标记吧？”伯希恼火地说道。 
　　“如果你问我，那克劳斯先生真是幸运，《先知日报》居然不知道他对小精灵做了什么！”荷米恩生气地说。 
　　“你看，荷米恩！”伯希说道，“一个内阁高官，像克劳斯这样的，应该得到他佣人忠实的顺从！” 
　　“他的奴隶——你的意思！”荷米恩说道，她的嗓声提得很尖，“因为温奇没有酬劳，不是吗？” 
　　“我想你们最好上楼去检查一下你是否都打好包了！”威斯里太太说道，打断了争执，“来吧，你们……” 
　　哈利再次包了一下他的扫帚配套原件，把他的魔杖束在腰间，然后和罗恩一起上楼去了。屋顶的雨听起来似乎更大了，风随着雨呼啸吹过，更不用说阁楼里住的鬼偶尔的嚎叫了。皮威军开始颤抖，当他们进来时，它在笼子旁叫着，当它看到半打开的箱子，它似乎变得狂喜。 
　　“给它一些猫头鹰食。”罗恩说道，把一个袋子扔给哈利，这该会让它闭嘴！ 
　　哈利扔了些猫头鹰食到皮威军的笼子里，然后转身向着他的箱子，海维的笼子在它的旁边，还空着。 
　　“已经一个星期了，”哈利也说，一边看着海维废弃的栖身处，“罗恩，你不能断定西里斯已经被抓了，不是吗？” 
　　“没有，如果是的话，《先知日报》应该会报导，”罗恩说道，“内阁应该想显示他们已经抓到了什么人，是不是？” 
　　“是的，我想……” 
　　“看，这是妈妈从迪安更。安利给你带的东西，她从你的地下室找到了一些金子给你……她已经把你所有的袜子都洗了。” 
　　他提起一堆包裹放到哈利的床上，拿出一些钱袋和一堆袜子，放在旁边，哈利开始打开买来的东西：除了玛丽达。高斯沃的《四年级标准符咒书》之外，他还有一大把新羽毛笔，十二卷羊皮纸，他的药箱也被装满了，他已经对狮子鱼的脊柱和颠茄剂不感兴趣了。正当他把内衣往大汽锅里塞时，罗恩在他身后发出一种厌恶的声音：“妈妈要干什么？” 
　　他手里正拿着件长长的茶色天鹅绒的礼服。这衣服的衣领褶边的饰带似乎发霉了。袖口也有同样的饰带。 
　　这时响起了敲门声，威斯里夫人进来了，手里拿了很多刚烫好的霍格瓦彻外套。 
　　“给你的，”她一边说，一边把衣服分成两叠，“小心把它们放好，以免弄皱了。” 
　　“妈妈，你把金妮的新衣给我了。”罗恩说到，同时把衣服递给她。 
　　“当然没有，”威斯里太太再重复了一下，“听说你们学校今年要求你们穿制服……在正式场合穿的制服。” 
　　“你一定是开玩笑吧，”罗恩难以置信地说道，“我从没听说过，不可能。” 
　　“每个人都得穿，罗恩！”威斯里太太不高兴地说，“他们都是这样，你们跟你爸爸一样！” 
　　“我穿上它会疯的。”罗恩执拗地说。 
　　“别这样傻了。”威斯里太太说道，“你必须穿制服，它们在你的计划内，我还给哈利买了一些……给他看看，哈利……” 
　　一阵惊恐，哈利打开了在他床上的最后一个包裹，跟他预料的一样糟，但他的制服根本没有什么饰带，事实上，或多或少地有点像他的校服，除了它们是玻璃绿而不是黑色的外。 
　　“我想它们就像你眼睛的颜色，亲爱的。”威斯里太太打趣地说。 
　　“它们还可以！”罗恩生气地说，看着哈利的制服，又说到，“我为什么不能有这种衣服？” 
　　“因为……我得给你二手的，而这没多少可供选择！”威斯里太太红着脸答道。 
　　哈利转移了视线，他愿意与大家分享他在格林高斯银行里的所有钱，但他知道他们不会要的。 
　　“我不会穿他们的！”罗恩固执地说，“永远不会！” 
　　“好！”威斯里太太大声说道，“别穿衣服，哈利给他照张像，天知道，我会一边干活一边笑的。” 
　　她离开房间，他们背后发出一阵气急败坏的可笑的声音——皮威军被一块大的猫头鹰食给噎住了。 
　　“为什么我的东西都是垃圾？”罗恩气恼之极地说着，大步地走过去掰开皮威军的嘴。 
Chapter 11 Aboard The Hogwart Express
There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express. 
He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed. 
“Arthur!” she called up the staircase. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!” 
Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers - “I've got a quill here somewhere!” - and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to - 
Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly. 
Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears. 
“…Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-‘ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there -” 
“Here!” said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands. 
“- it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it,” said Mr. Diggory's head. “I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off - if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur -” 
“What does Mad-Eye say happened?” asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes. 
Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins.” 
“What did the dustbins do?” asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically. 
“Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Diggory. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up -” 
Mr. Weasley groaned. 
“And what about the intruder?” 
“Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it - think of his record - we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department - what are exploding dustbins worth?” 
“Might be a caution,” said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. “Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?” 
“I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,” said Mr. Diggory, “but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties.” 
“All right, I'm off,” Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again. 
Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Mrs. Weasley. 
“Sorry about this, Molly,” it said, more calmly, “bothering you so early and everything…but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…” 
“Never mind, Amos,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?” 
“Oh go on, then,” said Mr. Diggory. 
Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth. 
“Fanks,” he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished. 
Harry could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair. 
“I'd better hurry - you have a good term, boys, said Mr. Weasley to Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?” 
“Of course I will,” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine.” 
As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen. 
“Did someone say Mad-Eye?” Bill asked. “What's he been up to now.” 
“He says someone tried to break into his house last night,” said Mrs. Weasley. 
“Mad-Eye Moody?” said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. “Isn't he that nutter -” 
“Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly. 
“Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?” said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather.…” 
“Moody was a great wizard in his time,” said Bill. 
“He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?” said Charlie. 
“Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?” said Fred. “I mean, I know he's a genius and everything.…” 
“Who is Mad-Eye?” asked Harry. 
“He's retired, used to work at the Ministry,” said Charlie. “I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror - one of the best…a Dark wizard catcher,” he added, seeing Harry's blank look. “Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though…the families of people he caught, mainly…and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.” 
Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work. 
“I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment,” he told them. “Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me.” 
“Yeah, you know what, Percy?” said George seriously. “I reckon he'll know your name soon.” 
Mrs. Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London. 
“Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us,” Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. “But there weren't any to spare.…Oh dear, they don't look happy, do they?” 
Harry didn't like to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man's leg. 
The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station. 
Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it…and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of them. 
The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. 
“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye. 
“Why?” said Fred keenly. 
“You'll see,” said Charlie. “Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it…it's ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,’ after all.” 
“Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year,” said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train. 
“Why?” said George impatiently. 
“You're going to have an interesting year,” said Bill, his eyes twinkling. “I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it.” 
“A bit of what?” said Ron. 
But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors. 
“Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. 
“Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry. 
“Oh it was my pleasure, dears,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I'd invite you for Christmas, but…well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with…one thing and another.” 
“Mum!” said Ron irritably. “What d'you three know that we don't?” 
“You'll find out this evening, I expect,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -” 
“What rules?” said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. 
“I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you.…Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?” 
The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. 
“Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. “What rules are they changing?” 
But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. 
“Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts,” he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what -” 
“Shh!” Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. 
“…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do.…” 
Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. 
“So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?” she said angrily. “I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him.” 
“Durmstrang's another wizarding school?” said Harry. 
“Yes,” said Hermione sniffily, “and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.” 
“I think I've heard of it,” said Ron vaguely. “Where is it? What country?” 
“Well, nobody knows, do they?” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows. 
“Er - why not?” said Harry. 
“There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets,” said Hermione matter-of-factly. 
“Come off it,” said Ron, starting to laugh. “Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts - how are you going to hide a great big castle?” 
“But Hogwarts is hidden,” said Hermione, in surprise. “Everyone knows that…well, everyone who's read Hogwarts, A History, anyway.” 
“Just you, then,” said Ron. “So go on - how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?” 
“It's bewitched,” said Hermione. “If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.” 
“So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?” 
“Maybe,” said Hermione, shrugging, “or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable -” 
“Come again?” 
“Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?” 
“Er…if you say so,” said Harry. 
“But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms.” 
“Ah, think of the possibilities,” said Ron dreamily. “It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident.…Shame his mother likes him.…” 
The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for them to share. 
Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable witch of a grandmother. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking “Troy - Mullet - Moran!” but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm. 
Neville listened jealously to the others’ conversation as they relived the Cup match. 
“Gran didn't want to go,” he said miserably. “Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though.” 
“It was,” said Ron. “Look at this, Neville…” 
He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum. 
“Oh wow,” said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand. 
“We saw him right up close, as well,” said Ron. “We were in the Top Box -” 
“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.” 
Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar. 
“Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” said Harry coolly. 
“Weasley…what is that?” said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious. 
Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled. 
“Look at this!” said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, “Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…” 
“Eat dung, Malfoy!” said Ron, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. 
“So…going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know…you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won.…” 
“What are you talking about?” snapped Ron. 
“Are you going to enter?” Malfoy repeated. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?” 
“Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy,” said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. 
A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face 
“Don't tell me you don't know?” he said delightedly. “You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago…heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry.…Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley…yes…they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him.…” 
Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared. 
Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered. 
“Ron!” said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered “Reparo!” and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door. 
“Well…making it look like he knows everything and we don't.…” Ron snarled. “'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry'…Dad could've got a promotion any time…he just likes it where he is.…” 
“Of course he does,” said Hermione quietly. “Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -” 
“Him! Get to me!? As if!” said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp. 
Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as they changed into their school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. 
As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads. 
“Hi, Hagrid!” Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform. 
“All righ', Harry?” Hagrid bellowed back, waving. “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!” 
First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. 
“Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather,” said Hermione fervently, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle. 
哈利在第二天清晨醒来时，明显感觉到空气中充满假期结束了的忧郁气像，大雨依旧拍打着窗户，噼啪作响，哈利穿上了牛仔裤，套上了运动衫。他准备到了霍格瓦彻再将校服换上。 
　　罗恩、弗来德、乔治和哈利下楼吃早餐，他们一下到一楼就看见威斯里太太站在楼梯口，一副忧心忡忡的样子。 
　　“亚瑟！”她朝着楼梯口叫，“亚瑟！部长传来紧急消息了！” 
　　哈利紧贴着墙站着，看着穿反了衣服的威斯里急急忙忙地走过来，然后很快消失在视线中。哈利和其他人走进厨房时，见到威斯里太太在焦急地翻寻着橱柜，威斯里先生弯腰对着火炉，口中喃喃着，“我记得这儿有一支羽毛笔的呀！” 
　　哈利使劲地闭了下眼睛，然后又睁开，确定他的眼睛运作正常。 
　　阿姆斯。迪格端的头正在火焰中间，看上去像一个有胡子的大鸡蛋，它飞快地说着，丝毫未受到周围飞溅的火星和舔着它耳朵的火焰的影响。 
　　马格邻居听见了砰砰的响声和尖叫声，于是他们去叫来了那些他们所谓的警察。 
　　“亚瑟，你快点去那儿——” 
　　“给你。”威斯里太太气喘吁吁地说着，一边将一张牛皮纸，一瓶墨水和一支弯曲的羽毛笔塞到了威斯里先生手中。 
　　“听说这件事，确实很幸运。”迪格瑞先生的头说道，“早些时候我去办公堂送两只猫头鹰，我发现不正确的魔法都被启动了——如果理特。史姬特控制了这个，亚瑟——” 
　　“魔眼，怎么说。”威斯里问道，拧开墨水瓶，吸了水，准备记录。 
　　威斯里先生眼睛溜溜的转，说道：“他说他听到一个入侵者进入他的后院，他们正爬向他的房子。但他已经用垃圾桶设了埋伏。” 
　　“垃圾桶能有什么用？”威斯里先生边记一边问道。 
　　“用它们来制造恐怖的噪声，点燃各处的垃圾，我所知道的就这些。”迪格瑞先生说道，很显然，他们中有一个在警察出现时正发动进攻！ 
　　威斯里先生皱了皱眉，“那些人侵者呢？” 
　　“亚瑟，你都知道魔眼的啦！”迪格瑞先生说道，又眼睛溜溜的转，“有人在深夜爬进他的后院，更像是一只金甲壳虫用土豆皮掩护自己在哪里荡悠。如果不正确的魔法控制了魔眼，他已有前科了——想想他的记录——我们得以一个较小的罪名来让他得以从轻发落，用你屋里的某样东西——会爆炸的垃圾桶有什么用？” 
　　“不过还是小心起见，”威斯里先生说，依然飞速地写着，眉头紧锁。“魔眼没用他的魔杖？他真的没袭击任何人？” 
　　“我敢打赌，他肯定从床上跳了起来，然后把他抓到的东西都排到窗外，想把晦气扔走……”迪格瑞先生说，“但他们得费番工夫去证明，还没听说有什么伤亡损失呢。” 
　　“得了，我要走了。”威斯里先生说，他把记着笔记的羊皮纸塞进口袋，又冲出了厨房。 
　　迪格瑞先生转过头来看着威斯里太太。 
　　“很抱歉，摩莉，”他说，稍平静一些，又说，“这么早就打扰了你，并且每一件事……但亚瑟是唯一的可以让魔眼得以从轻发落的人，而且魔眼正打算从今天开始他的新职业，他为什么偏要选在昨晚……”“ 
　　“没关系，阿姆斯，”威斯里太太说，“我想你在离开之前会要点面包或别的什么吧。” 
　　“噢，那么请给我来点吧。”迪格瑞先生说。 
　　威斯里太太从厨房饭桌上的袋子里拿出一片徐了黄油的面包片，用火钳夹着，把它塞进迪格瑞先生的嘴里。 
　　“谢了！”他鼓着嘴含糊地说，随即，一声轻微的“啪”，不见了。 
　　哈利能听到威斯里先生向比尔、查理、伯希和那些女孩们匆匆地道别，五分钟后，他回到了厨房，这回他的袍子穿正了，头发上插着梳子，垂了下来。 
　　“我得快点——你们不用急，孩子们。”威斯里先生向哈利、罗恩和双胞兄弟说道，他拖过斗篷技在肩上，准备隐身，“摩莉，你带孩子们到凯罗斯王街去，没问题吧？” 
　　“我会的，”她说，“你照看魔眼就行了，我们没事的。” 
　　威斯里先生刚消失，比尔和查理走进了厨房。 
　　“有谁说到魔眼了吗？”比尔问道，“他现在怎么样了？” 
　　“听说，昨晚有人想闯进他的屋子。”威斯里太太说。 
　　“魔眼莫迪？”乔治若有所思地说，一边往他的面包片上涂桔子酱，“他不就是那个怪人——” 
　　“你爸爸对魔眼莫迪评价不菲！”威斯里太太正色地说。 
　　“呀，爸爸老是说好话，对吧？”弗来德在威斯里太太离开房间时悄悄地说，“物以类聚……” 
　　“莫迪是他那时的大魔法家。”比尔说。 
　　“他是丹伯多的一个老朋友，对吗？”查理说。 
　　“但丹伯多可不是你说的‘常人’，是不是？”弗来德说，“我的意思是，我知道他是个天才，无所不能……” 
　　“谁是魔眼？”哈利问道。 
　　“他以前在部里干过，现在退休了。”查理说，“当爸爸带我去上班时，我遇见过他一次，他是个——一位最好的……恶巫克星。” 
　　他补充道。看着哈利一副茫然的神情，“他使阿兹克班一半的监房住满了，然而，他给自己树立了无数的仇敌，……主要是他抓获的那些人的家人……我还听说他在老年真的得了幻觉症，再也不相信任何人，到处都看到恶巫。” 
　　比尔和查理决定去凯罗斯王街车站，为大家送行，但伯希极力道歉，说他实在离不开工作。 
　　“我就是没理由在那时走开，”他告诉他们，“克劳斯先生真的是开始依靠我了。” 
　　“哎，你知道什么，伯希？”乔治严肃地说，“我想他很快就会知道你的名字的。” 
　　威斯里太太在村邮局里打了电话，订了三部普通的马格的士载他们去伦敦。 
　　“亚瑟试着为我们借部里的车，”威斯里太太悄声对哈利说。他们站在让雨冲刷过的院子里，看的士司机把六个笨重的霍格瓦彻行李箱堆到车里，“但没有一部空着的车……噢，天啊，他们看上去并不高兴，对吧？” 
　　哈利不想告诉威斯里太太关于马格的土司机极少动载太兴奋的猫头鹰，因为皮威军制造出震耳欲聋的声音。也不想告诉威斯里太太当弗来德的行李箱弹开时，菲利巴特医生的无热湿动火药突然爆炸了，这些使得司机在忍受克路殊克爬上他的腿的同时，不得不又怕又痛地大叫着。 
　　由于他们和行李箱一起被塞在的士的后部，旅行很不舒服，克路殊克花了好长时间才从火药中苏醒过来，当他们抵达伦敦时，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩全都被重重地抓伤了，在凯罗斯王街，雨下得比先前更大了，但他们从车里出来的都大大舒了一口气，抬着箱子穿过繁忙的马路，进入车站，他们全都湿透了。 
　　哈利现在习惯在九又四分之三站台上车，只要穿过显目的九号与十号站台间的栏障，直走下去就行了。不起眼地走着，以免招惹马格的注意是唯一的难处。今天他们分组走，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩（最显眼的，他们由皮威军和克路殊克陪同）先走，他们悠闲地靠着障栏，随意地聊天，从小路溜过，他们就这么做。九又四分之三站台出现在面前了。 
　　霍格瓦彻快车，闪亮的红色蒸汽车，早已停在那儿了，蒸汽一团团地从中升起，透过蒸汽，许多霍格瓦彻学生和家长像灰暗的鬼魅般出现在站台上，皮威军比以前更吵闹了，和从迷雾中传来的许多猫头鹰的叫声相和着。哈利，罗恩和荷米思去找座位，很快就把行李装进火车中部的一个车厢里，然后，他们跑回站台，向威斯里太太、比尔和查理道别。 
　　“我可能会比你们所想的更早些见到你们。”查理笑着说，他拥抱了金妮作告别。 
　　“为什么呢？”弗来德急切地问。 
　　“你等着看吧。”查理说，“别告诉伯希我提到的事……那是机秘消息，等时机成熟时，部长自会公开。” 
　　“哎，我想今年回霍格瓦彻去就好了。”比尔说，他的手插在衣袋里，几乎是若有所思地望着火车。 
　　“为什么？”乔治不耐烦地问。 
　　“你今年将会觉的很有趣的。”比尔眨着眼睛说，“我甚至可能会抽空来看它一下……” 
　　“看一下什么？”罗恩说。 
　　但在那时，哨声响了，威斯里太太把他们推向火车门。 
　　“多谢你的款待，威斯里太太。”荷米恩他们爬进车厢，关上门，又探出头来和她说话。 
　　“哎，是啊，谢谢你为我们做的每一件事，威斯里太太。”哈利说。 
　　“噢，亲爱的，我很乐意那样的。”威斯里太太说，“我想请你们来过圣诞节，但……好了，我想你们全都希望待在霍格瓦彻做点什么……” 
　　“妈！”罗恩恼怒地说，“你们三个知道什么我们不知道的？” 
　　“我想今晚你就可以知道了，”威斯里太太微笑着说。“那将很让人兴奋——提醒你一声，我很高兴他们已经改变了规则。” 
　　“什么规则？”哈利，罗恩，弗来德和乔治异口同声地问。 
　　“我肯定丹伯多教授会告诉你们的……现在，规矩点，知道吗？ 
　　弗来德，明白了吗？还有你，乔治？“ 
　　汽塞咝咝作响，火车开始移动了。 
　　“告诉我们在霍格瓦彻要发生什么！”弗来德的叫声从窗户中传出来，威斯里太太，比尔和查理正迅速地远离他们，“他们改变了什么规则？” 
　　但威斯里太太只是微笑，向他们招手。火车还没拐弯，比尔和查理已经消失了。 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米恩回到他们的车厢，密密的雨敲击着窗户，这使得他们很难看清外面，罗恩解开行李箱，抽出他紫酱色的衣抱，把他们盖在皮威军的笼子上，以掩住它的叫声。 
　　“巴格蒙想告诉我们在霍格瓦彻发生的事。”他咕哝着，在哈利身旁坐下，“世界杯那时，记得吗？但我妈妈不会说的，我想知道到底是什么——” 
　　“嘘！”荷米恩突然压低声音，手指按在唇上，指向隔壁车厢，哈利和罗恩一听，一个熟悉的拖长的嗓音从开着的门中飘过来。 
　　“你知道，爸爸事实上考虑把我送往丹姆斯安而不是霍格瓦彻的，他认识那校长，嗯，你知道他对丹姆斯安的看法——那人很奇怪——丹姆斯安不承认那种不体面的东西，但妈妈不乐意我去那么远的地方上学，爸爸说丹姆斯安在巫术方面比霍格瓦彻更为高明。 
　　丹姆斯安的学生事实上是在学法术，而不仅仅是像我们一样，做些防卫这种无意义的事。“ 
　　荷米恩站了起来，蹑足走到车厢门边，缓缓关上门，阻挡了马尔夫的嗓音。 
　　“看来他认为丹姆斯安会适合他，对吗？”她生气地说，“我希望他早点滚开，那样我们就不必容忍他了。” 
　　“丹姆斯安是另一所魔法学校吗？”哈利问。 
　　“是的。”荷米恩哼了一声，“它的名声极为恶劣，据欧洲魔法教育评论，这学校非常注重巫术。” 
　　“我想我已听说了。”罗恩含糊地说，“它在哪儿？哪个国家？” 
　　“哎，谁都不知道，对吗？”荷米恩抬抬眉头说道。 
　　“嗯，怎么会这样？”哈利问。 
　　“传统上在所有的魔法学校间存在着很多竞争，丹姆斯安和比尔贝顿喜欢隐藏他们的行踪，这样就没有人能够窃取他们的秘密。” 
　　荷米恩若有其事地说。 
　　“别逗了，”罗恩开始大笑，“丹姆斯安大概就和霍格瓦彻一样大，你如何隐藏一个脏肮的大城堡？” 
　　“但霍格瓦彻是隐形的。”荷米恩惊讶地说，“谁都知道……嗯，不管怎样，看了霍格瓦彻，读历史的都知道。” 
　　“就只有你了。”罗恩说，“往下说吧——你怎么隐藏像霍格瓦彻那样的地方的？” 
　　“它被施了魔法。”荷米恩说，“如果一个马格观察它，他们所见不过是一堆废墟，门口挂着写有‘危险勿进’的告示牌。” 
　　“那么丹姆斯安在外人眼中也只是像堆废墟吗？” 
　　“可能吧。”荷米恩耸耸肩，“或许它上面有马格禁地咒语，像世界杯体育馆一样，不让外来的魔法师找到它，他们把它弄成不可勘测的——” 
　　“又来了？” 
　　“哎，你可以施法于一个建筑，使它不可能在地图上被勘测到，是不是？” 
　　“嗯……要是你这样说的话。”哈利说。 
　　“但我认为丹姆斯安一定在远处北部的某个地方，”荷米恩思索着说，“一个很冷的地方，因为他们制服中有毛斗篷。” 
　　“啊，想想那可能性，”罗恩梦呓般说，“不可能会这么容易把马尔夫推进冰河然后把这制造成一场意外……他妈妈那么喜欢他，多可惜啊……” 
　　火车越往北开，雨也下的越大了，天空一片漆黑，窗户雾气蒙蒙，正午就点上灯笼。餐车嘎嘎地沿着走廊过来了，哈利买了一大叠大锅蛋糕分着吃。 
　　下午有几个朋友，包括谢默斯，迪恩和尼维尔，来看望他们，谢默斯仍戴着他那爱尔兰缎结，它的一些魔力似乎消耗掉了，虽然它还是“特格！马利特！莫兰！”这样吱吱作响，但已是一种微弱，快耗尽的声音了，过了大约半个小时，荷米恩厌倦了无休止的快迪斯谈话，又开始埋头阅读《标准符咒课本。四年级》试图学一种召唤咒语。 
　　尼维尔妒嫉地听着别人重温世界杯赛事的谈话。 
　　“格林佐不想去，”他痛苦地说，“不会买票，虽说听起来让人大吃一惊。” 
　　“是的。”罗恩说，“看这个，尼维尔……” 
　　他翻检着放在行李架上的箱子，拖出一个维特。克伦的微型雕像。 
　　“哇！”尼维尔羡慕地叫了起来，罗恩把克伦塞到他胖乎乎的手里。 
　　“我们也很近地看过他。”罗恩说，“那时是在上等厢。” 
　　“那是你一生中第一次也是最后一次，威斯里。” 
　　杰高。马尔夫出现在走廊中，身后站着克来伯和高尔，他们是他的死党，长的又高又大，像个罪犯，这个夏天他俩至少长高了一英尺，很显然，当迪恩和谢默斯让门开着的时候，他们通过车厢门听到了谈话。 
　　“别说你要加入我们，马尔夫。”哈利冷冷地说。 
　　“威斯里……那是什么？”马尔夫指着皮威军的笼子问道。罗恩的衣袍的一只袖子从笼子上垂了下来，随着火车的移动摇晃着，那发霉的带花边袖子非常显眼。 
　　罗恩试图把袍子塞起来，但马尔夫比他更快，他抓住袖子一抽。 
　　“看哪！”马尔夫欣喜若狂。他举着罗恩的饱子给克来伯和高尔看。“威斯里，你不会想穿把。我说——这在1890年左右很时兴……” 
　　“闭嘴，马尔夫！”罗恩喝道，他从马尔夫紧握的手中扯回饱子，他涨红的脸如同袍子的颜色。马尔夫由此而来的大笑响如嚎叫，而克来伯和高尔跟着傻笑。 
　　“看来，你要报名参加了，是不是，威斯里？弄点荣誉光耀门桅？你知道，那还会有钱进帐的，你将能够担负得起一件体面的饱子的花费，如果你赢了……” 
　　“你们在说什么？”罗恩厉声说。 
　　“你要报名参加吗？”马尔夫重复道，“我想你会的，波特，你从不放过任何炫耀的机会，对吧？” 
　　“要么解释你的话，要么滚开，马尔夫。”荷米恩从《标准符咒课本。四年级》上抬起头来生气地说。 
　　马尔夫苍白的脸上掠过一丝的意外的微笑。 
　　“别告诉我你们不知道。”他高兴地说，“你爸、你哥都在部里，而你居然不知道？上帝！我爸爸几年前就告诉了我……从可尼斯。 
　　法治那听来的，但那时，爸爸经常和部里高层人物来往……可能你爸官位卑职小不知道这事，威斯里……是的，他们极可能不在他面前谈论部里的要事……“ 
　　又一次大笑起来，马尔夫向克来伯和高尔打着手势，他们三个便离开了。 
　　罗恩站了起来，砰地在他们身后重重地关上车厢的门，他用力很大，玻璃都震碎了。 
　　“罗恩！”荷米恩责备地喊了一声，她抽出魔杖，念道“恢复！” 
　　碎玻璃飞起来重新合成一片，然后又飞回门上。 
　　“好，就当他什么都知道，我们不……”罗恩吼道：“爸爸经常和部里高层人物来往……爸爸任何时候都可以得到升职的……他只是乐于在他现在的职位……” 
　　“当然是这样的。”荷米恩平静地说，“别把马尔夫的话当真，罗恩——” 
　　“哼！当真！做梦！”罗恩拿起一块剩下的蛋糕把它一起塞进口中。 
　　接下来的行程中，罗恩仍是一副坏心情，他们换上了校袍，他并不多说话，当霍格瓦彻快车慢慢减速，最后停在漆黑的霍格马得车站时，他还是怒火冲天。 
　　火车门打开了，一阵雷声响起，荷米恩把克路殊克捆起，放在斗篷里，罗恩则把衣抱盖在皮威军上边，下了火车。迎着倾泻而下的雨，他们低着头，眯着眼往前行。现在雨下的又密又快，似乎是成桶成桶的冰水不断地从他们头上倒下来。 
　　“嗨，哈格力！”哈利看到在站台的远处一端有个高大的背影就叫了起来。 
　　“哎！哈利？”哈格力回过头来，挥挥手，“要是没淹死的话，在庆典上见吧！” 
　　一年级学生按传统总是和哈格力坐船通过湖泊抵达霍格瓦彻城堡的。 
　　“唉，我不能想象在这种天气里穿过湖泊，”荷米患急切地说，他们和人群在一起，小步小步地慢慢沿着黑暗的平台往前走。一百辆没套马的车子在车站外等候他们。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和尼维尔满怀感激，爬进其中的一辆，门叭地关上了。几分钟后，随着剧烈的晃动，车子嘎吱嘎吱地开始了它的征途，溅着泥水，蹒跚在通向霍格瓦彻城堡的路上。 
Chapter 12 Triwizard Tournament
Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase. 
“Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak - ARRGH!” 
A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again. 
“PEEVES!” yelled an angry voice. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!” 
Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling. 
“Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -”
“That's all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat. 
“Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles. 
“Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!” And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived. 
“I shall call the headmaster!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “I'm warning you, Peeves -”
Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely. 
“Well, move along, then!” said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!” 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face. 
The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck. 
“Good evening,” he said, beaming at them. 
“Says who?” said Harry, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. “Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving.” 
The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table. 
“Hiya, Harry!” 
It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was something of a hero. 
“Hi, Colin,” said Harry warily. 
“Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!” 
“Er - good,” said Harry. 
“He's really excited!” said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. “I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?” 
“Er - yeah, all right,” said Harry. He turned back to Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick. “Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?” he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor. 
“Oh no, not necessarily,” said Hermione. “Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?”
Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Harry couldn't think who else was missing. 
“Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers. 
They had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. He looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there. 
“Maybe they couldn't get anyone!” said Hermione, looking anxious. 
Harry scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape - Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts. Harry's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry had helped Sirius escape right under Snape's overlarge nose - Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own school days. 
On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Harry guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and he had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it. 
“Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, beside Harry, “I could eat a hippogriff.” 
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school - all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it hooked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it. 
Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song: 
A thousand years or more ago,When I was newly sewn,There lived four wizards of renown,Whose names are still well known:Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,Shrewd Slytherin, from fin.They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,They hatched a daring planTo educate young sorcerersThus Hogwarts School began.Now each of these four foundersFormed their own house, for eachDid value different virtuesIn the ones they had to teach.By Gryffindor, the bravest werePrized far beyond the rest;For Ravenclaw, the cleverestWould always be the best;For Hufflepuff, hard workers wereMost worthy of admission;And power-hungry SlytherinLoved those of great ambition.While still alive they did divideTheir favorites from the throng,Yet how to pick the worthy onesWhen they were dead and gone?Twas Gryffindor who found the way,He whipped me off his headThe founders put some brains in meSo I could choose instead!Now slip me snug about your ears,I've never yet been wrong,I'll have a look inside your mindAnd tell where you belong!
The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. 
“That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us,” said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.
“Sings a different one every year,” said Ron. “It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.”
Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment. 
“When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first years. “When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. 
“Ackerley, Stewart!” 
A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool. 
“RAVENCLAW!” shouted the hat. 
Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Harry caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, Harry had a strange desire to join the Ravenclaw table too. 
“Baddock, Malcolm!” 
“SLYTHERIN!” 
The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Harry could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Harry wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down. 
“Branstone, Eleanor!” 
“HUFFLEPUFF!” 
“Cauldwell, Owen!” 
“HUFFLEPUFF!” 
“Creevey, Dennis!” 
Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers’ table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming - a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide -
“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted.
Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother. 
“Colin, I fell in!” he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. “It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!” 
“Cool!” said Colin, just as excitedly. “It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!” 
“Wow!” said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster. 
“Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?” 
Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma Dobbs. 
The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's.
“Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.
“Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food,” said Nearly Headless Nick as “Madley, Laura!” became a Hufflepuff. 
“Course it is, if you're dead,” snapped Ron. 
“I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,” said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as “McDonald, Natalie!” joined the Gryffindor table. “We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?”
Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row. 
“Pritchard, Graham!” 
“SLYTHERIN!” 
“Quirke, Orla!” 
“RAVENCLAW!” 
And finally, with “Whitby, Kevin!” ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away. 
“About time,” said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate. 
Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. 
“I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.” 
“Hear, hear!” said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes. 
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded their own plates. 
“Aaah, ‘at's be'er,” said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato. 
“You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.”
“Why? Wha’ ‘appened?” said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak. 
“Peeves, of course,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance - but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.”
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves. 
“Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” said Ron darkly. “So what did he do in the kitchens?” 
“Oh the usual,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -” 
Clang. 
Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention. 
“There are house-elves here?” she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. “Here at Hogwarts?” 
“Certainly,” said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. “The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.” 
“I've never seen one!” said Hermione. 
“Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” said Nearly Headless Nick. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning…see to the fires and so on.…I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?” 
Hermione stared at him. 
“But they get paid?” she said. “They get holidays, don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?” 
Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck. 
“Sick leave and pensions?” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!” 
Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her. 
“Oh c'mon, ‘Er-my-knee,” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops - sorry, ‘Arry -” He swallowed. “You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!”
“Slave labor,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. “That's what made this dinner. Slave labor.” 
And she refused to eat another bite. 
The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings. 
“Treacle tart, Hermione!” said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!” 
But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up. 
When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard. 
“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered,” ("Hmph!” said Hermione) “I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. 
“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it.” 
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. 
“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.” 
“What?” Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbhedore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -” 
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. 
A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers’ table. 
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped. 
The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen.It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening. 
One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness. 
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbhedore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. 
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students. 
“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.” 
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him. 
“Moody?” Harry muttered to Ron. “Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?” 
“Must be,” said Ron in a low, awed voice. 
“What happened to him?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to his face?” 
“Dunno,” Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination. 
Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. 
Dumbledore cleared his throat. 
“As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.” 
“You're JOKING!” said Fred Weasley loudly. 
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. 
“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.” 
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. 
“Er - but maybe this is not the time…no…” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament…well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. 
“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.” 
“Death toll?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago. 
“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. 
“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.” 
“I'm going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more. 
“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This -” Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. 
“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!” 
Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall. 
“They can't do that!” said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. “We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?” 
“They're not stopping me entering,” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!” 
“Yeah,” said Ron, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons.…” 
“Come on,” said Hermione, “we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move.” 
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. 
“Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?” said Harry. 
“Dunno,” said Fred, “but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…”
“Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though,” said Ron. 
“Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?” said Fred shrewdly. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names.”
“People have died, though!” said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase. 
“Yeah,” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get ‘round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?” 
“What d'you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older….Dunno if we've learned enough…” 
“I definitely haven't,” came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George. 
“I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to - oops…” 
Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily.
“Shut it, you,” said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. 
They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress. 
“Password?” she said as they approached. 
“Balderdash,” said George, “a prefect downstairs told me.” 
The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter “Slave labor” before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls’ dormitory. 
Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it. 
“Mental,” Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players. 
Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed. Someone - a house-elf, no doubt - had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside. 
“I might go in for it, you know,” Ron said sleepily through the darkness, “if Fred and George find out how to…the tournament.…you never know, do you?” 
“S'pose not.…” 
Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye….He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen.…he had become Hogwarts champion…he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming…he had just won the Triwizard Tournament. Cho's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration…. 
Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could. 
穿过两边满是有翼公猪雕像的一道道门，车子沿着陡峭的坡路前进着，在随即形成的疾风中危险地晃动。靠着窗户，哈利可以看到霍格瓦彻越来越近了，它那许许多多亮着灯的窗户在厚厚的雨帘后闪闪烁烁。当他们的车子在巨大的橡木门面前停下来时，一道霹雳划过天空，大门由一段石阶进入堡里。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和尼维尔从车子里跳下来，也急忙登上台阶。直到安全地进入大门，来到点看火把的砌着华美的大理石阶梯的前厅时，他们才抬起了头。 
　　“布林米，”罗恩说，摇摇头上的雨水，“要是再这样下雨的话，湖沟要涨满了，我浑身湿透了——啊啾！” 
　　一个巨大的充满水的红色汽球从屋顶落到罗恩的头上，炸裂了。全身湿漉漉的，还滴着水，罗恩踉跄地闪到哈利侧边，正好第二枚水弹落下来——差点击中荷米恩，它在哈利的脚边炸开，冷水浅到他的袜子上，周围的人全都尖叫着，互相推撞，试图逃离现场。哈利抬起头，看到在他们头顶上20英尺处飘浮的皮维斯——喧哗鬼，他是个戴着饰有铃铛的帽子、系着橙色领结的矮小的鬼魂，当他再次瞄准时，邪恶的脸因过于专注而变形了。 
　　“皮维斯！”一个愤怒的声音喊道，“皮维斯，立即下来！”副校长兼格林芬顿主任麦康娜教授，从大厅里急走进来，她在湿湿的地板上滑了一下，她抓住荷米恩的颈部以免再滑下去。“哎哟！——对不起，格林佐小姐。” 
　　“没关系，教授。”荷米恩揉揉喉咙，喘着气说。 
　　“皮维斯，立即下来！”麦康娜教授喝道，扶直她有圆点的帽子，透过方框眼镜往上怒视。 
　　“没什么！”皮维斯一边咯咯地笑一边朝几个五年级女生丢下一个水弹，那些女孩们尖叫着俯冲进大厅。“他们早就湿透了，不是吗？小家伙们！唿……！”他又将另一枚炸弹瞄向刚刚到达的一群二年级学生。 
　　“我要叫校长来！”麦康娜教授怒吼道，“我警告你，皮维斯。” 
　　皮维斯伸伸舌头，把他最后一枚水弹扔在空中，陡然落在大理石台阶上，疯子般咯咯地笑起来。 
　　“哎，继续前进！”麦康娜教授厉声对惊慌失措的学生说，“快点，进大厅！” 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米思溜过前厅，穿过右边的双层门，罗恩一边把湿透的头发从脸上拨开，一边恼怒地嘟味着。 
　　大厅还是它以往那副金碧辉煌的样子，因开学庆典而装饰一新，金色的盘子和高脚杯在成百支浮在半空中的蜡烛的光辉中闪闪发亮，四张长长的大桌子坐满了闲聊的学生，在大厅顶部，教工职员坐在第五张桌子边，面对着他们的学生。这儿暖和多了，哈利。 
　　罗恩和荷米思经过史林德林、卫文卡罗和海夫巴夫，和其余的格林芬顿一起，远远地坐在大厅的另一边，靠近几乎无头的尼克，尼克全身珍珠白、半透明，今晚穿着他平常的紧身袍子，系着一个特大领结，这个领结有双重作用，一可以显得特别有节日气氛，二可以保证他的脑袋不至于在部分切开的脖子上晃得太厉害。 
　　“晚上好。”他朝着他们笑。 
　　“谁在说？”哈利脱下鞋子倒掉里面的水，“希望他们赶紧结束给学生分类，我饿极了。” 
　　每学年开学都要将新生分类！进入不同的班，但由于不走运，哈利自他那年分类后，再也没赶上过一次学生的分类，他对此向往已久了。 
　　正在那时，一个极为兴奋，摒住呼吸的声音从上边桌子传下来，“嗨呀，哈利！” 
　　“那是柯林。”哈利小心地说。 
　　“哈利，你猜猜，你猜猜，哈利，我的弟弟开学了，我的弟弟丹尼斯！” 
　　“嗯，不错。”哈利说。 
　　“他兴奋极了！”柯林说，一边熟练地在他的座位上跳上跳下，“我就指望他分到格林芬顿！哎！哈利，为他祈福吧。” 
　　“嗯，好的。”哈利说，他转向荷米恩、罗恩和尼维尔，“兄弟姐妹通常分在同一种班里，是吗？”他说，他正依威斯里家的孩子作判断，他们七个全被分进格林芬顿了。 
　　“噢，那倒不一定。”荷米恩说，“帕维提。帕提的双胞胎都在卫文卡罗，因为她们是双胞姐妹，你就认为她们会在一块，对吗？” 
　　哈利抬头看着教工那张桌子，那儿似乎比往日多了不少空位子。哈格力，当然还和一年级新生一起奋战在湖上；麦康娜教授可能在监督别人弄干前厅的地板，但那还是有个空位，他想不起还缺了谁。 
　　“新来的黑巫术防御老师在哪儿？”荷米恩在看着老师们说。 
　　他们从未有过能维持三学期以上的黑巫术防御老师，到目前为止，哈利最喜欢的老师是露平教授，他去年辞职了。他上上下下地看了一遍教工桌子，那儿绝没有新脸孔。 
　　“可能他们没法找到下一位！”荷米恩说，他看上去很着急。 
　　哈利更仔细地测览过桌子，小菲特威克教授即咒语老师，正坐在一大堆垫子上，他旁边是草苗老师——史包特教授，她戴在飞出灰白的头发上的帽子不是很正，她在和天文系的希尼斯特教授讲话，在希尼斯特教授的另一边是黄脸钩界，头发油腻腻的药脂老师史纳皮——霍格瓦彻最受讨厌的人，哈利对史纳皮的憎恶与史纳皮对他的厌恨是相当的。可能的话，史纳皮对他的厌恨自去年已加剧了，那时哈利帮助西里斯——史纳皮和西里斯早在学生时代就是仇敌了——从史纳皮的眼皮底下逃脱了。 
　　在史纳皮的另一边是个空座位，哈利猜想可能是麦康娜教授的，与座位相邻，在桌子的正中坐着校长丹伯多教授。他的满头银发和长领在烛光中闪耀着，他那华美的深绿的饱子绣着许多星星和月亮。他细长手指并在一起，托着下巴，他透过半月形的眼镜盯着天花板，似乎陷入了沉思。哈利也向天花板扫视一番，它被施了法术，看起来像外面的天空。他从未见过像这样的天空，征兆着暴风雨的黑色和紫色的云翻滚过空中，随着外面又一阵雷声响起，一道霹雳划过。 
　　“噢，快点吧。”罗恩在哈利旁边抱怨，“我可以吃下一个希普格利夫。” 
　　他的话音刚落，大厅打开了，人们立即安静下来，麦康娜教授领着一长列一年级新生走上大厅里边。要是哈利、罗恩和荷米恩是湿的话，那与这些新生们相比可算不了什么，他们看上去是游过湖泊而不是用船渡过来的，他们全都因寒冷和紧张而颤抖着。他们站成一列，对着其他师生，停了下来，所有的新生都这样，除了他们之中那个最小的男孩之外，他长着小鼠般的头发，包在哈利认为是哈格力的鼹鼠皮大衣里，衣服对于他显得过分的大，看上去，他像套在一个毛茸茸的黑帐篷里。他的小脸从衣领上伸出来，看样子似乎兴奋得发痛了，当他和惊恐的同伴们站成一队时，他碰上柯林的视线，竖起大拇指，用口型说，“我掉进了湖里。”他倒是对此很高兴。 
　　在一年级新生面前，麦康娜教授现在往地上摆了张四脚板凳，在凳子上面，是一个极为破旧肮脏的补着补丁的巫师帽，新生们盯着帽子，其他人也盯着帽子。一时间，一片沉寂，随即，帽沿边的一道裂缝像嘴巴似的张开，帽子开始唱歌了：“至少一千年以前当我刚刚织成时有四位有名的魔法师他们的名字仍然广为人们所识勇敢的格林芬顿，来自荒原公正的卫文卡罗，来自峡谷甜蜜的海夫巴夫所来之处山谷绵绵精明的史林德林从沼泽地中走出他们怀有共同的愿望、希望和梦想他们提出大胆的方案来教育年轻的一代这样霍格瓦彻学校创办而今这四位前辈每一位都把各自的班来开每一班都有不同之品德值的珍藏对于格林芬顿，最勇敢的嘉奖总在其余的之前对于卫文卡罗，最聪明的总是最好的对于海天巴夫，勤奋的工人是最值得欣赏追求权势的文林德林偏爱那些抱负远大的他们在世时可以挑选当他们逝去多年汤玛利格林芬顿找到了办法他将我从他头上驱下先驱给了我一些法力所以我能够让他们选择，作为代替把我舒服地从你们身边滑过我从来没有出借我能看穿你们的心思告诉你们立身之处。” 
　　分类帽唱完歌，大厅里响起震耳的掌声。 
　　“这不是它给我们分类时唱的那首。”哈利和别人一起鼓掌说道。 
　　“每年都唱一首不同的歌。”罗恩说，“过着帽子的生活，总是相当烦人的，对不？我想它花整年的时间来编造下一首歌。” 
　　麦康娜教授现在展开了一大卷羊皮纸。 
　　“当我叫到你的名字时，你就戴上帽子，坐在凳上。”她吩咐新生们，“帽子宣布你的班之后，你就去坐到相应的桌子边去。” 
　　“阿克利。史德瓦特！” 
　　一位男孩走上前，很明显地从头到脚地发着抖，他抬起分类帽，戴上，坐在凳上。 
　　“卫文卡罗。”帽子叫道。 
　　他脱下帽子，急步走到卫文卡罗桌边的座位上，他周围的人都鼓掌欢迎他。哈利瞥了一眼罗尼文劳搜索者单，她正朝着刚坐下的阿克利。史德瓦特欢呼，一时之间，哈利也想加入卫文卡罗，这个奇怪的念头在他脑中一闪而过。 
　　“巴德克。迈可姆！” 
　　“史林德林班！” 
　　大厅另一端的桌子爆发出欢呼声，哈利看到当巴德克加入史林德林时，马尔夫在拍掌，哈利怀疑巴德克是否知道史林德林班创造了比任何别的班都多的邪术魔法。弗来德和乔治则向准备就座的巴德克发出嘘声。 
　　“希朗斯场。艾娜！” 
　　“海夫巴夫！” 
　　“可德威尔。欧文！” 
　　“海夫巴夫！” 
　　“克利威。丹尼斯！”‘小丹尼斯往前蹒跚一步，差点绊倒在哈格力的鼹鼠皮衣里，他那时正从教工桌后的一道门侧身溜进了大厅。哈格力的身高是常人的两倍，块头则至少比别人多两倍，他蓄着又长又乱打结的黑发，留了胡子，看上去有点让人警惕。这可是个误导的印像，罗恩和荷米恩知道哈格力有副好心肠，他在教工桌尽头处坐下，朝他们眨了眨眼，然后观看丹尼斯戴上分类帽，帽沿的缝张开的很大——“格林芬顿！”帽子喊道。 
　　哈格力和格林芬顿班的学生一齐鼓起掌来，丹尼斯灿烂地笑开了，他脱下帽子，放回凳上，跑向他哥哥。 
　　“柯林，我掉进湖了！”他尖叫着倒在一张空位上，“太神奇了！ 
　　水里有个东西抓住我，把我推回到船上！“ 
　　“真爽！”柯林也同样兴奋，“很可能是大鲸鱼哪，丹尼斯！” 
　　“哇！”丹尼斯叫起来，似像即使在最离奇的幻想中也没人幻想象到掉到风雨大作，泛着泡沫的湖里，然后又被一只巨大的海怪推出水面的经历。 
　　“丹尼斯！丹尼斯！看到那边的男孩没有？那个黑头发戴眼镜的，看到了吗？知道是谁吗？丹尼斯！” 
　　哈利往远处专注地看那分类帽，它正在给艾姆分班。 
　　分班进行着。男孩，女孩们各自带着程度不一的害怕的神情，一个接一个地走向三脚凳，队列慢慢缩短了。麦刚那高教授念到姓氏以“L”开头的学生了。 
　　“噢，快点。”罗恩揉着肚子嘟味着。 
　　“喂，罗恩，分班可是比吃饭重要多了。”赫斯。尼克说道，“一个叫玛德利。罗拉的女孩被分去了海夫巴天那里。” 
　　“见鬼，要是你死了才好！”罗恩还口。 
　　“好希望今年分到的这批人是够标准的。”尼克边为加入到格林芬顿桌来的迈克顿特和纳特里鼓掌边说，“我们可不想中断向来的成功。” 
　　格林芬顿在近三年中连续在校内锦标赛中获胜。 
　　“浦林杰格拉！” 
　　“史林德林！” 
　　“凯尔。欧拉！” 
　　“卫文卡罗！” 
　　最后，“凯文，”他被分去了海夫巴夫那里，分班结束了，麦康娜教授拾起帽子和凳子，把它们拿开。 
　　“时候到了。”罗恩抓起刀叉，期待地望着他金色的盘子。 
　　丹伯多教授站了起来，微笑着张开双臂欢迎学生们。 
　　“我只说两个字，”他对学生讲，“吃吧。”他深沉的话音回荡在大厅里。 
　　“听听，听听！”哈利和罗恩大嚷，眼前的空盘神奇地堆满了食物。 
　　“啊，还是吃饭好。”罗恩嘴里满是土豆泥。 
　　“你知道，今晚还算走运，毕竟有顿大餐。”尼克说，“早些时，厨房出乱子了。” 
　　“哇？出什么事了？”哈利咬着一大块肉排说。 
　　“当然是皮维斯的那家伙。”尼克摇着头说，他的头晃的好像要掉下来，他把领结扯高一些，“你知道，还不是以前那番争论。他想参加庆典——那是不可能的，像他那样满口服话，看到一盘食物就禁不住乱扔的家伙！我们开了幽灵委员会！法特。芙莱想给他这次机会，但我认为最明智的是布莱蒂。巴伦反对这事。” 
　　布莱蒂。巴伦是史林德林的幽灵，他身材削瘦，沉默寡言，身上覆盖着银色的血迹，他是霍格瓦彻中唯—一位真正可以控制皮维斯的人。 
　　“对了，我们也觉的皮维斯似乎在找碴。”罗恩郁郁地说，“他在厨房里干什么？” 
　　“噢，平常那套把戏。”尼克耸耸肩，“泄愤地制造大乱，四处乱扔盘子罐子，在汤里游泳，把养的小精灵吓傻。” 
　　“铿！”荷米思弄翻了她的全盘，南瓜汁慢慢地渗到桌布上，把白亚麻染成橙色，但荷米恩可不管。 
　　“学校养的小精灵？”荷米恩问。 
　　“嗯，白天他们很少走出厨房。”尼克说，“他们晚上出来做点清洁工作……看看炉火等等……我说，你不会想见他们吧。 
　　荷米恩盯着他。 
　　“他们有工资吧。”她说，“他们也能享受假期、病体和养老金等各种待遇，对吗？”尼克大笑起来，他笑过了头，领结滑下来，他的头也掉了，连着点皮肉从脖子上垂下。 
　　“病休？养老金？”他把头推回脖子上，围好领结以免再次掉下，“校养精灵不要病休和养老金！” 
　　荷米恩低头看了一下她几乎没怎么碰的食物，把刀叉放在盘子上，推走了盘子。 
　　“噢，这不希奇，哎，我的膝盖。”罗恩说着，不小心把约克郡布丁喷到哈利身上，“啊，对不起！”“啊”地一声，他吞下布丁，“你不会饿着自己而给他们病休的！”“做苦工的奴隶。”荷米恩用鼻子深深吸了口气，“就是做苦工的奴隶们做了这顿饭。” 
　　她一点都吃不下了。 
　　雨点仍击鼓般敲着又高又黑的窗子，又一阵雷声震撼了窗户，乌云密布的天空掠过霹雳，照亮了金盘子，盘子上第一道菜的残余消失了，随即换上了布丁。 
　　“糖浆烘饼，荷米恩！”罗恩故意把香味?向她，“眼尖的侦探，看呐，巧克力奶油蛋糕！” 
　　但荷米恩的神情很像麦康娜教授，他便不再引诱她。 
　　布丁也吃光了，最后一点碎屑从盘中消失的干干净净，艾伯斯。丹伯多又站了起来，厅里嗡嗡的谈话声立刻停止了，只可听到低吼的风声和大雨的敲击声。 
　　“注意了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑着。“现在我们全都吃饱喝足了。”（“哼”！荷米恩说〕，“我的提醒你们要注意，我要通知几件事。” 
　　“风纪长费驰先生要我告诉你们，今年学校忌禁清单上增加了例如：呦呦尖叫，齿边飞盘和回飞镖等等，整个清单共计四百三十七项。我想，感兴趣的学生可以到费驰先生的办公室里查看。” 
　　丹伯多的嘴角动了一下。 
　　他继续说，“我还是要提醒你们，平地的那片森林是不许学生进入的，三年级以下的还不能去汉格米尔村。” 
　　“我还要遗憾地告诉你们，今年的校内决迪斯杯赛将不举行。” 
　　“什么？”哈利倒抽一口气，他环顾着在快迪斯队的同伙弗来德和乔治，他们对着丹伯多无声地张着嘴，显然是太惊愕而说不出话来。 
　　丹伯多又说，“这是因为一场开始于十月份，并将持续整个学年的赛事。它占去了老师们的很多时间和精力——但我保证，你们会很喜欢这场赛事的，我很高兴宣布，霍格瓦彻，今年——” 
　　就在那时，震耳欲聋的雷声响起了，大厅的门砰地一声打开了。 
　　有个人站在走廊上，拄着一根长长的拐杖，盖着黑色旅行用斗篷，大厅里的每个人都转过头来看着这个外来客。突然间一道霹雳划过屋顶，照亮了他，他解下兜帽，一缕灰色的长鬃毛和深灰色的头发垂落下来。他开始向教工桌走去。 
　　他每走一步，大厅就回荡起沉沉的咯咯声，他走到桌子尽头，向右转身，走向丹伯多，又一道霹雳划过屋顶，荷米恩屏住呼吸。 
　　霹雳清晰地显示了那人的脸，一张哈利从未见过的脸，对一个对人类的脸只有一点点模糊的概念的人来说，它似乎是从朽木上刻出来的一样，雕刻者对怎么用凿似乎也毫无经验，脸上每一寸皮肤好像都结了疤，嘴巴像个斜切的深口子，鼻梁的一大段缺了，但让哈利害怕的是那人的眼睛。 
　　其中一只眼如同珠子，又小又黑，另一只眼睛则像个硬币，又大又圆，还是湛蓝色的。这个蓝眼睛不停地转动着，也不眨一下，上转下转，左看右看，很不像个正常的眼，蓝眼睛转到右边去了，向着他的后脑勺，所以他们只能看到他的眼白。 
　　陌生人走近了丹伯多，他伸出跟他的脸一样结满疤的手，丹伯多与他握手，说些什么，哈利没法听清，他好像在询问那陌生人，而陌生人则压着嗓子面无笑容地摇着头回答。丹伯多点点头，示意那人坐到他右手边的空位上去。 
　　陌生人坐下了，拨开脸边深灰色的鬃毛，拉过一盘香肠，拿起盘子用他那残存的鼻子闻了闻，然后从袋里掏出把小刀，叉起香肠的一端，开始吃起来，他那只正常的眼盯着香肠，但他的蓝眼还在眼窝里不停地转，环视整个大厅和学生们。 
　　“让我介绍一下我们新来的黑巫术防御老师。”丹伯多打破沉寂高兴地说，“他是莫迪教授。” 
　　“莫迪？”哈利对罗恩说，“魔眼莫迪？你爸今早去帮忙的那个人？” 
　　“可能是。”罗恩敬畏地低声回答。 
　　“他怎么啦？”荷米恩悄声问，“他的脸怎么啦？” 
　　“不知道。”罗恩也悄悄地说。一边饶有兴趣地看着莫迪。 
　　莫迪看起来对并不热情的欢迎一点也不在乎，他的手伸进旅行用斗篷，掏出一个大腹瓶子，大大吸了一口，他对面前的那罐南瓜汁并不理会，在他抬起手臂喝东西时，他的斗篷在离地面尺寸的地方拉开了一些，哈利看到了一只有爪的脚在桌下木桌脚边露了出来。 
　　丹伯多又清了清喉咙。 
　　“我刚才说到，”他对学生微笑着说，所有的学生仍在目瞪口呆地看着魔眼莫迪。“我们很荣幸在下个月承办一场极为激动人心的盛事，它已有一个多世纪没举行了，我很高兴告知你们，魔法三人对抗赛，今年将在霍格瓦彻举行！” 
　　“你在开玩笑吧！”弗来德。威斯里大声说。 
　　自莫迪的到来而充斥着大厅的紧张气氛被打破了。 
　　几乎每个人都笑了起来，丹伯多也发出理解的笑声。 
　　“我不是开玩笑，威斯里先生。”他说，“既然你提到笑话，我这个夏天倒听了个不赖的笑话，讲的是一个洞仙，一个女巫和一个老巫土，他们全都去了一间酒吧——” 
　　麦康娜教授大声地清了清喉咙。 
　　“嗯——或许现在还不是讲笑话的时候吧。”丹伯多说，“我讲到哪儿了？对了，魔法三人对抗赛，你们中有些人不知道这个联赛是怎么回事，所以我希望那些知道的可以容许我稍稍作个解释，知情的学生可以关注些别的东西。” 
　　“魔法三人对抗赛于大约七百年前，作为三大魔法学校霍格瓦彻、比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安间的一种友好竞赛。每所学校选出一名冠军选手作代表，这三个选手则在三场魔法中竞技。魔法学校每五年轮流承办一次比赛，为众人所认可，这是一个在年轻的法师们之间建立联系的最佳办法，直到死亡人数太多时，比赛便中止了。” 
　　“死亡人数？”荷米恩警觉起来，低声说道。但厅里其他的学生似乎并不分担她的忧虑，许多学生彼此兴奋地耳语，而哈利他自己对多听一些关于比赛的事比担忧几百年前的死亡则来劲得多。 
　　“几个世纪以来，人们几次尝试着恢复比赛。”丹伯多接着说，“没有一次是较成功的，然而，我们的国标魔法合作系和魔法竞赛系认为再作一次尝试的是时机已成熟了，整个夏天我们都在为之努力着。这一次，冠军选手不会走火入魔的。” 
　　“比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的校长会携同他们筛选出来的选手在十月份到达我校，三名选手的选拔赛则在万圣节时举行，届时将由一名公正无私的裁判来决定哪一位最有资格赢取三巫术赛奖杯，那将是他们学校的光荣，并可得到一千帆船币个人奖金。” 
　　“我要参加！”弗来德。威斯里在桌子下边咝咝沙沙地说。想到了能得到的光荣和财富，他热情洋溢，容光焕发。他并不是把自己视为霍格瓦彻冠军选手的唯—一人。在每张桌子，哈利可以看到学生们要么全神贯注地看着丹伯多，要么时不时地与邻座窃窃私语，但当丹伯多又说话时，大厅再次静了下来。 
　　“虽然我知道你们都想为霍格瓦彻带来三巫术赛奖杯，”他说，“参赛学校的校长和魔法部都同意这次对选手的年龄作个限制，只有达到年龄的学生——即十七岁或十七岁以上，才被允许报名参选。这个——”丹伯多听到几个人对他的话颇有微词，威斯里双胞胎兄弟看上去突然变得极为愤慨，他提高话音，“这是我们认为必要的措施，因为无论怎么预防，赛项将仍是困难重重，危险性很大的。低于六七年级的学生没什么可能可以应付它，我将亲自出马，保证不够年龄的学生无法糊弄我们公正的裁判，使他们成为霍格瓦彻的冠军选手。”他看到弗来德和乔治叛逆的脸时，他浅蓝的眼睛眨了几下。“所以对那些不满十七岁的，我请你们别浪费时间为自己提名。” 
　　“比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的代表队将于十月份抵达，今年的大部分时间都会和我们在一起，我知道你们在他们逗留期间会给外宾们全部的热诚，并且全心支持霍格瓦彻的冠军选手的，现在时候不早了，我希望你们明天上课时得保持清醒，放松头脑，这非常重要，快去休息吧。” 
　　丹伯多又坐了下来转向魔眼，和他说话。学生们站起来蜂拥向前厅的双层门。一片擦擦声和砰砰响了起来。 
　　“他们怎么能那样做？”乔治。威斯里说，他没有随人群走向大门，站立着盯着丹伯多，“明年四月我们就十七了，为什么我们不能试一试？” 
　　““他们拦不住我的。”弗来德固执地说，也对着上边的桌子怒目而视，“冠军们可以做任何事，而你连正当的事都不让我们干，哪还有一千帆船币奖金！” 
　　“是啊。”罗恩的心思好像飘到远方，“是啊，一千帆船币……” 
　　“走吧。”荷米恩说，“你再不走的，这儿就只剩我们了。” 
　　哈利、罗恩、荷米恩、弗来德和乔治走向前厅，弗来德和乔治在争论著丹伯多为阻止不满十七岁的学生参赛可能采取的方法。 
　　“决定参赛冠军的公正裁判是谁？”哈利问。 
　　“不知道。”弗来德说，“但我们要糊弄的正是他们，我想几滴陈年药水大概有用吧。乔治……” 
　　“但丹伯多知道你不到年龄呀。”罗恩说。 
　　“是的，但他可不是决定谁赢得比赛的人，对吗？”弗来德狡黠地说，“我觉得一旦挑选想参加的人，他会从每个学校中挑出最优秀的，而不会计较他们的年龄，丹伯多不过试图不让我们说出自己的名字。” 
　　“但死过人了！”荷米恩忧心忡忡地说，他们穿过一道隐藏在挂毯后面的门，登上另一段狭窄的楼梯。 
　　“是啊。”弗来德漫不经心地说，“但是几年前的事了，对吗？ 
　　不管怎样，没有一点风险，哪来的乐趣？嘿，罗恩，要是我们避开丹伯多会怎样呢？想不想参赛？“ 
　　“你说什么？”罗恩问哈利，“参赛当然很爽，但我想他们可能要些年长点的，而不论我们是否学够了……” 
　　“我绝对没学够。”尼维尔郁郁的话音从弗来德和乔治身后传来。“但我想我的奶奶会要我试试的，她总是说我该如何光宗耀祖，我不得不，呼……” 
　　尼维尔的脚正好从楼梯中间的一级台阶上陷了下去，在霍格瓦彻有许多这样的圈套，大多数较年长的学生都会跳过这级特设的台阶，养成一种第二本能，但尼维尔是有名的健忘，哈利和罗恩抓住他手臂，把他拖出来，一套盔甲在楼梯顶端喘着气铛啷铿锵地笑着。 
　　“你给我闭嘴。”罗恩说，他们经过盔甲时，罗恩重重打了一下它的面甲。 
　　他们摸索着向格里哈特塔的入口走去，入口被截在一幅巨大的穿着粉色绸衣的胖大婶的画像后边。 
　　“咒语是？”他们靠近人口时她问道。 
　　“布拉丁打希。”格林佐说：“楼下的级长告诉我的。” 
　　画像往前晃动，露出墙上的一个洞，他们全都爬过墙洞，一堆呼呼燃烧的火温暖了流通室，流通室里到处是矮矮的椅子和桌子。 
　　向欢快地跳动的火苗投去冷冷的一瞥，他们互相道晚安，荷米恩消失在通往女生宿舍的走廊中。哈利清楚鼓舞着她说，“做苦力和奴隶。” 
　　哈利、罗恩和尼维尔爬上最后一段螺形楼梯，到了位于塔顶的宿舍。五张四往床各有一挂深红色的帘子向着墙，床脚边放着各人的行李箱，迪恩和谢默斯早已在床上了，谢默斯把他爱尔兰袍子挂在顶板上，迪恩钉了幅维特。克伦的海报在床头桌上，他原来的西部汉姆球队的海报被钉在旁边。 
　　“神经病！”罗恩叹了口气，对着一动也不动的球员叹了口气，摇了摇头。 
　　哈利、罗恩和尼维尔换上睡衣上了床，有人——无疑是一个校养精灵在床单间放了保温平锅。躺在床上，聆听外面的暴风雨声，特别舒适。 
　　“我或许要为之努力，你知道的。”罗恩渴睡的声音从黑暗中传来，“如果弗来德和乔治找到法子……比赛……你不知道是吗？” 
　　“假如不……”哈利在床上翻一下身，一系列醒目的新画面从他心头涌起……他已糊弄了公正裁判，让他相信是十七岁……他已成为霍格瓦彻的冠军……他站在地上，向全校师生胜利地举起手臂，他们全都欢呼尖叫起来……他刚刚赢得了魔法三人对抗赛…… 
　　卓的脸容在模糊的人群中分外清晰，脸上满是敬慕之情，笑容灿烂。 
　　哈利在枕上开心地笑了，尤为高兴的是罗恩不能看到他能看到的图景。 
Chapter 13 Mad-eye Moody
The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Harry, Ron, and Hermione examined their new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament. 
“Today's not bad…outside all morning,” said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. “Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures…damn it, we're still with the Slytherins….” 
“Double Divination this afternoon,” Harry groaned, looking down. Divination was his least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying. 
“You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?” said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. “Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy.” 
“You're eating again, I notice,” said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too. 
“I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,” said Hermione haughtily. 
“Yeah…and you were hungry,” said Ron, grinning. 
There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap - Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach, Harry returned to his porridge. Was it possible that something had happened to Hedwig, and that Sirius hadn't even got his letter? 
His preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until they arrived in greenhouse three, but here he was distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid. 
“Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout told them briskly. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus -” 
“The what?” said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted. 
“Pus, Finnigan, pus,” said Professor Sprout, “and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus.” 
Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints. 
“This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,” said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.” 
“Like poor Eloise Midgen,” said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. “She tried to curse hers off.” 
“Silly girl,” said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.” 
A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 
Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As they drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions. 
“Mornin'!” Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won’ want ter miss this - Blast-Ended Skrewts!” 
“Come again?” said Ron. 
Hagrid pointed down into the crates. 
“Eurgh!” squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward. 
“Eurgh” just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in Harry's opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches. 
“On'y jus’ hatched,” said Hagrid proudly, “so yeh'll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!” 
“And why would we want to raise them?” said a cold voice. 
The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words. 
Hagrid looked stumped at the question. 
“I mean, what do they do?” asked Malfoy. “What is the point of them?” 
Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds’ pause, then he said roughly, “Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Now, yeh'll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff'rent things - I've never had ‘em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake - just try ‘em out with a bit of each.” 
“First pus and now this,” muttered Seamus. 
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, and Hermione pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths. 
“Ouch!” yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. “It got me.” 
Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. 
“Its end exploded!” said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand. 
“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” said Hagrid, nodding. 
“Eurgh!” said Lavender Brown again. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?” 
“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). “I reckon they're the males.…The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies….I think they might be ter suck blood.” 
“Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive,” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?” 
“Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful,” Hermione snapped. “Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?” 
Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew only too well - he had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better. 
“Well, at least the skrewts are small,” said Ron as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later. 
“They are now,” said Hermione in an exasperated voice, “but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long.” 
“Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?” said Ron, grinning slyly at her. 
“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up,” said Hermione. “As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.” 
They sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her. 
“Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?” said Ron. “You're going to make yourself puke instead?” 
“No,” said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. “I just want to get to the library.” 
“What?” said Ron in disbelief. “Hermione - it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!” 
Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, “See you at dinner!” and departed at high speed. 
When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived. 
The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the same small circular table. 
“Good day,” said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump. 
A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight. 
“You are preoccupied, my dear,” she said mournfully to Harry. “My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas…most difficult…I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass.…and perhaps sooner than you think…” 
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her. 
“My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars,” she said. “The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle.…” 
But Harry's thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made him feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never held him exactly spellbound - though he couldn't help thinking about what she had just said to him. “I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass…” 
But Hermione was right, Harry thought irritably, Professor Trelawney really was an old fraud. He wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all…well, unless you counted his fears that Sirius had been caught…but what did Professor Trelawney know? He had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortunetelling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner. 
Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again…and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry had described it to him. 
“Harry!” Ron muttered. 
“What?” 
Harry looked around; the whole class was staring at him. He sat up straight; he had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts. 
“I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn,” said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words. 
“Born under - what, sorry?” said Harry. 
“Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!” said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. “I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth.…Your dark hair…your mean stature…tragic losses so young in life…I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?” 
“No,” said Harry, “I was born in July.” 
Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough. 
Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles. 
“I've got two Neptunes here,” said Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece of parchment, “that can't be right, can it?” 
“Aaaaah,” said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, “when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry….” 
Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown - “Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?” 
“It is Uranus, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart. 
“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?” said Ron. 
Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class. 
“A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart,” she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. “I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!” 
“Miserable old bat,” said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. “That'll take all weekend, that will…” 
“Lots of homework?” said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. “Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!” 
“Well, bully for Professor Vector,” said Ron moodily. 
They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them. 
“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!” 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something. 
“What?” said Ron shortly. 
“Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!” said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. “Listen to this! 
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGICIt seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.” Malfoy looked up. 
“Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?” he crowed. 
Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on: 
Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene. “And there's a picture, Weasley!” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?” 
Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him. 
“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” said Harry. “C'mon, Ron…” 
“Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?” sneered Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?” 
“You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry - both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - “that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?” 
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink. 
“Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter.” 
“Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” said Harry, turning away. 
BANG! 
Several people screamed - Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his face - he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he'd even touched it, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall. 
“OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!” 
Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. 
There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry - at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head. 
“Did he get you?” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly. 
“No,” said Harry, “missed.” 
“LEAVE IT!” Moody shouted. 
“Leave - what?” Harry said, bewildered. 
“Not you - him!” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. 
Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons. 
“I don't think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. 
“I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned,” growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…” 
The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. 
“Never - do - that - again -” said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. 
“Professor Moody!” said a shocked voice. 
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books. 
“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher. 
“What - what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air. 
“Teaching,” said Moody. 
“Teach - Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms. 
“Yep,” said Moody. 
“No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing. 
“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall wealdy. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” 
“He might've mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock -” 
“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!” 
“I'll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike. 
Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words “my father” were distinguishable. 
“Oh yeah?” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy.…You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son…you tell him that from me.…Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?” 
“Yes,” said Malfoy resentfully. 
“Another old friend,” growled Moody. “I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape.…Come on, you…” 
And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. 
Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms. 
“Don't talk to me,” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. 
“Why not?” said Hermione in surprise. 
“Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret.” 
Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates. 
“He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it -” 
“Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you're ruining the best moment of my life!” 
Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again. 
“Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?” said Harry, watching her. 
“Got to,” said Hermione thickly. “Loads to do.” 
“But you told us Professor Vector -” 
“It's not schoolwork,” she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley. 
“Moody!” he said. “How cool is he?” 
“Beyond cool,” said George, sitting down opposite Fred. 
“Supercool,” said the twins’ best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. “We had him this afternoon,” he told Harry and Ron. 
“What was it like?” said Harry eagerly. 
Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. 
“Never had a lesson like it,” said Fred. 
“He knows, man,” said Lee. 
“Knows what?” said Ron, leaning forward. 
“Knows what it's like to be out there doing it,” said George impressively. 
“Doing what?” said Harry. 
“Fighting the Dark Arts,” said Fred. 
“He's seen it all,” said George. 
“'Mazing,” said Lee. 
Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. 
“We haven't got him till Thursday!” he said in a disappointed voice. 
第二天早上暴风雨终于过去了，尽管大礼堂的屋顶还是很幽暗，沉重的铅灰色的云还在头顶盘旋。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在吃早饭的时候检查了一遍他们的新课程表。隔了几个座位，弗来德、乔治和李·乔丹正在讨论怎样用魔法使他们自己变老并且混入那场三人巫术比赛。 
　　“今天天气不错……整个早上外头都很好，”罗恩说道，他的手指正在课程表的星期一那一栏上划动，“草药学和喷火术，还有魔法变出小动物……见鬼，我们还是和史林德林在一起上课……” 
　　“今天下午是双重占卜术课。”哈利叹息着说，看着这一栏的下面，除了调制巫药，占卜术就是哈利最不喜欢的科目。特雷络尼教授老是在预言哈利的死期，这使得他极度讨厌。 
　　“你应该像我一样放弃这一科，对不对？”荷米恩轻快地说，一边在她的吐司上抹黄油，“然后做一些明智的事情，比如说数字占卜法”。 
　　“我注意到你又在吃了。”罗恩说，一边看着荷米恩在她抹了黄油的吐司上又涂上大量的果酱。 
　　“我认为有更好的办法来维护我们小精灵的权利。”荷米恩十分骄傲地说道。 
　　“你说得对……而且你很饿。”罗恩微笑着说。 
　　他们的头顶突然响起一阵沙沙声，一百多只猫头鹰穿过开着的窗户飞了进来，带来了早上的信件。哈利本能地抬头去看，但却没有在那堆褐色和灰色的猫头鹰中看到他自己那只白猫头鹰的影子。 
　　那些猫头鹰在桌边绕围，寻找这些邮件和包裹的主人。一只黄褐色的大猫头鹰飞向尼维尔并在他膝上放下一个包裹——尼维尔总是忘记把东西包起来。在礼堂的另一边，马尔夫的猫头鹰停在他的肩头上，带来的东西一看就觉得是和往常一样：家里寄来的糖果和蛋糕。为了消除胃里由于失望而引起的下沉感，哈利回到座位上继续喝麦片粥。是不是海维出了什么事，以至西里斯至今还没有收到他的信？ 
　　在他们穿过湿漉漉的菜地间的小路走到第三温室去的路上，哈利一直想着这些事情。但当史包特教授，在温室里向全班同学显示一种植物——哈利所见过的植物中最丑陋的一种时，他却被这种东西吸引住了，不再去想信件的事。实际上，这种植物看起来不像植物，倒更像许多大且黑的蛞蝓从土壤中径直地伸出来，每只都有点轻微扭动变形，上面长满大且发亮的肿块，里面看起来充满了液体。 
　　“布波鸠伯斯（这种怪植物的名称），”史包特教授轻快地告诉他们。“得把它们榨了，然后你们收集那些脓液——” 
　　“收集什么？”谢默斯。芬尼更抗议似的说。 
　　“脓液，芬尼更，我是说收集脓液，”史包特教授说：“这些脓液相当有用，别浪费掉。你们要把脓液收集在这些瓶子里。戴上你们的龙皮手套。如果在没有稀释之前沾到皮肤，可能会发生古怪的反应。” 
　　榨布波鸠伯斯的工作让人觉得恶心，但却出奇地顺利。携带着浓烈的汽油味。他们按照史包特教授的指示把脓液装入瓶子里。下课时，他们总共收集了好几品脱的脓液。 
　　“这会使女士高兴，”史包特教授说，同时将最后一个瓶子用软木塞塞好。“布波鸠伯斯的脓液是治疗顽固粉刺的特效药，必须阻止学生们再用竭斯底里的方法去除粉刺了。” 
　　“比如可怜的艾罗丝。米德根，”汉娜。艾伯特用一种平静的语气说，他是学喷火术的。“她企图用咒语去除粉刺。” 
　　“促姑娘，”史包特教授摇摇头说，“但波姆弗雷女士后来竟把鼻子钉起来。” 
　　一阵隆隆的铃声在城堡的湿漉漉的地上回响，带给大家下课的讯息。于是同学们各自散去，学喷火术的踏上石阶去上变身术课，学驯狮鹰兽的格林芬顿则朝另一个方向走去下了斜斜的草坪，向哈格力的小木屋走去，那是间建在弗里比顿森林边上的小木屋。 
　　哈格力站在他的木屋外，一只手牵着他那只大黑猫犬——“弗兰”的项圈。他的脚边有几只打开的木箱，‘佛兰“一边猎猎的叫，一边拉扯扭着项圈，显然很想走近箱子去看看里面有什么。当同学们走近时，一阵奇怪的嘈杂声传入他们的耳中，像是一些小炸弹发出的。 
　　“早上好！”哈格力笑着对哈利、罗恩和荷米恩说。“我们等一等史林德林班的吧，”他们不想让她错过这个——尾巴会冒火星的史库特斯。 
　　“又来了？”罗恩问。 
　　哈格力指了指脚边的木箱。 
　　“尤尔夫！”荣文登。布朗尖叫着向后跳了一步。 
　　在哈利看来，尤尔夫是对尾巴会冒火星的史库斯的最好概括。 
　　它们看起来是变了形的、没有亮的龙虾，颜色惨白且污秽，在奇怪的地方伸出很多脚来，却看不到它们的头。每箱大约有一百只这种东西，每只大约有六英寸长，爬在彼此的身上，或瞎撞到箱壁上。 
　　它们发出一种很浓的腐鱼臭味。它们的尾巴会不时地伴随啪的一声冒出一阵火花来，同时身体向前推进几英寸。 
　　“刚刚孵化出来的，”哈格力自豪地说，“因此你们可以自己饲养他们。不过我们得先定个计划。” 
　　“我们为什么会想养这些东西呢？”一个冷冷的声音说。 
　　史林德林班的到了。刚才说话的是杰高。马尔夫，而克来伯和高尔在一旁赞成地咯咯笑。 
　　哈格力对这个问题感到为难。 
　　“我是说，它们是干什么用的？”马尔夫问道：“我们养它们有什么用？” 
　　哈格力张开嘴巴却停了几秒钟，显然在艰难地恩索，而后他冷冷地说：“那是下节课的内容，你们今天只须喂养它们。现在，你们试一试喂它们吃不同的东西——我以前也没有养过这种东西，不知道他们吃什么——我准备了一些蚂蚁蛋、青蛙肝和一些草蛇，每样给它们试一点。” 
　　“先是脓液，再是这东西。”谢默斯咕哝道。 
　　是对哈格力深深的爱戴使哈利、罗恩和荷米恩默默地捧起一杯青蛙肝并放入木箱中去诱那些尾巴会冒火星的史库斯。哈利忍不住认为这样做毫无意义，因为那些史库特斯看起来没有嘴。 
　　“哎哟！”过了十分钟后，迪恩。托马斯大叫。“它伤到我了。” 
　　哈格力赶紧走到他身边，神情焦虑。 
　　“他的尾巴冒火星了！”迪恩一边生气地说一边将被灼伤的手伸给哈格力看。 
　　“啊，是的，它们冒火星时会伤人。”哈格力点头说。 
　　“尤尔夫！”莱文登。布朗又说，“尤尔夫，哈格力，它身上尖尖的东西是什么？” 
　　“哦，有些身上有螫，”哈格力兴奋地说。莱文登赶快将手从箱中抽回来。“我原以为都是雄性的——雌性的腹上长有类似吸管的螫……我想是用来吸血的。” 
　　“哦，我知道我们养这些东西是做什么用，”马尔夫讽刺地说：“谁不想拥有一只会烧伤、刺伤又会咬伤人的宠物？” 
　　“只是因为它们样貌不佳，但这不说明它们没用，”荷米恩打断他的话，“龙血有惊人的魔力，但你却不会想要一只龙作宠物，对不对？” 
　　哈利和罗恩对着哈格力咧开嘴笑，而哈格力则报之狡黠的微笑。正如哈利、罗恩和荷米恩所清楚的那样，没有什么东西能比一只宠物龙更让哈格力喜欢——在他们还是这所学校的一年级生时，哈格力曾在一段短时期内拥有一只龙，一只邪恶的挪威山脊背龙。 
　　哈格力只喜欢恐怖的生物——越能致人死命越好。 
　　“至少那些史库斯是小生物。”一小时后他们回到城堡里吃午餐时，罗恩如是说。 
　　“它们只是现在小而已，”荷米恩声音显示她像被激怒了，“一旦哈格力不断给它们东西吃，它们就会长到六英尺长。” 
　　“有什么关系呢？如同我们发现它们能用来治晕船的话，对吗？”罗恩俏皮地朝她笑了笑。 
　　“你当然知道我那样说只是为了让马尔夫闭嘴，”荷米恩说，“老实说我认为他是对的。我们最应该做的事就是趁它们还没长到能攻击我们之前将它们全部踩扁。” 
　　他们坐在驯狮鹰兽者的桌子边开始吃羊肉和马铃薯。荷米恩吃得很快，以致哈利和罗恩都盯着她看。 
　　“哦——这就是维护小精灵权利的新方法吗？”罗恩说，“你是不是想使自己呕吐？” 
　　“不，”荷米恩说，她的嘴因为塞满芽菜而胀鼓鼓的，却拼命想使自己显得很尊贵，“我只是想去图书馆。” 
　　“什么？”罗恩不相信自己听到的话。“荷米恩——今天才是开学第一天，我们还没有作业要做！” 
　　荷米恩耸耸肩，又继续狂吃食物，就像她已经几天没吃过饭了似的。然后她跳起身来说：“晚餐再见！”然后以快速离席而去。 
　　下午的上课铃响的时候，哈利和罗恩出发去北塔，那是间处于螺旋形楼梯的顶部的房间，房里有架银梯，通向天花板上的扇圆形活板门。特雷络尼教授就住在里面。 
　　当他们来到楼梯顶的时候，一阵熟悉的香气飘入他们的鼻。像往常一样，门上挂着帘子，圆形的房间沐浴在几盏灯的昏暗而微红的光线中，房里挂满了披肩和围巾。哈利和罗恩穿过那些已有人坐了的椅子和坐垫，然后他们坐在同一张圆桌边。 
　　“日安，”特雷络尼教授的大嗓门从哈利的背后响起，吓了他一大跳。 
　　特雷络尼教授是个戴着副巨大无比的眼镜、瘦极了的女人，那副眼镜使得她的眼睛看起来大得与她的脸不成比例。她又在以一贯的那种悲惨的神情凝视着哈利。在炉火发出的光里，她身上戴的珠子。项链和镯子闪闪发光。 
　　“你很专心，亲爱的，”她用忧伤的语气对哈利说，“我心中的眼睛穿透了你勇敢的面孔，看到了你内心的烦恼。很遗憾，我必须告诉你：你的忧虑不是毫无根据的。我看见你前面的艰难岁月了，哎呀……非常的艰难……恐怕你一直害怕的事情会真的到来……，还有可能来得比你预料中早。” 
　　她说话的声音越来越低，到后来几乎成了耳语。罗恩的眼光在哈利身上转来转去，哈利却看起来面无表情。特雷络尼教授的眼光将他们全部扫视了一遍，然后在火炉边的太师椅上坐了下来，看着全班同学。那两个非常钦佩特雷络尼教授的学生——莱文登。布朗和帕维提。帕提，坐在离她很近的坐垫上。 
　　“亲爱的，我们该讨论一下星星了，”她说。“讨论一下它们那些只为理解了神的舞步的人所能洞察的行星运动和神秘的凶兆。人类的命运可以用行星的射线来解释，这些射线是混合的……” 
　　可是哈利走神了。那散发着香气的炉火总是使他感到想瞌睡和思维迟钝，而特雷络尼教授的不连贯的关于算卦的讲话从来无法令他入神——虽然他忍不住想起她刚才对他说的那番话。“我恐怕你害怕的事情会真的变成事实……” 
　　“但荷米恩是对的，”哈利生气地想，特雷络尼教授的确是个老骗人精。他现在压根儿没有在害怕什么……除非你将西里斯的被捉计算在他害怕的事情当中……但特雷络尼教授怎么知道这件事呢？ 
　　很久以来他便一直认为她那所谓能预测未来的幌子不过是幸运的猜测和她鬼一样明森森的神态带来的。 
　　当然，除了那次——上学期末，她预测福尔得摩特正在上升……当哈利将她的预言描述给丹伯多听时，他说她认为这种催眠状态复的发生过。 
　　“哈利！”罗恩低声叫他。 
　　“什么事？” 
　　哈利环顾四周，发现全班同学都在盯着他看。他马上坐直了身体。在炉火的温暖和自己的恩绪中迷失的他已经几乎睡着了。 
　　“亲爱的，我是说你显然是出生在上星罪恶的影响之下的，”教授说。当她看到哈利明显地没在认真听她的讲话时，她的语气里带了一丝愤怒。 
　　“对不起，在什么之下出生？” 
　　“土星，宝贝，土星！”特雷络尼说，因为看到哈利的恩绪居然没被这个消息吸引过来而被激怒了。“我是说你出生的时候，土星在天堂里肯定处于当权的地位……你的黑发……你的矮小的身材……年纪轻轻就悲惨地失去了……我想我猜的没错的话，你是出生于仲冬？” 
　　“错了，”哈利说：“我是七月份出生的。” 
　　罗恩在一旁笑得咳嗽起来。 
　　半小时后，他们每人手里都发到了一张复杂的圆形图表，并试图在表示他们出生时刻的位置上画上相应的行星，这是项单调的工作，需要不断查阅时间表和计算角度。 
　　过了一会儿，哈利边皱着眉头看自己手中的羊皮纸一边说：“我这里有两颗海王星，这不可能是对的，是吗？” 
　　“呀！”罗恩模仿特雷络尼教授那种神秘的低语说：“当天上出现两颗海王星的时候，就肯定预示著有一个戴眼镜的侏儒正在降生，哈利……” 
　　坐在旁边画图的西莫斯和迪恩偷偷地笑出了声，虽然这笑声还不足以掩过莱文登。布朗激动的大叫：“噢，教授你看！我想我得到了一颗意想不到的行星！噢——教授，那是什么？” 
　　“亲爱的，那是天王星，”特雷络尼教授说，一边注视着那张图表。 
　　“莱文登，可以让我也看一下那颗天王星吗？”罗恩问。 
　　很不幸的是，特雷络尼教授听到了这句话，也许就是这句话，使得教授今天下课时给他们布置了一大堆作业。 
　　“写一份关于下个月影响你们的行星运动的详细分析，附上你们个人的图表为佐证，”她厉声说，语气一点都不像平时那个优雅纤巧的她，倒像极了麦康娜教授，“必须在下个星期一交上来，不能以任何理由不交作业户”可怜的老蝙蝠，“罗恩痛苦地说，当时他们正加入下楼梯的人流，准备去大礼堂吃晚餐，”这么多作业，要做上一整个星期的，那会……“ 
　　“一大堆作业？”荷米恩赶上他们，快乐地说：“沃特教授一点都没给我们市置作业！” 
　　“天，沃特教授多好啊！”罗恩闷闷不乐地说。 
　　他们来到了大礼堂门口，那里站满了排队打饭的人。他们刚加入到队伍的末尾，便听到后面传来了一个大嗓门：“威斯里！嗨，威斯里！” 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米恩都转过身来。马尔夫手里挥舞着一份《先知日报》，说话的声音大得使礼堂里的每个人都听见了。“听听这个消息！” 
　　“法部长的新麻烦特别通讯员理特。史姬持报道：看来魔法部长的麻烦还没到头。 
　　最近，魔法部长因为在世界杯快迪斯大赛中因控制群众的表现太差而被解雇，并且仍然无法对一名女巫的失踪一事作出合理解释。昨天他又因为阿诺。威斯里的古怪行为——被误认为是抢劫犯，而陷入新的困境。“ 
　　马尔夫抬起头来。 
　　“想一想他们甚至没有写对他的名字，威斯里，似乎它是完全不存在的，对吗？”他欢呼似的说。 
　　现在饭厅里的每个人都在听他说话。马尔夫抖了一下报纸，把它立起来，接着念：阿诺。威斯里，两年前被控拥有一架飞行轿车，昨天又卷入一宗国持有一些是攻击性物品而与几个处理抢劫案的警察发生争吵的案件：威斯里先生似乎得到过‘魔眼’莫迪的帮助——那个前任部长，因无法区分握手与企图抢劫的区别而退休。所以很自然地，当威斯里先生来到莫迪先生那戒备森严的住所时，莫迪先生又一次错按了警报。威斯里先生不得不解释一大通才得以摆脱了那些警察。 
　　但他不愿回答《先知日报》记者的问题：为什么他会使部长卷入一幕如此失礼和尴尬的情景。 
　　“还有一张照片，威斯里！”马尔夫说。他用手指轻弹了一下报纸并将它举高。“是你爸爸妈妈站在他们房子前面的照片。你妈妈要是瘦一点会更好，不是吗？” 
　　罗恩因为愤怒而浑身发抖。每个人都盯着他看。 
　　“闭嘴吧，马尔夫。”哈利说，“这很普通，罗恩……” 
　　“噢，对了，你今年夏天和他们一家住在一起，是吗，波特？” 
　　马尔夫讥讽道：“那么告诉我，他妈妈是真的有那么胖，还只是在这张照片上显得胖？” 
　　“你知道你妈妈是什么样的吗？马尔夫？”哈利说——他和荷米恩抓着罗恩的上衣背后以阻止他扑向马尔夫——“她的表情就像她的鼻子下面有堆屎？她是老那个样子呢？还是只是和你在一起才那样？” 
　　马尔夫苍白的脸上泛起一阵粉红。“你怎么敢骂我妈妈？” 
　　“那就闭上你的臭嘴。”哈利说，并转过身去。 
　　砰！ 
　　有几个人尖叫起来——哈利感到有个白色、发热的东西轻轻擦过他的脸——他急忙伸手去抓他的魔杖。但还没来得及摸到那魔杖，他又听到一声巨响“砰！”和在饭厅里的巨大回响。 
　　“噢不，别这样！” 
　　哈利转了一圈。莫迪教授一瘸一拐地走下楼梯，他的魔杖在手里，正指向一只白雪貂，在石地板上闪着光，那正是马尔夫刚才站着的地方。 
　　饭厅里是一阵可怖的沉默。除了莫迪没有人动一动。莫迪转身看着哈利——直到现在他那只正常的眼才看着哈利，另外一只则望向他的后脑勺。 
　　“他伤到你了吗？”莫迪咆哮地问。 
　　“没有，”哈利说，“射偏了。” 
　　“别动它！”莫迪大声道。 
　　“别动——什么？”哈利疑惑地说。 
　　“不是说你——是说他！”莫迪咆哮，手掌绕过肩膀伸向后面的克来伯刚想去捡起那只白貂，见到莫迪的手便僵在那里了。莫迪转动的眼睛像魔法般的能穿过脑袋看到身后发生的事情。 
　　莫迪走向克来伯，高尔和那只白貂。白貂发出一声恐怖的尖叫后开始向地牢的方向奔去。 
　　“这怎么成！”莫迪咆哮，他的魔杖再度指向白貂——它向空中飞起十英尺，啪地掉他，然后又弹起来。 
　　“我不喜欢在敌人背后袭击的人，”莫迪吼道，小白貂越弹越高，痛苦得尖叫。“令人讨厌、胆小鬼、卑劣的做法……” 
　　白貂在空中飞动，它的腿和尾巴无助地挥动着。 
　　“不许再这样做！”莫迪一字一顿地说，白貂重重地掉他，接着又弹上半空。 
　　“莫迪教授！”一个惊讶的声音叫道。 
　　麦康娜教授正走下楼梯，手里捧着一叠书。 
　　“哈罗，麦康娜教授。”莫迪平静地说，将白貂越弹越高。 
　　“你——你在干什么？”麦康娜教授的眼睛盯着弹起又落下的白貂问。 
　　“教学。”莫迪说。 
　　“教——莫迪，那是个学生吗？”麦康娜教授尖叫起来，手里的书掉到地上。 
　　“是的。”莫迪说。 
　　“别这样！”麦康娜教授叫道。她跑下楼梯，拿出魔杖。一刻钟后，随着一声疾响，杰高。马尔夫恢复了原形，缩成一团躺在地板上，金色的头发覆满了发亮却苍白的脸。他站起来，向后缩。 
　　“莫迪，我们不能用变形术来惩罚学生。”麦康娜教授轻声说。 
　　“丹伯多教授一定告诉过你了吧？” 
　　“是的，他也许提过。”莫迪说，一边抓自己的下巴，毫不在意的样子，“但我认为一个恰到好处的惩罚——” 
　　“我们可以留堂，或告诉侵犯别人的学生的家长！” 
　　“我会这样做的。”莫迪用极不喜欢的神情望着马尔夫。 
　　马尔夫的眼里还含着因疼痛和被羞辱而流的泪水。恶狠狠地盯着莫迪咕咕咬咬，只有“我爸爸”几个字听得清。 
　　“哦，是吧？”莫迪平静地说，被着上了几级楼梯，他的木腿击在石上的钝音回响在饭厅里。“孩子，我认识你的老父亲……你告诉他莫迪在注意他的儿子……你告诉我……你的家长叫露布斯，对吗？” 
　　“是的。”马尔夫恨恨地说。 
　　“另一个老伙伴，”莫迪吼道，“我一直想和老露布斯聊聊…… 
　　来吧……“他抓住马尔夫的上臂，把他拖到地牢去。 
　　麦康娜教授焦虑地望着他们的背影好一会儿，然后挥动魔杖，使掉了地的书本飞回到她的手中。 
　　“别和我说话。”当他们几分钟后坐在饭桌旁时，罗恩对哈利和荷米恩说。周围的人都在议论这件事。 
　　“为什么？”荷米恩惊奇地问。 
　　“因为我想永远记住那一幕，”罗恩说，他闭上眼睛，脸上的表情僵僵的，“杰高。马尔夫，那奇妙的弹跳小白貂……” 
　　哈利和荷米恩都笑了。荷米恩开始吃他们的盘子里的粉蒸牛肉。 
　　“但这样会真的伤到马尔夫的，”她说：“麦康娜教授出来阻止他还是好的——” 
　　“荷米恩！”罗恩愤怒地说，他的睛睛忽地睁开了。“你在破坏我一生中最美好的时刻。” 
　　荷米恩发出一声不耐烦的声音然后开始快速吃饭。 
　　“别告诉我你今晚又要去图书馆。”哈利看着他说。 
　　“是的，”荷米恩重重地说，“有一堆事要做。” 
　　“但你告诉我们维克福教授——” 
　　“不是作业，”她说，五分钟之内她便洗了碟子离去了。 
　　她一走，弗来德。威斯里便坐了她的椅子。“莫迪！”他说，“他多‘酷’啊！” 
　　“不只是‘酷’。”乔治说，他坐在弗来德对面。 
　　“超级酷”双胞胎的好朋友李·乔丹边坐到乔治旁边说：“我们今天下午上他的课。” 
　　“他讲课如何？”哈利急切地问。 
　　弗来德，乔治和李交换了一下意味深长的眼神。 
　　“从来没上过这样的课。”弗来德说。 
　　“他知道的。”李说。 
　　“知道什么？”罗恩侧过身来问。 
　　“知道在那外面做会怎么样？”乔治说。 
　　“做什么？”哈利问。 
　　“和达克。阿特斯打架。”弗来德说。 
　　“他全看到了。”乔治说。 
　　“令人惊奇！”李说。 
　　罗恩冲向他的书包去找课程表。 
　　“我们下周二才会上他的课！”他十分失望地说。
Chapter 14 The Unforgivable Curses
The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads. 
“You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?” said Ron to Harry as they watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails. 
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Moody.” 
It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of their previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry saw the two of them together - at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors - he had the distinct impression that Snape was avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal. 
“I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know,” Harry said thoughtfully. 
“Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” said Ron, his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon…” 
The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson. 
“Been in the -” 
“Library.” Harry finished her sentence for her. “C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats.” 
They hurried into three chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon they heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes. 
“You can put those away,” he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won't need them.” 
They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking excited. 
Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered. 
“Right then,” he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, “I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?” 
There was a general murmur of assent. 
“But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -” 
“What, aren't you staying?” Ron blurted out. 
Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time Harry had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved. 
“You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?” Moody said. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago.…Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledor.…One year, and then back to my quiet retirement.” 
He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together. 
“So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking.” 
Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head. 
“So…do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?” 
Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender. 
“Er,” said Ron tentatively, “my dad told me about one.…Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?” 
“Ah, yes,” said Moody appreciatively. “Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” 
Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Harry felt Ron recoil slightly next to him - Ron hated spiders. 
Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, “Imperio!” 
The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. 
Everyone was laughing - everyone except Moody. 
“Think it's funny, do you?” he growled. “You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?” 
The laughter died away almost instantly. 
“Total control,” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…” 
Ron gave an involuntary shudder. 
“Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse,” said Moody, and Harry knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. “Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. 
“The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barked, and everyone jumped. 
Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. 
“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?” 
Hermione's hand flew into the air again and so, to Harry's slight surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring. 
“Yes?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville. 
“There's one - the Cruciatus Curse,” said Neville in a small but distinct voice. 
Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes. 
“Your name's Longbottom?” he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again. 
Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move. 
“The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said, pointing his wand at the spider. “Engorgio!” 
The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible. 
Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, “Crucio!” 
At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently - 
“Stop it!” Hermione said shrilly.” 
Harry looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, and Harry, following her gaze, saw that Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified. 
Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch. 
“Reducio,” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar. 
“Pain,” said Moody softly. “You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse.…That one was very popular once too. 
“Right…anyone know any others?” 
Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone's faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air. 
“Yes?” said Moody, looking at her. 
“Avada Kedavra,” Hermione whispered. 
Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron. 
“Ah,” said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. “Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra.…the Killing Curse.” 
He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. 
Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding. 
“Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared. 
There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. 
Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor. 
“Not nice,” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me.” 
Harry felt his face redden as Moody's eyes (both of them) looked into his own. He could feel everyone else looking around at him too. Harry stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all.… 
So that was how his parents had died…exactly like that spider. Had they been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies? 
Harry had been picturing his parents’ deaths over and over again for three years now, ever since he'd found out they had been murdered, ever since he'd found out what had happened that night: Wormtail had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find them at their cottage. How Voldemort had killed Harry's father first. How James Potter had tried to hold him off, while he shouted at his wife to take Harry and run…Voldemort had advanced on Lily Potter, told her to move aside so that he could kill Harry…how she had begged him to kill her instead, refused to stop shielding her son…and so Voldemort had murdered her too, before turning his wand on Harry.… 
Harry knew these details because he had heard his parents’ voices when he had fought the dementors last year - for that was the terrible power of the dementors: to force their victims to relive the worst memories of their lives, and drown, powerless, in their own despair.… 
Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. With a massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying. 
“Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it. 
“Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and the whole class jumped again. 
“Now…those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills…copy this down.…” 
They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices - “Did you see it twitch?” “- and when he killed it - just like that!” 
They were talking about the lesson, Harry thought, as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but he hadn't found it very entertaining - and nor, it seemed, had Hermione. 
“Hurry up,” she said tensely to Harry and Ron. 
“Not the ruddy library again?” said Ron. 
“No,” said Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. “Neville.” 
Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse. 
“Neville?” Hermione said gently. 
Neville looked around. 
“Oh hello,” he said, his voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?” 
“Neville, are you all right?” said Hermione. 
“Oh yes, I'm fine,” Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?” 
Ron gave Harry a startled look. 
“Neville, what -?” 
But an odd clunking noise sounded behind them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All four of them fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than they had yet heard. 
“It's all right, sonny,” he said to Neville. “Why don't you come up to my office? Come on…we can have a cup of tea.…” 
Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry. 
“You all right, are you, Potter?” 
“Yes,” said Harry, almost defiantly. 
Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed Harry. Then he said, “You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending…well…come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you.” 
Neville looked pleadingly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but they didn't say anything, so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder. 
“What was that about?” said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner. 
“I don't know,” said Hermione, looking pensive. 
“Some lesson, though, eh?” said Ron to Harry as they set off for the Great Hall. “Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right -” 
But Ron fell suddenly silent at the look on Harry's face and didn't speak again until they reached the Great Hall, when he said he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours. 
Hermione did not join in with Harry and Ron's conversation during dinner, but ate furiously fast, and then left for the library again. Harry and Ron walked back to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry, who had been thinking of nothing else all through dinner, now raised the subject of the Unforgivable Curses himself. 
“Wouldn't Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we'd seen the curses?” Harry asked as they approached the Fat Lady. 
“Yeah, probably,” said Ron. “But Dumbledore's always done things his way, hasn't he, and Moody's been getting in trouble for years, I reckon. Attacks first and asks questions later - look at his dustbins. Balderdash.” 
The Fat Lady swung forward to reveal the entrance hole, and they climbed into the Gryffindor common room, which was crowded and noisy. 
“Shall we get our Divination stuff, then?” said Harry. 
“I s'pose,” Ron groaned. 
They went up to the dormitory to fetch their books and charts, to find Neville there alone, sitting on his bed, reading. He looked a good deal calmer than at the end of Moody's lesson, though still not entirely normal. His eyes were rather red. 
“You all right, Neville?” Harry asked him. 
“Oh yes,” said Neville, “I'm fine, thanks. Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me…” 
He held up the book: Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. 
“Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I'm really good at Herbology,” Neville said. There was a faint note of pride in his voice that Harry had rarely heard there before. “He thought I'd like this.” 
Telling Neville what Professor Sprout had said, Harry thought, had been a very tactful way of cheering Neville up, for Neville very rarely heard that he was good at anything. It was the sort of thing Professor Lupin would have done. 
Harry and Ron took their copies of Unfogging the Future back down to the common room, found a table, and set to work on their predictions for the coming month. An hour later, they had made very little progress, though their table was littered with bits of parchment bearing sums and symbols, and Harry's brain was as fogged as though it had been filled with the fumes from Professor Trelawney's fire. 
“I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean,” he said, staring down at a long list of calculations. 
“You know,” said Ron, whose hair was on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration, “I think it's back to the old Divination standby.” 
“What - make it up?” 
“Yeah,” said Ron, sweeping the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipping his pen into some ink, and starting to write. 
“Next Monday,” he said as he scribbled, “I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter.” He looked up at Harry. “You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up.” 
“Right,” said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. “Okay…on Monday, I will be in danger of - er - burns.” 
“Yeah, you will be,” said Ron darkly, “we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll…erm…” 
“Lose a treasured possession,” said Harry, who was flicking through Unfogging the Future for ideas. 
“Good one,” said Ron, copying it down. “Because of…erm…Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?” 
“Yeah…cool…” said Harry, scribbling it down, “because…Venus is in the twelfth house.” 
“And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight.” 
“Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet.” 
“Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight.…” 
They continued to make up predictions (which grew steadily more tragic) for another hour, while the common room around them slowly emptied as people went up to bed. Crookshanks wandered over to them, leapt lightly into an empty chair, and stared inscrutably at Harry, rather as Hermione might look if she knew they weren't doing their homework properly. 
Staring around the room, trying to think of a kind of misfortune he hadn't yet used, Harry saw Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, poring over a single piece of parchment. It was most unusual to see Fred and George hidden away in a corner and working silently; they usually liked to be in the thick of things and the noisy center of attention. There was something secretive about the way they were working on the piece of parchment, and Harry was reminded of how they had sat together writing something back at the Burrow. He had thought then that it was another order form for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but it didn't look like that this time; if it had been, they would surely have let Lee Jordan in on the joke. He wondered whether it had anything to do with entering the Triwizard Tournament. 
As Harry watched, George shook his head at Fred, scratched out something with his quill, and said, in a very quiet voice that nevertheless carried across the almost deserted room, “No - that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful…” 
Then George looked over and saw Harry watching him. Harry grinned and quickly returned to his predictions - he didn't want George to think he was eavesdropping. Shortly after that, the twins rolled up their parchment, said good night, and went off to bed. 
Fred and George had been gone ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattled as she walked in the other. Crookshanks arched his back, purring. 
“Hello,” she said, “I've just finished!” 
“So have I!” said Ron triumphantly, throwing down his quill. 
Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulled Ron's predictions toward her. 
“Not going to have a very good month, are you?” she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap. 
“Ah well, at least I'm forewarned,” Ron yawned. 
“You seem to be drowning twice,” said Hermione. 
“Oh am I?” said Ron, peering down at his predictions. “I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff.” 
“Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?” said Hermione. 
“How dare you!” said Ron, in mock outrage. “We've been working like house-elves here!” 
Hermione raised her eyebrows. 
“It's just an expression,” said Ron hastily. 
Harry laid down his quill too, having just finished predicting his own death by decapitation. 
“What's in the box?” he asked, pointing at it. 
“Funny you should ask,” said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed them the contents. 
Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E .W. 
“Spew?” said Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. “What's this about?” 
“Not spew,” said Hermione impatiently. “It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.” 
“Never heard of it,” said Ron. 
“Well, of course you haven't,” said Hermione briskly, “I've only just started it.” 
“Yeah?” said Ron in mild surprise. “How many members have you got?” 
“Well - if you two join - three,” said Hermione. 
“And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying ‘spew,’ do you?” said Ron. 
“S-P-E-W!” said Hermione hotly. “I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto.” 
She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them. 
“I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now.” 
“Hermione - open your ears,” said Ron loudly. “They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!” 
“Our short-term aims,” said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, “are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented.” 
“And how do we do all this?” Harry asked. 
“We start by recruiting members,” said Hermione happily. “I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you a collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting.” 
There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at the pair of them, and Harry sat, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence was broken, not by Ron, who in any case looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft tap, tap on the window. Harry looked across the now empty common room and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl perched on the windowsill. 
“Hedwig!” he shouted, and he launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window. 
Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of Harry's predictions. 
“About time!” said Harry, hurrying after her. 
“She's got an answer!” said Ron excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg. 
Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly. 
“What does it say?” Hermione asked breathlessly. 
The letter was very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry read it aloud: 
Harry - I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is. I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry. Sirius Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, who stared back at him. 
“He's flying north?” Hermione whispered. “He's coming back?” 
“Dumbledore's reading what signs?” said Ron, looking perplexed. “Harry - what's up?” 
For Harry had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig out of his lap. 
“I shouldn't've told him!” Harry said furiously. 
“What are you on about?” said Ron in surprise. 
“It's made him think he's got to come back!” said Harry, now slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. “Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you,” Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, “you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food.” 
Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went. 
“Harry,” Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice. 
“I'm going to bed,” said Harry shortly. “See you in the morning.” 
Upstairs in the dormitory he pulled on his pajamas and got into his four-poster, but he didn't feel remotely tired. 
If Sirius came back and got caught, it would be his, Harry's, fault. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? A few seconds’ pain and he'd had to blab.…If he'd just had the sense to keep it to himself.… 
He heard Ron come up into the dormitory a short while later, but did not speak to him. For a long time, Harry lay staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. The dormitory was completely silent, and, had he been less preoccupied, Harry would have realized that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that he was not the only one lying awake. 
除非你把尼维尔在药水里融了他第六个汽锅算作件大事，接下来的两天是没发生什么的。史纳皮教授的报复心似乎经过一个夏天后提高到一个新水平，他扣留了尼维尔让他给满满一桶的有角蛤蟆开肠剖肚，这让他回来时近乎精神崩溃了。 
　　“你知道史纳皮为什么会如此坏脾气吗？”罗恩问哈利，他们在看荷米恩教尼维尔一种清理咒语，如何除去他指甲下的青蛙的肠子。 
　　“知道。”哈利说，“是因为莫迪。” 
　　众所周知，史纳皮的确想教邪术防御课，他第四年的竞争还是失败了，史纳皮向来讨厌他们的前任邪术教师，并且表露出他的厌恶，但他似乎令人惊讶地谨慎地藏起了对魔眼的憎恨，的确这样，无论何时哈利见到他们俩在一起——就餐时，或在走廊上相遇时——他明显地觉察到史纳皮在逃避莫迪的眼睛，不管是正常眼，还是魔眼。 
　　“我想史纳皮有点害怕，你知道的。”哈利沉思着说。 
　　“想想，要是莫迪把史纳皮变成一只有角蛤蟆。”罗恩说，他眼睛迷糊了，“把他在地牢里扔来扔去……” 
　　格林芬顿的四年级学生热切盼望莫迪的第一堂课，他们午饭后，上课铃还没响就已早早到了，在教室外排好了队。 
　　唯一不在场的是荷米恩，她刚好赶上上课。 
　　“我在——” 
　　“图书馆。”哈利替她说完，“快点，不然我们没好座位了。” 
　　他们急忙在讲台面前的三张椅子上坐下，拿出《邪恶力量自卫指南》，分外安静地等候着。不久，他们听到莫迪特有的咯咯的脚步声从走廊上传进来，他进了教室，跟以往一样让人觉得陌生、害怕。他们只能看到他那只有爪的木脚从袍子下边伸出来。 
　　“你们可以拿走那些东西。”他咆哮着，走向讲台坐了下来，“那些书，你们不会用到的。” 
　　他们把书放回书包，罗恩看上去很兴奋。莫迪拿出注册本，把他扭曲的结满疤的脸上的灰长的鬃毛拔开，开始点名，他正常的眼睛逐步顺著名单往下扫视，而他的魔眼则转动着，盯住应到的每一个学生。 
　　“好了。”当最后一个人应到，表明在场后，他说，“我从露平教授处拿到关于这个班的一封信，看来你们对怎么对付邪物有了扎实的基础——你们已学了博格特斯，红帽，金克朋克斯，格林弟罗，凯普斯和维尔欧维斯，对吗？” 
　　学生大多认可了他的话。 
　　“但你们落后了，非常落后，在对付咒语方面。”莫迪说，“因此，我想让你们了解巫师们可以怎样相互作法，我有一年时间来教你们如何对付邪——” 
　　“什么，你不留下来吗？”罗恩脱口问道。 
　　莫迪的魔眼转过来盯着罗恩，罗恩看上去很害怕，但莫迪一会儿就微笑了，——哈利第一次见他微笑，结果是使得他满是疤痕的脸看上去扭曲变形得更厉害了，然而，知道他会以微笑作友好的表示，总是种宽慰，罗恩显得放松多了。 
　　“你该是亚瑟。威斯里的儿子吧？”莫迪说，“你爸爸几天前帮我摆脱了困境……是的，我只待一年，承蒙丹伯多错爱……一年，然后回去安静地养老。” 
　　他的笑声嘶哑，青筋毕露的手轻拍了一下。 
　　“因此，直接开始上咒语，它们形式多样，威力无穷，尊照魔法部的指示，我要教你们反邪术的技巧，然后到那为止，到了六年级，我才会让你们看非法毒咒是什么样子，但丹伯多教授对你们评价甚高，认为你们应付的来，我的意见是，你们越早知道你们防备的东西就越好，但你们如何保护自己，防备那些从未见过的东西呢？要对你们施恶咒的巫师是不会告诉你们他的行动的。他可不会当着你们的面，对你们友好、礼貌地施咒，你们得有所防备，必须警觉谨慎，布郎小姐，当我讲课时你得把那东西放到一边去。” 
　　莱文登吓了一跳，脸红了，她刚才在桌子下面向普怀特展示刚完成的星卦图，莫迪的魔眼不仅能透过她的脑袋视物，而且可以穿过木头视物。 
　　“那么，你们谁知道最受巫术法严惩的咒语是哪些吗？” 
　　好几只手陆续地举起，包括罗恩和荷米恩的在内，莫迪指着罗恩，然而他的魔眼仍盯着莱文登。 
　　“嗯。”罗恩试探地说，“我爸爸告诉有一个……它是叫英普流斯咒语，还是什么来的？” 
　　“啊，对了。”莫迪赞赏他说，“你爸该知道那个，英普流斯咒语有段时间，给部里制造了许多麻烦。” 
　　莫迪不对称的脚费力地支撑起他，站好了，他打开抽屉，拿出个玻璃罐，里面有三只巨大的巨蜘蛛，哈利感觉到罗恩在旁稍稍缩了一下——罗恩讨厌蜘蛛。 
　　莫迪的手伸进罐里，抓住一只蜘蛛，放在掌上，以便所有的学生都能看到。 
　　然后，他用魔杖指着它，说声，“英普流斯！” 
　　蜘蛛搭在一根细丝线上，从莫迪掌中跃下，开始像荡高架一样前晃后晃，它僵直地伸出腿，往后翻转，线断了，蜘蛛落到桌上，它开始像车轮一样转着圈儿，莫迪猛挥一下魔杖，蜘蛛用两足立起起来，毫无疑问，它在跳踢达舞。 
　　每个人——除了莫迪都大笑起来。 
　　“你们觉得好笑吧？”他低吼着，“要是我向你们施咒，你们会高兴吗？” 
　　笑声即刻停了下来。 
　　“任由我摆布，”莫迪平静地说，蜘蛛蜷成一团，滚来滚去，“我可以让它从窗口跳出，溺死自己，或把它投进你们的喉咙……” 
　　罗恩不禁颤抖了一下。 
　　“几年前，许多巫师、法师被英普流斯咒语控制了，”莫迪说，哈利知道他讲的是福尔得摩特当权时的事，“部里的一项工作就是尽力分清谁是被动的，谁是主动的。” 
　　“英普流斯咒语是可以破的，我会教你们怎么个破法，但这需要心力，并非每个人都有此心力，你能的话最好避开它，保持警惕！”他吼起来，大家都吓了一跳。 
　　莫迪抬起来那耍杂技的蜘蛛，把它扔回罐子里，“还有谁知道非法咒语吗？” 
　　荷米恩又举了手，让哈利有点惊讶的是尼维尔也举了手，他通常只在上他最善长的算卦课时才会主动举手。就连尼维尔也为自己的大胆而感到吃惊。 
　　“是什么？”莫迪的魔眼转向尼维尔。 
　　“有一个，叫克鲁希尔特斯咒语。”尼维尔的声音虽小却很清晰。 
　　莫迪这回两眼紧盯着尼维尔。 
　　“你是叫尼维尔吗？”他的魔眼低下去，看注册本。 
　　尼维尔紧张地点点头，但莫迪并未再作询问，转向全班学生，他从罐中取出另一只蜘蛛，把它放在桌面，蜘蛛显然是吓得一动也不动。 
　　“克鲁希尔特斯咒语，”莫迪说，“要点大些的东西，你们才可以理解。”他用魔杖指着蜘蛛，念道，“恩格里欧！” 
　　蜘蛛膨胀起来，比一只塔兰图拉毒蜂还大，罗恩不再掩盖自己的惧怕，把椅子拉得离莫迪的桌子尽可能地远。 
　　莫迪又挥起魔杖，指着蜘蛛说，“克鲁塞欧！” 
　　话音刚落，蜘蛛把腿弯向身上，它滚动着，剧烈地扭曲着，左右摇晃，它没发出任何声音，但哈利肯定要是它能发声的话，一定是大声尖叫，莫迪挥动他的魔杖，蜘蛛开始颤抖，剧动着。 
　　“停住！”荷米恩尖声说道。 
　　哈利朝她看去，她不是在看蜘蛛，而是在看尼维尔，哈利顺着她的眼光，发现尼维尔紧握的双拳放在面前的桌子上，指关节发白，他睁大眼睛，吓坏了。 
　　莫迪抬了抬魔杖，蜘蛛的腿松懈了，但它仍继续扭动着。 
　　“勒得塞克。”莫迪念道，蜘蛛缩回原样后被放回了罐子。 
　　“痛苦，”莫迪柔声说，“如果你能施克鲁希尔特斯咒语，你就不需要夹手指的刑具或刀子来折磨人……这种咒语也一度被滥用。” 
　　“好了，谁知道别的咒语吗？” 
　　哈利环顾四周，从大家脸上的表情，他猜想他们都想知道最后一只蜘蛛会有什么遭遇，荷米恩第三次举手时，她的手微微抖了一下。 
　　“是什么？”莫迪望着她说。 
　　“阿文的。卡德罗。”荷米恩低声说。 
　　几个人，包括罗恩都不安地看着她。 
　　“啊，对了，”莫迪说，一丝微笑扭曲了他缺了一边的嘴，“是的，最后一个最恶毒的咒语，阿文的。卡德罗……死亡的诅咒。” 
　　他把手伸进罐里，就像知道自己的劫数一样，第三只蜘蛛在罐底疯狂地乱爬，极力躲避莫迪的手，但他捉住了蜘蛛，把它放在台面上，蜘蛛在木桌面上乱爬起来。 
　　莫迪举起魔杖，哈利感到一阵突如其来的凶兆。 
　　“阿文的。卡德罗！”莫迪吼道。 
　　一道刺目的绿光闪过，伴随着一声巨响，好像有个看不见的庞然大物在空中咆哮，同时，蜘蛛翻过身来，没什么迹像，但明显是死了，几个女孩强忍住叫声，蜘蛛向罗恩滑过来，罗恩往后倒着，几乎弄翻了椅子。 
　　莫迪把死蜘蛛落扫到地上。 
　　“够毒的，”他平静地说，“不好受吧，没有与之相抗衡的咒语，什么也阻挡不了这个咒语，人们知道的唯一那个逃脱了死亡咒语的人，正坐在我面前。” 
　　当莫迪的双眼望着他的眼睛时，他感觉到自己的脸红了，也觉察到别人也全都在望着他，哈利盯着空白的黑板，好像让黑板吸引住了，其实地根本没在看。 
　　那就是他父母的死法……与那蜘蛛完全一样，他们身上也是没有留下任何蛛丝马迹吗？他们死的时候是不是只见到那闪逝的绿光，听到那瞬息而至的死亡之声吗？ 
　　自从哈利得知他父母是被谋杀以来，自从他得知那天晚上的遭遇时起，这已经三年了，他已一遍又一遍地想象他们的死亡经历：温太尔怎么向福尔得摩特告密，透露他父母的行踪，福尔得摩特在他们的小屋中发现了他们，福尔得摩特怎样光杀了他的爸爸，杰姆斯。波特怎样一边大叫他妻子带着哈利逃跑，一边竭力阻止福尔得摩特，还有福尔得摩特又怎样地赶上莉莉。波特，告诉她躲到一边让他杀死哈利，而她又怎样拒绝放开儿子，请求由她替哈利一死，这样在他的魔杖指向哈利之前，福尔得摩特也把她杀了…… 
　　哈利知道这些细节，因为去年他和温太尔搏斗时，听到了他父母的声音，那是温太尔可怕的法力：强迫他加害的人重现一生中最恐惧的记忆。然后毫无反抗地溺死在他们自己的绝望之海中…… 
　　莫迪又开口了，哈利觉的他的声音是从遥远的地方传来的，他作了极大的努力，把自己拖回到现实中，听莫迪说话。 
　　“阿文的。卡德罗是一种需要强大法力相佐的咒语，你们要都拿出魔杖，向我施咒，我怀疑顶多只会让我流鼻血。但那设所谓，我在此可不是教你们怎么施咒的。” 
　　“既然没有咒语与之相抗，我为什么还要演示给你们看呢？因为你们必须明白，什么是最恶毒的，你们不希望自己处于面对恶咒的情形吧，保持警惕！”他吼了一声，全班学生又吓了一跳。 
　　“这三种咒语——阿文的。卡德罗。英普流斯和克鲁希尔特斯被称作不可饶恕的诅咒，对常人施加其中任一种咒语就足以在阿兹克班被判死刑，那就是你们要防范的，就是我要教给你们对抗的，你们必须有所准备，必须警惕，但首先，你们得时刻保持警惕，拿出羽毛笔，记下这些……” 
　　剩下的时间他们都花在记关于这三种不可能饶恕的诅咒的笔记上了，谁也没说话，直到铃声响了，莫迪下课了，他们离开教室，随而进行了激烈的谈讨，多数人以恐惧的噪音讨论著咒语——“你看到它抽搐了吗？”，“他杀死蜘蛛时就像这样！” 
　　他们讨论著课上的情景就像讨论特别表演一样，哈利心想。他并不觉的很有趣，似乎荷米恩也不觉的好玩。 
　　“快点。”她对哈利和罗恩急匆匆地说。 
　　“不是又去图书馆吧？”罗恩问。“不，”荷米恩简略答道，手指向一条小路，“尼维尔。” 
　　尼维尔独自站在小路的半坡上，以一种和他看莫迪演示克鲁希尔特斯咒语时同样惊恐的神情盯着他对面的石墙。 
　　“尼维尔？”荷米恩轻声说。 
　　尼维尔转过来看他们。 
　　“噢，你好？”他说，话音比往常高了许多，“很有趣的一课，是吗？ 
　　我在想晚餐吃些什么，我——我饿了，你们不饿吗？“ 
　　“尼维尔，你没事吧？”荷米恩说。 
　　“没事，我很好。”尼维尔吐出句话，仍然不自然的高调子，“很有趣的晚餐——我是说课——吃些什么呢？” 
　　罗恩对哈利投去惊愕的目光。 
　　“尼维尔，怎么——” 
　　一阵奇特的哈哈脚步声在他们身后传来，他们回过头看见莫迪教授跛着脚向他们走来，他们全都不说话了，敬畏地望着他，但他一开口，他们便发现莫迪的声音比他们听到的要低沉轻柔的多了。 
　　“没事的，孩子。”他对尼维尔说，“来我办公室坐一坐，来吧…… 
　　我们可以喝杯茶……“ 
　　要和莫迪一起喝茶，这让尼维尔更加害怕，他既不走动也不说话。 
　　莫迪的魔眼转向哈利，“你还好吧，波特？” 
　　“我很好。”哈利几乎是挑战般答道。 
　　莫迪接着说，“你必须知道，或许是有点残酷，但你得知道，假装是毫无意义的……好了……来吧……尼维尔，我有些你可能会觉得有趣的书。” 
　　尼维尔求助地望着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，但他们什么也没说，所以尼维尔别无选择，只得由莫迪的手搭着他的肩，随之而去。 
　　“怎么回事？”罗恩望着尼维尔和莫迪拐过角落说。 
　　“我不知道。”荷米恩神情忧郁。 
　　“是上什么课吧？”罗恩对哈利说，他们往大厅走去，“弗来德和乔治说对了，莫迪他的确知道要讲些什么，看他施阿文的。卡德罗咒语，和那蜘蛛死时的情形——” 
　　但罗恩一看到哈利脸上的神情就停住了，直到他们到达了大厅，他才再次开口，说他觉得今晚最好开始学习特雷络尼教授的预言，那可得花上几个小时。 
　　荷米恩没有加入哈利与罗恩的谈话，她吃得奇快无比，然后又前往图书馆，哈利和罗恩走回格林芬顿塔，晚饭时一直没想别的事的哈利，自己又提出不可饶恕的咒语这一话题。 
　　“部里的人要是知道我们看过咒语的演示，会找莫迪和丹伯多的麻烦吗？”哈利问，这时他们已走近胖大婶肖像了。 
　　“啊，可能的。”罗恩说，“但丹伯多向来我行我素，而莫迪几年来一直麻烦不断，先是遭攻击，后来又被审问并检查他的垃圾箱。” 
　　画像移向前，露出人口，他们爬了过去，进入拥挤喧闹的格林芬顿大厅。 
　　“我们拿丹伯多的书吗？”哈利问。 
　　“要吧。”罗恩低吼了声。 
　　他们走到宿舍取书和图表，发现尼维尔正独自坐在床上看书，他比上莫迪的课时平静多了，虽说还未完全恢复常态，他双眼通红。 
　　“没事吧，尼维尔？”哈利问他。 
　　“没事。”尼维尔说，“我很好，谢了，我在看莫迪借我的书呢……” 
　　他举起书，《中世纪神奇的水生植物及其性能》。 
　　“显然，史纳皮教授告诉莫迪教授我药草学不错。”尼维尔说，话音中流露出一点自豪，这是哈利以前很少听到的，“他想我会喜欢这本书的。” 
　　哈利想告诉尼维尔，史纳皮教授对他的评价倒是个振作尼维尔的好办法，因为尼维尔很少听到自己被称赞擅长什么的。这是露平教授采取的那种方法。 
　　哈利和罗恩拿了他们的《拨开未来和迷雾》回到大屋，找了位置坐下，开始做下个月的预言作业，一小时过去了，他们没什么进展，虽然桌面上布满了写满数字和符号的细羊皮纸片，哈利意识模糊，似乎脑里充满了特雷络尼教授的火堆上冒出的烟。 
　　“这玩意是什么意思，我一点头绪也没有。”他盯着一长串数据说，“你知道，”罗恩说，他的头发全在一边，因为在困惑时他一直用手拨弄着头发，“我想该用迪维尼雪那套老把戏了。” 
　　“什么，瞎编啊？”，“没错。”罗恩说，他扫掉桌上杂乱的纸条，把笔蘸进墨水里，开始写了。 
　　“下星期一，”他边说边写，“由于火星和木星相连带来晦气，我可能要犯咳嗽，”他抬头望着哈利，“你知道她的——只要讲一堆痛苦的事，她会接受的。” 
　　“对啊，”哈利说，他把先前的努力成果揉成一团，把它抛过一群正在闲聊的一年级学生的脑袋，落到火堆里，“好……在星期一，我有——嗯——被烧伤的危险。” 
　　“没错，你会那样的，”罗恩狠狠地说，“我们周一时又要看到史库斯了，好，周二，我会……嗯……” 
　　“丢了一件珍贵的东西。”哈利翻着《拔开未来的迷雾》找到灵感。 
　　“好主意，”罗恩说，写下了这条，“因为水星，你怎么不写让一个你以为是朋友的人从背后捅了一刀呢？” 
　　“对……不错……”哈利说，赶紧记下为，“因为……金星在第十二宫。” 
　　“星期三，我想，我会在争斗中惨败。” 
　　“啊，我将和别人打一架，对了，我输掉赌注。” 
　　“对了，就说你打赌，我打架会赢的……” 
　　他们继续编了一小时的作业（后来逐渐变成悲剧性了），周围的人们都回去睡觉了，大厅慢慢空了起来，克劳圣克斯漫步走向他们，轻轻坐在一个空位上，她看着哈利，神情令人费解，仿佛她得知他们并未好好写作业。 
　　哈利环顾屋子，竭力想再找出他还没用到的不幸，他看到弗来德和乔治靠着对面的墙坐在一起，头碰头地，羽毛笔放在外头，他们正专注地研究一小片牛皮纸，奇怪，弗来德和乔治居然会躲在角落里埋头学习？他们通常在中心地带，在喧闹的注意力焦点之处，他们研究那张纸条的样子有点诡秘。哈利想起了以前他们如何坐在一起，在纸上写些坏话，那次他原以为是为巫师爆笑弹的另一种命令公式，但这次看来不像，要是那样的话，他们一定会捉弄李·乔丹的，他怀疑那是不是与参加魔法三人对抗赛有关。 
　　哈利正看着，乔治对弗来德摇摇头，用羽毛笔写了什么东西，然后悄声地说话，尽管声音很小，但在在这几乎空荡荡的屋子里能听到的，“别，——那会显得我们在谴责他，得小心点……” 
　　乔治环顾一下，发现哈利在看着他，哈利咧嘴笑了，赶紧继续他的预言——他不想让乔治认为他在偷听，不久后，这对双胞弟兄卷起他们的牛皮纸，道了晚安，爬上了床。 
　　大约弗来德和乔治离开后10分钟左右，画像后的洞开了，荷米恩爬进了大屋，一手拿着叠牛皮纸，一手拿着个盒子，盒子里的东西随着她的移动当当作响，克劳圣克斯弓着背，发泄高兴的细细喵喵声。 
　　“你好。”她说，“我刚完成了。” 
　　“我也做完了。”罗恩扔下羽毛笔，胜利地宣布。 
　　“下个月的情况不太妙吧，”她嘲讽地说，克劳圣究斯错缩在她膝上。 
　　“嗯，至少我作了预言。”罗恩打了个哈欠。 
　　“看样子你两次失足溺水。”荷米恩说。 
　　“我吗？”罗恩看着他的预言说，“我最好把其中的一个改成让一只横冲直撞的希普格利夫踩着了。” 
　　“你不觉得这有点不言而喻你是在编造吗？” 
　　“你敢这样说！”罗恩假装发怒，“我们在这像校养精灵一样苦干。” 
　　荷米恩抬了抬眉头。 
　　“不过是句套用的话。”罗恩赶紧说。 
　　哈利刚刚写完他遭斩首身亡的预言，也放下了羽毛笔。 
　　“盒子里是什么？”他指着问。 
　　“没想到你会问，真好笑。”荷米思不怀好意地看着罗恩说，她揭开盖子，给他们看里面的东西。 
　　里边约有50个徽章，颜色全都不同但都有S.P.E.W的字样。 
　　“史纳皮？”哈利捡起一个徽章端详着，“干什么用的？” 
　　“不是史纳皮，”荷米思不耐烦地说，“是S-P-E-W，代表着精灵福利促进会！” 
　　“从没听说过。”罗恩说。 
　　“哎，你当然没听过，”荷米恩立即说道，“我不过是刚刚创办了它。”“啊？”罗恩有点意外，“你招了多少会员了？” 
　　“嗯，如果你们俩参加的话，一共三个。”荷米恩说。 
　　“你以为我们想佩着这些徽章招摇过市，说‘spew’吗？”罗恩说。 
　　“S-P－E-W，”荷米恩生气地说，“我要阻止虐待和我们同等的有魔法的生灵的暴行，发起改变他们在法律上的状况的运动，但还不是时候，那是我们宣言的主纲。” 
　　她朝他们挥挥那叠牛皮纸，“我在图书馆作仔细的调研，奴役小精灵这一陋习可上溯到世纪以前，我就不信在此之前对它无动于衷。” 
　　“荷米恩——听着，”罗恩大声说，“他们喜欢被役使，他们乐于受奴役！” 
　　“我们的近期目标，”荷米恩声音比罗恩更大，似乎她刚才什么也没听见，“是保证佣人小精灵的工资及工作条件，我们的长期目标则包括修改法律，禁止滥用魔杖，以及捉进一个小精灵就要进入生灵规范监控部。” 
　　“那我们怎么做这些工作？”哈利问。 
　　“我们就从招募会员开始，”荷米恩高兴地说，“我要塞克斯兄弟俩加入，买个徽章，这个手续可以为我们的宣传活动筹集资金，罗恩，你是财务，我为你准备了个募捐箱，在楼上——哈利，你是秘书，所以呢，你得把我现在说的话全都记写来，作为我们的第一次会议记录。” 
　　荷米恩说完后，朝他俩笑了，哈利坐着，又是被荷米恩惹恼了，又是被罗恩脸上的表情逗乐了，打破沉默的不是罗恩，他似乎一时间成了哑巴，而是一阵嗒嗒的敲窗的声音，哈利从空无一人的大屋望过去，月光下是个雪白的猫头鹰停在窗台上。 
　　“海维！”他叫道，他从椅子上蹦起，穿过屋子，拉开了窗。 
　　海维飞了进来，在屋里旋绕了一圈，落在哈利的预言作业本上。 
　　“正是时候！”哈利向她急走过去。 
　　“她带来了回音！”罗恩指着海维腿上绑着一片脏兮兮的纸条兴奋地说。 
　　哈利赶紧解下纸条，坐下看信，海维拍着翅膀，在他膝上咕咕地叫着，“信上说了什么？”荷米恩屏息问道。 
　　信相当简短，潦草，似乎是在仓促间写下的，哈利大声念道：“哈利：我立刻赶往北部，我在这儿听到了一系列奇怪的谣言，最新的一个说法是关于你的伤疤的事，如果你还痛的话，直接向丹伯多求助——他们说他让魔眼莫迪任课，那意味着即使别人没看过警示，他已看到了。 
　　我将很快再与你联系，请问候罗恩和荷米恩，自己小心！ 
　　西里斯“ 
　　哈利抬头看看罗恩和荷米恩，他们俩也望着他。 
　　“他要赶往北方？”荷米恩低声说，“他会回来吧。” 
　　“丹伯多看了什么警示？”罗恩大为不解地问，“哈利——怎么回事？” 
　　哈利用拳击着自己的额头，吓得海维赶紧从地膝上跳下。 
　　“我不该告诉他的！”哈利怒道。 
　　“你在说什么？”罗恩惊诧地问。 
　　“这使得他认为自己得回来！”哈利重重地在桌子上击了一拳说道。海维愤怒地咕咕叫着，落到罗恩的椅背上，“他想我有麻烦了，所以他要回来，但我什么事也没有！我没东西喂你。”哈利朝海维叫道，而海维正张着嘴巴等着，“你要吃的话得去奥里路。” 
　　海维很生气地望了他一眼，飞向开着的窗子，她飞过时在他的头用张开的翅膀拍了几下。 
　　“哈利，”荷米恩安抚地说。 
　　“我要睡了。”哈利简短地说，“明早见。” 
　　在楼上的宿舍里，他套上睡衣，钻进四柱床，但他却不觉得累。 
　　如果西里斯回来被逮住的话，那将是他哈利多嘴说错的话，为什么不能闭紧嘴巴呢？几秒钟的疼痛就泄露了秘密……要是没那么蠢，保住秘密就好了……过了一会儿，听到罗恩进了宿舍，但他没有对罗恩说什么，好年一段时间哈利躺在床上盯着黑乎乎的顶篷，宿舍里一片寂静，当他放松一点时，哈利发觉没听到平常尼维尔的鼾声，看来他并不是唯—一个睡不着的人。 
Chapter 15 Beauxbatons And Durmstrang
Early next morning, Harry woke with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain had been working on it all night. He got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, left the dormitory without waking Ron, and went back down to the deserted common room. Here he took a piece of parchment from the table upon which his Divination homework still lay and wrote the following letter: 
Dear Sirius, I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal. Harry He then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tried to overturn a large vase on him halfway along the fourth-floor corridor), finally arriving at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower. 
The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty, because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye glared at Harry. He spotted Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to her, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor. 
It took him a while to persuade her to wake up and then to look at him, as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail. She was evidently still furious about his lack of gratitude the previous night. In the end, it was Harry suggesting she might be too tired, and that perhaps he would ask Ron to borrow Pigwidgeon, that made her stick out her leg and allow him to tie the letter to it. 
“Just find him, all right?” Harry said, stroking her back as he carried her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall. “Before the dementors do.” 
She nipped his finger, perhaps rather harder than she would ordinarily have done, but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise. Harry watched her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in his stomach. He had been so sure that Sirius's reply would alleviate his worries rather than increasing them. 
“That was a lie, Harry,” said Hermione sharply over breakfast, when he told her and Ron what he had done. “You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it.” 
“So what?” said Harry. “He's not going back to Azkaban because of me.” 
“Drop it,” said Ron sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent. 
Harry did his best not to worry about Sirius over the next couple of weeks. True, he could not stop himself from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrived, nor, late at night before he went to sleep, prevent himself from seeing horrible visions of Sirius, cornered by dementors down some dark London street, but betweentimes he tried to keep his mind off his godfather. He wished he still had Quidditch to distract him; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session. On the other hand, their lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts. 
To their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects. 
“But - but you said it's illegal, Professor,” said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. “You said - to use it against another human was -” 
“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go.” 
He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson. 
Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it. 
“Potter,” Moody growled, “you next.” 
Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, “Imperio!” 
It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. 
And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk…jump onto the desk… 
Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring. 
Jump onto the desk.… 
Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. 
Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice. 
Jump onto the desk.… 
No, I don't think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more firmly…no, I don't really want to.… 
Jump! NOW! 
The next thing Harry felt was considerable pain. He had both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping - the result was that he'd smashed headlong into the desk knocking it over, and, by the feeling in his legs, fractured both his kneecaps. 
“Now, that's more like it!” growled Moody's voice, and suddenly, Harry felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. He remembered exactly what was happening, and the pain in his knees seemed to double. 
“Look at that, you lot…Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
“The way he talks,” Harry muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Harry through his paces four times in a row, until Harry could throw off the curse entirely), “you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second.” 
“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, who was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than Harry, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunchtime. “Talk about paranoid…” Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. “No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted ‘Boo’ behind him on April Fools’ Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we've got to do?” 
All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned. 
“You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!” she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. “Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer -” 
“We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!” said Dean Thomas indignantly. 
“Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!” 
Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. 
Harry and Ron were deeply amused when Professor Trelawney told them that they had received top marks for their homework in their next Divination class. She read out large portions of their predictions, commending them for their unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for them - but they were less amused when she asked them to do the same thing for the month after next; both of them were running out of ideas for catastrophes. 
Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms. 
Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their “project,” suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior. 
“I will not,” said Draco Malfoy flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. “I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks.” 
Hagrid's smile faded off his face. 
“Yeh'll do wha’ yer told,” he growled, “or I'll be takin’ a leaf outta Professor Moody's book.…I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.” 
The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting. Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Malfoy was particularly satisfying, especially because Malfoy had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year. 
When they arrived in the entrance hall, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two: 
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENTTHE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY- “Brilliant!” said Harry. “It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!” 
STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORETHE WELCOMING FEAST. “Only a week away!” said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him.…” 
“Cedric?” said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off. 
“Diggory,” said Harry. “He must be entering the tournament.” 
“That idiot, Hogwarts champion?” said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase. 
“He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch,” said Hermione. “I've heard he's a really good student - and he's a prefect.” 
She spoke as though this settled the matter. 
“You only like him because he's handsome,” said Ron scathingly. 
“Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!” said Hermione indignantly. 
Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like “Lockhart!” 
The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves. 
Harry noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics. 
Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too. 
“Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!” Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus. 
When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffiindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H. 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them. 
“It's a bummer, all right,” George was saying gloomily to Fred. “But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forrever.” 
“Who's avoiding you?” said Ron, sitting down next to them. 
“Wish you would,” said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption. 
“What's a bummer?” Ron asked George. 
“Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” said George. 
“You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?” Harry asked. “Thought any more about trying to enter?” 
“I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling,” said George bitterly. “She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon.” 
“Wonder what the tasks are going to be?” said Ron thoughtfully. “You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before.…” 
“Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't,” said Fred. “McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks.” 
“Who are the judges?” Harry asked. 
“Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, “because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.” 
She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, “It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School.” 
“What are you on about?” said Ron, though Harry thought he knew what was coming. 
“House-elves!” said Hermione, her eyes flashing. “Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!” 
Harry shook his head and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. His and Ron's lack of enthusiasm had done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione's determination to pursue justice for house-elves. True, both of them had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but they had only done it to keep her quiet. Their Sickles had been wasted, however; if anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses. 
“You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?” she kept saying fiercely. 
Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke. 
Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione. 
“Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?” 
“No, of course not,” said Hermione curtly, “I hardly think students are supposed to -” 
“Well, we have,” said George, indicating Fred, “loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world -” 
“That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!” Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. Harry looked up at once, and saw Hedwig soaring toward him. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Hedwig anxiously as she fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder, folded her wings, and held out her leg wearily. 
Harry pulled off Sirius's reply and offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to Ron and Hermione. 
Nice try, Harry. I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scar. Sirius “Why d'you have to keep changing owls?” Ron asked in a low voice. 
“Hedwig'll attract too much attention,” said Hermione at once. “She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding…I mean, they're not native birds, are they?” 
Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes, wondering whether he felt more or less worried than before. He supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. He couldn't deny either that the idea that Sirius was much nearer was reassuring; at least he wouldn't have to wait so long for a response every time he wrote. 
“Thanks, Hedwig,” he said, stroking her. She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery. 
There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall. 
The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. 
“Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.” 
Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. 
“Follow me, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “First years in front…no pushing.…” 
They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years. 
“Nearly six,” said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. “How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?” 
“I doubt it,” said Hermione. 
“How, then? Broomsticks?” Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky. 
“I don't think so…not from that far away.…” 
“A Portkey?” Ron suggested. “Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?” 
“You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” said Hermione impatiently. 
They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold. He wished they'd hurry up.…Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance.…He remembered what Mr. Weasley had said back at the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup: “always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together.…” 
And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers - 
“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” 
“Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions. 
“There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest. 
Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time. 
“It's a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely. 
“Don't be stupid…it's a flying house!” said Dennis Creevey. 
Dennis's guess was closer.…As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powderblue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. 
The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes. 
Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened. 
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped. 
Harry had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; he doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow - maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. 
Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. 
Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it. 
“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.” 
“Dumbly-dort,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?” 
“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore. 
“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her. 
Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces. 
“As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked. 
“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?” 
“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ‘orses -” 
“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges.” 
“Skrewts,” Ron muttered to Harry, grinning. 
“My steeds require - er - forceful ‘andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong.…” 
“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling. 
“Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?” 
“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing. 
“Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps. 
“How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?” Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron. 
“Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them,” said Harry. “That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?” 
“Maybe they've escaped,” said Ron hopefully. 
“Oh don't say that,” said Hermione with a shudder. “Imagine that lot loose on the grounds.…” 
They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. 
For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then - 
“Can you hear something?” said Ron suddenly. 
Harry listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed.… 
“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!” 
From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks -and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.… 
What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool…and then Harry saw the rigging.… 
“It's a mast!” he said to Ron and Hermione. 
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. 
People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle…but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. 
“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” 
“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own. 
“Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. “How good it is to be here, how good.…Viktor, come along, into the warmth…you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…” 
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn't need the punch on the arm Ron gave him, or the hiss in his ear, to recognize that profile. 
“Harry - it's Krum!” 
第二天一大早，哈利醒过来了，心里计划得满满的，似乎他休眠的大脑整夜都在计划着，他起了床，在微弱的晨光中穿好衣服，没叫醒罗恩就离开了宿舍，回到空空的大屋去，他从桌上拾起一片写着他的作业的纸片，写了下面这封信：亲爱的西里斯：我想我的伤疤犯痛不过是种想象，上次给你写信时我迷迷糊糊的，你不必回来，这儿一切均好，别为我担心，我现在一切如常。 
　　哈利然后他爬出画像洞口，城堡静悄悄的，他往堡顶走去，最后他到了，在西塔楼的顶部。 
　　奥里路是个用石头建的流通室，因为窗子全都没有玻璃，所以风很大，极为冷。地面上到处都是稻草、猫头鹰粪和老鼠、田鼠的残骸，成百只各类的猫头鹰在伸向塔顶的栖木上筑巢，几乎所有的猫头鹰都在睡觉，但时不时有个褐色的圆眼睛盯住哈利，哈利认出海维，她的巢在一只谷仓猫头鹰和一个茶猫头鹰之间，他急忙走过去，在满是鸟粪的地板上稍稍滑了一下。 
　　他花了一会儿的工夫叫醒了她，她边看着他边在巢里跳来跳去，给他看她的尾巴，显然，她仍然对他前一天晚上的不敬感到气愤，最后，哈利说担心她会太累可能他该向罗恩借用皮维军，这才使得她伸出腿，让他把信绑在上面。 
　　“一定要找到他，行吗？”哈利抚着她的背，把她托在手臂上走到一个墙洞口，“要在丹伯多之前找到他。” 
　　她啄着他的手指，可能比平常用力，但她轻轻地咕咕叫着，好像在作保证一样，然后她展开翅膀，飞向天空，看着她飞去，哈利又有种熟悉的不安的感觉。他曾经是多么肯定西里斯的回信会缓解而不是增加他的忧虑。 
　　“那是骗人，哈利。”荷米恩早餐时尖声说，哈利刚告诉了她和罗恩他所做的事。“你没有假想伤疤犯痛，你自己知道的。” 
　　“那又怎么样？”哈利说，“他不会因为我而回到阿兹克班去！” 
　　荷米恩张嘴还要再辩，罗恩尖叫着说，“别说了。”荷米恩看他一眼，不说话了。 
　　接下来的几个星期，哈利竭力不去担心西里斯，他希望还有快迪斯来让他分心，艰苦的训练对于烦恼的心灵是最有效的，另一方面，他们的功课，尤其是邪术防御，越来越难了，要求也越来越高。 
　　让他们吃惊的是莫迪教授宣布，他将轮流对他们施英普流斯咒语，以展示它的威力和试验他们能否抗拒它的作用。 
　　“但是——你说那是非法的，教授。”荷米恩犹豫地说，莫迪已挥动魔杖，清除了课桌，房子中间空出一大片地方，“你说——对人施咒是——” 
　　“丹伯多想让你们通过切身体会去学。”莫迪说，他的魔眼转向荷米恩，眼神古怪，一眨不眨地盯着她，“如果你宁愿以痛苦的方式——让别人对你施咒以便完完全全摆布你——去学的话，你可以走，我可无所谓。” 
　　他疤结的手指向教室门，荷米恩脸红了，低声嘟哝，她并不是不想上课。哈利和罗恩相视而笑，他们知道荷米恩宁可喝布鸠伯斯波脓液也不愿错过如此重要的一课。 
　　莫迪开始一个一个地把学生叫上前来，对他们施英普流斯咒，哈利看着同学在咒语的作用下一个个地做着最奇怪的动作，迪恩。 
　　托马斯绕着屋子单足跳了三次，唱着国歌，莱文登。布朗模仿麻雀的样子，尼维尔表演了一套让人惊诧的体操，在他的常态中，他显然是不能够那样做的。他们并不都能够抵抗咒语，每个人只有在莫迪解除咒语时才恢复了正常。 
　　“波特！”莫迪吼道，“你是下一个。” 
　　哈利走上前，站在莫迪移开了桌子的空地上，莫迪举起魔杖，指着哈利说：“英普流斯。” 
　　这是最奇妙的感觉，哈利觉得要飞起来了，所有心中的想法和忧虑被轻轻地拂走了，只留下模糊的，毫无踪迹的快乐，他站在那里，感到非常轻松，只是隐约知道大家都在看着他。 
　　然后，他听到莫迪的声音，在他空荡荡的脑中回响着，“跳上桌子……跳上桌子……” 
　　哈利驯服地弯下膝盖，准备跳了。 
　　“跳上桌子……” 
　　“但，为什么要跳？”另外一个声音从他脑后而来，提醒了他，“那样做真是够蠢的。”那声音说。 
　　“跳上桌子……” 
　　“不，我不想跳。”另一个声音说，它变得更坚定了……“不，我真不想……” 
　　跳！立即跳！ 
　　接下来，哈利觉得非常痛苦，跳和竭力阻他跳的念头，他两者兼有，结果是他仓促地冲向桌子，把它碰倒了，他腿上的痛感，他知道伤了双膝。 
　　“啊，有点像样了。”莫迪大叫道，突然间哈利发觉脑中那空洞、回荡的感觉消失了，他对刚才的事一清二楚，膝上的痛似乎加剧了。 
　　“你们看，……波特抵抗了，他抵抗了咒语，他几乎战胜了，我们再试一次，波特，其余的注意了——观察他的双眼，那是你们该看的地方——很好，波特，棒极了，咒语可没那么容易摆布你！” 
　　一小时后，哈利一瘸一拐地走出课堂，（莫迪坚持要哈利连续4次作演示，直到他完全可以摆脱咒语为止），“听他说，那样子。” 
　　哈利说，“好像我们全都随时会被袭击。” 
　　“啊，我知道。”罗恩说，他两级两级地跳着楼梯，在施咒时，他可比哈利惨多了，虽然莫迪和向他保证到午餐时，症状便会消失的。“他总是臆想，”罗恩紧张地往身后扫视，确信莫迪肯定听不到讲话，他接着说，“难怪在那里他们很高兴摆脱了他，你听到他告诉西摩斯的话吗？关于他怎么报复那个在愚人节时在他背后啐了一口的女巫的事，我们什么时候必须看完抵制英普流斯诅咒的书并完成其它的作业？” 
　　所有的四年级学生都注意到这学期他们的完成的作业量明显增加了。当麦康娜教授布置了大量的变形学作业，招来全班学生特别大声的抗议时，她解释了其中的原因。 
　　“你们现在处于魔法教育的一个非常重要的阶段！”她告诉他们，眼睛在方框镜片后发着眩目的亮光，“你们的普通巫师水平测试迫近了——” 
　　“我们五年级时才要测试！”迪思斯愤愤地说。 
　　“那不一定，托马斯，相信我，你们应作好能做的所有准备！ 
　　全班只有格林佐小姐成功地将一只豪猪变成一个令人满意的针插，我得提醒你，托马斯，你的针插却在别人拿着针靠近它时，还是惊恐地蟋起来！“ 
　　荷米恩，又一次脸红了，好像竭力不使自己显得太高兴。 
　　在下节咒语课上，特雷络尼教授说哈利和罗恩的作业得了最高分，这让他俩觉得十分好笑，她念了大部分他们的预言，表扬他们毫不畏惧地迎接蕴藏的恶运，但当她要他们为后个月再作预言时，他们不觉得开心了，因为他们俩都想不出什么灾祸了。 
　　同时，教魔法历史的宾西教授要他们写一周一次的文章，关于18世纪妖精起义的事。史纳皮教授迫使他们研究解毒剂，他们不敢掉以轻心，因为他暗示说可能会在圣诞之前毒倒一个学生，以试验他们的解毒剂是否有效，菲利特威克教授吩咐他们多读三本书，为召唤符咒的课作准备。 
　　甚至哈格力也增加了他们的负担，尾巴冒火的史库斯生长得很快而没人发现它们吃了什么。哈格力对此很高兴，作为他们“工程”的一部分，他建议他们每隔一晚去一次他小屋观察史库斯，并记下它们异常的表现。 
　　“我不干，”杰高。马尔夫直接说道，他觉得哈格力的建议好像是圣诞老人从他的袋子里拿走了一件特别大的玩具。“谢天谢地，上课时我可看够了这些禽类。” 
　　哈格力脸上的微笑消失了。 
　　“你得按我吩咐的做，”他咆哮道，“否则，我要向莫迪教授学一招……我听说，你表演的雪貂似模似样的，马尔夫。” 
　　全班学生大笑起来，马尔夫因生气而满脸通红，但显然，想起莫迪给他的惩罚是足以让他痛苦的无法还嘴。上完课，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩兴高采烈地回到城堡，看到哈格力压住马尔夫特别让人满意。尤其是因为上一年马尔夫竭力使哈格力遭解雇。 
　　到了前厅，他们发现无法前行了，因为那儿聚集了一大群学上，全都围着在一个坚在大理五楼梯下的大告示牌，他们三个中最高的是罗恩，他踮起足尖，越过前面的人，大声地对另外两位念道：魔法三人对抗赛来自比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的代表队将于10月30日，周五六点抵达，届时将提前半小时下课——“太好了！”哈利说，“周五最后一节是药剂课，史纳皮将没时间给我们下毒！” 
　　欢迎宴会开始之前，学生必须把书包及课本放回宿舍，然后在城堡门前集合，欢迎来宾。 
　　“只有一个星期了！”海夫巴夫的埃尼·麦米兰眼里闪着光，从人群里冒出来，“塞德利克知道吗？我想我得去告诉他……” 
　　“塞德利克？”罗恩茫然地问，埃尼已跑开了。 
　　“就是迪格瑞。”哈利说，“他一定会进入比赛的。” 
　　“那个白痴，会是霍格瓦彻的冠军？”罗恩问，他们从议论纷纷的人群中费力挤过，走向楼梯。 
　　“他不是白痴，你不能因为他在快迪斯中打败了格林芬顿就讨厌他！”荷米恩说，“我听说他确是个好学生——并且他是个级长。” 
　　她似乎想以此终了这个话题。 
　　“你不过因为他长得英俊就喜欢他。”罗恩尖刻地说。 
　　“对不起，我可不会只因别人长得英俊就喜欢他们！”荷米恩愤愤地说。 
　　罗恩大声地假装咳嗽，听起来很奇怪，像“啦咔！” 
　　前厅告示牌对城堡里的人影响极大，接下来的一周内，无论哈利去哪里，似乎都只听到一个话题，魔法三人对抗赛，谣言像传染性很强的细菌一样，在学生间流传着：谁要争霍格瓦彻冠军宝座，比赛将牵涉到什么，比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的学生又如何与他们不同。 
　　哈利也注意到，城堡似乎在经历一场彻底的清洁，几张肮脏的画像被取了下来，让它们的主人公很不高兴，他们坐着挤在画框里，恶毒地骂着，当他们摸到淡红的脸时，又目不忍睹似地闭着眼。那几套盔甲突然间变得锃亮，走动起来也没有吱吱声了，校容校纪主任阿格斯。费驰对学生忘记擦干净鞋子表现得极为暴怒，他甚至把两个一年级学生吓得患了病。 
　　别的教工似乎也很古怪。 
　　“尼维尔，求你别在丹姆斯安学生面前表露你连简单的变形符咒也不会！”在一堂特别难的课快结束时，麦康娜这么对尼维尔说，他在这节课上不小心把自己的耳朵接到一棵仙人掌上。 
　　10月30日早上他们下去吃早餐时，发现大厅一夜间已被装饰一新，巨大的丝质长幅从墙上垂下来，每个长幅代表霍格瓦彻的一个班，绘有金狮的红色长幅是格林芬顿，有金鹰的蓝幅是卫文卡罗，有黑獾的黄幅是海夫巴夫，有银蛇的绿幅是史林德林，教工桌的后由，是一个最大的长幅，上面是霍格瓦彻学校队的标识：狮、鹰、獾和蛇，全都绕在一个大大的“霍格瓦彻”周围。 
　　哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在格林芬顿桌上看到了弗来德和乔治，第二次了，他们不同寻常地坐在远离别人的地方，低声说话，哈利、罗恩、荷米恩向他们走去。 
　　“好了，这是个班姆。”乔治不悦地对弗来德说，“但要是他不肯亲自和我们说话，我们就得把信给他送去，或者塞到他手里，他总不能老躲着我们。” 
　　“谁在躲开你们？”罗恩问道，在旁坐下。 
　　“班姆想躲开你。”弗来德对罗恩的插嘴很恼火。 
　　“班姆是什么？”罗恩问乔治。 
　　“他有个像你这么多嘴的弟弟！”乔治说。 
　　“你们俩知道关于魔法三人对抗赛的什么事吗？”哈利问，“有法子混过去吗？” 
　　“我问麦康娜冠军是怎么个选法，但她不告诉我。”乔治生气地说，“她只叫我闭嘴。” 
　　“到底是什么赛项呢？”罗恩沉思道，“你也知道，我肯说我们行的，哈利，我们以前就做过危险的事……” 
　　“没在一群裁判面前做过，你们没有。”弗来德说，“麦康娜说选手们将按他们比赛表现的好坏程度得到加分。” 
　　“裁判是谁？”哈利问。 
　　“嗯，参赛学校的校长总是裁判团的成员。”荷米恩说，每个人都惊奇地望着她，“因为在1792年的比赛中，三位校长都受伤了，那时一头选手们要捕获的棕熊到处冲撞。” 
　　她注意到他们全都看着她，带着她惯有的对别人没有读过的书的不耐烦，她又说，“全在《霍格瓦彻历史》上写着呢，当然，那本书不完全可信，它应改名叫《霍格瓦彻修订历史》才更准确，或者叫《精选霍格瓦彻历史》，书里掩盖了学校阴暗的一面。” 
　　“你说的是什么？”罗恩问，但哈利想他知道她接着要说的话。 
　　“佣人小精灵！”荷米恩大声说，证实了哈利的想法，“在一千多页书里《霍格瓦彻的历史》一次也没提到，我们全都是压迫一百个奴隶的同谋！” 
　　哈利摇摇头，吃他的炒蛋，他和罗恩的冷淡丝毫没有影响荷米恩要为佣人小精灵申诉的决心，的确，他们俩都花了两个钱币买了个徽章，但那样做不过是为了让她安静下来。但是，他们的钱似乎白花了，因为他们的做法，如果要说有什么成效的话，只是让荷米恩说得更多了，她自那时就一直纠缠着他们俩，先是要佩戴徽章，然后要劝说别人也这么做，她甚至喜欢每晚到格林芬顿的大厅里荡悠，拦住人们把募捐箱放到他们鼻子下边，晃动着。 
　　“你们知道吗？为你们换床单、升火炉、清教室、弄伙食的是一群没有工资的被奴役的生灵！”她仍愤怒地说。 
　　有些人，像尼维尔，捐了钱不过是免得荷米恩再对他们怒目而视，有些人对她的话稍有点兴趣，但不愿在宣传运动中再作进一步积极的行动，很多人则把整件事当作玩笑。 
　　罗恩把眼睛转向天花板上，上面秋天的阳光照耀着他们，而弗来德对他的牛排尤为感兴趣，（这对双胞胎都拒绝买一个徽章），但乔治却向荷米恩探过身去。 
　　“听着，荷米恩你去过厨房吗？” 
　　“没有，当然没有。”荷米恩无礼地说，“我可不认为学生可以——” 
　　“我们去过，”乔治指着弗来德说，“去过很多次，去偷东西吃，我们见过他们，他们都很快活，觉得他们的工作是世界上最好的——” 
　　“那是因为他们受教育不够，又被洗了脑！”荷米恩变得火爆了，但她接下来的几句话被头顶上传来的呼呼的喧闹声淹没了，那声音宣告了猫头鹰信差们来了，哈利立刻往上看，海维朝他飞来，荷米恩随即停止说话，和罗恩急切地望着海维，她拍着翅膀，落到哈利肩上，收拢双翼，疲倦地伸出腿。 
　　哈利拿下西里斯的回信，把他的牛排结海维吃，她便感激地吃了，哈利确信弗来德和乔治已沉浸在对比赛的进一步讨论中后，他低声给罗恩和荷米恩念西里斯的信。 
　　哈利：我回到乡下，妥善地隐蔽起来了，我要你把在霍格瓦彻发生的事全都写信告诉我，别用海维，频繁更换猫头鹰，不必担心我，你自己小心就行了，别忘了我上次说的关于你的伤疤的话。 
　　西里斯“为什么要频繁更换猫头鹰？”罗恩低声问。 
　　“海维会招人注意的！”荷米恩立刻说道，“她与众不同，一个雪白的猫头鹰，不断地出没在他的藏身之处……我是说，它不是本地有的鸟，对吗？” 
　　哈利卷起信，把它塞进袍里，心里比先前放心了一些。他觉得西里斯该回来了，没有被抓住真是件了不起的事。他也并不否认西亚斯离他近多了更让他放心，至少，他不必为每次回信都等那么长时间。 
　　“谢谢，海维。”他抚摸着她说，她疲乏地咕咕着，在他杯里蘸了点桔子汁，然后又飞起来，显然是赶回奥里路睡个好觉。 
　　那天学校里有种愉快的期待的气氛，大家上课都有点心不在焉，对晚上那些从比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安来的人更感兴趣，甚至药剂课也比以前更可容忍了，因为它提前半个小时结束了。当铃声响了时，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩赶紧回格林芬顿塔，按要求放好书包和课本，披上斗篷，冲下楼，跑到前厅。 
　　各班主任正在指挥学生们排队。 
　　“威斯里戴好帽子，”麦康娜教授对罗恩叫道，“普特先生，把你头上那可笑的玩意拿下。” 
　　普怀特皱着眉，从发辫梢上取下一个大大的装饰蝴蝶。 
　　“跟着我，快。”麦康娜教授说，“一年级的在前……别推……” 
　　他们鱼贯走下前面的台阶，在城堡面前排好，这是个寒冷的晚上，天空中没有云朵，夜幕降下来了，苍白的半透明的月亮照在森林的上空，哈利在罗恩和荷米恩中间，站在前面第4排，他看到可利维在别的一年级学生间兴奋的发抖，充满期盼。 
　　“快六点了。”罗恩看了一下表说，然后又往下看看那通往前门的马路，“你觉得他们会怎样来这儿的？坐火车吗？” 
　　“我怀疑不是。”荷米思说。 
　　“那么怎么样来？坐在扫帚上？”哈利望着星空，猜测着说。 
　　“我认为不是那样的……没那么远……” 
　　“通过波奇？”罗恩猜道，“还是他们会变身——” 
　　“在霍格瓦彻之内你不能变身，我得告诉你多少次？”荷米恩不耐心地说。 
　　他们兴奋地往暗下来的地面上看，但没什么动静，一切都像平常那样安静，哈利开始觉得冷了，他盼望他们快点来，那外地学生都在准备一个戏剧般的出场式……他记得在快迪斯世界杯之前，威斯里先生在营地上讲的话——“总是这样，我们聚在一起时，也禁不住要炫耀一番……” 
　　丹伯多的叫声从后排传来，他和几位老师在那里站着，“啊！ 
　　我没弄错的话，比尔贝顿代表队来了！“ 
　　“哪儿？”许多学生急切地问，他们向四处张望。 
　　“在那儿！”一位六年级学生指向森林说道。 
　　一个很大的，比扫帚大得多得东西——或者说比100把扫帚大得多的东西，在深蓝的天空中飞驰而来，不断地变得越来越大。 
　　“是条龙！”一个一年级学生完全昏了头，尖叫起来。 
　　“别傻了……是一所飞屋！”迪尼。可利维说。 
　　迪尼的猜测更贴切，那巨大的黑影掠过森林的树梢，从城堡窗里发出来的光照到了它，他们看到了一个庞大的、粉蓝色的马车，有一座大屋子那么大，向他们呼啸而来，十二匹有翼的马，每匹都如大象那样大，在空中拉着车子。 
　　马车飞低了一些，前三排的学生往后退了几步，马车猛地停在地上，一声巨响吓得尼维尔往后一跳，踩到一个史林德林五年级学生的脚。那些比盘子还大的马蹄猛击到了地面。随即，车子也降下来，巨大的车轮蹦了几下，金色的大马扭着头，转着又大又红的暴眼。 
　　车门打开前，哈利刚好看清车门上有一层防御图腾像（两支交叉的金色魔杖各自射出三颗星）。 
　　一个穿着浅蓝袍子的男孩从车上跳下来，俯身向前在车厢地板上摸索了一会儿，展开一段金色的叠梯，他恭敬地往后退，哈利随后看到一只闪亮的黑高跟鞋从车里伸出来，鞋子如同小孩的雪撬那么大，接着，几乎在一瞬间一个哈利平生见过的最高大的妇人走了出来，一下子就解释了马和车子的体积为什么那么大，几个人倒抽了一口气。 
　　哈利只见过一个人有这位妇人这么高大，那即是哈格力，他怀疑他们的身高是否有丝毫的差别，但不知怎么地——或许是他已看惯了哈格力——这位妇人（她现在走到楼梯下面，环视着睁大眼的前来欢迎的人群）看上去更显得异常的高大，她往前迈步，笼罩在从前厅中射来的灯光中，她展现了一张俊俏的皮肤，光滑的脸，眼睛只大又黑，水质一般，鹰钩鼻子，头发往后梳成髻，在脖根处闪亮着，她从头到脚都是黑缎，精美耀眼蛋白石在她脖子上和厚实的手指上闪闪发亮。 
　　丹伯多开始鼓掌，学生们跟着爆发出掌声，很多人踮着脚，以便看得更清楚。 
　　她向丹伯多走去，脸上露出优雅的微笑，她伸出亮闪闪的手，丹伯多虽说不矮，却几乎不必俯下身去吻她的手。 
　　“亲爱的玛西姆女士。”他说，“欢迎到霍格瓦彻来！” 
　　“丹伯多，”玛西姆女士的嗓音深沉，“别来无恙吧？” 
　　“我很好，谢谢。”丹伯多说。 
　　“同学们。”玛西姆女士说，往身后随便挥了一下她的大手。 
　　哈利一直注意着玛西姆女士，现在看到了大约有12个男孩。 
　　女孩，从他们的长相看，都在十六岁以上，他们从车里出来，站在玛西姆女士身后，他们的饱子是上乘的绸料做的，全都没披斗篷，只有几个在头上围了围巾，难怪他们在发抖。从哈利可以看到的那部分脸（他们站在玛西姆的巨大背影中），他们是在仰望着霍格瓦彻，神情急切。 
　　“克罗夫到了吗？”玛西姆女士说。 
　　“他随时会到的。”丹伯多说，“你愿意在这儿等候他，还是要进去暖和一下？” 
　　“暖一暖吧，我想。”玛西姆夫人说，“但这些马——” 
　　“我们的魔灵教师会很乐意照料它们。”丹伯多说，“他——从他——嗯，别的事务中回来，就会去照料你的马的，他现在在处理一点小事。” 
　　“史库斯。”罗恩笑着对哈利说。 
　　“我的马——嗯——不太驯服，得强硬点。”玛西姆夫人说，看上去她似乎怀疑没什么霍格瓦彻的魔灵教师能够胜任。“他们很强壮的……” 
　　“我担保哈格力完全能胜任的。”丹伯多微笑着说。 
　　“好极了。”玛西姆夫人稍稍一鞠，“请你告诉那位哈格力先生，这些马只饮麦芽威士忌。” 
　　“会照您的吩咐去做的。”丹伯多说，他也一鞠身。 
　　“来吧。”玛西姆命令她的学生。霍格瓦彻的人分开一条路让她和她的学生通过石阶。 
　　“你觉得丹伯多的马会有多大？”谢默斯从莱文登和普怀特旁探出身来对哈利和罗恩说话。 
　　“要是比这群还大的话，就连哈格力也没法对付了。”哈利说。 
　　“可能他们逃脱了。”罗恩满怀希望地说。 
　　“噢，别那么说，”荷米恩说，抖了一下，“想想这些东西逃脱了出来……” 
　　他们都在稍稍地颤抖，站着等候丹姆斯安代表队的到来，多数人充满希望地望着天空，好几分钟，只有玛西姆夫人的马的鼻息声和跺脚声才打破了沉默，然后——“你听到什么了吗？”罗恩突然说。 
　　哈利一听，一种奇怪的响声从黑暗中飘来，混杂着轰轰声和吸气声，似乎是有个巨大的吸尘器沿着河床移过来…… 
　　“湖泊！”李·乔丹指向下面的湖大声说：“看那湖！” 
　　他们站在俯视地面的草坪顶部，从这儿可以清楚地看到黑色平滑的湖面——但突然水面激荡起来，湖心深处有动静，大水泡在水面形成了，波浪冲击着泥泞的湖岸——然后，湖的正中间出现了个漩涡，好像一个大活塞刚被从湖底拔了出来…… 
　　一个看起来像又长又黑的往子开始慢慢地从漩涡中间升上来，随后，哈利看到了帆缆…… 
　　“是桅船！”他对罗恩和荷米恩说。 
　　船慢慢地气势雄伟地浮上水面，在月光中闪亮着，它样子很奇怪，骨架似的，仿佛是艘修复的废船，那模糊的灯光在舷窗里闪着微光，像鬼眼一般，终于，一声巨大的排水声，船完全浮现了，在荡漾的水面上波动，开始向岸边驶来，不一会儿，他们见到了锚被抛入浅处的溅水声和把木板铺上岸的砰砰声。 
　　人们下船了，他们看到他们经过舷窗里的灯光的剪影，哈利注意到，他们的块头全都如同克来伯和高尔那样……但当他们走进了一些，走上草地，让前厅的光照到时，他发现他们的身影高大是因为穿了长毛编织的毛斗篷，但那领头走向城堡的人穿了另外一种毛斗篷，是光滑、银色的，就像他的头发一样。 
　　“丹伯多！”他热情地招呼，走上斜坡，“你好吗？我亲爱的伙计，你好吗？” 
　　“好得很，谢谢，卡克罗夫教授。”丹伯多回答。 
　　卡克罗夫的嗓音听起来有点装腔作势，假热心，当他走进前门灯光中时，他们看到他长得高高瘦瘦的，像丹伯多的身材，但他的白发很短，下巴上的胡子（修成小卷儿）并没能完全掩盖他松驰的下巴，他靠近了丹伯多，双手握住丹伯多的手。 
　　“亲爱的霍格瓦彻城堡。”他说，仰望着城堡微笑着。他的牙极黄，哈利注意到他的双眼并没有笑意，而是冷酷狡诈的，“在这儿多好啊，多好……维特过来，暖和一下……你不介意吧，丹伯多？ 
　　维特有点感冒……“ 
　　卡克罗夫往前召唤他其中的一个学生，那男孩走过时，哈利瞥见一个突出的鹰钩鼻子和又黑又浓的眉毛，罗恩不用在他臂上击一拳或对他的耳朵嘘一声，哈利都可以认出那个剪影。 
　　“哈利——是克伦！” 
Chapter 16 The Goblet Of Fire
I don't believe it!” Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. “Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!” 
“For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player,” said Hermione. 
“Only a Quidditch player?” Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. “Hermione - he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!” 
As they recrossed the entrance hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students heading for the Great Hall, Harry saw Lee Jordan jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum's head. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked - 
“Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me -” 
“D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?” 
“Really,” Hermione said loftily as they passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick. 
“I'm getting his autograph if I can,” said Ron. “You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?” 
“Nope, they're upstairs in my bag,” said Harry. 
They walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron took care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads. 
“It's not that cold,” said Hermione defensively. “Why didn't they bring cloaks?” 
“Over here! Come and sit over here!” Ron hissed. “Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space -” 
“What?” 
“Too late,” said Ron bitterly. 
Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Harry could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As he watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum. 
“Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly. “I bet Krum can see right through him, though…bet he gets people fawning over him all the time.…Where d'you reckon they're going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry…I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed.” 
Hermione snorted. 
“They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot,” said Harry. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed. 
Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion. Harry was surprised to see that he added four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore's. 
“But there are only two extra people,” Harry said. “Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?” 
“Eh?” said Ron vaguely. He was still staring avidly at Krum. 
When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall. 
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.” 
One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh. 
“No one's making you stay!” Hermione whispered, bristling at her. 
“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” 
He sat down, and Harry saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation. 
The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign. 
“What's that?” said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding. 
“Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione. 
“Bless you,” said Ron. 
“It's French,” said Hermione, “I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice.” 
“I'll take your word for it,” said Ron, helping himself to black pudding. 
The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts’ robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred. 
Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand. 
“Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?” Harry called. 
“Thrivin',” Hagrid called back happily. 
“Yeah, I'll just bet they are,” said Ron quietly. “Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers.” 
At that moment, a voice said, “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” 
It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth. 
Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. 
“Yeah, have it,” said Harry, pushing the dish toward the girl. 
“You ‘ave finished wiz it?” 
“Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.” 
The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses. 
“She's a veela!” he said hoarsely to Harry. 
“Of course she isn't!” said Hermione tartly. “I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!” 
But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys’ heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron. 
“I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. “They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!” 
“They make them okay at Hogwarts,” said Harry without thinking. Cho happened to be sitting only a few places away from the girl with the silvery hair. 
“When you've both put your eyes back in,” said Hermione briskly, “you'll be able to see who's just arrived.” 
She was pointing up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime. 
“What are they doing here?” said Harry in surprise. 
“They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?” said Hermione. “I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.” 
When the second course arrived they noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it. 
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Harry felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats down from them, Fred and George were leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration. 
“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket -” 
“The what?” Harry muttered. 
Ron shrugged. 
“- just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation” - there was a smattering of polite applause - “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” 
There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard. 
“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.” 
At the mention of the word “champions,” the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.” 
Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's. 
“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.” 
At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. 
“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.” 
Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. 
Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall. 
“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. 
“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. 
“Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.” 
“An Age Line!” Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!” 
“But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione, “we just haven't learned enough…” 
“Speak for yourself,” said George shortly. “You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?” 
Harry thought briefly of Dumbledore's insistence that nobody under seventeen should submit their name, but then the wonderful picture of himself winning the Triwizard Tournament filled his mind again.…He wondered how angry Dumbledore would be if someone younger than seventeen did find a way to get over the Age Line. 
“Where is he?” said Ron, who wasn't listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. “Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?” 
But this query was answered almost instantly; they were level with the Slytherin table now, and Karkaroff had just bustled up to his students. 
“Back to the ship, then,” he was saying. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?” 
Harry saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on. “Professor, Ivood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully. 
“I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy -” 
Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry stopped to let him walk through first. 
“Thank you,” said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him. 
And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry and stared at him as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry too. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at Harry's forehead. 
“Yeah, that's Harry Potter,” said a growling voice from behind them. 
Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster. 
The color drained from Karkaroff's face as Harry watched. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over him. 
“You!” he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him. 
“Me,” said Moody grimly. “And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway.” 
It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind them, looking over one another's shoulders to see what was causing the holdup. 
Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than they usually did on weekends. When they went down into the entrance hall, they saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction. 
“Anyone put their name in yet?” Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly. 
“All the Durmstrang lot,” she replied. “But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet.” 
“Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed,” said Harry. “I would've if it had been me…wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?” 
Someone laughed behind Harry. Turning, he saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited. 
“Done it,” Fred said in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Just taken it.” 
“What?” said Ron. 
“The Aging Potion, dung brains,” said Fred. 
“One drop each,” said George, rubbing his hands together with glee. “We only need to be a few months older.” 
“We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins,” said Lee, grinning broadly. 
“I'm not sure this is going to work, you know,” said Hermione warningly. “I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.” 
Fred, George, and Lee ignored her. 
“Ready?” Fred said to the other two, quivering with excitement. “C'mon, then - I'll go first -” 
Harry watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words Fred Weasley - Hogwarts. Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line. 
For a split second Harry thought it had worked - George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred - but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards. 
The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards. 
“I did warn you,” said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. “I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.” 
Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione, also chortling, went in to breakfast. 
The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering. 
“There's a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in,” Dean told Harry. “That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth.” 
Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook his head in disgust. 
“We can't have a Slytherin champion!” 
“And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,” said Seamus contemptuously. “But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks.” 
“Listen!” said Hermione suddenly. 
People were cheering out in the entrance hall. They all swiveled around in their seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. A tall black girl who played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Angelina came over to them, sat down, and said, “Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!” 
“You're kidding!” said Ron, looking impressed. 
“Are you seventeen, then?” asked Harry. 
“Course she is, can't see a beard, can you?” said Ron. 
“I had my birthday last week,” said Angelina. 
“Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering,” said Hermione. “I really hope you get it, Angelina!” 
“Thanks, Hermione,” said Angelina, smiling at her. 
Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory, said Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing their table to scowl heavily at him. 
“What're we going to do today, then?” Ron asked Harry and Hermione when they had finished breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall. 
“We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet,” said Harry. 
“Okay,” said Ron, “just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts.” 
A look of great excitement suddenly dawned on Hermione's face. 
“I've just realized - I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!” she said brightly. “Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?” 
“What is it with her?” said Ron, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase. 
“Hey, Ron,” said Harry suddenly. “It's your friend…” 
The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the front doors from the grounds, among them, the veela-girl. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly. 
Madame Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks. 
“What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?” Ron muttered to Harry as the veela-girl dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. “Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?” 
“Dunno,” said Harry. “Hang around, I suppose.…Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?” 
When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madame Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again. 
“Where are they sleeping, then?” said Ron, moving toward the front doors and staring after them. 
A loud rattling noise behind them announced Hermione's reappearance with the box of S. P. E.W. badges. 
“Oh good, hurry up,” said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela-girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime. 
As they neared Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons’ sleeping quarters was solved. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it. 
Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answered instantly. 
“'Bout time!” said Hagrid, when he'd flung open the door. “Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!” 
“We've been really busy, Hag -” Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words. 
Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn't the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches - perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he had too much hair. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, “Erm - where are the skrewts.” 
“Out by the pumpkin patch,” said Hagrid happily. “They're gettin’ massive, mus’ be nearly three foot long now. On'y trouble is, they've started killin’ each other.” 
“Oh no, really?” said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it. 
“Yeah,” said Hagrid sadly. “S’ okay, though, I've got ‘em in separate boxes now. Still got abou’ twenty.” 
“Well, that's lucky,” said Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm. 
Hagrid's cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. They sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as they were. 
“You wait,” he said, grinning. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. Firs’ task…ah, but I'm not supposed ter say.” 
“Go on, Hagrid!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning. 
“I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh,” said Hagrid. “But it's gonna be spectacular, I'll tell yeh that. Them champions're going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I'd live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!” 
They ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though they didn't eat much - Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she, Harry, and Ron rather lost their appetites. However, they enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid tell them what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet. 
A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges. 
“It'd be doin’ ‘em an unkindness, Hermione,” he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. “It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin’ ‘em unhappy ter take away their work, an’ insutin’ ‘em if yeh tried ter pay ‘em.” 
“But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!” said Hermione. “And we heard he's asking for wages now!” 
“Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin’ there isn't the odd elf who'd take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of ‘em ter do it - no, nothin’ doin', Hermione.” 
Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket. 
By half past five it was growing dark, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast - and, more important, the announcement of the school champions. 
“I'll come with yeh,” said Hagrid, putting away his darning. “Jus’ give us a sec.” 
Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for something inside it. They didn't pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached their nostrils. Coughing, Ron said, “Hagrid, what's that?” 
“Eh?” said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. “Don’ yeh like it?” 
“Is that aftershave?” said Hermione in a slightly choked voice. 
“Er - eau de cologne,” Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. 
“Maybe it's a bit much,” he said gruffly. “I'll go take it off, hang on…” 
He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window. 
“Eau de cologne?” said Hermione in amazement. “Hagrid?” 
“And what's with the hair and the suit?” said Harry in an undertone. 
“Look!” said Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window. Hagrid had just straightened up and turned ‘round. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to their feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn't spot them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. They couldn't hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression Harry had only ever seen him wear once before - when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert. 
“He's going up to the castle with her!” said Hermione indignantly. “I thought he was waiting for us!” 
Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides. 
“He fancies her!” said Ron incredulously. “Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record - bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton.” 
They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves, they set off up the sloping lawns. 
“Ooh it's them, look!” Hermione whispered. 
The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them. Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around as he reached the front doors a little ahead of Hermione, Ron, and Harry and proceeded through them. 
When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers’ table. Fred and George - clean-shaven again - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well. 
“Hope it's Angelina,” said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down. 
“So do I!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Well, we'll soon know!” 
The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Harry didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. 
At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. 
“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” - he indicated the door behind the staff table - “where they will be receiving their first instructions.” 
He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting.…A few people kept checking their watches… 
“Any second,” Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Harry. 
The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped. 
Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. 
“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.” 
“No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber. 
“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!” 
The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. 
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!” 
“It's her, Ron!” Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. 
“Oh look, they're all disappointed,” Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. “Disappointed” was a bit of an understatement, Harry thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. 
When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next… 
And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. 
“The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!” 
“No! ” said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again. 
“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real -” 
But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. 
The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. 
Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - 
“Harry Potter.” 
　霍格瓦彻的学生排队，跟着丹姆斯安学生上楼。罗恩十分震惊，“我不信！哈利，那是克伦，维特。克伦！” 
　　“看在老天爷的份上，罗恩，他只不过是个玩快迪斯球的。”荷米恩说。 
　　“只不过是个玩快迪斯的？”罗恩看看她，简直不敢相信他的耳朵，“荷米恩——可是世界上最优秀的搜寻者之一哪！我根本就不知道他居然还在学校里。” 
　　他们跟着其他的霍格瓦彻学生穿过人口大厅，朝大会堂走去。 
　　哈利看见李·乔丹光着脚板窜上跳下，只为了更好地看看克伦的后脑勺。九个六年级的女生一边走一边发狂地掏口袋——“天哪，难以致信，我竟然一支笔都没带——”，“你想他愿意用口红在我的帽子上签名吗？” 
　　“啊，真的呀！”荷米恩极夸地叫道。他们经过那群女生，她们现在正在为那支口红争吵。 
　　“可以的话，我也要去找他签名。”罗恩说，“哈利，你没有带笔，是不是？” 
　　“带了，在我的书包上层。”哈利说。 
　　他们走到格林芬顿桌边，坐了下来，罗恩特意坐在对着门的那一边，因为克伦和他的同伴们还围在门边，很显然他们要坐在哪里还不确定。从比尔贝顿来的学生已经在卫文卡罗桌坐下。她们神情沮丧，四处张望，打量这个大厅。有三个人还牢牢拽着头巾、披肩不放。 
　　“没有那么冷吧，”荷米恩看着他们，有些烦躁。“她们干嘛不把斗篷带来呢？” 
　　“过来！过来坐这！”罗恩轻嘘，“这里！荷米恩，移进一点，挤出点位置——” 
　　“干嘛？” 
　　“太迟了。”罗恩很沮丧。 
　　维特。克伦和他的同学已经在史林德林那桌坐下了。哈利看得出克来伯和高尔对此非常得意。马尔夫俯身向前跟克伦说话。 
　　“是了，没错，拍他的马屁吧，马尔夫，”罗恩讥讽道，“我敢打赌克伦一眼就看透他，尽管……当然他身边总是有人奉承他……你认为他们会睡在哪？我们可以在宿舍里给他腾出点地方来，哈利……把我的床给他睡我都不介意，我可以睡折叠床。” 
　　荷米恩对此嗤之以鼻。 
　　“看来他们比比尔贝顿那伙人高兴多了。”哈利说。 
　　丹姆斯安的学生们在脱他们的厚皮衣，还颇有兴趣地看那星星闪烁的黑色天花板。其中一两个拿起金盘，高脚杯，仔细观看，显然很受感染。 
　　职员桌那边，管理员费驰在加椅子，为此盛事他穿上了那件都发霉了的破燕尾服。看见他在丹伯多的椅子两旁各加了两把椅子，哈利很惊讶。 
　　“但是只多了两个人呀，”哈利说，“费驰干嘛要摆四把椅子呢？ 
　　还有谁要来呢？“ 
　　“什么？”罗恩茫然地问，他还在热切地盯着克伦看。 
　　所有学生进了大厅，在各自的桌边坐定之后，职员们进来，排队上桌坐好。排在队末的有丹伯多教授，卡克罗夫教授和玛西姆——比尔贝顿学校的女校长。她一出现，比尔贝顿的学生都跳了起来。 
　　霍格瓦彻的一些学生笑起来。弄得她们挺尴尬的，没敢坐下直到玛西姆夫人在丹伯多左边的位置坐定后，她们才坐下。而丹伯多还站着，巨厅里鸦雀无声。 
　　“女士们，先生们，鬼魂们——特别是客人们，晚上好，”丹伯多，朝外校学生们微笑，“非常欢迎大家到霍格瓦彻来。我希望我也相信在这里你们会过得舒舒服服，开开心心。” 
　　一个比尔贝顿女生，她还抓着头上的围巾，发出一声冷笑，肯定是冷笑。 
　　“没人强迫你留下来！”荷米恩低声朝她怒吼。 
　　“盛夏之后比赛正式开始，”丹伯多宣布，“现在请大家不要客气，尽请吃喝吧。” 
　　他坐下来，哈利看到卡克罗夫马上靠了过去跟他说话。 
　　跟平时一样他们面前的碟子装满了食物。看来厨房里的小精灵门把所有的储藏都拿出来了。哈利还从没见过这么多各式各样的菜肴，其中有几道菜显然是舶来品。 
　　“那是什么？”罗恩指着摆在一大碟肾丝布丁旁的一盘贝类似的炖菜。 
　　“鱼羹。”荷米恩回答。 
　　“上帝保佑。”罗恩说。 
　　“是法国菜，”荷米恩说，“前年夏天度假时我吃过，很好吃的。” 
　　“我相信你的话。”罗恩说，动手吃起黑布丁。 
　　虽说只多了20个学生，可大厅却显得比往常拥挤多了。可能是因为穿着不同颜色的校服的缘故。脱去皮衣之后，丹姆斯安的学生们露出了暗红色的袍子，比霍格瓦彻学生穿的黑袍子抢服多了。 
　　宴会开始20分钟之后，哈格力从职员桌后面的门挤进来，溜到他在末端的位子。向哈利、罗恩和荷米恩挥了挥他那扎着厚厚绷带的手。 
　　“史库斯们表现还不错吧？哈格力。”哈利喊。 
　　“棒极了！”哈格力高兴地回答。 
　　“是啊，我早就说过他们会很棒的。”罗恩平静地说，“看来他最终还是找到他们喜欢吃的食物了，不是吗？是哈格力的手指头。” 
　　这时一个声音响起，“对不起，你们还要这鱼羹吗？” 
　　那个在丹伯多讲话时冷笑的比尔贝顿女孩问。她终于摘掉头巾，露出一片亮闪闪的金发，头发几乎长及腰际。她有一双深蓝的大眼睛，一口洁白整齐的牙齿。 
　　罗恩满脸通红，仰头瞪着她，张嘴想回答，可除了模糊的咕噜声，他一句话也说不出。 
　　“哦，拿去吧，”哈利说，把那碟菜推给女孩。 
　　“你们吃过了吧？” 
　　“是啊，”罗恩几乎喘不过气来，“是啊，味道好极了。” 
　　女孩端起盘子小心翼翼地朝卫文卡罗桌走去。罗恩还在盯着女孩看，好像从来没见过女人一样。哈利笑了起来，这一笑才把罗恩惊醒，回过神来。 
　　“她是个维拉！”他对哈利说，声音沙哑。 
　　“她当然不是！”荷米恩酸溜溜地。“我没见到还有谁像个白痴一样瞪着她看的。” 
　　可她说的并不完全正确。女孩穿过大厅时。许多男孩都回头看她。有些跟罗恩一样目瞪口呆。 
　　“我跟你说，那绝不是个普通女孩！”罗恩往边上靠了靠，好清楚地看到她，“在霍格瓦彻，她们可不会使他们这样！” 
　　“在霍格瓦彻，她们使他们一切正常。”哈利想都没想就说了。卓刚巧坐在离亮发女孩不远的地方。 
　　“等你们俩位把视线收回，”荷米恩轻快地说，“你们就发现是谁到了。” 
　　她指指职员席。那两个空位已经坐上人了。露得。巴格蒙坐在卡克罗夫教授旁边，而伯希的上司克劳斯先生则坐在玛西姆夫人旁边。 
　　“他们来这里干什么？”哈利很诧异。 
　　“三巫师争霸赛是他们组织的，不是吗？”荷米恩说，“我想他们来是想看赛事开幕吧。” 
　　第二道菜上来了，他们也注意不少奇怪的布丁。罗恩仔细观察了一种淡白的牛奶冻布丁，然后小心地把它移过右边几英寸，即使从卫文卡罗桌那也能清楚看到的地方。可惜那个维拉女孩像是吃饱了，没有过来拿。 
　　金碟子上的菜一扫而光之后，丹伯多又站起来，大厅里充满了一种令人愉快的紧张气氛，哈利兴奋地有些发抖，想接下来会发生的事。离他们不远的地方，弗雷德和乔治往前靠了靠，专注地盯着丹伯多。 
　　“这个时刻到了，”丹伯多朝人海中上仰的脸微笑着说：“三巫赛即将开始。在我们拿珠宝箱进来之前，我先说几句。” 
　　“拿什么？”哈利嘟嚷了一句。 
　　罗恩耸耸肩。 
　　“只是解释一下今年我们采取的步骤。首先还是让我为那些不认识他们的朋友的介绍一下：巴地。克劳斯先生，国际魔法合作系系主任。（响起稀稀拉拉的礼貌性掌声），这位是露得。巴格蒙先生，魔法游戏与运动系的系主任。” 
　　巴格蒙得到的掌声比克劳斯多，可能是因为他作为追逐者的名声，也可能只是因为他长得更讨人喜欢吧。他愉快地挥手表示感谢。 
　　巴地。克劳斯却不同，宣布他的名字时，他不笑也不挥手。哈利想起他在快迪斯世界杯时穿戴整洁的样子，觉得穿上巫师袍后的他看起来怪怪的。跟丹伯多的长发和胡须相比，他那牙刷一样的胡子和明显的头发分界线看起来非常古怪。 
　　“在过去的几个月中，为了三巫赛的筹备工作，巴格蒙先生和克劳斯先生废寝忘食地工作。”丹怕多继续说，“他们将与我，卡克罗夫教授及玛西姆夫人一起组成评判选手们努力程度的评委小姐。 
　　一提到选手，学生们更是竖起耳朵。 
　　可能丹伯多注意他们突然安静下来，就笑着说，“现在，费驰先生，请拿珠宝箱来。” 
　　没人注意到费驰已经在大厅角落里呆了多久，他拿着一个古老的镶着珠宝的大盒子朝丹伯多走去。学生们七嘴八舌兴奋地议论开。事实上，为了看得见珠宝箱，丹尼斯。克成都站到椅子上去了，可惜他实在太小个了，还是被别人挡住了视线。 
　　“克劳斯先生和巴格蒙先生早已检查过今年冠军们将面临的任务说明书，”在丹伯多说话的当儿，费驰已经小心地把箱子放在他面前的桌子上，“他们已为每一个挑战作了必要的准备。三个任务将贯穿整个学年，他们将用不同的方法检测选手，检测他们的魔法才能，胆量，推理能力，当然还有应对危险的能力。” 
　　话音刚落，整个大厅一片寂静，静到好像没人呼吸。 
　　“你们知道，将有三位选手参赛。”丹伯多冷静地往下说，“每个参赛学校一名。我们将给各位选手在各项比赛任务中的表现打分。三项比赛任务完成之后，总分最高者获胜。比赛选手将由一位公正无私的选择者——燃烧的高脚杯——选出。” 
　　丹伯多拿出魔杖在珠宝箱上敲了三下。盖子嘎吱嘎吱慢慢打开。他把手伸进去拉出一个巨大的粗略削制而成的木杯。若不是木杯边缘跳跃着蓝白火焰，它真的是毫不起眼。 
　　丹伯多盖上珠宝箱，小心翼翼把燃烧的高脚杯放在箱子上面，好让大家都能看清楚。 
　　“报名者必须在羊皮纸上工工整整写下名字和学校，再把羊皮纸扔到杯子里，”丹伯多说：“有志者请在24小时内将名字投入杯中，明天晚上，也就是万圣节前夕，高脚杯将给出它选中的最有资格代表他们学校的选手名字。今晚高脚杯就放在入口大厅，要报名的都可以进去，为了避免未成年者因为挡不住诱惑报名参加，”丹伯多说，“等高脚杯放入人口大厅之后，我就会在它周围画条年龄线，17岁以下者无法越过该线。最后，我想提醒一下各位，这次大赛不是随随便便想参加就参加的，一旦被燃烧的高脚杯选中，他或她就必须将比赛进行到底。因为把名字放进杯子后自然就结成有约束力的魔力的合约。一旦做了选手就不能改变主意。因此，在把名字扔进杯子之前，一定要考虑清楚你自己是不是真的全心全意准备去拼搏。好了，我想大家该休息了，祝你们晚安。” 
　　“一条年龄线！”弗来德。威斯里说，双眼闪闪有光，他们穿过大厅走向进入口大厅。“嗯，那它不就会被年龄剂愚弄了，不是吗？一旦你的名字在那杯中，你就会发笑——它又不知道你有没有17岁。” 
　　“但我认为17岁以下的不会有什么机会。”哈利说，“我们学得还不够……” 
　　“你自己说，”乔治马上问哈利，“你会想办法进去的，对吧？” 
　　哈利想丹伯多说过问岁以下不可以报名的，但不一会他就满脑子是他自己赢得三巫杯赛的奇妙情景。他想象不出丹伯多会有多恼怒，如果他发现有17岁以下的人想出办法越过年龄线…… 
　　“他在哪里？”罗恩问。他根本就没听他们说话，自顾在人群中寻找克伦，看他怎么样了。“丹伯多没说丹姆斯安人睡哪里吧？” 
　　这个问题几乎马上就有了答案，他们现在跟史林德林桌处同一水平面。卡克罗夫刚刚还在催他的学生。 
　　“回到船上去。”他说，“维特你怎么样？吃饱没有？要不要我叫人去厨房拿些加了糖和香料的酒来？” 
　　哈利看见克伦摇了摇头，在穿皮衣。 
　　“教授，我想要些酒。”另一个丹姆斯安男生满怀希望。 
　　“我可不是跟你说话。”卡克罗夫厉声说道，他的慈祥的父爱神态马上消失，“我发现你又把食物弄得满衣襟都是，令人恶心的孩子——” 
　　卡克罗夫转身领着他的学生朝门走去。刚巧哈利、罗恩和荷米恩也到那。哈利让他先过。 
　　“谢谢。”卡克罗夫漫不经心看了他一眼。 
　　卡克罗夫惊呆了。他回头盯着哈利，简直不敢相信他的眼睛。 
　　在他身后，丹姆斯安的学生也停住。卡克罗夫的眼睛从下到上慢慢打量哈利的脸，最后停在那道疤上。丹姆斯安的学生也好奇地盯着哈利看。从眼角的余光中，哈利看到其中有些人脸上流露恍然大悟的神情。那个袍子前襟粘满食物的男孩轻轻碰了碰他边上的女孩，公然指着哈利的前额。 
　　“没错，是哈利·波特。”后面传来咆哮声。 
　　卡克罗夫教授转过身来，魔眼莫迪站在那，靠着他的学生，他的魔眼眨也不眨地瞪着丹姆斯安的校长。 
　　哈利观察到，卡克罗夫的脸变了颜色，流露出了夹杂着愤怒和恐惧的骇人神色。 
　　“你！”他瞪着莫迪，好像不相信自己的眼睛。 
　　“我怎么了，”莫迪阴沉沉地说道，“如果你没什么话要对哈利说，卡克罗夫，你就该让个位，你把门给堵住了。”卡克罗夫一言不发，领着他的学生们浩浩荡荡地走开。莫迪望着他走出视线，魔眼再盯他的背影，支离破碎的脸上露出极度厌恶的神情。 
　　确实如此，大厅里有半数的学生在他后面等，一个个伸长着脖子想看看究竟是什么引起了阻塞。 
　　第二天是星期六，正常来说多数学生会迟些吃早餐。然而不单单是哈利、罗恩和荷米思起得比平常周末还早。他们进入口大厅后发现大厅里早就有力来个人在周围转悠，有的吃着烤面包片，不过个个都在仔细观察那个燃烧的高脚杯。它在大厅中间的那把平时用来放分类帽的凳子上面。它周围的地板捞上了一道细金线，形成了一个以它为圆心，半径为10英尺的圆。 
　　“有没有人放名字进去？”罗恩急切地问一个13岁女孩。 
　　“那伙丹姆斯安人都放了，”她回答说，“可是我还没有见到有霍格瓦彻人放名字进去。” 
　　“我打赌他们中有些人在昨晚我们走后就把名字扔进去了。”哈利说。“是我的话，我也会那样做，我可不想让大家都看到。万一那杯子马上就吐出你的名字可怎么办哪？” 
　　有人在他背后笑起来。哈利转过身，看见弗来德、乔治和李·乔丹从楼上冲下来，他们显得特兴奋。 
　　“搞定。”弗来德得意洋洋，低声对哈利、罗恩和荷米恩说，“刚刚服下的。” 
　　“服什么？”罗恩问。 
　　“年龄剂，死脑筋，”弗来德说。 
　　“每人一滴。”乔治兴奋地直搓手。“我们只要大几个月就行了。” 
　　“我们三个中任何一个赢的话，平分那1千帆船币。”乔丹咧嘴笑。 
　　“很难保证有没有效，你知道。”荷米恩告诫道：“我想丹伯多一定也想到这一招了。” 
　　弗来德，乔治和李不理她。 
　　“准备好了吗？”弗来德问另外两个，兴奋地发抖，“那就来吧，我先上。” 
　　哈利看着，极为好奇，弗来德从口袋里扯出一块羊皮纸，写下“弗来德。威史林——霍格瓦彻”然后径直走到那条线边缘，站在那，活动脚踝，像个准备从50英尺高处向下跳的潜水运动员。运动完以后，在众人的注视下，他深深吸了口气，跨了进去。 
　　那一瞬间，哈利以为他成功了——乔治一定也这么想，因为他发出一声胜利的叫声，跟着弗来德跳了进去——但在另一瞬间，一阵咝咝声响起，两个双胞胎被猛扔出金线圈中，好像是被一个看不见的掷铅球者扔了出来一样，重重地摔在离圈十尺远的又冷又硬的石地板上，发出了砰砰两声巨响，更倒霉的是两人同时长出了长长的白胡子。 
　　整个人口大厅笑成一片，他们自己站起身来互相看了一眼以后，也笑起来。 
　　“我早就警告过你们。”一个低沉的忍俊不禁的声音响起，大家转身看到了丹伯多教授正从外面进来。他看了看弗来德和乔治，目露笑意。“我建议你们俩去找波姆弗雷夫人。她已经在照看卫文卡罗的非可芙小姐和海夫巴夫的希马西先生，那两个人也决定要变老一点，不过我得说，他们俩的胡子都没有你们的好。” 
　　李·乔丹笑得要命，陪弗来德和乔治去了医院，而哈利、罗恩和荷术恩地咯咯笑着吃早餐去了。 
　　早上大厅里的装饰已经更换过了。由于是万圣节前夕，一大群蝙蝠在迷人的顶篷周围拍翅飞舞，成百上千雕刻的南瓜从各个角落窥视众人。哈利朝迪思和西摩斯走去。他们俩正在讨论霍格瓦彻校中那些问岁以上有可能参赛的学生。 
　　“有传言说沃林顿一大早就起床把名字扔进去了，”迪思告诉哈利，“就是那个大块头，来自史林德林，长得跟个树獭似的。” 
　　哈利跟沃林顿打过快迪斯，他厌恶地摇摇头，“人们可不能要一个来自史林德林的。” 
　　“所有的海夫巴夫都在讨论迪格瑞，”西摩斯轻蔑地说。“可我却不认为他有胆拿他那副小白脸冒险。” 
　　“听！”荷米恩突然说了一句。 
　　人口大厅的人在欢呼，他们都在绕着椅子转，安琪尔。琳娜走进大厅，挺尴尬地咧嘴笑。安琪儿。琳娜，是格林芬顿快迪斯队的追捕者，个子挺高，长得黑黑的她走到他们的这边坐了下来，“好了，搞定，我刚刚把名字放过去！” 
　　“你开玩笑！”罗恩很惊奇。 
　　“那你满17岁啦？”哈利问。 
　　“那废话，她没长出胡子，是吧？”罗恩说。 
　　“我上星期才过的生日。”安琪儿。琳娜说。 
　　“嗯，我很高兴，格林芬顿总算有人报名了，”荷米恩说，“我真希望你能被选中，安琪儿琳娜。” 
　　“谢谢你，荷米恩。”安琪儿。琳娜朝她笑了笑。 
　　“没错，你总比那个金苍蝇彼格理强。”西摩斯说的这话，惹得几个经过他们的桌的海夫巴夫学生朝他大皱眉头。 
　　罗恩问哈利和荷米恩，“那我们吃完早餐离开大厅。今天干什么？” 
　　“我们还没拜访过哈格力呢。”哈利说。 
　　“好吧。”罗恩说，“只要他别叫我贡献几个手指给那些史库斯就行了。” 
　　荷米恩的脸上突然兴奋起来。 
　　“我刚刚才发觉，我还没叫哈格力加入S.P.E.W呢！”她高兴地说，“等等我，行吗？我赶快上楼拿徽章盒。” 
　　荷米恩沿着大理石阶跑上楼时，罗恩恼怒地说：“她像个什么？” 
　　“嘿，罗恩，”哈利突然说，“那是你的朋友……” 
　　那些比尔贝顿的学生从外面走进前门。那个维拉女孩也在其中。燃烧的高脚杯周围的人们都给她们退出一条路，大家急切地看着。 
　　玛西姆夫人跟在她的学生后面进了大厅。她把学生排成一列纵队。然后她们就一个接一个地跨进年龄圈，把羊皮纸扔进蓝白的火焰中。每个名字一进林，杯火马上就变红，还溅出火花。 
　　“你想，那些没被选中的人会怎么样呢？”当那个维拉女孩把她的名字扔进火里的时候，罗恩跟哈利低语：“他们是回校呢还是留下来看比赛？” 
　　“不太清楚。”哈利说，“我猜会留下来吧……玛西姆夫人不是要留下来做裁判吗？” 
　　所有的比尔贝顿学生报名之后，玛西姆夫人又领他们出大厅进了场地。 
　　罗恩朝前门移了移，盯着她们看。“那她们睡哪儿？”他问。 
　　他们身后的嘎嘎声表明荷米恩已经拿好装S.P.E.W徽章的盒子出来了。 
　　“哦，行了，快点吧。罗恩边说边从石阶上跳下来。他两眼还盯着那个维拉女孩的背影，她现在和玛西姆夫人走在横穿草坪的路上。 
　　他们靠近禁忌森林边上哈格力的小屋。比尔贝顿宿营地的秘密解许了。载他们来的巨大粉蓝马车就停在离哈格力小屋前门200码处。学生们正在上车。拉车的巨型飞马在边上临时搭起的围场里吃草。 
　　哈利敲敲哈格力的门，弗兰应道，他推开门看谁在敲门，发现是他们就说，“我以为你们这群家伙忘了我住哪了！” 
　　“哈格力，我们真的很忙。”荷米恩才开口就马上又打住了。她抬头看哈格力，一句话也说不出了。 
　　哈格力穿着他最好（也很可怕）的毛绒绒的褐色外套，系了条黄橙相间的格子领带。这还不算太糟。糟的是他显然用大量的像是轮轴润滑油的东西擦头企图理顺头发，可能他已经试过扎比尔那种马尾辫，可惜头发太多了，弄不成又把头发扎成两股，直垂下来。这种装扮根本就不适合哈格力。荷米恩朝他咯咯笑了好一会儿。然后，强忍住不对此作任何评价，问道，“嘿，史库斯在哪？” 
　　“到南瓜地附近去了，”哈格力愉快地说，“他们长得越来越大了，现在大概有了六英尺那么长。唯一的麻烦是他们开始互相屠杀。” 
　　“哦，天，真的吗？”荷米恩边说边给罗恩丢了眼神，叫他别对此发表言论。 
　　“是啊，”哈格力难过的说，“不过没关系，现在我把他们隔开放在不同的盒子里。大概足有20个。” 
　　“哦，挺幸运的。”罗恩说。哈格力没听出他的话外音。 
　　哈格力的小屋只有一个房间，房间的角落有张大床，床上罩着用碎布拼成的褥子。火炉前面，摆了张大桌和几把椅子，天花板上挂了大量的熏火腿和死鸟，正好吊在桌子上方。他们坐在桌边，哈格力开始泡茶。他们很快就沉浸于三巫赛的讨论之中。看来哈格力对此跟他们一样兴奋。 
　　“你们等着瞧。”他笑着说，“只要等着，就会看到一些你从来没见过的东西。第一个任务……啊，我不能说。” 
　　“说吧，哈格力。”哈利、罗恩和荷米恩催他，可他只是唉声摇头。 
　　“我不想因你们坏了规矩？”哈格力说，“但我可以告诉你们，场面将十分壮观。我从没想到我还能活到再看一次三巫赛。” 
　　他们最后跟哈格力一起吃早餐，吃得不多。哈格力做了他所谓牛肉沙锅菜，荷米恩在莱里发现一个大爪子，三人顿时胃口全无。他们喜欢叫哈格力告诉他们比赛中将有什么任务，也喜欢推测报名者中哪些可能被选中。他们也想着弗来德和乔治的胡子去掉没有。 
　　下午三时左右天空开始飘起雨，哈利坐在火边，听雨滴敲打窗户发出的温柔的塔塔声，再看哈格力边补袜子，边同荷米恩争论有关佣人小精灵们的事之后，当她拿徽章给他看后，他断然拒绝加入S.P.E.W.这一切真是很惬意。 
　　“这对他们很残酷，荷米恩，”他神情严肃，拿黄色的粗沙线穿巨骨针。“照顾人类是他们的天性，是他们喜欢做的，付钱给他们，那就更是对他们天大的污辱了。” 
　　“但是哈利给了多比自由，多比可高兴了。”荷米恩说。“我们听说他开始要求领工资了。” 
　　“是啊，不错，在每一种种类中你都可以找到例外，在此我不是说不存在想要自由的古怪精灵，但你永远不可能劝服他们中的多数那样做，不，不可能的，荷米恩。” 
　　荷米恩看起来很生气，把她的徽章塞回斗篷。 
　　5点半后天黑下来，罗恩、哈利和荷米恩觉得该回城堡去了。不仅仅是为了万圣节晚宴，要主要的是那时将宣布各校选手。 
　　“我跟你们一起去。”哈格力说，把他的外线活放到一旁，“请稍候片刻。” 
　　他站起身，走到床边，在带抽屉的柜子里摸来摸去找什么东西。 
　　对
Chapter 17 The Four Champions 
Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly. 
There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat. 
Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly. 
Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed. 
“I didn't put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn't.” 
Both of them stared just as blankly back. 
At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall. 
“Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!” 
“Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. 
Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him. 
“Well…through the door, Harry,” said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling. 
Harry moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else. Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. 
The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear. 
Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair. 
“What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?” 
She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn't know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were. 
There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward. 
“Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen…lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the fourth Triwizard champion?” 
Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.” 
“Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!” 
Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned. 
“But evidently zair ‘as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “'E cannot compete. ‘E is too young.” 
“Well…it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet…I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage.…It's down in the rules, you're obliged…Harry will just have to do the best he -” 
The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door. 
“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!” 
Somewhere under Harry's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy? 
Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled. 
“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she said imperiously. 
“I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions - or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” 
He gave a short and nasty laugh. 
“C'est impossible,” said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. “'Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most injust.” 
“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.” 
“It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff,” said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. “Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here -” 
“Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. 
Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. 
“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly. 
“No,” said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows. 
“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape. 
“No,” said Harry vehemently. 
“Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling. 
“He could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that -” 
“Dumbly-dorr must ‘ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging. 
“It is possible, of course,” said Dumbledore politely. 
“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said Professor McGonagall angrily. “Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!” 
She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape. 
“Mr. Crouch…Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our - er - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?” 
Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. 
“We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.” 
“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed. 
“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore.” 
“But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament -” 
“- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” exploded Karkaroff. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!” 
“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” 
Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. 
“Convenient?” said Karkaroff. “I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody.” 
Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists. 
“Don't you?” said Moody quietly. “It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out.” 
“Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime. 
“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards -” 
“If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter,” growled Moody, “but…funny thing…I don't hear him saying a word…” 
“Why should ‘e complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. “'E ‘as ze chance to compete, ‘asn't ‘e? We ‘ave all been ‘oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money - zis is a chance many would die for!” 
“Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it,” said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl. 
An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man…what a thing to say!” 
“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly. “Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons. 
“Imagining things, am I?” growled Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet…” 
“Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands. 
“Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” said Moody. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament.…I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category.…” 
“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously.…” 
“There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember… 
“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized “Mad-Eye” could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction - Karkaroff's face was burning. 
“How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do.…” 
“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -” 
“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.” 
Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited. 
“Well, shall we crack on, then?” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?” 
Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. 
“Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes…the first task…” 
He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. 
“The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…very important.… 
“The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. 
“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.” 
Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. 
“I think that's all, is it, Albus?” 
“I think so,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?” 
“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment.…I've left young Weatherby in charge.…Very enthusiastic…a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…” 
“You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore. 
“Come on, Barry, I'm staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!” 
“I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience. 
“Professor Karkaroff - Madame Maxime - a nightcap?” said Dumbledore. 
But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence. 
“Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.” 
Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together. 
The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality. 
“So,” said Cedric, with a slight smile. “We're playing against each other again!” 
“I s'pose,” said Harry. He really couldn't think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked. 
“So…tell me…” said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. “How did you get your name in?” 
“I didn't,” said Harry, staring up at him. “I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth.” 
“Ah…okay,” said Cedric. Harry could tell Cedric didn't believe him. “Well…see you, then.” 
Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to climb the marble ones. 
Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years’ more magical education than he had - when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it…he'd fantasized about it…but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream…he'd never really, seriously considered entering.… 
But someone else had considered it…someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn't think so, somehow… 
To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish.… 
But to get him killed? 
Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn't someone have put Harry's name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead? 
Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old…Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry's name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone…feeble and powerless.… 
Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone…he had been talking to Wormtail…plotting Harry's murder.… 
Harry got a shock to find himself facing the Fat Lady already. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbor's painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest. 
“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?” 
“Balderdash,” said Harry dully. 
“It most certainly isn't!” said the pale witch indignantly. 
“No, no, Vi, it's the password,” said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room. 
The blast of noise that met Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling. 
“You should've told us you'd entered!” bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed. 
“How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George. 
“I didn't,” Harry said. “I don't know how -” 
But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor -” 
“You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!” shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers. 
“We've got food, Harry, come and have some -” 
“I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast -” 
But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate.…Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands.…Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet.… 
“I didn't,” he said, over and over again, “I don't know how it happened.” 
But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all. 
“I'm tired!” he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. “No, seriously, George - I'm going to bed -” 
He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could. 
To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him. 
“Where've you been?” Harry said. 
“Oh hello,” said Ron. 
He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it. 
“So,” he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. “Congratulations.” 
“What d'you mean, congratulations?” said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace. 
“Well…no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use - the Invisibility Cloak?” 
“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly. 
“Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak…because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?” 
“Listen,” said Harry, “I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it.” 
Ron raised his eyebrows. 
“What would they do that for?” 
“I dunno,” said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, “To kill me.” 
Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. 
“It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said. “If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either.…” 
“I didn't put my name in that goblet!” said Harry, starting to feel angry. 
“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric. “Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you.…I'm not stupid, you know.” 
“You're doing a really good impression of it,” Harry snapped. 
“Yeah?” said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. “You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something.” 
He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him. 
　哈利呆坐在那，觉察到巨厅里人人都转过头来看着他。全身麻木，他一定是在做梦。他一定听错了。 
　　没有掌声，大厅里有的只是如蜜蜂发出的嗡嗡声。一些学生站起来，乘他呆坐在座位上时好好看看。 
　　在最高桌那边，麦康娜教授站起来，经过露得。巴格蒙和卡可卡罗夫教授，急促地跟丹伯多教授低语，丹伯多教授凑过耳朵，眉头微皱。 
　　哈利转过身，对着罗恩和荷米恩，他那边格林芬顿一整桌人都张大嘴看着他。 
　　“我没有放名字过去，”哈利茫然地说。“你们知道我没有。” 
　　他们两个也是茫然地瞪着他。 
　　最高桌那边，丹伯多教授挺直身子朝麦康娜教授点头。 
　　“哈利·波特！“他又叫。”哈利！请上这来！“ 
　　“去吧。”荷米恩低声说，轻轻推了推哈利。 
　　哈利站起来，踩住了饱子下摆差点跌倒，他从史林德林桌和海夫巴夫桌间穿过。那条路好像没有尽头，最高桌似乎是遥不可及。 
　　他感到成百上千双眼在注视他。而每双眼都仿佛是探照灯。嗡嗡声越来越响。感觉好像是过了1小时他才走到丹伯多前面，又感到所有老师的目光都在望着他。 
　　“嗯……通过那扇门，哈利。”丹伯多说，他没有笑容。 
　　哈利沿着老师的桌子向前走。哈格力就坐在另一头。他没有朝哈利眨眼，没有挥手，也没有任何他常有的问候动作。他完全惊呆了。哈利走过时，他和其他人一样，盯着他。哈利走出大会堂，发现自己进了一个挂满男巫女巫画像的小房间。正对他的是个火炉，炉火烧得正旺。 
　　他一进去，画上的脸都朝他看来，只见一个干枯的女巫从她自己的相框里飞出来，飞进旁边一个长着海象胡子的男巫像里，在他耳边低语。 
　　维特。克伦，赛德里克。迪格瑞还有芙璐·迪米高围坐在火边，映着火光，他们给人一种奇怪的印像。克伦拱着身子靠着壁炉架在沉思，与另两个分开，塞德里克背着手站着，盯着大门看，而哈利进去时，芙璐·迪来高四处张望，往后甩头发。 
　　“什么事？”她问，“他们要我们回大厅去吗？” 
　　她以为他是来捎口信的，对刚发生的事哈利不知该如何解释。 
　　他只能站在那，看着那三位选手，发现他们高得惊人。 
　　身后传来一阵忙乱的脚步，路得。巴格蒙进了房间，他牵着哈利的手向前走。 
　　“真不寻常！”他咕哝着，拧着哈利的胳膊。“实在是不寻常！ 
　　先生们……小姐们。“他加了句，靠近火边，跟其他三个说：“请容许我介绍——有点不可思议——第四位三巫赛选手。“ 
　　维特。克伦直起身。打量着哈利，他傲慢的脸阴沉了下来。塞德里克迷惑不解地看看巴格蒙又看看哈利。好像怀疑自己是不是听错巴格蒙说的话了。而芙璐·迪来高则摇头笑着说，“呕，非常可笑的玩笑，巴格蒙先生。” 
　　“玩笑？”巴格蒙重复了一下，有点迷惑，“不，不，根本不是玩笑。燃烧的高脚杯刚刚给出哈利的名字。” 
　　芙璐皱起眉头。“但是明显是错了，”她轻蔑地对着巴格蒙说，“他不能参赛。他太小了。” 
　　“嗯……是挺奇怪，”巴格蒙摸摸光滑的下巴朝哈利笑说。“但是，你知道，年龄限制是今年才加的特别安全措施。他的名字从杯中出来……我的意思是在这种情况下，我认为退出是不可能的了。 
　　这是规则，你必须……哈利只要尽其所能——“ 
　　门又开了，一大群人走进来：丹伯多教授，紧跟着克劳斯先生，卡克罗夫教授，玛西姆夫人，麦康娜教授和史纳皮教授。哈利听到墙的另一边传来无数学生的嗡嗡声，麦康娜教授关上门。 
　　“玛西姆夫人！”芙璐马上朝她的校长过去，“他们说这个小男孩也要参赛！” 
　　在哈利满怀疑虑的麻木了的心灵某种却也泛起了怒浪，小男孩？ 
　　确实，相比哈利的矮个头玛西姆夫人显得相当高，她优美的头部都碰到点蜡的吊灯，而她那宽大的黑锻缎衣脑襟下也鼓起来了。 
　　“这是什么意思嘛，丹伯多？”她傲慢地发问。 
　　“我也想知道，丹伯多，”卡克罗夫教授也说。他笑容冷峻，目露寒光。“霍格瓦彻有两名选手。我可不记得有什么人说过东道主学校可以有两个选手的，是不是那些规则我读得还不够仔细？” 
　　他发出刺耳的笑声。 
　　“这不可能，”玛西姆夫人说，她那戴了许多猫眼石的大手放在芙璐的肩上。“霍格瓦彻不可以有两个选手，那样太不公平了。” 
　　“丹伯多，我们都很相信你的年龄线能够阻止年少者报名。”卡克罗夫还是那副冷峻像，只是目光更加冷酷。“否则的话，我们当然也会从学校带多些候选人来，范围大一些。” 
　　“这都是波特的错，卡克罗夫，”史纳皮温和地说。他的黑眼珠闪着邪恶的光芒。“不要因为哈利执意要违反规则而责备丹伯多，他从来这里起就在惹麻烦。” 
　　“谢了，塞维鲁施。”丹伯多坚定地说。史纳皮不作声，但透过他那油腻的黑发可见他的双眼仍然闪着邪恶的光。 
　　丹伯多教授看着哈利，哈利也在看他，试图解读教授半月镜片后的眼神。 
　　“哈利，你有没有把名字放进燃烧的高脚杯了？”丹伯多发问，很冷静。 
　　“没有，”哈利回答，他知道大家都在密切地注视着他。在暗处，史纳皮轻轻哼一声，显然是不耐烦，不信任。 
　　丹伯多教授没理史纳皮，他继续问：“那你有没有叫比你大的学生帮你放？” 
　　“没有！”哈利反应强烈。 
　　“哼，他当然是撒谎！”玛西姆夫人说，史纳皮在摇头，双唇扭曲。 
　　“他不可能越过年龄线。”麦康娜厉声说道，“我相信我们大家都同意——” 
　　“丹伯多一定弄错年龄线了。”玛西姆夫人耸耸肩。 
　　“当然，这有可能的。”丹伯多很有礼貌地回答。 
　　“丹伯多，你没有弄错，这一点你知道得一清二楚。”麦康娜很生气。“真是废话！哈利自己没可能越过年龄线。如丹伯多教授所说他没有让哪个比他大的学生帮他放，但难保说有什么好心人帮他做了。” 
　　她非常生气地瞟了史纳皮教授一眼。 
　　“克劳斯先生，巴格蒙先生，”卡克罗夫油腔滑调地，“你们可是客观裁制，你们一定也认为这是最不合常理的吧。” 
　　巴格蒙拿着条手帕擦脸。圆圆的脸，挺孩子气的。他在着克劳斯先生，后者站在火光圈外，脸隐藏在阴暗之中，阴森森的，黑暗使他显得老多了，也让人觉得他像个骷髅。他开口了，声音和平常一样散慢，“我们须遵守规则。规则上写得清清楚楚，凡是名字从燃烧的高脚杯中出来了的人就必须参加比赛。” 
　　“巴地对条例书可是了如指掌。”巴格蒙笑着转过身对着卡克罗夫和玛西姆夫人，好像这条事就这么完结似的。 
　　“我坚持我的其他学生再报一次名。”卡克罗夫一改油腔滑调，没有笑容，都是满脸丑恶，“你再把燃烧的高脚杯摆出来，我们继续往里扔名字，到每个学校有两名选手为止。只有这样才公平，丹伯多。” 
　　“可是，卡克罗夫，那样不行，”巴格蒙。“燃烧的高脚杯刚熄，要到下次比赛开始才会再烧起来。” 
　　“那么，哈利将不能参加比赛！”卡克罗夫爆出这样的话。“开了这么多会议，做了这么多协商让步，我压根没想到有这种事发生！现在我差不多想走了。” 
　　“卡克罗夫，别做无谓的威胁了。”门边响起一个声音，“现在你可不能丢下你的选手不管。他还得比赛呢，他们都得比。如丹伯多所言，有约束力的魔力契约。方便吧，呃？” 
　　莫迪刚进来，他一拐一拐地朝炉火这边走，他每走一步都发出铿锵巨响。 
　　“方便？”卡克罗夫说话。“莫迪，恐怕我不明白你在说什么。” 
　　哈利看得出他竭力扮清高，装出他根本就不知道莫迪说什么的样子，可惜他那握成拳头的双手背叛了他。 
　　“是吗？”莫迪静静地说，“这很简单，卡克罗夫，有人把波特的名字放进杯子，他知道一旦被选中，波特就必须参赛。” 
　　“显而易见，有人希望霍格瓦彻有更多获胜机会。”玛西姆夫人叫起来。 
　　“我赞同您的看法，玛西姆夫人。”卡克罗夫朝她鞠躬。“我将向魔法部和国际巫师协会提出抗议。” 
　　“要说有谁有理由抗议的话，那就是波特。”莫迪咆哮，“可笑的是，我没听到他说过一句话。” 
　　“他有什么好抱怨的？”芙珊。迪来高跺脚冒出一句。“他得到了参赛的机会，不是吗？几周以来，我们都希望被选中参赛。为了学校的荣誉，为了那一千金币的奖金。这可是许多人梦寐以求的机会。 
　　“可能有人希望哈利因此而亡。”莫迪带着咆哮的口吻。 
　　话音刚落。房间里一片死寂。 
　　露得。巴格蒙，看来真的很紧张，他不安地走来走去，“莫迪，你这老东西，说的是什么话。” 
　　“我们都知道，午餐之前莫迪教授若还没找出六个暗算杀他的阴谋，他会觉得早晨白过了。”卡克罗夫大声说，“显然他在教他的学生也畏惧暗杀。丹伯多，这可是个冒犯我们的怪招。当然，你有你的理由。” 
　　“说是我编造的？”莫迪吼道，“还不明白吗？呃？是某个技术高超的巫师把那孩子的名字放进杯里的……” 
　　“你有什么证据？”玛西姆夫人大手一挥。 
　　“因为他欺骗了一个魔力强大的东西！”莫迪说，“要迷惑高脚杯，使它忘记只有三所学校参赛，需要一个非常强的魔咒。我猜测他把波特的名字放在第四所学校，确保他是那类中唯一的一个。” 
　　“莫迪，看来你考虑的还挺多的哦。”卡克罗夫冷冷地说，“当然，这个理论还挺高明的。我听说最近你把生日礼物中的一个漂亮杯子当作经过巧妙包装的蜥蜴蛋打了个粉碎，因此我们不把你的话当回事，你应该能理解吧。” 
　　“有些人总想利用一些无关的事件，”莫迪用威胁的口气反驳。 
　　“想那些阴险的巫师怎么做是我的事，卡克罗夫——你应该还记得……” 
　　“阿拉施特！”丹伯多警告道。哈利一时不知道他是跟谁说，后来意识到这才是“魔眼”莫迪的真名。莫迪不作声，但还是得意地打量着卡克罗夫，后者已是怒火中烧。 
　　“怎么会出现这种情况，我们不知道，”丹伯多对房间里的人说。“在我看来，除了接受事实外我们别无选择。塞德里克和哈利都被选中了参赛，那他们也只得……” 
　　“丹伯多——可是——” 
　　“亲爱的玛西姆夫人，您要是有什么好建议的话，我洗耳恭听。” 
　　丹伯多等她说。可她没开口只是瞪着眼。不只她，史纳皮看来也很愤怒，卡克罗夫面色铁青，而巴格蒙却相当兴奋。 
　　“那么我们就开始了。”他援搓手，笑视四周。“该给选手们指令了吧？巴地，有兴趣帮个忙吗？” 
　　“行，指令，是了，第一个任务……” 
　　巴地凑近火光。哈利觉得他病了。眼圈发黑，干枯的皮肤干瘦如纸。可快迪斯世界杯赛时，他不是那样的。 
　　“第一个任务用来检测你们的胆量，”他告诉哈利，塞德里克，芙璐和克伦。“当然我们不会告诉你这是个什么任务。面对未知，勇气对一个巫师来说很重要，非常重要。” 
　　“第一个任务将于十一月二十四号进行，当着全体裁判和学生的面。” 
　　“完成参赛任务的过程中选手不能请老师帮忙，也不能接受老师任何形式的援助，选手们将在魔杖的帮助下进行第一个任务。完成第一个任务后他们才被告知有关第二个任务的信息。鉴于比赛的耗时费神性，选手们期末可以免试。” 
　　克劳斯先生转身看丹伯多。“艾怕斯，我想就这么多，是吧？” 
　　“我想也是。”丹伯多关切地看着克劳斯。“确实今晚不留在霍格瓦彻过夜了？巴地？” 
　　“不留了，丹伯多，我得回部里去，”克劳斯先生说。“这阵子比较艰难，很忙……我让维塞拜负责，这小伙子很热心。不过，说句老实话，有点热心过头了。” 
　　“那起码走之前来喝一杯吧？” 
　　“巴地，留下来吧，我要呆在这。”巴格蒙快乐地说。“你知道，霍格瓦彻将有什么发生。留在这可比呆在办公室里好多了。” 
　　“我不这么想，露得。”克劳斯又恢复那种不耐烦的神情。 
　　“卡克罗夫教授——玛西姆夫人——睡前来一杯怎么样？”丹伯多问。 
　　可玛西姆夫人早就搂着芙璐的肩，快步走出去了。哈利听到她们用法语快速地交谈。卡克罗夫示意克伦。他们俩个也静静地离去。 
　　“哈利，塞德里克，你们也该去睡了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑，“我相信格林芬顿和海夫巴夫还等和你们一块庆祝呢，可别剥夺了他们这个制造混乱和噪音的好借口哟！” 
　　哈利看看塞德里克，他点头了。于是俩人一块走。 
　　大厅空荡荡的。蜡烛快烧完了，使南瓜们发出的光，参差不齐，摇曳着阴森。 
　　“那，”塞德里克微微一笑。“我们又成了对手。” 
　　“我想也是。”哈利说，实际上他想不出要说什么。头脑还是一片混乱，像被洗了脑一样。 
　　“那，告诉我……”他们走到人口大厅的时候，塞德里克问，“你是怎么把名字放进去的？” 
　　火把代替燃烧的高脚杯照亮大厅。 
　　“我没有故名字进去。”哈利瞪着他，“我没有。我说的是真话。” 
　　“啊，那好吧，再见。”哈利看得出塞德里克不相信他。 
　　塞德里克不走大理石阶梯，向它右边的门走去。哈利站在那听他踏着石阶离去时的脚步声，这才上了大理石梯。 
　　除了罗恩和荷米恩可能相信他之外，大家都认为为了参赛，是他自己把名字放进去的。但他们怎么可以那样想呢？要知道他面临的竞争对手比他多上了三年的魔法课，而且他还要当着众人的面完成那些非常危险的任务。没错，他是曾经想过，也为之着迷过，但实际上只是玩笑，一个白日梦。他真的从来就没有正儿八经地想过要参加的。 
　　但有人却想到了。有人希望他参赛，而且还让他被选中了。为什么呢？是给他恩典吗？他可不这么想，可能是…… 
　　看他出丑？那他们很可能会如愿以偿。 
　　想害死他？莫迪不也是这样想吗？还是有人恶意开他的玩笑？ 
　　没错，有人希望他死掉。从他一岁起就有人想他死……福尔得摩特？但他怎么能使他的名字进了燃烧的高脚杯呢？福尔得摩特现在应该是躲在某个遥远的国度，孤独，脆弱，无助。 
　　但在他因疤疼醒来之前所做的梦里，福尔得摩特不是一个人，他和温太尔谈论关于谋杀波特的事。 
　　波特突然发现自己在对着胖大婶，吓了一大跳，他没意识到自己一直在走。胖大婶不是一个人呆在相框里这也挺奇怪的。刚才他下楼时看到的那个飞到隔壁像框去的女巫正得意地坐在胖大婶旁。 
　　她一定是飞过霍斯马得阶梯上挂着的每幅画像，赶在他前面到的，她们俩兴致勃勃，朝他上下打量。 
　　“好呀，好呀。”胖大婶说，“维莉特把一切都告诉我了。那你被选中做代表了？” 
　　“胡说八道。”哈利闷闷地说了句。 
　　“当然不是胡说！”苍白女巫挺气愤地说。 
　　“噢，噢，维，别生气，这是暗号。”胖大婶安慰她。胖大婶转了转枢纽开门让哈特进了公共休息室。 
　　门一开，一阵吵闹声几乎把波特撞了回去。接着他就被房里的几十双手抓住，面对所有格林芬顿的人。个个又是尖叫又是鼓掌吹哨。 
　　“你早该告诉我们你报名了。”弗来德大叫，半喜半怒。 
　　“太厉害了，你怎么样不长白胡子就做到了呢？”乔治笑着吼。 
　　“我没有，”哈利说，“我不知道怎么——” 
　　恩格利纳已经朝他扑来。“虽然不是我，但好歹是格林芬顿一员。 
　　“现在你可以一雪最后一场快迪斯比赛之耻，报复迪格瑞了！” 
　　凯蒂·贝尔——格林芬顿队追捕者之一尖笑。 
　　“我们拿了些食物，哈利，来吃点吧。” 
　　“我不饿，晚宴上吃饱了。” 
　　没人想听他说他不饿，也没人想听他说他没有把名字放进去。 
　　也没有一个人注意到他根本没心情庆祝。李·乔丹不知从哪弄了块格林芬顿的旗，坚持要把旗裹在哈利身上，像件斗篷。哈利脱不了身，每次他试图从楼梯跑回宿舍去，众人就把他围在中间，强迫他再来一杯巴特酒，把甜点、花生往他手里塞。人人都想知道他是怎么做到的，他是怎样骗过丹伯多的年龄线，把名字放进去的…… 
　　“我没有。”他说了一遍又一遍，“我不知道这是怎么回事。” 
　　从大家看他的那副样子判断，他说了也白说。 
　　差不多半小时之后，他忍无可忍叫了起来，“我累了，乔治，真的，我要睡了。” 
　　他最想做的事是找到罗恩和荷米恩。到他的那寻求理解。可看来两个都不在场。他坚持要去睡觉。在楼梯口，格利维弟兄俩试图拦住他不让他走，他差点把他们压倒在地。总算摆脱众人，他飞快地爬进宿舍。 
　　在空空的宿舍里他发现罗恩和衣躺在床上，不由舒了口气。哈利使劲关上门。罗思才抬起头看他。 
　　“你到哪去了？”哈利问他。 
　　“嗨，你好啊！”罗恩在笑，笑得挺勉强也挺古怪。 
　　哈利突然意识到自己还围着那面猩红色的格林芬顿旗。绑得太紧了，他扯了半天才把它弄下来。而罗恩躺在床上看着他，动也不动。 
　　“那么，恭喜了。”见哈利扯下旗，把它扔到角落里，罗恩才说。 
　　“恭喜？你这是什么意思？”哈利瞪着罗恩。罗恩笑得很异样，像狞笑。 
　　“没其他人越过年龄线。”罗恩说。“弗来德和乔治部没能越过，你用了什么——隐身斗篷？” 
　　“隐身斗篷也帮不了我越过那条年龄残。”哈利慢慢地说。 
　　“不错，”罗恩说。“如果是隐身斗篷，你可能会告诉我。它可以把我们俩都裹住，不是吗？可你发现了另一个办法。” 
　　“你给我听着，我没有把名字放进去。一定是别人干的。” 
　　罗恩一挑眉。“他们为什么要那样做？” 
　　“我不知道。”哈利觉得说“计划把我杀了”太荒唐。 
　　“没关系的，你可以告诉我真相，”他说。“如果你不想让别人知道，那也没什么。可我不知道你干嘛使劲撒谎。你不会有麻烦的。胖大婶的朋友，那个维尔莉特早就告诉我们说丹伯多让你参加了。有1千金币和奖金，是吧？还有不用参加期末考试……” 
　　“我没有把名字放进去！”哈利怒气上升。 
　　“好吧，”罗恩用跟塞德里克一模一样的怀疑的口吻说，“你早晨还说，你也会在夜里放名字进去，那样没人会见到你。我可不是傻瓜。” 
　　“你倒记得很清楚。”哈利打断他。 
　　“是啊。”罗恩面无笑容，“哈利，你想睡了吧。我估计你明天一大早就要起身接可视电话，做诸如此类的事。” 
　　他放下缠在柱子周围的布帘。哈利站在门进，瞪着那红天鹅绒的布帘。在那后面，躺着的是他曾坚信会相信他的少数朋友之一。 
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.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
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. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
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
Chapter 19 The Hungarian Horntail
The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius was all that sustained Harry over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding himself school champion had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing him had started to sink in. The first task was drawing steadily nearer; he felt as though it were crouching ahead of him hike some horrific monster, barring his path. He had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything he had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even his last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all; he felt as though his whole life had been heading up to, and would finish with, the first task.… 
Admittedly, he didn't see how Sirius was going to make him feel any better about having to perform an unknown piece of difficult and dangerous magic in front of hundreds of people, but the mere sight of a friendly face would be something at the moment. Harry wrote back to Sirius saying that he would be beside the common room fire at the time Sirius had suggested; and he and Hermione spent a long time going over plans for forcing any stragglers out of the common room on the night in question. If the worst came to the worst, they were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but they hoped they wouldn't have to resort to that - Filch would skin them alive. 
In the meantime, life became even worse for Harry within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all. 
The article had appeared ten days ago, and Harry still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in his stomach every time he thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported him saying an awful lot of things that he couldn't remember ever saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard. 
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I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now….Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it.…I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me… But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his “er's” into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about him too. 
Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school. From the moment the article had appeared, Harry had had to endure people -Slytherins, mainly - quoting it at him as he passed and making sneering comments. 
“Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” 
“Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?” 
“Hey - Harry!” 
“Yeah, that's right!” Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. “I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more…” 
“No - it was just - you dropped your quill.” 
It was Cho. Harry felt the color rising in his face. 
“Oh - right - sorry,” he muttered, taking the quill back. 
“Er…good luck on Tuesday,” she said. “I really hope you do well.” 
Which left Harry feeling extremely stupid. 
Hermione had come in for her fair share of unpleasantness too, but she hadn't yet started yelling at innocent bystanders; in fact, Harry was full of admiration for the way she was handling the situation. 
“Stunningly pretty? Her?” Pansy Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita's article had appeared. “What was she judging against - a chipmunk?” 
“Ignore it,” Hermione said in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn't hear them. “Just ignore it, Harry.” 
But Harry couldn't ignore it. Ron hadn't spoken to him at all since he had told him about Snape's detentions. Harry had half hoped they would make things up during the two hours they were forced to pickle rats’ brains in Snape's dungeon, but that had been the day Rita's article had appeared, which seemed to have confirmed Ron's belief that Harry was really enjoying all the attention. 
Hermione was furious with the pair of them; she went from one to the other, trying to force them to talk to each other, but Harry was adamant: He would talk to Ron again only if Ron admitted that Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling him a liar. 
“I didn't start this,” Harry said stubbornly. “It's his problem.” 
“You miss him!” Hermione said impatiently. “And I know he misses you -” 
“Miss him?” said Harry. “I don't miss him…” 
But this was a downright lie. Harry liked Hermione very much, but she just wasn't the same as Ron. There was much hess laughter and a lot more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend. Harry still hadn't mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes. 
Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too, and Harry wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there - not that he ever bothered them - but because groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting. 
“He's not even good-looking!” she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. “They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing -” 
“Wronski Feint,” said Harry, through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch terms correct, it caused him another pang to imagine Ron's expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints. 
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It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. Harry's feeling of barely controlled panic was with him wherever he went, as everpresent as the snide comments about the Daily Prophet article. 
On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione told Harry that it would do him good to get away from the castle for a bit, and Harry didn't need much persuasion. 
“What about Ron, though?” he said. “Don't you want to go with him?” 
“Oh…well…"Hermione went slightly pink. “I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks.…” 
“No,” said Harry flatly. 
“Oh Harry, this is so stupid -” 
“I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron, and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak.” 
“Oh all right then…” Hermione snapped, “but I hate talking to you in that cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not.” 
So Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak in the dormitory, went back downstairs, and together he and Hermione set off for Hogsmeade. 
Harry felt wonderfully free under the cloak; he watched other students walking past them as they entered the village, most of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges, but no horrible remarks came his way for a change, and nobody was quoting that stupid article. 
“People keep looking at me now,” said Hermione grumpily as they came out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large cream-filled chocolates. “They think I'm talking to myself.” 
“Don't move your lips so much then.” 
“Come on, please just take off your cloak for a bit, no one's going to bother you here.” 
“Oh yeah?” said Harry. “Look behind you.” 
Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by Hermione without hooking at her. Harry backed into the wall of Honeydukes to stop Rita Skeeter from hitting him with her crocodile-skin handbag. When they were gone, Harry said, “She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task.” 
As he said it, his stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. He didn't mention this; he and Hermione hadn't discussed what was coming in the first task much; he had the feeling she didn't want to think about it. 
“She's gone,” said Hermione, looking right through Harry toward the end of the street. “Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!” she added irritably, correctly interpreting his silence. 
The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. Harry supposed that as Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in Britain, it was a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who were not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves. 
It was very hard to move through crowds in the Invisibility Cloak, in case you accidentally trod on someone, which tended to lead to awkward questions. Harry edged slowly toward a spare table in the corner while Hermione went to buy drinks. On his way through the pub, Harry spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Resisting the urge to give Ron a good hard poke in the back of the head, he finally reached the table and sat down at it. 
Hermione joined him a moment later and slipped him a butterbeer under his cloak. 
“I look like such an idiot, sitting here on my own,” she muttered. “Lucky I brought something to do.” 
And she pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. Harry saw his and Ron's names at the top of the very short list. It seemed a long time ago that they had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed them secretary and treasurer. 
“You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.,” Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub. 
“Yeah, right,” said Harry. He took a swig of butterbeer under his cloak. “Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?” 
“When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!” she hissed back. “You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?” 
“No idea, ask Fred and George,” said Harry. 
Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence, while Harry drank his butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table; both of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door he saw Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She wasn't wearing a Cedric badge though.…This cheered up Harry very slightly.… 
What wouldn't he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn't be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, for one thing. Ron would be sitting with him. The three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He'd have been really hooking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was…cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a seat at the back of the stands… 
He wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time he had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers and looking nervous but excited. Harry glimpsed Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books. 
Harry thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly. He would be speaking to him in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night they were meeting at the common room fire - assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately… 
“Look, it's Hagrid!” said Hermione. 
The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head - he had mercifully abandoned his bunches - emerged over the crowd. Harry wondered why he hadn't spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, he saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn't seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Harry knew better. Moody had told them all during their last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup. 
As Harry watched, he saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. He waved, then remembered that Hagrid couldn't see him. Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the corner where Harry was standing. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub toward Harry and Hermione's table. 
“All right, Hermione?” said Hagrid loudly. 
“Hello,” said Hermione, smiling back. 
Moody limped around the table and bent down; Harry thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he muttered, “Nice cloak, Potter.” 
Harry stared at him in amazement. The large chunk missing from Moody's nose was particularly obvious at a few inches’ distance. Moody grinned. 
“Can your eye - I mean, can you -?” 
“Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks,” Moody said quietly. “And it's come in useful at times, I can tell you.” 
Hagrid was beaming down at Harry too. Harry knew Hagrid couldn't see him, but Moody had obviously told Hagrid he was there. Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well, and said in a whisper so low that only Harry could hear it, “Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak.” 
Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, “Nice ter see yeh, Hermione,” winked, and departed. Moody followed him. 
“Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?” Harry said, very surprised. 
“Does he?” said Hermione, looking startled. “I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go, Harry.…” She looked nervously around and hissed, “It might make you late for Sirius.” 
It was true that going down to Hagrid's at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Hermione suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid's to tell him he couldn't go - always assuming she would consent to take the note, of course - Harry, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted him for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked Harry to visit him so late at night. 
At half past eleven that evening, Harry, who had pretended to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over himself and crept back downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. The Creevey brothers had managed to get hold of a stack of Support Cedric Diggory! badges and were trying to bewitch them to make them say Support Harry Potter! instead. So far, however, all they had managed to do was get the badges stuck on POTTER STINKS. Harry crept past them to the portrait hole and waited for a minute or so, keeping an eye on his watch. Then Hermione opened the Fat Lady for him from outside as they had planned. He slipped past her with a whispered “Thanks!” and set off through the castle. 
The grounds were very dark. Harry walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid's front door. 
“You there, Harry?” Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around. 
“Yeah,” said Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. “What's up?” 
“Got summat ter show yeh,” said Hagrid. 
There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair - Harry could see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it. 
“What're you showing me?” Harry said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub. 
“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak,” said Hagrid. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it…” 
“Listen, Hagrid, I can't stay long.…I've got to be back up at the castle by one o'clock -” 
But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry hurried to follow and found, to his great surprise, that Hagrid was leading him to the Beauxbatons carriage. 
“Hagrid, what -?” 
“Shhh!” said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands. 
Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. 
“Ah, ‘Agrid…it is time?” 
“Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. 
Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harry, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show him Madame Maxime? He could see her any old time he wanted…she wasn't exactly hard to miss.… 
But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry, because after a while she said playfully, “Wair is it you are taking me, ‘Agrid?” 
“Yeh'll enjoy this,” said Hagrid gruffly, “worth seein', trust me. On'y - don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know.” 
“Of course not,” said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes. 
And still they walked, Harry getting more and more irritated as he jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn't get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime.… 
But then - when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight - Harry heard something. Men were shouting up ahead…then came a deafening, earsplitting roar… 
Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them - for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them - and then his mouth fell open. 
Dragons. 
Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-hike than the others, which was nearest to them. 
At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn't tell which.…It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream.… 
“Keep back there, Hagrid!” yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!” 
“Is'n’ it beautiful?” said Hagrid softly. 
“It's no good!” yelled another wizard. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!” 
Harry saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand. 
“Stupefy!” they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides - 
Harry watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking - then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry could have sworn made the trees behind him quake. 
The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands. 
“Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Harry realized who it was: Charlie Weasley. 
“All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be okay now - we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet - but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all -” 
“What breeds you got here, Charlie?” said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something chose to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid. 
“This is a Hungarian Horntail,” said Charlie. “There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one - a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray - and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red.” 
Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons. 
“I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid,” Charlie said, frowning. “The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming - she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?” 
“Jus’ thought she'd like ter see ‘em,” shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons. 
“Really romantic date, Hagrid,” said Charlie, shaking his head. 
“Four…” said Hagrid, “so it's one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What've they gotta do - fight ‘em?” 
“Just get past them, I think,” said Charlie. “We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why…but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look.” 
Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches. 
Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing. 
“I've got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie sternly. Then he said, “How's Harry?” 
“Fine,” said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs. 
“Just hope he's still fine after he's faced this lot,” said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons’ enclosure. “I didn't dare tell Mum what he's got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about him.…” Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. “'How could they let him enter that tournament, he's much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!’ She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. ‘He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!'” 
Harry had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn't miss him, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle. 
He didn't know whether he was glad he'd seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if he'd seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, he would have passed out cold in front of the whole school…but maybe he would anyway.…He was going to be armed with his wand - which, just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood - against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And he had to get past it. With everyone watching. How? 
Harry sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; he had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and he couldn't remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now - when, without warning, he ran into something very solid. 
Harry fell backward, his glasses askew, clutching the cloak around him. A voice nearby said, “Ouch! Who's there?” 
Harry hastily checked that the cloak was covering him and hay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognized the goatee…it was Karkaroff. 
“Who's there?” said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Harry remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were. 
Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet and set off again as fast as he could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts. 
He had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together - they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance…and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. 
By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric. 
Harry reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; he was very out of breath, but he didn't dare slow down.…He had less than five minutes to get up to the fire.… 
“Balderdash!” he gasped at the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole. 
“If you say so,” she muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forward to admit him. Harry climbed inside. The common room was deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smelled quite normal, Hermione had not needed to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that he and Sirius got privacy. 
Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire. The room was in semidarkness; the flames were the only source of light. Nearby, on a table, the Support Cedric Diggory! badges the Creeveys had been trying to improve were glinting in the firelight. They now read POTTER REALLY STINKS. Harry looked back into the flames, and jumped. 
Sirius's head was sitting in the fire. If Harry hadn't seen Mr. Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys’ kitchen, it would have scared him out of his wits. Instead, his face breaking into the first smile he had worn for days, he scrambled out of his chair, crouched down by the hearth, and said, “Sirius - how're you doing?” 
Sirius looked different from Harry's memory of him. When they had said good-bye, Sirius's face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair - but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius's face was fuller, and he looked younger, much more like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potters’ wedding. 
“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. 
“I'm -” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” - but he couldn't do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he'd talked in days - about how no one believed he hadn't entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn't walk down a corridor without being sneered at - and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron's jealousy… 
“…and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner,” he finished desperately. 
Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them - that deadened, haunted look He had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption, but now he said, “Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute - I haven't got long here…I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about.” 
“What?” said Harry, feeling his spirits slip a further few notches.…Surely there could be nothing worse than dragons coming? 
“Karkaroff,” said Sirius. “Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?” 
“Yes - he - what?” 
“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year - to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.” 
“Karkaroff got released?” Harry said slowly - his brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. “Why did they release him?” 
“He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” said Sirius bitterly. “He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names…he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place.…He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well.” 
“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “But…are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.” 
“We know he's a good actor,” said Sirius, “because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry -” 
“- you and the rest of the world,” said Harry bitterly. 
“- and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,” Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, “but I don't think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.” 
“So…what are you saying?” said Harry slowly. “Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But - why?” 
Sirius hesitated. 
“I've been nearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark…and then - did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?” 
“Bertha Jorkins?” said Harry. 
“Exactly…she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last…and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?” 
“Yeah, but…it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” said Harry. 
“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” said Sirius grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap.” 
“So…so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” said Harry. “Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?” 
“I don't know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don't know…Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it hook like an accident.” 
“Looks hike a really good plan from where I'm standing,” said Harry grinning bleaky. “They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.” 
“Right - these dragons,” said Sirius, speaking very quickly now. “There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell - dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon -” 
“Yeah, I know, I just saw,” said Harry. 
“But you can do it alone,” said Sirius. “There is away, and a simple spell's all you need. Just -” 
But Harry held up a hand to silence him, his heart suddenly pounding as though it would burst. He could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind him. 
“Go!” he hissed at Sirius. ” Go! There's someone coming!” 
Harry scrambled to his feet, hiding the fire - if someone saw Sirius's face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar - the Ministry would get dragged in - he, Harry, would be questioned about Sirius's whereabouts - 
Harry heard a tiny pop! in the fire behind him and knew Sirius had gone. He watched the bottom of the spiral staircase. Who had decided to go for a stroll at one o'clock in the morning, and stopped Sirius from telling him how to get past a dragon? 
It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry across the room, and looked around. 
“Who were you talking to?” he said. 
“What's that got to do with you?” Harry snarled. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?” 
“I just wondered where you -” Ron broke off, shrugging. “Nothing. I'm going back to bed.” 
“Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?” Harry shouted. He knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but he didn't care - at this moment he hated everything about Ron, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his pajama trousers. 
“Sorry about that,” said Ron, his face reddening with anger. “Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace.” 
Harry seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off. 
“There you go,” Harry said. “Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if yon're lucky.…That's what you want, isn't it?” 
He strode across the room toward the stairs; he half expected Ron to stop him, he would even have liked Ron to throw a punch at him, but Ron just stood there in his too-small pajamas, and Harry, having stormed upstairs, lay awake in bed fuming for a long time afterward and didn't hear him come up to bed. 
哈利很想同西里斯面对面地谈一次，这个信念在接下来的两周中一直支持着他，如同地平线上一个永不黯淡的亮点。成为全校冠军的那种激动的心情已渐渐平复下来，随之而来的是一种隐隐的恐惧感。第一次任务已在渐渐逼近，好像是什么恐怖的怪物挡在他面前，让他前进不得半步。他从来没有这么紧张过，即使在快迪斯比赛前，或者是在同史林德林班争夺快迪斯杯的时候，他都没有这么局促不安。未来对于哈利来说，简直难以想象。他觉得他的整个生活都被卷入了“第一次任务”这个漩涡里面，也许会随之而中止…… 
　　事实上，他也不知道西里斯有什么法宝能让他觉得好受一些，这个任务对他来说就像是在众目睽睽之下第一次表演一项极具难度和惊险度的魔法。但不管怎么说，在这个时候只要看看西里斯那张友善的脸，哈利也会觉得是种莫大的鼓舞。他回信给西里斯，说他会在约定的时间到休息室的壁炉边与其碰头。他和荷米恩花了很多时间讨论怎样把那天晚上呆在休息室里的人赶走。如果这些方法还不奏效的话，他们就要丢进一袋“粪弹”了。但他们希望不要采取这种手段，因为福利克会剥了他们的皮。 
　　与此同时，哈利在城堡里的日子变得越来越糟，因为理特。史姬特把她那篇关于三巫师比赛的报道发表了出来。而且那篇文章对于比赛倒是着墨不多，反而是对哈利的个人生活大肆渲染了一番。哈利的照片占据了头版的大部分版面，整篇文章（刊登在第二、六、七页）都是有关哈利的，比斯贝顿和丹姆斯安冠军的名字被误拼而且挤在了最后一行，塞德里克也没有被提到。 
　　文章是十天前登出来的，但哈利现在只要一想到它，还是觉得无地自容。在理特。史姬特报道中的那一大堆话，他都记不清自己长这么大曾经说过没有，更别提在那个扫帚橱里说过没有了。 
　　“我想我的力量来源于我的父母，如果他们看到我现在这个样子，会很为我自豪的，有时候夜里我会大声叫着他们的名字，而且我并不急于承认这一点……我知道在比赛中没有什么能伤得了我，因为他们在注视着我……” 
　　理特。史姬特除了把哈利的话翻译成又长又臭的版本之外，她还采访了其他人。 
　　“哈利最后在霍格里彻那里寻找了爱。他的密友柯林说哈利成天跟一个叫荷米恩。格林佐的女孩形影不离。这个在马格出生的女孩除了拥有惊人的美貌之外，还和哈利一样是学校里最好的学生之一。” 
　　从这篇文章登出那时起，哈利就不得不忍受人们的冷嘲热讽，而这些讽刺多半来自史林德林班。 
　　“波特，在耶稣变容节你哭鼻子的时候，要不要给你一条手绢呀？” 
　　“波特，你什么时候成了学校里最棒的学生呀？难道这学校是你和格林芬顿一手创建的吗？” 
　　“嘿，等一等，哈利！” 
　　“对，就是这样！”哈利终于忍无可忍，在走廊上转过身来，大声喊道：“我为了我死去的老妈哭得眼珠子都快掉了，现在我还要去干更多——” 
　　“噢不，你刚才把笔给掉了。” 
　　后面站着卓，哈利觉得脸上变得又红又烫。 
　　“噢，是的。”他嗫嚅着嘴，拿回了笔。 
　　“嗯，祝你星期二好运。”她说，“我真心希望你能干得出色。” 
　　哈利觉得自己刚才的举动蠢到了极点。 
　　荷米恩也被搅进了这一不愉快的事件当中，但她并没有冲着不明事理的旁观者发火，事实上，哈利很欣赏她处事的态度。 
　　“惊人的美貌？她？”当班西。帕金森读了理特的文章之后，第一次与荷米恩打了个照面的时候，她尖声大笑：“理特拿什么来作比较的——一只金花鼠？” 
　　“不要理它。”荷米恩用一种自尊的口吻说，高昂着头大步流星地走过那些窃笑的女孩子面前，好像什么都没听见。“不要理它，哈利。” 
　　但哈利不能不理。自从哈利把史纳皮关他监闭的决定告诉罗恩之后，罗恩就对他不理不睬的。哈利心里还存着一半的希望，希望他俩能在史纳皮的“地牢”中的两个小时里和好如初，但那天碰到理特登出了那篇文章，从而更使罗恩相信哈利喜欢这种出风头的日子。 
　　荷米恩对他俩的行为感到很生气，她一个一个地劝说，试图使他们打破沉默，但哈利还是固执己见，如果罗恩不承认哈利没有将自己的名字写进燃烧的高脚杯，如果罗恩不向他道歉，他们之间就没有谈话的余地。 
　　“这不是我先挑起的，”哈利固执地说，“这是他的问题。” 
　　“你误解他了！”荷米恩忍不住说，“我知道他也误解你了——” 
　　“误解他？”哈利说，“我没有误解他……” 
　　但这完全是在撒谎。哈利很喜欢荷米恩，她和罗恩不同。不过当你成天和荷米恩在一起的时候，你会少掉一些欢笑，更多的时间是待在图书馆里。哈利仍然没有掌握召唤符咒，他好像遇到什么障碍了。荷米恩认为学习理论会有所帮助，因此午饭时间他们花了很多时间专心阅读书籍。 
　　维特。克伦也经常长时间地待在图书馆里，哈利不知道他葫芦里卖的什么药。他是在学习呢，还是在寻找什么东西可以帮助他顺利完成第一次任务？荷米恩对克伦的出现很是不满，倒不是因为他妨碍了他们，而是因为成群的女孩子躲在书架后面探视着他，发出惊人的咯咯的笑声。 
　　“他一点也不帅”她生气地咕哝着，注视着克伦的侧影。“她们喜欢他只是因为他的名气！如果他没有做罗斯基。芬特那件事，她们就不会再朝他看第二眼！” 
　　“罗斯基。芬特！”哈利从牙缝里吐出这几个字。这说法和快迪斯的用语简直是谬之千里。一想到罗恩会对荷米恩的这种滑稽说法作何反应，哈利就觉得心里很不好受。 
　　事情就是这样奇怪。当你害怕一件事情，而且愿意付出任何代价让时间变慢的时候，它反而毫不留情地加快速度。日子在飞逝，离第一次任务越来越近，就像有人故意调快了时钟一样。不管哈利走到哪里，他都无法摆脱那种慌乱的感觉，就好像那些由《先知日报》的文章引发的恶意讽刺一样无处不在。 
　　第一次任务开始前的星期天，所有三年级以上的学生都可以参观霍斯马得村。荷米恩告诉哈利离开城堡一阵子会对他有好处，但哈利好像听不过去。 
　　“可是，罗恩怎么办呢？”他说。“难道你不想和他一起去？” 
　　“噢……那……，”荷米恩脸上微微泛起了红晕。“我以为我们可以和他在三扫帚酒吧处会合……” 
　　“不会。”哈利面无表情地说。 
　　“噢，哈利，这么做真愚蠢——” 
　　“我会来的，但我不想见到罗恩，而且我会穿着隐身袍。” 
　　“噢，好吧，那么……”荷米恩说到这儿停住了，“可我不喜欢和穿着袍子的你讲话，因为我根本看不见你是不是在我对面。” 
　　于是哈利在宿舍里穿上他的隐身袍，下了楼，和荷米恩一起动身前往霍斯马得。 
　　袍子掩护下的哈利分外轻松，他看着别的学生走过去，进入村庄，他们中的大部分佩戴印有“支持塞德利克。迪格瑞的徽章”字样，幸亏沿路上哈利没有听到什么恶毒的评论，也没见到有人引用那篇该死的文章。 
　　“现在人们可都在看着我了。”荷米恩有点闹别扭地说。那时是晚些时候，他们正走出甜蜜杜克糖果店，手里拿着大号装奶油巧克力吃得津津有味，“他们以为我在跟自个儿说话呢。” 
　　“那么就少动些嘴皮子吧。” 
　　“好啦，就稍稍掀开一下你的抱子嘛，这儿没有人会找你麻烦的。” 
　　“哦，是吗？”哈利说，“看看你身后。” 
　　理特。史姬特和她的摄影师刚从三扫帚酒吧里出来。她们低声讲着话，看也没看荷米恩一眼就经过了他们。哈利为了躲避理特。史姬特喝醉后在空中挥舞的鳄鱼皮手袋不得不退回甜蜜杜克糖果店内。 
　　那两个酒鬼一走，哈利就说，“她在村里住下了，我打赌她会来看我们执行第一次任务。” 
　　哈利这么说着的时候，腹中泛起一股难言的恐慌，仿佛翻江倒海一般，丝丝凉意传遍全身，可他没提这事，荷米恩和哈利还没怎么讨论过第一次任务里要怎么对付，哈利感觉到荷米恩连想都不去想它。 
　　“她可走了。”荷米恩松了口气，目光好像穿过哈利一直望到高街的尽头。“我说干嘛不去酒吧里喝杯黄油啤酒呀，天气有点冷了不是嘛？就算碰见罗思你也用不着跟他说话！”她看出了哈利沉默不答的原因，就有点恼火地补充了一句。 
　　三扫帚酒吧里可座无虚席，大部分人是霍格瓦彻学校里下午没课来这儿消遣的学生，可也还有一些哈利在别处极少见到的魔法师。 
　　哈利推想霍斯马得是全英国唯—一个到处是巫师的村子，这儿对女巫来说更可谓是避难天堂，因为女巫们比不上男术士会乔装自己。 
　　身着隐身袍在人群中移动可真不容易，因为万一意外踩到某人就会异致极为使人尴尬的情形。荷米恩去了买酒，哈利就缓缓地侧身挺进，目标是墙角的一张空桌子。中途哈利见到了罗恩，他正和弗来德、克威和李·乔丹坐在一起。哈利心中强忍着要在罗恩后脑勺狠狠地来一下的冲动，去到桌旁一屁股坐了下来。 
　　荷米思随后就过来了，推了一杯黄酒啤酒到他袍下。 
　　“我在这儿一个人坐着简直就像白痴。”荷米恩咕哝着，“幸亏我有备而来。” 
　　她接着抽出一本有S、P、、E、W成员记录的笔记本。哈利看到自己和罗恩的名字列在短短名单的上方。他们在一起坐着编造预言好像是很久以前的事了，后来荷米恩出现了，指派他俩做秘书和财政官。 
　　“你说，我可能应该设法让一些村民加入S、P、E、W。”荷米恩环顾一下酒吧，若有所思地说。 
　　“对，你应该，”哈利说，他大喝了一口酒。“荷米恩，你什么时候才打算放弃这么P.E、W劳什子事？” 
　　“到佣人小精灵们都有体面的收入和良好的工作待遇时我才会放弃！”她反击道，“你知道吗，我在想是时候采取些更直接的行动了。 
　　我搞不懂你是怎么进入学校厨房的？“ 
　　“我也不懂，要问就问弗来德和乔治。”哈利回答。荷米恩又陷入沉思，哈利就边喝酒边看着酒吧里的人。大家看起来既轻松又快活。 
　　玛克米尔和艾伯特尔在附近一张桌子交换着巧克力青蛙糖的卡片，两个人都戴了支持塞德里克。迪格瑞的徽章在饱上。就在门边上哈利看到卓和一大群她的黑爪子朋友。她可没有戴那徽章以这稍稍让哈利心里好过了一点点。 
　　哈利多想象这里的人一样，坐着讲话啊说笑啊，除了作业什么别的东西也不用担心。如果能这样，要哈利付什么代价他都愿意。他设想着要是自己的名字没出现在燃烧的高脚杯上的话坐在这儿的感觉又会是怎样。起码他就用不着穿隐身袍了。罗恩也会坐在他旁边。还有荷米恩，他们三个人就可以开开心心地猜猜星期二学校的勇士们要面对些什么样艰难危险的任务了。他就会很期待那天来临，安安稳稳地坐在看台上的座椅里边，看那些勇士施展平生所学或者和别人一起为塞德里克加油。 
　　他有点儿想知道别的勇士们有何感想。最近他每次看到塞德里克他都是在众多拥戴者的包围之下的，显得既紧张又兴奋，哈利在走廊进道上也不时瞥见芙璐·迪来高，保持她的一贯风格，高傲又冷静。 
　　而克伦就只泡在图书馆里，熟读群书。 
　　哈利想起了西里斯，他那又紧又硬的领结仿佛些微松动了点。 
　　再过十二小时哈利就会和他说着话了，因为今晚可是他们约好在普通房里的火炉进见面的——如果没出什么岔子，正如最近清事顺利的话。 
　　“看啊！是哈格力！”荷米思说。 
　　哈格力后脑那无比蓬松的一头乱发——他必定是极为宽大地放过了难以完成使命的柬发带——在众人中显现。哈利搞不懂自己居然刚才没一眼认出他，因为哈格力实在太显眼了，又小心翼翼地站着。哈利看到哈格力弯腰和莫迪教授说话。哈格力面前的是他平日惯常唱的超大杯啤酒，可莫迪只是喝自己带的温水瓶里的东西。罗斯玛特女士这位漂亮老板娘好像也不怎么介意，她只是在到附近桌子收玻璃杯子时有点不赞许地看着莫迪。可能她觉得莫迪这种做法是对她的加香料蜜酒是一种侮辱吧，可哈利明白点原委。莫迪在上次教授他们对抗黑暗界之法的课程时已经说过无论何时他都更倾向于用自备的饮食，因为对黑暗术士来说要在一杯没人留意的酒中下毒实在是太容易了。 
　　哈利在一边看着，见到哈格力和莫迪起身要走。他挥了挥手，才想起哈格力根本看不见他。可是莫迪反倒稍为迟疑了一下，他的魔眼盯着哈利站着的角落。莫迪敲了敲哈格力的背下方（因为够不着哈格力的肩头），嘀咕了些什么，于是两个人就折回酒吧里面，向着哈利和荷米恩的桌子走来。 
　　“还好吧？荷米恩？”哈格力大声说。 
　　“你好！”荷米恩笑笑说。 
　　莫迪拐着脚绕桌子走几走，然后弯下腰来，哈利还以为他要看S.P.E、W的记录，谁知他开口道，“袍子不错啊，波特。” 
　　哈利大为吃惊地盯着他。莫迪鼻子上那显著的鼻管正在眼前几英尺处。莫迪笑了。 
　　“你的魔法眼能——我是说，你能——？” 
　　“对，我的那眼睛可以看穿隐身袍，”莫迪平静地承认，“而且我告诉你，这点有时非常管用。” 
　　哈格力也在向下朝着哈利笑。哈利知道他看不见自己，可莫迪显然已告诉了哈格力哈利在那儿了。 
　　哈格力现在也俯身看S、P、E、W笔记本的扉页，他用低得只有哈利能听见的声音说，“哈利，今晚午夜到我的小屋来，穿那袍子来。” 
　　哈格力站起身又大声说，“见到你很高兴，荷米恩。”眨眨眼，就走了，莫迪跟着他也走了。 
　　“他干嘛约我半夜见面？”哈利惊讶地说。 
　　“他有嘛？”荷米思也显得很吃惊，“我怀疑他的目的，不知道你该不该去，哈利。”她紧张地看看四周，小声说，“你可能会迟到见西里斯的。” 
　　半夜去见哈格力的确会缩短他和西里斯会面的时间。荷米恩建议派海维去跟哈格力说哈利去不了——想当然认为海维会同意当这信差——然而哈利，却觉得最好还是去见哈格力，只要速战速决就行。哈利十分好奇哈格力找他去的目的，他可从没约过哈利这么晚会面。 
　　那晚十一点半，哈利假装要早点上床就寝，实际上披上了隐身袍，小心翼翼穿过普通房爬下楼梯。还有好几个人没睡在房里，克利维兄弟弄大了一堆支持塞德里克。克格瑞的徽章，正努力要说服徽章们改为说支持哈利·波特。到目前为止，他们只能努力到让徽章同意不显示臭波特的字样。哈利爬过他们身边去到肖像洞前，看着表等了一分钟光景。然后如计划好的一样，荷米恩从外面为他打开了胖大婶画门。他闪身而过，低声道了句“多谢！”就动身走出城堡了。 
　　操场一片漆黑。哈利走过草地，朝着哈格力小屋里的灯光前进。 
　　庞大的比尔贝顿马车里面也亮着灯，哈利敲哈格力前门时可以听见玛西姆夫人在里面讲话。 
　　“是你吗，哈利？”哈格力轻声问，开了门四下里望。 
　　“是我，”哈利滑进屋内，脱去斗袍。“什么事呀？” 
　　“有些东西给你看，”哈格力说。 
　　哈格力处于一种极大的兴奋之中。他衣服纽扣洞上插了一朵花，看起来就像是一个超大号的防窒息物。而且他也好像放弃了再用润滑油抹头，但肯定他有尝试过梳一下头，证据就是，哈利看到的还在他头上晃荡着的梳子碎齿。 
　　“你要给我看什么？”哈利机警地问，心想是不是史库斯下了蛋，或是哈格力又在哪个酒吧里从陌生人手中买了头三头狗。 
　　“跟着我，别出声，还有穿好那袍，”哈格力说，“我们不带上弗兰了，他不会喜欢看那东西的。” 
　　“听着，哈格力，我不可以待很久，我一点钟还得回城堡里去呢——” 
　　可哈格力根本没在听，他开了门，踏入夜色之中。哈利赶忙跟上，出乎意外的是，哈格力正领着他去比尔贝顿马车。 
　　“哈格力，这是怎么——？” 
　　“嘘！”哈格力小声说着，拿着他的金色十字杖在门上敲了三下。 
　　玛西姆夫人开了门。她厚重的肩膀上围了一条丝巾。她见到哈格力时笑笑：“啊，哈格力，是时候了吗？” 
　　“你好！”哈格力对她笑着说，伸手扶她走下金色的台阶。 
　　玛西姆夫人关上身后的门，绕着哈格力的手沿着围场边出发，那围场里有玛西姆夫人的巨器马。哈利小跑着跟上他们，完全给弄糊涂了。难道哈格力要让他见的是玛西姆夫人？任何时候哈利都可以见她呀，她又不是怎么难找。 
　　然而玛西姆夫人原来也和哈利一样蒙在鼓里，过了一会儿她开玩笑似地说，“你这到底是要带我上哪儿呀，哈格力？” 
　　“你会喜欢那儿的，”哈格力大着嗓门说，“值得一看，相信我，嗯——不过可千万别告诉任何人我带你去，懂吗？你们是不该知道的。” 
　　“当然不会告诉别人。”玛西姆夫人扑闪着眼睛说，她的眼睫毛又黑又长。 
　　他们继续走着，哈利不时看看表，小跑着赶上他们的脚步，心里越来越不耐烦。哈格力的计划太过草率了，可能会连累哈利错过和西里斯的约会。如果他们不赶快抵达目的地的话，他可要转身就走，回城堡去，让哈格力和玛西姆夫人好好享受俩人的月下漫步了。 
　　可就在那时——他们已经沿着树林边走了那么远，直到看不到城堡和湖水时——哈利听到了一些声响。前方有人在大喊。然后是一阵把耳朵都能撕裂的巨响。 
　　哈格力领着玛西姆夫人绕过一个树丛，便止住了脚步。哈利趋上前去，站在他们旁边——有那么一秒，他看到了火焰，还有四周狂奔的人——然后他吃惊得张大了嘴巴。 
　　是龙！ 
　　四只大吨量的成年大龙，正在一个用厚水围起来的围栏里直立起来、咆哮着、喷着粗气——它们大张的嘴里不仅有尖牙，更喷出阵阵火流，场地里它们伸长了脖子向五十尺高空喷出烈火。有一头银灰蓝色的龙有着长长尖尖的角，向地面上的术士们咆哮怒吼，另一只磷片光滑的绿龙，正用尽全力扭着身子重重地跺地；再有一条红龙，脸上长了一圈古怪的金色河子，正瞄准天上蘑茹状的云朵练喷火呢；再有最后一只，黑色巨龙，比其他任何一只都更像大蜥蜴，也离他们最近。 
　　场面上起码有三十个术士，每七、八个人对付一头龙，尽量想控制它们，死命拉着系在大龙们颈上和腿上皮圈的铁链不松手。哈利完全给这景像镇住了，他抬起头，遥望高空那黑色巨龙的眼睛，那眼睛里有猫那样的圆圆的眼珠子，鼓很大大的，是因为害怕还是愤怒，哈利不清楚，它高声尖叫长号，声音恐惧难听至极。 
　　“待在那儿别过来，哈格力，”一个临近围墙的术士叫道，死扯住手中的铁链。“那龙可以在二十英尺范围内喷火哪！我还见过那黑龙在四十英尺范围内喷火呢！” 
　　“这喷火岂不很美吗？”哈格力温柔地说。 
　　“这可是玩命啊！”另一个术士大喊，“数三下，用昏迷术法。” 
　　哈利看到每一个看龙士都拿出了魔杖。 
　　“史达飞！”他们齐声高喊，于是昏迷咒语像喷火的火箭射入夜空，又化作流星雨洒落在大龙布满磁片似的兽皮上——哈利看着靠他们最近的那龙双腿开始站立不稳，危险地摆来摆去，嘴巴突然张开，发出一阵怒号，鼻中也熄了火，可烟还在冒——然后，极为缓慢地，倒了下来——几吨重的强壮之躯，还有那黑色的磷片，砰然倒下，声音大到哈利可以发誓说背后的树也被震得发抖。 
　　养龙人放下手中的魔杖，奔向他们所看管的躺在地上如同座座小山的动物，他们赶忙束紧铁链，紧紧地缚住铁笼，这些铁链的～端深深埋在地底下。 
　　“想近看一下吗？”哈格力兴奋地问玛西姆夫人，他们中的两人慢慢移向栅栏，哈利紧紧跟在后面，哈利终于认出那个先前警告哈格力不要走近的人是谁了，他就是查理。威斯里。 
　　“好了吗？哈格力？”他气喘嘘嘘地说，“他们现在状态很好，我们将他们关在拉网里放在路上，虽然他们可能喜欢醒来时面对的是黑暗和宁静，但是，正如你所看到的，他们本来就不开心，一点都不开心。” 
　　“你有哪些种类的，查理？”哈格力问道，眼睛仍然盯着最近的那条黑色的龙，神情中带着一丝崇敬，那只龙的眼睛睁得又大又圆，哈利似乎在它眨巴眨巴的眼睛中看到了一线闪亮的金黄。 
　　“这是匈牙利的号角尾龙，”查理说，“那边有一只威尔土的透身绿，小的那只就是；还有瑞士的短鼻龙，那只蓝灰色的；还有一只中国火球龙，红色的那只。” 
　　查理环顾四周，玛西姆夫人正在铁笼子的四周转悠，凝视着吓怕的龙群。 
　　“我不明白你为何带她来，哈格力，”查理皱着眉头说，“选手不应该知道即将面对的是什么东西，她肯定会告诉她的学生的，不是吗？” 
　　“只当作她喜欢看不就得了。”哈格力耸了耸肩，眼睛仍然盯着笼子里的龙群。 
　　“真是很浪漫耶，哈格力。”查理边说边摇头。 
　　“四只……那么就是每个选手对付一只，对吗？”哈格力问道。 
　　“或许只是跨过他们，”查理说，“但是说实话，我并不羡慕碰上号尾龙的那位，那只看起来很可怕，它的尾部看起来和头部一样凶狠危险，你看。” 
　　查理指着号尾龙的尾巴，哈利果真看到长长的钉状物密密麻麻地排列着。 
　　这时，查理的五个同行也走向号尾龙，他们提着一大堆巨大的灰色蛋状物，放在号尾龙的身旁，号尾龙发出一声饥渴的吼叫。 
　　“我已安排好了，哈格力，”查理严肃地说道，接着他又问哈格力，“哈利怎么样了？” 
　　“挺好的。”哈格力说着，眼睛仍然盯着鸡蛋。 
　　“希望他看到这些东西时还能保持那个样子，”查理一本正经地说，很小心地不去靠近栅栏，“我不敢告诉妈妈他即将碰到的第一个难题是什么，她总是弄一大堆轻桃的女孩子在他身边……”查理摹仿着他妈妈焦急的神情：“他们怎么能让他参加那该死的比赛，他还年青着呢！我觉得要有个年龄的限制才行‘！她看了《先知日报》后大为光火，他竟向他的父母叫嚷！懊，老天保佑，我从来都不知道他的事。” 
　　哈利已经受够了，他相信哈格力不会注意到他，因为有四只龙和玛西姆夫人占据他的视线，于是他静静地转身，默默地从城堡走开了。 
　　预见到将要发生的事情，他不肯定自己以此是否高兴。也许这样更好。第一个震惊现在结束了。如果在星期二他是第一次见到那些龙，可能他会在全校面前放出寒气……但也可能会……他会佩上他的魔杖来对付一条五十英尺高，长满鳞片，被钉着的喷火龙，尽管魔杖刚才和一条细木锯并没什么两样。而他必须要通过这项考验。 
　　在众目睽睽之下。该怎么做呢？ 
　　哈利加快了速度，沿着森林的边缘前进，只有不到15分钟了，他要赶回炉边和西里斯商量，这么急切地要与某个人谈话的感觉地从来都没有过。突然，一点
Chapter 20 The First Task
Harry got up on Sunday morning and dressed so inattentively that it was a while before he realized he was trying to pull his hat onto his foot instead of his sock. When he'd finally got all his clothes on the right parts of his body, he hurried off to find Hermione, locating her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where she was eating breakfast with Ginny. Feeling too queasy to eat, Harry waited until Hermione had swallowed her last spoonful of porridge, then dragged her out onto the grounds. There, he told her all about the dragons, and about everything Sirius had said, while they took another long walk around the lake. 
Alarmed as she was by Sirius's warnings about Karkaroff, Hermione still thought that the dragons were the more pressing problem. 
“Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening,” she said desperately, “and then we can worry about Karkaroff.” 
They walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to them, so they retired to the library instead. Here, Harry pulled down every book he could find on dragons, and both of them set to work searching through the large pile. 
“Talon-clipping by charms…treating scale-rot…’ This is no good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy…” 
“Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate…’ But Sirius said a simple one would do it…” 
“Let's try some simple spellbooks, then,” said Harry, throwing aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much. 
He returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn, Hermione whispering nonstop at his elbow. 
“Well, there are Switching Spells…but what's the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous.…The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide.…I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven't got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall…unless you're supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they're not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class, I only know about them because I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers.…” 
“Hermione,” Harry said, through gritted teeth, “will you shut up for a bit, please? I m trying to concentrate.” 
But all that happened, when Hermione fell silent, was that Harry's brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn't seem to allow room for concentration. He stared hopelessly down the index of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. Instant scalping…but dragons had no hair…pepper breath…that would probably increase a dragon's firepower…horn tongue…just what he needed, to give it an extra weapon… 
“Oh no, he's back again, why can't he read on his stupid ship?” said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the pair of them, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. “Come on, Harry, we'll go back to the common room…his fan club'll be here in a moment, twittering away….” 
And sure enough, as they left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry barely slept that night. When he awoke on Monday morning, he seriously considered for the first time ever just running away from Hogwarts. But as he looked around the Great Hall at breakfast time, and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, he knew he couldn't do it. It was the only place he had ever been happy…well, he supposed he must have been happy with his parents too, but he couldn't remember that. 
Somehow, the knowledge that he would rather be here and facing a dragon than back on Privet Drive with Dudley was good to know; it made him feel slightly calmer. He finished his bacon with difficulty (his throat wasn't working too well), and as he and Hermione got up, he saw Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table. 
Cedric still didn't know about the dragons…the only champion who didn't, if Harry was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum.… 
“Hermione, I'll see you in the greenhouses,” Harry said, coming to his decision as he watched Cedric leaving the Hall. “Go on, I'll catch you up.” 
“Harry, you'll be late, the bell's about to ring -” 
“I'll catch you up, okay?” 
By the time Harry reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Harry didn't want to talk to Cedric in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter's article at him every time he went near them. He followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor. This gave Harry an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, he pulled out his wand, and took careful aim. 
“Diffindo!” 
Cedric's bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed. 
“Don't bother,” said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. “Tell Flitwick I'm coming, go on…” 
This was exactly what Harry had been hoping for. He slipped his wand back into his robes, waited until Cedric's friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but himself and Cedric. 
“Hi,” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just split…brand-new and all…” 
“Cedric,” said Harry, “the first task is dragons.” 
“What?” said Cedric, looking up. 
“Dragons,” said Harry, speaking quickly, in case Professor Flitwick came out to see where Cedric had got to. “They've got four, one for each of us, and we've got to get past them.” 
Cedric stared at him. Harry saw some of the panic he'd been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric's gray eyes. 
“Are you sure?” Cedric said in a hushed voice. 
“Dead sure,” said Harry. “I've seen them.” 
“But how did you find out? We're not supposed to know.…” 
“Never mind,” said Harry quickly - he knew Hagrid would be in trouble if he told the truth. “But I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now - Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too.” 
Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Harry, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes. 
“Why are you telling me?” he asked. 
Harry looked at him in disbelief. He was sure Cedric wouldn't have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself. Harry wouldn't have let his worst enemy face those monsters unprepared - well, perhaps Malfoy or Snape.… 
“It's just…fair, isn't it?” he said to Cedric. “We all know now…we're on an even footing, aren't we?” 
Cedric was still hooking at him in a slightly suspicious way when Harry heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. He turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom. 
“Come with me, Potter,” he growled. “Diggory, off you go.” 
Harry stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them? 
“Er - Professor, I'm supposed to be in Herbology -” 
“Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please…” 
Harry followed him, wondering what was going to happen to him now. What if Moody wanted to know how he'd found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid, or just turn Harry into a ferret? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if he were a ferret, Harry thought dully, he'd be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet.… 
He followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Harry, his magical eye fixed upon him as well as the normal one. 
“That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter,” Moody said quietly. 
Harry didn't know what to say; this wasn't the reaction he had expected at all. 
“Sit down,” said Moody, and Harry sat, looking around. 
He had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart's day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that Harry supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror. 
On his desk stood what looked hike a large, cracked, glass spinning top; Harry recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope, because he owned one himself, though it was much smaller than Moody's. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Harry on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus. 
“Like my Dark Detectors, do you?” said Moody, who was watching Harry closely. 
“What's that?” Harry asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial. 
“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies…no use here, of course, too much interference - students in every direction lying about why they haven't done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn't stop whistling. It's extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff,” he added in a growl. 
“And what's the mirror for?” 
“Oh that's my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I'm not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That's when I open my trunk.” 
He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harry wondered what was in there, until Moody's next question brought him sharply back to earth. 
“So…found out about the dragons, have you?” 
Harry hesitated. He'd been afraid of this - but he hadn't told Cedric, and he certainly wasn't going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules. 
“It's all right,” said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.” 
“I didn't cheat,” said Harry sharply. “It was - a sort of accident that I found out.” 
Moody grinned. “I wasn't accusing you, laddie. I've been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won't be. They'll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They'd like to prove he's only human.” 
Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled around so fast it made Harry feel queasy to watch it. 
“So…got any ideas how you're going to get past your dragon yet?” said Moody. 
“No,” said Harry. 
“Well, I'm not going to tell you,” said Moody gruffly. “I don't show favoritism, me. I'm just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is - play to your strengths.” 
“I haven't got any,” said Harry, before he could stop himself. 
“Excuse me,” growled Moody, “you've got strengths if I say you've got them. Think now. What are you best at?” 
Harry tried to concentrate. What was he best at? Well, that was easy, really - 
“Quidditch,” he said dully, “and a fat lot of help -” 
“That's right,” said Moody, staring at him very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. “You're a damn good flier from what I've heard.” 
“Yeah, but…” Harry stared at him. “I'm not allowed a broom, I've only got my wand…” 
“My second piece of general advice,” said Moody loudly, interrupting him, “is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you to get what you need.” 
Harry looked at him blankly. What did he need? 
“Come on, boy…” whispered Moody. “Put them together…it's not that difficult…” 
And it clicked. He was best at flying. He needed to pass the dragon in the air. For that, he needed his Firebolt. And for his Fire-bolt, he needed - 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
“Hermione,” Harry whispered, when he had sped into greenhouse three minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout as he passed her. “Hermione - I need you to help me.” 
“What d'you think I've been trying to do, Harry?” she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning. 
“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon.” 
And so they practiced. They didn't have lunch, but headed for a free classroom, where Harry tried with all his might to make various objects fly across the room toward him. He was still having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping hike stones to the floor. 
“Concentrate, Harry, concentrate.…” 
“What d'you think I'm trying to do?” said Harry angrily. “A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason…Okay, try again…” 
He wanted to skip Divination to keep practicing, but Hermione refused point-blank to skive off Arithmancy, and there was no point in staying without her. He therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths. 
“Well, that's good,” said Harry loudly, his temper getting the better of him, “just as long as it's not drawn-out. I don't want to suffer.” 
Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught Harry's eye for the first time in days, but Harry was still feeling too resentful toward Ron to care. He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects toward him under the table with his wand. He managed to make a fly zoom straight into his hand, though he wasn't entirely sure that was his prowess at Summoning Charms - perhaps the fly was just stupid. 
He forced down some dinner after Divination, then returned to the empty classroom with Hermione, using the Invisibility Cloak to avoid the teachers. They kept practicing until past midnight. They would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that Harry wanted things thrown at him, started chucking chairs across the room. Harry and Hermione left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch, and went back to the Gryffindor common room, which was now mercifully empty. 
At two o'clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects: books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of Gobstones, and Neville's toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm. 
“That's better, Harry, that's loads better,” Hermione said, looking exhausted but very pleased. 
“Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell,” Harry said, throwing a rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again, “threaten me with a dragon. Right…” He raised his wand once more. “Accio Dictionary!” 
The heavy book soared out of Hermione's hand, flew across the room, and Harry caught it. 
“Harry, I really think you've got it!” said Hermione delightedly. 
“Just as long as it works tomorrow,” Harry said. “The Firebolt's going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, it's going to be in the castle, and I'm going to be out there on the grounds…” 
“That doesn't matter,” said Hermione firmly.” Just as long as you're concentrating really, really hard on it, it'll come. Harry, we'd better get some sleep…you're going to need it.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry had been focusing so hard on learning the Summoning Charm that evening that some of his blind panic had heft him. It returned in full measure, however, on the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure - though of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there. 
Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing “We'll have a box of tissues ready, Potter” as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn't just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch…and then (where had the morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?), Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching. 
“Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now.…You have to get ready for your first task.” 
“Okay,” said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter. 
“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “You'll be fine!” 
“Yeah,” said Harry in a voice that was most unlike his own. 
He heft the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder. 
“Now, don't panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head.…We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand.…The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you.…Are you all right?” 
“Yes,” Harry heard himself say. “Yes, I'm fine.” 
She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view. 
“You're to go in here with the other champions,” said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there…he'll be telling you the - the procedure.… Good luck.” 
“Thanks,” said Harry, in a flat, distant voice. She left him at the entrance of the tent. Harry went inside. 
Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a how wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When Harry entered, Cedric gave him a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it. 
“Harry! Good-o!” said Bagman happily, looking around at him. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!” 
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again. 
“Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag” - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them - “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - er - varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too…ah, yes…your task is to collect the golden egg!” 
Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how Harry felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this… 
And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking.…Harry felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then - it seemed like about a second later to Harry - Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack. 
“Ladies first,” he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour. 
She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck And Harry knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that he had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming. 
The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground. 
Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Knowing what was left, Harry put his hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs. 
“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I'm going to have to leave you in a moment, because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now…Harry…could I have a quick word? Outside?” 
“Er…yes,” said Harry blankly, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked him a short distance away, into the trees, and then turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face. 
“Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?” 
“What?” said Harry. “I - no, nothing.” 
“Got a plan?” said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers, if you'd like them, you know. I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, “you're the underdog here, Harry.…Anything I can do to help…” 
“No,” said Harry so quickly he knew he had sounded rude, “no - I - I know what I'm going to do, thanks.” 
“Nobody would know, Harry,” said Bagman, winking at him. 
“No, I'm fine,” said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this, and wondering whether he had ever been less fine. “I've got a plan worked out, I -” 
A whistle had blown somewhere. 
“Good lord, I've got to run!” said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off. 
Harry walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever. Harry tried to wish him luck as he walked past, but all that came out of his mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt. 
Harry went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds hater, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model.… 
It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed…yelled…gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric's steps, around and around the tent. And Bagman's commentary made everything much, much worse.…Horrible pictures formed in Harry's mind as he heard: “Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow"… “He's taking risks, this one!"…"Clever move - pity it didn't work!” 
And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured the golden egg. 
“Very good indeed!” Bagman was shouting. “And now the marks from the judges!” 
But he didn't shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd. 
“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled as the whistle blew again. “Miss Delacour, if you please!” 
Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry felt more warmly toward her than he had done so far as she heft the tent with her head held high and her hand clutching her wand. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other's gaze. 
The same process started again.…"Oh I'm not sure that was wise!” they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. “Oh…nearly! Careful now…good lord, I thought she'd had it then!” 
Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more.…Fleur must have been successful too. A pause, while Fleur's marks were being shown…more clapping…then, for the third time, the whistle. 
“And here comes Mr. Krum!” cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry quite alone. 
He felt much more aware of his body than usual; very aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, and his fingers tingling with fear…yet at the same time, he seemed to be outside himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away. 
“Very daring!” Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. “That's some nerve he's showing - and - yes, he's got the egg!” 
Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished - it would be Harry's turn any moment. 
He stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the whistle blow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence. 
He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that had been magicked there since he'd last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, heaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Harry didn't know or care. It was time to do what he had to do…to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance. 
He raised his wand. 
“Accio Firebolt!” he shouted. 
Harry waited, every fiber of him hoping, praying.…If it hadn't worked…if it wasn't coming…He seemed to be looking at everything around him through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him swim strangely.… 
And then he heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise.…Bagman was shouting something…but Harry's ears were not working properly anymore…listening wasn't important.… 
He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened.… 
As he soared upward, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd's faces became mere flesh-colored pinpnicks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realized that he had left not only the ground behind, but also his fear.…He was back where he belonged.… 
This was just another Quidditch match, that was all…just another Quidditch match, and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team.… 
He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon's front legs. “Okay,” Harry told himself, “diversionary tactics…let's go…” 
He dived. The Horntail's head followed him; he knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where he would have been had he not swerved away…but Harry didn't care…that was no more than dodging a Bludger.… 
“Great Scott, he can fly!” yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. “Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?” 
Harry soared higher in a circle; the Horntail was still following his progress; its head revolving on its long neck - if he kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy - but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again - 
Harry plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time he was less lucky - he missed the flames, but the tail came whipping up to meet him instead, and as he swerved to the left, one of the long spikes grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes - 
He could feel it stinging, he could hear screaming and groans from the crowd, but the cut didn't seem to be deep.…Now he zoomed around the back of the Horntail, and a possibility occurred to him.… 
The Horntail didn't seem to want to take off, she was too protective of her eggs. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those fearsome yellow eyes on Harry, she was afraid to move too far from them…but he had to persuade her to do it, or he'd never get near them.…The trick was to do it carefully, gradually.… 
He began to fly, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient threat to ensure she kept her eyes on him. Her head swayed this way and that, watching him out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared.… 
He flew higher. The Horntail's head rose with him, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying, hike a snake before its charmer.… 
Harry rose a few more feet, and she let out a roar of exasperation. He was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but he was too high to reach now.…She shot fire into the air, which he dodged.…Her jaws opened wide.… 
“Come on,” Harry hissed, swerving tantalizingly above her, “come on, come and get me…up you get now…” 
And then she reared, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last, as wide as those of a small airplane - and Harry dived. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared to, he was speeding toward the ground as fast as he could go, toward the eggs now unprotected by her clawed front legs - he had taken his hands off his Firebolt - he had seized the golden egg - 
And with a huge spurt of speed, he was off, he was soaring out over the stands, the heavy egg safely under his uninjured arm, and it was as though somebody had just turned the volume back up - for the first time, he became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup - 
“Look at that!” Bagman was yelling. “Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!” 
Harry saw the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, and, over at the entrance to the enclosure, Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid hurrying to meet him, all of them waving him toward them, their smiles evident even from this distance. He flew back over the stands, the noise of the crowd pounding his eardrums, and came in smoothly to land, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.…He had got through the first task, he had survived.… 
“That was excellent, Potter!” cried Professor McGonagall as he got off the Firebolt - which from her was extravagant praise. He noticed that her hand shook as she pointed at his shoulder. “You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score.…Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already.…” 
“Yeh did it, Harry!” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Yeh did it! An’ agains’ the Horntail an’ all, an’ yeh know Charlie said that was the wors’ -” 
“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry loudly, so that Hagrid wouldn't blunder on and reveal that he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. 
Professor Moody looked very pleased too; his magical eye was dancing in its socket. 
“Nice and easy does the trick, Potter,” he growled. 
“Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please…” said Professor McGonagall. 
Harry walked out of the enclosure, still panting, and saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the mouth of a second tent, looking worried. 
“Dragons!” she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling Harry inside. The tent was divided into cubicles; he could make out Cedric's shadow through the canvas, but Cedric didn't seem to be badly injured; he was sitting up, at least. Madam Pomfrey examined Harry's shoulder, talking furiously all the while. “Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You're very lucky…this is quite shallow…it'll need cleaning before I heal it up, though….” 
She cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid that smoked and stung, but then poked his shoulder with her wand, and he felt it heal instantly. 
“Now, just sit quietly for a minute - sit! And then you can go and get your score.” 
She bustled out of the tent and he heard her go next door and say, “How does it feel now, Diggory?” 
Harry didn't want to sit still. He was too full of adrenaline. He got to his feet, wanting to see what was going on outside, but before he'd reached the mouth of the tent, two people had come darting inside - Hermione, followed closely by Ron. 
“Harry, you were brilliant!” Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. “You were amazing! You really were!” 
But Harry was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost. 
“Harry,” he said, very seriously, “whoever put your name in that goblet - I - I reckon they're trying to do you in!” 
It was as though the last few weeks had never happened - as though Harry were meeting Ron for the first time, right after he'd been made champion. 
“Caught on, have you?” said Harry coldly. “Took you long enough.” 
Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly he found he didn't need to hear it. 
“It's okay,” he said, before Ron could get the words out. “Forget it.” 
“No,” said Ron, “I shouldn't've -” 
“Forget it, “Harry said. 
Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back. 
Hermione burst into tears. 
“There's nothing to cry about!” Harry told her, bewildered. 
“You two are so stupid!” she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either of them could stop her, she had given both of them a hug and dashed away, now positively howling. 
“Barking mad,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores.…” 
Picking up the golden egg and his Firebolt, feeling more elated than he would have believed possible an hour ago, Harry ducked out of the tent, Ron by his side, talking fast. 
“You were the best, you know, no competition. Cedric did this weird thing where he Transfigured a rock on the ground…turned it into a dog…he was trying to make the dragon go for the dog instead of him. Well, it was a pretty cool bit of Transfiguration, and it sort of worked, because he did get the egg, but he got burned as well - the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it would rather have him than the Labrador; he only just got away. And that Fleur girl tried this sort of charm, I think she was trying to put it into a trance - well, that kind of worked too, it went all sleepy, but then it snored, and this great jet of flame shot out, and her skirt caught fire - she put it out with a bit of water out of her wand. And Krum - you won't believe this, but he didn't even think of flying! He was probably the best after you, though. Hit it with some sort of spell right in the eye. Only thing is, it went trampling around in agony and squashed half the real eggs - they took marks off for that, he wasn't supposed to do any damage to them.” 
Ron drew breath as he and Harry reached the edge of the enclosure. Now that the Horntail had been taken away, Harry could see where the five judges were sitting - right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold. 
“It's marks out of ten from each one,” Ron said, and Harry squinting up the field, saw the first judge - Madame Maxime - raise her wand in the air. What hooked like a long silver ribbon shot out of it, which twisted itself into a large figure eight. 
“Not bad!” said Ron as the crowd applauded. “I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder…” 
Mr. Crouch came next. He shot a number nine into the air. 
“Looking good!” Ron yelled, thumping Harry on the back. 
Next, Dumbledore. He too put up a nine. The crowd was cheering harder than ever. 
Ludo Bagman - ten. 
“Ten?” said Harry in disbelief. “But…I got hurt.…What's he playing at?” 
“Harry, don't complain!” Ron yelled excitedly. 
And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment, and then a number shot out of his wand too - four. 
“What?” Ron bellowed furiously. “Four? You lousy, biased scum-bag, you gave Krum ten!” 
But Harry didn't care, he wouldn't have cared if Karkaroff had given him zero; Ron's indignation on his behalf was worth about a hundred points to him. He didn't tell Ron this, of course, but his heart felt lighter than air as he turned to leave the enclosure. And it wasn't just Ron…those weren't only Gryffindors cheering in the crowd. When it had come to it, when they had seen what he was facing, most of the school had been on his side as well as Cedric's.…He didn't care about the Slytherins, he could stand whatever they threw at him now. 
“You're tied in first place, Harry! You and Krum!” said Charlie Weasley, hurrying to meet them as they set off back toward the school. “Listen, I've got to run, I've got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I'd tell her what happened - but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah - and they told me to tell you you've got to hang around for a few more minutes.…Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tent.” 
Ron said he would wait, so Harry reentered the tent, which somehow looked quite different now: friendly and welcoming. He thought back to how he'd felt while dodging the Horntail, and compared it to the long wait before he'd walked out to face it.…There was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse. 
Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. One side of Cedric's face was covered in a thick orange paste, which was presumably mending his burn. He grinned at Harry when he saw him. 
“Good one, Harry.” 
“And you,” said Harry, grinning back. 
“Well done, all of you!” said Ludo Bagman, bouncing into the tent and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth - but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open…see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg - because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!” 
Harry left the tent, rejoined Ron, and they started to walk back around the edge of the forest, talking hard; Harry wanted to hear what the other champions had done in more detail. Then, as they rounded the clump of trees behind which Harry had first heard the dragons roar, a witch leapt out from behind them. 
It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today; the Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand blended perfectly against them. 
“Congratulations, Harry!” she said, beaming at him. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of the scoring?” 
“Yeah, you can have a word,” said Harry savagely. “Good-bye.” 
And he set off back to the castle with Ron. 
星期天早上哈利起床时，他精神根本集中不了，穿衣服的时候有一会儿他想把帽子而不是袜子套在脚上，自己却毫不察觉。好不容易终于穿戴整齐后就匆匆出门去找荷米恩。哈利在大会堂的格林芬顿桌那儿找到了她，她正和金妮一块吃早饭呢。哈利根本没心思吃饭，一等荷米恩舀完最后一勺粥，就拉着她到操场上去散步。在那里又一次沿湖而走时，哈利告诉了荷米恩所有有关龙的事情，还有西里斯所说的一切。 
　　尽管西里斯关于卡克罗夫的警告引起了她的担心，荷米恩还是觉得龙的问题是目前最迫切的事情。 
　　“我们得设法让你到周二晚上还能保住性命，”她绝望地说，“然后我们再来考虑卡克罗夫。” 
　　他俩绕着湖走了三圈，想要找到一个能打败龙的咒语。可毫无头绪，于是他们又回到了图书馆。在图书馆里，哈利抽出每一本他能找到的关于龙的书，可那些书只把他引向再一次的搜索。 
　　“魔爪被法力剪去，处理天平上的污秽‘，这咒语一点用处也没有，它是给哈格力那样的疯子强身健体用的。” 
　　“龙很难被杀死，因为古老的魔法赋予了它们厚厚的皮肤，只有最厉害的咒语才可以刺穿。但西里斯明明说过用一个简单的咒语同样可以做到。” 
　　“那我们就找些容易点的魔法书吧。”哈利说，一边把《太爱龙的人》一书抛到一旁。 
　　他捧着～摞魔法书回到桌前，放下书，开始一本本地翻查。荷米恩在他身侧小声喊着坚持，“哦，有交换术呀，可干嘛要交换呢？ 
　　除非你想用它的翅膀换什么萄萄酒口香糖之类的东西，那样的话它就没那么危险了。问题是，就像这书上说的，没多少东西能穿透龙皮，我想得把龙变形，可那么大的龙，我怀疑甚至麦康娜教授也未必能行，要不你打算对自己施魔法？给自己增强力量？可那些魔法可不容易了，我是说，上课时从没有试过，我也是因为要做O.W.L的实习报告才知道这类法术的。“ 
　　“荷米恩！”哈利从牙缝里挤出话说，“你能不能给我闭一会嘴？ 
　　我要尽量集中精神户但是荷米恩一不出声，哈利的大脑就绕满了一种单调的嗡嗡声，搅得他根本集中不了心思，他绝望地看着索引《放肆和愤怒者之基本魔法》中的即刻连发剥头皮术，可龙是没有头发的，那很可能会增加龙的火力呢；切除号角舌头术，这正是哈利需要的，可以算是额外武器。 
　　“噢，不，他又回来了，他干嘛不能在自己的该死的船上看书呢？”荷米思恼火地说。这时维特。克伦低着头走进来，望了他俩一眼，就拿着一堆书坐在了远处一个角落，“走吧，哈利，我们回公共休息室去，他的那帮追随者很快就要杀到了，到时又吱吱喳喳的。” 
　　真的，他俩刚起身，一帮女生就蹑手蹑脚地经过他们，其中一个还围了条保加利亚围巾在腰间。 
　　哈利那晚几乎没合眼。当他早上醒来时，首先认真考虑的就是从霍格瓦彻逃跑掉。可当他吃早饭时环顾着大会堂，想着从城堡逃跑将意味着什么时，他知道自己做不到，这儿是他唯一获得快乐的地方，嗯，他想以前和父母在一起时他也一定是快乐的，只是他已记不得了。 
　　不管怎么说，明白到自己宁愿呆在这里面对一条龙也不愿回普里怀特街和达德里在一起，这种认识使他感到有点镇定了。哈利困难地，咽下腌肉（他喉咙痛得不得了）。他和荷米恩起身要离开时，看到塞德里克。迪格瑞也离开海夫巴夫桌。 
　　塞德里克可还不知情呢，他是唯一不知道的勇士，如果哈利没猜错的话，玛西姆和卡克罗夫已经告诉了芙璐和克伦。 
　　“荷米恩，你先走，我会去温房找你的，”哈利说，看着塞德里克离开会堂地做出了决定，“走吧，我会赶上你的。” 
　　“哈利，你会迟到的，铃很快就要响了——” 
　　“我会赶上去的，好吗？” 
　　等哈利退到大理石楼梯底时，塞德里克已位于顶部了，周围围了一群六年级生。哈利可不想在他们面前和塞德里克讲话；那群家伙每次他一走近都会对他引用理特。史姬特的文章。哈利和塞德里克保持着一定距离，看到他正走向法术走廊。这可给了哈利一个主意。他站定脚步，拉出魔杖，仔细瞄准，喊了一声。 
　　“迪芬多！” 
　　塞德里克的口袋裂开了。羊皮纸、羽毛笔还有书跌出来，散落在地面。还有几瓶墨水打碎了。 
　　“不麻烦你们了，我自个儿来就行，”塞德里克有点恼火地说，不让他的朋友们弯腰来帮他抬东西，“告诉菲利特威克我很快就来，去吧！” 
　　这正是哈利所希望发生的，他把魔杖放回长袍，等到塞德里克的那帮朋友进了课堂不见了后快步走上去，走廊里只剩他和塞德里克。 
　　“嗨！”塞德里克一边打招呼，一边拾起一本《高级变形术指南》，那书已被墨水溅湿，“我的口袋刚裂开了，全新的口袋啊。” 
　　“塞德里克。”哈利说，“第一项任务是龙！” 
　　“什么？”塞德里克说，他把头抬起来。 
　　“龙！”哈利快速重复了一遍，以防菲利特威克教授出来看塞德里克在干什么。“共有四只，我们一人一支，而且我们必须通过那些龙！” 
　　塞德里克盯着哈利看。在他眼中哈利看到了一些自己从周六晚上起就开始感到的惊慌。 
　　“你肯定吗？”塞德里克用肃静的语调问。 
　　“肯定到不能再肯定，”哈利答，“我见过它们。” 
　　“可你是怎么发现的？我们不应该知道。” 
　　“甭管了，”哈利马上说——他知道要说真话哈格力就会有麻烦。“我可不是唯一知道的。芙滩和克伦现在也都知道了——玛西姆和卡克罗夫也都见到了龙。” 
　　塞德里克站起来，手臂上沾满了染了墨迹的羽毛笔、羊皮纸和书本，他那破了的口袋在肩膀上吊着。他又一次盯着哈利，眼中有一种困惑，甚至可说是怀疑的神色。 
　　“你为什么告诉我？”他问。 
　　哈利不相信地望着他。哈利肯定要是塞德里克自己看到那龙就一定不会这样问他。哈利可不愿要自己最差的敌人毫无准备地面对那些怪物。 
　　“这只是，公平，不是吗？”他对塞德里克说，“我们现在都知道了，大家在同一起跑线，对吗？” 
　　塞德里克还在有一点点怀疑地看着他，突然哈利听到身后一阵熟悉的撞击声。他转过身去，见到魔眼莫迪从附近一间课堂中走出。 
　　“跟我来，波特？”他咆嗜着说，“迪格瑞，你走吧。” 
　　哈利有点儿担心地看着莫迪，难道他听到他俩刚才的谈话？ 
　　“嗯——教授，我该去上草药学课——” 
　　“不必担心，来我办公室吧。” 
　　哈利只好跟着他，纳闷这次不知什么要降临到自己身上。要是莫迪想知道他是怎么发现龙的事情呢？莫迪会不会去找丹伯多，惩罚哈格力，或干脆把他变成一只雪貂呢？哎，自己要是只雪貂要通过大龙还会容易点呢，哈利闷闷地想着，自己会小个得多，从五十尺高的地方往下看会难发现得多…… 
　　他跟着莫迪进了办公室。莫迪关上了身后的门，转身望着哈利，他的魔法眼睛和另一只正常眼睛都定在哈利身上不动。 
　　“波特，你刚做了件非常高尚的事。”莫迪静静地说。 
　　哈利简直不知道如何作答，这完全不是他所预料的反应。 
　　“坐吧！”莫迪又说。于是哈利坐下，看了看四周。 
　　他曾在前两任这个办公室的所有者还在时来过这里。罗克哈特教授在的时候，墙上帖着教授自己微笑眨眼的照片。而露平在这儿住的时候，你更有可能碰上些教授新搞到手要在课堂上使用的迷人的黑暗生物。现在又不同了，办公室里所见皆是些稀奇古怪的物品，哈利推想莫迪该在自己是奥罗的日子里用过这些东西。 
　　桌上摆着一个又大又有裂缝的、旋转的玻璃陀螺，哈利一眼就认出这是个史尼克，因为他自己也有一个，尽管比莫迪的要小得多。墙角的小桌上放着一个像是特别弯曲的、金色的电视天线一样东西，它还发出轻微的哼声。墙上正对着哈利的地方挂了一面像是镜子的东西，可是里面却没有房间的影像，有的只是影子般移来移去的几个图像，可是又没有一个是清楚显示的。 
　　“你喜欢我的黑暗探测器，对吧？”莫迪说，他正仔细地看着哈利。 
　　“那是什么？”莫迪指着曲折的金色天线问。 
　　“秘密感应器。在探测到谎言和隐藏真相时就会颤动，当然在这儿毫无用处，有太多干扰了——每个方向都有学生在对为什么没完成作业而撒谎。所以从我来到这儿起就一直在嗡嗡叫。我也不得不关掉我的史尼克，因为它不停地在发出鸣声。它太敏感了，方圆一里以内的信号都接收得到。当然，它可以接收的东西不止是孩子们的小事。”他用那吼叫一样的声音补充道。 
　　“那这镜子又是干嘛的？” 
　　“喔，那是我的敌人显示镜。看到他们在附近埋伏潜行吗？除非我在镜中见到他们的眼白部分，否则我是不会有什么大麻烦的。 
　　不过到那时我可得打开皮箱了！“ 
　　他发出一阵短促刺耳的笑声，一边指着窗下面的一个大皮箱。 
　　那皮箱有一排七个钥匙孔。哈利寻思里面会有些什么，直到莫迪的问题把他迅即拉回到现实。 
　　“那么，你是发现了龙喔？” 
　　哈利犹豫着。他一直为这个担心——他没告诉塞德里克，更不打算告诉莫迪——哈格力打破了约定。 
　　“没什么，”莫迪说，他坐下来，伸出他的木腿，呻吟了一声。 
　　“作弊是三巫士比赛的一个传统部分，向来如此。” 
　　“我没有作弊，”哈利严厉地说，“那只是——很意外的情形下我才发现的。” 
　　莫迪咧嘴笑了。“我并没有怪你，小害羞。我一开始就跟丹伯多说过，他尽可以照自己喜欢的方式保持正大光明，但老卡克罗夫和玛西姆可不会那么崇高。他们会告诉自己的勇士一切。他们只想着赢。他们想打败丹伯多，要证明他不过是个凡人。” 
　　莫迪又刺耳地笑着，他的魔眼转得飞快，看得哈利很不舒服。 
　　“那么，你想好了怎样通过龙的法子没？”莫迪问。 
　　“没有。”哈利答。 
　　“啊，我可不打算教你。”莫迪粗暴地说，“我不偏心，我不。 
　　我只打算给你一些好的，概括的建议。第一点就是——运用你的力量。“ 
　　“我什么力量也没有啊。”哈利脱口而出，想要往口却已说完了。 
　　“不对，”莫迪咆哮着，“我说你有力量你就有，现在想吧，你最擅长什么？” 
　　哈利努力集中精神。最擅长的？哦，那容易，真的——“快迪斯！”他迟疑地答道：“还有很多——” 
　　“那就对了，”莫迪说，他死死地盯住哈利，魔法眼一动也不动，“我听说，你是一个棒极了的飞行家？” 
　　“嗯，对，可……”哈利回瞪着他，“我没获准使用扫帚，我只有魔杖——” 
　　“我的第二条忠告，”莫迪大声打断他，“是用一个管用的，简单的咒语来帮助你得到你需要的东西。” 
　　哈利呆呆地看着他，自己需要什么呢？ 
　　“孩子，想想。”莫迪低声说，“把所有的东西放到一起，不难想到的。” 
　　忽然哈利灵机一动想到了。他最擅于飞行，他得在空中穿过龙的守卫。于是，他需要他的霹雳帚。而为了霹雳帚，他需要——“荷米恩。”哈利轻声说出。十分钟后他冲入三号温房，跑过史伯特教授身边时匆匆道了歉，“荷米恩，我需要你的帮助。” 
　　“你以为我一直在设法做的是什么，哈利？”她小声反问道。越过她正修剪的摇曳着的飞特柏灌木顶端，是她流露出不满的眼光。 
　　“荷米恩，我得在明天下午以前学会正确地使用召唤术。” 
　　于是他们开始练习。他们没有吃午饭，径直去了一间空教室，在那儿哈利尽力让房间里的各种物体飞向他。但还有点困难，不够熟练。那些练习的书本和羽毛笔在空中飞到一半往往就失去重心，像石头一般跌落地面。 
　　“集中注意力，哈利，得集中。” 
　　“我不是一直在尽量集中吗？”哈利生气地说，“可不知怎的，一头又脏又大的龙不停在我脑海浮现，好吧，再来一次。” 
　　哈利想逃掉占卜课继续练习，可是荷米恩不想因为不上课而失分，而没有她陪同练习就没有意义。所以哈利不得不花一个多小时听特雷络尼教授在那儿用半节课公告大家现在火星与土星的位置关系意味着七月份出生的人将处于突然、暴力死亡的巨大危险之中。 
　　“啊，那挺好。”哈利大声说，有点儿发脾气，“死也没什么，只要别弄太久，我可不想活受罪。” 
　　罗恩看过来一会儿，好像有点忍俊不禁，这么些天来他第一次引起了哈利的注意，可哈利心里对罗恩还是太忿恨了，所以没在意他。剩下的半节课哈利在课桌底下练习用魔杖吸引小物件到周围。 
　　他成功地让一只苍蝇直直地撞到他手里，可他还是不能完全确定那是否出于他唤物术的威力——还是这头苍蝇太笨了。 
　　占卜课后哈利逼自己吃了点晚饭，然后和荷米恩回到空课室，沿路穿着隐身袍避开了老师。他们一直练习直到过了午夜，本可以再待久点，可是皮维斯出现了，而且假装以为哈利要让物体飞向自己，皮维斯开始在房间里扔椅子。哈利和荷米恩只得在吵声引来弗尔克之前匆匆离开，又回到格林芬顿普通房，那儿幸亏没人。 
　　凌晨两点，哈利站在火神旁，周围是成堆东西——书啦，羽毛笔啦，几张翻转的椅子啦，一套旧的哥伯石啦，还有尼维尔的蟾蜍啦。只有到了最后时刻哈利才真正掌握了召唤术的诀窍。 
　　“那好多了，哈利。”荷米恩看起来挺累，但很满意。 
　　“好，现在我们明白下次我学不好一个咒语时该怎么办了，”哈利说。他扔回给荷米恩一本魔法字典以便再练习一遍，“用一头龙来危胁我！”他再一次举起魔咒，念着，‘阿西欧字典！“’那本重书咆哮着飞出荷米思的双手，穿过房间，被哈利抓在手中。 
　　“哈利，我想你真的学会了！”荷米恩高兴地说。 
　　“但愿明天管用。”哈利说。“霹雳帚到时可比这房里的东西远得多，它会在城堡里，而我会在城堡外面的操场里。” 
　　“那没关系，”荷米恩坚定地说。“只要你真真正正、全神贯注，就可以唤来。哈利，我们最好回去睡了，你需要睡眠。” 
　　那晚哈利是那么认真地学习唤物术，以致于把部分盲目的恐慌抛于脑后。然而，在次日早晨，那惊慌又重新卷土而来。校园里的气氛紧张而又刺激。课只上半天，下午所有的学生都有时间去看哈利等人的出场表演——尽管目前他们还不知道他们等待的是什么。 
　　不管周围的人是祝他好运，还是在他经过时不满地发出嘘声“我们会准备好一箱抢救纱布的，波特”，哈利都觉得分外的孤单。 
　　这紧张感是那么强烈，他怀疑自己在被领去见龙时会不会失去控制，大声的咒骂见到的每一个人。 
　　时间好似以以前从未有的方式行进，一块块地飞逝，前一分钟他还坐在第一节课魔法历史的课堂里，下一分钟他就是走去吃午餐，再然后（上午是怎么度过的？没见大龙前的最后几小时上哪儿去了？）麦康娜教授正在大会堂里向他匆匆走来。周围很多人都看到了。 
　　“波特，勇士们现在就要下到操场了，你得为第一项任务作准备。” 
　　“好的，”哈利答道。他站起身，吃着的猪肉啪的一声掉回碟千里。 
　　“祝你走运，哈利，”荷米恩再语道，“你会做到的！” 
　　“对！”哈利说，可他说话的声音却一点也不像平时。 
　　他和麦康娜教授离开了大会堂。她也显得很不自在，事实上，她看起来和荷米恩一样紧张。她和哈利走下石阶，正要进入那个寒冷的十一月午后的操场时，她把手放在他的肩上。 
　　“现在，不要谎张，”她说，“保持头脑冷静，万一情况失控我们也会有巫师控制局面，主要的是要尽力做到最好你的，没有人会看低你的，你还好吧？” 
　　“是，”哈利听到自己说，“是的，我还好。” 
　　她领着他走向龙的藏身之地，沿着森林的边缘，但是当他们接近围墙的树丛时，哈利见到一座新搭起的帐篷，它的人口正对着他们，遮住了龙。 
　　“你和其他勇士从这里进去，”麦康娜教授用近乎颤抖的声音说，“然后等着轮到你时，巴格蒙先生也会在里面，他会告诉你，告诉你程序，祝你好运。” 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说，声音扁平而又冷淡。她在帐篷入口处离开。 
　　哈利进了去。维特。克伦显得比平时更傲慢，哈利倒觉得那是他紧张的方式。塞德里克来回地踱步，哈利进去时，塞德里克对他笑了笑，哈利回以一笑，可觉得塞德里克脸上的肌肉十分僵硬，仿佛已忘了该如何作笑容状。 
　　“哈利！噢，好了！”巴格蒙高兴地说，上下打量着他，“进来进来，就像在自个儿家里一样！” 
　　巴格蒙站在这群全都脸色发白的勇士中间，有点像是个块头过大的卡通人物。他又穿起了他那旧黄蜂袍。 
　　“好了，现在人都到齐了——是时候开始了！”巴格蒙轻快地说“等观众到齐后，我就把这袋子拿到你们面前，”——他举起一个小紫色小丝袋，向他们四个晃了晃——“从袋子里面你们要选出一个模型，那就是你们待会要面对的敌人！每个人的都不一样——嗯——你们知道，得有花样。并且我还得告诉你们点什么别的。啊，对了，你们的任务是要取得金蛋！” 
　　哈利瞥了一下旁边。塞德里克点了一次头，表明听懂了巴格蒙的话，然后又开始绕着帐篷踱步；他看起来脸色有点发青。芙璐。 
　　迪来高和克伦根本就没有反应。可能他们想如果开口的话他们就会不适，那也是哈利的感觉。但他们至少，是自愿这样…… 
　　没一会儿功夫，就听到数百次脚步声经过帐篷，那些人兴奋地谈着、笑着、闹着，只有一帐之隔，可是觉得与那群人极为遥远，仿佛他们是另一个生物种类一般。接着——对哈利而言好像只过了一秒——巴格蒙打开了小紫丝袋的袋口。 
　　“女士优先，”他说，把袋子递到芙璐·迪来高面前。 
　　她颤抖着手进袋，摸出了一个小巧的，完美的龙的模型——一只威尔士绿龙，它的脖子上围着个号码。于是哈利知道自己猜对了：玛西姆女士早已告诉了她要面对的事物。因为芙璐·迪来高并不吃惊，倒是有种听天由命的神情。 
　　克伦的反应也不出所料地证明哈利又对了。他抽出的是猩红的中国火龙，有一个号码3在颈上。他眼都没眨，只是盯着地面。 
　　塞德里克伸手入袋，摸出了一只蓝灰色的瑞典短鼻龙，号码是1.知道只剩下一个4，哈利把手放入丝袋，拿出一只匈牙利号尾龙，不用说号码是4.哈利向下看着它时，它报以伸出的双翅和小小尖牙。 
　　“好了，你们都有了！”巴格蒙说，“每个人都抽出了要面对的龙，而号码就是指你们要斗龙的顺序，明白吗？现在我会出去，留些时间给你们，我要出去解说一下。迪格瑞先生，你是第一个，听到口哨声时走出帐篷去围墙里面，好吗？现在，哈利，我能和你讲两句话吗？到外边来。” 
　　“嗯，好的。”哈利呆呆地说，他起身，跟着巴格蒙走出帐篷，走了一小段路来到树林。巴格蒙转身向他，脸上有种父亲般关怀的神色。 
　　“你觉得好吗，哈利？有什么我能帮你吗？” 
　　“什么？”哈利说。“我——不，不用了。” 
　　“想好
Chapter 21 The House-elf Liberation Front
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went up to the Owlery that evening to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry could send Sirius a letter telling him that he had managed to get past his dragon unscathed. On the way, Harry filled Ron in on everything Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. Though shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, by the time they entered the Owlery Ron was saying that they ought to have suspected it all along. 
“Fits, doesn't it?” he said. “Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup.…I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch! Come here - I'll do it -” 
Pigwidgeon was so overexcited at the idea of a delivery he was flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatched Pigwidgeon out of the air and held him still while Harry attached the letter to his leg. 
There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?” Ron went on as he carried Pigwidgeon to the window. “You know what? I reckon you could win this tournament, Harry, I'm serious.” 
Harry knew that Ron was only saying this to make up for his behavior of the last few weeks, but he appreciated it all the same. Hermione, however, leaned against the Owlery wall, folded her arms, and frowned at Ron. 
“Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament,” she said seriously. “If that was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next.” 
“Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?” said Ron. “You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime.” 
He threw Pigwidgeon out of the window. Pigwidgeon plummeted twelve feet before managing to pull himself back up again; the letter attached to his leg was much longer and heavier than usual - Harry hadn't been able to resist giving Sirius a blow-by-blow account of exactly how he had swerved, circled, and dodged the Horntail. They watched Pigwidgeon disappear into the darkness, and then Ron said, “Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now.” 
Sure enough, when they entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster's Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail's head on his Firebolt, though a couple showed Cedric with his head on fire. 
Harry helped himself to food; he had almost forgotten what it was like to feel properly hungry, and sat down with Ron and Hermione. He couldn't believe how happy he felt; he had Ron back on his side, he'd gotten through the first task, and he wouldn't have to face the second one for three months. 
“Blimey, this is heavy,” said Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. “Open it, Harry, go on! Let's just see what's inside it!” 
“He's supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said swiftly. “It's in the tournament rules.…” 
“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Harry muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily. 
“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” several people echoed. 
Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open. 
It was hollow and completely empty - but the moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room. The nearest thing to it Harry had ever heard was the ghost orchestra at Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party, who had all been playing the musical saw. 
“Shut it!” Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears. 
“What was that?” said Seamus Finnigan, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. “Sounded like a banshee…Maybe you've got to get past one of those next, Harry!” 
“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!” 
“Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal,” said George. “They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing…maybe you've got to attack him while he's in the shower. Harry.” 
“Want a jam tart, Hermione?” said Fred. 
Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her. Fred grinned. 
“It's all right,” he said. “I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch -” 
Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed. 
“Just my little joke, Neville.…” 
Hermione took a jam tart. Then she said, “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?” 
“Yep,” said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. “'anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!’ They're dead helpful…get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish.” 
“How do you get in there?” Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice. 
“Easy,” said Fred, “concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and -” He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. “Why?” 
“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly. 
“Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?” said George. “Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?” 
Several people chortled. Hermione didn't answer. 
“Don't you go upsetting them and telling them they've got to take clothes and salaries!” said Fred warningly. “You'll put them off their cooking!” 
Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary. 
“Oh - sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted over all the laughter. “I forgot - it was the custard creams we hexed -” 
Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing. 
“Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. “George and I invented them - seven Sickles each, a bargain!” 
It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut. Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up, and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point…they were all right, really, dragons.… 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter. Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too. Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the comer of their paddock was enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light-headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible skrewts and needed their wits about them. 
“I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not,” Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. “Thought we'd jus’ try an see if they fancied a kip…we'll jus’ settle ‘em down in these boxes.…” 
There were now only ten skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick gray armor; their powerful, scuttling legs; their fire-blasting ends; their stings and their suckers, combined to make the skrewts the most repulsive things Harry had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets. 
“We'll jus’ lead ‘em in here,” Hagrid said, “an’ put the lids on, and we'll see what happens.” 
But the skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling, “Don panic, now, don’ panic!” while the skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smoldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class - Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead - had fled into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt was left. 
“Don’ frighten him, now!” Hagrid shouted as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. “Jus’ try an slip the rope ‘round his sting, so he won hurt any o’ the others!” 
“Yeah, we wouldn't want that!” Ron shouted angrily as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid's cabin, still holding the skrewt off with their sparks. 
“Well, well, well…this does look like fun.” 
Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm. 
Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby. 
“Who're you?” Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter as he slipped a loop of rope around the skrewt's sting and tightened it. 
“Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,” Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted. 
“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore,” said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows. 
Rita acted as though she hadn't heard what Hagrid had said. 
“What are these fascinating creatures called?” she asked, beaming still more widely. 
“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” grunted Hagrid. 
“Really?” said Rita, apparently full of lively interest. “I've never heard of them before…where do they come from?” 
Harry noticed a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid's wild black beard, and his heart sank. Where had Hagrid got the skrewts from? Hermione, who seemed to be thinking along these lines, said quickly, “They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they. Harry?” 
“What? Oh yeah…ouch…interesting,” said Harry as she stepped on his foot. 
“Ah, you're here. Harry!” said Rita Skeeter as she looked around. “So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favorite lessons?” 
“Yes,” said Harry stoutly. Hagrid beamed at him. 
“Lovely,” said Rita. “Really lovely. Been teaching long?” she added to Hagrid. 
Harry noticed her eyes travel over Dean (who had a nasty cut across one cheek). Lavender (whose robes were badly singed), Seamus (who was nursing several burnt fingers), and then to the cabin windows, where most of the class stood, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast was clear. 
“This is o'ny me second year,” said Hagrid. 
“Lovely…I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The Prophet does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature these - er - Bang-Ended Scoots.” 
“Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Hagrid said eagerly. “Er - yeah, why not?” 
Harry had a very bad feeling about this, but there was no way of communicating it to Hagrid without Rita Skeeter seeing, so he had to stand and watch in silence as Hagrid and Rita Skeeter made arrangements to meet in the Three Broomsticks for a good long interview later that week. Then the bell rang up at the castle, signaling the end of the lesson. 
“Well, good-bye, Harry!” Rita Skeeter called merrily to him as he set off with Ron and Hermione. “Until Friday night, then, Hagrid!” 
“She'll twist everything he says,” Harry said under his breath. 
“Just as long as he didn't import those skrewts illegally or anything,” said Hermione desperately. They looked at one another - it was exactly the sort of thing Hagrid might do. 
“Hagrid's been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledores never sacked him,” said Ron consolingly. “Worst that can happen is Hagrid'll have to get rid of the skrewts. Sorry…did I say worst? I meant best.” 
Harry and Hermione laughed, and, feeling slightly more cheerful, went off to lunch. 
Harry thoroughly enjoyed double Divination that afternoon; they were still doing star charts and predictions, but now that he and Ron were friends once more, the whole thing seemed very funny again. Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with the pair of them when they had been predicting their own horrific deaths, quickly became irritated as they sniggered through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life. 
“I would think,” she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, “that some of us” - she stared very meaningfully at Harry- “might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me. I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths…and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?” 
“An ugly old bat in outsize specs?” Ron muttered under his breath. 
Harry fought hard to keep his face straight. 
“Death, my dears.” 
Parvati and Lavender both put their hands over their mouths, looking horrified. 
“Yes,” said Professor Trelawney, nodding impressively, “it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower…ever lower over the castle.…” 
She stared pointedly at Harry, who yawned very widely and obviously. 
“It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before,” Harry said as they finally regained the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney's room. “But if I'd dropped dead every time she's told me I'm going to, I'd be a medical miracle.” 
“You'd be a sort of extra-concentrated ghost,” said Ron, chortling, as they passed the Bloody Baron going in the opposite direction, his wide eyes staring sinisterly. “At least we didn't get homework. I hope Hermione got loads off Professor Vector, I love not working when she is.…” 
But Hermione wasn't at dinner, nor was she in the library when they went to look for her afterward. The only person in there was Viktor Krum. Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum, debating in whispers with Harry whether he should ask for an autograph - but then Ron realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea. 
“Wonder where she's got to?” Ron said as he and Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower. 
“Dunno…balderdash.” 
But the Fat Lady had barely begun to swing forward when the sound of racing feet behind them announced Hermione's arrival. 
“Harry!” she panted, skidding to a halt beside him (the Fat Lady stared down at her, eyebrows raised). “Harry, you've got to come - you've got to come, the most amazing thing's happened - please -” 
She seized Harry's arm and started to try to drag him back along the corridor. 
“What's the matter?” Harry said. 
“I'll show you when we get there - oh come on, quick -” 
Harry looked around at Ron; he looked back at Harry, intrigued. 
“Okay,” Harry said, starting off back down the corridor with Hermione, Ron hurrying to keep up. 
“Oh don't mind me!” the Fat Lady called irritably after them. “Don't apologize for bothering me! I'll just hang here, wide open, until you get back, shall I?” 
“Yeah, thanks!” Ron shouted over his shoulder. 
“Hermione, where are we going?” Harry asked, after she had led them down through six floors, and started down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. 
“You'll see, you'll see in a minute!” said Hermione excitedly. 
She turned left at the bottom of the staircase and hurried toward the door through which Cedric Diggory had gone the night after the Goblet of Fire had regurgitated his and Harry's names. Harry had never been through here before. He and Ron followed Hermione down a flight of stone steps, but instead of ending up in a gloomy underground passage like the one that led to Snape's dungeon, they found themselves in a broad stone corridor, brightly lit with torches, and decorated with cheerful paintings that were mainly of food. 
“Oh hang on…” said Harry slowly, halfway down the corridor. “Wait a minute, Hermione.…” 
“What?” She turned around to look at him, anticipation all over her face. 
“I know what this is about,” said Harry. 
He nudged Ron and pointed to the painting just behind Hermione. It showed a gigantic silver fruit bowl. 
“Hermione!” said Ron, cottoning on. “You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!” 
“No, no, I'm not!” she said hastily. “And it's not spew, Ron -” 
“Changed the name, have you?” said Ron, frowning at her. “What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -” 
“I'm not asking you to!” Hermione said impatiently. “I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come on, Harry, I want to show you!” 
She seized his arm again, pulled him in front of the picture of the giant fruit bowl, stretched out her forefinger, and tickled the huge green pear. It began to squirm, chuckling, and suddenly turned into a large green door handle. Hermione seized it, pulled the door open, and pushed Harry hard in the back, forcing him inside. 
He had one brief glimpse of an enormous, high-ceilinged room, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end, when something small hurtled toward him from the middle of the room, squealing, “Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!” 
Next second all the wind had been knocked out of him as the squealing elf hit him hard in the midriff, hugging him so tightly he thought his ribs would break. 
“D-Dobby?” Harry gasped. 
“It is Dobby, sir, it is!” squealed the voice from somewhere around his navel. “Dobby has been hoping and hoping to see Harry Potter, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see him, sir!” 
Dobby let go and stepped back a few paces, beaming up at Harry, his enormous, green, tennis-ball-shaped eyes brimming with tears of happiness. He looked almost exactly as Harry remembered him; the pencil-shaped nose, the batlike ears, the long fingers and feet - all except the clothes, which were very different. 
When Dobby had worked for the Malfoys, he had always worn the same filthy old pillowcase. Now, however, he was wearing the strangest assortment of garments Harry had ever seen; he had done an even worse job of dressing himself than the wizards at the World Cup. He was wearing a tea cozy for a hat, on which he had pinned a number of bright badges; a tie patterned with horseshoes over a bare chest, a pair of what looked like children's soccer shorts, and odd socks. One of these, Harry saw, was the black one Harry had removed from his own foot and tricked Mr. Malfoy into giving Dobby, thereby setting Dobby free. The other was covered in pink and orange stripes. 
“Dobby, what're you doing here?” Harry said in amazement. 
“Dobby has come to work at Hogwarts, sir!” Dobby squealed excitedly. “Professor Dumbledore gave Dobby and Winky jobs, sir! 
“Winky?” said Harry. “She's here too?” 
“Yes, sir, yes!” said Dobby, and he seized Harry's hand and pulled him off into the kitchen between the four long wooden tables that stood there. Each of these tables, Harry noticed as he passed them, was positioned exactly beneath the four House tables above, in the Great Hall. At the moment, they were clear of food, dinner having finished, but he supposed that an hour ago they had been laden with dishes that were then sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above. 
At least a hundred little elves were standing around the kitchen, beaming, bowing, and curtsying as Dobby led Harry past them. They were all wearing the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, and tied, as Winky's had been, like a toga. 
Dobby stopped in front of the brick fireplace and pointed. 
“Winky, sir!” he said. 
Winky was sitting on a stool by the fire. Unlike Dobby, she had obviously not foraged for clothes. She was wearing a neat little skirt and blouse with a matching blue hat, which had holes in it for her large ears. However, while every one of Dobby's strange collection of garments was so clean and well cared for that it looked brand-new, Winky was plainly not taking care other clothes at all. There were soup stains all down her blouse and a burn in her skirt. 
“Hello, Winky,” said Harry. 
Winky's lip quivered. Then she burst into tears, which spilled out of her great brown eyes and splashed down her front, just as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup. 
“Oh dear,” said Hermione. She and Ron had followed Harry and Dobby to the end of the kitchen. “Winky, don't cry, please don't…” 
But Winky cried harder than ever. Dobby, on the other hand, beamed up at Harry. 
“Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?” he squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs. 
“Er - yeah, okay,” said Harry. 
Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits. 
“Good service!” Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated. 
“How long have you been here, Dobby?” Harry asked as Dobby handed around the tea. 
“Only a week. Harry Potter, sir!” said Dobby happily. “Dobby came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir. You see, sir, it is very difficult for a house-elf who has been dismissed to get a new position, sir, very difficult indeed -” 
At this, Winky howled even harder, her squashed-tomato of a nose dribbling all down her front, though she made no effort to stem the flow. 
“Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!” Dobby squeaked. “But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!” 
The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Hermione, however, said, “Good for you, Dobby!” 
“Thank you, miss!” said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. “But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. ‘That's not the point of a house-elf,’ they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid. Harry Potter.…Dobby likes being free!” 
The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume other crying. 
“And then, Harry Potter, Dobby goes to visit Winky, and finds out Winky has been freed too, sir!” said Dobby delightedly. 
At this, Winky flung herself forward off her stool and lay face-down on the flagged stone floor, beating her tiny fists upon it and positively screaming with misery. Hermione hastily dropped down to her knees beside her and tried to comfort her, but nothing she said made the slightest difference. Dobby continued with his story, shouting shrilly over Winky's screeches. 
“And then Dobby had the idea. Harry Potter, sir! ‘Why doesn't Dobby and Winky find work together?’ Dobby says. ‘Where is there enough work for two house-elves?’ says Winky. And Dobby thinks, and it comes to him, sir! Hogwarts! So Dobby and Winky came to see Professor Dumbledore, sir, and Professor Dumbledore took us on!” 
Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again. 
“And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!” 
“That's not very much!” Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating. 
“Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off,” said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, “but Dobby beat him down, miss.…Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.” 
“And how much is Professor Dumbledore paying you, Winky?” Hermione asked kindly. 
If she had thought this would cheer up Winky, she was wildly mistaken. Winky did stop crying, but when she sat up she was glaring at Hermione through her massive brown eyes, her whole face sopping wet and suddenly furious. 
“Winky is a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid!” she squeaked. “Winky is not sunk so low as that! Winky is properly ashamed of being freed!” 
“Ashamed?” said Hermione blankly. “But - Winky, come on! It's Mr. Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn't do anything wrong, he was really horrible to you -” 
But at these words, Winky clapped her hands over the holes in her hat, flattening her ears so that she couldn't hear a word, and screeched, “You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr. Crouch! Mr. Crouch is a good wizard, miss! Mr. Crouch is right to sack bad Winky!” 
“Winky is having trouble adjusting, Harry Potter,” squeaked Dobby confidentially. “Winky forgets she is not bound to Mr. Crouch anymore; she is allowed to speak her mind now, but she won't do it.” 
“Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?” Harry asked. 
“Oh no, sir, no,” said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. “'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them - though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to - to -” 
Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry closer. Harry bent forward. Dobby whispered, “He said we is free to call him a - a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!” 
Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle. 
“But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter,” he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. “Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him.” 
“But you can say what you like about the Malfoys now?” Harry asked him, grinning. 
A slightly fearful look came into Dobby's immense eyes. 
“Dobby - Dobby could,” he said doubtfully. He squared his small shoulders. “Dobby could tell Harry Potter that his old masters were - were - bad Dark wizards!” 
Dobby stood for a moment, quivering all over, horror-struck by his own daring - then he rushed over to the nearest table and began banging his head on it very hard, squealing, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” 
Harry seized Dobby by the back of his tie and pulled him away from the table. 
“Thank you. Harry Potter, thank you,” said Dobby breathlessly, rubbing his head. 
“You just need a bit of practice,” Harry said. 
“Practice!” squealed Winky furiously. “You is ought to be ashamed of yourself, Dobby, talking that way about your masters!” 
“They isn't my masters anymore, Winky!” said Dobby defiantly. “Dobby doesn't care what they think anymore!” 
“Oh you is a bad elf, Dobby!” moaned Winky, tears leaking down her face once more. “My poor Mr. Crouch, what is he doing without Winky? He is needing me, he is needing my help! I is looking after the Crouches all my life, and my mother is doing it before me, and my grandmother is doing it before her…oh what is they saying if they knew Winky was freed? Oh the shame, the shame!” She buried her face in her skirt again and bawled. 
“Winky,” said Hermione firmly, “I'm quite sure Mr. Crouch is getting along perfectly well without you. We've seen him, you know -” 
“You is seeing my master?” said Winky breathlessly, raising her tearstained face out of her skirt once more and goggling at Hermione. “You is seeing him here at Hogwarts?” 
“Yes,” said Hermione, “he and Mr. Bagman are judges in the Triwizard Tournament.” 
“Mr. Bagman comes too?” squeaked Winky, and to Harry ‘s great surprise (and Ron's and Hermione's too, by the looks on their faces), she looked angry again. “Mr. Bagman is a bad wizard! A very bad wizard! My master isn't liking him, oh no, not at all!” 
“Bagman - bad?” said Harry. 
“Oh yes,” Winky said, nodding her head furiously, “My master is telling Winky some things! But Winky is not saying…Winky - Winky keeps her master's secrets.…” 
She dissolved yet again in tears; they could hear her sobbing into her skirt, “Poor master, poor master, no Winky to help him no more!” 
They couldn't get another sensible word out of Winky. They left her to her crying and finished their tea, while Dobby chatted happily about his life as a free elf and his plans for his wages. 
“Dobby is going to buy a sweater next, Harry Potter!” he said happily, pointing at his bare chest. 
“Tell you what, Dobby,” said Ron, who seemed to have taken a great liking to the elf, “I'll give you the one my mum knits me this Christmas, I always get one from her. You don't mind maroon, do you?” 
Dobby was delighted. 
“We might have to shrink it a bit to fit you,” Ron told him, “but it'll go well with your tea cozy.” 
As they prepared to take their leave, many of the surrounding elves pressed in upon them, offering snacks to take back upstairs. Hermione refused, with a pained look at the way the elves kept bowing and curtsying, but Harry and Ron loaded their pockets with cream cakes and pies. 
“Thanks a lot!” Harry said to the elves, who had all clustered around the door to say good night. “See you, Dobby!” 
“Harry Potter…can Dobby come and see you sometimes, sir?” Dobby asked tentatively. 
” ‘Course you can,” said Harry, and Dobby beamed. 
“You know what?” said Ron, once he, Hermione, and Harry had left the kitchens behind and were climbing the steps into the entrance hall again. “All these years I've been really impressed with Fred and George, nicking food from the kitchens - well, it's not exactly difficult, is it? They can't wait to give it away!” 
“I think this is the best thing that could have happened to those elves, you know,” said Hermione, leading the way back up the marble staircase. “Dobby coming to work here, I mean. The other elves will see how happy he is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too!” 
“Let's hope they don't look too closely at Winky,” said Harry. 
“Oh she'll cheer up,” said Hermione, though she sounded a bit doubtful. “Once the shock's worn off, and she's got used to Hogwarts, she'll see how much better off she is without that Crouch man.” 
“She seems to love him,” said Ron thickly (he had just started on a cream cake). “Doesn't think much of Bagman, though, does she?” said Harry. “Wonder what Crouch says at home about him?” 
“Probably says he's not a very good Head of Department,” said Hermione, “and let's face it…he's got a point, hasn't he?” 
“I'd still rather work for him than old Crouch,” said Ron. “At least Bagman's got a sense of humor.” 
“Don't let Percy hear you saying that,” Hermione said, smiling slightly. 
“Yeah, well, Percy wouldn't want to work for anyone with a sense of humor, would he?” said Ron, now starting on a chocolate eclair. “Percy wouldn't recognize a joke if it danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's tea cozy.” 
哈利、罗恩和荷米恩那个晚上起身到奥里路去找皮威军，因为这样哈利就可以给西里斯寄信，告诉他已经毫发未伤地击败了那条龙。在路上，哈利告诉罗恩每一件西里斯告诉他的有关卡克罗夫的事情。罗恩起初听到说卡克罗夫曾经是个食尸者时报震惊，但是当他们走进奥里路时，他还是说他们早就该怀疑他了。 
　　“很震惊吧？”他说，“你还记得那次在火车上，马尔夫说他爸爸和卡克罗夫是朋友吗？现在我们知道他们是在哪儿认识的了。他们很可能在那场世界杯赛上，戴着面具一起玩过呢。告诉你一件事哦，哈利，如果是卡克罗夫把你的名字写在名单上，他现在会感到自己很蠢，是吧？那没起作用，不是吗？你只是被划伤一下！过来——我帮你弄。” 
　　皮威军一想到寄信就有点兴奋过头，他在哈利头上飞呀飞，叫个不停，罗恩一把抓住他，按住他，让哈利把信系在他的脚上。 
　　“没有比这更危险的任务了，是吧？”罗恩边说边把皮威军送到窗口。“你知道吗？我认为你能赢这场比赛，哈利，我是认真的。” 
　　哈利知道罗恩这样说只是为了补偿他前几个星期的行为，但他仍然很感激。荷米恩却斜靠在墙上，交叉着双手，皱着眉头看罗恩。 
　　“哈利在完成比赛之前还有很长的路要走，”她认真地说，“如果那只是第一个任务，那么我讨厌去想第二个。” 
　　“只是刚开始，是吧？”罗恩说，“你和特雷络尼教授该找个时间聚一聚。” 
　　他把皮威军扔到窗外，它落下了十二英尺后又重新飞起。系在他脚上的信比平常重了很多——因为哈利迫不及待地要跟西里斯详细讲述他是怎么转弯、盘旋及怎样巧妙地避开号尾龙的。 
　　他们看着皮威军消失在黑暗中，这时罗恩说：“好了，我们到楼下去参加你的惊喜派对吧，哈利——弗来德和乔治本该去厨房偷点东西来吃的。” 
　　果然，当他们进入格林芬顿的公共休息室时，满屋子又一次爆发出欢呼声和叫喊声。屋里到处是如山般高的蛋糕，装有南瓜酱的瓶子和黄油啤酒。李·乔丹已经点燃了菲利布斯特博士的无热的烟花，所以空气中密密麻麻的星光火花相竞争辉。托马斯主任擅长画画，这时他已举起了醒目的新旗帜，上面是大部分画的哈利坐着他的火箭在号尾龙头上盘旋上升，还有一两面是画着塞德里克的头看火了。 
　　哈利尽情地吃着，他几乎忘了什么是饥饿。然后和罗恩和荷米恩一起坐着。他简直不相信自己有这么幸福：有罗恩在他身边，他已经完成了第一次任务，而且三个月内他不会有第二次任务了。 
　　“布林米，这个很重呢。”李·乔丹说。他举着一个金色的蛋，又拿在手里掂量着，这蛋是哈利留在桌子上的。“打开它，哈利，开吧！让我们看看里面是什么！” 
　　“他应该自己找出线索，”荷米恩很快回答。“那是比赛规则……” 
　　“我应该自己想出如何一个人击败那条龙。”哈利咕哝着，只有荷米恩听见，所以她很内疚似的笑着。 
　　“是啊，开吧，哈利，开吧！”有几个人也附和着。 
　　李把蛋递给哈利，哈利把手指甲插到槽线里，然后沿着槽线划了一圈，之后把它扒开。 
　　蛋里什么也没有，空的，完全空的——但在哈利打开的那一刻，有一种最可怕的声音，一种大声而且尖锐的哭号声充斥着整个房间。这使哈利想起他曾经听说过的那个无头脑尼克在忌日派对上的鬼魂交响乐团，他们经常演奏一些音乐名篇。 
　　“合上它！”弗来德吼叫着，双手捂着耳朵。 
　　“那是什么？”谢默斯说。他两眼盯着那蛋，这时哈利又把它“砰”一声合上了。“听起来像一个女鬼……那可能是你下一个要征服的目标了，哈利！” 
　　“好像有人在受折磨！”尼维尔说。他脸色已变得苍白，剥好的香肠都滚到地上去了，“你将不得不和克鲁希尔特斯符咒战斗！？” 
　　“别傻了，那是非法的。”乔治说。“他们不会用克鲁布尔特斯诅咒的。我倒觉得那听起来像伯希在唱歌……或许你可以在他洗澡的时候偷袭他一下啊，哈利。” 
　　“要一个果酱馅饼吗，荷米恩？”弗来德说。 
　　荷米恩很怀疑似的看着弗来德递给她的盒子，弗来德则在那里露齿而笑。 
　　“好了，看着我，”他说，“我没碰过他们哦，你们看清楚了，这是乳蛋糕奶油——” 
　　尼维尔刚咬了一口奶油，呛了起来，不得不把奶油一口吐出来。 
　　弗来德笑了。“尼维尔，那只是我的一个小玩笑而已嘛……” 
　　荷米恩拿了一块果酱馅饼，接着说：“这些都是从厨房拿的吧，弗来德？” 
　　“是的，”弗来德对他笑着说。接着又怪腔怪调地用高音调模仿一只佣人小精灵：“我们可以为你做任何事情，先生，任何事情！” 
　　“他们真的很有用……如果我说我饿得很，他们都给我拿来一只烤牛。” 
　　“你是怎么进去到那里的？”荷米恩很随便地问道。 
　　“很容易嘛，”弗来德说道，“密封的门后面有一幅画着一碗水果的画。你只要挠那颗梨，它就会咯咯笑，然后——”他停下了，疑惑地看着她，“怎么啦？” 
　　“没什么。”荷米恩很快答道。 
　　“现在去把佣人小精灵们带出来举行罢工吧，怎么样？”乔治说，“不要再搞什么宣传单的了，想办法让他们加入这场示威运动中吧？” 
　　几个人大声笑了起来，荷米恩则什么也没说。 
　　“你别总是惹他们生气，你应该告诉他们说他们会拿到衣服和工资的！”弗来德警告似地说。“你应该劝他们做饭！” 
　　这时，尼维尔变成了一只大金丝雀。 
　　“哦，太抱歉了，尼维尔！”弗来德叫着，边笑着，“我忘了——乳蛋糕奶油被我们施法了。” 
　　不一会，尼维尔就蜕变了，当他的羽毛脱落时，他又恢复原样了，他还跟着别人一起笑呢。 
　　“金丝雀奶油！”弗来德对着这群激动的人喊着，“乔治和我发明的——每个七个镰刀币，成交！” 
　　当哈利和罗恩、尼维尔、谢默斯和迪恩走到宿舍时，已是接近凌晨一点了。在把四张海报的床帘拉上之前，哈利把他的匈牙利号尾龙的小模型放在床边的桌子上，那东西打着呵欠，蜷缩着身子，然后闭上了眼睛。真的，哈利想，当他把窗帘拉上时，哈利想到……他们是对的，真的，那些龙…… 
　　十二月刚开始，初冬就把风和露送到了霍格瓦彻。城堡冬天一直都很通风。哈利每次在湖上经过丹姆斯安的船时，看到船在海风中上下颠簸，黑色的帆朝天鼓起，就感到非常惬意。他想，比尔贝顿的住所也应该很冷吧，他注意到哈格力，正在把玛西姆夫人家的马喂得肥肥的，因为有他们喜爱喝的单麦芽威士忌。从马房一角的食槽上浮出的气味就足以使整班在上魔幻生灵保护这门课的人头晕目眩。这当然不好，因为他们照顾的可怕的史库斯需要他们的智慧。 
　　“我不清楚他们是否冬眠。”哈格力正在风很大的南瓜地里教学生们下一课。理特史姬特斜靠在哈格力的花园里的篱笆上，观察着这一片混乱。今天，她穿着一件较厚的紫红色大衣，衣领是毛制，紫色的，肩上还挂着一个鳄鱼皮手提包。 
　　在史库斯把哈利和罗恩逼到走投无路时，哈格力跳到了史库斯上头，把它压倒，这时，一阵阵火焰从它口里喷了出来，把附近的南瓜苗都烧焦了。 
　　“你是谁？”哈格力问。“我是理特。史姬特，《先知日报》的记者。”理特答道，微笑地看着他，她的金牙闪烁着金光。 
　　“丹伯多说你被学校开除了，是吧？”哈格力边说边皱着眉头，把已被制服了的史库斯拽给他的同伴。 
　　理特像是没听见哈格力说话似的。 
　　“这些奇形怪物叫什么？”她问，笑得更灿烂了。 
　　“尾巴会发火的史库斯。”哈格力咕哝着。 
　　“真的？”里特问，显然是真的很感兴趣。“我从没听说过有这种东西呢……他们从哪来的呀？” 
　　哈利此时注意到哈格力鬓须下面所泛出的阵阵脸红，他的心沉了，哈格力到底是怎样弄到这些史库斯的？ 
　　荷米恩好像一直都在想这个问题似的，这时，她马上答道：“他们很有趣，是吧？哈利，你说是不是？” 
　　“什么？哦，是，是……哎哟……很有趣。”哈利叫了起来，因为她踩到他的脚了。 
　　“啊，你在这里啊，哈利！”理特。史姬特说着，环顾了一下四周，“所以，你喜欢魔幻生灵的保护这门课？你最喜欢的课之一？” 
　　“是的。”哈利很坚定地说。哈格力看着他笑了。 
　　“嗯，很有趣，”理特说，“真的很有趣，教很久了？”她对哈格力补充道。哈利注意到她的眼睛向每个人都扫视了一下，迪恩（一边脸上有一处很重的刀痕），莱文德（长袍被严重烫焦了），西摩斯（在那里护理着他那烫伤的手指），然后再扫向茅屋的窗子，那里有很多学生站着，鼻子紧贴在玻璃窗上，想把海滨看得更清楚些。 
　　“这是我在这里的第二年。”哈格力说。 
　　“嗯，有意思……我想你是不喜欢被访问的吧？但可以和我们分享一下你在接触魔幻生灵过程中的体验吗？我想你是知道的吧，《先知日报》上每个星期三都开一个动物专栏，我们让这群，呃——尾巴呼呼响的史库斯上报吧。” 
　　“是尾巴发光的史库斯，”哈格力急切地纠正道。“呃——对吧？” 
　　哈利对此感到很不舒服，但是理特。史姬特在场，他又没办法向哈格力表达。所以哈格力和理特在商量着哪个星期找个时间在三扫帚那里会面进行一次访谈时，也只有默默地站在那里忍受着。不一会儿，城堡的钟声响了，表明了又一节课的结束。 
　　“好了，再见了，哈利！”理特。史姬特看到他和罗恩、荷米恩起身要离开时，高兴地跟他道别。“星期五晚上再见了，哈格力！” 
　　“她会扭曲他说的每件事的。”哈利低声说。 
　　“只要他不非法进口那些史库斯或其它的什么就行了。”荷米恩绝望地说，他们望着对方——要是换成哈格力，他也会这样做的。 
　　“哈格力以前老闯祸，可丹伯多从没解雇过她，”罗恩安慰似地说，“最糟的是，哈格力得除掉那些史库斯。对不起，……我是不是说严重了，我本意是好的。” 
　　哈利和荷米恩都笑了，但因此而感到更欢快些，起身去吃午餐了。 
　　现在哈利和罗恩重归于好了。事情就又变得好玩了。他们那天玩双面预知玩得很开心，并且还在一起画星图啊，写预言啊。特雷络尼教授，原来看着他们两个在那里预言自己的死亡时还很开心，但当她解释柏拉图扰乱日常生活的不同方式时，哈利和罗恩窃笑不已，她一下子被激怒了。 
　　“我在想，”她说，又小声又神秘地说，为的是掩饰刚才的怒气，“如果我们中有些人，”——她意味深长地盯着哈利看，“在我昨天晚上的水晶占卜过程中看到了我所看到的东西，他们就不会那么轻浮了。昨天我正在这里，专心地干着手中的针线活的时候，一种强烈的地想要请教一下这水晶的欲念占据了我。我尽力使自己平静下来了，但我还是站了起来，注视着水晶……你们猜一下我看到的是什么？” 
　　“一只很丑的戴着一副巨型眼镜的蝙蝠？”罗恩低声说。 
　　哈利忍俊不禁。 
　　“我想可能是死神。” 
　　帕维提和莱文德听了吓得双手捂住嘴巴。 
　　“是的，”特雷络尼教授说，郑重地点了点头。“它来了，越来越近，就像一只兀鹰盘旋在半空中，向着城堡，越来越近……” 
　　她死死地盯着哈利，因为哈利正毫无遮掩地打着呵欠呢。 
　　“真是的，她都不知讲了几十次了，”当他们走出特雷络尼教授的房间、在楼梯间重新呼吸到新鲜空气时，哈利感叹道。“如果她每次说我快死了，我就死了的话，那我将成了医学上的奇迹。” 
　　“你本该是一个浓缩的鬼魂嘛，”罗恩咯咯地笑着说。当迎面经过布莱第。巴罗恩时，他的大眼睛很邪恶地瞪着他们。“至少我们没有作业。我希望维克特教授会布置很多作业给荷米恩，我喜欢没事干的时候看着她……” 
　　后来他们去找荷米恩的时候，她不在吃饭，也不在图书馆，在图书馆里的只有维特。克伦。罗恩在书架后转了一会，观察着克伦，和哈利一起窃窃私语，他该不该去要一个铅笔——但当罗恩注意到有六七个女孩藏在隔壁那排书后面，讨论著同一件事时，他顿时对这个想法失去了兴趣。 
　　他俩走回了格利劳顿塔，罗恩说，“不知她去了哪里？” 
　　“别……别走。”这时从后面传来的脚步声说明荷米恩已经到了。 
　　“哈利！”她快速跑到他身边停下喘息着说，“哈利，你一定要来——一定要来喔，最精彩的事呢——拜托啦——” 
　　她抓住哈利的手臂，而且开始设法把他拖着走。 
　　“什么事呀！”哈利说。 
　　“到了那儿我会告诉你的——喂，快点，快点嘛——” 
　　“好吧，”哈利说着，跟荷米恩起身跑出了走廊，罗恩赶紧跟上。 
　　“荷米恩，我们这是去哪呀？”荷米恩带他们走下了六层楼后，哈利问道。现在他们已走下了大理石楼梯进入到八门大厅。 
　　“你会知道的，你一分钟后就会知道的！”荷米恩激动地说着。 
　　到了楼梯下面，她就向左拐，跟着就快步走向那天晚上塞德里克。 
　　迪格瑞走过的那扇门。 
　　在高脚杯火种反复念叨着哈刮的名字之后，哈利就从没到过这里。他和罗恩跟着荷米恩走过了一段石头砌成的楼梯，跟着是一条宽大的石头走廊。火把照得这里一片光亮，还用一些看起来令人很愉快的画装饰着，这些画大多是关于食物的。 
　　“喂，停一下……”哈利不紧不慢地说，这时已到了走廊中间了。“等一下，荷米恩……” 
　　“什么事？”她转身看着他，满脸期待的样子。 
　　“我知道这幅画是什么意思。”哈利说。 
　　他轻轻碰了碰罗恩，指着荷米恩身后的那幅画。画面上是一个巨大的银制的水果托盘。 
　　“荷米恩！”罗恩叫着，“你又想把我们骗到呕吐物那里！” 
　　“不，不，我没有！”她匆忙解释道。“而且那也不是呕吐物啊，罗恩——” 
　　“你已经帮他们改些名字了？”罗恩说，皱着眉头看她。“我们现在是在做什么，佣人小精灵的解放运动？我不会干预厨房的事情，我不会让他们停止工作的，我不会那样做的——” 
　　“我没叫你那样做呀！”荷米恩不耐烦地说着。“我刚才才到这里的，跟他们每个人都说过话了，接着我发现——哎，来吧，哈利，我要带你看些东西！” 
　　她又一次抓住哈利的手臂，把他拉到那幅巨大的水果托盘前面，伸出她的食指，挠了一下那颗巨大的绿色梨。那梨开始蠕动了，还发出咯咯笑声，突然间就变成了一扇大门上的绿色把手。荷米恩抓住它，拧了一下，推开门，从后面把哈利用力推进去。 
　　哈利很快瞥了一眼这个房间。很大，天花板又很高，好像上面有一个会议厅似的，还有一堆堆如山高、闪闪发光的铜罐和平底锅堆积在石墙周围，另一边有一个很大的砖砌成的壁炉。这时，好像有什么东西从房间中间向他飞过来，发出嘎吱声，“哈利·波特，先生！哈利·波特，先生！” 
　　这时，一阵风刮过来，嘎吱小精灵摔在了他的脸部上，紧紧地抱着他，他想他的肋骨都会断掉。 
　　“多——多比？”哈利喘着气问。 
　　“是，我是多比，先生！”他肚脐周围发出了这种长而尖锐的声音。“多比一直就很想很再见到哈利·波特，先生，哈利·波特来看我了。” 
　　多比放开手，后退了几步，微笑着打量哈利，他的绿色的网球形的大眼睛溢着幸福的泪水。多比看上去和哈利记忆中的几乎一模一样：铜笔形状的鼻子，编幅形的耳朵，长长的手指和脚——除了衣服大大地改变了之外。 
　　多比为马尔夫工作的时候，一直就穿着那件肮脏的枕头套。现在，他打扮得比世界杯赛上的巫师还奇怪。他把茶壶罩当成帽子，戴在头上，还别了几个明亮的徽章在上面，一条有马蹄铁图案的领带挂在光着的胸前，还穿着小孩子踢足球时穿的短裤以及不成对的袜子。哈利看到其中一只是黑色的，那是他从自己脚上脱下来、哄骗马尔夫先生把它拿给多比的，而且多比因此获得了自由。另一只，是底色粉红有桔黄色条纹的。 
　　“多比，你来这干什么？”哈利惊奇地说。 
　　“多比已经在霍格瓦彻工作了，先生！”多比兴奋地用尖锐的声音说，“丹伯多教授给了多比和温奇工作呢，先生！”哈利说：“她也在这里？” 
　　“是啊，先生，是的！”多比说着，抓起哈利的手，把他拉到厨房，经过两排有着四条长腿而且是木制的桌子时，哈利留意了那些桌子，确实是上面大会厅里四个房间里的桌子。现在，桌面上没有食物，因为晚宴刚刚结束。他想，一小时以前，桌上肯定是摆满了各种各样的菜色，而且还通过天花板送到了上面的同伴那里。 
　　至少有一百只小精灵围在厨房里，当多比领着哈利经过他们身边时，精灵们有的微笑、有的鞠躬，还有的向哈利和多比行屈膝礼。他们都穿着清一色的工作服，茶具拭布上印着霍格瓦彻饰章，系的像温奇系的一样，像一件官服。 
　　多比在砖块砌成的壁炉前面停下了，然后指着那里说。 
　　“温奇，先生！” 
　　温奇正在炉火旁边一只桶上。和多比不一样的是，她没有老是搜寻衣服。她穿着一件上衣，和一条很干净的小裙子，戴着一项与之相衬的蓝帽子，那帽子因为她的大耳朵而穿了几个洞。但是，多比的奇装异服都很干净，而且保管得很好，所以看起来很新。而温奇根本就不在乎自己的衣服。她的上衣从上到下都是汤的污迹，裙子上还有一处焦痕。 
　　“你好，温奇。”哈利说。 
　　温奇的嘴唇微微颤抖着，接着就哭了起来，眼泪从她的棕色的大眼睛里溢了出来，顺着脸颊流到了她的胸前，就像那次在快迪斯世界杯比赛时一样。 
　　“噢，天啊！”荷米恩和罗恩已经跟着哈利和多比来到了厨房里面，荷米恩说：“温奇，别哭，拜托啦，别哭了……” 
　　但温奇哭得更凶了。多比却对哈利笑着。 
　　“哈利·波特想要一杯茶吗？”他大声又尖声说道，声音掩过了温奇的啜泣声。 
　　“嗯——好吧！”哈利说。 
　　很快地，大约有六个小精灵快步走到哈利后面，为哈利，罗恩和荷米恩送来了个装着很多茶壶、杯子以及一瓶牛奶罐和一大盘饼干的很大的银色盘子。 
　　“真是一流服务啊！”罗恩用很满意的语气说。荷米恩对他皱着眉头，但小精灵们都看起来挺高兴的，他们深深鞠躬后就退下了。 
　　“你在这里呆了多久了，多比？”当多比送来茶水的时候，哈利问道。 
　　“才一个星期，哈利被特先生！”多比高兴地说。“多比是来看望丹伯多教授的，先生。你想一下，先生，一个佣人小精灵被开除后要找到一份新工作是很难的，先生，真的很难的——” 
　　这时，温奇哭得更凶了。她的鼻涕流到她胸前了，而她根本就没能阻止。 
　　“多比已经周游全国两年了，先生，到处找工作呀！”多比尖声说道。“先生，因为多比现在就想要工钱！但是多比还没有找到工作呢！” 
　　小精灵们都围到了厨房，看着多比，听得津津有味，但听到这里，个个都看到别处去了，好像多比说了什么粗俗的或令人难堪的话。 
　　荷米恩却说，“你这样做很对，多比！” 
　　“谢谢，小姐！”多比说，露着牙齿对着她笑了笑。“但是很多巫师都不想要想得到工钱的小精灵的，小姐。”“那不是一个佣人小精灵的实质。”精灵们说。他们还当着多比的面呼地一声关了门呢！ 
　　“多比喜欢工作，但他也想穿衣服，想有工钱呀，哈利·波特……” 
　　多比不断地说！霍格瓦彻的佣人小精灵们都从多比旁边挤过去，想离他远点，好像他有传染病似的。温奇却仍呆在原处不动。但是，她的哭声好像有了提高了。 
　　“然后，哈利·波特就去看望温奇，发现她也已经获得自由了，先生！”多比高兴地说。 
　　听到这里，温奇扑倒在地上，脸朝下，贴着铺着石头的地板，还用她的小拳头捶地板，显然是因为痛苦而尖叫着。荷米恩赶紧跪在旁边，尽力想去安慰她，但无论她怎么努力，她说了跟没说时没什么两样。 
　　多比继续讲他的故事，几乎是用尖叫声喊着，试图掩盖过温奇的尖叫声。“后来多比想到了一个主意，哈利·波特先生！为什么多比和温奇不一起找工作呢？但哪里有需要两人做的工作呢？多比想着。后来他想到了，先生！霍格瓦彻！所以多比和温奇就来拜访了丹伯多教授，先生！然后丹伯多教授就雇用了我们！” 
　　多比高兴地笑着，眼睛里又闪烁着幸福的泪花。 
　　“丹伯多教授说，先生，如果多比想拿工钱的话，他会付钱给多比！所以多比现在是一只自由的小精灵了，先生，而且多比还可以每个星期得到币，每个月还有一天假呢！” 
　　“那并不是很多呀！”荷米恩很愤怒地喊道，声音盖过了温奇的尖叫声和拳头捶地板的声音。 
　　“丹伯多教授付给多比每星期十币，还有周末休息呢，”多比说，突然颤了一下，好像这么多空闲和这么多的报酬反倒让人觉得害怕似的，“但是多比让他降低工作，小姐……多比喜欢自由，小姐，但他也不喜欢太多自由，小姐，他喜欢工作得更出色。” 
　　“丹伯多教授付给你多少钱呀，温奇？”荷米恩很轻声地问。 
　　如果她认为这样可以让温奇高兴起来的话，那么她就完全错了。温奇并没有停止哭泣，而且，当她坐起来时，她用那双很大的棕色的眼睛瞪着荷米恩，突然间变得很生气。 
　　“温奇是一只失宠的小精灵，而且温奇还没有得到报酬呢？”她尖声叫着。“温奇还不至于这么落魄吧！温奇正是因为被释放而感到羞耻！”多比说。 
　　“羞耻？”荷米恩感到莫明其妙，“哎——温奇，别这样啦！是克劳斯先生该感到羞耻，不是你！你并没做错事啊！是他对你太刻薄了——” 
　　然而，听到这番话，温奇却用手把耳朵压下来。这样，她就听不见荷米恩说话了，她还尖叫着，“你不能侮辱我的主人，小姐！ 
　　你不能侮辱克劳斯先生！克劳斯先生是一个很好的巫师，小姐！克劳斯先生解雇坏温奇是对的！“ 
　　“温奇还不能很快适应过来，哈利·波特，”多比很机密地尖声说。“温奇忘了她不再受克劳斯先生的约束的事了，她现在可以自由地说出心里话了，但她不会这么做。” 
　　“那么就是说，佣人小精灵不能自由地说关于他们主人的话了？”哈利问道。 
　　“噢，不，不，先生。”多比一下子变得认真起来，说：“这一点就是佣人小精灵所受的束缚了，先生。我们为她们保守秘密而且不能乱说话，先生，我们维护了整个家族的荣誉，从不讲他们坏话——但丹伯多教授告诉多比说，他并不坚持一定要他这样做。丹伯多教授说我们可以自由地——” 
　　多比突然间变得紧张起来，他招手示意哈利走近一点。哈利俯下身子。 
　　多比在他旁边耳语，“他说如果我们喜欢的话，先生！我们可以自由地叫他——呃，——叫他愚蠢的老头或疯老头子。” 
　　多比受惊吓似的傻笑着。 
　　“但是多比并不想这样做，哈利·波特，”他又恢复正常了，还甩了甩头，让他的耳朵拍起来。“多比很喜欢丹伯多教授，先生，所以为能帮他保守秘密而感到骄傲。” 
　　“但你现在能说说你为什么不喜欢马尔夫一家人了吧？”哈利问他，露齿而笑。 
　　多比的大眼睛里掠过一丝害怕的神情。 
　　“多比能——多比当然能啦，”他很不确定似的说。挺了挺他的小肩膀，“多比可以告诉哈利·波特，他的老主人是——是，很坏的阴险的巫师！” 
　　多比被自己的勇气吓呆了，站在那里全身都颤抖了好一会，然后，他冲到最近的那张桌子旁边，开始用头重重地去向桌子，很大力地尖声叫着，“坏多比！坏多比！” 
　　哈利抓着多比后面的带子，把他从桌子那里拉开来。 
　　“谢谢，哈利·波特，谢谢。”多比喘息着说，摸了摸他的脑袋。 
　　“你需要练习一下，习惯一下。”哈利说。 
　　“习惯！”温奇很恼火地尖声说，“你应该为你自己感到羞耻，多比，那样说你的主人！” 
　　“他们不再是我的主人了，温奇！”多比反抗似的纠正道。“多比已经不在乎他们是怎么想的了！” 
　　“哦，你真是一个坏精灵啊，多比！”温奇嘟囔着，眼泪又一次顺着脸颊滚下来。“我可怜的克劳斯先生，他现在没有了温奇在身边，不知道正在做什么呢？他需要我！他需要我的帮助！我要用我的生命来照顾克劳斯全家，我妈妈以前就是那样做的，我外婆也是那样做的……哦，他们如果知道温奇被释放了会怎么想呢？哎，羞耻啊！羞耻！”她又把脸埋进了裙子里，然后大喊大叫着。 
　　“温奇，”荷米恩很坚定地说，“我很肯定地跟你说，克劳斯先生没有你，现在仍过得很好。我们已经去看过他了，你知不知道”你看过了我的主人？“温奇喘息着问，又一次抬起了她那满是泪痕的脸，对着荷米恩咯咯地笑，”你在霍格瓦彻看过他了？“ 
　　“是的，”荷米恩说，“他和巴格蒙都是三巫师争霸赛里的裁判。” 
　　“巴格蒙先生也来了？”温奇尖声问，使哈利感到惊奇的是，温奇又不高兴了。“巴格蒙先生是个坏巫师！是个坏透了的巫师！我的主人不会喜欢他的。懊，不，根本不可能的！” 
　　“巴格蒙——很坏？”哈利说。 
　　“嗯，是的，”温奇说，使劲点头。“我的主人告诉过温奇一些事情的！不过，温奇不会说的……温奇——温奇会为主人保守秘密的……” 
　　她又哭了，埋在裙子里呜咽着，“可怜的主人，可怜的主人呀，再没有温奇在身边帮他了！” 
　　他们再也没能从温奇那里听到更理智的话了，就让她哭着，继续喝他们的茶，听多比高兴地讲他作为一只自由小精灵的生活，还有他的工资设想。 
　　“多比接下来想买一件长背心，哈利·波特！”他高兴地说，批判他光着的胸膛。 
　　“告诉你，多比，”罗恩说，好像喜欢上了这只小精灵，“我给你这个圣诞节我妈妈给我的那件吧，她经常会织给我的。你喜欢茶色的吧？” 
　　多比高兴极了。 
　　“我们把它缩小点，才会适合你穿，”罗恩
Chapter 22 The Unexpected Task
“Potter! Weasley! Will you pay attention?” 
Professor McGonagall's irritated voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class on Thursday, and Harry and Ron both jumped and looked up. 
It was the end of the lesson; they had finished their work; the guinea fowl they had been changing into guinea pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk (Neville's still had feathers); they had copied down their homework from the blackboard ("Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches"}. The bell was due to ring at any moment, and Harry and Ron, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands at the back of the class, looked up, Ron holding a tin parrot and Harry, a rubber haddock. 
“Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age,” said Professor McGonagall, with an angry look at the pair of them as the head of Harry's haddock drooped and fell silently to the floor - Ron's parrot's beak had severed it moments before - “I have something to say to you all. 
“The Yule Ball is approaching - a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above - although you may invite a younger student if you wish -” 
Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry, Professor McGonagall ignored them, which Harry thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just told off him and Ron. 
“Dress robes will be worn,” Professor McGonagall continued, “and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then -” 
Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class. 
“The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to - er - let our hair down,” she said, in a disapproving voice. 
Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Harry could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense. 
“But that does NOT mean,” Professor McGonagall went on, “that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way.” 
The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders. 
Professor McGonagall called above the noise, “Potter - a word, if you please.” 
Assuming this had something to do with his headless rubber haddock, Harry proceeded gloomily to the teacher's desk. Professor McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, “Potter, the champions and their partners -” 
“What partners?” said Harry. 
Profesor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him, as though she thought he was trying to be funny. 
“Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter,” she said coldly. “Your dance partners.” 
Harry's insides seemed to curl up and shrivel. 
“Dance partners?” He felt himself going red. “I don't dance,” he said quickly. 
“Oh yes, you do,” said Professor McGonagall irritably. “That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball.” 
Harry had a sudden mental image of himself in a top hat and tails, accompanied by a girl in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties. 
“I'm not dancing,” he said. 
“It is traditional,” said Professor McGonagall firmly. “You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter.” 
“But - I don't -” 
“You heard me, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall in a very final sort of way. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
A week ago. Harry would have said finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that he had done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a girl to the ball, he thought he'd rather have another round with the dragon. 
Harry had never known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas; he always did, of course, because the alternative was usually going back to Privet Drive, but he had always been very much in the minority before now. This year, however, everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all seemed to Harry to be obsessed with the coming ball - or at least all the girls were, and it was amazing how many girls Hogwarts suddenly seemed to hold; he had never quite noticed that before. Girls giggling and whispering in the corridors, girls shrieking with laughter as boys passed them, girls excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear on Christmas night.… 
“Why do they have to move in packs?” Harry asked Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past them, sniggering and staring at Harry. “How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?” 
“Lasso one?” Ron suggested. “Got any idea who you're going to try?” 
Harry didn't answer. He knew perfectly well whom he'd like to ask, but working up the nerve was something else.…Cho was a year older than he was; she was very pretty; she was a very good Quidditch player, and she was also very popular. 
Ron seemed to know what was going on inside Harry's head. 
“Listen, you're not going to have any trouble. You're a champion. You've just beaten a Hungarian Horntail. I bet they'll be queuing up to go with you.” 
In tribute to their recently repaired friendship, Ron had kept the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. Moreover, to Harry's amazement, he turned out to be quite right. 
A curly-haired third-year Hufflepuff girl to whom Harry had never spoken in his life asked him to go to the ball with her the very next day. Harry was so taken aback he said no before he'd even stopped to consider the matter. The girl walked off looking rather hurt, and Harry had to endure Dean's, Seamus's, and Ron's taunts about her all through History of Magic. The following day, two more girls asked him, a second year and (to his horror) a fifth year who looked as though she might knock him out if he refused. 
“She was quite good-looking,” said Ron fairly, after he'd stopped laughing. 
“She was a foot taller than me,” said Harry, still unnerved. “Imagine what I'd look like trying to dance with her.” 
Hermione's words about Krum kept coming back to him. “They only like him because he's famous!” Harry doubted very much if any of the girls who had asked to be his partner so far would have wanted to go to the ball with him if he hadn't been a school champion. Then he wondered if this would bother him if Cho asked him. 
On the whole. Harry had to admit that even with the embarrassing prospect of opening the ball before him, life had definitely improved since he had got through the first task. He wasn't attracting nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which he suspected had a lot to do with Cedric - he had an idea Cedric might have told the Hufflepuffs to leave Harry alone, in gratitude for Harry's tip-off about the dragons. There seemed to be fewer Support Cedric Diggory! badges around too. Draco Malfoy, of course, was still quoting Rita Skeeter's article to him at every possible opportunity, but he was getting fewer and fewer laughs out of it - and just to heighten Harry's feeling of well-being, no story about Hagrid had appeared in the Daily Prophet. 
“She didn’ seem very int'rested in magical creatures, ter tell yeh the truth,” Hagrid said, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione asked him how his interview with Rita Skeeter had gone during the last Care of Magical Creatures lesson of the term. To their very great relief, Hagrid had given up on direct contact with the skrewts now, and they were merely sheltering behind his cabin today, sitting at a trestle table and preparing a fresh selection of food with which to tempt the skrewts. 
“She jus’ wanted me ter talk about you, Harry,” Hagrid continued in a low voice. “Well, I told her we'd been friends since I went ter fetch yeh from the Dursleys. ‘Never had to tell him off in four years?’ she said. ‘Never played you up in lessons, has he?’ I told her no, an she didn’ seem happy at all. Yeh'd think she wanted me to say yeh were horrible, Harry.” 
“'Course she did,” said Harry, throwing lumps of dragon liver into a large metal bowl and picking up his knife to cut some more. “She can't keep writing about what a tragic little hero I am, it'll get boring.” 
“She wants a new angle, Hagrid,” said Ron wisely as he shelled salamander eggs. “You were supposed to say Harry's a mad delinquent!” 
“But he's not!” said Hagrid, looking genuinely shocked. 
“She should've interviewed Snape,” said Harry grimly. “He'd give her the goods on me any day. ‘Potter has been crossing lines ever since he first arrived at this school.…'” 
“Said that, did he?” said Hagrid, while Ron and Hermione laughed. “Well, yeh might've bent a few rules. Harry, bu’ yeh're all righ’ really, aren’ you?” 
“Cheers, Hagrid,” said Harry, grinning. 
“You coming to this ball thing on Christmas Day, Hagrid?” said Ron. 
“Though’ I might look in on it, yeah,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Should be a good do, I reckon. You'll be openin the dancin', won yeh, Harry? Who're you takin'?” 
“No one, yet,” said Harry, feeling himself going red again. Hagrid didn't pursue the subject. 
The last week of term became increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumors about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though Harry didn't believe half of them - for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he had booked the Weird Sisters. Exactly who or what the Weird Sisters were Harry didn't know, never having had access to a wizard's wireless, but he deduced from the wild excitement of those who had grown up listening to the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) that they were a very famous musical group. 
Some of the teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed them to play games in his lesson on Wednesday, and spent most of it talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns, for example, from plowing on through his notes on goblin rebellions - as Binns hadn't let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn't going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as boring as Percy's cauldron-bottom report. Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes too, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let them play games in class than adopt Harry. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term. 
“Evil, he is,” Ron said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. “Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying.” 
“Mmm…you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?” said Hermione, looking at him over the top of her Potions notes. Ron was busy building a card castle out of his Exploding Snap pack - a much more interesting pastime than with Muggle cards, because of the chance that the whole thing would blow up at any second. 
“It's Christmas, Hermione,” said Harry lazily; he was rereading Flying with the Cannons for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire. 
Hermione looked severely over at him too. “I'd have thought you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes!” 
“Like what?” Harry said as he watched Joey Jenkins of the Cannons belt a Bludger toward a Ballycastle Bats Chaser. 
“That egg!” Hermione hissed. 
“Come on, Hermione, I've got till February the twenty-fourth,” Harry said. 
He had put the golden egg upstairs in his trunk and hadn't opened it since the celebration party after the first task. There were still two and a half months to go until he needed to know what all the screechy wailing meant, after all. 
“But it might take weeks to work it out!” said Hermione. “You're going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don't!” 
“Leave him alone, Hermione, he's earned a bit of a break,” said Ron, and he placed the last two cards on top of the castle and the whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows. 
“Nice look, Ron…go well with your dress robes, that will.” 
It was Fred and George. They sat down at the table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Ron felt how much damage had been done. 
“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?” George asked. 
“No, he's off delivering a letter,” said Ron. “Why?” 
“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” said Fred sarcastically. 
“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” said George. 
“Who d'you two keep writing to, eh?” said Ron. 
“Nose out, Ron, or I'll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So…you lot got dates for the ball yet?” 
“Nope,” said Ron. 
“Well, you'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred. 
“Who're you going with, then?” said Ron. 
“Angelina,” said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment. 
“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You've already asked her?” 
“Good point,” said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!” 
Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him. 
“What?” she called back. 
“Want to come to the ball with me?” 
Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look. 
“All right, then,” she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face. 
“There you go,” said Fred to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.” 
He got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We'd better use a school owl then, George, come on.…” 
They left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry. 
“We should get a move on, you know…ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls.” 
Hermione let out a sputter of indignation. 
“A pair of…what, excuse me?” 
“Well - you know,” said Ron, shrugging. “I'd rather go alone than with - with Eloise Midgen, say.” 
“Her acne's loads better lately - and she's really nice!” 
“Her nose is off-center,” said Ron. 
“Oh I see,” Hermione said, bristling. “So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?” 
“Er - yeah, that sounds about right,” said Ron. 
“I'm going to bed,” Hermione snapped, and she swept off toward the girls’ staircase without another word. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up. Harry noticed that they were the most stunning he had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear “O Come, All Ye Faithful” sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times, Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armor, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude. 
And still. Harry hadn't asked Cho to the ball. He and Ron were getting very nervous now, though as Harry pointed out, Ron would look much less stupid than he would without a partner; Harry was supposed to be starting the dancing with the other champions. 
“I suppose there's always Moaning Myrtle,” he said gloomily, referring to the ghost who haunted the girls’ toilets on the second floor. 
“Harry - we've just got to grit our teeth and do it,” said Ron on Friday morning, in a tone that suggested they were planning the storming of an impregnable fortress. “When we get back to the common room tonight, we'll both have partners - agreed?” 
“Er…okay,” said Harry. 
But every time he glimpsed Cho that day - during break, and then lunchtime, and once on the way to History of Magic - she was surrounded by friends. Didn't she ever go anywhere alone? Could he perhaps ambush her as she was going into a bathroom? But no - she even seemed to go there with an escort of four or five girls. Yet if he didn't do it soon, she was bound to have been asked by somebody else. 
He found it hard to concentrate on Snape's Potions test, and consequently forgot to add the key ingredient - a bezoar - meaning that he received bottom marks. He didn't care, though; he was too busy screwing up his courage for what he was about to do. When the bell rang, he grabbed his bag, and hurried to the dungeon door. 
“I'll meet you at dinner,” he said to Ron and Hermione, and he dashed off upstairs. 
He'd just have to ask Cho for a private word, that was all.…He hurried off through the packed corridors looking for her, and (rather sooner than he had expected) he found her, emerging from a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. 
“Er - Cho? Could I have a word with you?” 
Giggling should be made illegal. Harry thought furiously, as all the girls around Cho started doing it. She didn't, though. She said, “Okay,” and followed him out of earshot other classmates. 
Harry turned to look at her and his stomach gave a weird lurch as though he had missed a step going downstairs. 
“Er,” he said. 
He couldn't ask her. He couldn't. But he had to. Cho stood there looking puzzled, watching him. The words came out before Harry had quite got his tongue around them. 
“Wangoballwime?” 
“Sorry?” said Cho. 
“D'you - d'you want to go to the ball with me?” said Harry. Why did he have to go red now? Why? 
“Oh!” said Cho, and she went red too. “Oh Harry, I'm really sorry,” and she truly looked it. “I've already said I'll go with someone else.” 
“Oh,” said Harry. 
It was odd; a moment before his insides had been writhing like snakes, but suddenly he didn't seem to have any insides at all. 
“Oh okay,” he said, “no problem.” 
“I'm really sorry,” she said again. 
“That's okay,” said Harry. 
They stood there looking at each other, and then Cho said, “Well -” 
“Yeah,” said Harry. 
“Well, ‘bye,” said Cho, still very red. She walked away. 
Harry called after her, before he could stop himself. 
“Who're you going with?” 
“Oh - Cedric,” she said. “Cedric Diggory.” 
“Oh right,” said Harry. 
His insides had come back again. It felt as though they had been filled with lead in their absence. 
Completely forgetting about dinner, he walked slowly back up to Gryffindor Tower, Cho's voice echoing in his ears with every step he took. “Cedric - Cedric Diggory.” He had been starting to quite like Cedric - prepared to overlook the fact that he had once beaten him at Quidditch, and was handsome, and popular, and nearly everyone's favorite champion. Now he suddenly realized that Cedric was in fact a useless pretty boy who didn't have enough brains to fill an eggcup. 
“Fairy lights,” he said dully to the Fat Lady - the password had been changed the previous day. 
“Yes, indeed, dear!” she trilled, straightening her new tinsel hair band as she swung forward to admit him. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Entering the common room, Harry looked around, and to his surprise he saw Ron sitting ashen-faced in a distant corner. Ginny was sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice. 
“What's up, Ron?” said Harry, joining them. 
Ron looked up at Harry, a sort of blind horror in his face. 
“Why did I do it?” he said wildly. “I don't know what made me do it! 
“What?” said Harry. 
“He - er - just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him,” said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron's arm sympathetically. 
“You what?’ said Harry. 
“I don't know what made me do it!” Ron gasped again. “What was I playing at? There were people - all around - I've gone mad - everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall - she was standing there talking to Diggory - and it sort of came over me - and I asked her!” 
Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable. 
“She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then - I dunno - I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it.” 
“She's part veela,” said Harry. “You were right - her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it - but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang.” 
Ron looked up. 
“I asked her to go with me just now,” Harry said dully, “and she told me.” 
Ginny had suddenly stopped smiling. 
“This is mad,” said Ron. “We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone - well, except Neville. Hey - guess who he asked? Hermione!” 
“What?” said Harry, completely distracted by this startling news. 
“Yeah, I know!” said Ron, some of the color coming back into his face as he started to laugh. “He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff- but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville…I mean, who would?” 
“Don't!” said Ginny, annoyed. “Don't laugh -” 
Just then Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole. 
“Why weren't you two at dinner?” she said, coming over to join them. 
“Because - oh shut up laughing, you two - because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!” said Ginny. 
That shut Harry and Ron up. 
“Thanks a bunch, Ginny,” said Ron sourly. 
“All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?” said Hermione loftily. “Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere who'll have you.” 
But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light. 
“Hermione, Neville's right - you are a girl.…” 
“Oh well spotted,” she said acidly. 
“Well - you can come with one of us!” 
“No, I can't,” snapped Hermione. 
“Oh come on,” he said impatiently, “we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has…” 
“I can't come with you,” said Hermione, now blushing, “because I'm already going with someone.” 
“No, you're not!” said Ron. “You just said that to get rid of Neville!” 
“Oh did I?” said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!” 
Ron stared at her. Then he grinned again. 
“Okay, okay, we know you're a girl,” he said. “That do? Will you come now?” 
“I've already told you!” Hermione said very angrily. “I'm going with someone else!” 
And she stormed off toward the girls’ dormitories again. 
“She's lying,” said Ron flatly, watching her go. 
“She's not,” said Ginny quietly. 
“Who is it then?” said Ron sharply. 
“I'm not telling you, it's her business,” said Ginny. 
“Right,” said Ron, who looked extremely put out, “this is getting stupid. Ginny, you can go with Harry, and I'll just -” 
“I can't,” said Ginny, and she went scarlet too. “I'm going with - with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought…well…I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year.” She looked extremely miserable. “I think I'll go and have dinner,” she said, and she got up and walked off to the portrait hole, her head bowed. 
Ron goggled at Harry. 
“What's got into them?” he demanded. 
But Harry had just seen Parvati and Lavender come in through the portrait hole. The time had come for drastic action. 
“Wait here,” he said to Ron, and he stood up, walked straight up to Parvati, and said, “Parvati? Will you go to the ball with me?” 
Parvati went into a fit of giggles. Harry waited for them to subside, his fingers crossed in the pocket of his robes. 
“Yes, all right then,” she said finally, blushing furiously. 
“Thanks,” said Harry, in relief. “Lavender - will you go with Ron?” 
“She's going with Seamus,” said Parvati, and the pair of them giggled harder than ever. 
Harry sighed. 
“Can't you think of anyone who'd go with Ron?” he said, lowering his voice so that Ron wouldn't hear. 
“What about Hermione Granger?” said Parvati. 
“She's going with someone else.” 
Parvati looked astonished. 
“Ooooh - who?” she said keenly. 
Harry shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “So what about Ron?” 
“Well…” said Parvati slowly, “I suppose my sister might…Padma, you know…in Ravenclaw. I'll ask her if you like.” 
“Yeah, that would be great,” said Harry. “Let me know, will you?” 
And he went back over to Ron, feeling that this ball was a lot more trouble than it was worth, and hoping very much that Padma Patil's nose was dead center. 
“彼特！威斯里！你们注意听，好不好？“ 
　　麦康娜被激怒的沙哑的声音像鞭子一样席卷了星期四那天的变形课，哈利和罗恩都跳了起来，抬头干望着。 
　　那时候快下课了，他们都已完成了自己的事情；珍珠鸡被他们变成了珍珠猪，后又把它变回到了麦康娜教授的讲台上的那大笼子里（尼维尔的珍珠猪还有鸡毛呢），他们从黑板上抄下了作业（对变形等咒语在完成变种中的运用方式进行描述和举例）。就快下课了，所以，哈利和罗恩在课室后面用弗来德和乔治的假魔杖打剑战。他们现在都停下来，抬起头望着黑板，罗恩手里抓着一只锡制的鹦鹉，而哈利，则拿着一条橡皮鳄鱼。 
　　“现在，波特和威斯里都已经很乖了，懂事了，”麦康娜教授说，又生气地看了看他们。因为哈利和那条鳄鱼的头垂了下来，碰到了地面——罗恩的鹦鹉就用嘴去啄它——“我有事要跟大家宣布一下——” 
　　“圣诞节舞会就快到了——三巫师争霸赛的一个传统部分，也是和外国宾客交流的机会。现在，舞会只对四年级以上学生开放——但是你们也可以邀请一个低年级学生，如果你们喜欢的话——” 
　　莱文德。布朗禁不住咯咯地笑出声，声音很刺耳。帕活提。帕提碰了碰她的肋骨，很生气地看着她，自己却努力地控制着自己不要笑出声来。她们俩都回头看了看哈利。麦康娜教授没注意到她们，因此，哈利觉得太不公平了，因为刚才他和罗恩差点受到训斥。 
　　“一定要穿礼服，”麦康娜教授继续说，“舞会从圣诞节那天晚上八点开始，午夜结束，在大会厅进行。现在——” 
　　麦康娜教授不慌不忙地扫视了一下全班。 
　　“圣诞舞会当然是一次很好的机会，嗯——可以让我们尽情欢乐。”她以很不以为然的口气说道。 
　　莱文德笑得更厉害了，一只手捂着嘴不让自己笑出声来、哈利现在知道为什么这么好笑了：麦康娜教授，脑后盘着一个很紧的发髻，看起来好像从没把头发放下来过。（英语里，“把头发放下来”指尽情欢乐的意思。） 
　　“但并不是说，”麦康娜教授继续说，“我们会对霍格瓦彻学生的行为准则有所放松。如果有一个格林芬顿学生在任何一方面使学校感到难堪的话，我将会非常不高兴。” 
　　铃声响了，每个人都整理着书包，挎上肩膀，像往常一样争先恐后地跑出教室。 
　　麦康娜教授在这片嘈杂声中大声叫着：“波特——你还有点事，请先别走。” 
　　哈利猜想到可能是有关他那条没头的橡皮鳄鱼，所以低垂着头走到讲台边。 
　　麦康娜教授等到全班人都走后，说，“波特，冠军们和他们的舞伴——” 
　　“什么舞伴？”哈利问。 
　　麦康娜教授很疑惑地望着他，好像他是想搞笑才这么问的。 
　　“你圣诞舞会上的舞伴呀，波特，”她冷冷地说，“你的舞伴。” 
　　哈利的肠胃好像盘绕在一起后又缩拢了，“舞伴？” 
　　他感觉到自己脸红了。“我不会跳舞。”他马上搪塞。 
　　“哦，不，你会的，”麦康娜教授有点被激怒了。“这就是我要跟你说的事了。一直以来，舞会都是为冠军和他们的舞伴而开的。” 
　　哈利在脑海里想象着自己头戴一顶高帽子，身穿燕尾服，由一个穿着一身带折过的晚礼服的女孩子陪伴着，那带折边的晚礼服就像帕尤妮亚姨妈经常穿去参加维能姨丈的公司晚会那样。 
　　“我不会跳舞。”他说。 
　　“那是传统的事情呀，”麦康娜教授坚定地说。“你是一个霍格瓦彻冠军，你应该作为学校的代表，做我们期望你去做的事情。所以请一定要找到一个舞伴，波特。” 
　　“但是——我不会——” 
　　“我该说的都说了，波特。”麦康娜教授以结束谈话的口气说。 
　　要是一个星期以前，哈利会说我找一个舞伴比起跟匈牙利的号尾龙较量要容易得多。但现在因为他已跟号尾龙较量过了，而面临着如何去邀请一个女孩参加舞会，他宁愿和号尾龙进行多一轮的比赛。 
　　哈利从没想过会有这么多人登记留下在霍格瓦彻过圣诞节。他经常都是留在学校过圣诞节的，因为，除此之外就是回到普里怀特街。 
　　但是今年，每个四年级以上的学生好像都留下了，哈利觉得他们也被舞会困扰着——或者说，至少，全部女生都是这样的。霍格瓦彻一下子要容纳这么多女孩子，那会是多么壮观啊，他以前怎么从没注意到过呢。你看，有的女孩子在走廊里咯咯笑着，还窃窃私语呢；有的女孩子，有男生经过她们身边时，她们就尖声笑着；还有的在那里交流着圣诞节晚上该穿什么衣服…… 
　　“她们干嘛总是要成群结队地走呢？”哈利问罗恩，因为他看到了十几个女孩子经过他们身边，窃笑着盯着他看。“你以为该怎么邀请她们呢？” 
　　“套一个，怎么样？”罗恩建议道。“想好了邀请谁没有？” 
　　哈利没有回答。他当然很清楚自己喜欢邀请谁，但是鼓起勇气又是另一回事了……卓比他大一岁，很漂亮，又是一个很优秀的快迪斯运动员，而且又很受欢迎，人缘很好。 
　　罗恩似乎知道哈利在想什么。 
　　“听着，你不会有任何困难的。你是一个冠军，你已经击败了一个匈牙利号尾龙。我打赌她们会排队等着你邀请的。” 
　　为了他们刚刚挽回的友谊，罗恩尽量把这种难堪降到最小。还有，令哈利深感惊奇的是，后来发生的事证明罗恩说的话是对的。 
　　第二天，就有一个海夫巴夫三年级的卷发女孩来请他一起参加舞会，这个人哈利可从没跟她说过话。哈利甚至还没考虑就拒绝了她，这令他自己都感到很吃惊。就因为这个女孩子，哈利不得不在魔法历史这堂课上忍受迪恩、西摩斯、罗恩的辱骂。第三天，又有两个女孩子来请他，一个是二年级的，一个是五年级的（这令他感到很荣幸），如果哈利拒绝的话，第二个看起来好像会把哈利一拳击昏一样。 
　　“她长得还蛮好看的嘛。”罗恩笑完了后说。 
　　“她比我高一英尺呢，”哈利说，一脸气馁的样子。“你想象一下我和她跳舞时会是什么样子就知道了。” 
　　荷米恩关于克伦的那番话不断地在他脑海里回荡着。“她们喜欢他只是因为他出名嘛！”哈利很怀疑，如果他不是学校冠军的话，那么那些邀请他的女孩子还会不会邀请他呢。接着他又想，如果是卓邀请他，他还会不会这么烦呢。 
　　总的来说，哈利不得不承认虽然开舞会的事令他很尴尬，但是自从他完成了第一个任务后，他的生活还是很明显地改善了。他不再碰到曾发生在走廊里的那些不愉快的事了。他怀疑这跟塞德里克有关——他认为是塞德里克叫海夫巴那群人不要招惹他的。为了报答他通知他龙来了那件事。好像最近也少了很多支持塞德里克的呼声了。杰高。马尔夫当然还是在每个可能的时候跟他说出理特。史姬特的文章，但是现在他已感觉到这并没有什么好笑的了——这只是提起了哈利的幸福感，《先知日报》上没有有关哈格力的消息。 
　　“跟你老实说，她好像对魔幻生灵并不感兴趣，”哈格力低声说。 
　　“好了，我告诉她从我去达德里家接你开始，我们就是朋友了。‘四年来没有训斥过他？’她说，请没有在课堂上惹你恼火？我告诉她说没有，她好像很不高兴。哈利，你可能会认为她想要我说你很可怕。” 
　　“她当然是这样想的，”哈利说着，边把几块龙的肝脏扔进一个大金属碗里，拿起他的刀子切了一些出来。“她老是写我是一个怎样的悲剧性小英雄，这样会很无聊的。” 
　　“她想要一只新角，哈格力，”罗恩边说边剥着火衡锡蛋壳。“你应该说哈利是一个发疯的犯罪狂！” 
　　“但他不是呀！”哈格力很震惊地说。 
　　“她早该采访史纳皮了，”哈利很生气地说。“他什么时候都可能在她面前把我的好事给抖出来：波特一来到学校后，就老出错……” 
　　“他那样说了？”哈格力说，而罗恩和荷米恩在笑。“好了，别那么认真了，哈利，你现在伤都好了吧，是吧？” 
　　“谢谢你，哈格力。”哈利露出了笑脸。 
　　“哈格力，圣诞舞会你参加吧？‘罗恩问。 
　　“我想我会去看一下的。”哈格力粗哑地说，“肯定很好玩，我想，你会先跳，宣告舞会开始，是吧，哈利？你会带谁去呢？” 
　　“没有，还没找到。”哈利说着，感觉自己又脸红了。哈格力也没有再继续这个话题了。 
　　学期的最后一个星期变得越来越喧闹了。关于圣诞舞会的谣传到处飞来飞去，但是哈利并没有全都听信——比如说，丹伯多已经从罗丝玛特夫人那里买了八百桶加了香料的蜜洒。那听起来有可能是真的，并且，他还已经预订了非常姐妹。事实上，那个非常姐妹是谁或者是什么东西，哈利一点也不知道，他从没拥有过一个巫师收音机，但是，从那些从小听巫师无线广播长大的人的狂喜劲儿推测出那是一个很有名的歌唱组合。 
　　一些老师，像菲利特威克教授，看到同学们的心都不知道飞到哪里去的时候，就停止讲课了，他允许同学们在他星期三的课上玩游戏，而他自己就把大部分时间花在和波特讲那次波特的第一次任务——三巫师争霸赛上波特运用的巧妙的召唤符咒。其它老师就没有这么大方了。比如，宾西教授，从有关妖魔起义的那部分笔记一直讲啊讲——好像就算他垂危了，他也不会停止讲课一样。因此他们认为像圣诞节这样的小事是不可能让他停下来的。多么了不起啊！他把妖魔暴动讲得更血腥，更污秽了，听起来像伯希的大汽锅似的报告——又长又臭。麦康娜教授和莫迪教授则上课上到临近下课的那最后一秒，史纳皮当然也不例外了。他很不怀好意地看着全班，好像在告诫他们，本学期的最后一堂课他会用来测验他们的毒物解毒能力。 
　　“简直是恶魔啊。”罗恩那天晚上在格林芬顿的公共休息室里苦苦地说，“最后一天进行测验，学期末放假的欢愉气氛都被那一大堆总复习一扫而光了。” 
　　“嗯……你不会这么折磨自己吧？”荷米恩说着，从正在复习的药剂笔记上抬头望着他。罗恩正在忙于用爆炸牌建他的纸牌堡垒——比玩马格牌更有趣，因为整个堡垒随时会爆炸。 
　　“是圣诞节啊！”荷米恩哈利懒洋洋地说，他躺在火炉边的安乐椅上，读了第十遍《驾着大炮一起飞翔》。 
　　荷米恩也严肃地看了他。“我以为你在做些什么有建设性的事情呢！” 
　　“像什么？”哈利说，看着《火炮》里面的“约。佐金斯用一根短棒绑着一个伯希城堡巴辞的追捕者”。 
　　“蛋！”荷米恩嘘声说。 
　　“哎，荷米恩，我二月二十四号那天会知道的。”哈利说。 
　　他把金蛋放在楼上的衣箱里，自从第一次任务的那个庆功晚会后，他就再没打开过。毕竟，离他需要知道所有这些尖叫的哀号声是什么意思，还有两个半月呢。 
　　“可能要好几个星期才能想到呢！”荷米恩说。“到时如果人人都知道了下一任务是什么，就你不知道，你就像傻子一样了！” 
　　“别管他，荷米恩，他需要休息。”罗恩说，把最后两张牌摆放在堡垒顶上，接着整一个就爆炸开了，烧到了他的眉毛。 
　　“很好看啊，罗恩……那和你的礼服很衬呢，真的。” 
　　是弗来德和乔治。他们和哈利、罗恩和荷米思一起在桌子旁坐下了，这时，罗恩感到他把事情搞严重了。 
　　“罗恩，我们可以借你的皮威军吗？”乔治问。 
　　“不行，它现在正去送信呢，”罗恩说。“什么事吗？” 
　　“因为乔治想邀请它去舞会，”弗来德挖苦道。 
　　“因为我们要寄信啊，傻瓜。”乔治说。 
　　“你们老是在跟谁写信啊？”罗恩说。 
　　“把鼻子伸出来，罗恩，要不，我把你也烧了，”弗来德，威胁性地挥着魔杖。“所以……你们都找到舞伴了没有？” 
　　“没有。”罗恩说。 
　　“好了，你们最好赶快行动吧，老友，要不，好的都被别人请走了。”弗来德说。 
　　“你会跟谁一起去呀？”罗恩说。 
　　“安琪儿。琳娜。”弗来德脱口而出，一点也不尴尬。 
　　“什么？”罗恩说，吃了一惊。“你已经邀请她了？” 
　　“对了，”弗来德说，转过头来，向休息室喊了声，“喂！安琪儿。琳娜！” 
　　安琪儿。琳娜正在火边和阿丽希尔聊天呢，这时转过头来，看了看他。 
　　“什么事？”她回应着。 
　　“想和我一起去参加舞会吗？” 
　　安琪儿。琳娜用评价的眼光看了看弗来德。 
　　“好吧。”她说，又转过身和阿丽希尔聊天了，脸上挂着一丝笑容。 
　　“你们看到了吧？”弗来德对着哈利和罗恩说，“容易得很。” 
　　他站了起来，打了一个呵欠，说，“我们最好用学校那只猫头鹰吧，乔治，快点……” 
　　他们走了。罗恩不再想他的眉毛了，看了看冒着烟的城堡的残骸，又望了一眼哈利。 
　　“我们是该行动了……邀请某些人。他说的对，我们不能以一对山精的形像出现吧。” 
　　荷米恩很愤怒地吐了口口水。“一对什么……再说一次？” 
　　“好了——你知道的，”罗恩说，耸了耸肩，“我真的宁愿一个人去——如果要和艾罗丝。米更去的话。” 
　　“她的鼻子好像长歪了。”罗恩说。 
　　“哦，我明白了，”荷米恩说，气得毛发竖起来。“‘所以简单地说，你就是想找一个最好看的女孩子，即使她很可怕？” 
　　“呃——是，差不多了。”罗恩说。 
　　“我去睡觉了。”荷米恩打断了他，什么话也没再说就昂首走向了女生的楼梯间。 
　　霍格瓦彻的工作人员，想要给从比斯贝顿和丹姆斯安来的参观者留下深刻印像，已经决定在这个圣诞节把城堡最好的一面显示出来。在装饰物开始抬上去的时候，哈利才发现这是学校里面他所见到过的最令人惊叹的东西。冰柱固定在楼梯的栏杆上，那十二棵圣诞树仍像往常一样摆在大会厅里，装饰的东西什么都有，发亮的空心浆果，真的大声叫的金色的猫头鹰，它们还会唱颂歌呢。听着由只懂得一半歌词的空盔甲唱出“噢，来吧，所有真诚的”，感觉真的很不一样。好几次，费驰都要把皮维斯从盔甲里面拉出来，（皮维斯喜欢躲在那里）用自己写的抒情诗给歌填词，但是那些词都是粗俗得要命。 
　　哈利仍没去邀请卓参加舞会。他和罗恩现在都变得很紧张，虽然哈利说过，罗恩如果有舞伴的话，看起来更傻，但哈利应该是和其他冠军一起先挑的。 
　　“我想呜咽的米尔特也去吧。”他很忧郁地说，指的是缠绕在二楼女生厕所里的那个鬼魂。 
　　“哈利——我们得赶紧试一下了，”罗恩星期五早上说，那口气好像表明他们在计划着要冲破一座不可攻破的堡垒。“今晚我们回到公共休息室时，我们都会有舞伴的——好吗？” 
　　“呃……好的。”哈利说。 
　　但那天他每一次看卓的时候——休息时，午餐时，在去上魔法历史课时——她身边总是围着一大群朋友。难道她没有单独去哪里的吗？或许，他可以藏在她去上洗手间的路上，不，那也不可能——她好像上厕所都有四五个女孩子护送着。但如果他不马上行动的话，她肯定会被其他人邀请的。 
　　他发现他没办法集中精神做史纳皮的解毒法的测验，老是忘了加一种重要的成分——一种巴佐——意味着他会得低分。但是他不管，他正在想怎样鼓起勇气去做他要去做的事情。铃声一响，他抓起书包就冲向了牢门。 
　　“吃饭的时间见。”他对罗恩和荷米恩说，就冲上了楼梯。 
　　他只需要和卓单独谈谈，仅此而已……她穿过走廊上拥挤的人群，找寻着她的身影，而（出乎意料的）他很快就找到她了，她正在上防黑巫术课。 
　　“呃——卓？我能和你说句话吗？” 
　　咯咯笑应该被规定为犯法的，哈利很生气地想着，因为卓旁边的全部女生都笑了。但是，她没有笑她说：“好的。”然后跟着他走出去。 
　　哈利转身看着她，他的胃七上八下地翻转了一番，好像刚踩空了一格楼梯。 
　　“呃。”他说。 
　　他不能就这样问她，他不能。但他必须这样做，单站在那里，很迷惑地望着他。 
　　不知怎的，哈利就进出了一句，又快又模糊。 
　　“想和我去舞会吗？” 
　　“什么？”卓说。 
　　“你想不想——想不想和我一起去参加舞会？”哈利说。为什么他的脸要变红呢？为什么？ 
　　“哦！”卓说，脸也变红了。“哦，哈利，很抱歉，真的很抱歉，”她也知道了。“我已经答应别人了。” 
　　“哦。”哈利说。 
　　很奇怪呀，一分钟以前，他的五脏六腑还像蛇一样在扭动着，现在突然感到好像没有五脏六腑一样。 
　　“哦，行。”他说，“没问题，没事。” 
　　“我真的很抱歉。”她又说了一遍。 
　　“没事的。”哈利说。 
　　他们站在那里看着对方，然后卓说，“好了——” 
　　“嗯。”哈利说。 
　　“那，再见了。”卓说，脸还很红。然后走开了。 
　　哈利在后面喊着她，因为他控制不住自己。 
　　“你和谁去？” 
　　“哦——塞德里克，”她说，“塞德里克。迪格瑞。” 
　　“哦，好的。”哈利说。 
　　他的五脏六腑又回来了，好像这次是装满了铅似的。 
　　他完完全全地忘了吃饭了，慢慢地走回了格林芬顿塔，每走一步，耳边就回荡起卓的声音，“塞德里克——塞德里克。迪格瑞。”现在他突然意识到，塞德里克实际上只是一个没用的奶油小生，根本就是没脑筋。 
　　“仙女神灯。“他忧郁地对着胖大婶说——暗语已经在前几天改了。 
　　“唉，来了，亲爱的！”她颤声说，弄了弄她那新的闪亮的发髻，摇摆着出来迎他。 
　　进入到了公共休息室，哈利环顾了四周，使他感到惊奇的是，罗恩沉着脸坐在很远的一个角落，金妮坐在他身边，用很小的，安慰似的声音跟他说话。 
　　“发生了什么事，罗恩？”哈利说，也围了上去。 
　　罗恩抬头看了看哈利，脸出显出一种盲目的恐惧。 
　　“我为什么要那样做呢？”他死死地追问。“我不知道撞了什么邪才那样做！” 
　　“什么呀？”哈利问。 
　　“他——呃，刚刚邀请了芙璐·迪来高去参加舞会。”金妮说。她好像要强挤出笑脸，但是，又总是同情地拍了拍罗恩的手臂。 
　　“你什么？”哈利说。 
　　“我不知道为什么会那样做！”罗恩喘息着说。“我到底在搞什么呀？那时候很多人——围在那里——我快疯了一每个人都在看着我！我在大会厅里走过她身边——她在那里和迪格瑞说话——我突然想到了——就走过去邀请她了！” 
　　罗恩咕哝着，双手捂着脸。他不断在那里讲，虽然有时模糊不清的。“她看我就像在看一只海里的蛞蝓或其他东西，甚至不回答我。 
　　那时——我不知道——只是突然想到，就问了。“ 
　　“她才是十足的蛞蝓。”哈利说，“你说得对——她奶奶就是一只蛞蝓。那不是你的错，你只是在她向迪格瑞施展魅力的时候，经过她身边，然后受了影响——但是，她是在浪费自己的时间，他已经找了卓了。” 
　　罗恩抬起头。 
　　“刚才我邀请了她和我一起去，”哈利很丧气地说，“是她告诉我的。” 
　　“这可真荒唐，”罗恩说，“我们就是剩下那些没舞伴的人了——嗯，除了尼维尔。喂——猜一请他邀请谁了？哈利！” 
　　“什么？”哈利说，完全被这个爆炸性的新闻吸引住了。 
　　“哎，我知道！”罗恩说，他开始笑了，脸上又有了光彩。“他药剂课后告诉我的！他说她真的很可爱，一直以来都在他需要帮助的时候帮助他——但她却告诉他，她已经答应了别人。哈！才怪呢！她只是不想和尼维尔一起去呀……我说，谁想呢？” 
　　“嘘！”金妮说，很恼怒，“别笑——” 
　　就在这时，荷米恩从壁画里的洞爬了进来。 
　　“你们两个怎么不吃饭呢？”她说，走了过来。 
　　“因为——唉，别说了，他们两个——因为他们邀请了女孩子，但都被拒绝了！”金妮说。 
　　那可真让哈利和罗恩闭嘴了。 
　　“太感谢你了，金妮。”罗恩很生气地说。 
　　“所有漂亮女孩都被邀请了吗，罗恩？”荷米恩很高傲地说。“艾罗丝。米更好像越来越好看了，你们觉得吗？好了，我相信你们终会找到舞伴的。” 
　　罗恩，目不转睛地盯着荷米恩看，好像突然在新的光线下看一样。“罗恩，尼维尔说得对——你是一个很……的女孩子。” 
　　“噢。很受人注意，是吧？”她尖刻地说。 
　　“好吧——你们可以跟我们中任何一个人去！” 
　　“不，我不能。”荷米恩打断说。 
　　“唉，好啦，”他不耐烦地说，“我们需要舞伴呀！如果我们没有的话，会很难堪的，其他人都有……” 
　　“我不能和你们去，”荷米恩说，脸红了，“因为我已经答应了和别人去了。” 
　　“不，你撒谎！”罗恩说，“你刚才那样说是为了摆脱尼维尔！” 
　　“噢，是吗？”荷米恩眼睛很危险地闪了一闪说。“那是因为你需要三年才能注意到，但并不代表没人认出我是个女孩呀！” 
　　罗恩瞪着她，然后又咧嘴笑了。 
　　“好了，行了，我们知道你是个女孩，”他说，“行了吧？现在可以和我们一起去了吧？” 
　　“我已经告诉你们了！”荷米恩很生气地说。“我要和别人去！” 
　　接着，她又猛地冲向女生宿舍去了。 
　　“她在撒谎。”罗恩望着她走出去肯定地说。 
　　“她没有。”金妮安然地说。 
　　“那么，那个人是谁呢？”罗恩尖锐地说。 
　　“我不会告诉你的，这是她的事。”金妮说。 
　　“好，”罗恩说，被气得无可奈何，“这真是越来越无聊了。金妮，你可以和哈利一起去，而我只能——” 
　　“不行，”金妮说，脸也红了。“我要和——和尼维尔去的。他在被荷米恩拒绝后邀请了我，我想……哎……反正我又不能参加，我又不是四年级的。”她看上去很痛苦的样子。“我想去吃饭了。”她说着，站起来走到了壁画洞口，垂头丧气的。 
　　罗恩瞪大眼睛看着哈利。 
　　“她们怎么了？”他问道。 
　　而哈利刚才只是看到帕维提和莱文德从壁画口进来。看来是该采取大行动了。 
　　“等着。”他对罗恩说。说完就起来，直直走到帕维提跟前，“帕维提，可以和我一起去参加舞会吗？” 
　　帕维提咯咯笑了起来。哈利在等着她笑完，手指交叉在长袍的口袋里，默默祈祷着。 
　　“嗯，好吧。”她终于答应了，满脸通红的。 
　　“谢谢，”哈利说，松了一口气，“莱文德——你能和罗恩一起去吗？” 
　　“她已经和西摩斯了。”帕维提说，她们两个笑得更厉害了。 
　　哈利叹了一口气。 
　　“你们中没有想要和罗恩一起去的吗？”他说，压低着声音以免让罗恩听到。 
　　“那荷米恩。格林佐呢？”帕维提说。 
　　“她会和别人去。” 
　　帕维提吃了一惊。 
　　“呃——谁呀？”她很急切地问。 
　　哈利耸了耸肩。“不知道。”他说。“那罗恩呢？” 
　　“哎……”帕维提慢悠悠地说，“我想我姐可以……帕得玛，你认识的……在卫文卡罗。我去问一下她，看她愿不愿意去。” 
　　“哎，那最好不过了。”哈利说。“有消息通知我，好吗？” 
　　他又回到罗恩身边了，心里想这个舞伴要比舞会本身麻烦多了，祈祷着帕维提。帕提的鼻子不要真的长歪了。 
Chapter 23 The Yule Ball
Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays. Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Harry that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. Harry made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future. He still hadn't forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee. 
Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about. 
“It is too ‘eavy, all zis ‘Ogwarts food,” they heard her saying grumpily as they left the Great Hall behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur). “I will not fit into my dress robes!” 
“Oooh there's a tragedy,” Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. “She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?” 
“Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?” said Ron. 
He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, “I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me.” 
“You're joking, Weasley!” said Malfoy, behind them. “You're not telling me someone's asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?” 
Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy's shoulder, “Hello, Professor Moody!” 
Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew. 
“Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?” said Hermione scathingly, and she, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily. 
“Hermione,” said Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, “your teeth…” 
“What about them?” she said. 
“Well, they're different…I've just noticed.…” 
“Of course they are - did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?” 
“No, I mean, they're different to how they were before he put that hex on you.…They're all…straight and - and normal-sized.” 
Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Harry noticed it too: It was a very different smile from the one he remembered. 
“Well…when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she said. “And I just…let her carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely. “Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they're dentists, they just don't think teeth and magic should - look! Pigwidgeon's back!” 
Ron's tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn't he cute?” 
Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon. “You bring letters to the addressee! You don't hang around showing off!” 
Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron's fist. The third-year girls all looked very shocked. 
“Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily than ever as he soared through the air. “Here - take it, Harry,” Ron added in an undertone as the third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled Sirius's reply off Pigwidgeons leg. Harry pocketed it, and they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it. 
Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe what anyone else was up to. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat apart from everyone else by a dark window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out: 
Dear Harry, Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that goblet shouldn't be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a Conjunctivitus Curse, as a dragon's eyes are its weakest point - “That's what Krum did!” Hermione whispered - but your way was better, I'm impressed. Don't get complacent, though. Harry. You've only done one task; whoever put you in for the tournament's got plenty more opportunity if they're trying to hurt you. Keep your eyes open -particularly when the person we discussed is around and concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble. Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual. Sirius “He sounds exactly like Moody,” said Harry quietly, tucking the letter away again inside his robes. “'Constant vigilance!’ You'd think I walk around with my eyes shut, banging off the walls.…” 
“But he's right, Harry,” said Hermione, “you have still got two tasks to do. You really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it means.…” 
“Hermione, he's got ages!” snapped Ron. “Want a game of chess, Harry?” 
“Yeah, okay,” said Harry. Then, spotting the look on Hermione's face, he said, “Come on, how'm I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? I won't even be able to hear the egg over this lot.” 
“Oh I suppose not,” she sighed, and she sat down to watch their chess match, which culminated in an exciting checkmate of Ron's, involving a couple of recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose. 
“Dobby!” Harry yelled, scrambling away from the elf so fast he almost fell out of bed. “Don't do that!” 
“Dobby is sorry, sir!” squeaked Dobby anxiously, jumping backward with his long fingers over his mouth. “Dobby is only wanting to wish Harry Potter ‘Merry Christmas’ and bring him a present, Sir! Harry Potter did say Dobby could come and see him sometimes, sir!” 
It's okay,” said Harry, still breathing rather faster than usual, while his heart rate returned to normal. “Just - just prod me or something in future, all right, don't bend over me like that.…” 
Harry pulled back the curtains around his four-poster, took his glasses from his bedside table, and put them on. His yell had awoken Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavy-eyed and tousle-haired. 
“Someone attacking you, Harry?” Seamus asked sleepily. 
“No, it's just Dobby,” Harry muttered. “Go back to sleep.” 
“Nah…presents!” said Seamus, spotting the large pile at the foot of his bed. Ron, Dean, and Neville decided that now they were awake they might as well get down to some present-opening too. Harry turned back to Dobby, who was now standing nervously next to Harry's bed, still looking worried that he had upset Harry. There was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy. 
“Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively. 
“'Course you can,” said Harry. “Er…I've got something for you too.” 
It was a lie; he hadn't bought anything for Dobby at all, but he quickly opened his trunk and pulled out a particularly knobbly rolled-up pair of socks. They were his oldest and foulest, mustard yellow, and had once belonged to Uncle Vernon. The reason they were extra-knobbly was that Harry had been using them to cushion his Sneakoscope for over a year now. He pulled out the Sneako-scope and handed the socks to Dobby, saying, “Sorry, I forgot to wrap them…” 
But Dobby was utterly delighted. 
“Socks are Dobby's favorite, favorite clothes, sir!” he said, ripping off his odd ones and pulling on Uncle Vernon's. “I has seven now, sir.…But sir…” he said, his eyes widening, having pulled both socks up to their highest extent, so that they reached to the bottom of his shorts, “they has made a mistake in the shop, Harry Potter, they is giving you two the same!” 
“Ah, no, Harry, how come you didn't spot that?” said Ron, grinning over from his own bed, which was now strewn with wrapping paper. “Tell you what, Dobby - here you go - take these two, and you can mix them up properly. And here's your sweater.” 
He threw Dobby a pair of violet socks he had just unwrapped, and the hand-knitted sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent, Dobby looked quite overwhelmed. 
“Sir is very kind!” he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing deeply to Ron. “Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Harry Potter's greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as noble, as selfless -” 
“They're only socks,” said Ron, who had gone slightly pink around the ears, though he looked rather pleased all the same. “Wow, Harry -” He had just opened Harry's present, a Chudley Cannon hat. “Cool!” He jammed it onto his head, where it clashed horribly with his hair. 
Dobby now handed Harry a small package, which turned out to be - socks. 
“Dobby is making them himself, sir!” the elf said happily. “He is buying the wool out of his wages, sir!” 
The left sock was bright red and had a pattern of broomsticks upon it; the right sock was green with a pattern of Snitches. 
“They're…they're really…well, thanks, Dobby,” said Harry, and he pulled them on, causing Dobby's eyes to leak with happiness again. 
“Dobby must go now, sir, we is already making Christmas dinner in the kitchens!” said Dobby, and he hurried out of the dormitory, waving good-bye to Ron and the others as he passed. 
Harry's other presents were much more satisfactory than Dobby's odd socks - with the obvious exception of the Dursleys', which consisted of a single tissue, an all-time low - Harry supposed they too were remember ing the Ton-Tongue Toffee. Hermione had given Harry a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland; Ron, a bulging bag of Dungbombs; Sirius, a handy penknife with attachments to unlock any lock and undo any knot; and Hagrid, a vast box of sweets including all Harry's favorites: Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and Fizzing Whizbees. There was also, of course, Mrs. Weasley's usual package, including a new sweater (green, with a picture of a dragon on it - Harry supposed Charlie had told her all about the Horntail), and a large quantity of homemade mince pies. 
Harry and Ron met up with Hermione in the common room, and they went down to breakfast together. They spent most of the morning in Gryffindor Tower, where everyone was enjoying their presents, then returned to the Great Hall for a magnificent lunch, which included at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, and large piles of Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers. 
They went out onto the grounds in the afternoon; the snow was untouched except for the deep channels made by the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on their way up to the castle. Hermione chose to watch Harry and the Weasleys’ snowball fight rather than join in, and at five o'clock said she was going back upstairs to get ready for the ball. 
“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at her incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head. “Who're you going with?” he yelled after Hermione, but she just waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle. 
There was no Christmas tea today, as the ball included a feast, so at seven o'clock, when it had become hard to aim properly, the others abandoned their snowball fight and trooped back to the common room. The Fat Lady was sitting in her frame with her friend Violet from downstairs, both of them extremely tipsy, empty boxes of chocolate liqueurs littering the bottom other picture. 
“Lairy fights, that's the one!” she giggled when they gave the password, and she swung forward to let them inside. 
Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville changed into their dress robes up in their dormitory, all of them looking very self-conscious, but none as much as Ron, who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he used a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn't done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs. 
“I still can't work out how you two got the best-looking girls in the year,” muttered Dean. 
“Animal magnetism,” said Ron gloomily, pulling stray threads out of his cuffs. 
The common room looked strange, full of people wearing different colors instead of the usual mass of black. Parvati was waiting for Harry at the foot of the stairs. She looked very pretty indeed, in robes of shocking pink, with her long dark plait braided with gold, and gold bracelets glimmering at her wrists. Harry was relieved to see that she wasn't giggling. 
“You - er - look nice,” he said awkwardly. 
“Thanks,” she said. “Padma's going to meet you in the entrance hall,” she added to Ron. 
“Right,” said Ron, looking around. “Where's Hermione?” 
Parvati shrugged. “Shall we go down then, Harry?” 
“Okay,” said Harry, wishing he could just stay in the common room. Fred winked at Harry as he passed him on the way out of the portrait hole. 
The entrance hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o'clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different Houses were edging through the crowd trying to find one another. Parvati found her sister, Padma, and led her over to Harry and Ron. 
“Hi,” said Padma, who was looking just as pretty as Parvati in robes of bright turquoise. She didn't look too enthusiastic about having Ron as a partner, though; her dark eyes lingered on the frayed neck and sleeves of his dress robes as she looked him up and down. 
“Hi,” said Ron, not looking at her, but staring around at the crowd. “Oh no…” 
He bent his knees slightly to hide behind Harry, because Fleur Delacour was passing, looking stunning in robes of silver-gray satin, and accompanied by the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, Roger Davies. When they had disappeared, Ron stood straight again and stared over the heads of the crowd. 
“Where is Hermione?” he said again. 
A group of Slytherins came up the steps from their dungeon common room. Malfoy was in front; he was wearing dress robes of black velvet with a high collar, which in Harry's opinion made him look like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson in very frilly robes of pale pink was clutching Malfoy's arm. Crabbe and Goyle were both wearing green; they resembled moss-colored boulders, and neither of them, Harry was pleased to see, had managed to find a partner. 
The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harry didn't know. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights - meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer. 
Then Professor McGonagall's voice called, “Champions over here, please!” 
Parvati readjusted her bangles, beaming; she and Harry said, “See you in a minute” to Ron and Padma and walked forward, the chattering crowd parting to let them through. Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim other hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stationed themselves nearest the doors; Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric and Cho were close to Harry too; he looked away from them so he wouldn't have to talk to them. His eyes fell instead on the girl next to Krum. His jaw dropped. 
It was Hermione. 
But she didn't look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow - or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling - rather nervously, it was true - but the reduction in the size of her front teeth was more noticeable than ever; Harry couldn't understand how he hadn't spotted it before. 
“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Hi, Parvati!” 
Parvati was gazing at Hermione in unflattering disbelief. She wasn't the only one either; when the doors to the Great Hall opened, Krum's fan club from the library stalked past, throwing Hermione looks of deepest loathing. Pansy Parkinson gaped at her as she walked by with Malfoy, and even he didn't seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her. Ron, however, walked right past Hermione without looking at her. 
Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges were sitting. 
The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people. 
Harry concentrated on not tripping over his feet. Parvati seemed to be enjoying herself; she was beaming around at everybody, steering Harry so forcefully that he felt as though he were a show dog she was putting through its paces. He caught sight of Ron and Padma as he neared the top table. Ron was watching Hermione pass with narrowed eyes. Padma was looking sulky. 
Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron's as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Mr. Crouch, Harry suddenly realized, was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley. 
When the champions and their partners reached the table, Percy drew out the empty chair beside him, staring pointedly at Harry. Harry took the hint and sat down next to Percy, who was wearing brand-new, navy-blue dress robes and an expression of such smugness that Harry thought it ought to be fined. 
“I've been promoted,” Percy said before Harry could even ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. “I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him.” 
“Why didn't he come?” Harry asked. He wasn't looking forward to being lectured on cauldron bottoms all through dinner. 
“I'm afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn't well, not well at all. Hasn't been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising - overwork. He's not as young as he was - though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr. Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehavior of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterward, but - well, as I say, he's getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he's found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with - that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around - no, poor man, he's having a well earned, quiet Christmas. I'm just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.” 
Harry wanted very much to ask whether Mr. Crouch had stopped calling Percy “Weatherby” yet, but resisted the temptation. 
There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus were lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up uncertainly and looked around - there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down at his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!” 
And pork chops appeared. Getting the idea, the rest of the table placed their orders with their plates too. Harry glanced up at Hermione to see how she felt about this new and more complicated method of dining - surely it meant plenty of extra work for the house-elves? - but for once, Hermione didn't seem to be thinking about S.P.E.W. She was deep in talk with Viktor Krum and hardly seemed to notice what she was eating. 
It now occurred to Harry that he had never actually heard Krum speak before, but he was certainly talking now, and very enthusiastically at that. 
“Veil, ve have a castle also, not as big as this, nor as comfortable, I am thinking,” he was telling Hermione. “Ve have just four floors, and the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But ve have grounds larger even than these - though in vinter, ve have very little daylight, so ve are not enjoying them. But in summer ve are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains -” 
“Now, now, Viktor!” said Karkaroff with a laugh that didn't reach his cold eyes, “don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!” 
Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Igor, all this secrecy, one would almost think you didn't want visitors.” 
“Well, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, displaying his yellowing teeth to their fullest extent, “we are all protective of our private domains, are we not? Do we not jealously guard the halls of learning that have been entrusted to us? Are we not right to be proud that we alone know our school's secrets, and right to protect them?” 
“Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts’ secrets, Igor,” said Dumbledore amicably. “Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon - or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.” 
Harry snorted into his plate of goulash. Percy frowned, but Harry could have sworn Dumbledore had given him a very small wink. 
Meanwhile Fleur Delacour was criticizing the Hogwarts decorations to Roger Davies. 
“Zis is nothing,” she said dismissively, looking around at the sparkling walls of the Great Hall. “At ze Palace of Beauxbatons, we ‘ave ice sculptures all around ze dining chamber at Chreestmas. Zey do not melt, of course…zey are like ‘uge statues of diamond, glittering around ze place. And ze food is seemply superb. And we ‘ave choirs of wood nymphs, ‘oo serenade us as we eat. We ‘ave none of zis ugly armor in ze ‘alls, and eef a poltergeist ever entaired into Beauxbatons, ‘e would be expelled like zat.” She slapped her hand onto the table impatiently. 
Roger Davies was watching her talk with a very dazed look on his face, and he kept missing his mouth with his fork. Harry had the impression that Davies was too busy staring at Fleur to take in a word she was saying. 
“Absolutely right,” he said quickly, slapping his own hand down on the table in imitation of Fleur. “Like that. Yeah.” 
Harry looked around the Hall. Hagrid was sitting at one of the other staff tables; he was back in his horrible hairy brown suit and gazing up at the top table. Harry saw him give a small wave, and looking around, saw Madame Maxime return it, her opals glittering in the candlelight. 
Hermione was now teaching Krum to say her name properly; he kept calling her “Hermy-own.” 
“Her-my-oh-nee,” she said slowly and clearly. 
“Herm-own-ninny.” 
“Close enough,” she said, catching Harry's eye and grinning. 
When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it. 
The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had been so interested in watching them that he had almost forgotten what was coming, suddenly realized that the lanterns on all the other tables had gone out, and that the other champions and their partners were standing up. 
“Come on!” Parvati hissed. “We're supposed to dance!” 
Harry tripped over his dress robes as he stood up. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, carefully avoiding catching anyone's eye (he could see Seamus and Dean waving at him and sniggering), and next moment, Parvati had seized his hands, placed one around her waist, and was holding the other tightly in hers. 
It wasn't as bad as it could have been. Harry thought, revolving slowly on the spot (Parvati was steering). He kept his eyes fixed over the heads of the watching people, and very soon many of them too had come onto the dance floor, so that the champions were no longer the center of attention. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby - he could see Ginny wincing frequently as Neville trod on her feet - and Dumbledore was waltzing with Madame Maxime. He was so dwarfed by her that the top of his pointed hat barely tickled her chin; however, she moved very gracefully for a woman so large. Mad-Eye Moody was doing an extremely ungainly two-step with Professor Sinistra, who was nervously avoiding his wooden leg. 
“Nice socks. Potter,” Moody growled as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry's robes. 
“Oh - yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me,” said Harry, grinning. 
“He is so creepy!” Parvati whispered as Moody clunked away. “I don't think that eye should be allowed.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry heard the final, quavering note from the bagpipe with relief. The Weird Sisters stopped playing, applause filled the hall once more, and Harry let go of Parvati at once. 
“Let's sit down, shall we?” 
“Oh - but - this is a really good one!” Parvati said as the Weird Sisters struck up a new song, which was much faster. 
“No, I don't like it,” Harry lied, and he led her away from the dance floor, past Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exhuberantly that people around them were backing away in fear of injury, and over to the table where Ron and Padma were sitting. 
“How's it going?” Harry asked Ron, sitting down and opening a bottle of butterbeer. 
Ron didn't answer. He was glaring at Hermione and Krum, who were dancing nearby. Padma was sitting with her arms and legs crossed, one foot jiggling in time to the music. Every now and then she threw a disgruntled look at Ron, who was completely ignoring her. Parvati sat down on Harry's other side, crossed her arms and legs too, and within minutes was asked to dance by a boy from Beauxbatons. 
“You don't mind, do you, Harry?” Parvati said. 
“What?” said Harry, who was now watching Cho and Cedric. 
“Oh never mind,” snapped Parvati, and she went off with the boy from Beauxbatons. When the song ended, she did not return. 
Hermione came over and sat down in Parvati's empty chair. She was a bit pink in the face from dancing. 
“Hi,” said Harry. Ron didn't say anything. 
“It's hot, isn't it?” said Hermione, fanning herself with her hand. “Viktor's just gone to get some drinks.” 
Ron gave her a withering look. “Viktor?” he said. “Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?” 
Hermione looked at him in surprise. “What's up with you?” she said. 
“If you don't know,” said Ron scathingly, “I'm not going to tell you.” 
Hermione stared at him, then at Harry, who shrugged. 
“Ron, what -?” 
“He's from Durmstrang!” spat Ron. “He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You - you're -” Ron was obviously casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione's crime, “fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!” 
Hermione's mouth fell open. 
“Don't be so stupid!” she said after a moment. “The enemy! Honestly - who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?” 
Ron chose to ignore this. “I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?” 
“Yes, he did,” said Hermione, the pink patches on her cheeks glowing more brightly. “So what?” 
“What happened - trying to get him to join spew, were you?” 
“No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he - he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!” 
Hermione said this very quickly, and blushed so deeply that she was the same color as Parvati's robes. 
“Yeah, well - that's his story,” said Ron nastily. 
“And what's that supposed to mean?” 
“Obvious, isn't it? He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with.…He's just trying to get closer to Harry - get inside information on him - or get near enough to jinx him -” 
Hermione looked as though Ron had slapped her. When she spoke, her voice quivered. 
“For your information, he hasn't asked me one single thing about Harry, not one -” 
Ron changed tack at the speed of light. 
“Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions -” 
“I'd never help him work out that egg!” said Hermione, looking outraged. “Never. How could you say something like that - I want Harry to win the tournament. Harry knows that, don't you, Harry?” 
“You've got a funny way of showing it,” sneered Ron. 
“This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!” said Hermione hotly. 
“No it isn't!” shouted Ron. “It's about winning!” 
People were starting to stare at them. 
“Ron,” said Harry quietly, “I haven't got a problem with Hermione coming with Krum -” 
But Ron ignored Harry too. 
“Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are,” said Ron. 
“Don't call him Vicky!” 
Hermione jumped to her feet and stormed off across the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd. Ron watched her go with a mixture of anger and satisfaction on his face. 
“Are you going to ask me to dance at all?” Padma asked him. 
“No,” said Ron, still glaring after Hermione. 
“Fine,” snapped Padma, and she got up and went to join Parvati and the Beauxbatons boy, who conjured up one of his friends to join them so fast that Harry could have sworn he had zoomed him there by a Summoning Charm. 
“Vare is Herm-own-ninny?” said a voice. 
Krum had just arrived at their table clutching two butterbeers. 
“No idea,” said Ron mulishly, looking up at him. “Lost her, have you?” 
Krum was looking surly again. 
“Veil, if you see her, tell her I haff drinks,” he said, and he slouched off. 
“Made friends with Viktor Krum, have you, Ron?” 
Percy had bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous. “Excellent! That's the whole point, you know - international magical cooperation!” 
To Harry's displeasure, Percy now took Padma's vacated seat. The top table was now empty; Professor Dumbledore was dancing with Professor Sprout, Ludo Bagman with Professor McGonagall; Madame Maxime and Hagrid were cutting a wide path around the dance floor as they waltzed through the students, and Karkaroff was nowhere to be seen. When the next song ended, everybody applauded once more, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman kiss Professor McGonagall's hand and make his way back through the crowds, at which point Fred and George accosted him. 
“What do they think they're doing, annoying senior Ministry members?” Percy hissed, watching Fred and George suspiciously. “No respect…” 
Ludo Bagman shook off Fred and George fairly quickly, however, and, spotting Harry, waved and came over to their table. 
“I hope my brothers weren't bothering you, Mr. Bagman?” said Percy at once. 
“What? Oh not at all, not at all!” said Bagman. “No, they were just telling me a bit more about those fake wands of theirs. Wondering if I could advise them on the marketing. I've promised to put them in touch with a couple of contacts of mine at Zonko's Joke Shop.…” 
Percy didn't look happy about this at all, and Harry was prepared to bet he would be rushing to tell Mrs. Weasley about this the moment he got home. Apparently Fred and George's plans had grown even more ambitious lately, if they were hoping to sell to the public. Bagman opened his mouth to ask Harry something, but Percy diverted him. 
“How do you feel the tournament's going, Mr. Bagman? Our department's quite satisfied - the hitch with the Goblet of Fire” - he glanced at Harry - “was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone very smoothly since, don't you think?” 
“Oh yes,” Bagman said cheerfully, “it's all been enormous fun. How's old Barty doing? Shame he couldn't come.” 
“Oh I'm sure Mr. Crouch will be up and about in no time,” said Percy importantly, “but in the meantime, I'm more than willing to take up the slack. Of course, it's not all attending balls” - he laughed airily - “oh no, I've had to deal with all sorts of things that have cropped up in his absence - you heard Ali Bashir was caught smuggling a consignment of flying carpets into the country? And then we've been trying to persuade the Transylvanians to sign the International Ban on Dueling. I've got a meeting with their Head of Magical Cooperation in the new year -” 
“Let's go for a walk,” Ron muttered to Harry, “get away from Percy.…” 
Pretending they wanted more drinks. Harry and Ron left the table, edged around the dance floor, and slipped out into the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes; winding, ornamental paths; and large stone statues. Harry could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches. He and Ron set off along one of the winding paths through the rosebushes, but they had gone only a short way when they heard an unpleasantly familiar voice. 
“…don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor.” 
“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!” Karkaroffs voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it -” 
“Then flee,” said Snape's voice curtly. “Flee - I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.” 
Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them. 
“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!” Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. “And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!” as a boy went rushing after her. “And what are you two doing?” he added, catching sight of Harry and Ron on the path ahead. Karkaroff, Harry saw, looked slightly discomposed to see them standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger. 
“We re walking,” Ron told Snape shortly. “Not against the law, is it?” 
“Keep walking, then!” Snape snarled, and he brushed past them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him. Karkaroff hurried away after Snape. Harry and Ron continued down the path. 
“What's got Karkaroff all worried?” Ron muttered. 
“And since when have he and Snape been on first-name terms?"said Harry slowly. 
They had reached a large stone reindeer now, over which they could see the sparkling jets of a tall fountain. The shadowy outlines of two enormous people were visible on a stone bench, watching the water in the moonlight. And then Harry heard Hagrid speak. 
“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew,” he was saying, in an oddly husky voice. 
Harry and Ron froze. This didn't sound like the sort of scene they ought to walk in on, somehow.…Harry looked around, back up the path, and saw Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies standing half-concealed in a rosebush nearby. He tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head toward them, meaning that they could easily sneak off that way without being noticed (Fleur and Davies looked very busy to Harry), but Ron, eyes widening in horror at the sight of Fleur, shook his head vigorously, and pulled Harry deeper into the shadows behind the reindeer. 
“What did you know, ‘Agrid?” said Madame Maxime, a purr in her low voice. 
Harry definitely didn't want to listen to this; he knew Hagrid would hate to be overheard in a situation like this (he certainly would have) - if it had been possible he would have put his fingers in his ears and hummed loudly, but that wasn't really an option. Instead he tried to interest himself in a beetle crawling along the stone reindeer's back, but the beetle just wasn't interesting enough to block out Hagrid's next words. 
“I jus’ knew…knew you were like me.…Was it yer mother or yer father?” 
“I - I don't know what you mean, ‘Agrid.…” 
“It was my mother,” said Hagrid quietly. “She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. ‘Course, I can’ remember her too well…she left, see. When I was abou’ three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well…it's not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her…might be dead fer all I know.…” 
Madame Maxime didn't say anything. And Harry, in spite of himself, took his eyes off the beetle and looked over the top of the reindeer's antlers, listening.…He had never heard Hagrid talk about his childhood before. 
“Me dad was broken-hearted when she wen'. Tiny little bloke, my dad was. By the time I was six I could lift him up an’ put him on top o’ the dresser if he annoyed me. Used ter make him laugh.…"Hagrid's deep voice broke. Madame Maxime was listening, motionless, apparently staring at the silvery fountain. “Dad raised me…but he died, o’ course, jus’ after I started school. Sorta had ter make me own way after that. Dumbledore was a real help, mind. Very kind ter me, he was.…” 
Hagrid pulled out a large spotted silk handkerchief and blew his nose heavily. 
“So…anyway…enough abou’ me. What about you? Which side you got it on?” 
But Madame Maxime had suddenly got to her feet. 
“It is chilly,” she said - but whatever the weather was doing, it was nowhere near as cold as her voice. “I think I will go in now.” 
“Eh?” said Hagrid blankly. “No, don go! I've - I've never met another one before!” 
“Anuzzer what, precisely?” said Madame Maxime, her tone icy. 
Harry could have told Hagrid it was best not to answer; he stood there in the shadows gritting his teeth, hoping against hope he wouldn't - but it was no good. 
“Another half-giant, o’ course!” said Hagrid. 
“'Ow dare you!” shrieked Madame Maxime. Her voice exploded through the peaceful night air like a foghorn; behind him. Harry heard Fleur and Roger fall out of their rosebush. “I ‘ave nevair been more insulted in my life! ‘Alf-giant? Moi? I ‘ave - I ‘ave big bones!” 
She stormed away; great multicolored swarms of fairies rose into the air as she passed, angrily pushing aside bushes. Hagrid was still sitting on the bench, staring after her. It was much too dark to make out his expression. Then, after about a minute, he stood up and strode away, not back to the castle, but off out into the dark grounds in the direction of his cabin. 
“C'mon,” Harry said, very quietly to Ron. “Let's go.…” 
But Ron didn't move. 
“What's up?” said Harry, looking at him. 
Ron looked around at Harry, his expression very serious indeed. 
“Did you know?” he whispered. “About Hagrid being half-giant?” 
“No,” Harry said, shrugging. “So what?” 
He knew immediately, from the look Ron was giving him, that he was once again revealing his ignorance of the wizarding world. Brought up by the Dursleys, there were many things that wizards took for granted that were revelations to Harry, but these surprises had become fewer with each successive year. Now, however, he could tell that most wizards would not have said “So what?” upon finding out that one of their friends had a giantess for a mother. 
“I'll explain inside,” said Ron quietly, “c'mon….” 
Fleur and Roger Davies had disappeared, probably into a more private clump of bushes. Harry and Ron returned to the Great Hall. Parvati and Padma were now sitting at a distant table with a whole crowd of Beauxbatons boys, and Hermione was once more dancing with Krum. Harry and Ron sat down at a table far removed from the dance floor. 
“So?” Harry prompted Ron. “What's the problem with giants?” 
“Well, they're…they're…” Ron struggled for words. “…not very nice,” he finished lamely. 
“Who cares?” Harry said. “There's nothing wrong with Hagrid!” 
“I know there isn't, but…blimey, no wonder he keeps it quiet,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I always thought he'd got in the way of a bad Engorgement Charm when he was a kid or something. Didn't like to mention it.…” 
“But what's it matter if his mother was a giantess?” said Harry. 
“Well…no one who knows him will care, ‘cos they'll know he's not dangerous,” said Ron slowly. “But…Harry, they're just vicious, giants. It's like Hagrid said, it's in their natures, they're like trolls…they just like killing, everyone knows that. There aren't any left in Britain now, though.” 
“What happened to them?” 
“Well, they were dying out anyway, and then loads got themselves killed by Aurors. There're supposed to be giants abroad, though.…They hide out in mountains mostly.…” 
“I don't know who Maxime thinks she's kidding,” Harry said, watching Madame Maxime sitting alone at the judges’ table, looking very somber. “If Hagrid's half-giant, she definitely is. Big bones.…the only thing that's got bigger bones than her is a dinosaur.” 
Harry and Ron spent the rest of the ball discussing giants in their corner, neither of them having any inclination to dance. Harry tried not to watch Cho and Cedric too much; it gave him a strong desire to kick something. 
When the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight, everyone gave them a last, loud round of applause and started to wend their way into the entrance hall. Many people were expressing the wish that the ball could have gone on longer, but Harry was perfectly happy to be going to bed; as far as he was concerned, the evening hadn't been much fun. 
Out in the entrance hall, Harry and Ron saw Hermione saying good night to Krum before he went back to the Durmstrang ship. She gave Ron a very cold look and swept past him up the marble staircase without speaking. Harry and Ron followed her, but halfway up the staircase Harry heard someone calling him. 
“Hey-Harry!” 
It was Cedric Diggory. Harry could see Cho waiting for him in the entrance hall below. 
“Yeah?” said Harry coldly as Cedric ran up the stairs toward him. 
Cedric looked as though he didn't want to say whatever it was in front of Ron, who shrugged, looking bad-tempered, and continued to climb the stairs. 
“Listen…” Cedric lowered his voice as Ron disappeared. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?” 
“Yeah,” said Harry. 
“Well…take a bath, okay?” 
“What?” 
“Take a bath, and - er - take the egg with you, and - er - just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think.…Trust me.” 
Harry stared at him. 
“Tell you what,” Cedric said, “use the prefects’ bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's ‘pine fresh.’ Gotta go…want to say good night -” 
He grinned at Harry again and hurried back down the stairs to Cho. 
Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower alone. That had been extremely strange advice. Why would a bath help him to work out what the wailing egg meant? Was Cedric pulling his leg? Was he trying to make Harry look like a fool, so Cho would like him even more by comparison? 
The Fat Lady and her friend Vi were snoozing in the picture over the portrait hole. Harry had to yell “Fairy lights!” before he woke them up, and when he did, they were extremely irritated. He climbed into the common room and found Ron and Hermione having a blazing row. Standing ten feet apart, they were bellowing at each other, each scarlet in the face. 
“Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?” yelled Hermione; her hair was coming down out of its elegant bun now, and her face was screwed up in anger. 
“Oh yeah?” Ron yelled back. “What's that?” 
“Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!” 
Ron mouthed soundlessly like a goldfish out of water as Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the girls’ staircase to bed. Ron turned to look at Harry. 
“Well,” he sputtered, looking thunderstruck, “well - that just proves - completely missed the point -” 
Harry didn't say anything. He liked being back on speaking terms with Ron too much to speak his mind right now - but he somehow thought that Hermione had gotten the point much better than Ron had. 
尽管第四年假期会有大量沉重的功课，但当学期结束时，哈利却没有心情去做，而是把这圣诞前夕的一星期用来跟其他人尽情地玩乐。格林芬顿塔这时几乎与学期中一样热闹，同时弗来德和乔治的淡黄色奶油也已取得巨大的成功，因此在假期开始后的几天，人们不停地在这地方变成羽毛，然而不久，所有的格林芬顿人已学会用极其审慎的态度对待其他任何人给的食物，以防其中藏有淡黄色奶油。 
　　乔治向哈利透露说他和弗来德现在正致力于研究另外某种东西，哈利在心里下决心从今以后再不会接受弗来德和乔治所给的东西，即使是油炸蕃薯片。因为他仍然不能忘记达德里和他的长舌太妃糖。 
　　城堡和地上都下了厚厚一层雪，发蓝色的比斯贝顿马车看起来像一个大大的、寒冷的、结冰的南瓜一样停在那所铺满冰雪的姜饼面包房子旁——那是哈格力的小屋；而那艘丹姆斯安号船的舷窗被冰覆盖住了，装备上是雪白的冰，那些佣人小精灵在厨房里正抢着吃一堆丰富的，暖哄哄的炖菜和可口的布丁，只有芙璐·迪来高看起来好像在抱怨些什么了。 
　　“这些霍格瓦彻食物太油腻了！”当哈利一天晚上跟在她背后离开大厅时，听到她脾气暴躁地说，（罗恩躲在哈利的背后，极力避免被芙璐发现）。“我的礼裙都不合身了！” 
　　“噢，真是悲剧，”当芙璐走进入口大堂时荷米恩活泼地说，“她真的太顾着自己了，对吧？” 
　　“荷米恩，你将会跟谁一起去舞会？”罗恩问。 
　　他老对她提着这问题，希望用这来在她最意想不到时吓她一跳，然而，荷米恩只是微微皱眉说：“我不会告诉你，你只是捉弄我罢了。” 
　　“你开玩笑吧，威斯里，”马尔夫说，“你不打算告诉我有人已约了她？是不是臼齿长长的马德布莱吗？” 
　　哈利和罗恩一起缠着不放，但荷米恩却望过马尔夫的肩膀向别人打招呼：“您好，史纳皮教授！” 
　　马尔夫脸煞地白了并向后退了几步，疯狂地用目光搜寻史纳皮，而后者正在餐桌旁边，品尝着炖菜。 
　　“你是小侦探吗，马尔夫？”荷米恩伤人地说，然后她和哈利和罗恩一边上着大理石楼梯一面开怀大笑。 
　　“荷米恩，”罗恩在旁看着她，突然皱眉说，“你的牙……” 
　　“怎么了？”她说。 
　　“噢，很奇怪……我刚看到……” 
　　“当然了——难道你想我留着马尔夫给我的尖牙吗？” 
　　“不，我意思是……它们现在全部……直的而且——而且大小正常。” 
　　荷米恩突然很顽皮地咧嘴笑了，这时连哈利都注意了：那种笑容果然跟他所记得的不一样。 
　　“噢……当我跑去找波姆弗雷女士让她把它们收缩时，她举起一面镜子，并告诉我当它们变成正常的样子时让她停下来，”她说，“但我却——让她再继续一点，”她笑得更野了，“爸爸妈妈不会太高兴的，我已尽力说服他们让我收缩它们很久了，但他们想我继续戴牙齿矫正器，你知道的，他们俩是牙医，他们不认为牙齿跟魔法会——看！ 
　　皮威军的后面！“ 
　　罗恩的小猫头鹰在载满冰柱的栏杆上疯狂地格格地叫着，它的腿上缠着一卷羊皮纸。经过的人都指着它笑，一群三年级的女孩停下来说道：“噢，看看这只小猫头鹰多可爱！” 
　　“这只长着羽毛的蠢物！”罗恩责骂道，边登上楼梯边抓住皮威军，“把信送到收信人那儿去，别再到处出丑了！” 
　　皮威军把头从罗恩的拳头里伸出来，高兴地枭叫着。三年级的女孩们都很震惊。 
　　“快离开吧！”罗恩向她们催促道，挥动着手里抓着的皮威军。当它飞上天时，皮威军叫得比刚才更高兴了。“拿去吧，哈利。”当那群三年级的女生丢脸地怏怏离开后，罗恩小声地插话。他从皮威军的腿上取下西里斯的回信，哈利把它放进口袋里，然后两人赶回格林芬顿塔看信。 
　　在这所普通房子里，每个人都因忙于释放更多的假日水汽蒸汽而没有注意到其他人在做什么。哈利，罗恩和荷米恩分开坐在一扇总是铺满雪的黑色窗子旁边，然后哈利开始看信了：“亲爱的哈利：祝贺你打败号尾龙——这个把你的名字填在火杯名单上的人，无论是谁现在应该不会太快活了吧！我打算建议你用一种”去敌威特“咒语，因为龙的弱点在于它的眼睛——”这是克伦做到的！“荷米恩低语。 
　　——但我印像中，你的方法更好。 
　　但不要自满，哈利，你只完成一项任务，任何人都会把你交出来——如果他们想伤害你的话，因为比赛会得到更多的机会，把眼睛放亮点，尤其我们说的这个人在你左右时，——并且尽力让你自己避免陷入麻烦中。保持联络吧，我还想听到不寻常的事情。 
　　西里斯“ 
　　“他的语气听起来真像多比，”哈利平静地说着，把信折起来放进他的外套里，“经常保持警惕！他以为我是闭着眼睛撞上墙去……” 
　　“但他是对的，哈利，”荷米恩说，“你仍有两个任务要完成，你真的应该看一眼那只蛋，知道吧，然后开始想出它的意味……” 
　　“荷米恩，他上了年纪了，”罗恩催促着，“来一盘棋吧，哈利？” 
　　“噢，好的，”哈利说。在这时，他注意到荷米恩脸上的表情，他说，“快别这样，有这些嗓音干扰着我又怎么集中精神呢？在这地方我想不到这只蛋的暗示。” 
　　“噢，希望不是，”她叹气道，然后坐下看他们下棋，这场棋因为有罗恩这样一个令人兴奋的棋伴，加上一对不顾一切的勇敢的兵和一只十分凶狠的像，所以下得很精彩。哈利在圣诞节这天突然醒来，正想弄清楚是什么让他突然清醒过来，他睁开眼，看到在黑暗中有个巨大的，圆圆的，有着绿色眼睛的东西正盯着自己，近得几乎鼻子贴着鼻子。 
　　“多比，”哈利大喊，一边从这小精灵身边爬开，几乎跌下床，“不要这样！” 
　　“多比很抱歉，先生！”多比急忙吱吱地叫道，用他长长的手指捂住嘴巴向后退了一下，“多比只想祝愿哈利‘圣诞快乐’并带给他一份礼物，先生！哈利·波特说过多比能时常来看看他的，先生！” 
　　“没事的。”哈利说，喘气喘得比刚才更快，而心率恢复到正常，“只是刺激我，好吧，别像刚才那样弯身到我身上……” 
　　哈利把床帘拉开，从床头的桌子上拿回眼镜，然后戴上，他的大喊吵醒了罗恩、西摩斯、迪恩和尼维尔，他们全透过他们床帘的缝隙看出来，睡眼朦胧而且头发乱糟糟。 
　　“有人袭击你吗，哈利？”西摩斯困倦地问。 
　　“不是，多比而已，”哈利咕味着，“去睡吧。” 
　　“哪……礼物！”西摩斯注意到在床脚下有一大堆东西后说道。 
　　罗恩、迪恩和尼维尔决定既然他们已醒了，不如也下床去拆礼物吧。 
　　哈利转回向着多比，后者正紧张地站在哈利床边，依然担心着自己带给哈利的烦恼，在他的茶壶套的顶端的小孔里系着一根圣诞节的小玩意。 
　　“多比能够给哈利他的礼物吗？”它试探着说。 
　　“当然，”哈利说，“呃，我也有东西要送给你。” 
　　这只是谎话，他根本没买什么东西送给多比，但他以很快地动作打开他的皮箱，拿出一双起着非常多小疙瘩的短袜，它们是他所有短袜中最旧最脏的，是深黄色的曾经属于维能姨丈所有的。它们起着很多小疙瘩的原因是哈利这一年来用来垫他的帆鞋，他拿出帆鞋把短袜递给多比，说道，“对不起，我忘了把它们包起来……” 
　　但，多比绝对是高兴的。 
　　“短袜是多比最喜欢东西，先生！”它说，说着扯掉腿上残旧的那双，然后穿上维能姨丈的这双，“我现在有七双了，先生……但是，先生……”他说，而且眼睁得大大的，把两只袜子都拉得最高，好让它们伸到它的短裤的底部，“商店里的人弄错了，哈利·波特，他们给了你两只一模一样的！” 
　　“啊，不是吧，哈利，你怎么没有发现呀？”罗恩说，在他的床上咧嘴笑着，床上撒满了包装纸。“告诉你吧，多比，来这里拿上这两个，你可以很好地配搭着穿，这里还有一种套头毛衣。” 
　　他扔给多比一双还没包好的短袜和一件威斯里太太刚送的手织毛衣。 
　　多比陶醉在高兴里，“先生真是太好了！”它吱吱地说，眼眶盈着泪，向罗恩深深地鞠了一个躬，“多比知道先生一定会成为一位伟大的男巫的，因为他是哈利。波特先生伟大的朋友，但多比以前并不知道他同样是有着慷慨的精神，高尚的品质和无私。” 
　　“只是一双袜子而已嘛，”罗恩说，尽管看起来还是相当高兴，但耳朵却红透了，“哇，哈利——”他拆开哈利的礼物，是一顶酷得利加能帽子，“真帅！”他往他的头上塞，头发被碰撞得乱乱的。 
　　多比递给哈利一包东西，里面原来是一双短袜子。 
　　“它们是我亲手做的，先生！”这个小精灵高兴地说：“羊毛是我用自己的工钱买的，先生！” 
　　左边的短袜是鲜红色的，上面有着扫帚形状的图案；右边的那只是绿色的，有着小偷模样的图案。 
　　“他们……他们真的是……噢，谢谢你，多比。”哈利说，然后把袜子穿上，这使得多比的眼睛几乎涌出了眼泪。 
　　“多比得走了，先生，我们已经在厨房里做好早餐！”多比说着，匆匆走出了房间，经过时挥手向罗恩和其他人说再见。 
　　比起多比送来的那双奇怪的短袜，哈利对其他的礼物就满意得很，但是明显地除了杜斯利的那份，那是一个单人的薄织品，一种低价货——哈利猜他们送的是长舌太妃糖，荷米恩送给哈利一本《不列颠及爱尔兰的快迪斯队》，而罗恩呢，送了胀鼓鼓的一袋梳子，西里斯则送了一把手刀，上面还有着锁东西的和开锁的、拆东西和包扎东西的工具；而哈格力，送了一大盒糖果，全都是哈利的最爱——贝蒂。波特的什锦豆、巧克力青蛙糖，杜伯最美味的泡泡糖，还有聪明蜜蜂泡沫饮料，当然还有威斯里太太的那份，里面有一件新的套头毛衣（哈利想应该是查理告诉了她关于号尾龙的事）和很多家庭制作的小馅饼。 
　　哈利和罗恩在起居室里碰见荷米恩，然后一起去吃早餐，他们早上大部分时间都待在格林芬顿塔，那里每个人都在拆着礼物，然后回到大厅享受了一顿丰富的午餐，这顿午餐至少有火鸡和圣诞布了，和一大堆卷心菜和神奇的饼干。 
　　到下午，他们来到屋外，雪地并未被踏过，除了丹姆斯安和比尔贝顿的学生在去城堡的途中弄出了几道深深的沟痕，荷米恩宁愿呆在一旁看哈利和罗恩兄弟的雪球战也不愿参加。到五点钟时，她说要回到楼上去为舞会作好准备。 
　　“什么，你要三小时来作准备？”罗恩不可置信地看着她说，却没注意到这时，乔治扔来一个大雪球，罗恩的头重重挨了一击，“你跟谁一起去呀？”他向荷米恩大喊道，但她只是挥了挥手，然后消失在通往城堡的石梯的末端。 
　　今年圣诞节不会有茶会了，因为今晚的舞会中还会有盛宴。七点时，大家都难以看准对方了，其他人就让他们停止了这场雪战，然后一大群回到休息室，胖大婶摆着他的胖身体跟朋友维利坐在楼梯旁，两人都喝得很醉，巧克力利口酒的空瓶子乱七八糟地堆在她的画像的下面。 
　　“野兽打架嘛，就是这种了。”当大家说了口令。 
　　哈利，罗恩，西摩斯，迪思和尼维尔在他们的房间里换上了礼服。 
　　每个都显得很自信，却远远比不上罗恩。他在一个角落上对着一面长镜子，细细观察镜中的自己，脸上表请让人胆寒，没有人注意到其实他的礼服看起来更像一条裙子，为了使自己的衣服更显出自己的男子气概，他在领口和袖口处都喷了一种斯林牌的香水，效果不错，至少他不用扎领带，尽管他做了这件优雅的事，但衣服的边上依旧破得让人沮丧。 
　　他们边走下楼梯。 
　　“我还是搞不懂你们在一年里是怎么弄到这些漂亮的女孩的？” 
　　迪恩咕哝着。 
　　“动物的独有魅力嘛。”罗恩忧愁的说着，拔去袖口断掉的线。 
　　休息室里呈现一派怪怪的景像，挤满了穿着五颜六色的礼服的人，跟以往的一片黑色不一样。帕维提正在楼梯口等着哈利，她穿着粉红色礼服，用金线扎着辫子，手上戴着闪闪发光的手周，看起来相当漂亮。看到她没在傻笑，哈利松了一口气。 
　　“你，呃，看起来很漂亮。”他笨拙地说。 
　　“谢谢。”她说，“帕得玛会在门口大厅里等你！”她向罗恩说。 
　　“好的。”罗恩说着，四处张望，“荷米恩在哪儿？” 
　　帕维提耸耸肩说：“我们下去吧，哈利。” 
　　“好的。”哈利说。弗来德（经过哈利身旁向肖像的房子走去时） 
　　向他使了一个眼色。 
　　入口大厅里也全是学生，磨蹭着等着八点赶快到来，这时大厅的门开了，来自各个房间的人们挤进人群里互相寻找自己的舞伴，帕维提找到姐姐帕得玛，然后把她带到哈利跟前。 
　　“您好！”穿着鲜绿
Chapter 24,25
Chapter 24 Rita Skeeter's Scoop
Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again; she confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, “but it's way too much bother to do every day,” she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.
Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Ron and Harry wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did.
“Well, I thought he must be,” she said, shrugging. “I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible.…It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves.…It's just bigotry, isn't it?”
Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn't want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn't looking.
It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over - everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.
The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. He therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room - though he hadn't really expected that to help.
Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him, but his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to him that if Cedric had really wanted to give Harry a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. He, Harry, had told Cedric exactly what was coming in the first task - and Cedric's idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Harry to take a bath. Well, he didn't need that sort of rubbishy help - not from someone who kept walking down corridors hand in hand with Cho, anyway. And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too.
Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm them up nicely, either by chasing them, or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire.
When they arrived at Hagrid ‘s cabin, however, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.
“Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago,” she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow.
“Who're you?” said Ron, staring at her. “Where's Hagrid?”
“My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,” she said briskly. “I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.”
“Where's Hagrid?” Harry repeated loudly.
“He is indisposed,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.
Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry's ears. He turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.
“This way, please,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?
“What's wrong with Hagrid?” Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.
“Never you mind,” she said as though she thought he was being nosy.
“I do mind, though,” said Harry hotly. “What's up with him?”
Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led them past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.
Many of the girls “ooooohed!” at the sight of the unicorn.
“Oh it's so beautiful!” whispered Lavender Brown. “How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!”
The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.
“Boys keep back!” barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. “They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it.…”
She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot. Harry turned to Ron.
“What d'you reckons wrong with him? You don't think a skrewt -?”
“Oh he hasn't been attacked, Potter, if that's what you're thinking,” said Malfoy softly. “No, he's just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face.”
“What d'you mean?” said Harry sharply.
Malfoy put his hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded page of newsprint.
“There you go,” he said. “Hate to break it to you. Potter.…”
He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.
DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE
Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. 
Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. 
An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being “very frightening.” 
‘I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm,” says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. “We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything.” 
Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed “Blast-Ended Skrewts,” highly dangerous crosses between manti-cores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. 
“I was just having some fun,” he says, before hastily changing the subject. 
As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. 
Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. 
While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Frid-wulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. 
In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants. 
Harry finished reading and looked up at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open.
“How did she find out?” he whispered.
But that wasn't what was bothering Harry.
“What d'you mean, ‘we all hate Hagrid'?” Harry spat at Malfoy. “What's this rubbish about him” - he pointed at Crabbe - “getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven't even got teeth!”
Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.
“Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf's teaching career,” said Malfoy, his eyes glinting. “Half-giant…and there was me thinking he'd just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young.…None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all.…They'll be worried he'll eat their kids, ha, ha.…”
“You -”
“Are you paying attention over there?”
Professor Grubbly-Planks voice carried over to the boys; the girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. Harry was so angry that the Daily Prophet article shook in his hands as he turned to stare unseeingly at the unicorn, whose many magical properties Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too.
“I hope she stays, that woman!” said Parvati Patil when the lesson had ended and they were all heading back to the castle for lunch. “That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like…proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters.…”
“What about Hagrid?” Harry said angrily as they went up the steps.
“What about him?” said Parvati in a hard voice. “He can still be gamekeeper, can't he?”
Parvati had been very cool toward Harry since the ball. He supposed that he ought to have paid her a bit more attention, but she seemed to have had a good time all the same. She was certainly telling anybody who would listen that she had made arrangements to meet the boy from Beauxbatons in Hogsmeade on the next weekend trip.
“That was a really good lesson,” said Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. “I didn't know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni -”
“Look at this!” Harry snarled, and he shoved the Daily Prophet article under Hermione's nose.
Hermione's mouth fell open as she read. Her reaction was exactly the same as Ron's.
“How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don't think Hagrid told her?”
“No,” said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. “He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn't give her loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to get him back.”
“Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball,” said Hermione quietly.
“We'd have seen her in the garden!” said Ron. “Anyway, she's not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her.…”
“Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. “Sort of thing she'd do, isn't it, hide in bushes listening to people.”
“Like you and Ron did, you mean,” said Hermione.
“We weren't trying to hear him!” said Ron indignantly. “We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!”
“We've got to go and see him,” said Harry. “This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back…you do want him back?” he shot at Hermione.
“I - well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once - but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!” Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry's furious stare.
So that evening after dinner, the three of them left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. They knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered.
“Hagrid, it's us!” Harry shouted, pounding on the door. “Open up!”
Hagrid didn't answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.
“What's he avoiding us for?” Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. “He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?”
But it seemed that Hagrid did care. They didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity.
“Missing your half-breed pal?” he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry's retaliation. “Missing the elephant-man?”
There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going to go.
“I just thought you'd want to take advantage of the common room being quiet,” she said. “Really get to work on that egg.”
“Oh I - I reckon I've got a pretty good idea what it's about now,” Harry lied.
“Have you really?” said Hermione, looking impressed. “Well done!”
Harry's insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages…whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.
He, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.
“He's mad!” said Harry, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. “It must be freezing, it's January!”
“It's a lot colder where he comes from,” said Hermione. “I suppose it feels quite warm to him.”
“Yeah, but there's still the giant squid,” said Ron. He didn't sound anxious - if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned.
“He's really nice, you know,” she said. “He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me.”
Ron said nothing. He hadn't mentioned Viktor Krum since the ball, but Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes.
Harry kept his eyes skinned for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, and suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once he had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops.
The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry that Hagrid wasn't there. Heart sinking, he went up to the bar with Ron and Hermione, ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that he might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all.
“Doesn't he ever go into the office?” Hermione whispered suddenly. “Look!”
She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.
It was indeed odd. Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up.
“In a moment, in a moment!” Harry heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward Harry, his boyish grin back in place.
“Harry!” he said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”
“Fine, thanks,” said Harry.
“Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?” said Bagman eagerly. “You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you?”
“Er - okay,” said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table.
Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta.
“Well, I just thought I'd congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry,” said Bagman. “Really superb.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, but he knew this couldn't be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of Ron and Hermione. Bagman didn't seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes.
“Absolute nightmare,” said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins too. “Their English isn't too good…it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup…but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobblede-gook…and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means ‘pickax.’ I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them.”
He gave a short, booming laugh.
“What do they want?” Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.
“Er - well…” said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. “They…er…they're looking for Barty Crouch.”
“Why are they looking for him here?” said Harry. “He's at the Ministry in London, isn't he?”
“Er…as a matter of fact, I've no idea where he is,” said Bagman. “He's sort of…stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he's ill. Apparently he's just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone. Harry? Because Rita Skeeter's still poking around everywhere she can, and I'm willing to bet she'd work up Bartys illness into something sinister. Probably say he's gone missing like Bertha Jorkins.”
“Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Bagman, looking strained again. “I've got people looking, of course…” (About time, thought Harry) “and it's all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin's house to go south and see an aunt…and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she's got to…she doesn't seem the type to elope, for instance…but still.…What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you” - he lowered his voice - “how are you getting on with your golden egg?”
“Er…not bad,” Harry said untruthfully.
Bagman seemed to know he wasn't being honest.
“Listen, Harry,” he said (still in a very low voice), “I feel very bad about all this…you were thrown into this tournament, you didn't volunteer for it…and if…” (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) “if I can help at all…a prod in the right direction…I've taken a liking to you…the way you got past that dragon!…well, just say the word.”
Harry stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.
“We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?” he said, careful to keep his voice casual and not sound as though he was accusing the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.
“Well…well, yes,” said Bagman impatiently, “but - come on. Harry - we all want a Hogwarts victory, don't we?”
“Have you offered Cedric help?” Harry said.
The smallest of frowns creased Bagman's smooth face. “No, I haven't,” he said. “I - well, like I say, I've taken a liking to you. Just thought I'd offer…”
“Well, thanks,” said Harry, “but I think I'm nearly there with the egg…couple more days should crack it.”
He wasn't entirely sure why he was refusing Bagman's help, except that Bagman was almost a stranger to him, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius.
Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn't say much more as Fred and George turned up at that point.
“Hello, Mr. Bagman,” said Fred brightly. “Can we buy you a drink?”
“Er…no,” said Bagman, with a last disappointed glance at Harry, “no, thank you, boys…”
Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down badly.
“Well, I must dash,” he said. “Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry.”
He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin Ron and Hermione.
“What did he want?” Ron said, the moment Harry had sat down.
“He offered to help me with the golden egg,” said Harry.
“He shouldn't be doing that!” said Hermione, looking very shocked. “He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've already worked it out - haven't you?”
“Er…nearly,” said Harry.
“Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!” said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving. “I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!”
“He's not, I asked,” said Harry.
“Who cares if Diggory's getting help?” said Ron. Harry privately agreed.
“Those goblins didn't look very friendly,” said Hermione, sipping her butterbeer. “What were they doing here?”
“Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman,” said Harry. “He's still ill. Hasn't been into work.”
“Maybe Percy's poisoning him,” said Ron. “Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”
Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look, and said, “Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch.…They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”
“Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though,” said Harry. “Maybe they need an interpreter.”
“Worrying about poor ‘ickle goblins, now, are you?” Ron asked Hermione. “Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” said Hermione sarcastically. “Goblins don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?”
“No,” said Harry and Ron together.
“Well, the're quite capable of dealing with wizards,” said Hermione, taking another sip of butterbeer. “They're very clever. They're not like house-elves, who never stick up for themselves.”
“Uh-oh,” said Ron, staring at the door.
Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.
“…didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights…what nonsense…he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? ‘Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman…’ Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo - we just need to find a story to fit it -”
“Trying to ruin someone else's life?” said Harry loudly.
A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.
“Harry!” she said, beaming. “How lovely! Why don't you come and join-?”
“I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick,” said Harry furiously. “What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?”
Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.
“Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-”
“Who cares if he's half-giant?” Harry shouted. “There's nothing wrong with him!”
The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.
Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, “How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know. Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?”
Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.
“You horrible woman,” she said, through gritted teeth, “you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, wont they? Even Ludo Bagman -”
“Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand,” said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. “I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl…not that it needs it -” she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.
“Let's go,” said Hermione, “c'mon. Harry - Ron…”
They left; many people were staring at them as they went. Harry glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.
“She'll be after you next, Hermione,” said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.
“Let her try!” said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. “I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid…”
“You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter,” said Ron nervously. “I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you -”
“My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!” said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all Harry and Ron could do to keep up with her. The last time Harry had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. “And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!”
Breaking into a run, she led them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.
The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.
“Hagrid!” Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. “Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being -”
The door opened. Hermione said, “About it-!” and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.
“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.
“We er we wanted to see Hagrid,” said Hermione in a rather small voice.
“Yes, I surmised as much,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Why don't you come in?”
“Oh…um…okay,” said Hermione.
She, Ron, and Harry went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around.
Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.
“Hi, Hagrid,” said Harry.
Hagrid looked up.
“'Lo,” he said in a very hoarse voice.
“More tea, I think,” said Dumbledore, closing the door behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, “Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?”
Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, “Hermione, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door.”
“Of course we still want to know you!” Harry said, staring at Hagrid. “You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry, Professor,” he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.
“I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said. Harry,” said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.
“Er-right,” said Harry sheepishly. “I just meant-Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that-woman-wrote about you?”
Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.
“Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. “I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it -”
“Not all of ‘em,” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Not all of ‘em wan me ter stay.”
“Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time,” said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. “Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?”
“Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!” said Hagrid croakily.
“Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!” Harry said furiously. “Look at the Dursleys!”
“An excellent point,” said Professor Dumbledore. “My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery….”
“Come back and teach, Hagrid,” said Hermione quietly, “please come back, we really miss you.”
Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.
Dumbledore stood up. “I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday,” he said. “You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.”
Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fangs ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, “Great man, Dumbledore…great man.…”
“Yeah, he is,” said Ron. “Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?”
“Help yerself,” said Hagrid, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “Ar, he's righ', o’ course - yeh're all righ'…I bin stupid…my ol’ dad woulda bin ashamed o’ the way I've bin behavin'.…” More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, “Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here…”
Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth - he looked hardly older than eleven.
“Tha was taken jus’ after I got inter Hogwarts,” Hagrid croaked. “Dad was dead chuffed…thought I migh’ not be a wizard, see, ‘cos me mum…well, anyway. ‘Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really…but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year.…”
“Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job…trusts people, he does. Gives ‘em second chances…tha's what sets him apar’ from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'…well…all tha’ respectable. But some don understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh…there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an’ say - I am what I am, an’ I'm not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin’ with.’ An’ he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin’ with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones…I'll give her big bones.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another nervously; Harry would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that he had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime, but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.
“Yeh know wha, Harry?” he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, “when I firs’ met you, you reminded me o’ me a bit. Mum an’ Dad gone, an’ you was feelin’ like yeh wouldn’ fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it…an’ now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!”
He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, “Yeh know what I'd love. Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show ‘em all…yeh don’ have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show ‘em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin’ anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin’ with that egg, Harry?”
“Great,” said Harry. “Really great.”
Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile.
“Tha's my boy…you show ‘em, Harry, you show ‘em. Beat ‘em all.”
Lying to Hagrid wasn't quite like lying to anyone else. Harry went back to the castle later that afternoon with Ron and Hermione, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid's whiskery face as he had imagined Harry winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on Harry's conscience that evening, and by the time he had got into bed, he had made up his mind - it was time to shelve his pride and see if Cedric's hint was worth anything.
　　到了第二天，所有的人都起得很晚。格林芬顿大房间里来也静了下来，那些无精打采的谈话不时地被哈欠打断。荷米恩的头发又乱得像草丛，她向哈利解释说为了参加舞会，她用了大量的定型发水，但如果每天都这样做的话就太麻烦了。她一边说一边把一卷发拨到耳后。
　　罗恩和荷米恩此时似乎心领神会，谁也不再争吵了。虽然之前他们相处得一团糟，但现在两人对彼此都很友好。一见到荷米恩，罗恩和哈利就抢着告诉她两人偷听到的玛西姆夫人和哈格力的谈话。然而荷米恩听到哈格力是半个巨人时，她似乎并不像罗恩那样惊奇。
　　“既然这样，我想他一定是吧。”她耸耸肩说，“我知道他一定不是个真正的巨人，因为他们有二十英尺。不过说实话，这些巨人的歇斯底里不会全都是那么可怕的，这只不过是人们的偏见罢了，就好像他们对在月圆之夜会变狼的人的偏见一样，对吗？”
　　罗恩似乎想给她苛刻的反驳，但他觉得摇头就足以表达他的不赞同了，所以就没说什么，可能他不想引起另一场争吵吧。
　　眼看二月二十四日一天天地逼近，可他却没能从金蛋里找到半点线索。每当他走进宿舍，他就把金蛋从大皮箱里拿出来打开，全神贯注地看着它，心里希望会有一点头绪。他使劲地回想除了这三十种像音乐般拉扯的声音，是否还有别的声音，但是，什么也听不到。无奈，他只好把蛋合上，用力摇一遍后再打开，想要找出声音的变化。他还试着大声提问金蛋，又哭又喊，可是一点作用也没有。他甚至把蛋在屋里扔来扔去，虽然他并不希望这样做会有一点点帮助。
　　哈利没有忘记塞德里克给他的忠告。不过，只要可以不用，哈利是不会接受塞德里克的忠告的，因为他不怎么喜欢塞德里克。无论如何，如果塞德里克真的想帮他的话，就应该把话说清楚一点。
　　他，哈利，早就告诉塞德里克第一个任务将会有些什么了。可是塞德里克以要求哈利洗一个澡作交换的条件。哼，他才不要一个老是和卓牵着手在走廊里荡来荡去的人的忠告呢。不知不觉，新学期又到了。哈利像往常一样，背着重重的书、羊皮纸和笔上学，不过，那只蛋的问题还是缠着他，像那些书、纸一样沉沉地压在他身上。
　　大地上的积雪依然很厚，温室的窗全都蒙上了一层水蒸气，从草药室往外看，什么也看不到。罗恩没有去注意听魔法生灵的保护这门课，而是注意天气去了。
　　当他们走到哈格力的小屋时，他们看见一个披着浓密友发，下巴凸出的老巫婆站在小屋的前门。
　　当他们艰难地在雪地里一步步地向她走过去时，那女人大声地吼道：“快点，铃在五分钟以前就响过了。”
　　“你是谁？”罗恩瞪着她说，“哈格力哪去了？”
　　“我是格兰比。朋克教授，”她简短地说，“是暂时教你们魔法动物保护的老师。”
　　“哈格力去哪了？”荷米恩大声地重复了一遍。
　　“他身体不舒服。”格兰比。朋克教授说。
　　一阵令人讨厌的笑声传到荷米恩耳朵里，他一转身，看到杰高。马尔夫和史林德林的其他学生正走过来。看到格兰比。朋克教授，他们一点也不感到奇怪，反而看上去还很高兴。
　　“走这边。”格兰比。朋克教授带着他们绕过小围场。那里有几匹比尔贝顿马在冷得打颤。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩一边跟着她，一边回过头来望着哈格力的小屋。小屋所有的窗帘都拉下了。哈格力在里面吗？他是病了还是一个人在里面呢？
　　“哈格力生了什么病？”哈利赶上格兰比。朋克教授问道。
　　“这个你不用管。”她说，看上去她觉得哈利很烦人。
　　“我要管。”哈利热切地说，“他到底是怎么了？”
　　格兰比。朋克教授装作没听见，她领着他们走过小围场，围场里的比克斯贝克顿斯马正在树林边上的一棵树下挤在一起取暖，在那棵树下，拴着一只美丽的独角兽。
　　女孩们看到那只独角兽，都“哇嘿”、“哇嘿”地叫起来。
　　“啊，它多漂亮啊！”莱文敦。布朗喃喃自语地说，“她是怎样逮到这只独角兽的呢！要知道，它们可是很难逮的呀！”
　　那独角兽白得如此耀眼，以至于周围的雪在它的对照下看起来像灰色了。它用金色的蹄子紧张地踏着土地，长着角的头不屈地甩来甩去。
　　“男孩们都回来！”格兰比。朋克教授大声喊道，伸出手一把抓住哈利。“独角兽喜欢女性摸它们，女孩子们走上前去，小心点。
　　来，别紧张。“
　　她和女孩们慢慢地靠近独角兽，留下一群男孩站在围场的篱笆旁瞪眼看着。
　　正在这个时候，哈利转身对罗恩说：“你估计他发生了什么事呢？你不会认为是一个史库斯——？”
　　“噢，他没有被人袭击，并非像你想的那样。”马尔夫轻轻地说，“他只不过是为他那张又大又丑的脸感到羞耻，不敢出现见人罢了。”
　　“这话是什么意思。”哈利尖声说。
　　马尔夫把手伸进罩衫口袋里，摸出一张折好的剪报。
　　“看这个，”他说，“我不想向你透露的，波特……”
　　他得意地笑着。哈利接过纸打开读起来。罗恩、西摩斯、迪恩和尼维尔都探过头来看，这是一篇附带照片的文章，照片中的哈格力看上去很狡诈。
　　丹伯多犯了大错特约记者理特。史姬特报导——霍格瓦彻学校，一所培养魔法人才的学校，其古怪校长艾伯斯。丹伯多，从来不害怕雇用一些有争议的职员。今年九月，他雇用声名狼藉的的“魔眼”莫迪担任防黑巫术课的教授，这个决定使魔法界大吃一惊，因为谁都知道莫迪有这样一个习惯：只要他在场，无论谁突然乱动，他都会袭击那个人。不过，刚开始接受教授职位时，“魔眼”莫迪看上去还算负责和平易近人。
　　曾经承认在教到第三年就遭到驱赶的霍格瓦彻学校教师哈格力，在丹伯多校长的提供下，早就得到一个职位。但是，去年哈格力就利用校长的影响力，又获得了担任“魔法动物保护学”教授的职位，完全不理会当时众多的更有资格的应征者。
　　凭着新到手的权利，再加上一副凶神恶煞的模样，哈格力曾接二连三地用怪物恐吓他的学生。到目前为止，已有多名学生承认哈格力在上课时使许多同学致残。而丹伯多对这些情况却睁一只眼闭一只眼。
　　“我曾经被一只希皮格利狒袭击过，我朋友卫森。克来伯则被一只弗伯乌特狠狠咬过。”杰高。马尔夫，一个四年级学生说，“我们恨透了哈格力，但我们都很害怕他，所以我们什么也不敢说。”
　　哈格力并不打算停止他的恐吓战。相反，上个月在与一个先知日报的记者的谈话中，他承认正在饲养“尾巴燃火的史库斯”，一种介于螳螂和火蟹之间的高度危险的动物。培育新品种无庸置疑要在学校部门的严格监控下进行，以保证对麾法动物的控制和规范。
　　但是，哈格力似乎认为他可以超越这些管制。
　　“我只不过是对此感兴趣罢了。”他说，然后就很快地转移话题。
　　似乎这些还不足以证明哈格力不是个纯血统的男巫，《先知日报》现在正把越来越多的证据公之于众，以揭发哈格力。他不是个男巫，甚至不是一个真正的人，他妈妈，我们可以排斥地说，只不过是个叫弗利乌法巨人，没有人知道她的下落。
　　这些嗜血成性、残忍的巨人由于在上个世纪发生内战，现在正濒临绝种。剩下的都成了无名氏，他们都是一些应该为其在暴政时期的屠杀行为负责任的暴徒。
　　许多为‘那个人’服务的巨人被奥挪士杀死，但弗利乌法不在其中。她可能逃到其他山脉，加入了别的巨人集团。然而，从哈格力在教学中表现出的暴戾行为来看，弗利乌法的这个儿子看来已经继承了她的残忍的本性。
　　在另一方面，哈格力和那本《你知道谁将垮台》的作者却是亲密的朋友。这一来就为他妈妈的躲藏找到了保护伞。也许哈利•波特并不知道这个关于他的巨人朋友的不愉快的事实。——但艾伯斯。丹伯多有责任确保哈利•波特和其他的学生明白和这个半巨人相处的危险性。
　　哈利读完后抬头看着罗恩，发现他嘴巴张得大大的。
　　“她是怎么找到的？”罗恩悄悄地说。
　　但这并不是哈利所关心的。
　　“我们都恨透了哈格力，你这是什么意思？”哈利向马尔夫唾了一口。然后指着克来伯说道：“瞧这些垃圾——被一只‘弗伯乌特’狠狠咬了一口！它们连牙齿也没有呢。”
　　克来伯痴痴地暗笑，很明显，他非常满意自己的杰作。
　　“太棒了，我想这白痴的教书生涯要因此结束啦。”马尔夫两眼发光地说，“半巨人——我猜他年轻时一定喝了一瓶史哥利高。根本没有父母会喜欢这个的，他们会担心他吃了他们的孩子，哈哈……”
　　“你们在用心看吗？”
　　格兰比。朋克教授的声音传过来。女孩们现在都围着独角兽抚摸它。哈利生气得连握纸的手都颤抖了，他转过身看着独角兽，实际上他什么也看不到。而格兰比。朋克教授正大声数着独角兽身上的魔性，好让那些男孩们也能听到。
　　“我希望她会留下来教我们，那个女人。”当下了课后孩子们回城堡吃午饭时，帕沃提。帕提说，“她上的魔法动物保护课比我想象的好多了。这种课就应该有相应的动物，比如独角兽，而不是怪物。”
　　“那哈格力怎么办？”哈利生气地说。
　　“他？”帕维提生硬地说，“他可以继续做他的猎物看守人，不是吗？”
　　自从舞会以后，帕维提就对哈利很冷淡。他想他本应该多照顾她的，不过她看上去也玩得很开心呀。她当时还兴高采烈地告诉别人关于她如何安排下周末赴那个比尔贝顿男孩的约会呢。
　　“这真是很精彩的一节课，”荷米恩说。他们边走进了大厅。
　　“在格兰比。朋克教授告诉我之前，我一点也不知道独角……”
　　“看看这个吧。”哈利打断她，把那篇文章在她鼻子底下扬了扬。
　　荷米恩读了那篇文章，她的反应就和罗恩一样。“那个可怕的史姬特女人是怎么知道的？你不会认为这是哈格力告诉她的吧？”
　　“不。”哈利走到桌子旁，气鼓鼓地一屁股坐在椅子上。“他没跟我们说曾经告诉她，对吗？我猜她一定是因为哈格力不肯告诉她我的情况而气疯了，所以才去搜查哈格力的资料来报复他。”
　　“也许是她在舞会上听到了他和玛西姆夫人的谈话。”荷米恩平静地说。
　　“我们在花园里没看见过她！”罗恩说，“总之，她不可以再来学校了。哈格力说校长已禁止她……”
　　“也许她当时穿了隐身衣，躲在暗处偷听人们讲话。她最拿手做这种事情了，不是吗？”哈利盛了一碟鸡汤，由于生气，他把汤溅得到处都是。
　　“就像你和罗恩做得那样吗？”荷米恩说。
　　“我们没有偷听。”罗恩愤愤地说，“我们没办法呀！那白痴当时谈到他妈妈时声音响得每个人都能听到。”
　　“我们必须去看看他。”哈利说，“今晚占卜课后就去。告诉他我们都想他回来……你一定想他回来的，是吗？”他看着荷米恩。
　　“我——好吧，上了一节这么生动的课，我可不会假装其中什么好的变化也没有，不过，我当然希望哈格力会回来。”荷米恩由于畏惧哈利的目光，她于是赶紧补充了几句。
　　所以晚餐过后，他们三个离开城堡，穿过冰封的雪地又来到了哈格力的小屋，他们敲了门，回答他们的只有猎犬弗兰的吠声。
　　“哈格力，是我们，快开门。”哈利一边喊一边略步地敲着门。
　　哈格力没有出来开门。他们听见弗兰在用爪子抓门板，哀号着，可门就是不开。他们锤打着门板，罗恩甚至撞玻璃窗，十分多钟过去了，里边毫无动静。
　　“他为什么躲着我们呢？他应该知道我们不会介意他是半巨人啊。”荷米恩说，他们最终还是放弃，失望地回学校了。
　　可哈格力似乎在意他们知道。他已经一个星期没露面了，饭桌上看不到他，操场上也不见这个猎物守护人。格兰比。朋克教授继续代课。马尔夫一有机会就幸灾乐祸。
　　“在想你的混血儿朋友吗？”他不断地在哈利耳边说，只要不远处有老师在，这样他就不怕哈利会报复他了。
　　一月中旬有个访问霍格马得的活动，荷米恩很奇怪哈利居然也去了。
　　“我还以为你会趁房间没人在时，好好地研究那只蛋呢。”她说。
　　“我，唔，我已知道那蛋的秘密了。”哈利撒谎道。
　　“真的吗？”荷米恩钦佩地说道，“做得好。”
　　哈利心里有点内疚，但他很快就忽略了，他还有五个星期的时间呢，这可是很长的一段时间呢。而且如果他遇到哈格力，他也许会遇见的，这样他就有机会劝他回来了。
　　他和罗恩还有荷米恩在星期六一起离开了学校，穿过又冷又湿的操场，走出校门，出发了。当他们走到泊在湖边的丹姆斯安船时，正好看到维特。克伦从甲板上走出来，他只穿着游泳衣，很瘦，不过明显比平时看上去要强壮很多。只见他举起双手，纵身一跃，跳进湖中。
　　“他一定是疯了。现在可是一月啊，水都结冰了。”哈利盯着克伦露出水面的头说。
　　“他家乡比这里要冷多了，”荷米恩说，“我猜他现在觉得就像春天一样暖和。”
　　“对，我想水里还有大乌贼。”罗恩满怀希望，但不紧不慢地说。荷米恩听出了他的语气，皱了皱眉头。
　　“他是个很可爱的人，”她说，“完全不是你想的那样，他更喜欢这儿，这是他亲口对我说的。”
　　罗恩不再说什么了。自从舞会以后，他绝口不提维特。克伦。
　　可是哈利在比赛那天在床底下发现一只小手臂，看上去就像是从穿着保加利罗罩衫的模特身上扯下来的一样。
　　哈利在满是积雪的大街上仔细留意着哈格力的踪影，当他确定哈格力不在任何一间商店里时，他建议再去三扫帚酒吧看看。
　　酒吧拥挤如常，但哈利只扫了全场一眼，就知道哈格力也不在这了。失望中，他和两个伙伴走近柜台，叫了三杯黄油啤酒。早知如此，他就留在宿舍里研究那只蛋了。
　　“难道他不会在办公室里吗？”荷米恩突然说，“看！”她指着柜台后面的镜子，镜子里倒映出露得。巴格蒙的身影，他正和一群恶鬼，坐在阴暗角落里呢。巴格蒙说话声又低又快，可那些恶鬼两手叉在胸前，样子恶狠狠的。
　　太奇怪了，巴格蒙居然会在一个没有“三男巫”事件发生的周末呆在酒吧里，他为什么在这呢？哈利心想。他看着镜子，只见巴格蒙看上去很紧张，就像那晚墨马克在树林里出现之前一样，就在这时，巴格蒙朝柜台这边看过来，发现哈利，于是站了起来。
　　“等一下，等一下。”哈利听见他粗鲁地对那些恶鬼说，等他快步走近柜台，哈利又听到了他那男孩般的笑声。
　　“哈利，你好吗？我早就想见到你了，一切都好吧？”
　　“很好，谢谢。”哈利说。
　　“我可以单独和你们说几句话吗？”巴格蒙热切地说，“你们两个离开几分钟，可以吧？”
　　“好的。”罗恩回答道，他和荷米恩另外找了张桌子坐下来。
　　巴格蒙又把哈利带到吧头的尽头，这里是离罗斯玛特夫人最远的了。
　　“我想我应该再次祝贺你对抗号尾龙的精彩表演，真是太出色了。”巴格蒙说。
　　“谢谢。”哈利说，但他知道巴格蒙想要说的一定不止这些，因为称赞他也可以在两个同伴面前称赞呀，干吗支开他们呢？然而巴格蒙着上去并不急着一吐为快，虽然哈利注意到他不时地朝镜子里看，而那些恶鬼也正在黑暗中朝他使眼色。
　　“真是恶梦。”巴格蒙注意到哈利正朝那边看时，压低噪音对哈利说：“他们英语说得不好……好在他们会指头划脚地补充。这群家伙老是用歌宝德克语说话。可我只知道其中一个词，意思是操斧子，我不喜欢用它以免他们认为我威胁他们。”他发出低而沉的笑声。
　　“他们想干什么？”哈利问道。
　　“呃，这个……”巴格蒙突然看上去有点紧张，“他们……他们正在找克劳斯。巴地。”
　　“为什么找到这来了？他不是在伦敦当牧师吗？”
　　“呃……事实上我也不知道他在哪，”巴格蒙说，“他有点……
　　不大来上班了。已经几个星期没看到他了。他的助手小伯希说他病了。表面上他已经叫猫头鹰去送指示了。但是哈利，你别把这些告诉别人好吗？因为理特。史姬特正到处打听他下落，我敢打保票她会把巴地生病吹嘘成是凶兆，或者说他像珀茜•佐金斯一样失踪了。“
　　“你有珀茜•佐金斯的消息吗？”
　　“没有。”巴格蒙又重新紧张起来，“我已派人找她了，不过事情很奇怪，她肯定已到了阿尔巴尼亚，因为她要看她的二表姐，然后离开表姐家，去南边看姨妈，后来就在路上失踪了。让我往下想想看她会去哪里，她不像是那种跟别人私奔的人……但是……我们在干吗？干吗谈论恶鬼和珀茜•佐金斯呢？我其实很想问你。”他压低声音说，“那金蛋怎么样了？”
　　“呃，不错。”哈利撒谎说。
　　巴格蒙似乎看出他的不老实。
　　“听着，哈利，”他仍然很小声，“我对这一切感觉不是很好，你已经被卷入这场竞赛了，尽管你不情愿，但如果……如果我能帮忙的话……给你指个方向……我是偏向你的……就是那条你超过那条龙的路，好了，就这些了。”
　　哈利看着他圆圆的脸和那两只像孩子似的蓝眼睛。
　　“我们会在蛋里找到线索的，对吗？”他尽量说得很随便。
　　“行，行。”巴格蒙有点不耐烦了，“我们都想要一个霍格瓦彻式的胜利，是吗？”
　　“你帮过塞德里克吗？”哈利问道。
　　巴格蒙光滑的脸此时皱了起来。
　　“没有，我，我是说，我是偏向你的，我只想帮你一个……”
　　“那样的话，太谢谢你了。不过我想那蛋再过几天就会裂开的。”
　　他不知道是否接受巴格蒙的帮助，对他来说巴格蒙还是个陌生人呢，而且如果接受的话，他会觉得欺骗了他的同伴。
　　巴格蒙看上去有点不高兴。就在这时，弗来德和乔治出现了，巴格蒙于是不再说什么。
　　“你好，巴格蒙先生，能赏脸喝杯酒吗？”弗来德高兴地说。
　　“不了，谢谢你，伙计。”巴格蒙最后失望地瞟了一眼哈利。
　　弗来德和乔治也同样失望，他们看着哈利，好像是他令他们失望似的。
　　“好了，我该走了。很高兴见到你，哈利，祝你好运。”巴格蒙匆匆走出酒吧，那几只妖怪也站起来，跟着他出去了。哈利走到罗恩和荷米恩坐的那张桌子。
　　“他想干吗？”罗恩问道。
　　“想帮我关于金蛋的事。”哈利回答道。
　　“他不应该这么做的。”荷米恩吃惊地说，“他可是裁判之一呢，而且，你已经找到线索了，是吗？”
　　“呃，差不多吧。”哈利说。
　　“我想丹伯多如果知道巴格蒙偷偷帮你的话，他一定会很生气的，但愿他也这样帮塞德里克吧。”
　　“他不会的，我问过他。”
　　“谁在乎他帮不帮迪格瑞呀？”罗恩说，哈利同意地点了点头。
　　“那几只恶鬼看上去都不友善。他们在这干吗？”荷米恩呷了一口啤酒说道。
　　“巴格蒙说他们在找克劳斯。他病了，一个星期没上班。”哈利说。
　　“也许伯希把他毒死了，这样他就能坐上国际魔法合作部的部长位置了。”罗恩说。
　　荷米恩瞪了他一眼，埋怨他不该开这样的玩笑，说：“真有趣，几只恶鬼在找克劳斯，他们应该和魔法动物监控局的人打交道才对。”
　　“克劳斯会说好几种语言，也许恶鬼们找他是为了让他当翻译。”哈利说。
　　“你在担心可怜的精灵吗？”罗恩问荷米恩，“是不是想成立个社团保护他们呢？”
　　“哈哈，精灵才用不
Chapter 26 The Second Task
“You said you'd already worked out that egg clue!” said Hermione indignantly. 
“Keep your voice down!” said Harry crossly. “I just need to - sort of fine-tune it, all right?” 
He, Ron, and Hermione were sitting at the very back of the Charms class with a table to themselves. They were supposed to be practicing the opposite of the Summoning Charm today - the Banishing Charm. Owing to the potential for nasty accidents when objects kept flying across the room. Professor Flitwick had given each student a stack of cushions on which to practice, the theory being that these wouldn't hurt anyone if they went off target. It was a good theory, but it wasn't working very well. Neville's aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room - Professor Flitwick, for instance. 
“Just forget the egg for a minute, all right?” Harry hissed as Professor Flitwick went whizzing resignedly past them, landing on top of a large cabinet. “I'm trying to tell you about Snape and Moody.…” 
This class was an ideal cover for a private conversation, as everyone was having far too much fun to pay them any attention. Harry had been recounting his adventures of the previous night in whispered installments for the last half hour. 
“Snape said Moody's searched his office as well?” Ron whispered, his eyes alight with interest as he Banished a cushion with a sweep of his wand (it soared into the air and knocked Parvati's hat off). “What…d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?” 
“Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it,” said Harry, waving his wand without paying much attention, so that his cushion did an odd sort of belly flop off the desk. “Moody said Dumbledore only lets Snape stay here because he's giving him a second chance or something.…” 
“What?” said Ron, his eyes widening, his next cushion spinning high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier, and dropping heavily onto Flitwick's desk. “Harry…maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name in the Goblet of Fire!” 
“Oh Ron,” said Hermione, shaking her head sceptically, “we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving Harry's life, remember?” 
She Banished a cushion and it flew across the room and landed in the box they were all supposed to be aiming at. Harry looked at Hermione, thinking…it was true that Snape had saved his life once, but the odd thing was, Snape definitely loathed him, just as he'd loathed Harry's father when they had been at school together. Snape loved taking points from Harry, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give him punishments, or even to suggest that he should be suspended from the school. 
“I don't care what Moody says,” Hermione went on. “Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to trust Hagrid and Professor Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if Snape is a bit -” 
“- evil,” said Ron promptly. “Come on, Hermione, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office, then?” 
“Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?” said Hermione, ignoring Ron. “Its a bit funny, isn't it, that he cant manage to come to the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?” 
“You just don't like Crouch because of that elf, Winky,” said Ron, sending a cushion soaring into the window. 
“You just want to think Snape's up to something,” said Hermione, sending her cushion zooming neatly into the box. 
“I just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he's on his second one,” said Harry grimly, and his cushion, to his very great surprise, flew straight across the room and landed neatly on top of Hermione's. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Obedient to Sirius's wish of hearing about anything odd at Hogwarts, Harry sent him a letter by brown owl that night, explaining all about Mr. Crouch breaking into Snape's office, and Moody and Snape's conversation. Then Harry turned his attention in earnest to the most urgent problem facing him: how to survive underwater for an hour on the twenty-fourth of February. 
Ron quite liked the idea of using the Summoning Charm again - Harry had explained about Aqua-Lungs, and Ron couldn't see why Harry shouldn't Summon one from the nearest Muggle town. Hermione squashed this plan by pointing out that, in the unlikely event that Harry managed to learn how to operate an Aqua-Lung within the set limit of an hour, he was sure to be disqualified for breaking the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy - it was too much to hope that no Muggles would spot an Aqua-Lung zooming across the countryside to Hogwarts. 
“Of course, the ideal solution would be for you to Transfigure yourself into a submarine or something,” Hermione said. “If only we'd done human Transfiguration already! But I don't think we start that until sixth year, and it can go badly wrong if you don't know what you're doing.…” 
“Yeah, I don't fancy walking around with a periscope sticking out of my head,” said Harry. “I s'pose I could always attack someone in front of Moody; he might do it for me.…” 
“I don't think he'd let you choose what you wanted to be turned into, though,” said Hermione seriously. “No, I think your best chance is some sort of charm.” 
So Harry, thinking that he would soon have had enough of the library to last him a lifetime, buried himself once more among the dusty volumes, looking for any spell that might enable a human to survive without oxygen. However, though he, Ron, and Hermione searched through their lunchtimes, evenings, and whole weekends - though Harry asked Professor McGonagall for a note of permission to use the Restricted Section, and even asked the irritable, vulture-like librarian. Madam Pince, for help - they found nothing whatsoever that would enable Harry to spend an hour underwater and live to tell the tale. 
Familiar flutterings of panic were starting to disturb Harry now, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate in class again. The lake, which Harry had always taken for granted as just another feature of the grounds, drew his eyes whenever he was near a classroom window, a great, iron-gray mass of chilly water, whose dark and icy depths were starting to seem as distant as the moon. 
Just as it had before he faced the Horntail, time was slipping away as though somebody had bewitched the clocks to go extra-fast. There was a week to go before February the twenty-fourth (there was still time)…there were five days to go (he was bound to find something soon)…three days to go (please let me find something…please)… 
With two days left. Harry started to go off food again. The only good thing about breakfast on Monday was the return of the brown owl he had sent to Sirius. He pulled off the parchment, unrolled it, and saw the shortest letter Sirius had ever written to him. 
Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl. Harry turned the parchment over and looked at the back, hoping to see something else, but it was blank. 
“Weekend after next,” whispered Hermione, who had read the note over Harry's shoulder. “Here - take my quill and send this owl back straight away.” 
Harry scribbled the dates down on the back of Sirius's letter, tied it onto the brown owl's leg, and watched it take flight again. What had he expected? Advice on how to survive underwater? He had been so intent on telling Sirius all about Snape and Moody he had completely forgotten to mention the egg's clue. 
“What's he want to know about the next Hogsmeade weekend for?” said Ron. 
“Dunno,” said Harry dully. The momentary happiness that had flared inside him at the sight of the owl had died. “Come on…Care of Magical Creatures.” 
Whether Hagrid was trying to make up for the Blast-Ended Skrewts, or because there were now only two skrewts left, or because he was trying to prove he could do anything that Professor Grubbly-Plank could. Harry didnt know, but Hagrid had been continuing her lessons on unicorns ever since he'd returned to work. It turned out that Hagrid knew quite as much about unicorns as he did about monsters, though it was clear that he found their lack of poisonous fangs disappointing. 
Today he had managed to capture two unicorn foals. Unlike full-grown unicorns, they were pure gold. Parvati and Lavender went into transports of delight at the sight of them, and even Pansy Parkinson had to work hard to conceal how much she liked them. 
“Easier ter spot than the adults,” Hagrid told the class. “They turn silver when they're abou’ two years old, an’ they grow horns at aroun four. Don’ go pure white till they're full grown, ‘round about seven. They're a bit more trustin’ when they're babies…don’ mind boys so much.…C'mon, move in a bit, yeh can pat ‘em if yeh want…give ‘em a few o’ these sugar lumps.… 
“You okay. Harry?” Hagrid muttered, moving aside slightly, while most of the others swarmed around the baby unicorns. 
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Jus’ nervous, eh?” said Hagrid. 
“Bit,” said Harry. 
“Harry,” said Hagrid, clapping a massive hand on his shoulder, so that Harry's knees buckled under its weight, “I'd've bin worried before I saw yeh take on tha Horntail, but I know now yeh can do anythin’ yeh set yer mind ter. I'm not worried at all. Yeh're goin ter be fine. Got yer clue worked out, haven’ yeh?” 
Harry nodded, but even as he did so, an insane urge to confess that he didn't have any idea how to survive at the bottom of the lake for an hour came over him. He looked up at Hagrid - perhaps he had to go into the lake sometimes, to deal with the creatures in it? He looked after everything else on the grounds, after all - 
“Yeh're goin’ ter win,” Hagrid growled, patting Harry's shoulder again, so that Harry actually felt himself sink a couple of inches into the soft ground. “I know it. I can feel it. Yeh're goin’ ter win, Harry.” 
Harry just couldn't bring himself to wipe the happy, confident smile off Hagrid's face. Pretending he was interested in the young unicorns, he forced a smile in return, and moved forward to pat them with the others. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
By the evening before the second task. Harry felt as though he were trapped in a nightmare. He was fully aware that even if, by some miracle, he managed to find a suitable spell, he'd have a real job mastering it overnight. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he got to work on the egg's clue sooner? Why had he ever let his mind wander in class - what if a teacher had once mentioned how to breathe underwater? 
He sat with Hermione and Ron in the library as the sun set outside, tearing feverishly through page after page of spells, hidden from one another by the massive piles of books on the desk in front of each of them. Harry's heart gave a huge leap every time he saw the word “water” on a page, but more often than not it was merely “Take two pints of water, half a pound of shredded mandrake leaves, and a newt…” 
“I don't reckon it can be done,” said Ron's voice flatly from the other side of the table. “There's nothing. Nothing. Closest was that thing to dry up puddles and ponds, that Drought Charm, but that was nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake.” 
“There must be something,” Hermione muttered, moving a candle closer to her. Her eyes were so tired she was poring over the tiny print of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes with her nose about an inch from the page. “They'd never have set a task that was undoable.” 
“They have,” said Ron. “Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, right, stick your head in, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out. Best you can do, mate.” 
“There's a way of doing it!” Hermione said crossly. “There just has to be!” 
She seemed to be taking the library's lack of useful information on the subject as a personal insult; it had never failed her before. 
“I know what I should have done,” said Harry, resting, face-down, on Saucy Tricks for Tricky Sorts. “I should've learned to be an Animagus like Sirius.” 
An Animagus was a wizard who could transform into an animal. 
“Yeah, you could've turned into a goldfish any time you wanted!” said Ron. 
“Or a frog,” yawned Harry. He was exhausted. “It takes years to become an Animagus, and then you have to register yourself and everything,” said Hermione vaguely, now squinting down the index of Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions. “Professor McGonagall told us, remember…you've got to register yourself with the Improper Use of Magic Office…what animal you become, and your markings, so you can't abuse it…” 
“…Hermione, I was joking,” said Harry wearily. “I know I haven't got a chance of turning into a frog by tomorrow morning.…” 
“Oh this is no use,” Hermione said, snapping shut Weird Wizarding Dilemmas. “Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?” 
“I wouldn't mind,” said Fred Weasley's voice. “Be a talking point, wouldn't it?” 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves. 
“What're you two doing here?” Ron asked. 
“Looking for you,” said George. “McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione.” 
“Why?” said Hermione, looking surprised. 
“Dunno…she was looking a bit grim, though,” said Fred. 
“We're supposed to take you down to her office,” said George. 
Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, who felt his stomach drop. Was Professor McGonagall about to tell Ron and Hermione off? Perhaps she'd noticed how much they were helping him, when he ought to be working out how to do the task alone? 
“We'll meet you back in the common room,” Hermione told Harry as she got up to go with Ron - both of them looked very anxious. “Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?” 
“Right,” said Harry uneasily. 
By eight o'clock. Madam Pince had extinguished all the lamps and came to chivvy Harry out of the library. Staggering under the weight of as many books as he could carry, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, pulled a table into a corner, and continued to search. There was nothing in Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks…nothing in A Guide to Medieval Sorcery…not one mention of underwater exploits in An Anthology of Eighteenth-Century Charms, or in Dreadful Denizens of the Deep, or Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do with Them Now You've Wised Up. 
Crookshanks crawled into Harry's lap and curled up, purring deeply. The common room emptied slowly around Harry. People kept wishing him luck for the next morning in cheery, confident voices like Hagrid's, all of them apparently convinced that he was about to pull off another stunning performance like the one he had managed in the first task. Harry couldn't answer them, he just nodded, feeling as though there were a golfball stuck in his throat. By ten to midnight, he was alone in the room with Crookshanks. He had searched all the remaining books, and Ron and Hermione had not come back. 
It's over, he told himself. You can't do it. You'll just have to go down to the lake in the morning and tell the judges.… 
He imagined himself explaining that he couldn't do the task. He pictured Bagman's look of round-eyed surprise, Karkaroffs satisfied, yellow-toothed smile. He could almost hear Fleur Delacour saying “I knew it…'e is too young, ‘e is only a little boy.” He saw Malfoy flashing his POTTER STINKS badge at the front of the crowd, saw Hagrid's crestfallen, disbelieving face.… 
Forgetting that Crookshanks was on his lap. Harry stood up very suddenly; Crookshanks hissed angrily as he landed on the floor, gave Harry a disgusted look, and stalked away with his bottlebrush tail in the air, but Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory.…He would grab the Invisibility Cloak and go back to the library, he'd stay there all night if he had to.… 
“Lumos,” Harry whispered fifteen minutes later as he opened the library door. 
Wand tip alight, he crept along the bookshelves, pulling down more books - books of hexes and charms, books on merpeople and water monsters, books on famous witches and wizards, on magical inventions, on anything at all that might include one passing reference to underwater survival. He carried them over to a table, then set to work, searching them by the narrow beam of his wand, occasionally checking his watch.… 
One in the morning…two in the morning…the only way he could keep going was to tell himself, over and over again, next book…in the next one…the next one… 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
The mermaid in the painting in the prefects’ bathroom was laughing. Harry was bobbing like a cork in bubbly water next to her rock, while she held his Firebolt over his head. 
“Come and get it!” she giggled maliciously. “Come on, jump!” 
“I can't,” Harry panted, snatching at the Firebolt, and struggling not to sink. “Give it to me!” 
But she just poked him painfully in the side with the end of the broomstick, laughing at him. 
“That hurts - get off - ouch -” 
“Harry Potter must wake up, sir!” 
“Stop poking me -” 
“Dobby must poke Harry Potter, sir, he must wake up!” 
Harry opened his eyes. He was still in the library; the Invisibility Cloak had slipped off his head as he'd slept, and the side of his face was stuck to the pages of Where There's a Wand, There's a Way. He sat up, straightening his glasses, blinking in the bright daylight. 
“Harry Potter needs to hurry!” squeaked Dobby. “The second task starts in ten minutes, and Harry Potter -” 
“Ten minutes?” Harry croaked. “Ten - ten minutes?” 
He looked down at his watch. Dobby was right. It was twenty past nine. A large, dead weight seemed to fall through Harry's chest into his stomach. 
“Hurry, Harry Potter!” squeaked Dobby, plucking at Harry's sleeve. “You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!” 
“It's too late, Dobby,” Harry said hopelessly. “I'm not doing the task, I don't know how -” 
“Harry Potter will do the task!” squeaked the elf. “Dobby knew Harry had not found the right book, so Dobby did it for him!” 
“What?” said Harry. “But you don't know what the second task is -” 
“Dobby knows, sir! Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy -” 
“Find my what?” 
“- and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!” 
“What's a Wheezy?” 
“Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy-Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!” 
Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts. 
“What?” Harry gasped. “They've got…they've got Ron?” 
“The thing Harry Potter will miss most, sir!” squeaked Dobby. “'But past an hour-‘” 
“- ‘the prospect's black,'” Harry recited, staring, horror-struck, at the elf. “'Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.’ Dobby - what've I got to do?” 
“You has to eat this, sir!” squeaked the elf, and he put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and drew out a ball of what looked like slimy, grayish-green rat tails. “Right before you go into the lake, sir - gillyweed!” 
“What's it do?” said Harry, staring at the gillyweed. 
“It will make Harry Potter breathe underwater, sir!” 
“Dobby,” said Harry frantically, “listen - are you sure about this?” 
He couldn't quite forget that the last time Dobby had tried to “help” him, he had ended up with no bones in his right arm. 
“Dobby is quite sure, sir!” said the elf earnestly. “Dobby hears things, sir, he is a house-elf, he goes all over the castle as he lights the fires and mops the floors. Dobby heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody in the staffroom, talking about the next task.…Dobby cannot let Harry Potter lose his Wheezy!” 
Harry's doubts vanished. Jumping to his feet he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it into his bag, grabbed the gillyweed, and put it into his pocket, then tore out of the library with Dobby at his heels. 
“Dobby is supposed to be in the kitchens, sir!” Dobby squealed as they burst into the corridor. “Dobby will be missed - good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!” 
“See you later, Dobby!” Harry shouted, and he sprinted along the corridor and down the stairs, three at a time. 
The entrance hall contained a few last-minute stragglers, all leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin and Dennis Creevey flying as he leapt down the stone steps and out onto the bright, chilly grounds. 
As he pounded down the lawn he saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons’ enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that were packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat-out around the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another gold-draped table at the water's edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were beside the judges’ table, watching Harry sprint toward them. 
“I'm…here…” Harry panted, skidding to a halt in the mud and accidentally splattering Fleur's robes. 
“Where have you been?” said a bossy, disapproving voice. “The task's about to start!” 
Harry looked around. Percy Weasley was sitting at the judges’ table - Mr. Crouch had failed to turn up again. 
“Now, now, Percy!” said Ludo Bagman, who was looking intensely relieved to see Harry. “Let him catch his breath!” 
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime didn't look at all pleased to see him.…It was obvious from the looks on their faces that they had thought he wasn't going to turn up. 
Harry bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath; he had a stitch in his side that felt as though he had a knife between his ribs, but there was no time to get rid of it; Ludo Bagman was now moving among the champions, spacing them along the bank at intervals of ten feet. Harry was on the very end of the line, next to Krum, who was wearing swimming trunks and was holding his wand ready. 
“All right. Harry?” Bagman whispered as he moved Harry a few feet farther away from Krum. “Know what you're going to do?” 
“Yeah,” Harry panted, massaging his ribs. 
Bagman gave Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze and returned to the judges’ table; he pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said, “Sonorus!” and his voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands. 
“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One…two…three!” 
The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause; without looking to see what the other champions were doing, Harry pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled the handful of gillyweed out of his pocket, stuffed it into his mouth, and waded out into the lake. 
It was so cold he felt the skin on his legs searing as though this were fire, not icy water. His sodden robes weighed him down as he walked in deeper; now the water was over his knees, and his rapidly numbing feet were slipping over silt and flat, slimy stones. He was chewing the gillyweed as hard and fast as he could; it felt unpleasantly slimy and rubbery, like octopus tentacles. Waist-deep in the freezing water he stopped, swallowed, and waited for something to happen. 
He could hear laughter in the crowd and knew he must look stupid, walking into the lake without showing any sign of magical power. The part of him that was still dry was covered in goose pimples; half immersed in the icy water, a cruel breeze lifting his hair, Harry started to shiver violently. He avoided looking at the stands; the laughter was becoming louder, and there were catcalls and jeering from the Slytherins.… 
Then, quite suddenly, Harry felt as though an invisible pillow had been pressed over his mouth and nose. He tried to draw breath, but it made his head spin; his lungs were empty, and he suddenly felt a piercing pain on either side of his neck - 
Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits just below his ears, flapping in the cold air.…He had gills. Without pausing to think, he did the only thing that made sense - he flung himself forward into the water. 
The first gulp of icy lake water felt like the breath of life. His head had stopped spinning; he took another great gulp of water and felt it pass smoothly through his gills, sending oxygen back to his brain. He stretched out his hands in front of him and stared at them. They looked green and ghostly under the water, and they had become webbed. He twisted around and looked at his bare feet - they had become elongated and the toes were webbed too: It looked as though he had sprouted flippers. 
The water didn't feel icy anymore either…on the contrary, he felt pleasantly cool and very light.…Harry struck out once more, marveling at how far and fast his flipper-like feet propelled him through the vater, and noticing how clearly he could see, and how he no longer seemed to need to blink. He had soon swum so far into the lake that he could no longer see the bottom. He flipped over and dived into its depths. 
Silence pressed upon his ears as he soared over a strange, dark, foggy landscape. He could only see ten feet around him, so that as he sped throuugh the water new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the incoming darkness: forests of rippling, tangled black weed, wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones. He swam deeper and deeper, out toward the middle of the lake, his eyes wide, staring through the eerily gray-lit water around him to the shadow beyond, where the water became opaque. 
Small fish flickered past him like silver darts. Once or twice he thought he saw something larger moving ahead of him, but when he got nearer, he discovered it to be nothing but a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions, merpeople, Ron - nor, thankfully, the giant squid. 
Light green weed stretched ahead of him as far as he could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of very overgrown grass. Harry was staring unblinkingly ahead of him, trying to discern shapes through the gloom…and then, without warning, something grabbed hold of his ankle. 
Harry twisted his body around and saw a grindylow, a small, horned water demon, poking out of the weed, its long fingers clutched tightly around Harry's leg, its pointed fangs bared - Harry stuck his webbed hand quickly inside his robes and fumbled for his wand. By the time he had grasped it, two more grindylows had risen out of the weed, had seized handfuls of Harry's robes, and were attempting to drag him down. 
“Relashio!” Harry shouted, except that no sound came out.…A large bubble issued from his mouth, and his wand, instead of sending sparks at the grindylows, pelted them with what seemed to be a jet of boiling water, for where it struck them, angry red patches appeared on their green skin. Harry pulled his ankle out of the grindylows grip and swam, as fast as he could, occasionally sending more jets of hot water over his shoulder at random; every now and then he felt one of the grindylows snatch at his foot again, and he kicked out, hard; finally, he felt his foot connect with a horned skull, and looking back, saw the dazed grindylow floating away, cross-eyed, while its fellows shook their fists at Harry and sank back into the weed. 
Harry slowed down a little, slipped his wand back inside his robes, and looked around, listening again. He turned full circle in the water, the silence pressing harder than ever against his eardrums. He knew he must be even deeper in the lake now, but nothing was moving but the rippling weed. 
“How are you getting on?” 
Harry thought he was having a heart attack. He whipped around and saw Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of him, gazing at him through her thick, pearly glasses. 
“Myrtle!” Harry tried to shout - but once again, nothing came out of his mouth but a very large bubble. Moaning Myrtle actually giggled. 
“You want to try over there!” she said, pointing. “I won't come with you.…I don't like them much, they always chase me when I get too close.…” 
Harry gave her the thumbs-up to show his thanks and set off once more, careful to swim a bit higher over the weed to avoid any more grindylows that might be lurking there. 
He swam on for what felt like at least twenty minutes. He was passing over vast expanses of black mud now, which swirled murkily as he disturbed the water. Then, at long last, he heard a snatch of haunting mersong. 
“An hour long you'll have to look,And to recover what we took…” Harry swam faster and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they were carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Harry swam on past the rock, following the mersong. 
“…your time's half gone, so tarry notLest what you seek stays here to rot.…” A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Harry saw faces…faces that bore no resemblance at all to the painting of the mermaid in the prefects’ bathroom.… 
The merpeople had grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Harry as he swam past; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch him better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands. 
Harry sped on, staring around, and soon the dwellings became more numerous; there were gardens of weed around some of them, and he even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching him eagerly, pointing at his webbed hands and gills, talking behind their hands to one another. Harry sped around a corner and a very strange sight met his eyes. 
A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson. 
Ron was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made Harry feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour's sister. All four of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths. 
Harry sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and charge at him, but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong. For a fleeting second he thought of the knife Sirius had bought him for Christmas - locked in his trunk in the castle a quarter of a mile away, no use to him whatsoever. 
He looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were carrying spears. He swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head. 
“We do not help,” he said in a harsh, croaky voice. 
“Come ON!” Harry said fiercely (but only bubbles issued from his mouth), and he tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it back, still shaking his head and laughing. 
Harry swirled around, staring about. Something sharp…anything… 
There were rocks littering the lake bottom. He dived and snatched up a particularly jagged one and returned to the statue. He began to hack at the ropes binding Ron, and after several minutes’ hard work, they broke apart. Ron floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom, drifting a little in the ebb of the water. 
Harry looked around. There was no sign of any of the other champions. What were they playing at? Why didn't they hurry up? He turned back to Hermione, raised the jagged rock, and began to hack at her bindings too - 
At once, several pairs of strong gray hands seized him. Half a dozen mermen were pulling him away from Hermione, shaking their green-haired heads, and laughing. 
“You take your own hostage,” one of them said to him. “Leave the others…” 
“No way!” said Harry furiously - but only two large bubbles came out. 
Your task is to retrieve your own friend…leave the others…” 
She's my friend too!” Harry yelled, gesturing toward Hermione, an enormous silver bubble emerging soundlessly from his lips. “And I don't want them to die either!” 
Cho's head was on Hermione's shoulder; the small silver-haired girl was ghostly green and pale. Harry struggled to fight off the mermen, but they laughed harder than ever, holding him back. Harry looked wildly around. Where were the other champions? Would he have time to take Ron to the surface and come back down for Hermione and the others? Would he be able to find them again? He looked down at his watch to see how much time was left - it had stopped working. 
But then the merpeople around him pointed excitedly over his head. Harry looked up and saw Cedric swimming toward them. There was an enormous bubble around his head, which made his features look oddly wide and stretched. 
“Got lost!” he mouthed, looking panic-stricken. “Fleur and Krum're coming now!” 
Feeling enormously relieved, Harry watched Cedric pull a knife out of his pocket and cut Cho free. He pulled her upward and out of sight. 
Harry looked around, waiting. Where were Fleur and Krum? Time was getting short, and according to the song, the hostages would be lost after an hour.… 
The merpeople started screeching animatedly. Those holding Harry loosened their grip, staring behind them. Harry turned and saw something monstrous cutting through the water toward them: a human body in swimming trunks with the head of a shark.…It was Krum. He appeared to have transfigured himself - but badly. 
The shark-man swam straight to Hermione and began snapping and biting at her ropes; the trouble was that Krum's new teeth were positioned very awkwardly for biting anything smaller than a dolphin, and Harry was quite sure that if Krum wasn't careful, he was going to rip Hermione in half. Darting forward. Harry hit Krum hard on the shoulder and held up the jagged stone. Krum seized it and began to cut Hermione free. Within seconds, he had done it; he grabbed Hermione around the waist, and without a backward glance, began to rise rapidly with her toward the surface. 
Now what? Harry thought desperately. If he could be sure that Fleur was coming.…But still no sign. There was nothing to be done except… 
He snatched up the stone, which Krum had dropped, but the mermen now closed in around Ron and the little girl, shaking their heads at him. Harry pulled out his wand. 
“Get out of the way!” 
Only bubbles flew out of his mouth, but he had the distinct impression that the mermen had understood him, because they suddenly stopped laughing. Their yellowish eyes were fixed upon Harry's wand, and they looked scared. There might be a lot more of them than there were of him, but Harry could tell, by the looks on their faces, that they knew no more magic than the giant squid did. 
“You've got until three!” Harry shouted; a great stream of bubbles burst from him, but he held up three fingers to make sure they got the message. “One…” (he put down a finger) “two…"(he put down a second one) - 
They scattered. Harry darted forward and began to hack at the ropes binding the small girl to the statue, and at last she was free. He seized the little girl around the waist, grabbed the neck of Ron's robes, and kicked off from the bottom. 
It was very slow work. He could no longer use his webbed hands to propel himself forward; he worked his flippers furiously, but Ron and Fleur's sister were like potato-filled sacks dragging him back down.…He fixed his eyes skyward, though he knew he must still be very deep, the water above him was so dark.… 
Merpeople were rising with him. He could see them swirling around him with ease, watching him struggle through the water.…Would they pull him back down to the depths when the time was up? Did they perhaps eat humans? Harry's legs were seizing up with the effort to keep swimming; his shoulders were aching horribly with the effort of dragging Ron and the girl… 
He was drawing breath with extreme difficulty. He could feel pain on the sides of his neck again…he was becoming very aware of how wet the water was in his mouth…yet the darkness was definitely thinning now…he could see daylight above him.… 
He kicked hard with his flippers and discovered that they were nothing more than feet…water was flooding through his mouth into his lungs…he was starting to feel dizzy, but he knew light and air were only ten feet above him…he had to get there…he had to… 
Harry kicked his legs so hard and fast it felt as though his muscles were screaming in protest; his very brain felt waterlogged, he couldn't breathe, he needed oxygen, he had to keep going, he could not stop - 
And then he felt his head break the surface of the lake; wonderful, cold, clear air was making his wet face sting; he gulped it down, feeling as though he had never breathed properly before, and, panting, pulled Ron and the little girl up with him. All around him, wild, green-haired heads were emerging out of the water with him, but they were smiling at him. 
The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry had the impression they thought that Ron and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong…both of them had opened their eyes; the girl looked scared and confused, but Ron merely expelled a great spout of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to Harry, and said, “Wet, this, isn't it?” Then he spotted Fleur's sister. “What did you bring her for?” 
“Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her,” Harry panted. 
“Harry, you prat,” said Ron, “you didn't take that song thing seriously, did you? Dumbledore wouldn't have let any of us drown!” 
“The song said -” 
“It was only to make sure you got back inside the time limit!” said Ron. “I hope you didn't waste time down there acting the hero!” 
Harry felt both stupid and annoyed. It was all very well for Ron; he'd been asleep, he hadn't felt how eerie it was down in the lake, surrounded by spear-carrying merpeople who'd looked more than capable of murder. 
“C'mon,” Harry said shortly, “help me with her, I don't think she can swim very well.” 
They pulled Fleur's sister through the water, back toward the bank where the judges stood watching, twenty merpeople accompanying them like a guard of honor, singing their horrible screechy songs. 
Harry could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Hermione, Krum, Cedric, and Cho, all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets. 
Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Ron from the bank as they swam nearer, but Percy, who looked very white and somehow much younger than usual, came splashing out to meet them. Meanwhile Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water. 
“Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she ‘urt?” 
“She's fine!” Harry tried to tell her, but he was so exhausted he could hardly talk, let alone shout. 
Percy seized Ron and was dragging him back to the bank ("Gerroff, Percy, I'm all right!"); Dumbledore and Bagman were pulling Harry upright; Fleur had broken free of Madame Maxime and was hugging her sister. 
“It was ze grindylows…zey attacked me…oh Gabrielle, I thought…I thought…” 
“Come here, you,” said Madam Pomfrey. She seized Harry and pulled him over to Hermione and the others, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as though he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat. Steam gushed out of his ears. 
“Harry, well done!” Hermione cried. “You did it, you found out how all by yourself!” 
“Well -” said Harry. He would have told her about Dobby, but he had just noticed Karkaroff watching him. He was the only judge who had not left the table; the only judge not showing signs of pleasure and relief that Harry, Ron, and Fleur's sister had got back safely. “Yeah, that's right,” said Harry, raising his voice slightly so that Karkaroff could hear him. 
“You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny,” said Krum. Harry had the impression that Krum was drawing her attention back onto himself; perhaps to remind her that he had just rescued her from the lake, but Hermione brushed away the beetle impatiently and said, “You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry.…Did it take you ages to find us?” 
“No…I found you okay.…” 
Harry's feeling of stupidity was growing. Now he was out of the water, it seemed perfectly clear that Dumbledores safety precautions wouldn't have permitted the death of a hostage just because their champion hadn't turned up. Why hadn't he just grabbed Ron and gone? He would have been first back.…Cedric and Krum hadn't wasted time worrying about anyone else; they hadn't taken the mersong seriously.… 
Dumbledore was crouching at the water's edge, deep in conversation with what seemed to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious-looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water; clearly, Dumbledore could speak Mermish. Finally he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges, and said, “A conference before we give the marks, I think.” 
The judges went into a huddle. Madam Pomfrey had gone to rescue Ron from Percy's clutches; she led him over to Harry and the others, gave him a blanket and some Pepperup Potion, then went to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur had many cuts on her face and arms and her robes were torn, but she didn't seem to care, nor would she allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them. 
“Look after Gabrielle,” she told her, and then she turned to Harry. “You saved ‘er,” she said breathlessly. “Even though she was not your ‘ostage.” 
“Yeah,” said Harry, who was now heartily wishing he'd left all three girls tied to the statue. 
Fleur bent down, kissed Harry twice on each cheek (he felt his face burn and wouldn't have been surprised if steam was coming out of his ears again), then said to Ron, “And you too-you ‘elped -” 
“Yeah,” said Ron, looking extremely hopeful, “yeah, a bit -” 
Fleur swooped down on him too and kissed him. Hermione looked simply furious, but just then, Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows.… 
“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.” 
Applause from the stands. 
“I deserved zero,” said Fleur throatily, shaking her magnificent head. 
“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.” 
Harry's heart sank. If Cedric had been outside the time limit, he most certainly had been. 
“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.” 
Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior. 
“Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued. “He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own.” 
Ron and Hermione both gave Harry half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks. 
“Most of the judges,” and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, “feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However…Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points.” 
Harry's stomach leapt - he was now tying for first place with Cedric. Ron and Hermione, caught by surprise, stared at Harry, then laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd. 
“There you go. Harry!” Ron shouted over the noise. “You weren't being thick after all - you were showing moral fiber!” 
Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen. 
“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.” 
It was over. Harry thought dazedly, as Madam Pomfrey began herding the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes…it was over, he had got through…he didn't have to worry about anything now until June the twenty-fourth…. 
Next time he was in Hogsmeade, Harry decided as he walked back up the stone steps into the castle, he was going to buy Dobby a pair of socks for every day of the year. 
“你不是说你已经找到蛋里的线索了吗？”荷米恩生气地说。 
　　“小声点，我是说我需要再研究一下。”哈利也生气了。 
　　这节课是魔法练习。弗利威克教授给每个学生发了一个坐垫，训练他们躲闪飞来物体的技术。可整节课都被学生们用来说闲话了。 
　　“为什么莫迪要监视史纳皮呢？”罗恩问道。 
　　“我不知道是否丹伯多真的交待莫迪这么做，莫迪说校长让史纳皮留下来是为了给他第二个机会。”哈利说。 
　　“什么？也许莫迪以为史纳皮把你列入火杯名单了。” 
　　“罗恩，”荷米恩怀疑地摇着头说，“我们原来以为史纳皮想杀了哈利，可到头来反而救了他。” 
　　史纳皮倒是真的救过他一次。可问题在于他厌恶哈利，只要一有机会，他就会扣哈利的分，惩罚他，或者去建议把他开除出校。 
　　“我相信莫迪说的。”荷米思说，“校长又不是笨蛋，他信任哈格力和露平。事实证明他这么做是对的，既然如此，为什么不能说他对史纳皮的信任也是对的呢？” 
　　“那为什么这些人搜他办公室呢？”罗恩反驳道。 
　　“你只不过想说明史纳皮在搞鬼。”荷米恩说。 
　　“我想知道史纳皮在他的第一次机会里干了什么，以至他现在有第二次机会。”罗恩又说，把坐垫飞起来，差点落在荷米恩的头上。 
　　为了让西里斯知道霍格瓦彻发生的一切，哈利给他写了一封信，告诉他莫迪和史纳皮的对话，克劳斯半夜潜进史纳皮的办公室。然后他把信系在那只灰色猫头鹰脚上，让它送去了。 
　　现在，哈利发现越来越难集中精神学习了。他的目光老是被窗外的景色吸引。眨眼间，离二月二十四日只剩一个星期了，然后只剩五天，四天，三天…… 
　　当只剩下两天时，那只猫头鹰回来了，脚上同样系着一张纸。 
　　哈利解下来，只见西里斯在上面写着：再给我送些霍格瓦彻的下周末活动资料。 
　　哈利把资料写在那张纸的空白处，系好后，看着猫头鹰飞驰而去。 
　　“他为什么想知道那些资料呢？”罗恩问道。 
　　“我也不知道。”哈利说，“好了，上课吧。” 
　　哈格力又重新教他们了。显然，他对独角兽的认识比对精灵的还要多，今天他捉到了两只全身金黄的小独角兽。 
　　“到它们两岁时，全身就会变成银白色，然后就会长出四只角，现在，孩子们，过来摸摸它们吧，小独角兽很容易相信别人，别怕，过来吧……对，给它一块方糖。” 
　　哈利走过去，摸了一下独角兽。 
　　“有点紧张是吗？”哈格力问道。 
　　“是的，有一点儿。”哈利说。 
　　“我之前很担心你的，但我现在知道你都能应付过来。所以我对你很放心。怎么样，你已经找到那只蛋的线索了，是吗？” 
　　哈利摇摇头。心里马上想起自己还不知道如何在水底里呼吸的事。他发愁了。哈利抬头望着哈格力，心想也许他知道该怎么办。 
　　“你会赢的，”哈格力拍着哈利的肩膀说，“我能感觉到。” 
　　看着哈格力一脸自信的笑，哈利实在不忍心去碰碎它。他只好勉强地笑了笑。 
　　要开始第二个任务的前夕，哈利觉得他简直是陷入了一场恶梦。他想即使真的有奇迹出现，一夜之间让他找到能使他在水底呼吸的咒语，他还得花时间去背熟它。怎么办呢？哈利开始后悔上课不专心了，说不定老师曾经讲过这么一条咒语呢。 
　　三个伙伴在图书馆里一页一页查找咒语。凡是有关水的咒语都不被放过。可是翻来翻去，最终还是没有找到是有用的一条。 
　　“哈利，明天尽管去湖里吧，把头伸进水里，对着人鱼大声喊，叫他们把偷去的东西吐出来。这是最好的办法了。”罗恩说。 
　　“你在胡说八道些什么？一定有这么一条咒语的。”荷米恩生气地说。 
　　“也许你应该变成金鱼或青蛙。这样问题不就解决了吗？”罗恩又说。 
　　“没有用的。”荷米恩说。 
　　忽然，书架后面伸出两个头，是弗来德和乔治。 
　　“你俩在这干吗？”罗恩问道。 
　　“找你们啊，”乔治说，“麦康娜教授想见你，罗恩，还有你，荷米恩。” 
　　“什么事吗？” 
　　“我们也不清楚。” 
　　“那好吧，哈利，我们回头在大房间见。”荷米恩和罗恩出去了。他们看起来都有些紧张。 
　　八点，哈利抱着一撂书回到大房间。继续查找，到十点钟时，所有的书都翻完了，可是罗恩和荷米恩还没回来，此时哈利心里乱成一团。他又被上隐身衣，重新回到图书馆，在书架上找着关于著名巫师以及魔法发明的书，一边找一边看表。时间滴滴答答地过去，一点钟，两点钟…… 
　　、迷糊中哈利被摇醒了，原来他还在图书馆里，他的隐身衣在他睡觉时滑下来，而一旁多比正在摇他，“哈利，快点，第二个任务十分钟后就开始了。” 
　　“十、十分钟？”哈利沙哑地说。他看一眼手表，上面指着九点五十分。 
　　“哈利·波特，你要和另一个优胜者一起到湖底下去。” 
　　“太晚了，多比，我不去了，我不知道该如何在……” 
　　“哈利·波特必须去。”小精灵说，“多比知道你没找到咒语，所以我帮你找到了。” 
　　“什么？可是你不知道第二个任务是什么。” 
　　“多比知道，哈利要去湖底找罗恩。” 
　　“找什么？” 
　　“你认识罗恩，罗恩就是给多比套头毛衣的人。” 
　　“什么？他们抓走了罗恩？” 
　　“你最想念的东西。”多比说。 
　　“我该怎么办？” 
　　“把这个吃下去，它可以使你在水底下呼吸。”多比说着从口袋里拿出一个红绿色、粘乎乎的小球，“下水后就把它吃了。” 
　　“这是什么？” 
　　“是帮你在水底下呼吸的东西。”多比说。 
　　“你肯定它能行吗？” 
　　“非常肯定，先生，再见吧，先生，我将会在厨房里等你。” 
　　哈利告别了多比，马上朝湖边方向跑去。当他来到湖边上，发现那里坐满了人。塞德里克，芙璐和克伦正坐在裁判旁边。 
　　“我来了。”哈利终于跑到裁判前面，上气不接下气地说。 
　　“你去哪了？比赛就要开始了。”裁判不满地说。 
　　哈利看见伯希。威斯里也坐在裁判席上，他是来代替克劳斯先生的。 
　　所有的参赛者都站成一排，巴格蒙在选手中转了一圈后回到裁判席，随着他一声哨响，哈利马上脱掉鞋袜，掏出小球塞入嘴里，走进水中。一阵刺骨的寒冷从脚底传遍全身。哈利浑身起了疙瘩，他强忍着寒冷继续向水中走去。岸上传来一阵笑声，观众们在笑哈利不像其他参赛者一样用魔法入水。笑声，喝倒彩声灌满了他耳朵。 
　　突然，哈利感到头好像被一块枕头托了起来，肺部仿佛被挖空了，脖子两旁一阵锥心的痛。他用手～摸，发现耳朵下边裂开了两条缝，慢慢地从里边长出了鱼鳍。他不由自主地在水里找起来，奇怪，水现在一点也不冷了。哈利放胆呼吸了一下，水居然顺利从鱼腮里流过来。 
　　水底很静，哈利只能看到周围十尺的地方，除了游来游去的水鱼之外，哈利看不到其他人的踪影。突然，他感到脚被东西缠住了，哈利回头一看，原来是颗巨大的杂草。他极力挣脱然后游走了。 
　　“进行得怎么样？” 
　　哈利向四周看了看，发现米特就在前面。 
　　“米特。”哈利喊道，可是除了嘴里冒出泡泡以外，他什么声音也发不出来。 
　　“我不会跟你一块游到那去的，那些杂草太令人讨厌。” 
　　哈利只好自个儿游了大概二十分钟。忽然，他听到远处有人在唱歌。他游过去，看到一块巨石上，坐着一群人鱼。它们拿着矛在捕捉大鸟贼。当他游过那块石头时，趁机打量了他们一下。这些人鱼的身体都是灰色的，头发墨绿，眼睛则呈黄色，就像他们的烂牙一样，它们一看见哈利游过来，全都不怀好意地瞪着他，还有的人鱼特意从洞穴里出来看个究竟。 
　　哈利继续前行，忽然，一幅神奇的景像出现在他面前，在一片草地上有一幢房子，房子前同样有一群人鱼，它们正围着一座雕像唱歌，而雕像的下边，则绑着四个人。 
　　罗恩被绑在荷米恩和卓。陈中间，另外还有一个女孩，看上去不超过八岁。她那浓密的银头发使哈利一下子就断定这是芙璐·迪来高的妹妹，四个人似乎都睡着了，嘴里不断吐着泡。哈利游到雕像前想要解开罗恩身上的绳子。但那用杂草拧成的绳又粗又坚韧，哈利看了看周围的人鱼，他游到一个长胡子的人鱼面前向他借矛。 
　　“不行，我们不会帮你的。”他用沙哑的声音生硬地说。 
　　哈利只好在草丛里找些锋利的东西。终于被他找到块有棱角的石头。他马上朝罗恩游过去，用石头割开绳子，拉着他游到水面上。哈利浮出水面朝四周看了看，还是不见其他参赛者的踪影。来不及多想，他又游回去救荷米恩。当他正要用石头把绳割开时，那些人鱼马上围过来摇着头说：“你已拿走了你的东西，其他的留下。” 
　　“不行！”哈利生气地说，但是吐出的只有几个气泡。 
　　“你的任务是救你自己的朋友，把其他的留下。” 
　　“不，她也是我的朋友，我不要他们死去。”哈利嘴里吐出一串气泡。 
　　早的头搭在荷米恩的肩膀上，她的脸此时已发青了。哈利想看看表，却发现它停了。根据那首歌，过了一个小时，就什么都不复存在。他心里急得要命，为什么其他参赛者还不出现呢？ 
　　就在这时，人鱼们兴奋地叫起来，只见头顶上有气泡冒出来，哈利定晴一看，是塞德里克。 
　　“迷路了。”塞德里克的嘴嚼着说，接着，克伦也来了。他们两人救走了荷米恩和卓。陈。 
　　“现在怎么办？”哈利绝望地想。芙璐还不来，那小女孩可就危险了，他又拿起那块石头，但人鱼们已经知道他想干什么，都围过来摇头。 
　　哈利拿出魔杖说：“让开。” 
　　人鱼们似乎有点害怕，纷纷退下去。哈利赶紧割掉绳把那小女孩解下来，再把她绑在自己腰里，然后拼命地往上游。人鱼们也跟着他，哈利心里很害怕，它们会把他拖下去吗？它们会吃人吗？他的腿不停地游动，两只肩膀由于托着罗恩，渐渐地痛起来了。越往上，他就游得越辛苦。脖子开始痛了，他感到口、鼻子全都被难受，身体又感到刺骨的冰冷。坚持，坚持，就快到水面了。哈利脑海一片空白，只顽强地朝着光明游上去。 
　　终于，他的头露出了水面。岸上的人都欢呼起来。比时，罗思和那个小女孩睁开了眼睛。小女孩一脸的迷惑，而罗恩则吐出一大滩水，他对哈利说：“你为什么把她也带上来了？” 
　　“英潞没有来，我不能扔下她。” 
　　他们两个一起把她推上了岸。哈利看见克伦，塞德里克和卓。 
　　陈都披上毯子了，丹伯多和露得。巴格蒙站在那里朝他微笑。芙璐则在歇斯底里地喊着要重新到湖里去。 
　　“盖布丽！盖布丽！她还活着吗？她还好吗？” 
　　“她很好。”哈利想告诉她，但他已经疲惫得一句话也说不出来了。 
　　伯希扶起罗恩，丹伯多和巴格蒙拉起哈利；芙珊刚跑过去抱起她妹妹。 
　　“你过来。”波姆弗雷夫人说。她把哈利拉到荷米恩和其他人跟前，用毯子紧紧地把他裹住，倒给他一杯魔幻剂让他喝下去。 
　　“有只水虫在你头上。”克伦对荷米恩说。 
　　哈利知道克伦只想吸引荷米恩的注意力，提醒她是他救了她，但荷米恩只是不耐烦把水虫弹开，继续对哈利说，“你超了很多时间，难道你找了很久才找到我们吗？” 
　　“不是，我很快就找到你了……” 
　　丹伯多正在和人鱼首领——一个看上去很粗野的雌性人鱼说话，他懂人鱼的语言。最后，他转过身对其他裁判说：“评分前我们得先开个会。” 
　　裁判们围成一团。波姆弗雷夫人又把罗恩带到哈利身边同样用毯子把他裹住。芙璐走到哈利跟前感激地说：“你救了她，虽然她不是你的朋友。”她弯下身子吻了哈利的脸颊，然后转向罗恩说，“还有你，你也帮了大忙。”她又吻了他。 
　　“女士们，先生们，我们经过讨论，已经给每一位参赛者评了分，现在由我宣布他们的分数。”校长站起来说。 
　　“芙璐·迪来高小姐虽然很好地利用了泡沫咒语，但在游向目标的过程遭到塞德里克。迪格瑞的攻击，最后没能救出人质，我们给她二十五分。 
　　塞德里克。迪格瑞先生是第一个救出人质的人，虽然超了一分钟时间。我们给他四十七分。 
　　维特。克伦先生是第二个救出人质的，他得四十分。 
　　哈利·波特先生是最后上岸的人。但是人鱼首领告诉我们说他是第一个到达人质被绑地方的人，而且他的延迟是因为回去救其他人质，不仅仅为了他自己。所以，我们给他四十五分。“ 
　　荷米恩和罗恩欢呼起来，现在哈利拿了第二了。 
　　“第三个任务将在六月二十四日的黄昏开始。”巴格蒙继续说。 
　　我们会提前一个月通知参赛者。谢谢你们的参与，再见。“ 
　　第二个任务结束了。波姆弗雷夫人忙着带学生们回城堡换干净的衣服。哈利心想，结束了，他挺过来了，现在他不用再提心吊胆。 
　　当哈利踏上城堡门前阶梯时，他决定每天都给多比买一双袜子。 
Chapter 27 Padfoot Returns
One of the best things about the aftermath of the second task was that everybody was very keen to hear details of what had happened down in the lake, which meant that Ron was getting to share Harry's limelight for once. Harry noticed that Ron's version of events changed subtly with every retelling. At first, he gave what seemed to be the truth; it tallied with Hermione's story, anyway - Dumbledore had put all the hostages into a bewitched sleep in Professor McGonagall's office, first assuring them that they would be quite safe, and would awake when they were back above the water. One week later, however, Ron was telling a thrilling tale of kidnap in which he struggled single-handedly against fifty heavily armed merpeople who had to beat him into submission before tying him up. 
“But I had my wand hidden up my sleeve,” he assured Padma Patil, who seemed to be a lot keener on Ron now that he was getting so much attention and was making a point of talking to him every time they passed in the corridors. “I could've taken those mer-idiots any time I wanted.” 
“What were you going to do, snore at them?” said Hermione waspishly. People had been teasing her so much about being the thing that Viktor Krum would most miss that she was in a rather tetchy mood. 
Ron's ears went red, and thereafter, he reverted to the bewitched sleep version of events. 
As they entered March the weather became drier, but cruel winds skinned their hands and faces every time they went out onto the grounds. There were delays in the post because the owls kept being blown off course. The brown owl that Harry had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend turned up at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way; Harry had no sooner torn off Sirius's reply than it took flight, clearly afraid it was going to be sent outside again. 
Sirius's letter was almost as short as the previous one. 
Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can. “He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?” said Ron incredulously. 
“It looks like it, doesn't it?” said Hermione. 
“I can't believe him,” said Harry tensely, “if he's caught…” 
“Made it so far, though, hasn't he?” said Ron. “And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors anymore.” 
Harry folded up the letter, thinking. If he was honest with himself, he really wanted to see Sirius again. He therefore approached the final lesson of the afternoon - double Potions - feeling considerably more cheerful than he usually did when descending the steps to the dungeons. 
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson's gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn't see and sniggering heartily. Pansys pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle's broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached. 
“There they are, there they are!” she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands - Witch Weekly. The moving picture on the front showed a curly-haired witch who was smiling toothily and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand. 
“You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!” Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside. 
Hermione, Harry, and Ron headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of todays potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. At last, in the center pages, Hermione found what they were looking for. Harry and Ron leaned in closer. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled: 
Harry Potter's Secret HeartacheA boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss. Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys’ affections. Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl.” However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys’ interest. “She's really ugly,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it.” Love Potions are, of course, banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potters well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart on a worthier candidate. “I told you!” Ron hissed at Hermione as she stared down at the article. “I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you out to be some sort of- of scarlet woman!” 
Hermione stopped looking astonished and snorted with laughter. “Scarlet woman?” she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked around at Ron. 
“It's what my mum calls them,” Ron muttered, his ears going red. 
“If that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch,” said Hermione, still giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. “What a pile of old rubbish.” 
She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion. 
“There's something funny, though,” said Hermione ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. “How could Rita Skeeter have known…?” 
“Known what?” said Ron quickly. “You haven't been mixing up Love Potions, have you?” 
“Don't be stupid,” Hermione snapped, starting to pound up her beetles again. “No, it's just…how did she know Viktor asked me to visit him over the summer?” 
Hermione blushed scarlet as she said this and determinedly avoided Ron's eyes. 
“What?” said Ron, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk. 
“He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake.” 
Hermione muttered. “After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to -” 
“And what did you say?” said Ron, who had picked up his pestle and was grinding it on the desk, a good six inches from his bowl, because he was looking at Hermione. 
“And he did say he'd never felt the same way about anyone else,” Hermione went on, going so red now that Harry could almost feel the heat coming from her, “but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there…or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task.…” 
“And what did you say?” Ron repeated, pounding his pestle down so hard that it dented the desk. 
“Well, I was too busy seeing whether you and Harry were okay to -” 
“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is. Miss Granger,” said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.” 
Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them; Malfoy took the opportunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry. 
“Ah…reading magazines under the table as well?” Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. “A further ten points from Gryffindor…oh but of course…” Snape's black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. “Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings.…” 
The dungeon rang with the Slytherins’ laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thin mouth. To Harry's fury, he began to read the article aloud. 
“'Harry Potter's Secret Heartache…dear, dear. Potter, what's ailing you now? ‘A boy like no other, perhaps…'” 
Harry could feel his face burning. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now. 
“'…Harry Potter's well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.’ How very touching,” sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. “Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now.” 
Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his cauldron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table. Snape followed, sat down at his desk and watched Harry unload his cauldron. Determined not to look at Snape, Harry resumed the mashing of his scarab beetles, imagining each one to have Snape's face. 
“All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head. Potter,” said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again. 
Harry didn't answer. He knew Snape was trying to provoke him; he had done this before. No doubt he was hoping for an excuse to take a round fifty points from Gryffindor before the end of the class. 
“You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you,” Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him (Harry continued to pound his scarab beetles, even though he had already reduced them to a very fine powder), “but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me. Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.” 
Harry tipped the powdered beetles into his cauldron and started cutting up his ginger roots. His hands were shaking slightly out of anger, but he kept his eyes down, as though he couldn't hear what Snape was saying to him. 
“So I give you fair warning, Potter,” Snape continued in a sorter and more dangerous voice, “pint-sized celebrity or not - if I catch you breaking into my office one more time -” 
“I haven't been anywhere near your office!” said Harry angrily, forgetting his feigned deafness. 
“Don't lie to me,” Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. “Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.” 
Harry stared back at Snape, determined not to blink or to look guilty. In truth, he hadn't stolen either of these things from Snape. Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in their second year - they had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion - and while Snape had suspected Harry at the time, he had never been able to prove it. Dobby, of course, had stolen the gillyweed. 
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Harry lied coldly. 
“You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!” Snape hissed. “I know it. Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!” 
“Right,” said Harry coolly, turning back to his ginger roots. “I'll bear that in mind if I ever get the urge to go in there.” 
Snape's eyes flashed. He plunged a hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment. Harry thought Snape was about to pull out his wand and curse him - then he saw that Snape had drawn out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion. Harry stared at it. 
“Do you know what this is. Potter?” Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again. 
“No,” said Harry, with complete honesty this time. 
“It is Veritaserum - a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear,” said Snape viciously. “Now, the use of this potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips” - he shook the crystal bottle slightly - “right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then. Potter…then we'll find out whether you've been in my office or not.” 
Harry said nothing. He turned back to his ginger roots once more, picked up his knife, and started slicing them again. He didn't like the sound of that Truth Potion at all, nor would he put it past Snape to slip him some. He repressed a shudder at the thought of what might come spilling out of his mouth if Snape did it…quite apart from landing a whole lot of people in trouble - Hermione and Dobby for a start - there were all the other things he was concealing…like the fact that he was in contact with Sirius…and - his insides squirmed at the thought - how he felt about Cho.…He tipped his ginger roots into the cauldron too, and wondered whether he ought to take a leaf out of Moody's book and start drinking only from a private hip flask. 
There was a knock on the dungeon door. 
“Enter,” said Snape in his usual voice. 
The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up toward Snape's desk. He was twisting his finger around his goatee and looking agitated. 
“We need to talk,” said Karkaroff abruptly when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he were a rather poor ventriloquist. Harry kept his eyes on his ginger roots, listening hard. 
“I'll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff,” Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him. 
“I want to talk now, while you can't slip off, Severus. You've been avoiding me.” 
“After the lesson,” Snape snapped. 
Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if he'd poured out enough armadillo bile, Harry sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry. 
Karkaroff hovered behind Snape's desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape from slipping away at the end of class. Keen to hear what Karkaroff wanted to say, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile with two minutes to go to the bell, which gave him an excuse to duck down behind his cauldron and mop up while the rest of the class moved noisily toward the door. 
“What's so urgent?” he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff. 
“This,” said Karkaroff, and Harry, peering around the edge of his cauldron, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm. 
“Well?” said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. “Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since -” 
“Put it away!” snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom. 
“But you must have noticed -” Karkaroff began in an agitated voice. 
“We can talk later, Karkaroff!” spat Snape. “Potter! What are you doing?” 
“Clearing up my armadillo bile, Professor,” said Harry innocently, straightening up and showing Snape the sodden rag he was holding. 
Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry threw his books and ingredients back into his bag and left at top speed to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just witnessed. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
They left the castle at noon the next day to find a weak silver sun shining down upon the grounds. The weather was milder than it had been all year, and by the time they arrived in Hogsmeade, all three of them had taken off their cloaks and thrown them over their shoulders. The food Sirius had told them to bring was in Harry's bag; they had sneaked a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the lunch table. 
They went into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby, where they had fun selecting the most lurid socks they could find, including a pair patterned with flashing gold and silver stars, and another that screamed loudly when they became too smelly. Then, at half past one, they made their way up the High Street, past Dervish and Banges, and out toward the edge of the village. 
Harry had never been in this direction before. The winding lane was leading them out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages were fewer here, and their gardens larger; they were walking toward the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. Then they turned a corner and saw a stile at the end of the lane. Waiting for them, its front paws on the topmost bar, was a very large, shaggy black dog, which was carrying some newspapers in its mouth and looking very familiar.… 
“Hello, Sirius,” said Harry when they had reached him. 
The black dog sniffed Harry's bag eagerly, wagged its tail once, then turned and began to trot away from them across the scrubby patch of ground that rose to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed over the stile and followed. 
Sirius led them to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground was covered with boulders and rocks. It was easy for him, with his four paws, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were soon out of breath. They followed Sirius higher, up onto the mountain itself. For nearly half an hour they climbed a steep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius's wagging tail, sweating in the sun, the shoulder straps of Harry's bag cutting into his shoulders. 
Then, at last, Sirius slipped out of sight, and when they reached the place where he had vanished, they saw a narrow fissure in the rock. They squeezed into it and found themselves in a cool, dimly lit cave. Tethered at the end of it, one end of his rope around a large rock, was Buckbeak the hippogriff. Half gray horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce orange eye flashed at the sight of them. All three of them bowed low to him, and after regarding them imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and allowed Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck. Harry, however, was looking at the black dog, which had just turned into his godfather. 
Sirius was wearing ragged gray robes; the same ones he had been wearing when he had left Azkaban. His black hair was longer than it had been when he had appeared in the fire, and it was untidy and matted once more. He looked very thin. 
“Chicken!” he said hoarsely after removing the old Daily Prophets from his mouth and throwing them down onto the cave floor. 
Harry pulled open his bag and handed over the bundle of chicken legs and bread. 
“Thanks,” said Sirius, opening it, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. “I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself.” 
He grinned up at Harry, but Harry returned the grin only reluctantly. 
“What're you doing here, Sirius?” he said. 
“Fulfilling my duty as godfather,” said Sirius, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very doglike way. “Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray.” 
He was still grinning, but seeing the anxiety in Harry's face, said more seriously, “I want to be on the spot. Your last letter…well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws one out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried.” 
He nodded at the yellowing Daily Prophets on the cave floor, and Ron picked them up and unfolded them. Harry, however, continued to stare at Sirius. 
“What if they catch you? What if you're seen?” 
“You three and Dumbledore are the only ones around here who know I'm an Animagus,” said Sirius, shrugging, and continuing to devour the chicken leg. 
Ron nudged Harry and passed him the Daily Prophets. There were two: The first bore the headline Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch, the second, Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister of Magic Now Personally Involved. 
Harry scanned the story about Crouch. Phrases jumped out at him: hasn't been seen in public since November…house appears deserted…St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment…Ministry refuses to confirm rumors of critical illness.… 
“They're making it sound like he's dying,” said Harry slowly. “But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here.…” 
“My brothers Crouch's personal assistant,” Ron informed Sirius. “He says Crouch is suffering from overwork.” 
“Mind you, he did look ill, last time I saw him up close,” said Harry slowly, still reading the story. “The night my name came out of the goblet.…” 
“Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?” said Hermione, an edge to her voice. She was stroking Buckbeak, who was crunching up Sirius's chicken bones. “I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now she's not there to look after him.” 
“Hermione's obsessed with house-elfs,” Ron muttered to Sirius, casting Hermione a dark look. Sirius, however, looked interested. 
“Crouch sacked his house-elf?” 
“Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup,” said Harry, and he launched into the story of the Dark Mark's appearance, and Winky being found with Harry's wand clutched in her hand, and Mr. Crouch's fury. When Harry had finished, Sirius was on his feet again and had started pacing up and down the cave. 
“Let me get this straight,” he said after a while, brandishing a fresh chicken leg. “You first saw the elfin the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?” 
“Right,” said Harry, Ron, and Hermione together. 
“But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?” 
“No,” said Harry. “I think he said he'd been too busy.” 
Sirius paced all around the cave in silence. Then he said, “Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you'd left the Top Box?” 
“Erm…” Harry thought hard. “No,” he said finally. “I didn't need to use it before we got in the forest. And then I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was in there were my Omnioculars.” He stared at Sirius. “Are you saying whoever conjured the Mark stole my wand in the Top Box?” 
“It's possible,” said Sirius. 
“Winky didn't steal that wand!” Hermione insisted. 
“The elf wasn't the only one in that box,” said Sirius, his brow furrowed as he continued to pace. “Who else was sitting behind you?” 
“Loads of people,” said Harry. “Some Bulgarian ministers…Cornelius Fudge…the Malfoys…” 
“The Malfoys!” said Ron suddenly, so loudly that his voice echoed all around the cave, and Buckbeak tossed his head nervously. “I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!” 
“Anyone else?” said Sirius. 
“No one,” said Harry. 
“Yes, there was, there was Ludo Bagman,” Hermione reminded him. 
“Oh yeah…” 
“I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps,” said Sirius, still pacing. “What's he like?” 
“He's okay,” said Harry. “He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament.” 
“Does he, now?” said Sirius, frowning more deeply. “I wonder why he'd do that?” 
“Says he's taken a liking to me,” said Harry. 
“Hmm,” said Sirius, looking thoughtful. 
“We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared,” Hermione told Sirius. “Remember?” she said to Harry and Ron. 
“Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?” said Ron. “The moment we told him about the riot, he went off to the campsite.” 
“How d'you know?” Hermione shot back. “How d'you know where he Disapparated to?” 
“Come off it,” said Ron incredulously. “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?” 
“It's more likely he did it than Winky,” said Hermione stubbornly. 
“Told you,” said Ron, looking meaningfully at Sirius, “told you she's obsessed with house -” 
But Sirius held up a hand to silence Ron. 
“When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?” 
“Went to look in the bushes,” said Harry, “but there wasn't anyone else there.” 
“Of course,” Sirius muttered, pacing up and down, “of course, he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf…and then he sacked her?” 
“Yes,” said Hermione in a heated voice, “he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled -” 
“Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” said Ron. 
Sirius shook his head and said, “She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a mans like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” 
He ran a hand over his unshaven face, evidently thinking hard. 
“All these absences of Barty Crouch's…he goes to the trouble of making sure his house-elf saves him a seat at the Quidditch World Cup, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that too.…It's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off work because of illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak.” 
“D'you know Crouch, then?” said Harry. 
Sirius's face darkened. He suddenly looked as menacing as he had the night when Harry first met him, the night when Harry still believed Sirius to be a murderer. 
“Oh I know Crouch all right,” he said quietly. “He was the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial.” 
“What?” said Ron and Hermione together. 
“You're kidding!” said Harry. 
“No, I'm not,” said Sirius, taking another great bite of chicken. “Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?” 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione shook their heads. 
“He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic,” said Sirius. “He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry. Oh never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry's face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side…well, you wouldn't understand…you're too young.…” 
“That's what my dad said at the World Cup,” said Ron, with a trace of irritation in his voice. “Try us, why don't you?” 
A grin flashed across Sirius's thin face. 
“All right, I'll try you.…” He walked once up the cave, back again, and then said, “Imagine that Voldemort's powerful now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working for him and who isn't; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing…the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere…panic…confusion…that's how it used to be. 
“Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others. Crouch's principles might've been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side. He had his supporters, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamoring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened.…” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power.” 
“Crouch's son was caught?” gasped Hermione. 
“Yep,” said Sirius, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself back down on the ground beside the loaf of bread, and tearing it in half. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I'd I magine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while…gotten to know his own son.” 
He began to wolf down large pieces of bread. 
“Was his son a Death Eater?” said Harry. 
“No idea,” said Sirius, still stuffing down bread. “I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I'd bet my life were Death Eaters - but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf.” 
“Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Hermione whispered. 
Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. 
“Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to becoming Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy…then he sent him straight to Azkaban.” 
“He gave his own son to the dementors?” asked Harry quietly. 
“That's right,” said Sirius, and he didn't look remotely amused now. “I saw the dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though…they all went quiet in the end…except when they shrieked in their sleep.…” 
For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius's eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them. 
“So he's still in Azkaban?” Harry said. 
“No,” said Sirius dully. “No, he's not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.” 
“He died?” 
“He wasn't the only one,” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterward. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it.” 
Sirius threw aside the bread he had just lifted to his mouth and instead picked up the flask of pumpkin juice and drained it. 
“So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister of Magic…next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonored, and, so I've heard since I escaped, a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.” 
There was a long silence. Harry was thinking of the way Crouch's eyes had bulged as he'd looked down at his disobedient house-elf back in the wood at the Quidditch World Cup. This, then, must have been why Crouch had overreacted to Winky being found beneath the Dark Mark. It had brought back memories of his son, and the old scandal, and his fall from grace at the Ministry. 
“Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards,” Harry told Sirius. 
“Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him,” said Sirius, nodding. “If you ask me, he still thinks he can bring back the old popularity by catching one more Death Eater.” 
“And he sneaked up here to search Snape's office!” said Ron triumphantly, looking at Hermione. 
“Yes, and that doesn't make sense at all,” said Sirius. 
“Yeah, it does!” said Ron excitedly, but Sirius shook his head. 
“Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to judge the tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make regular visits to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him.” 
“So you think Snape could be up to something, then?” asked Harry, but Hermione broke in. 
“Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape -” 
“Oh give it a rest, Hermione,” said Ron impatiently. “I know Dumbledores brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't fool him -” 
“Why did Snape save Harry's life in the first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?” 
“I dunno - maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out-” 
“What d'you think, Sirius?” Harry said loudly, and Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to listen. 
“I think they've both got a point,” said Sirius, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. “Ever since I found out Snape was teaching here, I've wondered why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid, he was,” Sirius added, and Harry and Ron grinned at each other. “Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters.” 
Sirius held up his fingers and began ticking off names. 
“Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never even accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's certainly clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble.” 
“Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet,” said Ron. 
“Yeah, you should've seen Snape's face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!” said Harry quickly. “Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't see what it was.” 
He showed Snape something on his arm?” said Sirius, looking frankly bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his filthy hair, then shrugged again. “Well, I've no idea what that's about…but if Karkaroff's genuinely worried, and he's going to Snape for answers…” 
Sirius stared at the cave wall, then made a grimace of frustration. 
“There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape, and I know Dumbledore trusts where a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach at Hogwarts if he'd ever worked for Voldemort.” 
“Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office then?” said Ron stubbornly. 
“Well,” said Sirius slowly, “I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defense Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though…he's a different matter…is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not…what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the tournament?” 
Sirius lapsed into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak was ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looked up at Ron. 
“You say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?” 
“I can try,” said Ron doubtfully. “Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch.” 
“And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it,” said Sirius, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet. 
“Bagman told me they hadn't,” said Harry. 
“Yes, he's quoted in the article in there,” said Sirius, nodding at the paper. “Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dim, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic…maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long.…” 
Sirius heaved an enormous sigh and rubbed his shadowed eyes. 
“What's the time?” 
Harry checked his watch, then remembered it hadn't been working since it had spent over an hour in the lake. 
“It's half past three,” said Hermione. 
“You'd better get back to school,” Sirius said, getting to his feet. “Now listen…” He looked particularly hard at Harry. “I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you.” 
“No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of grindylows,” Harry said, but Sirius scowled at him. 
“I don't care…I'll breathe freely again when this tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?” 
He handed Harry the empty napkin and flask and went to pat Buckbeak good-bye. “I'll walk to the edge of the village with you,” said Sirius, “see if I can scrounge another paper.” 
He transformed into the great black dog before they left the cave, and they walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allowed each of them to pat him on the head, before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts. 
“Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?” Ron said as they walked up the drive to the castle. “But maybe he doesn't care…It'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son.” 
“Percy would never throw any of his family to the dementors,” said Hermione severely. 
“I don't know,” said Ron. “If he thought we were standing in the way of his career…Percy's really ambitious, you know.…” 
They walked up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward them from the Great Hall. 
“Poor old Snuffles,” said Ron, breathing deeply. “He must really like you. Harry.…Imagine having to live off rats.” 
第二件任务之后每个人都争着想知道在湖底发生的一切。这样罗恩就要抢了哈利被公众注目的份儿了。哈利发现罗恩对事情的重述中略微地改变了。一开始，他好像还是在讲事情的真相；一个星期过后，罗恩却在讲一个可怕的拐骗案，说他如何单枪匹马对付那五十个装备精良而且准备打到他屈服并把他绑起来的人。 
　　“但我把我的魔杖藏在袖子里。”他使帕得玛。帕提相信他。帕得玛。帕提显得更被吸引住了。罗恩每过一个走廊都会强调一下他要讲的内容，“我随时可以干掉那帮海底傻瓜。” 
　　“那你那时打算怎么做，对他们打鼾吗？”荷米恩尖刻地说。因为人们取笑她说她是维特。克伦最想念的人，她变得格外易怒。 
　　罗恩的耳根都红了。于是他又描述了一遍被弄晕睡过去的情景。 
　　随着三月的到来，天气变得更干燥了，每当哈利他们出去时，刺骨的寒风刮着他们的手和脸。这种天气使通讯上有点耽搁，因为猫头鹰不停地被风吹偏离跑线。这只棕色的猫头鹰是带着哈利发给西里斯的信。哈利想告诉他霍格瓦彻的会议要在星期五早晨的早餐上举行。猫头鹰的羽毛乱七竖八地立着。哈利一见到西里斯的回复就赶紧拿下来，生恐猫头鹰会把它又带走。 
　　西里斯的信几乎跟先前的一样短：“星期六下午两点在霍格瓦彻外面路尽头阶梯见。尽量多带食物。” 
　　“他还没回霍格瓦彻？”罗恩将信将疑地说。 
　　“看来是的，不是吗？”荷米恩说。 
　　“我不相信，”哈利紧张地说，“如果他已经抓了……” 
　　“到现在这田地只好相信了。”罗恩说，“那里也不再像是聚集得蒙特的地方了。” 
　　哈利把信叠好，思考着。如果他是诚恳的，他应该想再见西里斯一次。因此他开始了下午的最后一课——生物药脂学。当他走下地牢的阶梯时他觉得比平时更轻快。 
　　下午最后一节课上课前马尔夫、克来伯和高尔以及史林德林女孩聚集在教室门口。他们全都在看着一样哈利看不出来的东西。当哈利、罗恩和荷米思进来时，班西那哈巴狗似的脸正在凝视在高尔那平定的大脸上。 
　　“他们来了，他们来了！”她格格地笑，史林德林那群人散开了。 
　　哈利见到班西手里拿着本杂志——《美女周刊》。封面上画着一位手里拿着魔杖的卷发的迷人女孩正对着一个大蛋糕露齿笑着。 
　　“在这儿你可以发现一些有趣的东西，格林佐！”班西大声唤，并把杂志扔给荷米恩。荷米恩接住杂志，吃惊地看着她。就在那时，地牢的门开了，招他们进来。 
　　荷米恩、哈利和罗恩像往常一样朝着地牢后面的桌子走过去。 
　　当史纳皮一转身在黑板上写今天学的那剂药的配方时，荷米恩迅速地在桌子底下创览了一下杂志。最后，在杂志中间，荷米恩发现了他们要找的文章。哈利和罗恩靠上来。在一张哈利的彩图上标着“哈利·波特秘密的头疼”。上面是这样写着的：与众不同的一个男孩，也许是吧；但是，这个男孩承受着青年人所承受的一切烦恼——理特。史姬特这么写道——自从一场不幸夺去了他的父母，十四岁的哈利就被夺去了被爱的权利。他想他可以从亲密的女友——一个来自霍格瓦彻的农家女孩的安慰。然而他没意识到他将会经受生命中另外一次感情的打击——所爱被夺。 
　　格林佐小组，一个相貌平平，但野心勃勃的女孩，好像钟情于那些出色的奇才，然而哈利却不是。自从维持。克伦——保加利亚籍，快迪斯世界杯比赛的最后一个英雄——来到霍格瓦彻，格林佐小姐就开始玩弄两个男孩的爱情。克伦这个公然与迷途的格林佐小姐厮磨的男孩，已经向她发出邀请访她去保加利亚度暑假，而且声称他从未与另一个女孩感受到如此的炽热的爱。 
　　可能不是格林佐小姐那值得怀疑的自然之美吸引住这两个不幸的男孩。 
　　“她真丑，”班西啪金森，一个十四岁的漂亮活泼的学生说，“但她有足够的本事制爱情药，她有脑筋，我想她现在就这么做着。” 
　　爱情药在霍格瓦彻当然是禁止的，但艾伯斯。丹伯多无疑想研究并得专利。这时，哈利·波特的祝福者一定希望下一次他将他的心放在一个更加值得的人身上了。 
　　“我告诉过你！”罗恩气呼呼地对荷米恩说，“我告诉你别去惹怒理特。史姬特！她会把你变成一个荡妇的！” 
　　荷米恩当时正在看那篇文章，她抬眼一看他，有点惊讶，然后轻蔑地笑。 
　　“荡妇？”她复述着，她回头看了罗恩，尽量忍住格格的笑。 
　　“我妈妈这样称呼她们。”罗恩咕哝着，耳根又红透了。 
　　“如果那是理特能做的，她肯定失去理智了。”荷米恩仍笑着说。 
　　“一堆垃圾！”她把那本美女周刊扔在一张空的桌子上面。 
　　她看看史林德林那群人，他们正在看她。这时哈利悄悄地走到这边看他们是否被那篇文章弄得不开心了。荷米恩朝他摆摆手、讽刺地笑了笑，然后和哈利、罗恩一起取出他们要做清醒药的配料。 
　　“倒还真有点可笑，”十分钟后荷米恩说，“理特。史姬特是怎么知道的……？” 
　　“知道啥？”罗恩快言快语，“你还没配好爱情药，不是吗？” 
　　“别犯傻了，”荷米恩打断他的话，开始把甲虫捣烂，“不是的，只是，她怎么知道维特叫我夏天去拜访他？” 
　　荷米恩这样说时脸都红窘了，她决意避开罗恩的眼神。 
　　“什么？“铿锵一声，罗恩的杵掉在地上。 
　　“他一把我拖出湖面就问我，”荷米恩低声说，“当他逃离鲨鱼的虎口，波姆弗雷夫人给我们两张毯子，他就拉我到一处以便大家都听不见的地方，他就问我如果我这个暑假没啥好干，我是否愿意去……” 
　　“你怎么回答？”罗恩紧张地问，他捡起杵子，在离碗六英寸远的桌上捣呀磨呀，眼睛一刻也没离开过荷米恩。 
　　“他说从来没有一个女孩让他心跳如此狂烈，”荷米恩脸红得如此厉害以致哈利都感到她发出的热气。“但理特。史姬特怎么听到的呢？她又不在场，难道……？也许她有一件隐形篷衣，或者她溜到地牢里看第二项任务……” 
　　“那你说什么了？”罗恩再问一遍，他那么大力地辗着桌子以致桌子都凹下去了。 
　　“得了，我太忙于照料你和哈利，我不能……” 
　　“你的社交毫无疑问是——荒诞，格林佐小姐”，一个冰冷的声音从后面传来，“我必须要求你不要在我们课上讨论这样的话题，扣十分。” 
　　史纳皮已经走到他们那儿了。这时整个班的人都盯着他们看。 
　　马尔夫有机会拿波特斯丁在哈利面前炫耀了。 
　　“啊，还在桌底下看杂志喔？”史纳皮一把抓过美女周刊，“哼，得再扣十分……幄，当然……”史纲皮的黑眼睛看到理特。史姬特的文章时突然一亮，“波特得跟上他受伤的心…… 
　　地牢里回荡着史林德林那群人的哄笑，史纳皮先生薄薄的嘴皮露出一个不满的微笑。为了激怒哈利，他开始大声朗读。 
　　“《哈利·波特的秘密头疼》——噢，亲爱的，什么使你这样疼呀？——一个与众不同的男孩，也许……” 
　　哈利感到他的脸火辣辣地烧着。史纳皮每读完一句就停一下，那些史林德林就拼命地笑。这篇文章让史纳皮读真是难听十倍。 
　　“哈利·波特的祝福者一定希望，下一次他会把他的心放在一个更值得的人身上。”“真感人！”史纳皮先生轻蔑地笑，把杂志卷起来。 
　　“好，我想我最好分开你们三个人以便你们能抛开三角恋爱集中精神听我的课。威斯里，你就留在那儿，格林佐小姐，你去帕金森小姐旁边。波特，到我前面的桌子，现在换位。” 
　　哈利把他的配料和书包气冲冲地扔进他的大汽锅里，把它拖到地牢前面的空桌子。史纳皮跟着他，坐在自己的桌子上看着哈利把锅里的东西拿出来。哈利决定不看史纳皮，把甲虫都当作史纳皮的脸研磨成糊状。 
　　当其他同学安静下来的时候，史纳皮说：“所有的这些压力使你那原本已过大的脑袋膨胀了。” 
　　哈利不应声。他知道史纳皮又在挑衅，他以前就这样做过。毫无疑问是在找茬。让他在课结束之前扣五十分。 
　　“你在妄想着整个男巫世界都在你的控制之下，”史纳皮继续说。 
　　他说得很小声，没有旁人听得见（哈利也继续磨他的甲虫，他已经磨得不能再碎了）。“但我不管你在杂志上登过多少照片，对于我来说，你只不过是一个令人作呕的毛孩，老想把戒律抛之不理。” 
　　哈利把甲虫粉倒进锅里并开始切姜。出于愤怒，他的手微微发抖，但他坚持眼皮也不抬一下，好像没听见史纳皮在对他说。 
　　“不是我不警告你，波特，”史纳皮用一种更温柔更危险的声音说道，“小而无价值的庆祝或者——如果让我抓住你企图再闯进我的办公室——” 
　　“我从来不靠近你的办公室！”哈利吼道，忘了他刚才还在装聋。 
　　“你瞒不过我，”史纳皮哼了一下，他那毫无深度的呆眼盯着哈利，“我知道是谁偷的！” 
　　哈利瞪回史纳皮，眼睛决意不眨，好像不怕被责备一样。事实上，他两样东西都没偷。荷米恩在二年级时拿走了史纳皮那张有咒语的皮，因为他们要用它制烦恼药。史纳皮一直怀疑哈利，但无法证实。而另外一样是多比偷的。 
　　“我压根儿不知道你在说什么。”哈利冷冷地说。 
　　“我办公室被盗那天你正好不在床上！我就晓得是你！现在魔眼莫迪可能加入你们那伙人，但我不会再忍受你的行为！再敢闯进我的办公室，我就收拾你！” 
　　“好的，”哈利冷冷地说完转身切他的姜，“如果有必要去你那里，我会好好地记住你的话的。” 
　　史纳皮眼红了一下，他把手插进他的黑袍里。僵持了一下，哈利猜史纳皮要抽出他的魔杖来咒他——但史纳皮拿出一个装着清澈透明药剂的水晶小瓶。哈利盯着瓶子。 
　　“知道这是用来干嘛的吗？”史纳皮的眼里闪烁着危险的光芒。 
　　“不知道。”这次哈利完全老实地回答。 
　　“这是吃了讲真话的药。只要三滴就能把你最心底的话掏出来讲给全班听。”史纳皮阴恶地说，“虽然这种药严格控制使用，但我还是能用它看你是否真的到我办公室没有。” 
　　哈利不作声。他又低头切他的姜。他一点也不喜欢这种说真话的药，他也决不会让史纳皮灌给他吃。一想到如果史纳皮真让他吃了后果会怎样，他就打了个颤。他把姜丝倒进大锅里，想着要不要撕莫迪书上的一页，然后喝他自己的长颈瓶里的东西。 
　　地牢门给人敲得咯咯响。 
　　“进来。”史纳皮恢复到他正常的声音。 
　　门开时全班都望过去。进来的是卡克罗夫教授。当他径直走向史纳皮的桌子时每个人都望着他。他用手摸着他的山羊胡须，显然他很激动。 
　　“我们要谈一下。”卡克罗夫走到史纳皮处时突然说。他好像决意不让任何人知道他说什么似的，嘴巴几乎没动，看上去就像一个瘪脚的口技表演者。哈利眼虽还看在姜上，耳朵却坚直了听着。 
　　“卡克罗夫，下课后我找你谈。”史纳皮低声说，但卡克罗夫打断了他的话。 
　　“我现在就要谈，你不要再闪避，你老避着我了。” 
　　“下课后说。”史纳皮说。 
　　借着举起量杯看是否倒进足够的犰狳胆汁的机会，哈利侧眼掠了一下他们。卡克罗夫显得很忧虑而史纳皮则很气愤。 
　　卡克罗夫留在史纳皮的桌子后面度过这节课剩余的时间。他好像决计要防止史纳皮在课室的尽头溜走。哈利很想知道他们将谈什么，便故意在下课前两分钟打烂装着犹徐胆汁的试管好有借口下课后晚点走。 
　　“什么这么紧急？”他听见史纳皮对卡克罗夫心急地说。 
　　“这个。”卡克罗夫说。 
　　哈利凝视着他的大锅边缘，却能看到卡克罗夫从他的袍子里伸出左手，给史纳皮看一样东西。 
　　“看见了吗？”卡克罗夫仍然尽力闭着嘴说话，“看见了吗？它以前没有这么清澈，自从——” 
　　“把它收好！”史纳皮咆哮道，他的黑眼扫了一遍课室。 
　　“但是你一定已经注意到——”卡克罗夫开始焦急。 
　　“我们迟点再说！”史纳皮轻拍了他一下。“波特！你在这儿干什么？” 
　　“扫干净那些机徐胆汁，教授。”哈利无辜地说，拿那块湿的抹布给他看。 
　　卡克罗夫又气又担心地离开了。不想与正要发火的史纳皮留在地牢里。哈利把他的书呀，调料呀全塞进包里，最快速度地跑去告诉罗恩和荷米恩他所见到的一切。 
　　第二天中午太阳不是那么猛的时候他们出发赴要西里斯的约会。天气比什么时候都热，所以他们走到霍格瓦彻时，都得把斗篷摘下来了。西里斯叫他们拿的食物全放在哈利的包里；他们从午餐桌上偷了12只鸡，一条面包和一罐南瓜汁。 
　　他们先去格来登。乌特维那里买了份礼物给多比。他们发现在那儿挑袜子挺有趣。他们挑了两对。有一对嵌有一闪一闪的金银星，而还有一对当太臭时会发出尖叫。一点半时，他们经过高街，走向村庄的郊区。 
　　哈利从来没走过这条路。弯曲的小路把他们带到一个荒凉的农村。这里的屋舍更少，每户的花园更大。他们来到山脚下，拐了一个弯，见到小路的尽头有阶梯。一只看上去很脸熟的蓬毛大黑狗半躺在横木上，口里叼着一些报纸。 
　　“嘿，西里斯。”当他们走近它时，哈利打招呼。 
　　这只黑狗急着嗅了嗅哈利的包，摆摆尾，然后转身小跑穿过矮树丛。哈利，罗恩和荷米恩爬上阶梯跟在它后面。 
　　西里斯领着他们跑到山脚下。那里怪石嶙峋。它轻而易举地跑过去了，但哈利、罗恩和荷米恩很快就上气不接下气。他们跟着西里斯爬上山。沿着一条陡峭石路，在西里斯摇摆的尾巴带领下，他们爬了近一个半小时。背包带在哈利的肩上深深地勒出一道痕。 
　　到最后，西里斯消失了。他们在它消失的地方看到一块有裂缝的巨石。他们挤进裂缝里，来到一个凉爽但光线微暗的山洞。那只半像马、半像鸟的鸟嘴巴克的脚用绳拴在一块石头上，眼睛露出锐利的橙色光芒。他们三个弯身向它鞠躬。它傲慢地回应一下之后，过了一会儿，它弯下它多鳞的前脚，允许荷米恩抚摸它的脖子。哈利在看那刚刚变为哈利教父的黑狗。 
　　西里斯穿着破烂的灰袍，那件他离开阿兹克班时穿的灰袍。它的黑毛比以前更长，更胜更乱。它显得瘦了。 
　　“鸡肉！”它一见到鸡肉立刻扔掉报纸嘶哑地叫。 
　　哈利打开背包，递鸡和面包给它。 
　　“谢谢！”西里斯抓起鸡肉撕开，津津有味地吃起来。“我现在以老鼠为生，我知道你们不能偷太多，我会照顾自己的了。” 
　　他冲哈利咧嘴一笑，但哈利勉强地回报它一笑。 
　　“你在这儿都干些什么呢，西里斯？”她问。 
　　“负责完成当教父的责任，”西里斯说，用一种狗的方式啃着鸡腿，“不用担心我，我会尽力做一只讨人爱的流浪狗。” 
　　他仍然咧嘴笑，但见到哈利担心的样子，便忧虑地说：“我想出来，你那封信——，我每看到人们放下一张报纸我就偷走，通过看报纸得知情况。” 
　　它对着地上那张报纸哄哄叫，罗恩捡起来打开看。 
　　哈利仍然很担心，“如果他们抓到你或看到你怎么办？” 
　　“附近只有你们三个知道我是西里斯，”西里斯耸耸肩，继续啃它的鸡骨。 
　　罗恩轻碰了一下哈利，把先知日报递给他看。头条是：巴地。克劳斯的怪病；还有一条是：女巫部长下落不明——魔法部长牵涉进内。 
　　哈利读了一下内容。 
　　“他们说克劳斯好像快死了，”哈利慢吞吞地说，“但谁只要来那儿一趟就知道情况并不那么糟糕。” 
　　“我哥哥是克劳斯的助理，”罗恩告诉西里斯，“他说克劳斯快忙昏了。” 
　　“我才不在乎呢！”荷米恩冷淡地说。 
　　“荷米恩好像被精灵萦绕。”罗恩对西里斯低声说，并看了一眼荷米恩。 
　　西里斯却显得感兴趣。 
　　“你第一次看到精灵是在快迪斯世界杯上，她帮克劳斯占了一个座，对不？” 
　　“对。”哈利、罗恩和荷米恩异口同声地说。 
　　“但克劳斯没出现在那场比赛上。他可能太忙了。” 
　　西里斯一声不哼地在洞里踱来踱去。“哈利，你离开快迪斯之后有没有发现你的魔杖正在口袋里？” 
　　“嗯……”哈利使劲地想，“没有，”他最终想起，“我们去森林之前不会用它。当时我把手放进口袋里，口袋里除了欧米卡尔斯啥也没有了。你的意思是有人变魔法把我的魔杖拿走了？” 
　　“很可能。”西里斯说。 
　　“温奇没有偷你的魔杖！”荷米恩尖声说。 
　　“精灵并不在那盒子里头，当时谁坐在你旁边呢？”西里斯皱了一下眉。 
　　“好多人。保加利亚部长……可尼斯。法治……还有马尔夫……” 
　　“肯定是马尔夫！”罗恩突然插嘴，他那么大声以致于他的声音在整个洞里回响，鸟嘴巴克不安地摇摇头。“我打包票是梅尔法！” 
　　“还有别的什么人吗？”西里斯问。 
　　“没有了。”哈利答。 
　　“还有露得。巴格蒙。”荷米恩提醒他。 
　　“噢，对……” 
　　“我不大认识巴格蒙，只知道他过去曾做过打手。”西里斯还在踱来踱去，“他怎么了？” 
　　“还好，”哈利答，“他老想帮我赢男巫比赛。” 
　　“是吗？他为什么要那样做呢？”西里斯又皱起眉来。 
　　“他说他喜欢我。”哈利说。 
　　“唔。”西里斯若有所思。 
　　“我们在森林里看见他，就在黑色标记出现之前。”荷米恩告诉西里斯，“记得吗？”她又对哈利和罗恩说。 
　　“是，但他没留在森林里呀！”罗恩说，“我们一告诉他暴乱的事，他就赶回营地。” 
　　“你怎么知道？”荷米恩反唇相讥，“你怎么知道他往哪里消失了呢？” 
　　“你是在说露得。巴格蒙在用魔法迷惑黑色标记吗？”罗恩不大相信的说。 
　　“巴格蒙比温奇更有可能。”荷米恩固执地说。 
　　罗恩看了看西里斯说：“她给精灵困挠着——” 
　　但西里斯举起一只手不让罗恩说下去，“标记被遮住时，精灵已被发现正拿着哈利的魔杖，这时克劳斯怎么做？” 
　　“他去灌木丛里看，但没有其他人在。”哈利说。 
　　“当然，”西里斯低声说，“他想钉住所有的人，除了他自己的精灵……接着他抓住她吗？” 
　　“对，”荷米恩火上来了，“他抓住她，只因为她不乖乖地留在帐篷里而出来被人蹂躏。” 
　　“荷米恩，拜托你不要再讲精灵的事了。”罗恩说。 
　　但西里斯摇摇头说：“她看克劳斯比你准，罗恩，如果你想知道一个人是啥模样的，只要看他怎么对待地位比他低的人，而不是与他平等的人。”他用手抚摸着没刮胡子的脸，努力地思考着。“克劳斯缺席很多。他让他的精灵帮他占了一个座位看快迪斯世界杯大赛，但他又不出现去看。他很努力让男巫比赛恢复，自己却不去看。这不太像克劳斯，如果他有一天因病请假的话，我就吃了鸟嘴巴克。” 
　　“你原来就认识克劳斯吗？”哈利问。 
　　西里斯阴下脸。他突然变得像哈利第一次见到他那时那么险恶
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. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
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 DESERVESBETTER. 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!” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
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
Chapter 29 The Dream
It comes down to this,” said Hermione, rubbing her forehead. “Either Mr. Crouch attacked Viktor, or somebody else attacked both of them when Viktor wasn't looking.” 
“It must've been Crouch,” said Ron at once. “That's why he was gone when Harry and Dumbledore got there. He'd done a runner.” 
“I don't think so,” said Harry, shaking his head. “He seemed really weak - I don't reckon he was up to Disapparating or anything.” 
“You can't Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds, haven't I told you enough times?” said Hermione. 
“Okay…hows this for a theory,” said Ron excitedly. “Krum attacked Crouch - no, wait for it - and then Stunned himself!” 
“And Mr. Crouch evaporated, did he?” said Hermione coldly. 
“Oh yeah…” 
It was daybreak. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had crept out of their dormitories very early and hurried up to the Owlery together to send a note to Sirius. Now they were standing looking out at the misty grounds. All three of them were puffy-eyed and pale because they had been talking late into the night about Mr. Crouch. 
“Just go through it again, Harry,” said Hermione. “What did Mr. Crouch actually say?” 
“I've told you, he wasn't making much sense,” said Harry. “He said he wanted to warn Dumbledore about something. He definitely mentioned Bertha Jorkins, and he seemed to think she was dead. He kept saying stuff was his fault.…He mentioned his son.” 
“Well, that was his fault,” said Hermione testily. 
“He was out of his mind,” said Harry. “Half the time he seemed to think his wife and son were still alive, and he kept talking to Percy about work and giving him instructions.” 
“And…remind me what he said about You-Know-Who?” said Ron tentatively. 
“I've told you,” Harry repeated dully. “He said he's getting stronger.” 
There was a pause. Then Ron said in a falsely confident voice, “But he was out of his mind, like you said, so half of it was probably just raving.…” 
“He was sanest when he was trying to talk about Voldemort,” said Harry, and Ron winced at the sound of the name. “He was having real trouble stringing two words together, but that was when he seemed to know where he was, and know what he wanted to do. He just kept saying he had to see Dumbledore.” 
Harry turned away from the window and stared up into the rafters. The many perches were half-empty; every now and then, another owl would swoop in through one of the windows, returning from its night's hunting with a mouse in its beak. 
“If Snape hadn't held me up,” Harry said bitterly, “we might've got there in time. ‘The headmaster is busy. Potter…what's this rubbish, Potter?’ Why couldn't he have just got out of the way?” 
“Maybe he didn't want you to get there!” said Ron quickly. “Maybe - hang on - how fast d'you reckon he could've gotten down to the forest? D'you reckon he could've beaten you and Dumbledore there?” 
“Not unless he can turn himself into a bat or something,” said Harry. 
“Wouldn't put it past him,” Ron muttered. 
“We need to see Professor Moody,” said Hermione. “We need to find out whether he found Mr. Crouch.” 
“If he had the Marauder's Map on him, it would've been easy,” said Harry. 
“Unless Crouch was already outside the grounds,” said Ron, “because it only shows up to the boundaries, doesn't -” 
“Shh!” said Hermione suddenly. 
Somebody was climbing the steps up to the Owlery. Harry could hear two voices arguing, coming closer and closer. 
“- that's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that-” 
“- we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did -” 
“I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, it's blackmail!” 
“Yeah, and you won't be complaining if we get a nice fat payoff, will you?” 
The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 
“What're you doing here?” Ron and Fred said at the same time. 
“Sending a letter,” said Harry and George in unison. 
“What, at this time?” said Hermione and Fred. 
Fred grinned. 
“Fine - we won't ask you what you're doing, if you don't ask us,” he said. 
He was holding a sealed envelope in his hands. Harry glanced at it, but Fred, whether accidentally or on purpose, shifted his hand so that the name on it was covered. 
“Well, don't let us hold you up,” Fred said, making a mock bow and pointing at the door. 
Ron didn't move. “Who're you blackmailing?” he said. 
The grin vanished from Fred's face. Harry saw George half glance at Fred, before smiling at Ron. 
“Don't be stupid, I was only joking,” he said easily. 
“Didn't sound like that,” said Ron. 
Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, “I've told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but -” 
“It's my business if you're blackmailing someone,” said Ron. “George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that.” 
“Told you, I was joking,” said George. He walked over to Fred, pulled the letter out of his hands, and began attaching it to the leg of the nearest barn owl. “You're starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you'll be made a prefect.” 
“No, I won't!” said Ron hotly. 
George carried the barn owl over to the window and it took off. George turned around and grinned at Ron. 
“Well, stop telling people what to do then. See you later.” 
He and Fred left the Owlery. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at one another. 
“You don't think they know something about all this, do you?” Hermione whispered. “About Crouch and everything?” 
“No,” said Harry. “If it was something that serious, they'd tell someone. They'd tell Dumbledore.” 
Ron, however, was looking uncomfortable. 
“What's the matter?” Hermione asked him. 
“Well…” said Ron slowly, “I dunno if they would. They're…they're obsessed with making money lately, I noticed it when I was hanging around with them - when - you know -” 
“We weren't talking.” Harry finished the sentence for him. “Yeah, but blackmail…” 
“It's this joke shop idea they've got,” said Ron. “I thought they were only saying it to annoy Mum, but they really mean it, they want to start one. They've only got a year left at Hogwarts, they keep going on about how it's time to think about their future, and Dad can't help them, and they need gold to get started.” 
Hermione was looking uncomfortable now. 
“Yes, but…they wouldn't do anything against the law to get gold.” 
“Wouldn't they?” said Ron, looking skeptical. “I dunno…they don't exactly mind breaking rules, do they?” 
“Yes, but this is the law,” said Hermione, looking scared. “This isn't some silly school rule.…They'll get a lot more than detention for blackmail! Ron…maybe you'd better tell Percy.…” 
“Are you mad?” said Ron. “Tell Percy? He'd probably do a Crouch and turn them in.” He stared at the window through which Fred and George's owl had departed, then said, “Come on, let's get some breakfast.” 
“D'you think it's too early to go and see Professor Moody?” Hermione said as they went down the spiral staircase. 
“Yes,” said Harry. “He'd probably blast us through the door if we wake him at the crack of dawn; he'll think we're trying to attack him while he's asleep. Let's give it till break.” 
History of Magic had rarely gone so slowly. Harry kept checking Ron's watch, having finally discarded his own, but Ron's was moving so slowly he could have sworn it had stopped working too. All three of them were so tired they could happily have put their heads down on the desks and slept; even Hermione wasn't taking her usual notes, but was sitting with her head on her hand, gazing at Professor Binns with her eyes out of focus. 
When the bell finally rang, they hurried out into the corridors toward the Dark Arts classroom and found Professor Moody leaving it. He looked as tired as they felt. The eyelid of his normal eye was drooping, giving his face an even more lopsided appearance than usual. 
“Professor Moody?” Harry called as they made their way toward him through the crowd. 
“Hello, Potter,” growled Moody. His magical eye followed a couple of passing first years, who sped up, looking nervous; it rolled into the back of Moody's head and watched them around the corner before he spoke again. 
“Come in here.” 
He stood back to let them into his empty classroom, limped in after them, and closed the door. 
“Did you find him?” Harry asked without preamble. “Mr. Crouch?” 
“No,” said Moody. He moved over to his desk, sat down, stretched out his wooden leg with a slight groan, and pulled out his hip flask. 
“Did you use the map?” Harry said. 
“Of course,” said Moody, taking a swig from his flask. “Took a leaf out of your book, Potter. Summoned it from my office into the forest. He wasn't anywhere on there.” 
“So he did Disapparate?” said Ron. 
“You can't Disapparate on the grounds, Ron!” said Hermione. “There are other ways he could have disappeared, aren't there, Professor?” 
Moody's magical eye quivered as it rested on Hermione. “You're another one who might think about a career as an Auror,” he told her. “Mind works the right way. Granger.” 
Hermione flushed pink with pleasure. 
“Well, he wasn't invisible,” said Harry. “The map shows invisible people. He must've left the grounds, then.” 
“But under his own steam?” said Hermione eagerly, “or because someone made him?” 
“Yeah, someone could've - could've pulled him onto a broom and flown off with him, couldn't they?” said Ron quickly, looking hopefully at Moody as if he too wanted to be told he had the makings of an Auror. 
“We can't rule out kidnap,” growled Moody. 
“So,” said Ron, “d'you reckon he's somewhere in Hogsmeade?” 
“Could be anywhere,” said Moody, shaking his head. “Only thing we know for sure is that he's not here.” 
He yawned widely, so that his scars stretched, and his lopsided mouth revealed a number of missing teeth. Then he said, “Now, Dumbledore's told me you three fancy yourselves as investigators, but there's nothing you can do for Crouch. The Ministry'll be looking for him now, Dumbledore's notified them. Potter, you just keep your mind on the third task.” 
“What?” said Harry. “Oh yeah…” 
He hadn't given the maze a single thought since he'd left it with Krum the previous night. 
“Should be right up your street, this one,” said Moody, looking up at Harry and scratching his scarred and stubbly chin. “From what Dumbledore's said, you've managed to get through stuff like this plenty of times. Broke your way through a series of obstacles guarding the Sorcerers Stone in your first year, didn't you?” 
“We helped,” Ron said quickly. “Me and Hermione helped.” 
Moody grinned. 
“Well, help him practice for this one, and I'll be very surprised if he doesn't win,” said Moody. “In the meantime…constant vigilance, Potter. Constant vigilance.” He took another long draw from his hip flask, and his magical eye swiveled onto the window. The topmost sail of the Durmstrang ship was visible through it. 
“You two,” counseled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and Hermione, “you stick close to Potter, all right? I'm keeping an eye on things, but all the same…you can never have too many eyes out.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Sirius sent their owl back the very next morning. It fluttered down beside Harry at the same moment that a tawny owl landed in front of Hermione, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet in its beak. She took the newspaper, scanned the first few pages, said, “Ha! She hasn't got wind of Crouch!” then joined Ron and Harry in reading what Sirius had to say on the mysterious events of the night before last. 
Harry - what do you think you are playing at, walking off into the forest with Viktor Krum? I want you to swear, by return owl, that you are not going to go walking with anyone else at night. There is somebody highly dangerous at Hogwarts. It is clear to me that they wanted to stop Crouch from seeing Dumbledore and you were probably feet away from them in the dark. You could have been killed. Your name didn't get into the Goblet of Fire by accident. If someone's trying to attack you, they're on their last chance. Stay close to Ron and Hermione, do not leave Gryffindor Tower after hours, and arm yourself for the third task. Practice Stunning and Disarming. A few hexes wouldn't go amiss either. There's nothing you can do about Crouch. Keep your head down and look after yourself. I'm waiting for your letter giving me your word you won't stray out-of-bounds again. Sirius “Who's he, to lecture me about being out-of-bounds?” said Harry in mild indignation as he folded up Sirius's letter and put it inside his robes. “After all the stuff he did at school!” 
“He's worried about you!” said Hermione sharply. “Just like Moody and Hagrid! So listen to them!” 
“No one's tried to attack me all year,” said Harry. “No one's done anything to me at all-” 
“Except put your name in the Goblet of Fire,” said Hermione. “And they must've done that for a reason. Harry. Snuffles is right. Maybe they've been biding their time. Maybe this is the task they're going to get you.” 
“Look,” said Harry impatiently, “let's say Sirius is right, and someone Stunned Krum to kidnap Crouch. Well, they would've been in the trees near us, wouldn't they? But they waited till I was out of the way until they acted, didn't they? So it doesn't look like I'm their target, does it?” 
“They couldn't have made it look like an accident if they'd murdered you in the forest!” said Hermione. “But if you die during a task-” 
“They didn't care about attacking Krum, did they?” said Harry. “Why didn't they just polish me off at the same time? They could've made it look like Krum and I had a duel or something.” 
“Harry, I don't understand it either,” said Hermione desperately. “I just know there are a lot of odd things going on, and I don't like it.…Moody's right - Sirius is right - you've got to get in training for the third task, straight away. And you make sure you write back to Sirius and promise him you're not going to go sneaking off alone again.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
The Hogwarts grounds never looked more inviting than when Harry had to stay indoors. For the next few days he spent all of his free time either in the library with Hermione and Ron, looking up hexes, or else in empty classrooms, which they sneaked into to practice. Harry was concentrating on the Stunning Spell, which he had never used before. The trouble was that practicing it involved certain sacrifices on Ron's and Hermione's part. 
“Can't we kidnap Mrs. Norris?” Ron suggested on Monday lunchtime as he lay flat on his back in the middle of their Charms classroom, having just been Stunned and reawoken by Harry for the fifth time in a row. “Let's Stun her for a bit. Or you could use Dobby, Harry, I bet he'd do anything to help you. I'm not complaining or anything” - he got gingerly to his feet, rubbing his backside - “but I'm aching all over.…” 
“Well, you keep missing the cushions, don't you!” said Hermione impatiently, rearranging the pile of cushions they had used for the Banishing Spell, which Flitwick had left in a cabinet. “Just try and fall backward!” 
“Once you're Stunned, you can't aim too well, Hermione! “said Ron angrily. “Why don't you take a turn?” 
“Well, I think Harry's got it now, anyway,” said Hermione hastily. “And we don't have to worry about Disarming, because he's been able to do that for ages.…I think we ought to start on some of these hexes this evening.” 
She looked down the list they had made in the library. 
“I like the look of this one,” she said, “this Impediment Curse. Should slow down anything that's trying to attack you. Harry. We'll start with that one.” 
The bell rang. They hastily shoved the cushions back into Flitwick's cupboard and slipped out of the classroom. 
“See you at dinner!” said Hermione, and she set off for Arithmancy, while Harry and Ron headed toward North Tower, and Divination. Broad strips of dazzling gold sunlight tell across the corridor from the high windows. The sky outside was so brightly blue it looked as though it had been enameled. 
“It's going to be boiling in Trelawney's room, she never puts out that fire,” said Ron as they started up the staircase toward the silver ladder and the trapdoor. 
He was quite right. The dimly lit room was swelteringly hot. The fumes from the perfumed fire were heavier than ever. Harry's head swam as he made his way over to one of the curtained windows. While Professor Trelawney was looking the other way, disentangling her shawl from a lamp, he opened it an inch or so and settled back in his chintz armchair, so that a soft breeze played across his face. It was extremely comfortable. 
“My dears,” said Professor Trelawney, sitting down in her winged armchair in front of the class and peering around at them all with her strangely enlarged eyes, “we have almost finished our work on planetary divination. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is placed most interestingly at the present time. If you will all look this way, I will dim the lights.…” 
She waved her wand and the lamps went out. The fire was the only source of light now. Professor Trelawney bent down and lifted, from under her chair, a miniature model of the solar system, contained within a glass dome. It was a beautiful thing; each of the moons glimmered in place around the nine planets and the fiery sun, all of them hanging in thin air beneath the glass. Harry watched lazily as Professor Trelawney began to point out the fascinating angle Mars was making to Neptune. The heavily perfumed fumes washed over him, and the breeze from the window played across his face. He could hear an insect humming gently somewhere behind the curtain. His eyelids began to droop.… 
He was riding on the back of an eagle owl, soaring through the clear blue sky toward an old, ivy-covered house set high on a hillside. Lower and lower they flew, the wind blowing pleasantly in Harry's face, until they reached a dark and broken window in the upper story of the house and entered. Now they were flying along a gloomy passageway, to a room at the very end…through the door they went, into a dark room whose windows were boarded up.… 
Harry had left the owl's back…he was watching, now, as it fluttered across the room, into a chair with its back to him.…There were two dark shapes on the floor beside the chair…both of them were stirring.… 
One was a huge snake…the other was a man…a short, balding man, a man with watery eyes and a pointed nose…he was wheezing and sobbing on the hearth rug.… 
“You are in luck, Wormtail,” said a cold, high-pitched voice from the depths of the chair in which the owl had landed. “You are very fortunate indeed. Your blunder has not ruined everything. He is dead.” 
“My Lord!” gasped the man on the floor. “My Lord, I am…I am so pleased…and so sorry.…” 
“Nagini,” said the cold voice, “you are out of luck. I will not be feeding Wormtail to you, after all…but never mind, never mind…there is still Harry Potter.…” 
The snake hissed. Harry could see its tongue fluttering. 
“Now, Wormtail,” said the cold voice, “perhaps one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you.…” 
“My Lord…no…I beg you…” 
The tip of a wand emerged from around the back of the chair. It was pointing at Wormtail. 
“Crucio!” said the cold voice. 
Wormtail screamed, screamed as though every nerve in his body were on fire, the screaming filled Harry's ears as the scar on his forehead seared with pain; he was yelling too…Voldemort would hear him, would know he was there.… 
“Harry! Harry!” 
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of Professor Trelawney's room with his hands over his face. His scar was still burning so badly that his eyes were watering. The pain had been real. The whole class was standing around him, and Ron was kneeling next to him, looking terrified. 
“You all right?” he said. 
“Of course he isn't!” said Professor Trelawney, looking thoroughly excited. Her great eyes loomed over Harry, gazing at him. “What was it. Potter? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?” 
“Nothing,” Harry lied. He sat up. He could feel himself shaking. He couldn't stop himself from looking around, into the shadows behind him; Voldemort's voice had sounded so close.… 
“You were clutching your scar!” said Professor Trelawney. “You were rolling on the floor, clutching your scar! Come now. Potter, I have experience in these matters!” 
Harry looked up at her. 
“I need to go to the hospital wing, I think,” he said. “Bad headache.” 
“My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room!” said Professor Trelawney. “If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have ever -” 
“I don't want to see anything except a headache cure,” said Harry. 
He stood up. The class backed away. They all looked unnerved. 
“See you later,” Harry muttered to Ron, and he picked up his bag and headed for the trapdoor, ignoring Professor Trelawney, who was wearing an expression of great frustration, as though she had just been denied a real treat. 
When Harry reached the bottom of her stepladder, however, he did not set off for the hospital wing. He had no intention whatsoever of going there. Sirius had told him what to do if his scar hurt him again, and Harry was going to follow his advice: He was going straight to Dumbledore's office. He marched down the corridors, thinking about what he had seen in the dream…it had been as vivid as the one that had awoken him on Privet Drive.…He ran over the details in his mind, trying to make sure he could remember them.…He had heard Voldemort accusing Wormtail of making a blunder…but the owl had brought good news, the blunder had been repaired, somebody was dead…so Wormtail was not going to be fed to the snake…he, Harry, was going to be fed to it instead.… 
Harry had walked right past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledores office without noticing. He blinked, looked around, realized what he had done, and retraced his steps, stopping in front of it. Then he remembered that he didn't know the password. 
“Sherbet lemon?” he tried tentatively. 
The gargoyle did not move. 
“Okay,” said Harry, staring at it, “Pear Drop. Er - Licorice Wand. Fizzing Whizbee. Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans…oh no, he doesn't like them, does he?…oh just open, can't you?” he said angrily. “I really need to see him, its urgent!” 
The gargoyle remained immovable. 
Harry kicked it, achieving nothing but an excruciating pain in his big toe. 
“Chocolate Frog!” he yelled angrily, standing on one leg. “Sugar Quill! Cockroach Cluster!” 
The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Harry blinked. 
“Cockroach Cluster?” he said, amazed. “I was only joking.…” 
He hurried through the gap in the walls and stepped onto the foot of a spiral stone staircase, which moved slowly upward as the doors closed behind him, taking him up to a polished oak door with a brass door knocker. 
He could hear voices from inside the office. He stepped off the moving staircase and hesitated, listening. 
“Dumbledore, I'm afraid I don't see the connection, don't see it at all!” It was the voice of the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. “Ludo says Berthas perfectly capable of getting herself lost. I agree we would have expected to have found her by now, but all the same, we've no evidence of foul play, Dumbledore, none at all. As for her disappearance being linked with Barty Crouch's!” 
“And what do you thinks happened to Barty Crouch, Minister?” said Moody's growling voice. 
“I see two possibilities, Alastor,” said Fudge. “Either Crouch has finally cracked - more than likely, I'm sure you'll agree, given his personal history - lost his mind, and gone wandering off somewhere -” 
“He wandered extremely quickly, if that is the case, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore calmly. 
“Or else - well…” Fudge sounded embarrassed. “Well, I'll reserve judgment until after I've seen the place where he was found, but you say it was just past the Beauxbatons carriage? Dumbledore, you know what that woman is?” 
“I consider her to be a very able headmistress - and an excellent dancer,” said Dumbledore quietly. 
“Dumbledore, come!” said Fudge angrily. “Don't you think you might be prejudiced in her favor because of Hagrid? They don't all turn out harmless - if, indeed, you can call Hagrid harmless, with that monster fixation he's got -” 
“I no more suspect Madame Maxime than Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, just as calmly. “I think it possible that it is you who are prejudiced, Cornelius.” 
“Can we wrap up this discussion?” growled Moody. 
“Yes, yes, let's go down to the grounds, then,” said Fudge impatiently. 
“No, it's not that,” said Moody, “it's just that Potter wants a word with you, Dumbledore. He's just outside the door.” 
“最后结论是这样的，”荷米恩边说边揉揉她的前额。“要不是克劳斯先生袭击了维特，就是有人袭击了他们两个人，是趁维特没在看着克劳斯时下的手。” 
　　“肯定是克劳斯先生，”罗恩马上说，“那就是为什么当哈利和丹伯多赶到时不见他的原因，他逃走了。” 
　　“我不这样认为，”哈利摇了摇头，“他看起来很虚弱——相信他用分身术或其它办法。” 
　　“在霍格瓦彻是用不了分身术的，我不是告诉你几百遍了吗？” 
　　荷米恩说。 
　　“那……这个设想怎样，”罗恩兴奋地说，“克伦袭击了克劳斯先生——然后弄昏了他自己！” 
　　“然后克劳斯先生自己蒸发了，是吗？”荷米恩冷冷地说。 
　　“噢，是……” 
　　天刚破晓，哈利，罗恩和荷米恩就从宿舍里爬出来。他们一起赶去奥里路发封信给西里斯，现在他们正站在那里看着外面的迷蒙烟雾。他们三个的眼睛都肿了，脸色苍白，因为他们晚上谈论克劳斯到很晚才睡。 
　　“让我们再回想一下，哈利。”荷米恩说，“事实上克劳斯先生说了什么？” 
　　“我都告诉你了，他说得语无伦次，”哈利说，“他说要警告丹伯多某事。他肯定提到了珀茜·佐金斯，看起来他以为她死了。还老是说什么都是他的错……他还提到他的儿子。” 
　　“好吧，那就是他的错。”荷米恩烦躁地说。 
　　“他神经不正常，”哈利说，“有时候，他以为他太太和儿子都还活着，他一直在跟伯希谈工作还给他发指示。” 
　　“呃……能不能再说一下，关于‘那个人’他说了什么？我忘了。”罗恩试着问。 
　　“我已经告诉你了，”哈利厌烦地重复一遍，“他说他正在变得更强大。” 
　　沉默了一会儿。 
　　然后罗恩用一种装出来的自信说：“但他神经失常，像你说的那样，所以其中一半很可能只是胡言乱语。” 
　　“但当他试着说起福尔得摩特的时候，是他神志最清醒的时候，哈利说道，不理会罗恩畏缩了一下。”他很难把两个词串在一起说出来，但当他知道自己在哪，要做什么的时候，他一直在说要见丹伯多。“ 
　　哈利从窗边走开，凝视着上面的屋椽，半数的椽木是空的，还不时有猫头鹰从窗户外飞进来，叼着它们晚间的猎获物——老鼠。 
　　“如果史纳皮当时没有阻拦我就好了，”哈利苦着脸地说，“我们就可以及时回到那儿了。 
　　“也许他不想让你到那儿！”罗恩急忙说，“也许——等一下——你认为他能有多快到达那个森林？你不认为他可能已经在那里打败了你和丹伯多吗？只要他比你们快。” 
　　“除非他能变成一只编幅或什么东西。”哈利说。 
　　“别这样轻易就放过他不理。”罗恩咕哝着。 
　　“我们应该去看看莫迪教授，”荷米恩说，“看看他是否已找到克劳斯先生。” 
　　“如果他有马罗得的地图，那会很容易。”哈利说。 
　　“除非克劳斯先生已经不在这个区域，”罗恩说，“因为它只能显示到边界，不会——” 
　　“嘘！”荷米恩突然说。 
　　有人正沿着楼梯上这里，哈利可以听到两个声音在争吵，越来越近。 
　　“——那是敲诈，那样我们会卷进许多麻烦中去的——” 
　　“——我们已经很礼貌了，是时候也学学他耍一下手段，他肯定不愿意让魔法内阁知道他做了什么——” 
　　“我告诉你，如果你把那写上去，就是敲诈！” 
　　“是的。等我们捞到了一大笔油水，你就不会再老是唠唠叨叨抱怨了，不是吗？” 
　　迪迈尔里的门砰的一声打开了，弗来德和乔治一进来就碰上哈利、罗恩和荷米恩的目光，他们一下子僵住了。 
　　“你们在这做什么？”罗恩和弗来德同时说。 
　　“发封信。”哈利和乔治异口同声。 
　　“什么，在这个时候？”荷米恩和弗来德的反应也很一致。 
　　弗来德笑起来。“好吧——我们不问你们在干什么，但你们也别问我们。”他说。 
　　他手上拿着一个密封的信封。哈利瞄了一眼，但是弗来德不知是有意还是无意，动了动他的手，把信封上的名字盖住了。 
　　“好了，别让我们碍了您的事。”他说着，嘲讽似地鞠了一个躬，指着大门。 
　　罗恩没有动，“你们在敲诈谁？”他说。 
　　笑容一下子从弗来德的脸上消失了。哈利注意到乔治瞄了弗来德半眼，然后对罗恩微笑。 
　　“别傻了，我只是在开玩笑。”他故作轻松地说。 
　　“听起来不像喔。”罗恩说。 
　　弗来德和乔治对望了一眼。 
　　弗来德突然说：“我以前告诉过你，罗恩，别多管闲事，看不出为什么你不能，但——” 
　　“如果你在敲诈谁，那就是我的事，”罗恩说，“乔治是对的，你会有大麻烦的。” 
　　“告诉你，我在开玩笑，”乔治说着，走到弗来德身边从他手中拿过信，把它绑在最近的一只猫头鹰脚上。“你越来越像我们亲爱的老大哥了，罗恩。继续像这样下去，你会扮得更像的。” 
　　“不，我不会！”罗恩气呼呼地说。 
　　乔治把猫头鹰放到窗户上去，它扑啦啦地飞走了。 
　　他掉过头对罗恩笑，“那就不要老是告诉别人要怎么做。再见。” 
　　他和弗来德离开了奥里路，只剩下哈利，罗恩和荷米恩在面面相觑。 
　　“你想他们会不会知道这些事？”荷米恩小声说，“关于克劳斯先生的或其它的？” 
　　“不会。”哈利说，“如果有什么严重的事，他们会告诉某人。 
　　比如他们会告诉丹伯多。“ 
　　但罗恩看起来很不舒服。 
　　“有什么不妥吗？”荷米思问他。 
　　“呃……”罗恩吞吞吐吐地说，“我不知道他们会不会。他们……他们最近想钱想疯了。我和他们在一起的时候就注意到了——那时——你知道——” 
　　“我们不说话，”哈利帮他接着讲完下面的话。“是的，但是敲诈……” 
　　“这主意听起来像开玩笑，”罗恩说，“我想他们只是说说，让妈妈心烦，但他们可能真的会做，他们在霍格瓦彻只剩一年了。他们到处跑，怎么说也是时候为将来打算一下了。爸爸帮不了他们，他们需要金子去开始他们的计划。” 
　　荷米恩现在也不安了：“是的……但他们不会用违法手段去赚取金子吧？” 
　　“为什么不？”罗恩表示怀疑，“我不知道……他们不是特别在意违反规定，不是吗？” 
　　“是的，但这是法律，”荷米恩看起来吓坏了，说，“这可不是些学校的什么愚蠢规定……敲诈会让他们得到比关禁闭更严厉的惩罚！罗恩……也许你最好告诉伯希？”“你疯了！”罗恩说，“告诉伯希？他等你一转身就会把他们交给警察。”他怔怔地看着弗来德和乔治的猫头鹰飞出的那窗户，然后说：“走吧，去吃早餐。” 
　　“你不认为现在去看莫迪教授太早了点吗？”荷米恩说。他们正走下螺旋形的楼梯。 
　　“是的，”哈利说，“如果我们在天刚破晓的时候吵醒他，他很可能会把我们踢出门外，他会以为我们要在他睡着的时候袭击他。 
　　让我们等到天亮再说吧。“ 
　　魔法历史课从来没有这么难度过，哈利不停地看罗恩的手表，因为他已经把自己的表扔掉了。但罗恩的表走得那么慢，他敢发誓它也肯定坏掉了。他们三个都困得要命，恨不得马上趴在桌子上呼呼大睡；连荷米恩也没有照往常一样做笔记。她用手托着头，目光模糊地看着宾西教授。 
　　铃终于响了，他们急忙跑出走廊，向“巫术”课室跑去，发现莫迪正要离开。他看起来和他们一样累，眼皮搭拉下来，这使他的脸看起来比平时更斜。 
　　“莫迪教授？”哈利叫道，他们正从人群中向他挤去。 
　　“哈罗，波特。”莫迪粗声说，他的魔眼盯着一对路过的虫子。 
　　它们很紧张，迅速爬到莫迪的后脑勺去了，在角落里看着哈利他们。教授说：“进来吧。” 
　　他先让开让他们进来，然后关上门。 
　　“您找到他了吗？”哈利开门见山地问道。“克劳斯先生？” 
　　“没有。”莫迪说着，走到他的桌子旁坐下，把他的木头腿放直，并发出一声轻微的呻吟。然后拿出他的小热水瓶。 
　　“您用了地图吗？”哈利说。 
　　“当然了。”莫迪说着喝了一大口水。 
　　“他用了分身术吗？”罗恩问道。 
　　“他不可能在这个区域用分身术的，罗恩！”荷米恩说，“他肯定用了其他方法消失了，不是吗，教授？” 
　　莫迪的魔眼颤抖了一下，看着荷米恩。 
　　“你是又一个可以考虑一下做沃罗的人。”他说，“你的思路很清晰正确，格林佐。” 
　　荷米恩高兴得涨红了脸。 
　　“但他并不是消失不见的，”哈利说，“地图可以显示出看不见的人。他应该已经离开了这里。” 
　　“用他自己的力量吗？”荷米恩急切地说，“或是有人把他带出去了？” 
　　“是的，也许某人——某人把他拉上扫帚一起飞走了，不是吗？”罗恩急着说，带着希翼的神情看着莫迪，好像也想莫迪说他是块做沃罗的料。 
　　“我们不排除绑架的可能。”莫迪粗声说。 
　　“那么，”罗恩说，“您认为他现在在霍格瓦彻的某个地方吗？” 
　　“可能在任何地方，”莫迪摇摇头，“我们唯一知道的就是他不在这里。” 
　　他大声地打着呵欠，他脸上的疤伸得更长了，从他歪歪的嘴巴里可以看到他掉了很多牙齿。 
　　然后他说：“丹伯多告诉我，你们三个喜欢把自己想象成侦探。 
　　但这里没什么你们可以为克劳斯先生做的事了。魔法部现在正派人寻找克劳斯先生，丹伯多已经通知了他们了。波特，你只要把精力都放在第三次任务上就好了。“ 
　　“什么？”哈利说，“噢，好的……” 
　　自从昨晚和克伦离开那个迷宫后，他还一直没想到过它。 
　　莫迪看着哈利，边用手挠着他那疤痕累累，胡子拉连的下巴。 
　　“听丹伯多说，这类事情你不知碰到多少次了，你上一年级的时候就破除了一系列障碍，保护了‘点金石’。” 
　　“有我们帮忙啊，”罗恩很快地说，“我和荷米恩帮的忙。” 
　　莫迪笑了起来，“那么，这次帮他练习吧，如果他没赢我才会觉得出奇呢，”他说，“而且同时……你必须时刻保持警惕，波特，警惕。”他又从水瓶里喝了口水，他的魔眼转向窗户，窗户外可以看到丹姆斯安船的帆尖。 
　　“你们两个，”——他的正常眼睛看着罗恩和荷米恩——“你们要紧跟着波特，知道吗？我正注意着事态的发展，……你们千万别管太多的其它事。” 
　　第二天早上，西里斯的回信到了，与此同时还有一个茶褐色的猫头鹰停在荷米恩面前，嘴里叼着一份《先知日报》。她拿下报纸，翻了翻开头的那几页，说：“哈！他们还不知道克劳斯的事！”然后她扔开报纸，凑上前去，看看西里斯对前天晚上的那起神秘事件有什么要说。 
　　哈利——你知不知道你在做什么，和维特。克伦走进森林里去？ 
　　我要你回信发誓，你再不和任何人在晚上出去了。在霍格瓦彻有一个极度危险的人物。很显然，他们要阻止克劳斯去见丹伯多。你可能前脚刚离开，他们后脚就跟着来了。否则你可能已经被杀掉了。 
　　你的名字因为意外上火杯名单。如果有人想要袭击你，那现在是他们最后的机会了。跟罗恩和荷米恩呆在一起，不要离开格林芬顿太久，还有在第三次任务时带上武器，练习一下怎样打昏敌人和解除敌人的武装。不要念错咒语。你别再管克劳斯的事了，要照顾好你自己。我等着你向我保证你不会再乱跑了。 
　　西里斯“他是谁啊，训诫我不要乱跑？”哈利有点气愤，边把西里斯的信折起来放到袍子里，“他自己在学校还不一样。” 
　　“他在担心你！”荷米恩尖声说，“就像莫迪和哈格力一样！所以听他们的话！” 
　　“一整年都没人袭击我，”哈利说，“根本没人对我做什么——” 
　　“除了把你的名字送上火杯名单，”荷米恩说，“他们这样做肯定有原因，哈利，史纳皮是对的，也许他们在等候时机，也许他们的任务就是要抓到你。” 
　　“瞧，”哈利不耐烦地说，“就让我们假定史纳皮是对的，有人打晕了克伦，绑架了克劳斯先生。那么，他们当时很可能就在我们附近的树林里，不是吗？但他们等到我走了才下手，所以我应该不是他们的目标才对呀？” 
　　“如果他们在森林里干掉你，他们就很难把这弄成是意外！”荷米恩说，“但如果你在任务中死了——” 
　　“他们毫不在意攻击克伦，不是吗？”哈利说，“那他们同样又怎会放过我？他们本可以把我和克伦弄成像是决斗后死或什么的。” 
　　“哈利，我也不明白，”荷米恩泄气地说，“我只知道一连串古怪的事情在不断发生，我不喜欢……莫迪是对的——西里斯是对的——你应该马上为第三次任务进行训练，马上。还有你必须回信给西里斯保证你不会再独个人偷偷溜出去了。” 
　　当哈利不得不呆在户内时，霍格瓦彻对他的吸引力从来没有这么大过。这在接下来的几天里，他一有空，要不和罗恩、荷米恩去图书馆查咒语，要不就偷偷溜进教室里练习。哈利正集中精力练晕眩咒语，这个他以前从来没用过。麻烦就在于要练习它，罗恩和荷米恩就得做出牺牲。 
　　“我们不能把挪里斯太太绑架来吗？”在星期一午饭时候，罗恩建议道，他正四脚朝天躺在符咒课室的中央，他已经连续五次被哈利打晕然后弄醒了。“让我们弄晕她几下，或者你可以叫多比，我打赌他愿意为你做任何事，我不是在抱怨或什么，”——他小心翼翼地站起来，揉着他的背——“但我全身都在疼……” 
　　“你呀，老是不对准垫子！”荷米恩不耐烦地说，重新调整那堆垫子。这些垫子是菲利特威克留在橱柜里的，曾经用作练习驱逐咒语。“试着向后跌！” 
　　“当你被打得晕头转向的时候，当然不可能对得很准啦！”罗恩生气地说，“你为什么不来替换我一下？” 
　　“那，我想哈利已经学会了。”荷米恩急忙说，“我们不用担心‘解除武装’咒语，他很久以前就会了……我想我们今晚应该练习这其中的一些咒语。” 
　　她低头看着他们在图书馆列的单。 
　　“这个看起来不错，”她说，“‘障碍咒’，它可以阻拦一下那些想攻击你的东西，哈利，我们就从这个开始。” 
　　铃声响了，他们急忙把垫子塞回橱柜，然后溜出课堂。 
　　“晚饭时候见！”荷米恩说，她去阿利斯蒙西，而哈利和罗恩则要去北塔。一条条金黄灿灿的光柱从走廊的天窗上透过来；外面的天空一片亮蓝。好像上了一层釉。“特雷络尼的房间热得就像要沸腾了，她从来不把那火拿出去。”罗恩说。他们走在楼梯间向那银色的梯子和活板门走去。 
　　他说得没错。昏暗的房间里热得出奇，从香火里冒出的烟比以前更浓。哈利的头直发晕，于是他趁特雷络尼在看其他地方的时候把一扇窗的窗帘开了一条缝。有一丝微风吹进来，他感觉舒服多了，就坐回他那用印花棉布套着的扶手椅上去。 
　　“各位，”特雷络尼教授坐在她那有翼的椅子上跟大家说，她那奇特的眼睛睁得大大的，审视着大家，“我们已经学完了行星占卜术。今天我们有个极好的机会观察火星的活动，现在它正运行到了一个非常有趣的位置。如果你们都准备好了，我就熄灭这些灯……” 
　　她挥动着魔杖，所有的灯都熄灭了，只有火光在跳动。特雷络尼教授弯腰从椅子底下拿出一个罩在玻璃里的太阳系微缩模型。真是一件漂亮的东西；许多卫星围在九大行星和炽热的太阳的周围，闪烁着微光；它们都悬在空中，玻璃罩里面的空气很稀薄。哈利懒洋洋地看着特雷络尼教授给他们指出火星正和海王星形成了一个迷人的角度。浓浓的香烟熏人欲醉，窗外的微风柔柔地抚摸着哈利的脸，他好像听到窗帘后面有只虫子在嗡嗡地叫。他的眼皮开始掉下来…… 
　　他骑在一只猫头鹰的背上，直冲蓝天，不久山腰上出现了一间爬满常春藤的老屋。他们越飞越低，风很舒服在吹在哈利的脸上。 
　　他们从二楼的一个又黑又破的窗户嗖的一声飞了进去，穿过这道阴森森的走廊，尽头有一个房间……进了门，房间里真黑，所有的窗户都被木板钉死了…… 
　　哈利爬下了猫头鹰背……他努力想看清房间里有什么，猫头鹰扑喇着翅膀飞到一张背对着他的椅子上……椅子旁边的地面好像有两个黑影……在不停地扭动…… 
　　其中一个是一条巨蛇……另一个是个人……一个矮小的秃头男人，尖尖的鼻子，眼睛泪汪汪的……他在炉前的地毯上喘息着，抽泣着…… 
　　“你很走运，温太尔，”一个尖尖的，冷冷的声音从猫头鹰落下的椅子下面传来，“你非常幸运，真的。你的错误并没有把所有的事都毁了。他死了。” 
　　“我的天哪！”地上的那人喘息着说，“我的天哪，我……我真高兴……也很难过……” 
　　“纳格艾里，”冷冷的声音说，“你真不走运，我不能把温太尔给你吃了，毕竟……但不要紧，不要紧……还有哈利·波特……” 
　　巨蛇发出嘶嘶声，哈利可以看见它的舌头在不停吞吐着。 
　　“现在，温太尔，”冷冷的声音说，“再提醒你一下为什么我再也不能忍受你的错误……” 
　　“天哪……不……我求求您……” 
　　椅子底下伸出一根魔杖，它拍着温太尔。“哥鲁西欧。”这个冷酷的声音说道。 
　　温太尔尖叫着，好像他身体的每一根神经都在燃烧，哈利满耳都是尖叫声，他前额上的疤痕开始灼痛；他也开始大叫起来……福尔得摩特会听到他的，会知道他在那儿的…… 
　　“哈利！哈利！” 
　　哈利睁开眼睛，他正躺在特雷络尼教授房间的地板上，手捂着脸。他的疤痕还在灼痛得厉害，疼得他的眼睛直流眼泪。这疼痛是真实的。现在整个班的人都站在他周围，罗恩正跪在他旁边，看起来吓坏了。 
　　“你还好吗？”他说。 
　　“他当然不好！”特雷络尼教授说，她看起来很兴奋。她那大眼睛通视着他。‘它是什么，波特？一个预兆？一只怪物？一个幽灵？ 
　　你看到了什么？“ 
　　“什么也没有。”哈利撒谎说。他坐起来，仍能感觉到自己在发抖。他忍不住向四周张望，看看他身后的阴影，福尔得摩特的声音曾经那么的近…… 
　　“你当时在抓着你的疤痕！”特雷络尼教授说。“你边在地上打滚边抓着你的疤痕！告诉我，波特，我也曾经历过这种情形！” 
　　哈利抬起头看看她。 
　　“我要去校医室。”他说，“很头痛。” 
　　“我亲爱的，毫无疑问你肯定被我房间里的超强感应刺激到了！”特雷络尼说。“如果你现在就离开，你就会失去看到更多东西的机会——” 
　　“我不要看到任何东西除了一粒头痛片。”哈利说。 
　　他站起来。大家向后退开让出一条路，他们看起来很气馁。 
　　“再见。”哈利对罗恩小声说，拿起书包向门口走去。毫不理会一旁带着一脸挫折神色的特雷络尼教授，好像她刚刚错失了良机。 
　　哈利从梯子上下来，但他并没有去医疗室，他根本没想去那儿。西里斯曾经告诉他如果疤痕又在痛，他该怎样的做，他正准备照办：他直接向丹伯多的办公室走去。他沿着走廊走下去，边想着刚才在梦中的所见所闻……它就和那次在普里怀特街所做的那个把他惊醒的梦一样逼真……他在脑海中回想所有的细节，以免忘了……他曾听到福尔得摩特指责温太尔犯了一个大错误……但猫头鹰带来了好消息，错误已被纠正，某人死了……所以温太尔不用被抓去喂蛇……而他，哈利，则要做为代替品给蛇吃掉…… 
　　哈利没有注意到他已经走过了石兽守着的那条通向丹伯多办公室的门。他眨眨眼，终于意识到了，于是走回来，停在它面前，然后他想起来了，他不知道暗号。 
　　“柠檬汁？”他试探性地问。 
　　石兽没有动。 
　　“好吧”哈利说，瞪着它，“梨子汁。呃——利格罗斯魔杖。杜鲁波最棒泡泡糖。贝蒂伯特的美味豆……噢不，他不喜欢这些，是吗？……噢，开开门不行吗？”他很生气地说。“我真的很需要马上见他。非常紧急！” 
　　石兽仍然是铁石心肠。 
　　哈利用力踢他，但除了抱着脚趾喊痛外，无济于事。 
　　“巧克力青蛙糖！”他生气地大喊，一只脚站着，“糖条！蟑螂串！” 
　　石兽一下子活了，跳到一旁。哈利眨眨眼。 
　　“蟑螂串？”他惊奇地说。“我只是开玩笑……” 
　　他急忙跳进墙缝，然后走到螺旋形的石梯脚下，它慢慢地向上升去。门在哈利后面关上了。石梯把他带到了一扇精美的橡木门前，门上有个铜扣环。 
　　他可以听到办公室里传来的声音，他走下旋转楼梯，犹豫着。 
　　“丹伯多，我恐怕我看不出来两者之间有什么联系，根本看不到！”这是魔法部长可尼斯。法治的声音。“露得说珀茜最擅长的事就是迷路了。我们现在本该已经找到她了，这我承认，但都一样，我们没有证据证明有作弊行为或私下的肮脏交易。丹伯多，根本没有。怎么会把她的失踪与克劳斯的失踪连在一起？” 
　　“那么您认为克劳斯发生了什么事呢，部长先生？”莫迪那低沉的声音说道。 
　　“我看有两个可能，阿拉斯特，”法治说，“一是克劳斯最后精神分裂了——从他个人记录来看，我想你也同意，他不只是像而已——精神失常，然后到处游荡——” 
　　“那他游荡的速度可真快，如果那是真的话，可尼斯。”丹伯多平静地说。 
　　“或者——呢……”法治的声音听起来很尴尬。“好吧。我得去看看他被发现的地方，才能下结论，但你说离比克斯贝克顿斯马车不远？丹伯多，你了解那女人吗？” 
　　“我认为她是个非常能尽责的女校长——还有她跳舞跳得非常好。”丹伯多淡淡地说。 
　　“丹伯多，好了！”法治生气地说，“你不应该因为哈格力的缘故就对她特别有好感，他们并不是无害的——如果，事实上，你可以说哈格力是无害的，即使有那怪物跟着他——” 
　　“我对他们俩一视同仁，既不怀疑哈格力，也不会怀疑玛西姆夫人。”丹伯多仍然镇定自若，“我想那是您有偏见，可尼斯。” 
　　“我们可以先暂停讨论吗？”莫迪低吼着说。 
　　“好吧，好吧，一起到森林去吧。”可尼斯不耐烦地说。 
　　“不，我不是指这个。”莫迪说，“因为波特想跟你说几句话，丹伯多。他就在门外。” 
Chapter 30 The Pensieve
The door of the office opened. 
“Hello, Potter,” said Moody. “Come in, then.” 
Harry walked inside. He had been inside Dumbledore's office once before; it was a very beautiful, circular room, lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of whom were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently. 
Cornelius Fudge was standing beside Dumbledore's desk, wearing his usual pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat. 
“Harry!” said Fudge jovially, moving forward. “How are you?” 
“Fine,” Harry lied. 
“We were just talking about the night when Mr. Crouch turned up on the grounds,” said Fudge. “It was you who found him, was it not?” 
“Yes,” said Harry. Then, feeling it was pointless to pretend that he hadn't overheard what they had been saying, he added, “I didn't see Madame Maxime anywhere, though, and she'd have a job hiding, wouldn't she?” 
Dumbledore smiled at Harry behind Fudge's back, his eyes twinkling. 
“Yes, well,” said Fudge, looking embarrassed, “we're about to go for a short walk on the grounds, Harry, if you'll excuse us…perhaps if you just go back to your class -” 
“I wanted to talk to you. Professor,” Harry said quickly, looking at Dumbledore, who gave him a swift, searching look. 
“Wait here for me, Harry,” he said. “Our examination of the grounds will not take long.” 
They trooped out in silence past him and closed the door. After a minute or so, Harry heard the clunks of Moody's wooden leg growing fainter in the corridor below. He looked around. 
“Hello, Fawkes,” he said. 
Fawkes, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, was standing on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet-and-gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry. 
Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. For several minutes, he sat and watched the old headmasters and headmistresses snoozing in their frames, thinking about what he had just heard, and running his fingers over his scar. It had stopped hurting now. 
He felt much calmer, somehow, now that he was in Dumbledore's office, knowing he would shortly be telling him about the dream. Harry looked up at the walls behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. A glass case next to it held a magnificent silver sword with large rubies set into the hilt, which Harry recognized as the one he himself had pulled out of the Sorting Hat in his second year. The sword had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, founder of Harry's House. He was gazing at it, remembering how it had come to his aid when he had thought all hope was lost, when he noticed a patch of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass case. He looked around for the source of the light and saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind him, whose door had not been closed properly. Harry hesitated, glanced at Fawkes, then got up, walked across the office, and pulled open the cabinet door. 
A shallow stone basin lay there, with odd carvings around the edge: runes and symbols that Harry did not recognize. The silvery light was coming from the basin's contents, which were like nothing Harry had ever seen before. He could not tell whether the substance was liquid or gas. It was a bright, whitish silver, and it was moving ceaselessly; the surface of it became ruffled like water beneath wind, and then, like clouds, separated and swirled smoothly. It looked like light made liquid - or like wind made solid - Harry couldn't make up his mind. 
He wanted to touch it, to find out what it felt like, but nearly four years’ experience of the magical world told him that sticking his hand into a bowl full of some unknown substance was a very stupid thing to do. He therefore pulled his wand out of the inside of his robes, cast a nervous look around the office, looked back at the contents of the basin, and prodded them. 
The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very fast. 
Harry bent closer, his head right inside the cabinet. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. He looked down into it expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin - and saw instead an enormous room below the surface of the mysterious substance, a room into which he seemed to be looking through a circular window in the ceiling. 
The room was dimly lit; he thought it might even be underground, for there were no windows, merely torches in brackets such as the ones that illuminated the walls of Hogwarts. Lowering his face so that his nose was a mere inch away from the glassy substance, Harry saw that rows and rows of witches and wizards were seated around every wall on what seemed to be benches rising in levels. An empty chair stood in the very center of the room. There was something about the chair that gave Harry an ominous feeling. Chains encircled the arms of it, as though its occupants were usually tied to it. 
Where was this place? It surely wasn't Hogwarts; he had never seen a room like that here in the castle. Moreover, the crowd in the mysterious room at the bottom of the basin was comprised of adults, and Harry knew there were not nearly that many teachers at Hogwarts. They seemed, he thought, to be waiting for something; even though he could only see the tops of their hats, all of their faces seemed to be pointing in one direction, and none of them were talking to one another. 
The basin being circular, and the room he was observing square, Harry could not make out what was going on in the corners of it. He leaned even closer, tilting his head, trying to see… 
The tip of his nose touched the strange substance into which he was staring. 
Dumbledore's office gave an almighty lurch - Harry was thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the substance inside the basin - 
But his head did not hit the stone bottom. He was falling through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool - 
And suddenly, Harry found himself sitting on a bench at the end of the room inside the basin, a bench raised high above the others. He looked up at the high stone ceiling, expecting to see the circular window through which he had just been staring, but there was nothing there but dark, solid stone. 
Breathing hard and fast. Harry looked around him. Not one of the witches and wizards in the room (and there were at least two hundred of them) was looking at him. Not one of them seemed to have noticed that a fourteen-year-old boy had just dropped from the ceiling into their midst. Harry turned to the wizard next to him on the bench and uttered a loud cry of surprise that reverberated around the silent room. 
He was sitting right next to Albus Dumbledore. 
“Professor!” Harry said in a kind of strangled whisper. “I'm sorry - I didn't mean to - I was just looking at that basin in your cabinet - I - where are we?” 
But Dumbledore didn't move or speak. He ignored Harry completely. Like every other wizard on the benches, he was staring into the far corner of the room, where there was a door. 
Harry gazed, nonplussed, at Dumbledore, then around at the silently watchful crowd, then back at Dumbledore. And then it dawned on him.… 
Once before. Harry had found himself somewhere that nobody could see or hear him. That time, he had fallen through a page in an enchanted diary, right into somebody else's memory…and unless he was very much mistaken, something of the sort had happened again… 
Harry raised his right hand, hesitated, and then waved it energetically in from of Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore did not blink, look around at Harry, or indeed move at all. And that, in Harry's opinion, settled the matter. Dumbledore wouldn't ignore him like that. He was inside a memory, and this was not the present-day Dumbledore. Yet it couldn't be that long ago…the Dumbledore sitting next to him now was silver-haired, just like the present-day Dumbledore. But what was this place? What were all these wizards waiting for? 
Harry looked around more carefully. The room, as he had suspected when observing it from above, was almost certainly underground - more of a dungeon than a room, he thought. There was a bleak and forbidding air about the place; there were no pictures on the walls, no decorations at all; just these serried rows of benches, rising in levels all around the room, all positioned so that they had a clear view of that chair with the chains on its arms. 
Before Harry could reach any conclusions about the place in which they were, he heard footsteps. The door in the corner of the dungeon opened and three people entered - or at least one man, flanked by two dementors. 
Harry's insides went cold. The dementors - tall, hooded creatures whose faces were concealed - were gliding slowly toward the chair in the center of the room, each grasping one of the man's arms with their dead and rotten-looking hands. The man between them looked as though he was about to faint, and Harry couldn't blame him…he knew the dementors could not touch him inside a memory, but he remembered their power only too well. The watching crowd recoiled slightly as the dementors placed the man in the chained chair and glided back out of the room. The door swung shut behind them. 
Harry looked down at the man now sitting in the chair and saw that it was Karkaroff. 
Unlike Dumbledore, Karkaroff looked much younger; his hair and goatee were black. He was not dressed in sleek furs, but in thin and ragged robes. He was shaking. Even as Harry watched, the chains on the arms of the chair glowed suddenly gold and snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, binding him there. 
“Igor Karkaroff,” said a curt voice to Harry's left. Harry looked around and saw Mr. Crouch standing up in the middle of the bench beside him. Crouch's hair was dark, his face was much less lined, he looked fit and alert. “You have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us.” 
Karkaroff straightened himself as best he could, tightly bound to the chair. 
“I have, sir,” he said, and although his voice was very scared, Harry could still hear the familiar unctuous note in it. “I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I - I know that the Ministry is trying to - to round up the last of the Dark Lords supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can.…” 
There was a murmur around the benches. Some of the wizards and witches were surveying Karkaroff with interest, others with pronounced mistrust. Then Harry heard, quite distinctly, from Dumbledores other side, a familiar, growling voice saying, “Filth.” 
Harry leaned forward so that he could see past Dumbledore. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting there - except that there was a very noticeable difference in his appearance. He did not have his magical eye, but two normal ones. Both were looking down upon Karkaroff, and both were narrowed in intense dislike. 
“Crouch is going to let him out,” Moody breathed quietly to Dumbledore. “He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names. Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors.” 
Dumbledore made a small noise of dissent through his long, crooked nose. 
“Ah, I was forgetting…you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?” said Moody with a sardonic smile. 
“No,” said Dumbledore calmly, “I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures.” 
“But for filth like this…” Moody said softly. 
“You say you have names for us, Karkaroff,” said Mr. Crouch. “Let us hear them, please.” 
“You must understand,” said Karkaroff hurriedly, “that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy.…He preferred that we - I mean to say, his supporters - and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them -” 
“Get on with it,” sneered Moody. 
“- we never knew the names of every one of our fellows - He alone knew exactly who we all were -” 
“Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in,” muttered Moody. 
“Yet you say you have some names for us?” said Mr. Crouch. 
“I - I do,” said Karkaroff breathlessly. “And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely -” 
“These names are?” said Mr. Crouch sharply. 
Karkaroff drew a deep breath. 
“There was Antonin Dolohov,” he said. “I - I saw him torture countless Muggles and - and non-supporters of the Dark Lord.” 
“And helped him do it,” murmured Moody. 
“We have already apprehended Dolohov,” said Crouch. “He was caught shortly after yourself.” 
“Indeed?” said Karkaroff, his eyes widening. “I - I am delighted to hear it!” 
But he didn't look it. Harry could tell that this news had come as a real blow to him. One of his names was worthless. 
“Any others?” said Crouch coldly. 
“Why, yes…there was Rosier,” said Karkaroff hurriedly. “Evan Rosier.” 
“Rosier is dead,” said Crouch. “He was caught shortly after you were too. He preferred to fight rather than come quietly and was killed in the struggle.” 
“Took a bit of me with him, though,” whispered Moody to Harry's right. Harry looked around at him once more, and saw him indicating the large chunk out of his nose to Dumbledore. 
“No - no more than Rosier deserved!” said Karkaroff, a real note of panic in his voice now. Harry could see that he was starting to worry that none of his information would be of any use to the Ministry. Karkaroff's eyes darted toward the door in the corner, behind which the dementors undoubtedly still stood, waiting. 
“Any more?” said Crouch. 
“Yes!” said Karkaroff. “There was Travers - he helped murder the McKinnons! Mulciber - he specialized in the Imperius Curse, forced countless people to do horrific things! Rookwood, who was a spy, and passed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named useful information from inside the Ministry itself!” 
Harry could tell that, this time, Karkaroff had struck gold. The watching crowd was all murmuring together. 
“Rookwood?” said Mr. Crouch, nodding to a witch sitting in front of him, who began scribbling upon her piece of parchment. “Augustus Rookwood of the Department of Mysteries?” 
“The very same,” said Karkaroff eagerly. “I believe he used a network of well-placed wizards, both inside the Ministry and out, to collect information -” 
“But Travers and Mulciber we have,” said Mr. Crouch. “Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide -” 
“Not yet!” cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. “Wait, I have more!” 
Harry could see him sweating in the torchlight, his white skin contrasting strongly with the black of his hair and beard. 
“Snape!” he shouted. “Severus Snape!” 
“Snape has been cleared by this council,” said Crouch disdainfully. “He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore.” 
“No!” shouted Karkaroff, straining at the chains that bound him to the chair. “I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!” 
Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. 
“I have given evidence already on this matter,” he said calmly. “Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am.” 
Harry turned to look at Mad-Eye Moody. He was wearing a look of deep skepticism behind Dumbledore's back. 
“Very well, Karkaroff,” Crouch said coldly, “you have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime.…” 
Mr. Crouch's voice faded. Harry looked around; the dungeon was dissolving as though it were made of smoke; everything was fading; he could see only his own body - all else was swirling darkness.… 
And then, the dungeon returned. Harry was sitting in a different seat, still on the highest bench, but now to the left side of Mr. Crouch. The atmosphere seemed quite different: relaxed, even cheerful. The witches and wizards all around the walls were talking to one another, almost as though they were at some sort of sporting event. Harry noticed a witch halfway up the rows of benches opposite. She had short blonde hair, was wearing magenta robes, and was sucking the end of an acid-green quill. It was, unmistakably, a younger Rita Skeeter. Harry looked around; Dumbledore was sitting beside him again, wearing different robes. Mr. Crouch looked more tired and somehow fiercer, gaunter.…Harry understood. It was a different memory, a different day…a different trial. 
The door in the corner opened, and Ludo Bagman walked into the room. 
This was not, however, a Ludo Bagman gone to seed, but a Ludo Bagman who was clearly at the height of his Quidditch-playing fitness. His nose wasn't broken now; he was tall and lean and muscular. Bagman looked nervous as he sat down in the chained chair, but it did not bind him there as it had bound Karkaroff, and Bagman, perhaps taking heart from this, glanced around at the watching crowd, waved at a couple of them, and managed a small smile. 
“Ludo Bagman, you have been brought here in front of the Council of Magical Law to answer charges relating to the activities of the Death Eaters,” said Mr. Crouch. “We have heard the evidence against you, and are about to reach our verdict. Do you have anything to add to your testimony before we pronounce judgment?” 
Harry couldn't believe his ears. Ludo Bagman, a Death Eater? 
“Only,” said Bagman, smiling awkwardly, “well - I know I've been a bit of an idiot -” 
One or two wizards and witches in the surrounding seats smiled indulgently. Mr. Crouch did not appear to share their feelings. He was staring down at Ludo Bagman with an expression of the utmost severity and dislike. 
“You never spoke a truer word, boy,” someone muttered dryly to Dumbledore behind Harry. He looked around and saw Moody sitting there again. “If I didn't know he'd always been dim, I'd have said some of those Bludgers had permanently affected his brain.…” 
“Ludovic Bagman, you were caught passing information to Lord Voldemort's supporters,” said Mr. Crouch. “For this, I suggest a term of imprisonment in Azkaban lasting no less than -” 
But there was an angry outcry from the surrounding benches. Several of the witches and wizards around the walls stood up, shaking their heads, and even their fists, at Mr. Crouch. 
“But I've told you, I had no idea!” Bagman called earnestly over the crowd's babble, his round blue eyes widening. “None at all! Old Rookwood was a friend of my dad's…never crossed my mind he was in with You-Know-Who! I thought I was collecting information for our side! And Rookwood kept talking about getting me a job in the Ministry later on…once my Quidditch days are over, you know…I mean, I can't keep getting hit by Bludgers for the rest of my life, can I?” 
There were titters from the crowd. 
“It will be put to the vote,” said Mr. Crouch coldly. He turned to the right-hand side of the dungeon. “The jury will please raise their hands…those in favor of imprisonment…” 
Harry looked toward the right-hand side of the dungeon. Not one person raised their hand. Many of the witches and wizards around the walls began to clap. One of the witches on the jury stood up. 
“Yes?” barked Crouch. 
“We'd just like to congratulate Mr. Bagman on his splendid performance for England in the Quidditch match against Turkey last Saturday,” the witch said breathlessly. 
Mr. Crouch looked furious. The dungeon was ringing with applause now. Bagman got to his feet and bowed, beaming. 
“Despicable,” Mr. Crouch spat at Dumbledore, sitting down as Bagman walked out of the dungeon. “Rookwood get him a job indeed.…The day Ludo Bagman joins us will be a sad day indeed for the Ministry.…” 
And the dungeon dissolved again. When it had returned, Harry looked around. He and Dumbledore were still sitting beside Mr. Crouch, but the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was total silence, broken only by the dry sobs of a frail, wispy-looking witch in the seat next to Mr. Crouch. She was clutching a handkerchief to her mouth with trembling hands. 
Harry looked up at Crouch and saw that he looked gaunter and grayer than ever before. A nerve was twitching in his temple. 
“Bring them in,” he said, and his voice echoed through the silent dungeon. 
The door in the corner opened yet again. Six dementors entered this time, flanking a group of four people. Harry saw the people in the crowd turn to look up at Mr. Crouch. A few of them whispered to one another. 
The dementors placed each of the four people in the four chairs with chained arms that now stood on the dungeon floor. There was a thickset man who stared blankly up at Crouch; a thinner and more nervous-looking man, whose eyes were darting around the crowd; a woman with thick, shining dark hair and heavily hooded eyes, who was sitting in the chained chair as though it were a throne; and a boy in his late teens, who looked nothing short of petrified. He was shivering, his straw-colored hair all over his face, his freckled skin milk-white. The wispy little witch beside Crouch began to rock backward and forward in her seat, whimpering into her handkerchief. 
Crouch stood up. He looked down upon the four in front of him, and there was pure hatred in his face. 
“You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law,” he said clearly, “so that we may pass judgment on you, for a crime so heinous -” 
“Father,” said the boy with the straw-colored hair. “Father…please…” 
“- that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court,” said Crouch, speaking more loudly, drowning out his son's voice. 
“We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror - Frank Longbottom - and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named -” 
“Father, I didn't!” shrieked the boy in chains below. “I didn't, I swear it. Father, don't send me back to the dementors -” 
“You are further accused,” bellowed Mr. Crouch, “of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury -” 
“Mother!” screamed the boy below, and the wispy little witch beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. “Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, it wasn't me!” 
“I now ask the jury,” shouted Mr. Crouch, “to raise their hands if they believe, as I do, that these crimes deserve a life sentence in Azkaban!” 
In unison, the witches and wizards along the right-hand side of the dungeon raised their hands. The crowd around the walls began to clap as it had for Bagman, their faces full of savage triumph. The boy began to scream. 
“No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him!” 
The dementors were gliding back into the room. The boys’ three companions rose quietly from their seats; the woman with the heavy-lidded eyes looked up at Crouch and called, “The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!” 
But the boy was trying to fight off the dementors, even though Harry could see their cold, draining power starting to affect him. The crowd was jeering, some of them on their feet, as the woman swept out of the dungeon, and the boy continued to struggle. 
“I'm your son!” he screamed up at Crouch. “I'm your son!” 
“You are no son of mine!” bellowed Mr. Crouch, his eyes bulging suddenly. “I have no son!” 
The wispy witch beside him gave a great gasp and slumped in her seat. She had fainted. Crouch appeared not to have noticed. 
“Take them away!” Crouch roared at the dementors, spit flying from his mouth. “Take them away, and may they rot there!” 
“Father! Father, I wasn't involved! No! No! Father, please!” 
“I think. Harry, it is time to return to my office,” said a quiet voice in Harry's ear. 
Harry started. He looked around. Then he looked on his other side. 
There was an Albus Dumbledore sitting on his right, watching Crouch's son being dragged away by the dementors - and there was an Albus Dumbledore on his left, looking right at him. 
“Come,” said the Dumbledore on his left, and he put his hand under Harry's elbow. Harry felt himself rising into the air; the dungeon dissolved around him; for a moment, all was blackness, and then he felt as though he had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on his feet, in what seemed like the dazzling light of Dumbledore's sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering in the cabinet in front of him, and Albus Dumbledore was standing beside him. 
“Professor,” Harry gasped, “I know I shouldn't've - I didn't mean - the cabinet door was sort of open and -” 
“I quite understand,” said Dumbledore. He lifted the basin, carried it over to his desk, placed it upon the polished top, and sat down in the chair behind it. He motioned for Harry to sit down opposite him. 
Harry did so, staring at the stone basin. The contents had returned to their original, silvery-white state, swirling and rippling beneath his gaze. 
“What is it?” Harry asked shakily. 
“This? It is called a Pensieve,” said Dumbledore. “I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind.” 
“Er,” said Harry, who couldn't truthfully say that he had ever felt anything of the sort. 
“At these times,” said Dumbledore, indicating the stone basin, “I use the Pensieve. One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form.” 
“You mean…that stuff's your thoughts?” Harry said, staring at the swirling white substance in the basin. 
“Certainly,” said Dumbledore. “Let me show you.” 
Dumbledore drew his wand out of the inside of his robes and placed the tip into his own silvery hair, near his temple. When he took the wand away, hair seemed to be clinging to it - but then Harry saw that it was in fact a glistening strand of the same strange silvery-white substance that filled the Pensieve. Dumbledore added this fresh thought to the basin, and Harry, astonished, saw his own face swimming around the surface of the bowl. Dumbledore placed his long hands on either side of the Pensieve and swirled it, rather as a gold prospector would pan for fragments of gold.…and Harry saw his own face change smoothly into Snape's, who opened his mouth and spoke to the ceiling, his voice echoing slightly. 
“It's coming back…Karkaroff's too…stronger and clearer than ever…” 
“A connection I could have made without assistance,” Dumbledore sighed, “but never mind.” He peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Harry, who was gaping at Snape's face, which was continuing to swirl around the bowl. “I was using the Pensieve when Mr. Fudge arrived for our meeting and put it away rather hastily. Undoubtedly I did not fasten the cabinet door properly. Naturally, it would have attracted your attention.” 
“I'm sorry,” Harry mumbled. 
Dumbledore shook his head. “Curiosity is not a sin,” he said. “But we should exercise caution with our curiosity…yes, indeed…” 
Frowning slightly, he prodded the thoughts within the basin with the tip of his wand. Instantly, a figure rose out of it, a plump, scowling girl of about sixteen, who began to revolve slowly, with her feet still in the basin. She took no notice whatsoever of Harry or Professor Dumbledore. When she spoke, her voice echoed as Snape's had done, as though it were coming from the depths of the stone basin. “He put a hex on me, Professor Dumbledore, and I was only teasing him, sir, I only said I'd seen him kissing Florence behind the greenhouses last Thursday.…” 
“But why. Bertha,” said Dumbledore sadly, looking up at the now silently revolving girl, “why did you have to follow him in the first place?” 
“Bertha?” Harry whispered, looking up at her. “Is that - was that Bertha Jorkins?” 
“Yes,” said Dumbledore, prodding the thoughts in the basin again; Bertha sank back into them, and they became silvery and opaque once more. “That was Bertha as I remember her at school.” 
The silvery light from the Pensieve illuminated Dumbledore's face, and it struck Harry suddenly how very old he was looking. He knew, of course, that Dumbledore was getting on in years, but somehow he never really thought of Dumbledore as an old man. 
“So, Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Before you got lost in my thoughts, you wanted to tell me something.” 
“Yes,” said Harry. “Professor - I was in Divination just now, and - er - I fell asleep.” 
He hesitated here, wondering if a reprimand was coming, but Dumbledore merely said, “Quite understandable. Continue.” 
“Well, I had a dream,” said Harry. “A dream about Lord Voldemort. He was torturing Wormtail…you know who Wormtail-” 
“I do know,” said Dumbledore promptly. “Please continue.” 
“Voldemort got a letter from an owl. He said something like, Wormtail's blunder had been repaired. He said someone was dead. Then he said, Wormtail wouldn't be fed to the snake - there was a snake beside his chair. He said - he said he'd be feeding me to it, instead. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse on Wormtail - and my scar hurt,” Harry said. “It woke me up, it hurt so badly.” 
Dumbledore merely looked at him. 
“Er - that's all,” said Harry. 
“I see,” said Dumbledore quietly. “I see. Now, has your scar hurt at any other time this year, excepting the time it woke you up over the summer?” 
“No, I - how did you know it woke me up over the summer?” said Harry, astonished. 
“You are not Sirius's only correspondent,” said Dumbledore. “I have also been in contact with him ever since he left Hogwarts last year. It was I who suggested the mountainside cave as the safest place for him to stay.” 
Dumbledore got up and began walking up and down behind his desk. Every now and then, he placed his wand tip to his temple, removed another shining silver thought, and added it to the Pensieve. The thoughts inside began to swirl so fast that Harry couldn't make out anything clearly: It was merely a blur of color. 
“Professor?” he said quietly, after a couple of minutes. 
Dumbledore stopped pacing and looked at Harry. 
“My apologies,” he said quietly. He sat back down at his desk. 
“D'you - d'you know why my scar's hurting me?” 
Dumbledore looked very intently at Harry for a moment, and then said, “I have a theory, no more than that.…It is my belief that your scar hurts both when Lord Voldemort is near you, and when he is feeling a particularly strong surge of hatred.” 
“But…why?” 
“Because you and he are connected by the curse that failed,” said Dumbledore. “That is no ordinary scar.” 
“So you think…that dream…did it really happen?” 
“It is possible,” said Dumbledore. “I would say - probable. Harry - did you see Voldemort?” 
“No,” said Harry. “Just the back of his chair. But - there wouldn't have been anything to see, would there? I mean, he hasn't got a body, has he? But…but then how could he have held the wand?” Harry said slowly. 
“How indeed?” muttered Dumbledore. “How indeed…” 
Neither Dumbledore nor Harry spoke for a while. Dumbledore was gazing across the room, and, every now and then, placing his wand tip to his temple and adding another shining silver thought to the seething mass within the Pensieve. 
“Professor,” Harry said at last, “do you think he's getting stronger?” 
“Voldemort?” said Dumbledore, looking at Harry over the Pensieve. It was the characteristic, piercing look Dumbledore had given him on other occasions, and always made Harry feel as though Dumbledore were seeing right through him in a way that even Moody's magical eye could not. “Once again. Harry, I can only give you my suspicions.” 
Dumbledore sighed again, and he looked older, and wearier, than ever. 
“The years of Voldemort's ascent to power,” he said, “were marked with disappearances. Bertha Jorkins has vanished without a trace in the place where Voldemort was certainly known to be last. Mr. Crouch too has disappeared…within these very grounds. And there was a third disappearance, one which the Ministry, I regret to say, do not consider of any importance, for it concerns a Muggle. His name was Frank Bryce, he lived in the village where Voldemort's father grew up, and he has not been seen since last August. You see, I read the Muggle newspapers, unlike most of my Ministry friends.” 
Dumbledore looked very seriously at Harry. 
“These disappearances seem to me to be linked. The Ministry disagrees - as you may have heard, while waiting outside my office.” 
Harry nodded. Silence fell between them again, Dumbledore extracting thoughts every now and then. Harry felt as though he ought to go, but his curiosity held him in his chair. 
“Professor?” he said again. 
“Yes, Harry?” said Dumbledore. 
“Er…could I ask you about…that court thing I was in…in the Pensieve?” 
“You could,” said Dumbledore heavily. “I attended it many times, but some trials come back to me more clearly than others…particularly now.…” 
“You know - you know the trial you found me in? The one with Crouch's son? Well.…were they talking about Neville's parents?” 
Dumbledore gave Harry a very sharp look. ” Has Neville never told you why he has been brought up by his grandmother?” he said. 
Harry shook his head, wondering, as he did so, how he could have failed to ask Neville this, in almost four years of knowing him. 
“Yes, they were talking about Neville's parents,” said Dumbledore. “His father, Frank, was an Auror just like Professor Moody. He and his wife were tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after he lost his powers, as you heard.” 
“So they're dead?” said Harry quietly. 
“No,” said Dumbledore, his voice full of a bitterness Harry had never heard there before. “They are insane. They are both in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I believe Neville visits them, with his grandmother, during the holidays. They do not recognize him.” 
Harry sat there, horror-struck. He had never known…never, in four years, bothered to find out… 
“The Longbottoms were very popular,” said Dumbledore. “The attacks on them came after Voldemort's fall from power, just when everyone thought they were safe. Those attacks caused a wave of fury such as I have never known. The Ministry was under great pressure to catch those who had done it. Unfortunately, the Longbottoms’ evidence was - given their condition - none too reliable.” 
“Then Mr. Crouch's son might not have been involved?” said Harry slowly. 
Dumbledore shook his head. 
“As to that, I have no idea.” 
Harry sat in silence once more, watching the contents of the Pensieve swirl. There were two more questions he was burning to ask…but they concerned the guilt of living people.… 
“Er,” he said, “Mr. Bagman.…” 
“…has never been accused of any Dark activity since,” said Dumbledore calmly. 
“Right,” said Harry hastily, staring at the contents of the Pensieve again, which were swirling more slowly now that Dumbledore had stopped adding thoughts. “And…er…” 
But the Pensieve seemed to be asking his question for him. 
Snape's face was swimming on the surface again. Dumbledore glanced down into it, and then up at Harry. 
“No more has Professor Snape,” he said. 
Harry looked into Dumbledore's light blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. 
“What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?” 
Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, “That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself.” 
Harry knew that the interview was over; Dumbledore did not look angry, yet there was a finality in his tone that told Harry it was time to go. He stood up, and so did Dumbledore. 
“Harry,” he said as Harry reached the door. “Please do not speak about Neville's parents to anybody else. He has the right to let people know, when he is ready.” 
“Yes, Professor,” said Harry, turning to go. 
“And-” 
Harry looked back. Dumbledore was standing over the Pensieve, his face lit from beneath by its silvery spots of light, looking older than ever. He stared at Harry for a moment, and then said, “Good luck with the third task.” 
办公室的门开了。 
　　“哈罗，波特，”莫迪说，“进来吧。” 
　　哈利走进来。他以前曾进过丹伯多的办公室；它是一个非常漂亮的圆形房间，墙上排列着霍格瓦彻历届校长和夫人的照片，他们都睡得很熟，胸膛在微微起伏。 
　　法治站在丹伯多的桌子旁边，穿着他平时的细条纹大衣，戴着项灰绿色的圆顶硬礼帽。 
　　“哈利！”法治快活地叫着走向前，“你好吗？” 
　　“很好！”哈利撒谎说。 
　　“我们正在谈那晚克劳斯先生在森林里被发现的事。”法治说：“是你发现他的吧？” 
　　“是的，”哈利说。然后，他觉得假装刚才没有在门外听到他们的谈话有点不礼貌，他加上一句：“我当时到处也没见玛西姆夫人，也许她有工作要做，不是吗？” 
　　丹伯多在法治背后对他笑，眨眨眼睛。 
　　“是吗。”法治看起来很尴尬，“我们正要到森林里去一下，哈利，所以请原谅……或许你先回教室——” 
　　“我要和您谈谈，教授。”哈利飞快地说，看着丹伯多，后者用询问的眼光瞄了他一眼。“在这儿等我，哈利，”丹伯多说，“我们很快就回来，不会花太长时间的。” 
　　他们一起出去了，并关上门。过了一两分钟，哈利听到下面莫迪的木腿敲着地面的声音越走越远，他看看周围。 
　　“哈罗，达摩克。”他说。 
　　达摩克，教授的凤凰鸟，正站在门旁的金栖木上。它的体型和天鹅一样大，鲜红和金色相间的羽毛非常漂亮。它正沙沙地动了动它的长尾巴，亲切地看着哈利。 
　　哈利在丹伯多的桌子前坐下。有好几分钟，他坐在那儿看着老校长和夫人们在相框里面打着盹，心里想着他刚才听到的话，用手摸摸他的疤痕，现在它不疼了。 
　　他觉得平静了些，因为怎么说他已经在丹伯多的办公室里了，不久就可以告诉他关于那个梦，哈利抬起头看向桌子后面的墙：打满补丁，破破烂烂的帽子正放在一个架子上，它旁边是一个玻璃盒子，里面装着一把非常漂亮的银剑，一颗大红宝石键在柄上，他认出来这就是他在二年级时从帽子里抽出来的那把剑，它曾属于哥德里克。格林芬顿，——哈利所住的那间房子的建造者。他凝视着它，想起当初，他在绝望的时候，它曾帮了他多大的忙啊。这时他注意到一小片银光在玻璃盒上跳跃，闪烁不定。他看看周围，想找出光线的来源，然后他看到一道银白的亮光正从他后面的一个黑橱柜里射出来，因为橱柜的门没有关好。哈利犹豫了一下，瞥了达摩克一眼，然后站起来走到橱柜面前，把门打开。 
　　一个浅浅的石盆放在那儿，边缘饰有古怪的雕刻，像是一些古怪的字母和符号，哈利一个也不认识；这银色的光是来自于盆里装的东西，它不像哈利以前见过的任何东西。他甚至不知道这种物质。是液体还是气体，它带一种明亮的银白，还在不停地移动；它的表面像风吹过水面一样起着涟漪，然而，又像云一样，一会儿分开，一会儿打转。它像光的液体——又像风的固体——哈利很难断定。 
　　他想碰碰它，看它感觉起来像什么，但在魔法世界里生活的四年经验告诉他，把手伸到一盆不知道是什么的物质里去是件非常愚蠢的事。所以他把手伸到袍子里，拿出魔杖，紧张地看了看办公室周围，眼光再转回盆子里装的东西。他用棒戳了戳它。这银色物质的表面马上开始旋转，越转越快。 
　　哈利弯下腰，把头伸进了橱柜。这银色物质已经变得像玻璃一样透明。他想看着盆的底部有什么——谁知却看到这神秘的物质的表面下是一个很大的房间。他就像透过天花板上的一个圆窗户看下去一样。 
　　这个房间光线很暗，他甚至想它应该是在地底，因为那儿没有窗户，只有从墙上突出来的托架上放着火把，就像霍格瓦彻用来照明的那种一样，他把脸凑得那么近，鼻子都几乎碰到了那层玻璃物质。哈利看到很多女巫和男巫围成一圈，坐在靠墙的一排排阶梯凳子上。 
　　房间的正中间有一把空椅子，这椅子给哈利一种不祥的感觉，椅子的扶手是围拢着的，就像要把坐在上面的人绑在上面。 
　　这是什么地方？肯定不是霍格瓦彻；他在城堡里从来没见过这样一个房间。此外，盆底显现出来的那房间里的人都是大人。哈利觉得这当中没有一个是霍格瓦彻的老师。他们看起来好像在等着什么，哈利想。虽然他只能看到他们的帽尖，但他们看起来都面对着一个方向，没人交头接耳。 
　　因为石盆是圆的，而那个他正视察的房间是方的，所以他看不见角落里发生了什么事，他靠得更近了，头倾得更低，想看看…… 
　　他的鼻尖碰到了那奇异的物质。 
　　突然，丹伯多的办公室剧烈地摇晃起来——哈利被向前抛去，一头栽到了那盆里装的东西里去。 
　　但他的头并没有碰到盆底，他掉到又黑又冰冷的什么东西里去了，他一直在往下陷，好像被吸进了一个黑色的漩涡。 
　　突然，他发现自己就坐在那个房间里的凳子上，那凳子比其它的都高。他看着那高高的石头天花板，想看到一扇圆形的窗户，他刚才就是从那儿看下来的。但是那什么也没有，只有又黑又硬的石头。 
　　哈利拼命地喘着气，看了看他周围。房间里没有一个女巫或巫师（至少有两百个）在看他。他们中看起来没有一个人注意到有个十四岁的男孩刚刚从天花板上掉下来，并且掉到他们中间里来。哈利转向坐在他旁边的一个巫师，突然失声惊呼，那叫声回荡在一片死寂的房间里。 
　　他就正坐在艾伯斯。丹伯多的身边。 
　　“教授！”哈利压低声音说，“我很抱歉——我不是真的想——我只是看看你橱柜里的石盆——我——我在哪？” 
　　但教授一动不动，也没说话，完全忽视了哈利的存在，只是像其它人一样，盯着房间远处的角落里的一扇门。 
　　哈利不知所措地盯着丹伯多，然后看了看正在静静观看的人群，然后再看着丹伯多。突然灵光一闪…… 
　　曾经有一次，哈利发现自己在一个别人既看不到也听不到他的世界里。那次，他掉进了一本施了魔法的日记里，进入了某人的记忆中……类似的事情又一次发生了。 
　　哈利举起右手，犹豫了一下，然后伸到丹伯多面前用力挥动。丹伯多没有眨眼，也没有回过头看哈利，或者说根本一动也不动。所以他确定，他是在一个记忆中，而眼前这个并不是现实中的丹伯多。但应该也不是很久以前……这个正坐在他旁边的丹伯多的头发银白，就像现实中的丹伯多一样。但这是什么地方呢？这所有的巫师都在等什么呢？ 
　　哈利更仔细地打量这里。就像他刚才从上面观察时所怀疑的那样，这个房间就是在地下——与其说是房间不如说像地牢，他想。这里有一种阴森寒冷和恐怖的气氛：墙上没有画，根本就没任何装饰；整个房间就只有一排排的席位，一排比一排高，都固定好了，所以他们可以清楚地看到那椅子的扶手上有铁链。 
　　在哈利对这个房间下结论前，他听到了一阵脚步声。地牢角落的那扇门开了，三个人走进来——一个人由两个得蒙特押着。 
　　哈利全身发冷。那些得蒙特——高大的，戴着头盔只有眼露出来的生物正向房间中央的那个椅子滑去，每人抓着那男人的一只手臂。他们的手像死人的，已经腐烂的手，那个夹在他们中间的人看起就快晕过去了。哈利想这不能怪他……虽然他知道得蒙特不会碰到他自己，因为这是在一个记忆里，但他仍然有点害怕，因为他还清楚地记得他们有多强大。当得蒙特把那人放在有链的椅子上后，又滑出房间时，围观的人群向后退缩了一下，门在他们出去之后关上了。 
　　哈利低头看着椅子上坐着的那个人，原来他是卡克罗夫。 
　　不像丹伯多，卡克罗夫看起来年轻多了；他的头发和山羊胡子都是黑的。但不同的事是他穿着又薄又破的衣服而不是光滑的皮衣，他在发抖。椅子上的铁链突然闪出金光，像蛇一样爬上他的手臂，把他绑在那儿。 
　　“艾格。卡克罗夫。”哈利的左边突然冒出一个声音。他向四周看看，看到克劳斯先生正站在他旁边席位的中间。克劳斯的头发还是黑色的，脸还没有那么多皱纹，看起来又凉爽又敏捷。“你是从阿兹克班被带来给魔法部提供证据的，你曾说你有重要的消息要告诉我们。” 
　　卡克罗夫连忙挺直身体。 
　　“我有，先生。”他说，虽然他的声音听起来非常害怕，哈利仍然听出了熟悉的油腔滑调。“我希望对魔法部有用，我想帮忙。我——我知道魔法部要围捕黑暗公爵的最后一批余党。我渴望尽我最大的努力帮忙……” 
　　观众席上响起一阵嗡嗡声。有些人开始对卡克罗夫感兴趣，其他从则表示怀疑。猛地，一个熟悉低吼声从丹伯多的另一边传来说：“垃圾！” 
　　哈利向前倾，目光越过丹伯多。果然，魔眼莫迪坐在那儿——虽然他外表与现在显著不同。他还没有魔眼，只有两只普通眼睛。他正眯着眼睛看着卡克罗夫，带着极度的厌恶。 
　　“克劳斯准备放他出来，”莫迪小声对丹伯多说，“他已经和他达成一笔交易。花了我六个月时间去追捕他，如果他能提供足够的新名单的话，克劳斯就让他走。让我们先听听他的情报，我说，之后再把他直接扔给得蒙特好了。” 
　　丹伯多那长长的鹰钩鼻轻哼了一声表示不同意。 
　　“哦，我忘了……你不喜欢得蒙特，不是吗，艾伯斯？”莫迪的脸上带着嘲讽的笑。 
　　“是的，”丹伯多淡淡地说，“我不喜欢它们，我一直觉得魔法部与这种生物结盟是个错误。” 
　　“但对这种垃圾……”莫迪轻声说。 
　　“你说你能向我们提供名字，卡克罗夫，”克劳斯先生说，“那就请说出来听听。” 
　　“您应该明白。”卡克罗夫急忙说，“那个‘那个人’总是以最秘密的方式操纵一切……他喜欢那样，我们——我是说，他的支持者们——现在我很懊悔，非常的后悔，我曾经是他们中的一员——” 
　　“说下去啊！”莫迪嗤之以鼻。 
　　“——我们从来不知道自己同伙的名字——只有他一个人知道我们所有的人都是谁——” 
　　“真是个聪明的主意，这样就保护了像你这样的人，卡克罗夫，而把其它人都给出卖了。”莫迪咕哝着。 
　　“但你说你能给我们名字？”克劳斯先生说。 
　　“我，我能。”卡克罗夫上气不接下气地说，“他们是很重要的党徒，不怕告诉您，我看到了他，他在等候时机，我提供这个情报表示我彻底和他决裂，而且对他表示深切的怜悯和同情，我几乎不……” 
　　“他们的名字是？”克劳斯先生严厉地说。 
　　卡克罗夫作了一个深呼吸。 
　　“是安东尼。多拉邦弗。”他说，“我——我看到他无数次地折磨拷打马格人和……不支持黑暗公爵的人。” 
　　“还帮他一起折磨他们。”莫迪咕哝着。 
　　“我们已经拘捕了多拉邦弗，”克劳斯说：“他在你之后不久就被抓住了。” 
　　“真的？”卡克罗夫说，他的眼睛睁得大大的，“我——我很高——兴听到这个消息！” 
　　但他看起来一点也不。哈利想这对他真是一大打击，他能提供的名字中有一个已经没用了。 
　　“还有其它吗？”克劳斯冷冷地说。 
　　“为什么，当然……还有罗斯尔，”卡克罗夫急忙说，“埃文。罗斯尔。” 
　　“罗斯尔已经死了，他在你之后不久也被抓住了。他看起来，更喜欢反抗而不是乖乖地来，所以在顽抗中被打死了。” 
　　“那把我的功劳也说说啊。”莫迪对哈利右边的人低声说，哈利再看了看他，只见他正把鼻子里插着的大木块指给丹伯多看。 
　　“不——不过分，这是他罪有应得！”卡克罗夫说，声音里夹着一丝恐慌，可以看出，他开始害怕他的情报没有一个有用。卡克罗夫的眼睛盯着角落里的那扇门，毫无疑问，得蒙特正在门后守着。 
　　“还有吗？“克劳斯说。 
　　“有！”卡克罗夫。“还有特雷维斯——他谋杀了麦金得斯！马尔希伯——他擅长英帕雷斯咒语，驱使无数的人去做可怕的事！罗克乌得，他是个间谍，专门从魔法部里向‘那个人’传递情报！” 
　　可以说，这次卡克罗夫的话起作用了，观众开始交头接耳。 
　　“罗克乌得？”克劳斯先生说，他向一个坐在他前面的女巫点了点头，后者马上在羊皮纸上刷刷地写着，“神秘事件分部的罗克乌得吗？” 
　　“不错，”卡克罗夫急忙说，“我想他操纵着一个关系网，那些人专门负责从魔法部里外收集情报——” 
　　“但是我们已经知道特雷维斯和马尔希伯了，”克劳斯先生说，“非常好，卡克罗夫，如果就是这些，你可以先回阿兹克班等我们决定——” 
　　“还没完！”卡克罗夫叫道，看起来很绝望。“等一等，我还有更多！” 
　　在火把微弱的光芒下，哈利看到他冷汗直流，脸色白得吓人，和他黑色的头发和胡子形成强烈的对比。 
　　“史纳皮！”他叫道，“塞维罗斯。史纳皮！” 
　　“史纳皮已经被议会排除在外了，”克劳斯冷冷地说：“艾伯斯。丹伯多先生为他担保。” 
　　“不可能！”卡克罗夫吼道，身上的链子绷得紧紧的。“我向您保 
　　证！塞维罗斯。史纳皮是个食尸者！“ 
　　丹伯多站起来。“为此我已经提供证明。”他平静地说，“塞维罗斯。史纳皮确实是个食尸者。但在福尔得库特公爵垮台之前，他就已经转向我们这边了，并为我们作卧底提供情报。他个人是冒着生命危险的。他现在不再是个食尸者了。” 
　　哈利转身看着玛特艾。莫迪。他用深深怀疑的眼光看着丹伯多的背影。 
　　“好了，卡克罗夫，”克劳斯冷冷地说，“你已经帮过忙了，我会重新考虑你的案子的，你现在先回阿兹克班……” 
　　克劳斯先生的声音越飘越远。哈利看看四周，这个地牢像烟雾一样正在消失；所有的东西都开始变得模糊起来。他只能看见自己的身体周围的一切都像旋转着的黑色漩涡…… 
　　但不久，地牢又出现了。哈利发现自己坐在和原来不同的位置；仍然是最高的一排。但他右边的人变成了克劳斯先生。这儿的气氛比原来的轻松多了，甚至有点兴高采烈。大家在交头接耳，好像在观看体育赛事。对面中间一排上有个女巫引起了哈利的注意。她留着金色短发，穿着紫红色的袍子。不会错的，她就是年轻的理特。史姬特。哈利看了看四周，丹伯多又坐在他旁边了，但穿着一件不同的袍子。克劳斯先生看起来更憔悴而且更瘦更严厉了……哈利知道了。 
　　这是个不同的记忆，不同的一天……一个不同的审讯。 
　　角落的门开了，露得。巴格蒙走了进来。 
　　这不像现实中的那个露得。巴格蒙。他仍有着一副快迪斯选手身材。他的鼻子还没被打扁后起来又高又瘦但很有力气。他在那带链子的椅子上坐下，看起来很紧张。但那椅子却没有把他像卡克罗夫一样绑起来。巴格蒙好像也感觉到这点，放松了一下。他用眼睛扫了一下观众，向其中两个人挥挥手，勉强笑了芙。 
　　“露得。巴格蒙，你被带到魔法世界法庭来是为了对你的被控进行答辩的。你被控与戴斯。艾特们有关系。”克劳斯说，“我们听说了那些对你不利的证据，现在准备宣布我们的判决，在此之前你还要在你的证词上加上什么吗？” 
　　哈利简直不敢相信自己的耳朵。露得。巴格蒙，一个食尸者？ 
　　“只有一点。”巴格蒙。傻笑着说，“呃，我觉得我以前有点像傻瓜——” 
　　一两个观众纵声大笑。但克劳斯先生可没这种幽默感，他带着一种最严厉和厌恶的神情盯着露得。巴格蒙。 
　　“他从来没说过比这更真的话了，小子。”有人干巴巴地对丹伯多说。哈利一看，莫迪又坐在那儿了：“要不是我知道他向来都那么蠢，我还会以为那些快迪斯球们已经给他洗了脑……” 
　　“露得。巴格蒙，你是在给福尔得摩特公爵的支持者们送情报时被抓住的。所以，我建议判处他在阿兹克班服刑不少于——” 
　　但这时周围的观众席上爆发出愤怒的吼声，几个女巫和巫师站起来对着克劳斯先生摇头，有的甚至挥舞着拳头。 
　　“但我已经告诉你们，我不知道！”巴格蒙真诚地向乱哄哄的观众叫道，他那圆圆的蓝眼睛睁得大大的。“根本一点也不知道！老罗克乌得是我爸爸的一个朋友……我做梦也没想到他和‘那个人’是一伙的！我以为我只是在为我方收集情报！还有罗克乌得一直在说要给我在魔法部里找份工作……一旦我的快迪斯生涯结束，你们知道……我指，我不能老是被布鲁佐球踩在脚下，不是吗？” 
　　观众中发出了吃吃的笑声。 
　　“那么我们来投票。”克劳斯先生冷冷地说。然后转向地牢的右面说：“陪审团将会很乐意举手……赞成监禁……” 
　　哈利看向地牢的右手边。没人举手，观众席上很多人开始鼓掌。 
　　陪审席上有个女巫站起来。 
　　“什么事？”克劳斯恼怒地咆哮。 
　　“我们只是想为巴格蒙先生上星期六在快迪斯比赛上代表英格兰与土耳其对阵时的出色表演表示热烈的祝贺。”她一口气把话说完了。 
　　克劳斯先生气得火冒三丈。这时地牢里却响起雷鸣般的掌声。 
　　巴格蒙站起来向大家鞠躬，笑着。 
　　“卑鄙，下流。”克劳斯先生对丹伯多大声说，这时巴格蒙已经走出了地牢。他仍然愤愤地说，“罗克乌得确实给了他一份工作……露得。巴格蒙加入我们的那一天对魔法部来说将会是很凄惨的一天……” 
　　这时地牢又消失了。当它再次出现时，哈利发现自己和丹伯多仍旧坐在克劳斯先生的旁边，但气氛大不一样了。这里静得出奇，只有坐在克劳斯先生旁的一个脆弱纤细的女巫在抽泣着。她发抖的手紧抓着一条手绢捂着嘴。哈利抬头看着克劳斯，他好像更憔悴了，脸色比刚才更灰白，太阳穴上有根筋在不停地跳。 
　　“把他们带进来。”他说，他的声音在寂静的地牢里回响。 
　　角落的门又开了。这次六个得蒙特押着一行四个人进来。哈利看到人群中有人抬头看着克劳斯先生，有些人在低声耳语。 
　　得蒙特把他们四人分别放在四张有链的椅子上。四人中，一个矮壮的男人茫然地看着克劳斯，还有一个比他更瘦一些，而且看起来更紧张的男人，眼睛四下看着人群。一个女人坐在椅子上，就好像它是宝座；她有一头又浓又黑的头发，眼皮厚厚的像盖子。旁边还有一个十八九岁的少年，他看起来没有那么僵硬但却在发着科，乱草般的头发垂在他脸上，奶白色的皮肤上有几粒雀斑。一看到他，克劳斯先生旁边的那个瘦小的女巫就开始坐立不安，用手绢捂着脸哭。 
　　克劳斯站起来。他俯视着面前的这四个人，脸上只有纯粹的憎恨。 
　　“你们被带到魔法世界法庭来，”他清楚地说，“为你们那令人发指的犯罪行为接受判决——” 
　　“爸爸，”那乱草般头发的少年说，“爸爸……求求……” 
　　“——我们从来没听过这样恐怖的行为，”克劳斯先生把声音抬高，把他儿子的声音盖了下去。“我们已经听过其他人的证词。你们四个被控曾抓了一个沃罗——弗兰克。兰博顿——并在他身上施了克鲁希尔特斯符咒，因为你们怀疑他知道你们那不知放逐到哪里的主人现在在哪里——” 
　　“爸爸，我没有！”那男孩在链子里发抖。“我没有，我发誓，爸爸，别把我扔给得蒙特——” 
　　“你们还被指控，”克劳斯先生大吼着说，“在弗兰克。兰博顿的妻子身上施了克鲁希尔特斯咒语。因为他不告诉你们想要知道的事。 
　　你们也计划让他——‘那个人’——重新恢复力量。我现在要求陪审团——“ 
　　“妈妈！”下面那男孩尖叫着，坐在克劳斯旁边的那女人更加不安，大声地啜泣起来。那男孩大喊：“妈妈，阻止他，妈妈，我没干，不是我！” 
　　“我现在要求陪审团，”克劳斯先生大叫着，“举手，如果他们像我一样相信，这些犯人应该在阿兹克班处以无期徒刑。” 
　　一致地，地牢右手边的女巫和男巫们都举起了手。观众席上响起来像刚才一样雷鸣般的掌声，他们的脸上满是得意满足。那男孩子开始尖叫：“不！妈妈！不！我没干，我没干，我不知道！不要让他把我送到那儿！” 
　　得蒙特进来了。另外三个人静静地从座位上站起来；那个有厚厚眼皮眼睛的女人抬头看着克劳斯并叫道：“黑暗公爵一定会东山再起的，克劳斯！把我们关在阿兹克班，我们等着！他会再来救我们的。他会比其他人更重重地嘉奖我们，因为只有我们是最忠实的！ 
　　只有我们要去找他！“ 
　　但那男孩还在挣扎着试图让得蒙特放开他，虽然哈利可以看到他们的冷酷无情和强大力量开始把他镇住了。人们在嘲笑他们，有的甚至站起来。那女人已经出去了，男孩还在挣扎。 
　　“我是你儿子！”他冲着克劳斯大叫，“我是你的儿子！” 
　　“你不是我的儿子！”克劳斯先生大吼，眼睛睁得圆圆的。“我没有儿子！” 
　　那瘦小的女巫倒抽一口冷气，重重地跌在座位上，她晕过去了。 
　　但克劳斯先生好像没有看到一样。 
　　“把他们带走！”克劳斯对得蒙特咆哮着，唾沫横飞。“把他们带走，让他们烂在那儿！” 
　　“爸爸，爸爸，不关我的事！不！不！爸爸，求求你！” 
　　“我想，哈利，是时候回办公室了。”一个声音在哈利耳边响起。 
　　哈利吓了一跳，他看看四周。然后看着他两旁。 
　　他右边坐着一个艾伯斯。丹伯多，正看着克劳斯的儿子被得蒙特拖出去——而他左边也有一个艾伯斯。丹伯多，正看着他。 
　　“走吧。”左边的丹伯多先生把手伸到哈利的臂弯里，哈利觉得自己升向空中，地牢消失了，在一片漆黑中，他觉得自己在慢慢翻着跟斗，突然，他的脚落到了实地，发现自己站在丹伯多阳光灿烂的办公室里，橱柜里的石盆在他面前闪烁，艾伯斯。丹伯多也站在他身边。 
　　“教授，”哈利喘息着，“我知道我不应该——我并不是想——橱柜的门开了一点点而且——” 
　　“我完全理解。”丹伯多说。他把盆拿到他桌子上，然后坐下，他示意哈利坐在他对面。 
　　哈利坐下来，盯着那石盆。盆里的东西恢复了原样，一种银白色物质，随着他的喘息旋转，起着微波。 
　　“它是什么？”哈利颤声问。 
　　“这？它叫班西福，”丹伯多说，“我
Chapter 31 The Third Task
“Dumbledore reckons You-Know-Who's getting stronger again as well?” Ron whispered. 
Everything Harry had seen in the Pensieve, nearly everything Dumbledore had told and shown him afterward, he had now shared with Ron and Hermione - and, of course, with Sirius, to whom Harry had sent an owl the moment he had left Dumbledore's office. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat up late in the common room once again that night, talking it all over until Harry's mind was reeling, until he understood what Dumbledore had meant about a head becoming so full of thoughts that it would have been a relief to siphon them off. 
Ron stared into the common room fire. Harry thought he saw Ron shiver slightly, even though the evening was warm. 
“And he trusts Snape?” Ron said. “He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater?” 
“Yes,” said Harry. 
Hermione had not spoken for ten minutes. She was sitting with her forehead in her hands, staring at her knees. Harry thought she too looked as though she could have done with a Pensieve. 
“Rita Skeeter,” she muttered finally. 
“How can you be worrying about her now?” said Ron, in utter disbelief. 
“I'm not worrying about her,” Hermione said to her knees. “I'm just thinking…remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? ‘I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl. ’ This is what she meant, isn't it? She reported his trial, she knew he'd passed information to the Death Eaters. And Winky too, remember…'Ludo Bagman's a bad wizard.’ Mr. Crouch would have been furious he got off, he would have talked about it at home.” 
“Yeah, but Bagman didn't pass information on purpose, did he?” 
Hermione shrugged. 
“And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch?” Ron said, turning back to Harry. 
“Yeah,” said Harry, “but he's only saying that because Crouch disappeared near the Beauxbatons carriage.” 
“We never thought of her, did we?” said Ron slowly. “Mind you, she's definitely got giant blood, and she doesn't want to admit it-” 
“Of course she doesn't,” said Hermione sharply, looking up. “Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, jumping to conclusions about her, just because she's part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I'd probably say I had big bones if I knew that's what I'd get for telling the truth.” 
Hermione looked at her watch. “We haven't done any practicing!” she said, looking shocked. “We were going to do the Impediment Curse! We'll have to really get down to it tomorrow! Come on. Harry, you need to get some sleep.” 
Harry and Ron went slowly upstairs to their dormitory. As Harry pulled on his pajamas, he looked over at Neville's bed. True to his word to Dumbledore, he had not told Ron and Hermione about Neville's parents. As Harry took off his glasses and climbed into his four-poster, he imagined how it must feel to have parents still living but unable to recognize you. He often got sympathy from strangers for being an orphan, but as he listened to Neville's snores, he thought that Neville deserved it more than he did. Lying in the darkness, Harry felt a rush of anger and hate toward the people who had tortured Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom.…He remembered the jeers of the crowd as Crouch's son and his companions had been dragged from the court by the dementors.…He understood how they had felt.…Then he remembered the milk-white face of the screaming boy and realized with a jolt that he had died a year later.… 
It was Voldemort, Harry thought, staring up at the canopy of his bed in the darkness, it all came back to Voldemort.…He was the one who had torn these families apart, who had ruined all these lives.… 
Ron and Hermione were supposed to be studying for their exams, which would finish on the day of the third task, but they were putting most of their efforts into helping Harry prepare. 
“Don't worry about it,” Hermione said shortly when Harry pointed this out to them and said he didn't mind practicing on his own for a while, “at least we'll get top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. We'd never have found out about all these hexes in class.” 
“Good training for when we're all Aurors,” said Ron excitedly, attempting the Impediment Curse on a wasp that had buzzed into the room and making it stop dead in midair. 
The mood in the castle as they entered June became excited and tense again. Everyone was looking forward to the third task, which would take place a week before the end of term. Harry was practicing hexes at every available moment. He felt more confident about this task than either of the others. Difficult and dangerous though it would undoubtedly be, Moody was right: Harry had managed to find his way past monstrous creatures and enchanted barriers before now, and this time he had some notice, some chance to prepare himself for what lay ahead. 
Tired of walking in on Harry, Hermione, and Ron all over the school. Professor McGonagall had given them permission to use the empty Transfiguration classroom at lunchtimes. Harry had soon mastered the Impediment Curse, a spell to slow down and obstruct attackers; the Reductor Curse, which would enable him to blast solid objects out of his way; and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione's that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses; Hermione managed to shatter it with a well-placed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and Harry wobbled around the room for ten minutes afterward before she had looked up the counter-jinx. 
“You're still doing really well, though,” Hermione said encouragingly, looking down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. “Some of these are bound to come in handy.” 
“Come and look at this,” said Ron, who was standing by the window. He was staring down onto the grounds. “What's Malfoy doing?” 
Harry and Hermione went to see. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in the shadow of a tree below. Crabbe and Goyle seemed to be keeping a lookout; both were smirking. Malfoy was holding his hand up to his mouth and speaking into it. 
“He looks like he's using a walkie-talkie,” said Harry curiously. 
“He can't be,” said Hermione, “I've told you, those sorts of things don't work around Hogwarts. Come on, Harry,” she added briskly, turning away from the window and moving back into the middle of the room, “let's try that Shield Charm again.” 
Sirius was sending daily owls now. Like Hermione, he seemed to want to concentrate on getting Harry through the last task before they concerned themselves with anything else. He reminded Harry in every letter that whatever might be going on outside the walls of Hogwarts was not Harry's responsibility, nor was it within his power to influence it. 
If Voldemort is really getting stronger again, he wrote, my priority is to ensure your safety. He cannot hope to lay hands on you while you are under Dumbledore's protection, but all the same, take no risks: Concentrate on getting through that maze safely, and then we can turn our attention to other matters. Harry's nerves mounted as June the twenty-fourth drew closer, but they were not as bad as those he had felt before the first and second tasks. For one thing, he was confident that, this time, he had done everything in his power to prepare for the task. For another, this was the final hurdle, and however well or badly he did, the tournament would at last be over, which would be an enormous relief. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. It was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front, but Harry appreciated it all the same. A screech owl arrived for Hermione, carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it. 
“What?” said Harry and Ron together, staring at her. “Nothing,” said Hermione quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it. He stared at the headline and said, “No way. Not today. That old cow.” 
“What?” said Harry. “Rita Skeeter again?” 
“No,” said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight. 
“It's about me, isn't it?” said Harry. 
“No,” said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone. But before Harry could demand to see the paper. Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table. 
“Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not going to go berserk on us?” 
Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet too. Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see Harry's reaction. 
“Let me see it,” Harry said to Ron. “Give it here.” 
Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and found himself staring at his own picture, beneath the banner headline: 
“HARRY POTTER”“DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS”The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behavior, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School. Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying. It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potters brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion. “He might even be pretending,” said one specialist. “This could be a plea for attention.” The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public. “Potter can speak Parseltongue,” reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. “There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power.” Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue “as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers.” Similarly, “anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence.” Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening. “Gone off me a bit, hasn't she?” said Harry lightly, folding up the paper. 
Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at him, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling their tongues like snakes. 
“How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?” Ron said. “There's no way she was there, there's no way she could've heard -” 
“The window was open,” said Harry. “I opened it to breathe.” 
“You were at the top of North Tower!” Hermione said. “Your voice couldn't have carried all the way down to the grounds!” 
“Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging!” said Harry. “You tell me how she did it!” 
“I've been trying!” said Hermione. “But I…but…” 
An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermione's face. She slowly raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair. 
“Are you all right?” said Ron, frowning at her. 
“Yes,” said Hermione breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, and then held her hand up to her mouth, as though speaking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry and Ron stared at each other. 
“I've had an idea,” Hermione said, gazing into space. “I think I know…because then no one would be able to see…even Moody…and she'd have been able to get onto the window ledge…but she's not allowed…she's definitely not allowed…I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library - just to make sure!” 
With that, Hermione seized her school bag and dashed out of the Great Hall. 
“Oi!” Ron called after her. “We've got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes! Blimey,” he said, turning back to Harry, “she must really hate that Skeeter woman to risk missing the start of an exam. What're you going to do in Binns's class - read again?” 
Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been sitting in the back of every exam class so far, looking up fresh hexes for the third task. 
“S'pose so,” Harry said to Ron; but just then. Professor McGonagall came walking alongside the Gryffindor table toward him. 
“Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast,” she said. 
“But the task's not till tonight!” said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time. 
“I'm aware of that, Potter,” she said. “The champions’ families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them.” 
She moved away. Harry gaped after her. 
“She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?” he asked Ron blankly. 
“Dunno,” said Ron. “Harry, I'd better hurry, I'm going to be late for Binns. See you later.” 
Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. He saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward. Harry stayed where he was. He really didn't want to go into the chamber. He had no family - no family who would turn up to see him risk his life, anyway. But just as he was getting up, thinking that he might as well go up to the library and do a spot more hex research, the door of the side chamber opened, and Cedric stuck his head out. 
“Harry, come on, they're waiting for you!” 
Utterly perplexed. Harry got up. The Dursleys couldn't possibly be here, could they? He walked across the Hall and opened the door into the chamber. 
Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had inherited his fathers hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother's hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back, grinning. Then he saw Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him. 
“Surprise!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as he smiled broadly and walked over to them. “Thought we'd come and watch you. Harry!” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. 
“You all right?” said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. “Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail.” 
Fleur Delacour, Harry noticed, was eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother's shoulder. Harry could tell she had no objection whatsoever to long hair or earrings with fangs on them. 
“This is really nice of you,” Harry muttered to Mrs. Weasley. “I thought for a moment - the Dursleys -” 
“Hmm,” said Mrs. Weasley, pursing her lips. She had always refrained from criticizing the Dursleys in front of Harry, but her eyes flashed every time they were mentioned. 
“It's great being back here,” said Bill, looking around the chamber (Violet, the Fat Lady's friend, winked at him from her frame). “Haven't seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?” 
“Oh yeah,” said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year. 
“And the Fat Lady?” said Bill. 
“She was here in my time,” said Mrs. Weasley. “She gave me such a telling off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning -” 
“What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?” said Bill, surveying his mother with amazement. 
Mrs. Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling. 
“Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll,” she said. “He got caught by Apollyon Pringle - he was the caretaker in those days - your father's still got the marks.” 
“Fancy giving us a tour, Harry?” said Bill. 
“Yeah, okay,” said Harry, and they made their way back toward the door into the Great Hall. As they passed Amos Diggory, he looked around. 
“There you are, are you?” he said, looking Harry up and down. 
“Bet you're not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric's caught you up on points, are you?” 
“What?” said Harry. 
“Ignore him,” said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. “He's been angry ever since Rita Skeeter's article about the Triwizard Tournament - you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion.” 
“Didn't bother to correct her, though, did he?” said Amos Diggory, loudly enough for Harry to hear as he started to walk out of the door with Mrs. Weasley and Bill. “Still,…you'll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven't you?” 
“Rita Skeeter goes out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!” Mrs. Weasley said angrily. “I would have thought you'd know that, working at the Ministry!” 
Mr. Diggory looked as though he was going to say something angry, but his wife laid a hand on his arm, and he merely shrugged and turned away. 
Harry had a very enjoyable morning walking over the sunny grounds with Bill and Mrs. Weasley, showing them the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship. Mrs. Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she had left school, and reminisced at length about the gamekeeper before Hagrid, a man called Ogg. 
“How's Percy?” Harry asked as they walked around the greenhouses. 
“Not good,” said Bill. 
“He's very upset,” said Mrs. Weasley, lowering her voice and glancing around. “The Ministry wants to keep Mr. Crouch's disappearance quiet, but Percy's been hauled in for questioning about the instructions Mr. Crouch has been sending in. They seem to think there's a chance they weren't genuinely written by him. Percy's been under a lot of strain. They're not letting him fill in for Mr. Crouch as the fifth judge tonight. Cornelius Fudge is going to be doing it.” 
They returned to the castle for lunch. 
“Mum - Bill!” said Ron, looking stunned, as he joined the Gryffindor table. “What're you doing here?” 
“Come to watch Harry in the last task!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly. “I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to cook. How was your exam?” 
“Oh…okay,” said Ron. “Couldn't remember all the goblin rebels’ names, so I invented a few. It's all right,” he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty, while Mrs. Weasley looked stern, “they're all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn't hard.” 
Fred, George, and Ginny came to sit next to them too, and Harry was having such a good time he felt almost as though he were back at the Burrow; he had forgotten to worry about that evening's task, and not until Hermione turned up, halfway through lunch, did he remember that she had had a brainwave about Rita Skeeter. 
“Are you going to tell us -?” 
Hermione shook her head warningly and glanced at Mrs. Weasley. 
“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual. 
“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley's face. 
Harry looked between them, then said, “Mrs. Weasley, you didn't believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione's not my girlfriend.” 
“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley “No - of course I didn't!” 
But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione after that. 
Harry, Bill, and Mrs. Weasley whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle, and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harry thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her, 
There were more courses than usual, but Harry, who was starting to feel really nervous now, didn't eat much. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now.” 
Harry got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding him; the Weasleys and Hermione all wished him good luck, and he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor. 
“Feeling all right. Harry?” Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds. “Confident?” 
“I'm okay,” said Harry. It was sort of true; he was nervous, but he kept running over all the hexes and spells he had been practicing in his mind as they walked, and the knowledge that he could remember them all made him feel better. 
They walked onto the Quidditch field, which was now completely unrecognizable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them: the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy. 
Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest. 
“We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze,” said Professor McGonagall to the champions. “If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?” 
The champions nodded. 
“Off you go, then!” said Bagman brightly to the four patrollers. 
“Good luck. Harry,” Hagrid whispered, and the four of them walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, “Sonorus,” and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands. 
“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each - Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!” The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. “In second place, with eighty points - Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!” More applause. “And in third place - Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!” 
Harry could just make out Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione applauding Fleur politely, halfway up the stands. He waved up at them, and they waved back, beaming at him. 
“So…on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!” said Bagman. “Three - two - one -” 
He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forward into the maze. 
The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, whether because they were so tall and thick or because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment they entered the maze. Harry felt almost as though he were underwater again. He pulled out his wand, muttered, “Lumos,” and heard Cedric do the same just behind him. 
After about fifty yards, they reached a fork. They looked at each other. 
“See you,” Harry said, and he took the left one, while Cedric took the right. 
Harry heard Bagman's whistle for the second time. Krum had entered the maze. Harry sped up. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right, and hurried on, holding his wand high over his head, trying to see as far ahead as possible. Still, there was nothing in sight. 
Bagman's whistle blew in the distance for the third time. All of the champions were now inside. 
Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him. The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork. 
“Point Me,” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. 
The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go northwest for the center of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork and go right again as soon as possible. 
The path ahead was empty too, and when Harry reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked. Harry didn't know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. Surely he should have met something by now? It felt as though the maze were luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but its beam fell only upon Cedric, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side. Cedric looked severely shaken. The sleeve of his robe was smoking. 
“Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts!” he hissed. “They're enormous - I only just got away!” 
He shook his head and dived out of sight, along another path. Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the skrewts, Harry hurried off again. Then, as he turned a corner, he saw…a dementor gliding toward him. Twelve feet tall, its face hidden by its hood, its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing its way blindly toward him. Harry could hear its rattling breath; he felt clammy coldness stealing over him, but knew what he had to do.… 
He summoned the happiest thought he could, concentrated with all his might on the thought of getting out of the maze and celebrating with Ron and Hermione, raised his wand, and cried, “Expecto Patronum!” 
A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry's wand and galloped toward the dementor, which fell back and tripped over the hem of its robes.…Harry had never seen a dementor stumble. 
“Hang on!” he shouted, advancing in the wake of his silver Patronus, “You're a boggart! Riddikulus!” 
There was a loud crack, and the shape-shifter exploded in a wisp of smoke. The silver stag faded from sight. Harry wished it could have stayed, he could have used some company…but he moved on, quickly and quietly as possible, listening hard, his wand held high once more. 
Left…right…left again…Twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Four-Point Spell again and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him. 
Harry approached it cautiously, pointing the wand's beam at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way. 
“Reducio!” he said. 
The spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. He supposed he should have known better; the Reductor Curse was for solid objects. What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back? 
He was still hesitating when a scream shattered the silence. 
“Fleur?” Harry yelled. 
There was silence. He stared all around him. What had happened to her? Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead. He took a deep breath and ran through the enchanted mist. 
The world turned upside down. Harry was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, his glasses dangling off his nose, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. He clutched them to the end of his nose and hung there, terrified. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely. 
Think, he told himself, as all the blood rushed to his head, think… 
But not one of the spells he had practiced had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Did he dare move his foot? He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He had two choices - try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task. 
He shut his eyes, so he wouldn't be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could away from the grassy ceiling. 
Immediately, the world righted itself. Harry fell forward onto his knees onto the wonderfully solid ground. He felt temporarily limp with shock. He took a deep, steadying breath, then got up again and hurried forward, looking back over his shoulder as he ran away from the golden mist, which twinkled innocently at him in the moonlight. 
He paused at a junction of two paths and looked around for some sign of Fleur. He was sure it had been she who had screamed. What had she met? Was she all right? There was no sign of red sparks - did that mean she had got herself out of trouble, or was she in such trouble that she couldn't reach her wand? Harry took the right fork with a feeling of increasing unease…but at the same time, he couldn't help thinking. One champion down… 
The cup was somewhere close by, and it sounded as though Fleur was no longer in the running. He'd got this far, hadn't he? What if he actually managed to win? Fleetingly, and for the first time since he'd found himself champion, he saw again that image of himself, raising the Triwizard Cup in front of the rest of the school.… 
He met nothing for ten minutes, but kept running into dead ends. Twice he took the same wrong turning. Finally, he found a new route and started to jog along it, his wandlight waving, making his shadow flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt. 
Cedric was right - it was enormous. Ten feet long, it looked more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over its back. Its thick armor glinted in the light from Harry's wand, which he pointed at it. 
“Stupefy!” 
The spell hit the skrewt's armor and rebounded; Harry ducked just in time, but could smell burning hair; it had singed the top of his head. The skrewt issued a blast of fire from its end and flew forward toward him. 
“Impedimenta!” Harry yelled. The spell hit the skrewt's armor again and ricocheted off; Harry staggered back a few paces and fell over. “IMPEDIMENTA!” 
The skrewt was inches from him when it froze - he had managed to hit it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Panting, Harry pushed himself away from it and ran, hard, in the opposite direction - the Impediment Curse was not permanent; the skrewt would be regaining the use of its legs at any moment. 
He took a left path and hit a dead end, a right, and hit another; forcing himself to stop, heart hammering, he performed the Four-Point Spell again, backtracked, and chose a path that would take him northwest. 
He had been hurrying along the new path for a few minutes, when he heard something in the path running parallel to his own that made him stop dead. 
“What are you doing?” yelled Cedric's voice. “What the hell d'you think you're doing?” 
And then Harry heard Krum's voice. 
“Crucio!” 
The air was suddenly full of Cedric's yells. Horrified, Harry began sprinting up his path, trying to find a way into Cedric's. When none appeared, he tried the Reductor Curse again. It wasn't very effective, but it burned a small hole in the hedge through which Harry forced his leg, kicking at the thick brambles and branches until they broke and made an opening; he struggled through it, tearing his robes, and looking to his right, saw Cedric jerking and twitching on the ground, Krum standing over him. 
Harry pulled himself up and pointed his wand at Krum just as Krum looked up. Krum turned and began to run. 
“Stupefy!” Harry yelled. 
The spell hit Krum in the back; he stopped dead in his tracks, fell forward, and lay motionless, facedown in the grass. Harry-dashed over to Cedric, who had stopped twitching and was lying there panting, his hands over his face. 
“Are you all right?” Harry said roughly, grabbing Cedric's arm. 
“Yeah,” panted Cedric. “Yeah…I don't believe it…he crept up behind me.…I heard him, I turned around, and he had his wand on me.…” 
Cedric got up. He was still shaking. He and Harry looked down at Krum. 
“I can't believe this…I thought he was all right,” Harry said, staring at Krum. 
“So did I,” said Cedric. 
“Did you hear Fleur scream earlier?” said Harry. 
“Yeah,” said Cedric. “You don't think Krum got her too?” 
“I don't know,” said Harry slowly. 
“Should we leave him here?” Cedric muttered. 
“No,” said Harry. “I reckon we should send up red sparks. Someone'll come and collect him…otherwise he'll probably be eaten by a skrewt.” 
“He'd deserve it,” Cedric muttered, but all the same, he raised his wand and shot a shower of red sparks into the air, which hovered high above Krum, marking the spot where he lay. 
Harry and Cedric stood there in the darkness for a moment, looking around them. Then Cedric said, “Well…I s'pose we'd better go on.…” 
“What?” said Harry. “Oh…yeah…right…” 
It was an odd moment. He and Cedric had been briefly united against Krum - now the fact that they were opponents came back to Harry. The two of them proceeded up the dark path without speaking, then Harry turned left, and Cedric right. Cedric's footsteps soon died away. 
Harry moved on, continuing to use the Four-Point Spell, making sure he was moving in the right direction. It was between him and Cedric now. His desire to reach the cup first was now burning stronger than ever, but he could hardly believe what he'd just seen Krum do. The use of an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow human being meant a life term in Azkaban, that was what Moody had told them. Krum surely couldn't have wanted the Triwizard Cup that badly.…Harry sped up. 
Every so often he hit more dead ends, but the increasing darkness made him feel sure he was getting near the heart of the maze. Then, as he strode down a long, straight path, he saw movement once again, and his beam of wandlight hit an extraordinary creature, one which he had only seen in picture form, in his Monster Book of Monsters. 
It was a sphinx. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, was that of a woman. She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Harry as he approached. He raised his wand, hesitating. She was not crouching as if to spring, but pacing from side to side of the path, blocking his progress. Then she spoke, in a deep, hoarse voice. 
“You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me.” 
“So…so will you move, please?” said Harry, knowing what the answer was going to be. 
“No,” she said, continuing to pace. “Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess - I let you pass. Answer wrongly - I attack. Remain silent - I will let you walk away from me unscathed.” 
Harry's stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center. 
“Okay,” he said. “Can I hear the riddle?” 
The sphinx sat down upon her hind legs, in the very middle of the path, and recited: 
“First think of the person who lives in disguise,Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,The middle of middle and end of the end?And finally give me the sound often heardDuring the search for a hard-to-find word.Now string them together, and answer me this,Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?”
Harry gaped at her. 
“Could I have it again…more slowly?” he asked tentatively. She blinked at him, smiled, and repeated the poem. “All the clues add up to a creature I wouldn't want to kiss?” Harry asked. 
She merely smiled her mysterious smile. Harry took that for a “yes.” Harry cast his mind around. There were plenty of animals he wouldn't want to kiss; his immediate thought was a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but something told him that wasn't the answer. He'd have to try and work out the clues.… 
“A person in disguise,” Harry muttered, staring at her, “who lies…er…that'd be a - an impostor. No, that's not my guess! A - a spy? I'll come back to that…could you give me the next clue again, please?” 
She repeated the next lines of the poem. 
“'The last thing to mend,'” Harry repeated. “Er…no idea…'middle of middle'…could I have the last bit again?” 
She gave him the last four lines. 
“'The sound often heard during the search for a hard-to-find word,'” said Harry. “Er…that'd be…er…hang on - ‘er'! Er's a sound!” 
The sphinx smiled at him. 
“Spy…er…spy…er…” said Harry, pacing up and down. “A creature I wouldn't want to kiss…a spider!” 
The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass. 
“Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward. 
He had to be close now, he had to be.…His wand was telling him he was bang on course; as long as he didn't meet anything too horrible, he might have a chance.… 
Harry broke into a run. He had a choice of paths up ahead. “Point Me!” he whispered again to his wand, and it spun around and pointed him to the right-hand one. He dashed up this one and saw light ahead. 
The Triwizard Cup was gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away. Suddenly a dark figure hurtled out onto the path in front of him. 
Cedric was going to get there first. Cedric was sprinting as fast as he could toward the cup, and Harry knew he would never catch up, Cedric was much taller, had much longer legs - 
Then Harry saw something immense over a hedge to his left, moving quickly along a path that intersected with his own; it was moving so fast Cedric was about to run into it, and Cedric, his eyes on the cup, had not seen it - 
“Cedric!” Harry bellowed. “On your left!” 
Cedric looked around just in time to hurl himself past the thing and avoid colliding with it, but in his haste, he tripped. Harry saw Cedric's wand fly out of his hand as a gigantic spider stepped into the path and began to bear down upon Cedric. 
“Stupefy!” Harry yelled; the spell hit the spider's gigantic, hairy black body, but for all the good it did, he might as well have thrown a stone at it; the spider jerked, scuttled around, and ran at Harry instead. 
“Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!” 
But it was no use - the spider was either so large, or so magical, that the spells were doing no more than aggravating it. Harry had one horrifying glimpse of eight shining black eyes and razor-sharp pincers before it was upon him. 
He was lifted into the air in its front legs; struggling madly, he tried to kick it; his leg connected with the pincers and next moment he was in excruciating pain. He could hear Cedric yelling “Stupefy!” too, but his spell had no more effect than Harry's - Harry raised his wand as the spider opened its pincers once more and shouted “Expelliarmus!” 
It worked - the Disarming Spell made the spider drop him, but that meant that Harry fell twelve feet onto his already injured leg, which crumpled beneath him. Without pausing to think, he aimed high at the spider's underbelly, as he had done with the skrewt, and shouted “Stupefy!''just as Cedric yelled the same thing. 
The two spells combined did what one alone had not: The spider keeled over sideways, flattening a nearby hedge, and strewing the path with a tangle of hairy legs. 
“Harry!” he heard Cedric shouting. “You all right? Did it fall on you?” 
“No,” Harry called back, panting. He looked down at his leg. It was bleeding freely. He could see some sort of thick, gluey secretion from the spider's pincers on his torn robes. He tried to get up, but his leg was shaking badly and did not want to support his weight. He leaned against the hedge, gasping for breath, and looked around. 
Cedric was standing feet from the Triwizard Cup, which was gleaming behind him. 
“Take it, then,” Harry panted to Cedric. “Go on, take it. You're there.” 
But Cedric didn't move. He merely stood there, looking at Harry. Then he turned to stare at the cup. Harry saw the longing expression on his face in its golden light. Cedric looked around at Harry again, who was now holding onto the hedge to support himself. Cedric took a deep breath. 
“You take it. You should win. That's twice you've saved my neck in here.” 
“That's not how it's supposed to work,” Harry said. He felt angry; his leg was very painful, he was aching all over from trying to throw off the spider, and after all his efforts, Cedric had beaten him to it, just as he'd beaten Harry to ask Cho to the ball. “The one who reaches the cup first gets the points. That's you. I'm telling you, I'm not going to win any races on this leg.” 
Cedric took a few paces nearer to the Stunned spider, away from the cup, shaking his head. 
“No,” he said. 
“Stop being noble,” said Harry irritably. “Just take it, then we can get out of here.” 
Cedric watched Harry steadying himself, holding tight to the hedge. 
“You told me about the dragons,” Cedric said. “I would've gone down in the first task if you hadn't told me what was coming.” 
“I had help on that too,” Harry snapped, trying to mop up his bloody leg with his robes. “You helped me with the egg - we're square.” 
“I had help on the egg in the first place,” said Cedric. 
“We're still square,” said Harry, testing his leg gingerly; it shook violently as he put weight on it; he had sprained his ankle when the spider had dropped him. 
“You should've got more points on the second task,” said Cedric mulishly. “You stayed behind to get all the hostages. I should've done that.” 
“I was the only one who was thick enough to take that song seriously!” said Harry bitterly. “Just take the cup!” 
“No,” said Cedric. 
He stepped over the spider's tangled legs to join Harry, who stared at him. Cedric was serious. He was walking away from the sort of glory Hufflepuff House hadn't had in centuries. 
“Go on,” Cedric said. He looked as though this was costing him every ounce of resolution he had, but his face was set, his arms were folded, he seemed decided. 
Harry looked from Cedric to the cup. For one shining moment, he saw himself emerging from the maze, holding it. He saw himself holding the Triwizard Cup aloft, heard the roar of the crowd, saw Cho's face shining with admiration, more clearly than he had ever seen it before…and then the picture faded, and he found himself staring at Cedric's shadowy, stubborn face. 
“Both of us,” Harry said. 
“What?” 
“We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll tie for it.” 
Cedric stared at Harry. He unfolded his arms. 
“You - you sure?” 
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah…we've helped each other out, haven't we? We both got here. Let's just take it together.” 
For a moment, Cedric looked as though he couldn't believe his ears; then his face split in a grin. 
“You're on,” he said. “Come here.” 
He grabbed Harry's arm below the shoulder and helped Harry limp toward the plinth where the cup stood. When they had reached it, they both held a hand out over one of the cup's gleaming handles. 
“On three, right?” said Harry. “One - two - three -” 
He and Cedric both grasped a handle. 
Instantly, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet had left the ground. He could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup; it was pulling him onward in a howl of wind and swirling color, Cedric at his side. 
“丹伯多也认为‘那个人’又变厉害了？”罗恩低声问道。 
　　哈利此时已把自己在丹伯多办公室所看到的一切，以及丹伯多后来讲给他听的、给他看的所有东西，全都告诉了罗恩和荷米恩（除了有关尼维尔的事）——而且，当然也告诉了西里斯，哈利在离开丹伯多的办公室时曾给他派出一只猫头鹰。那天晚上，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在公共休息室里坐到很晚，不停地商量着这件事，一直到哈利觉得自己脑袋发晕。他终于明白为什么丹伯多充满思想的头脑需要一根虹管将这些想法—一抽出，这样他才会觉得释然。 
　　罗恩正盯着房间里的火堆。哈利心想他似乎看到罗恩的身体在轻轻地发抖，尽管那天晚上挺暖和的。 
　　“他相信史纳皮？”罗恩说。“就是知道了史纳皮是个食尸者，你也相信史纳皮吗？” 
　　“是的。”哈利答道。 
　　荷米恩已经有十分钟都没吐出一个字了。她静静地坐在那里，双手捂着额头，眼睛却盯着自己的膝盖。哈利觉得她看起来也像是刚刚用了一次班西福。 
　　“理特。史姬特。”她终于开口了，声音低低的。 
　　“你现在怎么还会担心她呢？”罗恩问道，满脸的疑问。 
　　“我不是担心她，”荷米恩对着自己的膝盖说，“我只是在想…… 
　　还记得她怎么跟我说的吗？‘我知道露得。巴格蒙的惊人内幕。’这不就是她想说的吗？报道了他的审讯过程，她知道他给了食尸者情报。 
　　还有温奇，记得她……说过‘巴格蒙是个坏巫师’，上次让他逍遥法外，克劳斯先生肯定很生气，而且他应该在家里说起过这件事的。 
　　“是啊，但是巴格蒙不会故意的吧？” 
　　荷米恩耸了耸肩。 
　　“法治认为是玛西姆夫人攻击克劳斯吗？”罗恩一边说着，一边把头转向哈利。 
　　“是呀，”哈利说道，“但他只是说说而已，因为克劳斯在比克斯贝克顿斯马车附近消失了。” 
　　“我们还没有想到过她，对吧？”罗恩慢条斯理地说道，“可别忘了，她可是有巨人血统的，所以她不愿意承认。” 
　　“她当然不会承认，”荷米恩尖刻地说，眼睛朝上，“看看当理特查明有关他妈妈的事情时哈格力遭到了怎样的待遇。看看法治吧，我们在她身上下定论仅仅因为她是个半巨人。谁要那样的偏见？我敢说如果我就根据这个来判断我会很不安。”荷米恩盯着自己的手表。 
　　“我们还没怎么练习呢！”她说道，神情很惊讶的样子。“我们要学的是障碍咒啊！所以我们明天就要开始练！走吧，哈利，你得好好睡一觉。” 
　　哈利和罗恩上楼回到宿舍。哈利穿睡衣时看了一眼尼维尔的床。哈利摘掉眼镜，爬上了床，他在想象如果父母还活着但是不认识自己，那是怎样一种感受啊。因为是孤儿，他常常得到许多陌生人的同情，但当他听着尼维尔轻轻的鼾声时，他反倒觉得尼维尔比自己更值得同情。屋子里一片漆黑，他突然觉得热血沸腾，那是一股股愤怒和仇恨，控诉着那些折磨兰博顿先生和夫人的混蛋们……他们想起了当克劳斯的儿子和他的同伙被“得蒙特”拽出法庭时人们是如何地嘲笑……他理解人们的感受……接下来他又记起那个尖叫着的男孩子苍白的脸，他心里震了一下才想起那个男孩子一年后就死了…… 
　　肯定是福尔得摩特，黑暗中哈利一边想着，一边盯着蚊帐盖。他又想起了福尔得摩特……就是他拆散这些家庭，就是他毁了所有这些人的生命…… 
　　罗恩和荷米恩在这个时候本来应该准备考试的，而且考试刚好会在第三次任务那天结束，但他们却尽力地帮哈利做准备。 
　　哈利指出他们要考试，说可以自己一个人练习一会儿。荷米恩却淡淡地答应道，“别担心，除非我们在防巫学上拿高分，否则，我们会查不出班里的咒语的。” 
　　一只蜜蜂“嗡嗡嗡”飞进房间。“要想成为奥挪士必须好好训练。”罗恩兴奋地说着。边对着蜜蜂施了一个障碍咒，那只蜜蜂便死在半空中，一动不动了。 
　　六月一到，城堡里的气氛变得令人兴奋又紧张。人人都在盼着第三次任务。因为它将在学期结束前一周开始。哈利几乎每时每刻都在练习咒语。他觉得在这个任务上自己比其他人都有信心。莫迪说得对，尽管很危险很困难，哈利现在已经找到对付那些怪物和通过魔咒障碍的办法，而且这次他有机会好好准备挑战眼前的一切。 
　　麦康娜答应让哈利在午餐时间使用变形教室，也省得自己在学校里到处找不到地方。哈利很快就掌握了障碍咒，一种可以阻止对手前进或使其放慢速度的咒语；清除咒，一种能迅速清除固体障碍物的咒语，还有一种叫方向咒的很有用的咒语，是荷米恩发现的。它能让魔杖指向正北方，哈利借此就能在迷宫里找准方向。不过他还是不太明白防身咒。用这个咒语能在自己身体周围形成一堵暂时的防护墙来反射其他小咒语。但是荷米恩攻破了哈利的防护墙，使得哈利在房间里摇摇晃晃走了十分钟后她才找出反咒语让哈利停下来。 
　　“其实你做得挺好的，”荷米恩一边鼓励哈利，一边低头看着咒语单，把他们学会的咒语划掉，“有些魔咒到时一定会派上用场的。” 
　　“来看看这个，”罗恩靠着窗户喊道。他正盯着楼底下看。“快来看看马尔夫在干什么？” 
　　哈利和荷米恩停下来跑过去看。马尔夫，克来伯和高尔正站在底下一棵树的树荫里。克来伯和高尔好像是在放哨，不时发出得意的笑声。而马尔夫则把手举到嘴巴那里，冲着它说话。 
　　“他好像在用对讲机。”哈利好奇地说道。 
　　“不可能，”荷米恩说，“我早就告诉过你，那玩意儿在霍格瓦彻周围不管用。快点，哈利，我们继续练防身咒。”她迸出了一句话，转身从窗户那里回到房间中。 
　　西里斯现在每天都让猫头鹰捎信给哈利。和荷米恩一样，他像是一心想着如何帮哈利通过最后的任务。他在信中提醒哈利，叫他不必理会霍格瓦彻墙外的事情（他在信中写道）：如果福尔得摩持真的变得越来越厉害的话，我的首要任务就是确保你的安全。你有丹伯多的保护，他不可能对你下手，反正是没有什么风险的，所以你要集中精力安全通过迷宫，到那时我们再把注意力转到其他事情上。 
　　距离第三次任务越来越近了，哈利也日愈变得紧张起来，不过还好没有前两次时那么厉害。一方面，他对这一次很有信心，因为他已经做好了所有准备。另一方面，这是最后一次挑战，不管结果是好是坏，比赛终将结束，而他也会最终得到莫大的快慰。 
　　第三次任务那天的早餐是在吵吵闹闹中度过的。信使猫头鹰送来西里斯给哈利的祝愿卡片。那只是一张羊皮纸，对折叠在一起，信头还有个脏兮兮的爪子印。但哈利对此还是十分感激。又一只猫头鹰尖叫着飞来，和往常一样，给荷米恩带来《先知日报》的早晨版。她打开报纸，扫了一眼头版，立即吐了满口南瓜汁在上面。 
　　“什么新闻？”哈利和罗恩盯着她，一起叫了出来。 
　　“没有什么。”荷术恩连忙一边回答，一边想把报纸扔掉，但罗恩一把抢了过来。 
　　他看了看标题说，“不会吧，不是今天吧，那头老母牛。” 
　　“什么？”哈利问，“又是理特。史姬特？” 
　　“不是。”罗恩说。接着，和荷米恩一样，他准备把报纸摆到一边去。 
　　“是不是关于我的，是不是？”哈利追问道。 
　　“不是。”罗恩说道，语气很不肯定。 
　　但哈利还没来得及要看那份报纸，杰高。马尔夫却隔着大厅从支付德林餐桌那儿大声嚷嚷起来。 
　　“嗨，波特！波特！你的脑袋怎么了？感觉还好吗？你该不会生我们的气吧？” 
　　马尔夫手里也正拿着一份《先知日报》。餐桌旁的马尔夫这时正暗暗笑着，转动着椅子想看看哈利的反应。 
　　“让我看看，”哈利对罗恩说道，“给我看看。” 
　　罗恩只好很不情愿地把报纸递给他。哈利翻开报纸，发现上面有自己的照片，照片下面还有一行大标题：“不安和危险”的哈利·波特特约记者理特。史姬特报道，曾经击败‘那个人’的男孩目前身体状况不稳定，甚至处境危险。近日有惊人证据显示哈利·波特行为怪异，这就让人怀疑他是否合适参加像“三巫师争霸赛”这种高要求的比赛和就读于霍格瓦彻学校了。 
　　据《先知日报》独家披露，波特经常在课堂上昏倒，而且经常抱怨额头上的伤痕（‘那个人’企图施咒杀死他时留下的）。上个星期一，在上占卜课过程中，本报记者亲眼见到波特突然暴怒无常，大喊自己的伤痕太痛了不能继续上课。 
　　又据斯特姆高医院魔咒疾病损伤专家说，波特的大脑有可能受‘那个人’攻击的影响，而波特一直说伤疤持续作痛则说明了其根深蒂固的神志迷乱。 
　　“他或许在装病，”一位专家说，“这可能是为了引起大家的注意力。” 
　　《先知日报》还发现有关哈利·波特的令人担忧的事实，就是艾伯斯。丹伯多，霍格瓦彻校长，已经很小心地回避了巫术界公众的注意力。 
　　“波特能说普塞特凯语”，马尔夫披露说，“几年前发生了一连串针对学生的攻击，大多数都认为是波特干的，因为他们看到他在一间”决斗俱乐部“里大发脾气，跟着就放出一条蛇袭击另一个男孩子。 
　　事实虽如此，但大家都不吭声。可能是因为他结交了一些凶恶动物吧。我们都认为他为了一点点权力而愿意做任何事情。“ 
　　普塞特凯语，一种与蛇交谈的能力，一直以来被认为是一种阴毒的巫术。事实上，当代操这门巫术操得最好的人是著名的‘那个人’。 
　　一个不愿透露姓名的“巫术防御联盟”的成员，建议任何懂普塞特凯的巫师都应被调查。作为我个人来说，我必然会十分怀疑任何能与蛇交谈的人的动机，既然我们知道毒蛇常被用于最阴毒的巫术，而且历史上和恶人有密切联系。同样，“任何与狼和巨无霸这些凶恶动物为伍的人肯定会有某种暴力倾向。” 
　　毫无疑问，艾伯斯。丹伯多应该好好考虑一下是否让这样一个男孩去参加“三巫师争霸赛”。有人担忧波特可能会不顾一切地用阴毒巫术去赢得比赛，即今晚进行的第三次任务。 
　　“她有点不喜欢我，对吧？”哈利轻轻说了一句，折起报纸。 
　　在史林德林餐桌那边，马尔夫、克来伯和高尔正忙着嘲笑他。他们用手拍打脑袋，扮鬼脸，还把舌头像蛇一样吐出来，不停地摆动。 
　　“她怎么知道你的伤疤在占卜课上作痛的？”罗恩问道，“她不可能在那儿，她也不可能听到——” 
　　“那时窗户开着，”哈利说道，“我打开它换气。” 
　　“你在北塔顶上！”荷米恩有点不相信，“你的声音不可能一路传到地面呀！” 
　　“嗯，你是研究魔法窃听术的，”哈利又说，“告诉我她是怎么做到的！” 
　　“我一起都在努力呀！”荷米恩答道，“但我，我……” 
　　突然荷米恩脸上出现一种很奇怪很模糊的表情。她慢慢地抬起一只手指在头发里面抓来抓去。 
　　“你没事吧？”罗恩皱着眉头问道。 
　　“没事。”荷求恩上气不接下气地说。然后她又把手指放在头发上抓了一遍，接着把手放到嘴边，好像在和一个看不见的对讲机说话一样。哈利和罗恩面面相觑，不知道她究竟在搞什么名堂。 
　　“我有个主意，”荷求恩开口了，眼睛注视着天空。“我想我知道……因为那时没人能够看见……即使是莫迪也是如此……不过她应该能够爬上窗台……但是她不可能得到批准的……绝对不可能的……我想我知道怎么回事了！给我两分钟到图书馆，我要搞清楚！” 
　　一说完，荷米恩拿起书包飞也似地跑出了大厅。 
　　“喂！”罗恩在后面叫她，“我们十分钟后要考魔法历史！哎呀真要命！”他回过头对哈利说，“她肯定是恨死那个女人了，连错过考试都敢。你准备到宾西的课上干吗？又是阅读？” 
　　因为是“三巫师争霸赛”选手，哈利免考期末考试，他只好是坐在课室后面查看第三次任务的新咒语。 
　　“可能吧！”哈利答道。但就在那个时候麦康娜教授沿着格林芬顿餐桌朝他走了过来，“波特，所有队员早餐后将在大厅外的会宾室集合。”她开口说道。 
　　“但任务晚上才开始呀！”哈利连忙说，不小心把炒蛋碰掉了。他担心自己搞错了时间。 
　　“我清楚，波特，”她接着说道，“你该知道吧，选手的家里人将被邀请观看决赛。这样安排只是让你有机会向他们问候一下。” 
　　她说完就离开了。哈利望着她的背影，嘴巴张得大大的。 
　　“她不指望杜斯利一家会出席吧？”他很直接地问罗恩。 
　　“不知道，”罗恩说道，“哈利，我得快点走了，上课都快迟到了。 
　　一会儿见。“ 
　　哈利吃完早餐。大厅里空荡荡。他看见芙璐·迪来高从餐桌旁站了起来，和塞德里克一起走进会宾室。过一会儿，克伦慢吞吞地走了进去加入他们的行列。而哈利还待在老地方不走。他确实不愿走进会宾室。他没有家庭——没有会来看他接受命运挑战的家人。但就当他想起身去图好馆复习一下咒语的时候，会宾室的门开了，探出塞德里克的小脑袋。 
　　“哈利，快点，大家都在等你呢！” 
　　哈利觉得很是困窘，但还是站了起来。杜斯利一家该不会在里面吧？他心想着，跨过大厅，打开门走了进去。 
　　塞德里克和他父母就在靠门口的地方坐着。维特。克伦待在对面的角落里，和长着一头黑头发的父母亲用保加利亚语交谈着，说得很快。房间的另一边，芙璐正在和她妈妈用法语聊着，声音有点模糊。还有芙珊的小妹妹盖布丽也来了，正拉着她妈妈的手。她朝哈利挥了挥手，哈利也向她挥手。他还看到威斯里夫人和比尔站在火炉前，冲着自己微笑。 
　　哈利也致以微笑，并朝他们走了过去。“给你个意外。”威斯里夫人高兴地说，“该想到我们是来看你的吧，哈利！”她弯腰吻了一下哈利的脸颊。 
　　“你还好吧？”比尔问道，高兴地笑着，握着哈利的手。“查理想来的，但他没时间。他说你对号尾龙那次比赛真是太棒了！” 
　　哈利觉察到芙璐·迪来高，正不断望着比尔，给他暗送秋波。哈利看得出来她不会拒绝比尔上面饰有狗牙的长发和耳环。 
　　“你们真是太好了，”哈利低声对威斯里夫人说，“我刚才想到杜斯利一家了。” 
　　“咦。”威斯里夫人叹了一下嘴唇。她是从来都不会当着哈利的面说杜斯利家的不是，但是每次提起他们，她的眼睛总会不自然地闪亮许多。 
　　“回来真好！”比尔说着，目光扫了一下整个大厅，（维利，那个胖大婶的朋友正朝他挤眉弄眼）。“五年没见过这地方。疯骑士还在吗？就那个卡顿猛骑士大人？” 
　　“噢，当然在，”哈利答道。他去年刚见过他。 
　　“还有胖大婶呢？”比尔又问。 
　　“我读书时她就在这里，”威
Chapter 32 Flesh,Blood,and Bone
Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head. 
“Where are we?” he said. 
Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around. 
They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obviously traveled miles - perhaps hundreds of miles - for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside. 
Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry. 
“Did anyone tell you the cup was a Portkey?” he asked. 
“Nope,” said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. “Is this supposed to be part of the task?” 
“I dunno,” said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. “Wands out, d'you reckon?” 
“Yeah,” said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him. 
They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched. 
“Someone's coming,” he said suddenly. 
Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And - several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time - Harry saw that the thing in the persons arms looked like a baby…or was it merely a bundle of robes? 
Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure. 
It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second. Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another. 
And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open. 
From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, “Kill the spare.” 
A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: “Avada Kedavra!” 
A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished; terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes. 
Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead. 
For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Harry's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet. 
The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it. 
TOM RIDDLEThe cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him - hit him with a hand that had a finger missing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail. 
“You!” he gasped. 
But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him. 
Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away. Some way beyond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes that Harry had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again…and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes…he didn't want that bundle opened.… 
He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water - Harry could hear it slopping around - and it was larger than any cauldron Harry had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in. 
The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Wormtail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling names beneath it. The large snake slithered away into the darkness. 
The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Wormtail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard the high, cold voice again. 
“Hurry!” 
The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds. 
“It is ready. Master.” 
“Now…” said the cold voice. 
Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth. 
It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind - but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face - no child alive ever had a face like that - flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes. 
The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Wormtail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud. 
Let it drown, Harry thought, his scar burning almost past endurance, please…let it drown.… 
Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night. 
“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” 
The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's command and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue. 
And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs. 
“Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master.” 
He stretched his right hand out in front of him - the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward. 
Harry realized what Wormtail was about to do a second before it happened - he closed his eyes as tightly as he could, but he could not block the scream that pierced the night, that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look…but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids.… 
Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony. Not until Harry felt Wormtail's anguished breath on his face did he realize that Wormtail was right in front of him. 
“B-blood of the enemy…forcibly taken…you will…resurrect your foe.” 
Harry could do nothing to prevent it, he was tied too tightly….Squinting down, struggling hopelessly at the ropes binding him, he saw the shining silver dagger shaking in Wormtail's remaining hand. He felt its point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, rumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it. 
He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing. 
The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness. Nothing happened.… 
Let it have drowned. Harry thought, let it have gone wrong… 
And then, suddenly, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air.…It's gone wrong, he thought…it's drowned …please…please let it be dead.… 
But then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron. 
“Robe me,” said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head. 
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry…and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his nightmares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snakes with slits for nostrils… 
Lord Voldemort had risen again. 
哈利感到他的脚重重地摔在地上，他那受伤的腿扭了一下然后向前摔倒了。他放开三巫师争霸赛奖杯，艰难地抬起头。 
　　“我们在哪儿？”他问道。 
　　塞德里克摇了一下头，他站起来把哈利也扶了起来，然后四处张望。他俩已经完全离开了霍格瓦彻的地域。很明显已经走了几十里——也许几百里——因为甚至那些环绕着那座城堡的群山也看不见了。现在他们正站在一座黑夜中的大墓地之前，一株大紫杉树以及更远处的一座小教堂的轮郭依稀可见。一座小山耸立于他们左边。哈利仅仅能依稀辨认出山边一所漂亮的老房子的大致轮廓。 
　　塞德里克低头看一下三巫师赛奖杯，然后又抬起头来看了一下哈利。“有人告诉过你这奖杯是一个波奇吗？”他问哈利。“没有。” 
　　哈利答道，他一边打量着墓地的周围，它是那么死寂，有一点点阴森。“这是不是这次任务的一部分。”他反问塞德里克。 
　　“我不知道。”塞德里克说着。他的声音听起来有点紧张，“把魔杖拿出来，你认为好不好？”“好！”哈利说道，他很高兴塞德里克提出这个建议，而不是他自己。他们抽出了他们的魔杖，哈利一直都在四处张望。他又一次有了他俩正被别人监视的奇怪感觉了。 
　　“有人过来了。”他突然说道。他俩在黑暗中眯着眼睛紧张地看着，看到一个黑影走近，从那些坟墓中间向他们走过来。哈利看不清那张脸，但是从那黑影走路的姿势以及他那抱紧的手臂，可以判断出那黑影正抱着什么东西。看不清他是谁，非常矮小，而且穿著有兜帽的大斗篷蒙住了头也遮住了脸。那黑影又近了几步——当然他们之间的距离一直在缩短——他看到那人怀里抱的东西看上去像一个婴儿……或者那只不过是一堆衣服？ 
　　哈利轻轻地把他的魔杖放低一些，向旁边匆匆瞥了塞德里克一眼。塞德里克也回敬他一个充满疑惑地表情。然后他们都转过身注视那越来越接近的黑影。 
　　那黑影在一个屹立的大理石墓碑旁边停下了。离他们只有六英尺远。哈利、塞德里克和那个矮个黑衣人互相看了一会儿。 
　　然后，哈利的疤痕毫无声息地就痛裂开来。他这辈子从来没有感到如此疼痛过。痛得他不得不用手去捂住，这样也使得他的魔杖掉到了地上。他双腿弯曲，跪到了地上。他什么也看不见，只觉得头痛如裂。 
　　从他头上空，哈利远远地听到一个高而阴冷的声音说到：“杀死那个瘦高个。”一阵沙秒声之后，又一声尖叫划破夜空：“凯得乌尔！” 
　　一束绿光交烁地穿过哈利的眼睑，然后他听到身旁一个重物摔倒到草地上的声音，他那伤痕从未如此痛得让他反胃干呕过，接着那疼痛慢慢减轻了。虽然他害怕将要看到的东西，他还是张开了那双刺痛的眼。 
　　塞德里克四肢张开，倒在他旁边的草地。成一个“大”字，他死了。 
　　眨眼间便是阴阳两界，哈利看着塞德里克的脸，看着他那瞪得大大的灰色的眼睛，空虚得像一幢荒废的老房子窗户似的表情，还有那看上去微微吃惊的半张开的嘴巴。然而，就在他的大脑开始接受所见到的事实之前，就在他刚想摆脱那满脑子的麻木、怀疑与不信之前，他感到自己已经被人拉着站立起来。 
　　那个穿斗篷的小矮人已经放下了他手中的那堆东西，拣起了哈利的魔杖。然后拖着哈利向那大理石墓碑走去。哈利借着魔杖摇曳的微光看清那墓碑上的名字汤姆。理得，然后他就被推转过来，背对着那墓碑。 
　　那穿斗篷的男人施魔法用粗绳捆住哈利，把他绑在那墓碑上。 
　　哈利听到那风帽下轻微但又急促的呼吸声，他奋力挣扎，那男人狠狠地打了他几下——用他那不见了一根手指的手打他。哈利刹那间想起了那风帽下的人是谁——温太尔，“是你！”他气喘喘说道。但是温太尔正忙着给他上绑，他一言不发，忙着检查那绳子绑得紧不紧。他的手指不住地颤抖，触摸着那些绳子上的结。直到温太尔确定哈利已经死死地绑在那墓碑上，一步也不能动，他才从斗篷里拿出一种黑色的东西硬塞到哈利的嘴里。然后，一句话也没说，转身很飞地跑开了。哈利什么都叫不出来，也不能看到温太尔跑往哪里。——他不能转过头去看墓碑后面，他只能看到他正前方的东西。 
　　塞德里克的尸体躺在大约二十英尺远。在他身边，三巫师赛奖杯在星光下闪闪发光。哈利的魔杖就在他脚旁边的草地上。哈利曾以为是婴儿的那堆衣物也在附近，在墓碑脚下。那堆东西好像在烦躁地颤动着。哈利看着它，他的伤口又剧痛起来……他突然意识到他并不想看见那堆衣物中的东西……他不想看到那包东西被打开。 
　　他能听到他脚下的声响。他低头看看。——一条巨蛇正在草间游动。盘绕着哈利绑着的那墓碑游动。温太尔的急促的喘息声又一次响了起来。听起来好像他正推着什么重东西穿过草地。一会儿他就出现在哈利的视野中。现在哈利可以看到原来他正推着一个石头大汽锅向墓碑走过来，那锅里面好像装满了水——哈利从那四处泼溅的声音判断出来的——而且那只汽锅是哈利有生以来见得最大的一只。它大得足可以塞进一个成年男子。 
　　草地上那色衣物里面的东西搅动得更加激烈了，仿佛它正要努力地挣扎出来，现在温太尔自己拿着一根魔杖在大汽锅底正忙着呢。突然，噼啪的火焰就从那锅底冒出了。那条大蛇溜走了，消失在黑暗之中。 
　　那大汽锅里的液体好像很容易加热。液体表面不仅冒出了气泡，而且还进出了火花，好像着火了一样。那斗篷下面的动作变得更加激烈。跟着哈利又听到那又高又冷的嗓音：“快点！”那锅水的整个表面都布满着火花，看上去好似镶上了钻石。“准备好了，主人。”“现在开始……”那冷酷的声音响起。温太尔拉开草地那包衣物，显露出里面的东西。哈利发出了一声叫喊——可惜被他嘴里的那堆东西阻塞住了。 
　　好像温太尔拿出了一颗石头，然后就显露出一个丑陋的、卑劣的、愚昧的但更加糟糕，而且糟糕上一百倍的东西。那东西有着屈着膝的人类孩子的外形。但哈利从没见到过什么东西这么不像孩子的——它没有头发，而且表面有鳞片。它的背是裸露的，黑红色。 
　　它的胳膊和双腿又瘦又脆弱，而且它的脸——决没有孩子有那样的一张脸——扁平的，蛇头一样，而且还有一双闪烁不定的红眼睛。 
　　那小东西看上去是那么的无助，它抬起它那细小的手臂，绕住温太尔的脖子。温太尔抱起了它。就在这时，它的风帽掉到了后面，当他抱着这小东西走到大汽锅边缘的时候，借着火光，哈利看到了温太尔那瘦削苍白的脸上厌恶的表情。过了一会儿，哈利看到小东西那张邪恶扁平的脸在那水面上跳动闪烁的火花中烟烟发光。 
　　然后温太尔就把那小东西放入了锅里。嘶嘶声远远传来，接着那东西就从水面消失了。哈利听到了它那弱小的身体撞到锅底的轻声。 
　　“淹死它吧，”哈利心里期待着，他的伤口火燎燎地痛，他几乎忍受不住了，“拜托……淹死它吧……” 
　　温太尔嘴里念念有词。他的声音颤抖着。他看上去被这超出智慧之外的生物吓坏了。他举起了他的魔杖，闭上双眼，对着夜空喊道：“父亲的铮骨啊，无限的给予，给你的儿子一个重生的机会吧！” 
　　哈利脚下的墓地裂了。惊骇万分的哈利看到一股漂亮的灰尘在温太尔的咒语操纵下升到了空中，又轻轻地掉进了锅里。钻石般的水面裂开了。嘶嘶作响。火星四溅。水面变成了鲜亮、毒药般的深蓝色。 
　　现在温太尔开始低声呜咽了，他从他衣服里面，拔出了一把又长又窄，明亮的银剑。他的声音又变成了僵死的暖泣了。“仆人的肌肉啊，自愿的给予，给你的主人一个重生的机会吧！” 
　　他伸出他的右手——那只少了根指头的手。他左手紧紧握住那把银剑，然后向前挥舞。哈利意识到温太尔将要做的事不到一秒钟便发生了。——他死死地闭上双眼。但是他却不能阻挡住那刺破夜空的惊叫。那叫喊穿过哈利的耳膜，就好似他也被那银剑刺穿。接着他听到什么东西倒在地上。听到温太尔那痛苦的喘息，然后是一声令人作呕的泼溅声。好似什么东西掉进了那锅里。哈利忍不住看过去……但是那锅水已变成了火红色。它那耀眼的光芒穿透了哈利双眼…… 
　　温太尔大口地喘气，又痛苦地呻吟。直到哈利感觉到温太尔那痛苦的呼吸吹到他的脸上，他才发现温太尔正站在他的正前方。 
　　“敌人的鲜血啊……通过武力征服而来……你将……让你的对手复活……” 
　　哈利对此无能为力，他被绑得太紧了……他向下瞥了一眼，绝望地在绳子里挣扎，他看见那把明晃晃的短剑在温太尔的手中晃动着。然后他就感觉到那剑尖刺入了他右手手臂弯曲处。鲜血从他破烂的衣服里不断淌出。仍不断痛苦喘息的温太尔从身上口袋里摸出一个小玻璃药瓶，并伸到哈利的伤口处。一大滴鲜血病进了瓶中。 
　　他拿着哈利的鲜血蹒跚地走回大石气锅旁。把血倒进里面。那液体不断地变化，最后变成了空虚的白色。温太尔精疲力尽地跪倒在那汽锅旁，好似他的工作已做完。然后他向一旁倒下去，躺在草地上，不住地喘气和呜咽，紧握住他手臂上流血的地方。 
　　那汽锅慢慢地沸腾，又是火星四射。其它就没什么变化了…… 
　　“把它淹死……”哈利心里祈祷着，“让整件事都出错。” 
　　然后，汽锅里的火星突然都熄灭了。取而代之的是巨大的一股白色烟雾。将哈利面前的所有东西都遮盖住了。他看不见温太尔或者塞德里克，他眼中有的只是空气中悬浮的蒸汽……“它出错了，” 
　　他想道，“……那怪物被淹死了……拜托……求求上帝让它死掉吧……” 
　　然后，透过他前面的浓雾，哈利心中惊恐万分，他看到了一个人的黑色轮廓，又高又瘦，慢慢地从汽锅里面向上升起。 
　　“给我穿上衣服！”一个高而冷的声音从雾后面响起。温太尔虽然还在呜咽与呻吟，但还是摇着伤口，爬着拣起了草地上那堆黑色衣服。然后摇摇晃晃站起身来，掂起脚尖，用一只手把衣服套进他主人的头上。 
　　那瘦高个走出了汽锅，紧盯着哈利……哈利也瞪着那张让他被恶梦困扰三年的丑恶的脸——比头盖骨还苍白的脸，大大的黑红色的眼睛，像蛇鼻一样扁平的鼻子，鼻孔还有许多裂口…… 
　　福尔得摩特公爵又复活了。 
Chapter 33 The Death Eaters
Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh. 
Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them. 
“My Lord…” he choked, “my Lord…you promised…you did promise…” 
“Hold out your arm,” said Voldemort lazily. 
“Oh Master…thank you, Master…” 
He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again. 
“The other arm, Wormtail.” 
“Master, please…please…” 
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo - a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth - the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping. 
“It is back,” he said softly, “they will all have noticed it…and now, we shall see…now we shall know…” 
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm. 
The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black. 
A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard. 
“How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?” 
He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face. 
“You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,” he hissed softly. “A Muggle and a fool…very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child…and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death.…” 
Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass. 
“You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was.…He didn't like magic, my father… 
“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage…but I vowed to find him…I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name…Tom Riddle.…” 
Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave. 
“Listen to me, reliving family history…” he said quietly, “why, I am growing quite sentimental.…But look, Harry! My true family returns.…” 
The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward…slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes. 
“Master…Master…” he murmured. 
The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle's grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps in the circle, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered. 
“Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. “Thirteen years…thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?” 
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. 
“I smell guilt,” he said. “There is a stench or guilt upon the air. 
A second shiver ran around the circle, as though each member of it longed, but did not dare to step back from him. 
“I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! and I ask myself…why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?” 
No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm. 
“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment .… 
“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? 
“And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort…perhaps they now pay allegiance to another…perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?” 
At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them. 
“It is a disappointment to me…I confess myself disappointed.…” 
One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet. 
“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!” 
Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand. 
“Crucio!” 
The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Harry was sure the sound must carry to the houses around.…Let the police come, he thought desperately…anyone…anything… 
Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping. 
“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years…I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?” 
He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob. 
“You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you?” 
“Yes, Master,” moaned Wormtail, “please. Master…please…” 
“Yet you helped return me to my body,” said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me…and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers….” 
Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moonlight, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist. 
Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder. 
“My Lord,” he whispered. “Master…it is beautiful…thank you…thank you.…” 
He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes. 
“May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail,” said Voldemort. 
“No, my Lord…never, my Lord…” 
Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right. 
“Lucius, my slippery friend,” he whispered, halting before him. “I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius.…Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay…but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?” 
“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood. “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me -” 
“And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?” said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I know all about that, Lucius.…You have disappointed me.…I expect more faithful service in the future.” 
“Of course, my Lord, of course.…You are merciful, thank you.…” 
Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space - large enough for two people - that separated Malfoy and the next man. 
“The Lestranges should stand here,” said Voldemort quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me.…When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us…they are our natural allies…we will recall the banished giants…I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear.…” 
He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them. 
“Macnair…destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide.…” 
“Thank you, Master…thank you,” murmured Macnair. 
“And here” - Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures - “we have Crabbe…you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?” 
They bowed clumsily, muttering dully. 
“Yes, Master…” 
“We will, Master.…” 
“The same goes for you, Nott,” said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Mr. Goyles shadow. 
“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful -” 
“That will do,” said Voldemort. 
He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there. 
“And here we have six missing Death Eaters…three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return…he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever…he will be killed, of course…and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service.” 
The Death Eaters stirred, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks. 
“He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight.… 
“Yes,” said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor.” 
There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask. 
“Master, we crave to know…we beg you to tell us…how you have achieved this…this miracle…how you managed to return to us.…” 
“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” said Voldemort. “And it begins - and ends - with my young friend here.” 
He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle. 
“You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him - and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen.…I could not touch the boy.” 
Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek. 
“His mother left upon him the traces other sacrifice.…This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it…but no matter. I can touch him now.” 
Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with the pain. Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued addressing the Death Eaters. 
“I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah…pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost…but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know…I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal - to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked…for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself…for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand.… 
“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist.…I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited.…Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me…one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body…, but I waited in vain.…” 
The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing. 
“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. 
I sometimes inhabited animals - snakes, of course, being my preference - but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted to perform magic…and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long.… 
“Then…four years ago…the means for my return seemed assured. A wizard - young, foolish, and gullible - wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of…for he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school…he was easy to bend to my will…he brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted…thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter.…” 
Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry. 
“The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been,” Voldemort continued. “I returned to my hiding place far away, and I will not pretend to you that I didn't then fear that I might never regain my powers.…Yes, that was perhaps my darkest hour…I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess…and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me.…” 
One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncomfortably, but Voldemort took no notice. 
“And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last…a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to return to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumored I was hiding…helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way. Wormtail has a curious affinity with rats, do you not, Wormtail? His filthy little friends told him there was a place, deep in an Albanian forest, that they avoided, where small animals like themselves had met their deaths by a dark shadow that possessed them.… 
“But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food…and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic. 
“Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort. This might have been the end of Wormtail, and of my last hope for regeneration. But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him - convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her…he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams…for - with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information. 
“She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things…but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her.” 
Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless. 
“Wormtail's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and, poor wizard though he is, Wormtail was able to follow the instructions I gave him, which would return me to a rudimentary, weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting the essential ingredients for true rebirth…a spell or two of my own invention…a little help from my dear Nagini,” Voldemort's red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, “a potion concocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom Nagini provided…I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel. 
“There was no hope of stealing the Sorcerer's Stone anymore, for I knew that Dumbledore would have seen to it that it was destroyed. But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality. I set my sights lower…I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. 
“I knew that to achieve this - it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight - I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant.… 
“My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe…Wormtail would have had me use any wizard, would you not, Wormtail? Any wizard who had hated me…as so many of them still do. But I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potters blood. I wanted the blood of the one who had stripped me of power thirteen years ago…for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too.… 
“But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy's future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy's protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there.…Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup.…I thought his protection might be weaker there, away from his relations and Dumbledore, but I was not yet strong enough to attempt kidnap in the midst of a horde of Ministry wizards. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is under the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him? 
“Why…by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament - that he touched the Triwizard Cup first - the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is…the boy you all believed had been my downfall.…” 
Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand. 
“Crucio!” 
It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end…to black out…to die… 
And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter. 
“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me,” said Voldemort. “But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini,” he whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching. 
“Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand.” 
福尔得摩特把目光从哈利身上移开，开始检查他自己的身体。 
　　他的手就像硕大、苍白的蜘蛛；他那又长又白的手指轻轻地爱抚着自己的胸膛。手臂和脸；那红色的双眼带着裂开的瞳仁，就像猫眼一样，在黑暗中更加闪亮了。他带着全神贯注而又愉悦的表情举起手，伸展手指。他丝毫都没有注意正躺在地上抽搐着，流着血的温太尔，他也没有留意到那条大蛇，此刻它又滑动着重新进入了哈利的视线，而且再次缠绕着哈利，嘶嘶作响。福尔得摩特那双长着不自然的手指的手滑进了一只深深的口袋里，拿出了一支短杖。他也轻轻地爱抚着这根短杖，然后举了起来并对准温太尔。此刻温太尔正从地上爬起来，扑向哈利被绑住的那块墓碑上。他跌落在碑石脚下，躲在那里一蹶不振，哭了起来。福尔得摩持那深红色的眼睛看着哈利。他发出了一阵高亢而又冷酷的、毫无笑意的笑声。 
　　温太尔的长袍沾上了血而在发亮——原来他把残断的手臂包在了里面。“主人……”他哽咽道，“主人……，你答应过……你的确答应过……” 
　　“伸出你的手臂来。”福尔得摩特懒懒地说道。 
　　“噢，主人……谢谢你，主人……” 
　　他递出那淌着血的残肢，但是福尔得摩特又笑了，“温太尔，另外一支手臂。” 
　　“主人，求求你……求求你……” 
　　福尔得摩特蹲了下来，拉出温太尔的左手。他把温太尔的长袍的袖子推到肘子上面。哈利看到有一块东西在皮肤上，好像是鲜艳的红色纹身——那是一个骷髅头，嘴里伸出一条蛇——跟快迪斯世界杯的天空中出现过的一模一样：黑色的标志。福尔得摩特无视温太尔不可抑止的抽泣，仔细地审查着。 
　　“它回来了，”他轻轻地说，“他们都肯定注意到了……现在我们会看到……现在我们会知道……” 
　　他把那又长又白的食指按在了温太尔手臂的印记上。 
　　哈利前额上的伤痕像被烈火烧灼一般剧烈的疼痛起来，而温太尔又发出了一阵呼号。福尔得摩特的手指从温太尔身上的印记上移开了，哈利看到它已变得乌黑发亮了。 
　　福尔得摩特脸上浮现出一种残忍的满足的表情。他站直身子，转过头去，环视着漆黑的坟墓。 
　　“有多少人会在感觉到我复活的时候，仍然敢大胆地回来？”他喃喃说道，他的闪亮的红色眼睛凝视着星星。“又有多少人会愚蠢地要离开？” 
　　他开始踱来踱去，这之后哈利和温太尔一直扫视着这个墓。大约过了一分钟，他又向下看着哈利，他那蛇一般的脸被一丝残酷的笑容扭曲了。 
　　“哈利·波特，你正站在我死去的父亲的遗骸上，”他轻轻地说道，“一个十足的傻瓜，……就像你亲爱的母亲一样。但他们都各有用处，对不对？你妈妈为了保护你这个小孩而死去……而我杀死了我爸爸，看见他在死亡中证明他是多么的有用……” 
　　福尔得摩特又笑了起来。他又踱起步来，边走边四处看，那条蛇仍然在草地里盘旋。 
　　“波特，你看到了山上的那座房子了吗？我爸爸以前住在那里。 
　　我妈妈是住在这个村庄里的一个女巫。她爱上了他，但是当我妈妈告诉我爸爸她的真实身份时，他却抛弃了她，他不喜欢魔法，我爸爸……“ 
　　“波特，在我还没出生时，我父亲就离开了我母亲，回到他那马格父母亲家里。而我母亲在生我时死去了，把我留下一个马格孤儿院里。但是我发誓要找到他，我要向他报仇，向那个名字叫‘汤姆。理得’的笨蛋报仇。” 
　　他还在踱步，红色的眼睛在坟墓间看来看去。 
　　“听我说，听我重温家庭的过去……”他安静地说，“咦，我变得这么多愁善感了……哈利，快看，我真正的家人回家了……” 
　　顿时斗篷一阵嗖嗖作响。在坟墓间，在紫杉树后，在每一片阴影中，一群食尸者出现了。他们都是戴着头巾和面具，一个接一个地向前走来，慢慢地，小心翼翼地，就好像他们连自己的眼睛也不能相信一样。福尔得摩特静静地站着，等着他们，其中一个食尸者跑了下来，爬向福尔得摩特并亲吻着他那黑袍的褶边。 
　　“主子……主子……”他喃喃道。 
　　随后的食尸者也跟他一样，每一个都跪下爬向福尔得摩特，吻一下他的袍子，然后再退后，站起来，形成一个寂静的圆圈。这个圆圈包围了汤姆。理得的坟墓、哈利、福尔得摩特和那个抽泣着、卷成一团的温太尔，然而他们又在圆圈上留下了空隙，似乎在等更多的人。但福尔得摩特似乎不想等，他环视着那些裹着头巾的脸。 
　　尽管没有风，圆圈中却似乎发出了沙沙声，好像它打了颤一样。 
　　“欢迎你们，食尸者，”福尔得摩特静静地说，“上一次我们见面是在十三年前了，但你们应我的召唤就好像那是昨天的事一样……如今，我们又在黑色标记下重聚了，是不是？” 
　　他又换上了那张可怕的脸，变僵了，他那裂口一般的鼻孔张大了。 
　　“我嗅到了罪恶，”他说道，“空气中弥漫着一片罪恶。” 
　　圆圈又颤动了一下。尽管其中的每个人都渴望，但谁也不敢从他身边走回去。 
　　“我看见了你们所有人，完整而又凉爽，你们的力量完好无缺，你们的出现如此迅速。我问自己，为什么这帮曾经发誓永远效忠的男巫从来都没有帮助过他们的主子？” 
　　没有人说话，也没有人动，除了躺在地上的，仍为他那流血手臂哭泣的温太尔。 
　　“我回答了自己。”福尔得摩特低语道，“他们一定以为我破裂了，以为我消失了。他们溜回我的敌人中间，假称他们是无辜的，是由于无知，由于中了魔法……” 
　　“然后我又问自己，他们怎么能相信我不会再起来了呢？他们很久以前就知道我怎样采取行动来防止不能避免的一死，他们在我比任何活着的巫师都强大的日子里，就见证过我的力大无比的呀！” 
　　“然后我回答了自己，可能他们确信存在着一个更加巨大的力量，一个甚至可以摧毁黑暗公爵福尔得摩特的力量……，他们可能已效忠于另外一个人……可能是那个普通人的冠军，那个马德布来得人、马格人和艾伯斯。丹伯多？” 
　　一提到丹伯多的名字，圈中的人骚动起来，有些人摇摇头，窃窃私语。 
　　福尔得摩特不理睬他们。“对我来说，这真是件令人失望的事啊……我承认自己感到很失望……” 
　　其中一人突然间从圆圈中跳了出来。他浑身颤抖着，突然倒在福尔得摩特的脚下。 
　　“主人。”他尖叫道，“主人，请宽恕我，请宽恕我们。” 
　　福尔得摩特开始笑了。他举起一短杖：“卡西欧！” 
　　在地上的那个食尸者打着滚，用尖锐的声音呼喊着。哈利肯定这声音会传到附近的房舍里……警察快来吧，他绝望地想着……随便哪个人，随便什么东西都行…… 
　　福尔得摩特举起了他的短杖。那被折磨的食尸者平躺在地上，气喘吁吁。 
　　“艾维里，起来！”福尔得摩特轻声说，“站起来，你请求宽恕？ 
　　我不会宽恕的。我不会忘记的，十三年漫长的岁月，……在我饶了你之前，我要得这十三年的赔偿。温太尔已经偿还了一部分债了，是不是啊，温太尔？“ 
　　他俯视看还在哭泣的温太尔。 
　　“你回来见我，不是出于忠诚，而是出于对老朋友的畏惧。你活该受到这痛苦，温太尔，你清楚的，是不是？” 
　　“对，主人，”温太尔呻吟着说，“求求你，主人……求求你。” 
　　“但你帮助我回到我的身体里，”福尔得摩特望着在地上哭的温太尔，冷冷地说道：“尽管你不忠实又毫无价值，你还是帮助过我……黑暗公爵福尔得摩特会报答帮助他的人的。” 
　　福尔得摩特又举起了那短杖，把它在空中旋转了一下。在魔杖挥过的地方闪过了一道银光，突然间它又失去了形状，扭动着，形成了一支闪光的人手的复制品。它皎活得如月亮一般，突然间它向下俯冲，安装在温太尔的流着血的手腕上。 
　　温太尔的哭泣骤然停止了。他的呼吸声刺耳又参差不齐。他抬起头，望着那只银手，几乎不敢相信——它平滑地接在他的手臂上，就好像是戴着一双耀眼眩目的手一样。他伸展了一下那闪闪发光的手指，然后颤抖着捡起了地上的一个小树枝，咔嚓一声把它折得粉碎。 
　　“我的主人，”他喃喃道，“主人，这真是太漂亮了……谢谢你……谢谢你……” 
　　他爬向前，吻着福尔得摩特的袍衣边。 
　　“温太尔，希望你的忠诚不要再左右摇摆，三心两意。”福尔得摩特说道。 
　　“噢，主人，绝对不会了，主人……‘” 
　　温太尔站了起来，在圆圈中占了一个位子，盯着看他那有力的新手。他的脸上泪光闪闪。福尔得摩特走近了温太尔右边的那个人。 
　　“露布斯。马尔夫，我狡猾的朋友，”他停在他面前低声说道。 
　　“我听说你还没有放弃老样子，尽管在世人面前你面目可敬。你还准备在马格这烦恼的地方做领头，是吗？克鲁希。尔特斯，但你从没有试过找我……你在快迪斯世界怀上的事迹很有趣，我敢说…… 
　　但如果你把精力放在找寻并帮助你的主人上不是会更好吗？“ 
　　“我的主人，我的确经常在留心着，”马尔夫的声音很快从头纱下面传来，“如果有一丝您的踪迹，有一丁点儿关于您下落的耳语，我都会立即来到您身边的，什么也阻止不了我——” 
　　“但是当一个忠实的食尸者把我的标志在去年夏天送上天空时，你却逃走了。”福尔得摩特慢慢说道，马尔夫先生顿时停住了。“是啊，马尔夫，我全知道，你让我失望了，我希望今后能有更忠实的效劳。” 
　　“当然，我的主人，当然……，你太仁慈了，谢谢你……” 
　　福尔得摩特继续向前走，然后又停下来，看着马尔夫旁边的空位。这位子足够站两个人。 
　　“来斯促。兰斯应该站这里的，”福尔得摩特静静地说，“但他们被埋藏在了阿兹克班，他们是忠实的。他们没有宣布抛弃我，反而去了阿兹克班。当阿兹克班裂开的时候，来斯促。兰斯会得到他们梦想不到的荣誉的。得蒙特也会加入进来，他们是我们天然的同盟……我们会召回被放逐的巨人们……我会让所有献身于我的仆人们回来……” 
　　他继续往前走。 
　　“玛克妮尔……温太尔告诉我，你被魔法部毁了危险的野兽？ 
　　很快你就会有比那更好的牺牲品的，公爵福尔得摩特会提供的……“ 
　　“谢谢你，主人……谢谢？”玛克妮尔喃喃说道。 
　　“这里，”福尔得摩特走到两个块头最大的蒙着头巾的人跟前，“是克来伯……这次你会干得更好的，是不是，克来伯？你呢，高尔？” 
　　他们笨拙地鞠了躬，模糊地低声说道：“是的，主人……” 
　　“我们会的，主人……” 
　　“你也要这样，挪特。”当福尔得摩特走过一个弯腰站在高尔阴影后的人时，他静静地说道。 
　　“我的主人，在你面前，我俯身致敬，我是你最忠实的——” 
　　“这就行了。”福尔得摩特说。 
　　他走到了最大的空隙前，用他那空洞、红色的眼睛眺望着，好像他能看到有人站在那儿一样。 
　　“这里我们有6个人不见了……三个在给我效劳时死去了。一个太胆怯了不敢回来……他要付出代价的。一个，我相信，已经永远地离开了我。当然他是会被干掉的。还有一个是我最忠实的仆人，他已经重新加入对我的服务中。” 
　　食尸者们骚动起来。哈利看到，他们正透过面具的侧面，面面相觑。 
　　“那忠实的仆人在霍格瓦彻，正是通过他的努力才使得我们年轻的朋友今天晚上到来……” 
　　“对，”福尔得摩特说道。他露齿而笑，卷曲了他那没有嘴唇的嘴。这时众人的视线都望向哈利的方向。“哈利·波特友善地加入到我的重生聚会中来，你们甚至可以把他称作是我的贵宾。” 
　　一片寂静。然后温太尔右边的那个食尸者站了出来，从面具后传来了马尔夫的声音。 
　　“主人，我们渴望知道，……我们请求你告诉我们……你怎么创造这个……这个奇迹的……你怎么想办法回到我们身边的。” 
　　“啊，这是个什么样的故事啊，马尔夫，”福尔得摩特说道，“它开始和结束，都跟我这个年轻的朋友有关。” 
　　他慢慢地走向哈利，站在他身旁。众人的眼睛都停留在他们俩身上。那条蛇继续缠绕着。 
　　“当然，你们知道，我曾经被这个男孩毁了，”福尔得摩特轻轻地说道。他的红色眼睛看着哈利，使得他的伤痕剧烈地疼痛起来。 
　　哈利几乎痛苦地尖叫起来。“你们都知道在我失去力量和躯体的那晚，我想杀死他。他母亲企图救他而死去了——无意中给他提供了一种保护，我承认我没有预料到。我接触不了这个孩子。” 
　　福尔得摩特举起一只又长又白的手指，逼近哈利的脸颊，“他母亲给他留下了她牺牲的印迹……这是一种老魔法，我本应记起来。我竟愚蠢得忽视了它……不过没关系，我现在可以接触他了。” 
　　哈利感觉到了正在接触他的那冷冷的手指尖，心里想：我的头会疼得爆裂开来。 
　　福尔得摩特在他的耳边轻叹了几声，移开了手指，然后又继续对那些食尸者说：“朋友们，我承认，我计算错了。我的诅咒因为那愚蠢的妇人的牺牲而转向了，然后又向我弹回来。啊，痛上加痛，我的朋友们，我措手不及。我的身体被撕裂开了，我比不上幽灵，比不上最低下的鬼怪……然而，我还活着。我甚至不知道我究竟是什么。……我，在通向长生不死的路上比谁都走得远。你知道我的目标是——战胜死亡。现在，我正面临考验，我的一两个实验生效了……因为按诅咒我本会被杀死，但我没有。不管怎样，我就像活着的最弱小的生物一样衰弱，而且无法帮助我自己……因为我没有身体，而任何可能帮得上我的咒语都需要一个魔杖。 
　　“我记得只有一次又一次地强迫我自己无眠地、无尽地存在……我落脚在一个很远的地方，一个森林里，并等待着……肯定会有一个我忠实的食尸者会帮助我的……他们中的一个会来施我所不能用的魔法，把我回复到身体中……但我白白地等待……” 
　　听着的那群食尸者们又打了一下颤。福尔得摩特让寂静可怕地盘旋着，然后又出声了，“我蓄积一种力量，那就是占据别人的身体。但我不敢去人多的地方，因为我知道那些奥挪士还在国外找着我。有时我会以动物为居所——当然我偏爱蛇——但是在他们里面我只是比纯粹的游魂好过～点，因为他们的身体不适合施展魔法……并且我的占领缩短了它们的寿命。没有一个活得长命……” 
　　“四年以后……我返回的时机似乎到了。一个年轻、愚蠢、容易上当受骗的巫师在我作为家园的森林的小道上游荡。他正是我梦寐以求的机会……因为他是丹伯多学校里的一个教师……他很容易屈从于我……他把我带回了这个国家，不久，我附在他的身体上在他执行我的指令时密切地监督他。但我的计划失败了。我没办法偷到点金石。我无法保证长生不死。我遭受了挫折——再一次被哈利·波特阻碍了。” 
　　又是一阵寂静。什么惊动也没有，连紫杉树的叶子也没发出声音。食尸者一动也不动，他们面具上扑闪扑闪的眼睛盯着福尔得摩特和哈利。 
　　“我离开那仆人身体的时候，他就死了。我又变得和往常一样虚弱了。”福尔得摩特接着说，“我回到遥远的藏身处，不瞒你们说，当时我几乎害怕永远也恢复不了力量了……是啊，那是我最黑暗的时光……我不再指望会再有巫师送上门来……我也不再指望会有食尸者关心我发生了什么事。” 
　　圆圈中的一两个戴面具的男巫不舒服地动了动，但福尔得摩特没有理睬。 
　　“接着，不到一年以前，在我几乎绝望之时，一个仆人终于回到我身边了：温太尔佯装死亡以逃避公正的制裁，被昔日称兄道弟的朋友驱逐，所以又决定回到主人身边。他在谣传我藏身的乡村中找到了我……当然，是通过沿途碰到的老鼠的帮助。温太尔和老鼠有一种奇怪的密切联系，是不是，温太尔？他那肮脏的小朋友告诉他，在阿尔巴尼亚的幽深的树林里，有一个恐怖的地方，在那里，他们那种小动物会因被一个黑影吞噬而死去。…… 
　　“但他费了九牛二虎之力才找到我，是不是，温太尔？因为有一天晚上饥饿难忍，他在本希望找到我的森林边上，傻傻地走进一家客栈找东西吃……在那儿，他竟然碰到了魔法部里的一个女巫，——珀茜·佐金斯。 
　　“看看命运是怎样眷顾黑暗公爵福尔得摩特的吧。这晚本应是温太尔的末日，也是我重新复活的最后一线希望。但温太尔——表现出一种我决没有料想到的镇定——他说服了珀茜·佐金斯陪他出去散散步。他战胜了她……他把她带来见我。珀茜·佐金斯本来会摧毁一切的，但却成了我做梦也不敢想的礼物。因为，稍稍一劝说，她就成了一个名副其实的信息库了。” 
　　“她告诉我，今年三巫师赛会在霍格瓦彻举行。她告诉我有一个忠实的食尸者巴不得帮助我，只要我联系一下他就行了。她告诉了我好多好多事情……但我用来控制她的记忆符咒太强大了，当我从她身上抽取了所有有用的信息后，她的心智和身体就全毁了。她已经完成使命了。我不能再附在她身上，就处理掉了她。” 
　　福尔得摩特可怕地笑了，红色的眼睛又空洞又残忍。 
　　“当然，温太尔的身体也不适合于依附。假使他死了，如果被看到的话，也会引起更大注意。但是，他是我所需要的健全的仆人。尽管他是个差劲的巫师，但他还是能照我的指令行事。这就能使我有个简单的、衰弱的身体，我可以在里面栖息以等待真正的重生所需要的重复原料……一两个我自己发明的咒语……从我亲爱的南格尼中得到的一点儿帮助，”——福尔得摩特那红色的眼光落到了缠绕不停的蛇身上——“由独角兽血、纳格尼提供的毒蛇液调制而成的一剂药……，很快我就恢复了正常的人形，强壮得可以长途跋涉了。” 
　　“不再希望偷点金石了，因为我知道在当那里被破坏以后，丹伯多就会好好照看着的。但我愿意再次有不免一死的生命，在追求不死之前。我放低了眼光……我会重新回到旧身体里，恢复旧有的力量。” 
　　“我知道要弄到这个——今晚能使我复活的药剂——这是个很老的黑色魔法——我需要三样强大的配料。嗯，其中一样已经到手了，是不是，温太尔？由一位仆人提供的。” 
　　“自然还得有我父亲的骨头，意味着我们得来到这里他埋葬之处。但敌人的血，温太尔曾建议我用随便哪个巫师的，对不对？任何仇恨过我的巫师……现在许多仍这样，但我知道我要用哪个的，如果我想比我垮台时更加强大地复活的话。我想要哈利·波特的血。 
　　我想要十三年前剥夺我力量的那人的血，因为他母亲曾经给他残留的保护，那时也会归属于我……“ 
　　“但怎样才能抓住哈利·波特？他已经被很好地保护了起来，甚至出乎我的想象。那是当丹伯多负责安排男孩的未来的时候，丹伯多的保护方法。丹伯多召唤了一种古代巫术，只要他在他亲属照顾下，就能保证其安全。在那儿我甚至还碰不了他……当然，那还有快迪斯世界杯比赛……我想在那儿，离开了他的亲属和丹伯多，他的保护可能会弱些。但我仍不够强壮去在一帮魔法部巫师中间绑架他。但以后，他就会回到霍格瓦彻，在勾鼻子亲马格人的笨蛋眼下度过日夜。那我怎样才能弄到他呢？” 
　　“哦……当然是利用珀茜·佐金斯的信息了。利用我驻扎在霍格瓦彻的忠实的食尸者去保证那小孩肯定会进入火杯名单。利用我的食尸者保证让那小孩赢得比赛——首先要他碰三巫师奖杯——我的食尸者已经把它变成了波奇，那将会把他带到这里。丹伯多的保护会鞭长莫及。他就会在我迎接的臂膀中了。他就在这儿——你们曾相信是我的克星的小孩……” 
　　福尔得摩特慢慢地走向前，转身面对着哈利。他举起了魔杖，“阿西欧！” 
　　哈利感受到了前所未有的疼痛。他的骨头像被火烤着，头沿着伤疤撕裂，眼睛疯狂地旋转。他真想一切都结束……快点昏倒…… 
　　快点死掉…… 
　　后来疼痛消失了。他被松松地绑在福尔得摩特父亲的墓碑上，他在一片朦胧中看到那些明亮的红眼睛。黑夜回响着食尸者的笑声。 
　　“你看，要说这小孩曾比我更强大是多蠢的啊！”福尔得摩特说道，“但我想每个人心里都清清楚楚。哈利·波特只是侥幸从我手中逃掉了。现在，在这里，在你们所有人面前，我要杀死他，以证明我的力量。再没有丹伯多帮他了，再没有为他牺牲的母亲了。我会给他机会的，我允许他搏斗。你们会肯定我们两个谁更强大。南格尼，再等一会儿。”他轻声说道。那蛇滑进草丛中，食尸者们正在那里站着观看。 
　　“现在放开他吧，温太尔，给回他他的魔杖。” 
Chapter 34 Priori Incantatem
Wormtail approached Harry, who scrambled to find his feet, to support his own weight before the ropes were untied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled out the wad of material gagging Harry, and then, with one swipe, cut through the bonds tying Harry to the gravestone. 
There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have considered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a tighter circle around him and Voldemort, so that the gaps where the missing Death Eaters should have stood were filled. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric's body lay and returned with Harry's wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry's hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters. 
“You have been taught how to duel. Harry Potter?” said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness. 
At these words Harry remembered, as though from a former life, the dueling club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years ago.…All he had learned there was the Disarming Spell, “Expelliarmus"…and what use would it be to deprive Voldemort of his wand, even if he could, when he was surrounded by Death Eaters, outnumbered by at least thirty to one? He had never learned anything that could possibly fit him for this. He knew he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned…the unblockable Avada Kedavra curse - and Voldemort was right - his mother was not here to die for him this time.…He was quite unprotected.… 
“We bow to each other. Harry,” said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come, the niceties must be observed.…Dumbledore would like you to show manners.…Bow to death, Harry.…” 
The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him…he was not going to give him that satisfaction.… 
“I said, bow,” Voldemort said, raising his wand - and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever. 
“Very good,” said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. “And now you face me, like a man…straight-backed and proud, the way your father died.… 
“And now - we duel.” 
Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was.…White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he'd ever screamed in his life - 
And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort. 
“A little break,” said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, “a little pause…That hurt, didn't it. Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?” 
Harry didn't answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those pitiless red eyes were telling him so…he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it…but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort…he wasn't going to beg.… 
“I asked you whether you want me to do that again,” said Voldemort softly. “Answer me! Imperio!” 
And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought.…Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming…just answer no…say no…just answer no.… 
I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won't answer.… 
Just answer no.… 
I won't do it, I won't say it.… 
Just answer no.… 
“I WON'T!” 
And these words burst from Harry's mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him - back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body - back rushed the realization of where he was, and what he was facing.… 
“You won't?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. “You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die.…Perhaps another little dose of pain?” 
Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the reflexes born of his Quidditch training, he flung himself sideways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort's father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him. 
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry,” said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. “You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry…come out and play, then…it will be quick…it might even be painless…I would not know…I have never died.…” 
Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope…no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet…he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible.… 
Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone. Harry stood up…he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort. 
Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Voldemort cried, “Avada Kedavra!” 
A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand just as a jet of red light blasted from Harry's - they met in midair - and suddenly Harry's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it; his hand seized up around it; he couldn't have released it if he'd wanted to - and a narrow beam of light connected the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold. Harry, following the beam with his astonished gaze, saw that Voldemort's long white fingers too were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating. 
And then - nothing could have prepared Harry for this - he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the tombstone of Voldemort's father and then came to rest on a patch of ground that was clear and free of graves.…The Death Eaters were shouting; they were asking Voldemort for instructions; they were closing in, reforming the circle around Harry and Voldemort, the snake slithering at their heels, some of them drawing their wands - 
The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now.… 
“Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connecting his wand with Harry's; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” Voldemort shouted to the Death Eaters. 
And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air.…It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song. 
It was the sound of hope to Harry…the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life.…He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him.…It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear.… 
Don't break the connection. 
I know. Harry told the music, I know I mustn't…but no sooner had he thought it, than the thing became much harder to do. His wand began to vibrate more powerfully than ever…and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too…it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands - Harry felt his wand give a shudder under his hand as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way.…The direction of the beams movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily.… 
As the closest bead of light moved nearer to Harry's wand tip, the wood beneath his fingers grew so hot he feared it would burst into flame. The closer that bead moved, the harder Harry's wand vibrated; he was sure his wand would not survive contact with it; it felt as though it was about to shatter under his fingers - 
He concentrated every last particle of his mind upon forcing the bead back toward Voldemort, his ears full of phoenix song, his eyes furious, fixed…and slowly, very slowly, the beads quivered to a halt, and then, just as slowly, they began to move the other way…and it was Voldemort's wand that was vibrating extra-hard now…Voldemort who looked astonished, and almost fearful.… 
One of the beads of light was quivering, inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand. Harry didn't understand why he was doing it, didn't know what it might achieve…but he now concentrated as he had never done in his life on forcing that bead of light right back into Voldemort's wand…and slowly…very slowly…it moved along the golden thread…it trembled for a moment…and then it connected.… 
At once, Voldemort's wand began to emit echoing screams of pain…then - Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock - a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished…the ghost of the hand he had made Wormtail…more shouts of pain…and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort's wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke.…It was a head…now a chest and arms…the torso of Cedric Diggory. 
If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? it looked so solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort's wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel…and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke. 
“Hold on. Harry,” it said. 
Its voice was distant and echoing. Harry looked at Voldemort…his wide red eyes were still shocked…he had no more expected this than Harry had…and, very dimly. Harry heard the frightened yells of the Death Eaters, prowling around the edges of the golden dome. 
More screams of pain from the wand…and then something else emerged from its tip…the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso…an old man Harry had seen only in a dream was now pushing himself out of the end of the wand just as Cedric had done…and his ghost, or his shadow, or whatever it was, fell next to Cedric's, and surveyed Harry and Voldemort, and the golden web, and the connected wands, with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick.… 
“He was a real wizard, then?” the old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. “Killed me, that one did.…You fight him, boy.…” 
But already, yet another head was emerging…and this head, gray as a smoky statue, was a woman's.…Harry, both arms shaking now as he fought to keep his wand still, saw her drop to the ground and straighten up like the others, staring.… 
The shadow of Bertha Jorkins surveyed the battle before her with wide eyes. 
“Don't let go, now!” she cried, and her voice echoed like Cedric's as though from very far away. “Don't let him get you, Harry - don't let go!” 
She and the other two shadowy figures began to pace around the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted around the outside of it…and Voldemort's dead victims whispered as they circled the duelers, whispered words of encouragement to Harry, and hissed words Harry couldn't hear to Voldemort. 
And now another head was emerging from the tip of Voldemort's wand…and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be…he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appeared from the wand…knew, because the man appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight.… 
The smoky shadow of a tall man with untidy hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him…and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his father. 
“Your mother's coming…” he said quietly. “She wants to see you…it will be all right…hold on.…” 
And she came…first her head, then her body…a young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like her husband. She walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and she spoke in the same distant, echoing voice as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear…. 
“When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments…but we will give you time…you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts…do you understand, Harry?” 
“Yes,” Harry gasped, fighting now to keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath his fingers. 
“Harry…” whispered the figure of Cedric, “take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents,…” 
“I will,” said Harry, his face screwed up with the effort of holding the wand. 
“Do it now,” whispered his father's voice, “be ready to run…do it now.…” 
“NOW!” Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway - he pulled his wand upward with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died - but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear - they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze - 
And Harry ran as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunned Death Eaters aside as he passed; he zigzagged behind headstones, feeling their curses following him, hearing them hit the headstones - he was dodging curses and graves, pelting toward Cedric's body, no longer aware of the pain in his leg, his whole being concentrated on what he had to do - 
“Stun him!” he heard Voldemort scream. 
Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel - 
“Impedimenta!” he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him. 
From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to stop and look; he jumped over the cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm… 
“Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!” shrieked Voldemort. Harry's hand had closed on Cedric's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the cup was out of reach - 
Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand. 
“Accio!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup. It flew into the air and soared toward him. Harry caught it by the handle - 
He heard Voldemort's scream of fury at the same moment that he felt the jerk behind his navel that meant the Portkey had worked - it was speeding him away in a whirl of wind and color, and Cedric along with him.…They were going back. 
温太尔走近哈利，哈利赶忙伸出双脚，以在绳子被解开之前站起来。温太尔举起他那只新装的银手，取出塞住哈利嘴的那团东西，然后猛然一击，砍断了把哈利绑在墓碑上的绳子。 
　　曾有几分之几秒的时间，哈利考虑要逃走，但当他站在杂草丛生的墓地上时，他受伤的小腿却在发抖。这时食尸者们已集中了起来，在哈利和福尔得摩特周围形成了一个严密的包围圈，失踪的食尸者的位置也被合拢。温太尔走出包围圈，向塞德里克的尸体走去，回来时拿着哈利的魔杖，头也不抬就把它粗暴地塞到哈利手中。接着温太尔回到了食尸者们所围成的包围圈中。 
　　“哈利·波特，你已经学会了怎样决斗吧？”福尔得摩特柔声地说，他的红眼睛在黑暗之中闪闪发光。 
　　听到这些，哈利想起了两年前在霍格瓦彻，他曾短暂地加入的那个决斗俱乐部，这虽然是很久以前的事了……在那里他所学的只是能使人解除武装的咒语——“卸武咒”……就算他能够用它来夺去福尔得摩特的魔杖，这有什么用呢？他现在三十多食尸者包围着。他知道他现在面临着过去莫迪总是告诫的情形……不可解除的杀咒——福尔得摩特是对的——这次他母亲不在这里代他死去了……他感到很无助…… 
　　“哈利，让我们互相向对方鞠躬吧。”福尔得摩特说，稍微曲了一下身，但他蛇般的脸仍向上对着哈利。“快点，这些细节是必须遵守的……丹伯多喜欢看到你有礼貌……哈利，向死亡屈身吧那些食尸者们大笑了起来。福尔得摩特没有唇的嘴微笑着。哈利没有鞠躬，他不想在福尔得摩特杀死自己之前被他玩弄，他也不想让他得到满足。 
　　“我说过了，鞠躬。”福尔得摩特说着，举起他的魔杖。哈利感到好像有一只巨大的、看不见的手拉着他，使他上身残忍地向前弯曲，他的脊椎也弯曲了起来。这时那些食尸者们比以前笑得更厉害了。 
　　“很好，”福尔得摩特柔声地说，抬起了他的魔杖，使哈利向下压的力顿时消失了。“现在你对着我，像个男子汉——自豪的挺直你的腰，就像你父亲死时的那样——好，现在我们开始决斗。” 
　　福尔得库特举起他的魔杖，哈利还没来得及防护自己，甚至还没来得及移动，他已中了克鲁布尔特斯魔法。极度的，使人耗尽一切的疼痛使他感觉不到他现在正在哪里——炽热的小刀刺穿着他的每一寸皮肤，在疼痛中的头简直要破裂了，他大叫了起来，比以前任何时候都大声…… 
　　突然，疼痛停止了。哈利翻身艰难地站了起来，他不由自主地不断发抖，就像温太尔在他的一只手被砍下来后那样。哈利摇晃着走向旁边，来到了在观看的食尸者们的人墙上，但他们把他推回福尔得摩特面前。 
　　“稍微暂停一下。”福尔得摩特说，裂口般的鼻孔因兴奋而扩大了起来，“一个小暂停，哈利，那样很痛苦，不是吗？你不想我再那样做，是不是？” 
　　哈利没有回答。那对无情的红眼睛告诉了他，他就要像塞德里克那样死去……他就要死了，他阻挡不了这事的发生……，但他不会向福尔得摩特屈服了，他也不会乞求…… 
　　“我问你，是否你想我再那样做一次？”福尔得摩特柔声地说，“回答我！英柏丽欧！” 
　　一生中的第三次，哈利感到他的头脑一片空白……啊，这是多么的快乐，不用去思考……好像他正在漂浮着，做着梦——只是回答“不”……说“不”……口是回乡文“不”…… 
　　“我不会，”从他脑后传来一个坚强的声音，我不会回答的…… 
　　只是回答不——我不会那样做，我不会那样说的…… 
　　只是回答不…… 
　　“我不会！” 
　　这三个字突然从嘴里冲了出来，在墓地中回响着。梦境突然消失了，就像一盆冷水泼到了他身上，克鲁布尔特斯魔法在他全身上留下的疼痛突然间又出现了，突然间他意识到他正在哪里，他所面对的是什么…… 
　　“你不会？“福尔得摩特平静地说，现在那些食尸者们不再笑了。”你不会说’不‘？哈利，服从是一种美德，在你死亡之前我需要教会你……也许是另外一番疼痛吧？“ 
　　福尔得摩特举起了他的魔杖，但这次哈利有准备了，来源于他的快迪斯训练的反应，他闪到了一旁，他滚到了福尔提摩特父亲的大理石墓头石后面，他听到魔咒打中石头的嘛啪声。 
　　“哈利，我们不是在玩捉迷藏。”这是福尔提摩特平静的、冷酷的声音，当食尸者们笑起来，这声音越来越近了。“你躲不了我的。 
　　这是否表示你已经厌倦我们的决斗了？哈利，这是否表示你想我现在结束这场决斗？哈利，出来——出来决斗，接着……那会很快的……那甚至将会毫无痛苦——但我不知道……我没有死过……“ 
　　哈利蹲伏在墓头石后面，一切都将结束了。没有任何希望，得不到任何帮助。当他听到福尔得摩特仍在靠近时，他只知道一件事——没有恐惧和理由——他不会像一个小孩玩捉迷藏那样蹲在这里死去，他也不会跪在福尔得摩特的脚下死去……他要像他父亲那样直立着死去，他要进行反抗，即使任何反抗都是没有用…… 
　　福尔提摩特蛇般的脸还没有绕到墓头石的背后，哈利已经站了起来。他把魔杖紧紧握在手中，刺向前方，跳出墓头石，面对着福尔得摩特。 
　　福尔得摩特已经准备好了，当哈利喊：“解除武装！”时，福尔提摩特也叫道：“杀！” 
　　当一束红光从哈利魔杖中喷出时，福尔得摩特的魔杖也射出了一束绿光，他们在空中相遇。突然，哈利的魔杖振动了起来，好像有一阵电流传过来。但他的手仍紧握着它，只要他愿意他就不会放开它。一束狭窄的光柱连接着两把魔杖，不是红色也不是绿色。但是很明亮，是深深的金黄色。哈利惊讶地注视着这道光柱，沿着哈利光柱看到了福尔得摩特又长又白的手指也紧握着魔杖，那魔杖也在振动着。 
　　接着，在哈利毫无准备的情况下，他感到他的脚离开了地面。 
　　他和福尔得摩特两个人都升到了空中，他们的魔杖仍被那束闪烁的金黄色的光柱相连着。他们在滑离福尔得摩特父亲的墓石，最后停在了一块干净的、没有坟墓的地上。那些食尸者们叫喊着，他们在向福尔得摩特请求指示，他们，在哈利和福尔得摩特周围重新形成了一个包围圈。蛇在他们的脚后跟上滑动，他们中有些人在拔出他们的魔杖。 
　　连接哈利和福尔得摩特的金黄色的光柱在分裂：魔杖仍连在一起，上千道光构成的分支在他们高处形成弧线，在他们周围交叉成十字状，直到他们被围在一个金黄色的、圆形的网中，形成一个光线的笼子。外面的食尸者们像一群胡狼那样围住，奇怪的是他们的叫喊声变得模糊了。 
　　“别管我们。”福尔得摩特对食尸者们尖叫道，哈利看到他对所发生的一切感到很惊讶，他的眼睛不由张得更大了，他正企图把仍然连着他和哈利魔杖的光柱打碎。哈利赶忙用双手把魔杖握得更紧一些。金黄色的光柱仍然完好如初。“什么也不要做，除非我命令你们！”福尔得摩特对食尸者们喊道。 
　　忽然，空中响起了一阵神秘、优美的声音，这声音来自用光线纺成的网上的每一小段光线中，在哈利和福尔得摩特周围回响着。 
　　哈利认得出这种声音，虽然他以前只听过一次……多么优美的歌声…… 
　　这是哈利的希望之声，是他一生中所听到的最优美最令人高兴的声音。他感到这声音不仅在他周围响起，而且钻进他身体里面去了。这声音使他和福尔得摩特连接在一起，就好像一位朋友在他的耳边细语。 
　　“不要断开连接的光柱。” 
　　我知道，哈利对那声音说，我知道我必须不……但他才一这样想，形势就变得糟糕了。他的魔杖比刚才震动得更厉害了，他和福尔得摩特之间的光柱也发生了变化。好像有许多大光珠在魔杖之间的光柱上来回滑动，当那些光珠开始慢慢、稳定滑行的时候，哈利感到他手中的魔杖震动了一下。现在光珠从福尔得摩特开始向他这边运动过来，他感到他的魔杖在愤怒的震动。 
　　当第一个光珠越来越接近哈利魔杖的顶端时，他手中原木的温度变得非常高，他担心它会着火烧了起来。光珠走得更近，哈利的魔杖就震动得越厉害。他确信再这样下去，他的魔杖肯定承受不了，它好像就要在他手中变得粉碎了。 
　　他集中起他的每一份精神，逼迫着光珠向福尔提摩待那边滑动，他的耳朵中充满了优美的歌声，他的眼睛狂怒的凝视着……慢慢地、慢慢地，光珠震动着停了下来；接着，也是慢慢地，它开始向另一个方向运动了起来。现在，福尔得摩特的魔杖开始剧烈地震动起来了。福尔得摩特看起来很惊讶，甚至是恐惧…… 
　　离福尔得摩特魔杖几英寸的地方，有一个光珠在震动着。哈利不明白他为什么会这样做，也不知道这样做有什么用。但他却集中起精神——他以前从未这样做过——迫使那个光珠进入到福尔得摩特的魔杖中去。慢慢地、慢慢地，它沿着金黄色的光柱移动了起来，它震动了一会儿，最后终于到达了。 
　　立即，福尔得摩特的魔杖发出痛苦的尖叫喊声，这声音不断回响着。福尔得摩特吃惊的红眼睛不由张大了起来——一只冒烟的手从魔杖的顶端飘了出来，接着消失了——这是被他砍断的温太尔的手的鬼魂。这时响起了更多的痛苦的叫喊声，一个更大的东西开始从福尔得摩特魔杖的顶部冒了出来，那是一个看起来好像由最坚实、最浓密的烟做成的灰色的大东西……那是一个人头……接着是胸部和胳膊……那是塞德里克。迪格端的躯体。 
　　如果哈利因惊讶而放开他的魔杖，一切都将至此结束。但本能使他紧紧握住他的魔杖，于是那金黄色的光柱仍保持着完整无缺。 
　　即使塞德里克。迪格瑞浓浓的灰色的灵魂（那是灵魂吗？看起来坚硬如固体。）全部从福尔得摩特魔杖的末端涌现了出来，好像他是从一个非常狭窄的隧道中挤了出来。塞德里克的这个影子站了起来，上下看了看金黄色的光柱，开口说起话来。 
　　“哈利，坚持下去。”他说。 
　　他的声音好像从远处传来，在空中回响着。哈利看了看福尔得摩特——他那张大的红眼睛仍然显示出惊讶，他和哈利一样并没有想到会发生这些事情。朦朦胧胧地，哈利听到了食尸者们惊恐的叫喊声，他们在这个金黄色的圆形的周围徘徊。 
　　魔杖中传出了更多痛苦的叫喊声，接着另外一个东西从它的顶部出现了——这是另外一个人头的影子，紧跟着胳膊和其他躯体也出现了——这是一个老人，哈利曾在梦中看见过他，现在他同刚才的塞德里克一样，正用力把自己从魔杖顶部挤出来……他的灵魂，或是他的影子，或是其他什么东西，掉在了塞德里克的旁边，观察着哈利和福尔得摩特以及金黄色的网和被光柱连在一直的魔杖。他靠在他的拐杖上，并没有显出十分吃惊的样子…… 
　　“他是一名真正的巫师，是吗？”那位老人说，眼睛看着福尔得摩特。“就是那人杀了我，孩子，战胜他。” 
　　这时，另外一个人头已经出现了。这个人头灰灰的如同～个雕像，它是一个女的人头……哈利看到她掉到地面上，像其他人一样站了起来，注视着。哈利虽然尽力握紧他的魔杖，但两臂还是不住地发抖…… 
　　“别放手！”她叫道，她的声音如同塞德里克的一样在空中回响着，好像从远处传来。“不要让他打败你，哈利。不要放手！” 
　　她和另外两个黑影子开始走动了起来，沿着金黄色的网墙的内侧，而食尸者们绕着墙外侧跳跃着。那些被福尔得摩特杀死的受害者，在决斗者周围转着圈，他们边走边低声的说话，对哈利的是鼓励的话，而对福尔得摩特发出嘶嘶的声音。但不让哈利听到。 
　　这时福尔得摩特的魔杖出现了另外一个人头，当哈利看到他时就知道他将是谁。自从塞德里克从那个魔杖出现之后，哈利就好像一直在等着他出现。他知道他将是谁，因为这个要出现的男人是他每个晚上都会想起的。 
　　这是一个高大的男人，烟雾般的影子上的头发很杂乱，他像珀茜那样掉在地面上，站了起来，看着哈利。哈利往回看着他父亲鬼魂般的脸，胳膊抖得更厉害了。 
　　“你母亲就要来了……”他平静地说，“她想看看你，很快就会好的了，坚持下去。” 
　　她来了……开始是她的头，接着是她的身体……一位披着长发的年青妇女——有着莉莉。波特烟雾般的外形——从福尔得库特的魔杖末端涌现了出来。她像她丈夫那样，掉在了地上，但站了起来。她走近哈利，低头看看他，她说话的声音与其他人一样，好像从远处传来，不断回响着，但是悄悄地，于是福尔得摩特听不见。 
　　福尔得摩特被他的受害者所围住，他的脸现在是又愤怒又恐惧。 
　　“当光柱断开后，我们将只能停留一会儿。但我们会给你争取时间。你必须去到波奇那里，它会带你回到霍格瓦彻。明白吗，哈利？” 
　　“是！”哈利喘气着说，正尽力握紧他的魔杖——魔杖正在他手指中滑动。 
　　“哈利，”塞德里克的影子低声说道，“把我的尸体带回去，好吗？把我的尸体带回给我的父母……” 
　　“我会的。”哈利答道，他正鼓足力气握紧魔杖。 
　　“现在放手。”他父亲低声说，“准备好逃走，现在放手……” 
　　“现在！”哈利喊道，他不知道他还能坚持多久。他把魔杖猛然一扭，抛到了空中。于是金黄色的光柱断开了，光线形成的笼子消失了，优美的歌声也逝去了，但福尔得摩特的受害者的灵魂却没有消失，他们靠近福尔得摩特挡住他，不让他看到哈利。 
　　哈利以一生中最快的速度跑着，当他经过时撞倒了两个在一旁发愣的食尸者们。他在墓头石背后曲折地跑着，感觉到食尸者们的魔咒紧跟着他，他听到了它们击在了墓头五上。他巧妙地躲避着魔咒和墓头石，匆匆奔向塞得里克的尸体。他现在已感觉不到他小腿的疼痛了，他全部的注意力都集中在他要做些什么。 
　　“击昏地。”他听到了福尔得摩特的尖叫声。 
　　在离魔咒十英尺的地方，哈利为了躲避射出的红光，从一块大理石背后俯冲而出，那大理五角被魔力击的粉碎。握紧魔杖，他从角落里突然冲出。 
　　“阻碍！”他呼喊道，猛地举起魔杖对准正在追赶他的食尸者们。 
　　从一声模糊的叫喊声，他判定他至少已经打退他们其中的一个了，但他没有时间回头看一下。当听到背后有更多魔杖在猛烈射出时，他跳过奖杯，俯冲过去，当他往下跳时，许许多多的光柱从他头顶飞过，他伸出手抓住了塞德里克的胳膊…… 
　　“闪开，我要杀了他，他是我的！”福尔得摩特尖叫道。 
　　哈利的手已经抓住了塞德里克的手腕，他和福尔得摩特之间隔着一块墓碑，但塞德里克太重了，他搬不动他，而且他也拿不到奖杯。 
　　福尔得摩特的红眼睛在黑暗中闪闪发光，哈利看到他的嘴微笑着，举起了他的魔杖。 
　　“阿西欧。”哈利喊道，把他的魔杖指向奖杯。 
　　它升到了空中，向他飞了过来。哈利抓住了它的柄。 
　　他听到了福尔得摩特愤怒的尖叫声，与此同时他感到那个家伙已被抛到了背后，波奇已经开始运作了。它使他在旋转的风中不断加速还能同时带着塞德里克……他们正在回去…… 
Chapter 35  Veritaserum
Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground; his face was pressed into grass; the smell of it filled his nostrils. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. He did not move. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him; his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's body. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of either of them. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting…waiting for someone to do something…something to happen…and all the while, his scar burned dully on his forehead.… 
A torrent of sound deafened and confused him; there were voices everywhere, footsteps, screams.…He remained where he was, his face screwed up against the noise, as though it were a nightmare that would pass.… 
Then a pair of hands seized him roughly and turned him over. 
“Harry! Harry!” 
He opened his eyes. 
He was looking up at the starry sky, and Albus Dumbledore was crouched over him. The dark shadows of a crowd of people pressed in around them, pushing nearer; Harry felt the ground beneath his head reverberating with their footsteps. 
He had come back to the edge of the maze. He could see the stands rising above him, the shapes of people moving in them, the stars above. 
Harry let go of the cup, but he clutched Cedric to him even more tightly. He raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore's wrist, while Dumbledore's face swam in and out of focus. 
“He's back,” Harry whispered. “He's back. Voldemort.” 
“What's going on? What's happened?” 
The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared upside down over Harry; it looked white, appalled. 
“My God - Diggory!” it whispered. “Dumbledore - he's dead!” 
The words were repeated, the shadowy figures pressing in on them gasped it to those around them…and then others shouted it - screeched it - into the night - “He's dead!” “He's dead!” “Cedric Diggory! Dead!” 
“Harry, let go of him,” he heard Fudge's voice say, and he felt fingers trying to pry him from Cedric's limp body, but Harry wouldn't let him go. Then Dumbledore's face, which was still blurred and misted, came closer. 
“Harry, you can't help him now. It's over. Let go.” 
“He wanted me to bring him back,” Harry muttered - it seemed important to explain this. “He wanted me to bring him back to his parents.…” 
“That's right. Harry…just let go now.…” 
Dumbledore bent down, and with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground and set -him on his feet. Harry swayed. His head was pounding. His injured leg would no longer support his weight. The crowd around them jostled, fighting to get closer, pressing darkly in on him - “What's happened?” “What's wrong with him?” “Diggory's dead!” 
“He'll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge was saying loudly. “He's ill, he's injured - Dumbledore, Diggory's parents, they're here, they're in the stands.…” 
“I'll take Harry, Dumbledore, I'll take him -” 
“No, I would prefer-” 
“Dumbledore, Amos Diggory's running…he's coming over.…Don't you think you should tell him - before he sees - ?” 
“Harry, stay here -” 
Girls were screaming, sobbing hysterically.…The scene flickered oddly before Harry's eyes.… 
“Its all right, son, I've got you…come on…hospital wing…” 
“Dumbledore said stay,” said Harry thickly, the pounding in his scar making him feel as though he was about to throw up; his vision was blurring worse than ever. 
“You need to lie down….Come on now.…” 
Someone larger and stronger than he was was half pulling, half carrying him through the frightened crowd. Harry heard people gasping, screaming, and shouting as the man supporting him pushed a path through them, taking him back to the castle. Across the lawn, past the lake and the Durmstrang ship, Harry heard nothing but the heavy breathing of the man helping him walk. 
“What happened. Harry?” the man asked at last as he lifted Harry up the stone steps. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. It was Mad-Eye Moody. 
“Cup was a Portkey,” said Harry as they crossed the entrance hall. “Took me and Cedric to a graveyard…and Voldemort was there…Lord Voldemort…” 
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Up the marble stairs… 
“The Dark Lord was there? What happened then?” 
“Killed Cedric…they killed Cedric.…” 
“And then?” 
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Along the corridor… 
“Made a potion…got his body back.…” 
“The Dark Lord got his body back? He's returned?” 
“And the Death Eaters came…and then we dueled.…” 
“You dueled with the Dark Lord?” 
“Got away…my wand…did something funny.…I saw my mum and dad…they came out of his wand.…” 
“In here. Harry…in here, and sit down.…You'll be all right now…drink this.…” 
Harry heard a key scrape in a lock and felt a cup being pushed into his hands. 
“Drink it…you'll feel better…come on, now. Harry, I need to know exactly what happened.…” 
Moody helped tip the stuff down Harry's throat; he coughed, a peppery taste burning his throat. Moody's office came into sharper focus, and so did Moody himself.…He looked as white as Fudge had looked, and both eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Harry's face. 
“Voldemort's back, Harry? You're sure he's back? How did he do it?” 
“He took stuff from his father's grave, and from Wormtail, and me,” said Harry. His head felt clearer; his scar wasn't hurting so badly; he could now see Moody's face distinctly, even though the office was dark. He could still hear screaming and shouting from the distant Quidditch field. 
“What did the Dark Lord take from you?” said Moody. 
“Blood,” said Harry, raising his arm. His sleeve was ripped where Wormtail's dagger had torn it. 
Moody let out his breath in a long, low hiss. 
“And the Death Eaters? They returned?” 
“Yes,” said Harry. “Loads of them…” 
“How did he treat them?” Moody asked quietly. “Did he forgive them?” 
But Harry had suddenly remembered. He should have told Dumbledore, he should have said it straightaway - 
“There's a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There's a Death Eater here - they put my name in the Goblet of Fire, they made sure I got through to the end -” 
Harry tried to get up, but Moody pushed him back down. 
“I know who the Death Eater is,” he said quietly. 
“Karkaroff?” said Harry wildly. “Where is he? Have you got him? Is he locked up?” 
“Karkaroff?” said Moody with an odd laugh. “Karkaroff fled tonight, when he felt the Dark Mark burn upon his arm. He betrayed too many faithful supporters of the Dark Lord to wish to meet them…but I doubt he will get far. The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his enemies.” 
“Karkaroff's gone? He ran away? But then - he didn't put my name in the goblet?” 
“No,” said Moody slowly. “No, he didn't. It was I who did that.” 
Harry heard, but didn't believe. 
“No, you didn't,” he said. “You didn't do that…you can't have done…” 
“I assure you I did,” said Moody, and his magical eye swung around and fixed upon the door, and Harry knew he was making sure that there was no one outside it. At the same time, Moody drew out his wand and pointed it at Harry. 
“He forgave them, then?” he said. “The Death Eaters who went free? The ones who escaped Azkaban?” 
“What?” said Harry. 
He was looking at the wand Moody was pointing at him. This was a bad joke, it had to be. 
“I asked you,” said Moody quietly, “whether he forgave the scum who never even went to look for him. Those treacherous cowards who wouldn't even brave Azkaban for him. The faithless, worthless bits of filth who were brave enough to cavort in masks at the Quidditch World Cup, but fled at the sight of the Dark Mark when I fired it into the sky.” 
“You fired…What are you talking about…?” 
“I told you. Harry…I told you. If there's one thing I hate more than any other, it's a Death Eater who walked free. They turned their backs on my master when he needed them most. I expected him to punish them. I expected him to torture them. Tell me he hurt them, Harry.…” Moody's face was suddenly lit with an insane smile. “Tell me he told them that I, I alone remained faithful…prepared to risk everything to deliver to him the one thing he wanted above all…you.” 
“You didn't…it - it can't be you.…” 
“Who put your name in the Goblet of Fire, under the name of a different school? I did. Who frightened off every person I thought might try to hurt you or prevent you from winning the tournament? I did. Who nudged Hagrid into showing you the dragons? I did. Who helped you see the only way you could beat the dragon? I did.” 
Moody's magical eye had now left the door. It was fixed upon Harry. His lopsided mouth leered more widely than ever. 
“It hasn't been easy, Harry, guiding you through these tasks without arousing suspicion. I have had to use every ounce of cunning I possess, so that my hand would not be detectable in your success. Dumbledore would have been very suspicious if you had managed everything too easily. As long as you got into that maze, preferably with a decent head start - then, I knew, I would have a chance of getting rid of the other champions and leaving your way clear. But I also had to contend with your stupidity. The second task…that was when I was most afraid we would fail. I was keeping watch on you, Potter. I knew you hadn't worked out the egg's clue, so I had to give you another hint -” 
“You didn't,” Harry said hoarsely. “Cedric gave me the clue -” 
“Who told Cedric to open it underwater? I did. I trusted that he would pass the information on to you. Decent people are so easy to manipulate, Potter. I was sure Cedric would want to repay you for telling him about the dragons, and so he did. But even then, Potter, even then you seemed likely to fail. I was watching all the time…all those hours in the library. Didn't you realize that the book you needed was in your dormitory all along? I planted it there early on, I gave it to the Longbottom boy, don't you remember? Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. It would have told you all you needed to know about gillyweed. I expected you to ask everyone and anyone you could for help. Longbottom would have told you in an instant. But you did not…you did not.…You have a streak of pride and independence that might have ruined all. 
“So what could I do? Feed you information from another innocent source. You told me at the Yule Ball a house-elf called Dobby had given you a Christmas present. I called the elf to the staffroom to collect some robes for cleaning. I staged a loud conversation with Professor McGonagall about the hostages who had been taken, and whether Potter would think to use gillyweed. And your little elf friend ran straight to Snape's office and then hurried to find you…” 
Moody's wand was still pointing directly at Harry's heart. Over his shoulder, foggy shapes were moving in the Foe-Glass on the wall. 
“You were so long in that lake, Potter, I thought you had drowned. But luckily, Dumbledore took your idiocy for nobility, and marked you high for it. I breathed again. 
“You had an easier time of it than you should have in that maze tonight, of course,” said Moody. “I was patrolling around it, able to see through the outer hedges, able to curse many obstacles out of your way. I Stunned Fleur Delacour as she passed. I put the Imperius Curse on Krum, so that he would finish Diggory and leave your path to the cup clear.” 
Harry stared at Moody. He just didn't see how this could be.…Dumbledore's friend, the famous Auror…the one who had caught so many Death Eaters…It made no sense…no sense at all.… 
The foggy shapes in the Foe-Glass were sharpening, had become more distinct. Harry could see the outlines of three people over Moody's shoulder, moving closer and closer. But Moody wasn't watching them. His magical eye was upon Harry. 
“The Dark Lord didn't manage to kill you. Potter, and he so wanted to,” whispered Moody. “Imagine how he will reward me when he finds I have done it for him. I gave you to him - the thing he needed above all to regenerate - and then I killed you for him. I will be honored beyond all other Death Eaters. I will be his dearest, his closest supporter…closer than a son.…” 
Moody's normal eye was bulging, the magical eye fixed upon Harry. The door was barred, and Harry knew he would never reach his own wand in time.… 
“The Dark Lord and I,” said Moody, and he looked completely insane now, towering over Harry, leering down at him, “have much in common. Both of us, for instance, had very disappointing fathers…very disappointing indeed. Both of us suffered the indignity, Harry, of being named after those fathers. And both of us had the pleasure…the very great pleasure…of killing our fathers to ensure the continued rise of the Dark Order!” 
“You're mad,” Harry said - he couldn't stop himself- “you're mad!” 
“Mad, am I?” said Moody, his voice rising uncontrollably. “We'll see! We'll see who's mad, now that the Dark Lord has returned, with me at his side! He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him - and now - I conquer you!” 
Moody raised his wand, he opened his mouth; Harry plunged his own hand into his robes - 
“Stupefy!” There was a blinding flash of red light, and with a great splintering and crashing, the door of Moody's office was blasted apart - 
Moody was thrown backward onto the office floor. Harry, still staring at the place where Moody's face had been, saw Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall looking back at him out of the Foe-Glass. He looked around and saw the three of them standing in the doorway, Dumbledore in front, his wand outstretched. 
At that moment, Harry fully understood for the first time why people said Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. The look upon Dumbledore's face as he stared down at the unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody was more terrible than Harry could have ever imagined. There was no benign smile upon Dumbledore's face, no twinkle in the eyes behind the spectacles. There was cold fury in every line of the ancient face; a sense of power radiated from Dumbledore as though he were giving off burning heat. 
He stepped into the office, placed a foot underneath Moody's unconscious body, and kicked him over onto his back, so that his face was visible. Snape followed him, looking into the Foe-Glass, where his own face was still visible, glaring into the room. Professor McGonagall went straight to Harry. 
“Come along, Potter,” she whispered. The thin line of her mouth was twitching as though she was about to cry. “Come along…hospital wing…” 
“No,” said Dumbledore sharply. 
“Dumbledore, he ought to - look at him - he's been through enough tonight -” 
“He will stay, Minerva, because he needs to understand,” said Dumbledore curtly. “Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why,” 
“Moody,” Harry said. He was still in a state of complete disbelief. “How can it have been Moody?” 
“This is not Alastor Moody,” said Dumbledore quietly. “You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Moody would not have removed you from my sight after what happened tonight. The moment he took you, I knew - and I followed.” 
Dumbledore bent down over Moody's limp form and put a hand inside his robes. He pulled out Moody's hip flask and a set of keys on a ring. Then he turned to Professors McGonagall and Snape. 
“Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go down to Hagrid's house, where you will find a large black dog sitting in the pumpkin patch. Take the dog up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, then come back here.” 
If either Snape or McGonagall found these instructions peculiar, they hid their confusion. Both turned at once and left the office. Dumbledore walked over to the trunk with seven locks, fitted the first key in the lock, and opened it. It contained a mass of spell-books. Dumbledore closed the trunk, placed a second key in the second lock, and opened the trunk again. The spellbooks had vanished; this time it contained an assortment of broken Sneako-scopes, some parchment and quills, and what looked like a silvery Invisibility Cloak. Harry watched, astounded, as Dumbledore placed the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth keys in their respective locks, reopening the trunk each time, and revealing different contents each time. Then he placed the seventh key in the lock, threw open the lid, and Harry let out a cry of amazement. 
He was looking down into a kind of pit, an underground room, and lying on the floor some ten feet below, apparently fast asleep, thin and starved in appearance, was the real Mad-Eye Moody. His wooden leg was gone, the socket that should have held the magical eye looked empty beneath its lid, and chunks of his grizzled hair were missing. Harry stared, thunderstruck, between the sleeping Moody in the trunk and the unconscious Moody lying on the floor of the office. 
Dumbledore climbed into the trunk, lowered himself, and fell lightly onto the floor beside the sleeping Moody. He bent over him. 
“Stunned - controlled by the Imperius Curse - very weak,” he said. “Of course, they would have needed to keep him alive. Harry, throw down the imposter's cloak - he's freezing. Madam Pomfrey will need to see him, but he seems in no immediate danger.” 
Harry did as he was told; Dumbledore covered Moody in the cloak, tucked it around him, and clambered out of the trunk again. Then he picked up the hip flask that stood upon the desk, unscrewed it, and turned it over. A thick glutinous liquid splattered onto the office floor. 
“Polyjuice Potion, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “You see the simplicity of it, and the brilliance. For Moody never does drink except from his hip flask, he's well known for it. The imposter needed, of course, to keep the real Moody close by, so that he could continue making the potion. You see his hair…” Dumbledore looked down on the Moody in the trunk. “The imposter has been cutting it off all year, see where it is uneven? But I think, in the excitement of tonight, our fake Moody might have forgotten to take it as frequently as he should have done…on the hour…every hour.…We shall see.” 
Dumbledore pulled out the chair at the desk and sat down upon it, his eyes fixed upon the unconscious Moody on the floor. Harry stared at him too. Minutes passed in silence…. 
Then, before Harry's very eyes, the face of the man on the floor began to change. The scars were disappearing, the skin was becoming smooth; the mangled nose became whole and started to shrink. The long mane of grizzled gray hair was withdrawing into the scalp and turning the color of straw. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg fell away as a normal leg regrew in its place; next moment, the magical eyeball had popped out of the man's face as a real eye replaced it; it rolled away across the floor and continued to swivel in every direction. 
Harry saw a man lying before him, pale-skinned, slightly freckled, with a mop of fair hair. He knew who he was. He had seen him in Dumbledore's Pensieve, had watched him being led away from court by the dementors, trying to convince Mr. Crouch that he was innocent…but he was lined around the eyes now and looked much older.… 
There were hurried footsteps outside in the corridor. Snape had returned with Winky at his heels. Professor McGonagall was right behind them. 
“Crouch!” Snape said, stopping dead in the doorway. “Barty Crouch!” 
“Good heavens,” said Professor McGonagall, stopping dead and staring down at the man on the floor. 
Filthy, disheveled, Winky peered around Snape's legs. Her mouth opened wide and she let out a piercing shriek. 
“Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?” 
She flung herself forward onto the young man's chest. 
“You is killed him! You is killed him! You is killed Master's son!” 
“He is simply Stunned, Winky,” said Dumbledore. “Step aside, please. Severus, you have the potion?” 
Snape handed Dumbledore a small glass bottle of completely clear liquid: the Veritaserum with which he had threatened Harry in class. Dumbledore got up, bent over the man on the floor, and pulled him into a sitting position against the wall beneath the Foe-Glass, in which the reflections of Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall were still glaring down upon them all. Winky remained on her knees, trembling, her hands over her face. Dumbledore forced the mans mouth open and poured three drops inside it. Then he pointed his wand at the mans chest and said, “Ennervate.” 
Crouch's son opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. Dumbledore knelt before him, so that their faces were level. 
“Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked quietly. 
The man's eyelids flickered. 
“Yes,” he muttered. 
“I would like you to tell us,” said Dumbledore softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?” 
Crouch took a deep, shuddering breath, then began to speak in a flat, expressionless voice. 
“My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother's hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other's appearance.” 
Winky was shaking her head, trembling. 
“Say no more. Master Barty, say no more, you is getting your father into trouble!” 
But Crouch took another deep breath and continued in the same flat voice. 
“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors. 
“My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.” 
The man's eyelids flickered. 
“And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?” said Dumbledore quietly. 
“Staged my mother's death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master…of returning to his service.” 
“How did your father subdue you?” said Dumbledore. 
“The Imperius Curse,” Moody said. “I was under my fathers control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behavior.” 
“Master Barty, Master Barty,” sobbed Winky through her hands. “You isn't ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble.…” 
“Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?” said Dumbledore softly. “Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?” 
“Yes,” said Crouch, his eyelids flickering again. “A witch in my father's office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father's signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she'd found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.” 
“Why is she coming to nose into my masters private business?” sobbed Winky. “Why isn't she leaving us be?” 
“Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup,” said Dumbledore. 
“Winky talked my father into it,” said Crouch, still in the same monotonous voice. “She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end. 
“It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would ever know. 
“But Winky didn't know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father's Imperius Curse. There were times when I was almost myself again. There were brief periods when I seemed outside his control. It happened, there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw, in front of me, a wand sticking out of a boys pocket. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn't know. Winky is frightened of heights. She had her face hidden.” 
“Master Barty, you bad boy!” whispered Winky, tears trickling between her fingers. 
“So you took the wand,” said Dumbledore, “and what did you do with it?” 
“We went back to the tent,” said Crouch. “Then we heard them. We heard the Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had never suffered for my master. They had turned their backs on him. They were not enslaved, as I was. They were free to seek him, but they did not. They were merely making sport of Muggles. The sound of their voices awoke me. My mind was clearer than it had been in years. I was angry. I had the wand. 
I wanted to attack them for their disloyalty to my master. My father had left the tent; he had gone to free the Muggles. Winky was afraid to see me so angry. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her. She pulled me from the tent, pulled me into the forest, away from the Death Eaters. I tried to hold her back. I wanted to return to the campsite. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it. I used the stolen wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky. 
“Ministry wizards arrived. They shot Stunning Spells everywhere. One of the spells came through the trees where Winky and I stood. The bond connecting us was broken. We were both Stunned. 
“When Winky was discovered, my father knew I must be nearby. He searched the bushes where she had been found and felt me lying there. He waited until the other Ministry members had left the forest. He put me back under the Imperius Curse and took me home. He dismissed Winky. She had failed him. She had let me acquire a wand. She had almost let me escape.” 
Winky let out a wail of despair. 
“Now it was just Father and I, alone in the house. And then…and then…” Crouch's head rolled on his neck, and an insane grin spread across his face. “My master came for me. 
“He arrived at our house late one night in the arms of his servant Wormtail. My master had found out that I was still alive. He had captured Bertha Jorkins in Albania. He had tortured her. She told him a great deal. She told him about the Triwizard Tournament. She told him the old Auror, Moody, was going to teach at Hogwarts. He tortured her until he broke through the Memory Charm my father had placed upon her. She told him I had escaped from Azkaban. She told him my father kept me imprisoned to prevent me from seeking my master. And so my master knew that I was still his faithful servant - perhaps the most faithful of all. My master conceived a plan, based upon the information Bertha had given him. He needed me. He arrived at our house near midnight. My father answered the door.” 
The smile spread wider over Crouch's face, as though recalling the sweetest memory of his life. Winky's petrified brown eyes were visible through her fingers. She seemed too appalled to speak. 
“It was very quick. My father was placed under the Imperius Curse by my master. Now my father was the one imprisoned, controlled. My master forced him to go about his business as usual, to act as though nothing was wrong. And I was released. I awoke. I was myself again, alive as I hadn't been in years. 
“And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?” said Dumbledore. 
“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. I was ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him, to prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so. A servant who would watch over Harry Potter. Ensure he reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first -” 
“You needed Alastor Moody,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were blazing, though his voice remained calm. 
“Wormtail and I did it. We had prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand. We journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk. Took some of his hair and added it to the potion. I drank it; I became Moody's double. I took his leg and his eye. I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I made the dustbins move around the yard. I told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders in my yard, who had set off the dustbins. Then I packed up Moody's clothes and Dark detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him. To find out about his past, learn his habits, so that I could fool even Dumbledore. I also needed his hair to make the Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boom-slang skin from the dungeons. When the Potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it.” 
“And what became of Wormtail after you attacked Moody?” said Dumbledore. 
“Wormtail returned to care for my master, in my father's house, and to keep watch over my father.” 
“But your father escaped,” said Dumbledore. 
“Yes. After a while he began to fight the Imperius Curse just as I had done. There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he had smuggled me from Azkaban. 
“My master sent me word of my father's escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything.” 
“Map?” said Dumbledore quickly. “What map is this?” 
“Potter's map of Hogwarts. Potter saw me on it. Potter saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape's office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape. 
“For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. Potter ran to get Dumbledore. I Stunned Krum. I killed my father.” 
“Noooo!” wailed Winky. “Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you saying?” 
“You killed your father,” Dumbledore said, in the same soft voice. “What did you do with the body?” 
“Carried it into the forest. Covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me. I watched Potter run into the castle. He met Snape. Dumbledore joined them. I watched Potter bringing Dumbledore out of the castle. I walked back out of the forest, doubled around behind them, went to meet them. I told Dumbledore Snape had told me where to come. 
“Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father's body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I Transfigured my father's body. He became a bone…I buried it, while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid's cabin.” 
There was complete silence now, except for Winky's continued sobs. Then Dumbledore said, “And tonight…” 
“I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” whispered Barty Crouch. “Turned it into a Portkey. My master's plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards.” 
The insane smile lit his features once more, and his head drooped onto his shoulder as Winky wailed and sobbed at his side. 
哈利感到自己被人平平地扔到地上，他的脸埋入草丛中，草的气味顿时充溢在鼻内，在那波奇运送着他时，哈利一直是合著眼睛的，现在他仍未睁开眼，也未移动身子，周围的气息好像让他昏昏入睡，而且他头晕得厉害，以至于觉得身下的大地像船的甲板那样摇晃，为了保持平衡，他将两件一直握着的物事抓得更紧了，那是奖杯光滑冰冷的把手和塞德里克的尸身。如果让这两件物事离了手，他觉得他思维边缘的无尽黑暗就会吞没他，恐惧和疲惫让他只能俯在地上，呼吸着草的气息，等待着……等待著有人来……等待着奇迹发生，而那一刻，他额上的伤疤又隐隐作痛起来。 
　　一个突如其来的声响震耳欲聋，也令人迷惑，哈利听到到处都有声音：脚步声、尖叫声……他仍趴在地上，他的脸扭动着像在抗拒那声音，好像那只是一个终会醒来的恶梦…… 
　　然后一双手将他紧紧抱住并将他的身子转过来。 
　　“哈利！哈利！” 
　　哈利被唤醒了。 
　　他看到灿烂的星空，艾伯斯。丹伯多在他身边屈膝半蹲着，一群人慢慢靠上来，像要压向他们，哈利感到头下的大地也在回响着他们的脚步声。 
　　他不再觉得昏迷了，他能看到人群围着他，并有更多的人影靠近来，他们头顶上，繁星争艳。 
　　哈利松开了那金杯，却将塞德里克抱得更紧，他伸起他那空闲着的手抓住丹伯多的手腕，让丹伯多的面孔，稳定下来而不会看起来摇晃不定。 
　　“他回来了！”哈利低声说，“福尔得摩特，他回来了。” 
　　“怎么了？发生了什么事？” 
　　哈利看到上方突然出现可尼斯。法治的脸来，那脸写满了惊骇以至于十分苍白。 
　　“天啊，是迪格瑞！”他惊呼着，“丹伯多，你看，他死了！” 
　　“哈利，放开他。”哈利听到法治这么说，并发觉有只手想撬开他的手，那只紧抓住塞德里克软软的躯体的手，但是哈利不肯放手。 
　　接着丹伯多靠近来，看起来仍觉得有些模糊朦胧。“哈利，你不能帮他了，结束了，放手吧！” 
　　“他让我带他回家，”哈利喃喃说道，似乎这话很重要。“他让我带他回家见他父母……” 
　　“对，哈利……现在，请松手吧……” 
　　丹伯多俯下身来，将哈利扶起身，靠在他的腿边上，这对这个又老又瘦的人来说不是件易事，哈利仍在摇晃，他的头沉重地垂着，他那受伤的腿也不能支撑他的体重了，周围的人群挤过，那人影像压着他，“发生什么事了？他怎么了？迪格瑞死了？” 
　　“他需要去医院！”法治高声说。“他病了，受伤了，丹伯多，迪格瑞的父母，他们也在这，在人群中。” 
　　“我来背哈利，丹伯多，我来背他。” 
　　“不，我宁可……” 
　　“丹伯多，阿姆斯。迪格瑞跑来了……他靠近了……在他看到真相之前你难道不想告诉他吗？” 
　　“哈利，待在这。” 
　　女孩们在尖叫着，哭得歇斯底里……这些场景奇怪地在哈利的眼中扑闪着。 
　　“这就对了，孩子，我来背依……走吧……去医院。” 
　　“丹伯多说待在这。”哈利喘着气说，那被打烂的伤口让他痛不欲生，他的知觉越来越模糊了。 
　　“你需要躺下来……来吧，躺下来……” 
　　有个比哈利高大强壮的人半背半拖着他走过吓呆了的人群。哈利听到他们喘着气、尖叫着，而那男人扶着他走上一条小路，带他回城堡，他们走过草地，穿过湖泊和丹伯多的船，哈利一路上只听到那人沉重的呼吸声。 
　　“发生什么事？哈利。”最后，当他带着哈利噔噔噔地走上石阶时，有人问道，原来是魔眼莫迪。 
　　“金杯是个波奇，”当他们通过大厅口时，哈利说：“带我和塞德里克去墓地……在那……，” 
　　噔噔噔，他们走上大理石阶。 
　　“黑色公爵……他们杀死了塞德里克……” 
　　“然后呢？” 
　　噔噔噔，他们又通过走廊。 
　　“做一剂药水……让他的躯体回来……” 
　　“黑色公爵的躯体回来了？他复活了？” 
　　“然后食尸者们来了……我们打了起来……他们从他的魔杖中走出来……” 
　　“就在这里，哈利……，坐在这里……你很快就会好的，把这喝了……” 
　　哈利听到一阵开锁声，并发觉有个杯子递到他的手上。 
　　“喝了它……你会好点的……好吧！哈利，我想确切地知道发生了什么事……” 
　　莫迪帮着将那些液体倒入哈利嘴中，他咳起来，有一股辛辣的味道刺激喉咙，莫迪的办公室变得清晰了，也逐渐能看清莫迪的面孔了……他看起来跟法治一样白，一双眼睛紧盯着哈利的脸。 
　　“福尔得摩特复活了，哈利？你肯定吗？他怎么会复活呢？” 
　　“他从他父亲的墓中，从温太尔和我的身上取走一些东西，”哈利继续说道，他的头脑清醒了许多，伤口也不再那么痛了。虽然办公室有些暗，但现在，他能完全看清莫迪的面孔了。 
　　“那黑色公爵究竟从你身上取走什么？”莫迪问道。 
　　“血液。”哈利答道，并举起他的手，他的衣袖破开了，那是温太尔用短剑划的。 
　　莫迪吐了一口长长的气，“还有那食尸者们？他们也复活了？” 
　　“是的。”哈利说道，“并且是成千上万的……” 
　　“他是怎么对待他们的？”莫迪平静地问道。“他原谅他们吗？” 
　　突然，哈利记起来，他应该告诉丹伯多，应该马上告诉他，“霍格瓦彻内有个食尸者，有个食尸者在这里，他们把我的名字刻在了金杯上，他们知道我没死……” 
　　哈利想站起，但莫迪推他坐下。 
　　“我知道那个食尸者是谁。”他平静地说。 
　　“卡克罗夫？”哈利怒问，“他在哪？你抓到他了？他被关起来了？” 
　　“卡克罗夫？”莫迪冷笑道。“他逃跑了，在他感觉到黑色标志在他的手臂上灼痛时，他就跑了。他出卖了大多食尸者们的忠实拥护者……但我怀疑他不会逃多远。黑色公爵总是有办法追踪到他的敌人！” 
　　“卡克罗夫跑了？他逃跑了？但是……难道他没有在金杯上刻上我的名字？” 
　　“是的，”莫迪缓慢地说。“他没有，是我干的。” 
　　哈利几乎不相信自己的耳朵。 
　　“不，你不会，”他说道，“你不会那么做……而且你也不能做到……” 
　　“我会让你相信的。”莫迪说，说着他的魔眼转了两转，盯住大门，哈利知道他要确信门外没人偷听，与此同时，莫迪拿出他的魔杖，指着哈利。 
　　“他原谅了他们，是么？”他说，“那些被释放的食尸者们？那些从阿兹克班逃出来的？” 
　　“什么？”哈利不明白。 
　　他盯住莫迪用来指着他的魔杖，这可不是开玩笑的！ 
　　“我问你，”莫迪平静地说。“他是否原谅了那个不去寻找他的卑贱之人，那些奸诈的胆小鬼们从不敢为他在阿兹克班坐牢，无用的不忠心的小人，却敢蒙面在快迪斯世界杯上欢腾，但当我将黑色标志点燃送上天空时，他们一见到就逃之夭夭。” 
　　“是你点燃的……你在说什么呀！？” 
　　“我告诉你，哈利……我来告诉你。再也没有一个自由自在地走动的食尸者更让我讨厌的事了。他们在我主人最需要他们的时候背叛了他。我期待着他会惩罚他们，折磨他。来，哈利，告诉我他在折磨他们。”莫迪的脸上突然露出一种狂喜的笑容，“告诉我他曾跟他们说过我，只有我才是最忠心的，准备为了他冒任何险，送给他一件他最想要的东西……那就是——你！” 
　　“你不会……这，这不可能是你干的——” 
　　“是谁把你的名字刻在火杯名单上，而且在另一个学校名下？ 
　　是我！是谁吓跑了想伤害你和阻止你在比赛中夺魁的那些人？是我！是谁推开哈格力给你看到龙？是我！是谁助你看清唯一能击败龙的办法？是我！“ 
　　莫迪的魔眼现在不再对着大门了，他盯住哈利，他歪在一边的嘴张得更大了。“这不是容易的事，哈利，指引你经历那么多风险而不引起怀疑，为了不让人觉察你的成就中有我的一臂之力，我几乎用尽了一切能用上的聪明智慧，如果你很容易就将一件事做得很好，丹伯多就会怀疑，只要你一进到那个迷宫，相对来说在一个适合的开头位置，那么我知道能有一个机会除掉其他竞赛者而让你以后的路毫无阻碍，但我还得和你的愚蠢作斗争……第二个任务里，那次我以为我们会失败了，我一直在看着你，波特，我知道，你不能解决那蛋的线索，所以便给了你另一个暗示……” 
　　“不是你，”哈利吸声道，“是塞德里克结了我线索……” 
　　“又是谁告诉塞德里克在水下打开它呢？是我，我相信他一定会告诉你的。普通人很容易操纵，波特，我敢肯定塞德里克想报答你告诉过他有关龙的事，后来他确实这么做了，可是即使这样，波特，你看起来仍很可能失败，我一直关注你……一直在图书馆里关注你，难道你没发觉那本你需要的书一直在你的宿舍吗？是我安排放在那儿的，我把它交给那个兰博顿男孩，你记得吗？《奇异的地中海水生植物和它们的特性》能告诉你所需的有关居利维得的全部知识，我估计你会问你能找到的任何人，兰博顿马上告诉过你如果你问他的话，但你竟没有……没有……你那高傲的独来独往的臭脾气差一点毁了一切！” 
　　“结果我怎么办呢？只好从另一无害的渠道告诉你，你在圣诞节时告诉过我一个叫多比的家伙送你一份圣诞礼物，我告诉他去全体职员的屋子里拿些长袍去洗净，我故意和麦康娜教授大声讨论有关那些被劫持的人质的事，以及波特是否想到要使用居利维得，然后你那小仆人朋友直跑向史纳皮的储物木橱，跑出去找你……” 
　　哈利看到墙上的观察镜里有几个朦胧的东西移动着。 
　　莫迪的魔杖仍指着哈利的心脏处，在“你在湖下呆了那么久，波特，我以为你溺死了，幸运的是，丹伯多认为你的愚蠢行为是高贵的品质的体现，并且称赞你，我才松了一口气。” 
　　“当然，那晚在迷宫里你其实可以做得更好。”莫迪继续说，“那是因为是我在巡逻，能够透过外面的防护物看到里面，能够用咒符排除你的障碍，我在芙璐。迪米高经过我旁边时，我点昏了她，我对克伦念了咒语，那样他就能结果迪格瑞，你就可以更容易地得到那个金杯。” 
　　哈利睁大眼瞪着莫迪，他不敢相信事情怎么会这样……这个丹伯多的朋友，著名的沃罗……这个曾抓住了许多的食尸者的人…… 
　　这是不可能，完全不可能的…… 
　　那在观察镜上朦胧的东西变得有棱有角，越来越清晰了，哈利能看到三个人的轮廓从莫迪的肩后走来，越走越近，但莫迪没有看到他们，他的魔眼仍盯着哈利。 
　　“黑色公爵不打算杀你，波特，他确实是这么想的，”莫迪低声说。“想想他会怎样回报我，当他发现我为他干好这事，我将你交给他——他复活最需要的东西——然后我为他杀掉你，我会成为所有食尸者中最受宠幸的，我将成为他最喜爱的，最紧密的支持者……胜过他的儿子……” 
　　莫迪的那只正常的眼睛凸了出来，那只魔眼盯着哈利，大门紧关着，哈利明白不可能够时间拿到他自己的魔杖…… 
　　“黑色公爵和我，”莫迪继续说，现在他看起来完全疯狂了，他俯视着哈利，“有许多相同之处，比如说，我们都有个令人失望的父亲……事实十分糟糕，哈利，我们两人都觉得跟那样的父亲姓是一种耻辱，并且我们两人都在承受着沉重压力……弑父的压力，那是为了保证能继续提高黑命令！” 
　　“你疯了！”哈利叫道，他再也忍不住了，“你是疯子！” 
　　“疯？我疯？”莫迪反驳，他的声音高得刺骨，“我们等着瞧，我们看看谁才疯了，现在黑色公爵复活了，我与他并肩作战！他复活了，哈利·波特，你不能打败他，哈，现在，我来打败你！” 
　　莫迪举起他的魔杖，张开嘴要念咒语，哈利迅速将手伸入上衣中…… 
　　“麻醉！”一束红光射了进来，夹着扯裂的破碎的声音，莫迪的办公室的大门顿时四分五裂…… 
　　莫迪被击倒在地上，哈利，仍盯着刚才莫迪的面孔所在之处，看到艾伯斯。丹伯多，史纳皮教授，麦康娜教授正从观察镜上看着自己，他转过头，看到他们三人站在门口，丹伯多站在最前，他高举着他的魔杖…… 
　　在那一刻，哈利第一次完全明白了为什么人们总说丹伯多是福尔得摩特唯一害怕的巫师，当丹伯多盯着莫迪那失去知觉的身体时，他的脸看起来很可怕，哈利从未想象他的脸会这样，丹伯多的脸上没有和蔼的笑容，眼镜后的眼睛也不再炯炯有神，只有冷冷的愤怒映在苍老的脸上，有股力从丹伯多脸上辐射出来，看起来像快要燃烧起来了。 
　　他走进办公室，用脚踩了踩莫迪无知觉的躯体，在他身上又踢了几脚，将他反过身来，这样就能看清他的脸了，史纳皮跟着他走上前来，仔细查看了那观察镜，看起来他的面容仍清晰可辩，那观察镜发出强光，照亮了整个屋子。 
　　麦康娜教授则直接走向哈利。 
　　“起来，波特。”她低声说，她的嘴蠕动着像要哭了，“起来孩子……先去医院。” 
　　“不行。”丹伯多突然插了句。 
　　“丹伯多，他应该去，你看他，他今晚受够了。” 
　　“他要留下来，米尼维，因为他需要了解实情。”丹伯多简洁地回答。然后说，“了解是接受事实的第一步，只有接受了事实，方会康复，他需要知道是谁给他带来了今天这样的苦难，为什么会这样。” 
　　“莫迪。”哈利唤道，他仍不相信事情竟会这样，“莫迪怎会变成这样？” 
　　“这不是阿拉斯得。莫迪，”丹伯多平静地说。 
　　“你不认识阿拉斯得。莫迪，发生了今晚的事后，在今晚的事发生后真的莫迪不会在我视线范围内带走你。他一带走你我就知道，并跟来了。” 
　　丹伯多在莫迪软绵绵的躯体上俯下身，将手伸入他的上衣中，他掏出了莫迪的水瓶和一串扣在一个圆环上的钥匙。然后他转向麦康娜和史纳皮教授。 
　　“塞维来斯，请你拿给我最厉害的真相水，然后去一趟厨房，将那个叫温奇的仆人带来；米尼维请去哈格力家，在那会发现在南瓜藤下有一条大黑狗，把那狗牵到我的办公室，告诉哈格力我会很快还给他，然后你们回来这。” 
　　尽管史纳皮和麦康娜都觉得这种指示很奇怪，但他们都没表现出来，而是马上转身离开办公室。丹伯多走向那只有七把锁的皮箱，先试了第一把钥匙，打开它，里面有一堆咒符书，他关上皮箱，用第二把钥匙打开第二把锁，再次打开皮箱，那些咒符书不见了，这次是几种破烂的潜望镜，几张羊皮纸和几支羽毛笔，以及看起来像一件银白色的变透明外衣的东西，哈利惊讶地看着丹伯多继续将第三、四、五、六把钥匙打开相对应的锁，重复打开皮箱，并发现每次皮箱里的东西都不同。最后他用第七把钥匙打开锁，掀开盖，这次哈利惊呼一声。 
　　看上去这次是一个地洞，里面有个地下室，在十英尺的地下躺着一个人，看起来瘦瘦的，像饿得昏睡过去了，那是真的莫迪，他的木腿不见了，眼睑下本有个魔眼的地方凹了下去，相当大的一部分的灰白头发也不见了。哈利看着睡在皮箱里的莫迪，和外边躺在地上无知觉的莫迪，怒火上冲。 
　　丹伯多爬进去，轻轻地靠近那熟睡的莫迪身旁，他弯下身。 
　　“被英柏丽欧咒言催眠了，他很虚弱，”他说。“当然，他们不会让他死的，哈利，将那骗子的大衣扔下来，阿拉斯得冷坏了，波姆弗雷夫人须要给他看看，但他现在没有什么危险。” 
　　哈利照做了，丹伯多给莫迪盖好大衣，把他裹好，从皮箱中爬出来，然后他从桌上拿起那个聪明瓶，取下盖，将它倒过来，一种粘稠的液体滴下地板。 
　　“是多利药水，哈利，”丹伯多说，“你看它多简单又多有用，因为莫迪从不饮不是他的水瓶的药水，这是他的特性，这个骗子当然要把真的莫迪关起来，只有这样他才能继续做药水，你看他的头发……”丹伯多看着在皮箱下的莫迪，“这个骗子一直从阿拉斯得头上剪下的头发。但是我想，今晚，我们的假莫迪会忘掉像往常那样做了，在此时，我们会看到……” 
　　丹伯多拖过桌边的凳子，坐下，他的双眼凝视中地上昏迷的莫迪，哈利也看着他，沉默几分钟…… 
　　然后，在哈利眼中，躺在地上的人的面容开始变得不同了，伤疤消失了，皮肤也变得光滑了，损坏了的鼻子长好了并开始抽动，那长长厚厚的灰白头发也缩到头皮下了，取而代之的是金黄色的头发，突然，噔的一声那条木腿掉了下来，一条正常人的腿，在木腿原来的位置上长出来，一会儿后，那只魔眼跑出那脸，一只正常的眼睛长了出来，那魔眼滚到地上，毫无规则朝各个方向转动。 
　　哈利看到一个躺在他面前，白皙的肌肤，长着些雀斑和一头浓密的头发的人，哈利认出他了，他曾在丹伯多的班西福中见过这个人，当时他想向克劳斯先生证明他是无辜的……现在他的眼角起了皱纹，看起来老了许多…… 
　　走廊上传来急促的脚步声，史纳皮回来了，后面跟着温奇稍后是麦康娜教授。 
　　“克劳斯！”史纳皮喊道，呆在门口：“内卜。克劳斯！” 
　　“上帝。”麦康娜说道，也呆在门口盯着那躺在地上的人。 
　　脏兮兮的衣冠不整的温奇站在史纳皮的旁边，她的嘴张得大大的，发出一声震耳欲聋的尖叫。 
　　“内卜主人，内卜主人，你怎会在这？” 
　　她扑向那年轻人，俯在他的脸口，对丹伯多喊着：“你杀了他！ 
　　你杀了他！你杀了主人的儿子！“ 
　　“他不过是被咒昏了，温奇。”丹伯多说，“请到一边，塞维尔斯，你带药水了吗？” 
　　史纲皮交给丹伯多一小玻璃瓶完全透明的液体，那就是他在课堂上用来威胁哈利的真相之水，丹伯多站起来，走到那年轻人身旁俯下身将他拉到靠墙的观察镜下的地方，那观察镜反照着丹伯多，史纳皮和麦康娜和仍呆在那里，跪在地上的温奇，颤抖着，用手捂住脸，丹伯多撬开那年轻人的嘴，滴进三滴药水，然后将他魔杖指着那年轻人的胸口说：“解符。” 
　　克劳斯的儿子睁开眼，他的脸是松驰的，眼光迷离，丹伯多半跪下，这样他们的脸就相对着。 
　　“你能听见我说话吗？”丹伯多轻声问。 
　　那人的眼睛扑闪了几下。 
　　“能。”他喃喃地说。 
　　“我希望你能告诉我，”丹伯多仍柔声说，“你是怎么到这来的，你又怎样从阿兹克班逃脱？” 
　　内卜深深地吸了口气，夹带着一种战栗的声响，然后用一种低平的毫无感情的声调说：“我母亲救了我，她知道她快死了，她恳求我父亲解救我，那是她的最后愿望，父亲爱她却不喜欢我，但他同意了，他们来看望我，给我喝了一份多利药水，内含有我母亲的一根头发，我母亲也喝了一份多利药水，内含有我自己的一根头发。结果我们互换了身体。” 
　　温奇一直颤抖着摇头，“不要说了，内卜主人，别说了，你让你父亲很为难！” 
　　但是内卜又深深呼吸一次，仍用那种低平的声调说，“那些愚蠢的得蒙特，他们送进阿兹克班一个凉爽人、一个垂死的人，他们也送出一个凉爽人、一个垂死的人，我父亲将假扮成我母亲的我偷送出来，因为每一个犯人都透过门看着我们。” 
　　“我母亲在阿兹克班没过多久就去世了！她一直喝着那种多利药水直至死亡逼近，她带着我的躯体以我的名字下葬，每一个人都相信她就是我。” 
　　这人的眼睑又扑闪了好几次。 
　　“你父亲将你带回家后又怎样对待你呢？”丹伯多平静地问道。 
　　“安排我母亲的葬礼，一个安静秘密的葬礼，墓中空空如也，家仆照顾我康复后接着我被藏起来，被严格监控起来，我父亲不得不用大量的咒语制服我，当我逐渐恢复我的力量时，我只想去寻找我的主人……回去为他效力！” 
　　“你父亲是怎样制服你的？”丹伯多问。 
　　“用英柏丽欧咒语。”莫迪说，“我在父亲的控制下，被迫日夜穿着件隐身衣，总是和这个仆人在一起，她照料我也同情我，并劝父亲给我偶尔的款待，她说是为了对我良好表现的回报。” 
　　“内卡主人，内卜主人，”温奇捂住脸呜咽着说：“你不该告诉他们，我们会有麻烦的……” 
　　“还有人知道你仍活着吗？”丹伯多还是柔声问，“除了你父亲和这个仆人？” 
　　“有，”克劳斯说，他的眼睑又飞快地扑闪了几次，“我父亲办公室里的一个女巫，珀茜她拿着文件走进家来要我父亲签名，他不在家，温奇领她入屋，然后去厨房找我，但珀茜·佐金斯听到温奇和我说话，她进来查看。她听到的话足以让她猜到是谁在和温奇说话，父亲回到家与她碰上面，他就用一道非常厉害的记忆符咒，让她忘记她所发现的。因为太厉害了，他说那符咒永久地破坏了她的记忆。” 
　　“为什么她来刺探我主人的私事？”温奇哭着说，“为什么她不让我们一直保持原状呢？” 
　　“告诉我有关快迪斯世界杯大赛的事。”丹伯多说。 
　　“是温奇跟父亲说起的。”克劳斯仍用那种单调的声音说，“她用了几个月的时间来劝他，她说我已经几年呆在家里了，我喜欢快迪斯。让他走，他会穿着隐身衣，让他出去呼吸一次新鲜空气，她说我母亲一定会同意她的，她对父亲说我母亲用生命换来我的自由的一生，而不是换来我仍被监禁的一生，他终于同意了。” 
　　“这被小心地安排好了，我父亲带我和温奇一早来到汤波斯，温奇说要为我父亲留个位置，其实是我隐身坐在那里，只有人人都离开了小隔间，我们才出来，温奇看起来独自一人，没有人知道真相。” 
　　“但是温奇不知道我变得强壮了，我开始与我父亲的英柏丽欧符咒斗争，好几次我几乎复原了，有几个短暂的时期我挣脱了他的控制，最后这事发生了，并且是在汤波斯，那种感觉像从一个熟睡的梦中醒来，在比赛进行到一半时，我发现自己暴露在大众里，而且我发现有根魔杖从我前面的一个男孩的袋中露出来，自从进入阿兹克班后，我就一直没能拥有一根魔杖了，于是我偷了它，温奇也不知道，温奇有恐高症，她一直捂住脸。” 
　　“内卜主人，你这个坏孩子。”温奇低声说，眼泪滴在她的手指上。 
　　“所以你拿到了魔杖。”丹伯多说，“那么你怎样使用它？” 
　　“我们回到帐篷里。”克劳斯继续说：“接着我们听见了他们发出的声音，那些食尸者们，那些从来没去过阿兹克班的东西。他们从未为我的主人受过苦，全部背叛了他。他们不再受奴役，他们可以自由地找他，但没有这么做，他们只是在玩马格人运动，那种声音吵醒了我，我的头脑比几年前更加清醒，那让我生气，我有魔杖了，决定攻击他们，因为他们背叛了主人！父亲已离开了帐篷，他去释放那些马格人，温奇见到我生气，她用自己的魔法将我与她连在一起，带我走出帐篷，走进森林，远离那些食尸者们。我想阻止她，想回到露营地去，我想教训那些食尸者们，让他们知道什么是对黑色公爵的忠心，我要惩罚他们的不是，我用那偷来的魔杖将黑色标记射人天空。 
　　“各部巫师都赶来了，他们向四面八方发射了昏迷咒，有一道咒穿过了我与温奇所在的森林，我们中间的连线被打断，两个人都昏过去了。” 
　　“当温奇被发现后，我父亲知道我一定在附近，他找遍了她曾待过的灌木丛，并发觉我躺在那里，但等其他的人都走出了森林，他才将我重新用英柏丽欧咒语咒住，并带我回家，他打发温奇走人，她令他差点败露，让我得到了一根魔杖，并且几乎让我逃跑了。” 
　　温奇发出一阵绝望的哭嚎声。 
　　“现在只剩下我和父亲独自在家了，然后，然后，”克劳斯的头摇了摇，他的脸上露出一阵狂喜，“我的主人找到了我。” 
　　“有晚深夜，他和他的仆人温太尔来到我家，我主人发觉我仍活着，他在阿尔巴尼亚俘虏了珀茜·佐金斯，并折磨她，她告诉主人很多事，告诉他有关三个魔法赛比赛的事，以及那个年老的莫迪，要在霍格瓦彻教书，他继续折磨她，以至于最终破掉了我父亲放在她身上的那道记忆符，她就告诉他我已从阿兹克班逃出了，并且被我父亲亲自押住不能去找他。因此我主人知道我仍是他忠心的仆人，甚至可能是最忠心的，按照珀茜给他的信息，我主人筹划了一个计划，他需要我帮忙，于是近半夜时他来到我家，父亲开了门。” 
　　克劳斯的脸上笑得更高兴了，仿佛回忆起一生中最甜蜜的时光。 
　　“很快，父亲被主人用英柏丽欧咒语咒住了，现在他被囚禁，被控制了，主人强迫他像平常一样干事情，就像什么事也没发生，当我被释放时，我醒过来了，我又成了自己，像几年前一样充满活力！” 
　　“那么公爵福尔得摩特让你去干什么呢？”丹伯多问。 
　　“他问我是否准备好为他做任何事，冒任何险，我总是说那是我的梦想，是我最大的抱负，为他服务，向他证明自己的能力，他告诉我他需要在霍格瓦彻安置一个忠实的仆人，他要引导波特通过三个魔法比赛，而不自己现身去做，他要监视着哈利·波特，保证他拿到金杯，并将金杯变成一把波奇，它能带第一个碰到它的人去主人那里，但首先要…… 
　　“你需要阿拉斯得。莫迪。”丹伯多说，他的蓝眼睛愤怒得要喷火，但他的声音仍保持平静。 
　　“温太尔和我一起做这事，我们事先准备好了多利药水，然后潜入莫迪房间，他抗争了一会儿，但我们及时将他制服，将他放进他自己魔法箱中的一个小房间里，剪下他几根头发并加到药水中，我喝下药水，变成莫迪的模样，又拿走他的木腿和魔眼，当亚瑟。 
　　威斯里赶来处理那些听到有动静的马格人时，我已准备好去找他，我把
Chapter 36 The Parting Of The Ways
Dumbledore stood up. He stared down at Barty Crouch for a moment with disgust on his face. Then he raised his wand once more and ropes flew out of it, ropes that twisted themselves around Barty Crouch, binding him tightly. He turned to Professor McGonagall. 
“Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard here while I take Harry upstairs?” 
“Of course,” said Professor McGonagall. She looked slightly nauseous, as though she had just watched someone being sick. However, when she drew out her wand and pointed it at Barty Crouch, her hand was quite steady. 
“Severus” - Dumbledore turned to Snape - “please tell Madam Pomfrey to come down here; we need to get Alastor Moody into the hospital wing. Then go down into the grounds, find Cornelius Fudge, and bring him up to this office. He will undoubtedly want to question Crouch himself. Tell him I will be in the hospital wing in half an hour's time if he needs me.” 
Snape nodded silently and swept out of the room. 
“Harry?” Dumbledore said gently. 
Harry got up and swayed again; the pain in his leg, which he had not noticed all the time he had been listening to Crouch, now returned in full measure. He also realized that he was shaking. Dumbledore gripped his arm and helped him out into the dark corridor. 
“I want you to come up to my office first. Harry,” he said quiedy as they headed up the passageway. “Sirius is waiting for us there.” 
Harry nodded. A kind of numbness and a sense of complete unreality were upon him, but he did not care; he was even glad of it. He didn't want to have to think about anything that had happened since he had first touched the Triwizard Cup. He didn't want to have to examine the memories, fresh and sharp as photographs, which kept flashing across his mind. Mad-Eye Moody, inside the trunk. Wormtail, slumped on the ground, cradling his stump of an arm. Voldemort, rising from the steaming cauldron. Cedric…dead…Cedric, asking to be returned to his parents.… 
“Professor,” Harry mumbled, “where are Mr. and Mrs. Diggory?” 
“They are with Professor Sprout,” said Dumbledore. His voice, which had been so calm throughout the interrogation of Barty Crouch, shook very slightly for the first time. “She was Head of Cedric's house, and knew him best.” 
They had reached the stone gargoyle. Dumbledore gave the password, it sprang aside, and he and Harry went up the moving spiral staircase to the oak door. Dumbledore pushed it open. Sirius was standing there. His face was white and gaunt as it had been when he had escaped Azkaban. In one swift moment, he had crossed the room. 
“Harry, are you all right? I knew it - I knew something like this - what happened?” 
His hands shook as he helped Harry into a chair in front of the desk. 
“What happened?” he asked more urgently. 
Dumbledore began to tell Sirius everything Barty Crouch had said. Harry was only half listening. So tired every bone in his body was aching, he wanted nothing more than to sit here, undisturbed, for hours and hours, until he fell asleep and didn't have to think or feel anymore. 
There was a soft rush of wings. Fawkes the phoenix had left his perch, flown across the office, and landed on Harry's knee. 
“'Lo, Fawkes,” said Harry quietly. He stroked the phoenix's beautiful scarlet-and-gold plumage. Fawkes blinked peacefully up at him. There was something comforting about his warm weight. 
Dumbledore stopped talking. He sat down opposite Harry, behind his desk. He was looking at Harry, who avoided his eyes. Dumbledore was going to question him. He was going to make Harry relive everything. 
“I need to know what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze. Harry,” said Dumbledore. 
“We can leave that till morning, can't we, Dumbledore?” said Sirius harshly. He had put a hand on Harry's shoulder. “Let him have a sleep. Let him rest.” 
Harry felt a rush of gratitude toward Sirius, but Dumbledore took no notice of Sirius's words. He leaned forward toward Harry. Very unwillingly, Harry raised his head and looked into those blue eyes. 
“If I thought I could help you,” Dumbledore said gently, “by putting you into an enchanted sleep and allowing you to postpone the moment when you would have to think about what has happened tonight, I would do it. But I know better. Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you. I ask you to demonstrate your courage one more time. I ask you to tell us what happened.” 
The phoenix let out one soft, quavering note. It shivered in the air, and Harry felt as though a drop of hot liquid had slipped down his throat into his stomach, warming him, and strengthening him. 
He took a deep breath and began to tell them. As he spoke, visions of everything that had passed that night seemed to rise before his eyes; he saw the sparkling surface of the potion that had revived Voldemort; he saw the Death Eaters Apparating between the graves around them; he saw Cedric's body, lying on the ground beside the cup. 
Once or twice, Sirius made a noise as though about to say something, his hand still tight on Harry's shoulder, but Dumbledore raised his hand to stop him, and Harry was glad of this, because it was easier to keep going now he had started. It was even a relief; he felt almost as though something poisonous were being extracted from him. It was costing him every bit of determination he had to keep talking, yet he sensed that once he had finished, he would feel better. 
When Harry told of Wormtail piercing his arm with the dagger, however, Sirius let out a vehement exclamation and Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry started. Dumbledore walked around the desk and told Harry to stretch out his arm. Harry showed them both the place where his robes were torn and the cut beneath them. 
“He said my blood would make him stronger than if he'd used someone else's,” Harry told Dumbledore. “He said the protection my - my mother left in me - he'd have it too. And he was right - he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.” 
For a fleeting instant, Harry thought he saw a gleam of something like triumph in Dumbledore's eyes. But next second. Harry was sure he had imagined it, for when Dumbledore had returned to his seat behind the desk, he looked as old and weary as Harry had ever seen him. 
“Very well,” he said, sitting down again. “Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier. Harry, continue, please.” 
Harry went on; he explained how Voldemort had emerged from the cauldron, and told them all he could remember of Voldemort's speech to the Death Eaters. Then he told how Voldemort had untied him, returned his wand to him, and prepared to duel. 
But when he reached the part where the golden beam of light had connected his and Voldemort's wands, he found his throat obstructed. He tried to keep talking, but the memories of what had come out of Voldemort's wand were flooding into his mind. He could see Cedric emerging, see the old man, Bertha Jorkins…his father…his mother… 
He was glad when Sirius broke the silence. 
“The wands connected?” he said, looking from Harry to Dumbledore. “Why?” 
Harry looked up at Dumbledore again, on whose face there was an arrested look. 
“Priori Incantatem,” he muttered. 
His eyes gazed into Harry's and it was almost as though an invisible beam of understanding shot between them. 
“The Reverse Spell effect?” said Sirius sharply. 
“Exactly,” said Dumbledore. “Harry's wand and Voldemort's wand share cores. Each of them contains a feather from the tail of the same phoenix. This phoenix, in fact,” he added, and he pointed at the scarlet-and-gold bird, perching peacefully on Harry's knee. 
“My wand's feather came from Fawkes?” Harry said, amazed. 
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “Mr. Ollivander wrote to tell me you had bought the second wand, the moment you left his shop four years ago.” 
“So what happens when a wand meets its brother?” said Sirius. 
“They will not work properly against each other,” said Dumbledore. “If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to do battle…a very rare effect will take place. One of the wands will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed - in reverse. The most recent first…and then those which preceded it.…” 
He looked interrogatively at Harry, and Harry nodded. 
“Which means,” said Dumbledore slowly, his eyes upon Harry's face, “that some form of Cedric must have reappeared.” 
Harry nodded again. 
“Diggory came back to life?” said Sirius sharply. 
“No spell can reawaken the dead,” said Dumbledore heavily. “All that would have happened is a kind of reverse echo. A shadow of the living Cedric would have emerged from the wand…am I correct, Harry?” 
“He spoke to me,” Harry said. He was suddenly shaking again. “The…the ghost Cedric, or whatever he was, spoke.” 
“An echo,” said Dumbledore, “which retained Cedric's appearance and character. I am guessing other such forms appeared…less recent victims of Voldemort's wand.…” 
“An old man,” Harry said, his throat still constricted. “Bertha Jorkins. And…” 
“Your parents?” said Dumbledore quietly. 
“Yes,” said Harry. 
Sirius's grip on Harry's shoulder was now so tight it was painful. 
“The last murders the wand performed,” said Dumbledore, nodding. “In reverse order. More would have appeared, of course, had you maintained the connection. Very well, Harry, these echoes, these shadows…what did they do?” 
Harry described how the figures that had emerged from the wand had prowled the edges of the golden web, how Voldemort had seemed to fear them, how the shadow of Harry's mother had told him what to do, how Cedric's had made its final request. 
At this point. Harry found he could not continue. He looked around at Sirius and saw that he had his face in his hands. 
Harry suddenly became aware that Fawkes had left his knee. The phoenix had fluttered to the floor. It was resting its beautiful head against Harry's injured leg, and thick, pearly tears were falling from its eyes onto the wound left by the spider. The pain vanished. The skin mended. His leg was repaired. 
“I will say it again,” said Dumbledore as the phoenix rose into the air and resettled itself upon the perch beside the door. “You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you tonight. Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it - and you have now given us all we have a right to expect. You will come with me to the hospital wing. I do not want you returning to the dormitory tonight. A Sleeping Potion, and some peace…Sirius, would you like to stay with him?” 
Sirius nodded and stood up. He transformed back into the great black dog and walked with Harry and Dumbledore out of the office, accompanying them down a flight of stairs to the hospital wing. 
When Dumbledore pushed open the door. Harry saw Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron, and Hermione grouped around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. They appeared to be demanding to know where Harry was and what had happened to him. All of them whipped around as Harry, Dumbledore, and the black dog entered, and Mrs. Weasley let out a kind of muffled scream. 
“Harry! Oh Harry!” 
She started to hurry toward him, but Dumbledore moved between them. 
“Molly,” he said, holding up a hand, “please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him,” he added, looking around at Ron, Hermione, and Bill too, “you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening.” 
Mrs. Weasley nodded. She was very white. She rounded on Ron, Hermione, and Bill as though they were being noisy, and hissed, “Did you hear? He needs quiet!” 
“Headmaster,” said Madam Pomfrey, staring at the great black dog that was Sirius, “may I ask what - ?” 
“This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,” said Dumbledore simply. “I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry - I will wait while you get into bed.” 
Harry felt an inexpressible sense of gratitude to Dumbledore for asking the others not to question him. It wasn't as though he didn't want them there; but the thought of explaining it all over again, the idea of reliving it one more time, was more than he could stand. 
“I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.” He left. 
As Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed, he caught sight of the real Moody lying motionless in a bed at the far end of the room. His wooden leg and magical eye were lying on the bedside table. 
“Is he okay?” Harry asked. 
“He'll be fine,” said Madam Pomfrey, giving Harry some pajamas and pulling screens around him. He took off his robes, pulled on the pajamas, and got into bed. Ron, Hermione, Bill, Mrs. Weasley, and the black dog came around the screen and settled themselves in chairs on either side of him. Ron and Hermione were looking at him almost cautiously, as though scared of him. 
“I'm all right,” he told them. “Just tired.” 
Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with tears as she smoothed his bed-covers unnecessarily. 
Madam Pomfrey, who had bustled off to her office, returned holding a small bottle of some purple potion and a goblet. 
“You'll need to drink all of this. Harry,” she said. “It's a potion for dreamless sleep.” 
Harry took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls. He felt himself becoming drowsy at once. Everything around him became hazy; the lamps around the hospital wing seemed to be winking at him in a friendly way through the screen around his bed; his body felt as though it was sinking deeper into the warmth of the feather matress. Before he could finish the potion, before he could say another word, his exhaustion had carried him off to sleep. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry woke up, so warm, so very sleepy, that he didn't open his eyes, wanting to drop off again. The room was still dimly lit; he was sure it was still nighttime and had a feeling that he couldn't have been asleep very long. 
Then he heard whispering around him. 
“They'll wake him if they don't shut up!” 
“What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?” 
Harry opened his eyes blearily. Someone had removed his glasses. He could see the fuzzy outlines of Mrs. Weasley and Bill close by. Mrs. Weasley was on her feet. 
“That's Fudge's voice,” she whispered. “And that's Minerva McGonagall's, isn't it? But what are they arguing about?” 
Now Harry could hear them too: people shouting and running toward the hospital wing. 
“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva -” Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly. 
“You should never have brought it inside the castle!” yelled Professor McGonagall. “When Dumbledore finds out -” 
Harry heard the hospital doors burst open. Unnoticed by any of the people around his bed, all of whom were staring at the door as Bill pulled back the screens, Harry sat up and put his glasses back on. 
Fudge came striding up the ward. Professors McGonagall and Snape were at his heels. 
“Where's Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded of Mrs. Weasley. 
“He's not here,” said Mrs. Weasley angrily. “This is a hospital wing. Minister, don't you think you'd do better to -” 
But the door opened, and Dumbledore came sweeping up the ward. 
“What has happened?” said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. “Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you - I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch -” 
“There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!” she shrieked. “The Minister has seen to that!” 
Harry had never seen Professor McGonagall lose control like this. There were angry blotches of color in her cheeks, and a hands were balled into fists; she was trembling with fury.- 
“When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events,” said Snape, in a low voice; he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch -” 
“I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!” McGonagall fumed. “I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but -” 
“My dear woman!” roared Fudge, who likewise looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him, “as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous -” 
But Professor McGonagall's voice drowned Fudge's. 
“The moment that - that thing entered the room,” she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, “it swooped down on Crouch and - and -” 
Harry felt a chill in his stomach as Professor McGonagall struggled to find words to describe what had happened. He did not need her to finish her sentence. He knew what the dementor must have done. It had administered its fatal kiss to Barty Crouch. It had sucked his soul out through his mouth. He was worse than dead. 
“By all accounts, he is no loss!” blustered Fudge. “It seems he has been responsible for several deaths'.” 
“But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore. He was staring hard at Fudge, as though seeing him plainly for the first time. “He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people.” 
“Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?” blustered Fudge. “He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!” 
“Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “Those peoples deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.” 
Fudge looked as though someone had just swung a heavy weight into his face. Dazed and blinking, he stared back at Dumbledore as if he couldn't quite believe what he had just heard. He began to sputter, still goggling at Dumbledore. 
“You-Know-Who…returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore…” 
“As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you,” said Dumbledore, “we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort - learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins - went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return.” 
“See here, Dumbledore,” said Fudge, and Harry was astonished to see a slight smile dawning on his face, “you - you can't seriously believe that You-Know-Who - back? Come now, come now…certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders - but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore…” 
“When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort,” said Dumbledore steadily. “He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.” 
Dumbledore glanced around at Harry and saw that he was awake, but shook his head and said, “I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight.” 
Fudge's curious smile lingered. He too glanced at Harry, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, “You are - er - prepared to take Harry's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?” 
There was a moment's silence, which was broken by Sirius growling. His hackles were raised, and he was baring his teeth at Fudge. 
“Certainly, I believe Harry,” said Dumbledore. His eyes were blazing now. “I heard Crouch's confession, and I heard Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.” 
Fudge still had that strange smile on his face. Once again, he glanced at Harry before answering. 
“You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who…well…” 
Fudge shot Harry another look, and Harry suddenly understood. 
“You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge,” he said quietly. 
Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill all jumped. None of them had realized that Harry was awake. 
Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face. 
“And if I have?” he said, looking at Dumbledore. “If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place -” 
“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” said Dumbledore coolly. 
“You admit that he has been having these pains, then?” said Fudge quickly. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly - hallucinations?” 
“Listen to me, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, taking a step toward Fudge, and once again, he seemed to radiate that indefinable sense of power that Harry had felt after Dumbledore had Stunned young Crouch. “Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.” 
Fudge had taken half a step back from Dumbledore, but he looked no less stubborn. 
“You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before.…” 
“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed again, but Mrs. Weasley forced him back. “I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy -” 
Snape made a sudden movement, but as Harry looked at him, Snape's eyes flew back to Fudge. 
“Malfoy was cleared!” said Fudge, visibly affronted. “A very old family - donations to excellent causes -” 
“Macnair!” Harry continued. 
“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!” 
“Avery - Nott - Crabbe - Goyle -” 
“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” said Fudge angrily. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heavens sake, Dumbledore - the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too - his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them - the boy can talk to snakes. Dumbledore, and you still think he's trustworthy?” 
“You fool!” Professor McGonagall cried. “Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!” 
“I see no evidence to the contrary!” shouted Fudge, now matching her anger, his face purpling. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!” 
Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had always thought of Fudge as a kindly figure, a little blustering, a little pompous, but essentially good-natured. But now a short, angry wizard stood before him, refusing, point-blank, to accept the prospect of disruption in his comfortable and ordered world - to believe that Voldemort could have risen. 
“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated. “If you accept that fact straightaway. Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors -” 
“Preposterous!” shouted Fudge again. “Remove the dementors? I'd be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!” 
“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!” said Dumbledore. “They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!” 
Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage. 
“The second step you must take - and at once,” Dumbledore pressed on, “is to send envoys to the giants.” 
“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. “What madness is this?” 
“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” said Dumbledore, “or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!” 
“You - you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants - people hate them, Dumbledore - end of my career -” 
“You are blinded,” said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, “by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any - and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now- take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act - and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!” 
“Insane,” whispered Fudge, still backing away. “Mad…” 
And then there was silence. Madam Pomfrey was standing frozen at the foot of Harry's bed, her hands over her mouth. Mrs.Weasley was still standing over Harry, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him from rising. Bill, Ron, and Hermione were staring at Fudge. 
“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, “we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I - I shall act as I see fit.” 
Dumbledore's voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand. 
“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, waving a threatening finger. “I've given you free rein, always. I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet. There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me -” 
“The only one against whom I intend to work,” said Dumbledore, “is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.” 
It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backward and forward on his small feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, “He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be…” 
Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled. 
“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.” 
Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said. He stared, apparently repelled by the ugly mark on Snape's arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, “I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.” 
He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at Harry's bed. 
“Your winnings,” he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Harry's bedside table. “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances…” 
He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around Harry's bed. 
“There is work to be done,” he said. “Molly…am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?” 
“Of course you can,” said Mrs. Weasley. She was white to the lips, but she looked resolute. “We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.” 
“Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” said Dumbledore. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius.” 
“I'll go to Dad,” said Bill, standing up. “I'll go now.” 
“Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry -” 
“Leave it to me,” said Bill. 
He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode quickly from the room. 
“Minerva,” said Dumbledore, turning to Professor McGonagall, “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also - if she will consent to come - Madame Maxime.” 
Professor McGonagall nodded and left without a word. 
“Poppy,” Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, “would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody's office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.” 
“Very - very well,” said Madam Pomfrey, looking startled, and she too left. 
Dumbledore made sure that the door was closed, and that Madam Pomfrey's footsteps had died away, before he spoke again. 
“And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius…if you could resume your usual form.” 
The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man. 
Mrs. Weasley screamed and leapt back from the bed. 
“Sirius Black!” she shrieked, pointing at him. 
“Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled. “It's okay!” 
Snape had not yelled or jumped backward, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror. 
“Him!” he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?” 
“He is here at my invitation,” said Dumbledore, looking between them, “as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.” 
Harry thought Dumbledore was asking for a near miracle. Sirius and Snape were eyeing each other with the utmost loathing. 
“I will settle, in the short term,” said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, “for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any us. 
Very slowly - but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing but ill - Sirius and Snape moved toward each other and shook hands. They let go extremely quickly. 
“That will do to be going on with,” said Dumbledore, stepping between them once more. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there.” 
“But -” said Harry. 
He wanted Sirius to stay. He did not want to have to say goodbye again so quickly. 
“You'll see me very soon. Harry,” said Sirius, turning to him. “I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don't you?” 
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah…of course I do.” 
Sirius grasped his hand briefly, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw. Then he was gone. 
“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…” 
“I am,” said Snape. 
He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely. 
“Then good luck,” said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius. 
It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again. 
“I must go downstairs,” he said finally. “I must see the Diggory's. Harry - take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later.” 
Harry slumped back against his pillows as Dumbledore disappeared. Hermione, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley were all looking at him. None of them spoke for a very long time. 
“You've got to take the rest of your potion. Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said at last. Her hand nudged the sack of gold on his bedside cabinet as she reached for the bottle and the goblet. “You have a good long sleep. Try and think about something else for a while…think about what you're going to buy with your winnings!” 
“I don't want that gold,” said Harry in an expressionless voice. “You have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn't have won it. It should've been Cedric's.” 
The thing against which he had been fighting on and off ever since he had come out of the maze was threatening to overpower him. He could feel a burning, prickling feeling in the inner corners of his eyes. He blinked and stared up at the ceiling. 
“It wasn't your fault. Harry,” Mrs. Weasley whispered. 
“I told him to take the cup with me,” said Harry. 
Now the burning feeling was in his throat too. He wished Ron would look away. 
Mrs. Weasley set the potion down on the bedside cabinet, bent down, and put her arms around Harry. He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her. His mother's face, his father's voice, the sight of Cedric, dead on the ground all started spinning in his head until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him. 
There was a loud slamming noise, and Mrs. Weasley and Harry broke apart. Hermione was standing by the window. She was holding something tight in her hand. 
“Sorry,” she whispered. 
“Your potion, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley quickly, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. 
Harry drank it in one gulp. The effect was instantaneous. Heavy, irresistible waves of dreamless sleep broke over him; he fell back onto his pillows and thought no more. 
丹伯多站了起来。他看了内卜。克劳斯一会儿，脸上带着厌恶的表情。然后他又举起了他的魔杖，从魔杖中甩出了一条绳子。这根绳子绕着内卜。克劳斯旋转，把他缠得结结实实的。 
　　他转向麦康娜教授，“米尼维，能否请你守在这儿？我带哈利上楼去。” 
　　“当然可以。”麦康娜教授说。她看起来似乎有点儿想吐，好像她刚刚看了有人生病一样。但是，当她拿出魔杖，把它指向内卜。 
　　克劳斯时，她的手却非常稳。 
　　“塞维罗斯，”丹伯多转向史纳皮，“请叫波姆弗雷夫人下到这里来。我们要把莫迪送到医院里。然后你再下去地下室，找到可尼斯，把他带到这办公室来。他肯定会想亲自质问克劳斯的。告诉他，如果他要找我的话，半个小时后我会在医院厢房里。 
　　史纳皮静静地点了点头，一阵风似地飞出了房间。 
　　“哈利。”丹伯多温和地说。 
　　哈利站了起来，又晃了一下，他在听克劳斯讲话时，一直都没有注意到腿上的疼痛，但是现在那种痛感又剧烈非常。他意识到自己在颤抖。丹伯多抓住他的手臂，扶着他走出到黑暗的走廊里。 
　　“哈利，你先上我办公室来吧，”他们走上通道时，他静静地说，“西里斯正在那儿等着我们呢。” 
　　哈利点了点头。他有一种麻木感和一种完全不在现实中的感觉，但他不在乎，他甚至为此而高兴。自从他接触了三巫师赛杯以来，他就不想去思考发生的任何事了。他不想去审视那些鲜活如相片的，不断掠过脑海的记忆：皮箱中的莫迪；跌落在地上，抱着一截残臂的温太尔；从滚滚蒸汽的大汽锅中升起来的福尔得摩特，塞德里克……死了……塞德里克，叫着要回到父母身边的…… 
　　“教授，”哈利喃喃地说，“迪格瑞夫妇在哪里？” 
　　“他们和史伯特教授在一起，”丹伯多说道。他的声音在整个审问内卜。克劳斯的过程中都很沉静，现在却第一次出现了小小的震动，“她是塞德里克房子的主人，也最熟悉塞德里克！” 
　　他们到了怪兽石滴水嘴那里。丹伯多给了密码，它就弹开了。 
　　他和哈利就由螺旋形的自动梯上到橡木门前。丹伯多推开那扇门。 
　　西里斯正站在那里，他那苍白的脸骨瘦如柴，就像他刚逃离阿兹克班一样。一会儿功夫，他就穿过了房间，“哈利，你好吗？我知道——我知道像这样的事——发生了什么事？” 
　　当他扶哈利到一张桌子前的凳子上时，他的手颤动了一下。 
　　“到底发生什么事了？”他更急切地问道。 
　　丹伯多开始把内卜。克劳斯说的每件事讲给西里斯听。哈利没有怎么注意听。他身上的每根骨头都又累又疼。他什么也不想要，只想安静地坐在这里，一直坐到他睡着，就什么也不用去想和去体会了。 
　　有一阵轻轻的扑翼声。那只凤凰达摩克已经离开了他的栖木，飞过来了办公室里，停在哈利膝盖上。 
　　“哈罗，达摩克。”哈利温和地说，他轻轻地抚摸着它那漂亮的猩红色和黄金色的羽毛。达摩克朝他平静地眨着眼睛。他那暖暖的身体令人感到很舒服。 
　　丹伯多不再说话了。他面对着哈利坐在桌子后面，他看着哈利，哈利却回避着他的眼睛。丹伯多想要询问他，他想让哈利重温发生过的事情。 
　　“哈利，我想知道你在迷宫里碰了波奇以后，发生了什么事？” 
　　丹伯多说道。 
　　“丹伯多，这可以留到明天早上再谈吧，好吗？”西里斯鲁莽地说。他的手搭在哈利的肩膀上，“让他睡一会儿，休息休息吧。” 
　　哈利心里对西里斯涌起一阵感激之情。但丹伯多没有在意西里斯的话。他向哈利靠过来，哈利很不情愿地抬起头，望着那蓝色的眼睛。 
　　“如果我觉得让你美美地睡上一觉，让你迟一点再考虑今晚发生了什么事，就帮得上你的话，我是会做的。”丹伯多和气地说，“但是我知道怎样更好。现在对痛苦暂时麻木，到你最终感受到时，会更加难受。你已经显示了我所能期待的最大的勇气，现在我要你再显现一次，我要你说出究竟发生了什么事。” 
　　那只凤凰发出了温软的、震颤的一声，这声音在空气中颤动了一下，哈利觉得好像一滴热热的液体从他喉咙里滑进了肚子里，温暖着他，激励着他。 
　　他深深地呼吸了一口气，开始讲述给他们听。他讲的时候，那天晚上发生的一幕幕好像在他眼前浮现了：他又看见了那使福尔得摩特复活的药剂的闪闪发光的表面，他又看见了在坟墓间出现的食尸者，他又看见了躺在地上靠在那金杯旁的塞德里克的尸体。 
　　有一两次，西里斯发了一些声音，好像想说些什么，他的手仍紧紧靠在哈利肩膀上，但丹伯多举手示意，打断了他。哈利感到高兴，因为他既然开始了，就比较容易接着讲。这甚至是一种信念：他似乎感到某些毒物正从他体中排出来。他花了决心和勇气来继续讲，但他仍能体会到，一旦他全部讲出来后，他会感觉好点的。 
　　当哈利说到温太尔用匕首割开他的手臂时，西里斯发出了一声尖叫。丹伯多腾的一下很快地站了起来，哈利都被惊动了。丹伯多绕过桌子，让哈利伸出手臂来。哈利指出他的袍子被撕开的地方，还有下面的伤口。 
　　“他说，用我的血会比用别人的让他更厉害，”哈利告诉丹伯多，“他说那保护——我妈留下给我的——他也有证明他是对的——他能不伤害自己而接触我，他摸了我的脸。” 
　　一霎那间，哈利觉得丹伯多的眼睛里闪过一种胜利的眼神。但接下来，他又觉得是自己想象的，因为当丹伯多回到桌子后面的位子上时，他看起来又跟以往看到的一样老而憔悴。 
　　“好的，”他又坐了下来，说道，“福尔得摩特克服了那特殊的药剂。哈利，接着讲。” 
　　哈利继续讲。他解释了福尔得摩特怎么样从那口大锅里冒了出来，告诉了他们他所能记起的福尔得摩特对那群食尸者说过的话，以及福尔得库特解开他的绳子，把魔杖还给了他，准备决斗。 
　　但当他说到一束金光把他和福尔得摩特的短杖连在一起了时，他发现喉咙被阻住了。他想接着讲，但关于福尔得摩特杖里出来的东西的记忆如潮水般充满了他的脑海：他看到了塞德里克，看到了那老头，珀茜·佐金斯……他母亲……他父亲…… 
　　他很高兴西里斯打破了沉默。 
　　“魔杖连在了一起？”他望望哈利和丹伯多，问道：“为什么？” 
　　哈利抬头看着丹伯多，此时他正有一副被吸引住的神情。 
　　“皮利。因可顿……”他喃喃说道。 
　　他盯着哈利，突然间他们俩人之间闪过了领悟的一个灵光。 
　　“颠倒的咒语效力？”西里斯尖锐地说。 
　　“对极了！”丹伯多说，“哈利的魔杖和福尔得摩特的都有相同的中心，每支魔杖都有来自同一个凤凰尾巴的一根羽毛。这个凤凰，实际上……”他又说，指着那平稳地站在哈利膝盖上的红黄色的鸟。 
　　“我的魔杖的羽毛是达摩克的？”哈利惊奇地说。 
　　“对，”丹伯多说，“欧里迈特先生写信告诉我说，四年前你离开他的商店的时候，又买了第二根杖。” 
　　“那当一根杖碰到他兄弟时会发生什么？”西里斯问道。 
　　“他们之间就不能正常发挥作用了。”丹伯多说，“但是，如果魔杖主人强迫它们斗争的话，就会发生很小的效力。” 
　　“其中一个魔杖会强迫另外一个重复它所使用过的咒语——颠倒它。最近的变成最远的……然后就是之前的那些。” 
　　他审视着哈利，哈利点了点头。 
　　“这意味着，”丹伯多缓缓说道，他盯着哈利的脸，“某种形式的塞德里克肯定会重新出现。” 
　　哈利又点了点头。 
　　“迪格瑞又复活了？”西里斯用尖尖的声音说道。 
　　“没有什么咒语能使死人苏醒，”丹伯多沉重地说。“那所有发生的事只是一种逆转的反应。活着的塞德里克的阴影会从魔杖里出来。我说的对吗？哈利。” 
　　“他跟我说话了，”哈利说着，声音又颤抖了。“塞德里克的鬼魂，或者不管他是什么和我说过话。” 
　　“一种回响。”丹伯多说，“它保留着塞德里克容貌和特性。我猜其他这样形式的东西也出现了……福尔得摩特魔杖早前的受害者”一个老头，“哈利说，喉咙仍噎着，”珀茜·佐金斯和……“ 
　　“你父母？”丹伯多静静地说。 
　　“对。”哈利说。 
　　西里斯把哈利的肩膀抓得那么紧，都让哈利觉得疼了。 
　　“魔杖最早的受害者，”丹伯多边说边点头，“从相反的顺序。 
　　当然，如果你保持那种联系的话，就会有更多事物出现了。很好，哈利，这些反应，这些影子……他们干了什么？“ 
　　哈利描述了从魔杖里出来的人物怎样在金色大网里徘徊，福尔得摩特似乎是十分害怕他们，哈利父亲的影子告诉他怎样做，塞德里克怎样做出最后的请求。 
　　讲到这，哈利发觉讲不下去了。他看了看西里斯，他用手捂住了脸。 
　　突然哈利意识到凤凰离开了他的膝盖。它振动翅膀，飞到了地板上，把那美丽的头栖息在哈利受伤的腿上。大大的泪珠从它眼睛里滚落在哈利身上被蜘蛛弄伤的伤口上。疼痛逐渐消失了，皮肤愈合了，他的腿变好了。 
　　“我再说一次，”丹伯多说道，这时凤凰飞上了空中，停在门边的栖木上，“今晚你显示了我所能希望的最大的勇气。哈利，你的勇气跟那些不畏福尔得摩特的淫威，英勇斗争而死的人的勇气一样。你已经挑起了一个巫师的重担，而且你能胜任。你给我们希望。今晚你跟我一起去医院厢房。我不想让你又回到宿舍去，吃上一些安眠药，静静地躺着……西里斯，你愿意同他呆在一起吗？” 
　　西里斯点点头，站了起来。他又变回了那只大黑狗的模样，同哈利和丹伯多走出了办公室，陪着他们走下楼梯，来到医院厢房里。 
　　丹伯多推开门时，哈利看见威斯里夫人、比尔、罗恩和荷米恩围着神清苦恼的波姆弗雷夫人，他们好像在要求知道哈利的去向和在他身上所发生的事。 
　　哈利，丹伯多和大黑狗一进来，他们就马上走了过来包围住。 
　　威斯里夫人发出呜咽的一声叫声，“哈利，哦，哈利。” 
　　她开始奔过来，但丹伯多挡在他俩中间。 
　　“摩莉，”他举起手，说道：“请听我说一会儿。今晚哈利经受了一场可怕的考验，他刚刚为我重述了一切。现在他所需要的就是安静地休息。如果他愿意你们陪着他，”他看着罗恩、荷米恩和比尔，又说，“你们就可以和他呆在一起。但我希望直到他准备好回答，你们才好问他，当然不能是今晚。” 
　　威斯里夫人脸色苍白地点了点头。 
　　她突然责备起罗恩、荷米恩和比尔来，好像他们在吵闹一样，“听见没有？他需要安静。” 
　　“校长，”波姆弗雷夫人说道，她看着西里斯变成的大黑狗，“我想请求——” 
　　“这只狗会和哈利呆一会儿，”丹伯多直截了当地说，“我保证，他训练有素。哈利，我会等到你上床休息。” 
　　哈利对于丹伯多让别人别问他，心里对他油然而生一种感激之情。他不是不想他们在这里，但他实在承受不了再重新解释一遍，重温一遍。 
　　“我一见到法治，就会回来看你的，哈利，”丹伯多说道，“你在这里待到明天，直到我同学校谈过以后。”然后他走了。 
　　当波姆弗雷夫人领哈利到附近的一张床时，他看到了真正的莫迪正一动不动地躺在房间的另一头的床上。他的木腿和魔眼正放在床边柜台上。 
　　“他好吗？”哈利问道。 
　　“他会好的，”波姆弗雷夫人说道。她拿了睡衣给哈利，又在他周围拉起了床帘。哈利脱下袍子，换上睡衣，上了床。罗恩、荷米恩、比尔，威斯里夫人和黑狗围在床帘边，分别坐在了他四边的椅子上。罗恩、荷米恩好像害怕他一样，小心翼翼地看着他。 
　　“我很好，”哈利告诉他们，“就是有点累。” 
　　当威斯里夫人在抚平他的床罩时，眼睛噙满了泪水。 
　　波姆弗雷夫人匆匆地走到她办公室，带来了一个高脚酒杯和一小瓶紫色药剂。 
　　“哈利，你要喝下这些，”她说，“这是一种保证睡眠不做梦的药。” 
　　哈利接过酒杯，喝了几口。立刻他觉得晕晕乎乎的、周围的一切都变得模糊起来，房间里的灯好像透过他的床帘在他的床边友好地眨着眼睛，他的身体好像在暖暖的羽绒床垫中陷得更深了。他还没喝完那药，还没来得及说话，疲惫就将他带进了梦乡。 
　　哈利醒来了。那温暖和疲倦使他睁不开眼睛，他又想睡下去。 
　　房间里仍然很昏暗，这让他以为夜晚还没过去，他睡得不是很久。 
　　这时他听到了旁边的低声轻语。 
　　“如果不关门的话，他们会吵醒他的。” 
　　“他们在叫什么？肯定没有别的什么事发生了，对不对？” 
　　哈利张开了眼睛，他的眼睛累得生疼。有人拿开了他的眼镜，他只能看到近旁威斯里夫人和比尔模糊的轮廓。威斯里夫人正蹲着。 
　　“那是法治的声音，”她咕哝着，“还有，麦康娜的，是不是？ 
　　他们究竟在争执些什么呢？“ 
　　哈利可以听清了，有人在边吵边走向医院厢房。 
　　“让人遗憾，但仍然，麦康娜——”可尼里斯。法治大声说道。 
　　“你本来就不应该把它带进城堡里。”麦康娜教授叫道，“丹伯多发现时——” 
　　哈利听见医院的门被撞开了。比尔重打开了布帘，所有其他床边的人，都看着那门，他们没有注意到哈利坐了起来，戴上了眼镜。 
　　法治大步流星地走进病房。麦康娜和史纳皮紧跟其后。 
　　“丹伯多在哪儿？”法治问威斯里夫人。 
　　“他不在这儿，”威斯里夫人生气地说，“这是个病房，先生，你难道不觉得你最好——” 
　　但此时门开了，丹伯多飞快地走进病房。 
　　“发生了什么事？”丹伯多看看法治和麦康娜说，“你们为什么打扰这些人？米尼维，我感到很惊讶——我叫你守着内卜。克劳斯”没有必要再守着他了，丹伯多，“她尖声说道，”这先生已找人照料他了。“ 
　　哈利从来没有看过麦康娜教授像现在这样失去控制，她脸颊上现出愤怒的颜色，她的手成拳头，她愤怒得在颤抖。 
　　“当我们告诉法治先生我们已抓住了导致今晚事件的食尸者时，”史纳皮低沉地说道，“他似乎觉得其个人安全成了问题。他坚持唤进一个得蒙特陪他进城堡。他把它带到内卜。克劳斯所在的办公室。” 
　　“我告诉过他您是不会同意的，丹伯多，”麦康娜教授愤怒地吼道，“我告诉他您是决不会允许得蒙特们踏进城堡一步，但是——” 
　　“我尊敬的女士！”法治吼道，哈利同样也没看过他这样愤怒，“作为魔法大臣，我有权决定是否随身带保镖，当我访问一个很可能是危险的——” 
　　但麦康娜教授的声音盖过了法治的。 
　　“那东西一进房间的那一刻，”她尖叫道，浑身发抖地指着法治，“它猛扑上克劳斯，就——” 
　　哈利肚子里感到一阵阴冷，当麦康娜教授拼命地想法形容发生的事的时候。他就明白了。得蒙特干了什么——它给了巴地克劳斯致命的一吻，它通过嘴把克劳斯的灵魂吸了出来——这比死还更糟糕。 
　　“但无论如何，他仍完好无缺，”法治大叫大嚷道，“他应该是对这几个死亡的人负责的。” 
　　“但他说不出证言了，可尼斯。”丹伯多说道。他狠狠地盯着法治，好像这是第一次看到他一样。“他给不出证据为什么会杀死那些人。” 
　　“为什么会杀死他们？那毫无疑问，对不对？”法治嚷道，“他是个大疯子！从麦康娜和赛维罗斯告诉我的看来，他似乎认为他做这些，是遵从——‘那个人’的旨意。” 
　　“公爵福尔得摩特是指令他，可尼斯。”丹伯多说道，“那些人的死只不过是为使福尔得摩特恢复完整力量的，那计划已经成功了，福尔得摩特已经回到了他们身体里。” 
　　法治就好像是脸上被重重地打了一拳一样，呆呆地看着。他迷迷糊糊地眨了眨眼睛，又看看丹伯多，好像不敢相信方才听到的一切。 
　　他盯着丹伯多，开始急促地乱说，“‘那个人……回来了？荒谬。丹伯多，好了……” 
　　“无疑就像米尼维和赛维罗斯告诉你一样，”丹伯多说道，“我们听到内卜。克劳斯供认了。在福尔得摩特的影响下，他告诉我们他是怎样挣扎从阿兹克班出来的，福尔得摩特在从珀茜·佐金斯处知道他仍活着——就从他父亲那里把他释放了出来，并利用他来抓获了哈利，告诉你，那计划生效了，克劳斯帮了福尔得摩特返回来了。” 
　　“注意，丹伯多，”法治说道。哈利吃惊地发现在他脸上出现了一丝明亮的笑容。“你——你不能真的信那些话，你知道谁回来了？ 
　　好了好了……当然，克劳斯可能相信他自己是接‘那个人’的指令行动的——但要把那样一个疯子的话当真，丹伯多……“ 
　　“当哈利今晚碰了那三人魔法杯时，他被直接送到福尔得摩特手里，”丹伯多平稳地说，“他亲眼看到福尔得摩特的再生，如果你跟我来我的办公室的话，我会把一切解释给你听的。” 
　　丹伯多瞥了哈利一眼，看到他已经醒了。丹伯多摇了摇头，说道，“恐怕今晚我不能让你问哈利了。” 
　　法治那奇怪的笑僵住了。 
　　他也瞥了哈利一眼，又看了看丹伯多，说，“你准备把哈利的话当真？” 
　　接下来是一片寂静，西里斯的汪汪声打破了这寂静。他竖起了颈上的毛，朝法治毗牙咧嘴。 
　　“我当然相信哈利，”丹伯多目光炯炯地说道。“我听了克劳斯的供认，听了哈利关于他碰了三巫师赛奖杯以后发生的事的描述。 
　　两者都会合情合理地解释了在去年夏天珀茜·佐金斯失踪以后所发生的事。“ 
　　法治仍带着那奇怪的笑容。在回答之前，他再一次望了哈利一眼，“你要相信那疯狂的杀手和一个小孩的话，说什么公爵福尔得摩特回来了？唉……” 
　　法治又瞪了哈利一眼，哈利刹那间明白了。 
　　“你读过理特。史姬特的报导，法治先生。”他静静地说。 
　　罗恩、荷米恩，威斯里夫人和比尔都跳了起来。他们都不知道哈利已经醒了。 
　　法治稍微红了脸，但脸上浮现了一种倔强顽固的神情。 
　　“是又怎么样？”他看着丹伯多，说道，“如果我发现你对某些有关这小孩的事情保密着？一个普塞尔摩斯，嗯？老是在表演滑稽戏？——”“我肯定你是指哈利由于伤痕而经受的痛苦？”丹伯多冷冷地说。 
　　“你承认了他的疼痛了？”法治很快地说，“是头痛吗？是恶梦？ 
　　又可能是——‘幻觉’？“ 
　　“听我说，可尼斯，”丹伯多说道。他向着法治走前一步，又一次发出一种不可名状的力量，“哈利就如同你我一样有理智，他前额上的伤疤并没有使他头脑混乱不清。我相信在福尔得摩特在他近旁，一副凶杀相时，曾经伤害过他。” 
　　法治退后了半步，但仍然那么执拗，“你要原谅我，丹伯多，但我以前曾听说过作为一种警铃的被诅咒的伤痕……” 
　　“我是看到福尔得摩特回来了，”哈利叫道。他又想跳下床来，但被威斯里夫人拦住了。“我看到了那些食尸者！我可以说出他们的名字，露布斯。马尔夫——” 
　　史纳皮突然动了一下，但当哈利看他时，他的眼睛飞快地扫了法治一眼。 
　　“马尔夫已经被排除了，”法治明显被冒犯了，他说道，“那是一个老家族，为优秀的事业而贡献——” 
　　“麦那亚。”哈利继续说。 
　　“也被排除了！现在正为部长工作。” 
　　“——克来伯——高尔。” 
　　“你只是在重复那些十三年前就被宣布不是食尸者的人的名字！”法治生气地说，“你可以在审判的旧记录里找到那些名字。看在上帝份上，丹伯多——这男孩子在去年底也是充满了那些古怪的故事——他的故事越编越大，你却照信不误——这男孩会对蛇说话呀，丹伯多，还觉得他可信吗？” 
　　“你这个笨蛋，”麦康娜喊道，“塞德里克。迪格瑞以及克劳斯先生这些人的死决不是一个疯子的随意所为。” 
　　“我也看不出是有计谋的！”法治喊道，跟她的愤怒相对的，是他气得发紫的脸，“对我来说，你们都决心挑起一阵恐慌，来破坏我们过去十三年营造的稳定！” 
　　哈利不能相信所听到的。他一直都觉得法治是个善良的人，有点胡说八道，有点夸夸其谈，但本质上是好的，但现在站在面前的是一个胆小、怒气冲冲的巫师，他直率地拒绝接受在他舒适而井然有序的世界里所出现的破坏——不相信福尔得摩特能复活。 
　　“福尔得摩特回来了。”丹伯多重复说，“如果你立刻接受这事实，并采取必要的措施，我们仍可能挽救局势，最初和最首要的步骤是使阿兹克班脱离得蒙特的控制。” 
　　“荒唐！”法治又叫道，“调开得蒙特！我一提这建议，就会被踢出这职位！我们知道有得蒙特守护在阿兹克班有一半人才会在夜里睡得安稳。” 
　　“其余的人睡得没那么踏实，可尼斯，如果知道你把福尔得摩特最危险的支持者放在一群——他召唤即会响应的动物手中。”丹伯多说道，“他们不会再对您忠诚，法治！福尔得摩特可以给他们提供更大的权力、更多的快乐！只要在他身后有得蒙特，有回来的老的支持者，你会很难阻止他恢复十三年前的那种力量。” 
　　法治的嘴一张一合，好像他的怒气难以用言语形容。 
　　“你必须采取的第一步——马上，”丹伯多继续说，“就是向巨人们派使者。” 
　　“向巨人们派使者？”法治尖叫道，仿佛大有话说了，“这是什么疯狂的主意？” 
　　“向他们伸出友谊之手，在还不是太迟之前，”丹伯多说，“否则的话，福尔得摩特会像以前一样说服他们，说他一个巫师就能给人们权力和自由。” 
　　“你——你不是说真的吧！”法治喘着气说。他摇了摇头，又向丹伯多退后了，“如果整个魔法团体中传开了我接近那些巨人们……人们恨他们，丹伯多——那就会结束了我的事业。” 
　　“你瞎了眼了，”丹伯多说道，他提高了声音，他周围有一种明显的有力量的氛围。他又闪了一下眼睛，“你被对你职权的热爱蒙住眼了，可尼斯！你总是像以往那样，太过重视所谓的纯种的血。 
　　你不能看出关键的不是出生的是什么人，而是他们将长成什么人。 
　　你的得蒙特刚刚破坏了最后一个纯种血缘的家族的最后存留的一个成员——看看那人将怎样塑造他的生命。我现在告诉你——按我刚才建议的步骤做，你就会在职位内外被誉为我们所知道的最勇敢和最伟大的魔法大师。不按着做的话，历史就会记住是你偏离了正道，给予福尔得库特第二次机会摧毁我们努力创建的世界。“ 
　　“不清醒，”法治咕咬着，更加退后了，“疯狂。” 
　　一片寂静。波姆弗雷夫人正一动不动地站在哈利床脚边，手捂着嘴。威斯里夫人对着哈利站着，手搭在他肩上不让他起来。比尔、罗恩和荷术恩正盯着法治。 
　　“如果你决意蒙住双眼，可尼斯，”丹伯多说，“那我们只有分道扬镳了。你走你的独木桥，我走我的阳关道。” 
　　丹伯多声音里丝毫不带威胁，但却使法治怒发冲冠，好像丹伯多正拿着魔杖向他走来一样。 
　　“看这，丹伯多，”他挥着指头威胁说道，“我总是给你自主权。 
　　我很尊敬
Chapter 37 The Beginning
When he looked back, even a month later, Harry found he had only scattered memories of the next few days. It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more. The recollections he did have were very painful. The worst, perhaps, was the meeting with the Diggory's that took place the following morning. 
They did not blame him for what had happened; on the contrary, both thanked him for returning Cedric's body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs. Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears. 
“He suffered very little then,” she said, when Harry had told her how Cedric had died. “And after all, Amos…he died just when he'd won the tournament. He must have been happy.” 
When they got to their feet, she looked down at Harry and said, “You look after yourself, now.” 
Harry seized the sack of gold on the bedside table. 
“You take this,” he muttered to her. “It should've been Cedric's, he got there first, you take it -” 
But she backed away from him. 
“Oh no, it's yours, dear, I couldn't…you keep it.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower the following evening. From what Hermione and Ron told him, Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast. He had merely requested that they leave Harry alone, that nobody ask him questions or badger him to tell the story of what had happened in the maze. Most people, he noticed, were skirting him in the corridors, avoiding his eyes. Some whispered behind their hands as he passed. He guessed that many of them had believed Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous he was. Perhaps they were formulating their own theories about how Cedric had died. He found he didn't care very much. He liked it best when he was with Ron and Hermione and they were talking about other things, or else letting him sit in silence while they played chess. He felt as though all three of them had reached an understanding they didn't need to put into words; that each was waiting for some sign, some word, of what was going on outside Hogwarts - and that it was useless to speculate about what might be coming until they knew anything for certain. The only time they touched upon the subject was when Ron told Harry about a meeting Mrs. Weasley had had with Dumbledore before going home. 
“She went to ask him if you could come straight to us this summer,” he said. “But he wants you to go back to the Dursleys, at least at first.” 
“Why?” said Harry. 
“She said Dumbledore's got his reasons,” said Ron, shaking his head darkly. “I suppose we've got to trust him, haven't we?” 
The only person apart from Ron and Hermione that Harry felt able to talk to was Hagrid. As there was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they had those lessons free. They used the one on Thursday afternoon to go down and visit Hagrid in his cabin. It was a bright and sunny day; Fang bounded out of the open door as they approached, barking and wagging his tail madly. 
“Who's that?” called Hagrid, coming to the door. “Harry!” 
He strode out to meet them, pulled Harry into a one-armed hug, ruffled his hair, and said, “Good ter see yeh, mate. Good ter see yeh.” 
They saw two bucket-size cups and saucers on the wooden table in front of the fireplace when they entered Hagrid's cabin. 
“Bin havin’ a cuppa with Olympe,” Hagrid said. “She's jus’ left.” 
“Who?” said Ron curiously. 
“Madame Maxime, o’ course!” said Hagrid. 
“You two made up, have you?” said Ron. 
“Dunno what yeh're talkin’ about,” said Hagrid airily, fetching more cups from the dresser. When he had made tea and offered around a plate of doughy cookies, he leaned back in his chair and surveyed Harry closely through his beetle-black eyes. 
“You all righ'?” he said gruffly 
“Yeah,” said Harry. 
“No, yeh're not,” said Hagrid. “Course yeh're not. But yeh will be.” 
Harry said nothing. 
“Knew he was goin’ ter come back,” said Hagrid, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up at him, shocked. “Known it fer years. Harry. Knew he was out there, bidin’ his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an’ we'll jus’ have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh’ be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's Dumbledores plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. ‘S long as we've got him, I'm not too worried.” 
Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows at the disbelieving expressions on their faces. 
“No good sittin’ worryin’ abou’ it,” he said. “What's comin’ will come, an we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha’ you did. Harry.” 
Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry. 
“Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an’ I can’ give yeh no higher praise than that.” 
Harry smiled back at him. It was the first time he'd smiled in days. “What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?” he asked. “He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him - that night.” 
“Got a little job fer me over the summer,” said Hagrid. “Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk abou’ it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe - Madame Maxime ter you - might be comin’ with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded.” 
“Is it to do with Voldemort?” 
Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name. 
“Migh’ be,” he said evasively. “Now…who'd like ter come an’ visit the las’ skrewt with me? I was jokin’ - jokin'!” he added hastily, seeing the looks on their faces. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
It was with a heavy heart that Harry packed his trunk up in the dormitory on the night before his return to Privet Drive. He was dreading the Leaving Feast, which was usually a cause for celebration, when the winner of the Inter-House Championship would be announced. He had avoided being in the Great Hall when it was full ever since he had left the hospital wing, preferring to eat when it was nearly empty to avoid the stares of his fellow students. 
When he, Ron, and Hermione entered the Hall, they saw at once that the usual decorations were missing. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House's colors for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers’ table. Harry knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect to Cedric. 
The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. Harry couldn't blame him; Moody's fear of attack was bound to have been increased by his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk. Professor Karkaroff's chair was empty. Harry wondered, as he sat down with the other Gryffindors, where Karkaroff was now, and whether Voldemort had caught up with him. 
Madame Maxime was still there. She was sitting next to Hagrid. They were talking quietly together. Further along the table, sitting next to Professor McGonagall, was Snape. His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment as Harry looked at him. His expression was difficult to read. He looked as sour and unpleasant as ever. Harry continued to watch him, long after Snape had looked away. 
What was it that Snape had done on Dumbledores orders, the night that Voldemort had returned? And why…why…was Dumbledore so convinced that Snape was truly on their side? He had been their spy, Dumbledore had said so in the Pensieve. Snape had turned spy against Voldemort, “at great personal risk.” Was that the job he had taken up again? Had he made contact with the Death Eaters, perhaps? Pretended that he had never really gone over to Dumbledore, that he had been, like Voldemort himself, biding his time? 
Harry's musings were ended by Professor Dumbledore, who stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less noisy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet. 
“The end,” said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, “of another year.” 
He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall. 
“There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight,” said Dumbledore, “but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here,” he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, “enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory.” 
They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, “Cedric Diggory.” 
Harry caught a glimpse of Cho through the crowd. There were tears pouring silently down her face. He looked down at the table as they all sat down again. 
“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house,” Dumbledore continued. “He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about.” 
Harry raised his head and stared at Dumbledore. 
“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.” 
A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence. 
“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so - either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.” 
Stunned and frightened, every face in the Hall was turned toward Dumbledore now…or almost every face. Over at the Slytherin table. Harry saw Draco Malfoy muttering something to Crabbe and Goyle. Harry felt a hot, sick swoop of anger in his stomach. He forced himself to look back at Dumbledore. 
“There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter.” 
A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall as a few heads turned in Harry's direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore. 
“Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “He risked his own life to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him.” 
Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. They murmured his name, as they had murmured Cedric's, and drank to him. But through a gap in the standing figures. Harry saw that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and many of the other Slytherins had remained defiantly in their seats, their goblets untouched. Dumbledore, who after all possessed no magical eye, did not see them. 
When everyone had once again resumed their seats, Dumbledore continued, “The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened - of Lord Voldemort's return - such ties are more important than ever before.” 
Dumbledore looked from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs at the Slytherin table. Krum, Harry saw, looked wary, almost frightened, as though he expected Dumbledore to say something harsh. 
“Every guest in this Hall,” said Dumbledore, and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, “will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again - in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open. 
“It is my belief- and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken - that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst. 
“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.” 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
Harry's trunk was packed; Hedwig was back in her cage on top of it. He, Ron, and Hermione were waiting in the crowded entrance hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. It was another beautiful summer's day. He supposed that Privet Drive would be hot and leafy, its flower beds a riot of color, when he arrived there that evening. The thought gave him no pleasure at all. 
“'Arry!” 
He looked around. Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, far across the grounds. Harry could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime to back two of the giant horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage was about to take off. 
“We will see each uzzer again, I ‘ope,” said Fleur as she reached him, holding out her hand. “I am ‘oping to get a job ‘ere, to improve my Eenglish.” 
“It's very good already,” said Ron in a strangled sort of voice. Fleur smiled at him; Hermione scowled. 
“Good-bye, ‘Arry,” said Fleur, turning to go. “It ‘az been a pleasure meeting you!” 
Harry's spirits couldn't help but lift slightly as he watched Fleur hurry back across the lawns to Madame Maxime, her silvery hair rippling in the sunlight. 
Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back,” said Ron. “D’ you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?” 
“Karkaroff did not steer,” said a gruff voice. “He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork.” 
Krum had come to say good-bye to Hermione. “Could I have a vord?” he asked her. 
“Oh…yes…all right,” said Hermione, looking slightly flustered, and following Krum through the crowd and out of sight. 
“You'd better hurry up!” Ron called loudly after her. “The carriages'll be here in a minute!” 
He let Harry keep a watch for the carriages, however, and spent the next few minutes craning his neck over the crowd to try and see what Krum and Hermione might be up to. They returned quite soon. Ron stared at Hermione, but her face was quite impassive. 
“I liked Diggory,” said Krum abruptly to Harry. “He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang - with Karkaroff,” he added, scowling. 
“Have you got a new headmaster yet?” said Harry 
Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry's hand, and then Ron's. Ron looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Ron burst out, “Can I have your autograph?” 
Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron. 
　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　*　　　　　* 
The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King's Cross than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had managed to get a compartment to themselves. Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him from hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked more fully and freely than they had all week as the train sped them southward. Harry felt as though Dumbledore's speech at the Leaving Feast had unblocked him, somehow. It was less painful to discuss what had happened now. They broke off their conversation about what action Dumbledore might be taking, even now, to stop Voldemort only when the lunch trolley arrived. 
When Hermione returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she dislodged a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had been carrying in there. Harry looked at it, unsure whether he really wanted to know what it might say, but Hermione, seeing him looking at it, said calmly, “There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me. Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet.” 
“He'll never keep Rita quiet,” said Harry. “Not on a story like this.” 
“Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task,” said Hermione in an oddly constrained voice. “As a matter of fact,” she added, her voice now trembling slightly, “Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her.” 
“What are you talking about?” said Ron. 
“I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds,” said Hermione in a rush. 
Harry had the impression that Hermione had been dying to tell them this for days, but that she had restrained herself in light of everything else that had happened. 
“How was she doing it?” said Harry at once. 
“How did you find out?” said Ron, staring at her. 
“Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea. Harry,” she said. 
“Did I?” said Harry, perplexed. “How?” 
“Bugging,” said Hermione happily. 
“But you said they didn't work -” 
“Oh not electronic bugs,” said Hermione. “No, you see…Rita Skeeter” - Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph - “is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn -” 
Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out other bag. 
“- into a beetle.” 
“You're kidding,” said Ron. “You haven't…she's not…” 
“Oh yes she is,” said Hermione happily, brandishing the jar at them. 
Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle. 
“That's never - you're kidding -” Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes. 
“No, I'm not,” said Hermione, beaming. “I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears.” 
Harry looked and saw that she was quite right. He also remembered something. 
“There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!” 
“Exactly,” said Hermione. “And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year.” 
“When we saw Malfoy under that tree…” said Ron slowly. 
“He was talking to her, in his hand,” said Hermione. “He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid.” 
Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. 
“I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London,” said Hermione. “I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” 
Smiling serenely, Hermione placed the beetle back inside her schoolbag. 
The door of the compartment slid open. 
“Very clever. Granger,” said Draco Malfoy. 
Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him. All three of them looked more pleased with themselves, more arrogant and more menacing, than Harry had ever seen them. 
“So,” said Malfoy slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. “You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favorite boy again. Big deal.” 
His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered. 
“Trying not to think about it, are we?” said Malfoy softly, looking around at all three of them. “Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?” 
“Get out,” said Harry. 
He had not been this close to Malfoy since he had watched him muttering to Crabbe and Goyle during Dumbledores speech about Cedric. He could feel a kind of ringing in his ears. His hand gripped his wand under his robes. 
“You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!” He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. “Too late now. Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well - second - Diggory was the f-” 
It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor. 
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. He, Ron, and Hermione were on their feet, all three of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so. 
“Thought we'd see what those three were up to,” said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside. 
“Interesting effect,” said George, looking down at Crabbe. “Who used the Furnunculus Curse?” 
“Me,” said Harry. 
“Odd,” said George lightly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor.” 
Ron, Harry, and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle - each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit - out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut. 
“Exploding Snap, anyone?” said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards. 
They were halfway through their fifth game when Harry decided to ask them. 
“You going to tell us, then?” he said to George. “Who you were blackmailing?” 
“Oh,” said George darkly. “That.” 
“It doesn't matter,” said Fred, shaking his head impatiently. “It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway.” 
“We've given up,” said George, shrugging. 
But Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept on asking, and finally, Fred said, “All right, all right, if you really want to know…it was Ludo Bagman.” 
“Bagman?” said Harry sharply. “Are you saying he was involved in -” 
“Nah,” said George gloomily. “Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn't have the brains.” 
“Well, what, then?” said Ron. 
Fred hesitated, then said, “You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?” 
“Yeah,” said Harry and Ron slowly. 
“Well, the git paid us in leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots.” 
“So?” 
“So,” said Fred impatiently, “it vanished, didn't it? By next morning, it had gone!” 
“But - it must've been an accident, mustn't it?” said Hermione. 
George laughed very bitterly. 
“Yeah, that's what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he'd made a mistake, he'd cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us.” 
“In the end, he turned pretty nasty,” said Fred. “Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn't giving us anything.” 
“So we asked for our money back,” said George glowering. 
“He didn't refuse!” gasped Hermione. 
“Right in one,” said Fred. 
“But that was all your savings!” said Ron. 
“Tell me about it,” said George. “'Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn't enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He's lost everything gambling. Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?” 
“How?” said Harry. 
“He put a bet on you, mate,” said Fred. “Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins.” 
“So that's why he kept trying to help me win!” said Harry. “Well - I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!” 
“Nope,” said George, shaking his head. “The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task.” 
George sighed deeply and started dealing out the cards again. 
The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough; Harry wished it could have gone on all summer, in fact, and that he would never arrive at King's Cross…but as he had learned the hard way that year, time will not slow down when something unpleasant lies ahead, and all too soon, the Hogwarts Express was pulling in at platform nine and three-quarters. The usual confusion and noise filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, carrying their trunks. Harry, however, stayed put. 
“Fred - George - wait a moment.” 
The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out his Triwizard winnings. 
“Take it,” he said, and he thrust the sack into George's hands. 
“What?” said Fred, looking flabbergasted. 
“Take it,” Harry repeated firmly. “I don't want it.” 
“You're mental,” said George, trying to push it back at Harry. 
“No, I'm not,” said Harry. “You take it, and get inventing. It's for the joke shop.” 
“He is mental,” Fred said in an almost awed voice. 
“Listen,” said Harry firmly. “If you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long.” 
“Harry,” said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, “there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here.” 
“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning. “Think how many Canary Creams that is.” 
The twins stared at him. 
“Just don't tell your mum where you got it…although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it.…” 
“Harry,” Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand. 
“Look,” he said flatly, “take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favor, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you.” 
He left the compartment before they could say another word, stepping over Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were still lying on the floor, covered in hex marks. 
Uncle Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier. Mrs. Weasley was close by him. She hugged Harry very tightly when she saw him and whispered in his ear, “I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry.” 
“See you. Harry,” said Ron, clapping him on the back. 
“'Bye, Harry!” said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek. 
“Harry - thanks,” George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side. 
Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station. There was no point worrying yet, he told himself, as he got into the back of the Dursleys’ car. 
As Hagrid had said, what would come, would come…and he would have to meet it when it did. 
甚至一个月后回首时，哈利都发现他对连接下来几天发生的事都所知无几。似乎他经历了太多而记不下来了，他想拥有的记忆却是让人痛苦的，其中最坏的，可能是第二天早晨与迪格瑞夫妇的见面了。 
　　他们没有为发生的事责备他，相反，他们还感谢他把塞德里克的尸体带回给他们。迪格瑞夫妇在大部分会面时间里都是抽泣着。 
　　“那他受了很少苦头，”当哈利告诉她塞德里克怎样死的时候，她说道，“毕竟，他是在赢了比赛时死的。他肯定很开心。” 
　　当他们站起身时，她看着哈利说：“现在，你要照顾你自己了。” 
　　哈利抓起床头柜上的那袋金子。 
　　“你拿着这个。”他喃喃说道，“应该是塞德里克的，他先到那儿的。你拿着——” 
　　但她退回了给他。“不，不，这是你的，亲爱的，我们不能……你留着吧。” 
　　第二天晚上哈利回到格林芬顿塔，从荷米恩和罗恩告诉他的看来，丹伯多已在那天早上吃早餐时跟学校说过了。他仅仅要求他们让哈利一人呆着，别人不要问他问题或让他讲述迷宫里发生的故事来烦扰他。他注意到，大多数人都在走廊里沿着他走过的路走，回避着他的眼睛。有些人在他经过时，窃窃私语。他猜想很多人都相信理特。史姬特文章说的他是如何的烦人和危险。可能他们对塞德里克的死形成了自己的看法。但他发觉自己并不在乎。当他同罗恩和荷米恩在一起时，他感觉最好。他们或者谈论其他事情，或者两人下像棋，让他静静地坐着。哈利他们三个好像形成了一种用言语的默契：每个人都在等待某种形像，某些话语，或者霍格瓦彻以外发生的事——要推测将来是没有用的，除非他们确切知道。他们提及那话题的唯—一次是当罗恩告诉威斯里夫人和丹伯多在回家前的一次会面。 
　　“她去问丹伯多今年夏天你是否可以直接来我们这，”他说，“但他想让你至少要先回杜斯利里家。” 
　　“为什么？”哈利问。 
　　“她说丹伯多有他的理由，”罗恩摇摇头表示不知道，“我想我们要相信他，对不对？” 
　　除了罗恩和荷米恩以外，哈利可以与之交谈的唯—一人是哈格力。因为再没有了反黑巫术课老师，他们就可以不用上那些课了。 
　　在星期三下午的那节课上，他们去他小屋里拜访他。那天阳光明媚，他们来的时候弗兰跳到门前，汪汪直叫，拼命摇摆着尾巴。 
　　“是谁呀？”哈格力叫着来到门前，“哈利！” 
　　他大步走出来迎接他，一手拥抱了哈利。他搅了搅哈利的头发，说道：“看见你很高兴，小伙子，看到你真高兴！” 
　　当他们走进小屋时，他们看到两个水桶大小的杯子和茶托在壁炉旁的一张木桌子上。 
　　“刚刚正和欧林普喝茶呢，”哈格力说，“她刚走了。” 
　　“谁？”罗恩好奇地问道。 
　　“当然是玛西姆夫人了。”哈格力说。 
　　“你们俩和好了，是不是？”罗恩问。 
　　“就像你说的！”哈格力快活地说。他又从食具柜里拿了更多的杯子出来。他沏好了茶。摆好一碟软的饼干，然后就靠在椅子上，黑黑的眼睛近近地望着哈利。 
　　“你好吗？”他粗声说道。 
　　“嗯！”哈利说。 
　　“不，”哈格力说，“你肯定过得不好，但会好起来的！” 
　　哈利什么也没说。 
　　“我知道他将要回来了。”哈格力说。哈利，罗恩和荷米恩震动了一下，都抬头看着他。“哈利，知道几年了，知道他在外面。等候良机，总得发生的，好了，现在已经发生了，我们都要得习惯，我们得斗争。在他掌握大局之前，我们可能可以阻止他。那是丹伯多的计划。丹伯多他是伟大的人。只要我们有他，我就放心了。” 
　　哈格力扬起浓密的眉毛，看着他们怀疑的神情。 
　　“坐着担心是没用的。”他说，“要来的终究会来，我们总会碰到的。哈利，丹伯多告诉了我你的事。” 
　　他看着哈利说：“你干得跟你父亲一样棒，我只能给你这些作为最高的赞扬。” 
　　哈利朝他笑了笑。这是几天来他第一次笑。 
　　“丹伯多叫你干什么了吗？哈格力？”他问道，“那晚，他叫麦康娜教授来叫你，让玛西姆夫人去见他。” 
　　“给我分了点夏天的工作，”哈格力说，“不过这是秘密。我不能说，不仅仅对你们。欧林普。玛西姆夫人看——可能会跟我在一起工作。我想她会的，我会说服她的。” 
　　“与福尔得摩特有关吗？” 
　　听到这名字，哈格力畏缩了。 
　　“可能吧，”他回避说，“谁愿意同我一起去参观最后的塞克妮特？开玩笑的——只是开玩笑！”他看着众人的神色，匆忙地说。 
　　在他回去普里怀特街的前一晚，哈利心情沉重地在宿舍里收拾皮箱。他害怕告别会，这通常都是庆祝的一个理由，那时会宣布比赛的胜利者。自从他从病房出来后，他就回避去人山人海的大厅。 
　　他情愿等到人都走光了才去吃点东西，来回避同学们的观望。 
　　当他、罗恩和荷米恩进入大厅时，立刻发现往常的装饰都不见了。通常大厅会为告别会点缀上胜利的颜色。但是，今晚，老师讲台后的墙上却是黑色的装饰。哈利立刻明白这是对塞德里克表示的致敬。 
　　真正的莫迪在工作人员台上，身上安装着木腿和假眼。他抽搐得很厉害，别人一跟他讲话他就跳起来。哈利不能责备他。在衣箱里被困了十个月以后，他那种害怕攻击的感觉肯定又加强了。 
　　卡克罗夫教授的椅子是空的。哈利坐在另一个格林芬顿桌旁边，在越过卡克罗夫的位子时，心里寻思道，福尔得摩特追上他了吗。 
　　马西姆夫人还在那儿，她坐在哈格力旁边。他们静静地交谈着。沿着桌子，坐在麦康娜教授旁的是史纳皮，哈利看他时，他也看着哈利。他的表情令人费解，他仍像以往一样乖戾和郁闷。在史纳皮移开了目光以后，哈利仍在看他。 
　　在福尔得摩特回来的那晚，史纳皮按丹伯多指令究竟干了什么？为什么……为什么丹伯多那么坚信史纳皮是真正站在我们这边的。丹伯多曾在皮斯文说过，他是他们的间谍，史纳皮又冒着巨大的个人危险当了福尔得摩特的奸细。那是他再次从事的吗？可能他又联络了食尸者？也许他从没有真正归顺丹伯多，他只不过是和福尔得摩特一样在等待良机？ 
　　哈利的沉思被从工作组台上站起来的丹伯多教授打断了。大厅变得不像是往常的告别会，异常的安静。 
　　丹伯多环视四周，说道：“这是又一个结束。” 
　　他停住了，目光落在海夫巴夫台上。在他站起来之前，那是最沉默的。他们也是全厅最悲伤，脸色最苍白的。 
　　“今晚我有很多话想对你们说，”丹伯多说道，“但首先我要承认我们失去了一个很好的人。他本应坐在这里。”他手指着海夫巴夫台，“和我们一起享受宴会。我希望所有人起立，为塞德里克。迪格瑞举杯。” 
　　大家都这样做了。厅里的人站起来时，板凳嚓嚓作响。他们举起了高脚酒杯。一个低沉的隆隆的巨大的声音回响道：“塞德里克。 
　　迪格瑞。“ 
　　哈利穿过人群瞥了卓一眼。泪水静静地从她的脸上滑下，他们再坐下来时，他面看着卓低头。 
　　“塞德里克是海夫巴夫学院优秀传统的例证，”丹伯多继续说，“他是个忠诚的好朋友，辛勤的工作者。他重视公平竞争。不管你们是否了解他，他的死对你们都有影响。因此，我认为你们都有权知道事情的真相。” 
　　哈利抬起头，盯着丹伯多。 
　　“塞德里克。迪格瑞是被福尔得摩特杀害的。” 
　　一阵惊恐的私语扫过了整个大厅，人们怀疑而又惊恐地看着丹伯多。当他看着他们嗡嗡议论转而一片寂静时，他始终面容镇静。 
　　“魔法部不想让我告诉你们，”丹伯多继续说，“如果我说了的话，有些家长很可能会吓坏——他们或者会不相信福尔得摩特回来了，或者认为我不应该告诉你们，因为你们年纪还小。但是我相信，真相一般好过谎言。如果假装塞德里克的死是由于事故，或是他自己的过失，都是一种对他的亵渎。” 
　　大厅里的每张脸都惊恐地望着丹伯多，现在又彼此相望。在史林德林的桌上，哈利看到杰高。马尔夫正对克来伯和高尔嘀咕着什么。哈利感到身体里涌起了一阵又热又恶心的愤怒。他强迫自己重新望着丹伯多。 
　　“还有一个与塞德里克的死有关的人要提到，”丹伯多继续说，“当然，我说的就是哈利·波特。” 
　　一阵涟漪扫过大厅。几个人朝哈利望来，又转头面对着丹伯多。 
　　“哈利·波特设法从福尔得摩特手上逃了出来，”丹伯多说道，“他奋不顾身地把塞德里克的尸体带回到霍格瓦彻，无论从哪个方面，他都显示了少有的巫师面对黑暗公爵福尔得摩特的勇气。为此，我赞誉他。” 
　　丹伯多严肃地转向他，再一次举起酒杯，几乎每个大厅里的人都照着做了。他们念着他的名字就像刚才念塞德里克的一样，还为他干杯。但透过站着的人群的一丝空隙，哈利看到马尔夫，克来伯，高尔和许多其他的史林德林不屑地坐在位子上，动都没动那酒杯。丹伯多毕竟没有魔眼，因此他没看到。 
　　当每个人都回复原位时，丹伯多又继续，“三巫师争霸赛的目标是加深和推广对魔法的理解。鉴于所发生的——福尔得摩特的回来——这样的目的比以往都更加重要。” 
　　丹伯多看了看玛西姆夫人、哈格力、芙璐和她的比尔顿同学，维克。克伦和史林德林台上的丹姆斯安同学。哈利看到克伦几乎害怕地移开了目光，似乎在期盼哈利说点苛刻的话。 
　　“这厅里的每个客人，”丹伯多说道，目光停留在丹姆斯安学生们的身上，“只要他们愿意回来，都随时欢迎。我再说一次——鉴于福尔得库特的返回，我们团结起来就会强大，分裂开来就会弱小。” 
　　“福尔得摩特是散播仇恨和不和的高手。我们只有通过强大的友谊和信任的纽带才能与之作斗争。只要我们的目标是共同的，心胸是开阔的，习惯和语言的差异根本不值一提。” 
　　“我相信——当然我强烈希望我是错误的——我们都正陷于黑暗和困难之中，这厅里的有些人已经在福尔得摩特手上受过苦了。 
　　许多家庭被他弄得支离破碎。一周以前，我们当中的一位学生被夺去了生命。“ 
　　“请记住塞德里克，记住，如果有一天你要判断是非和难易时，请回想一下发生在这个正直、友善和勇敢的男孩身上的事，因为他没有迷失在福尔得摩特的道路里。请纪念塞德里克。迪格瑞。” 
　　哈利的皮箱已经塞满了，海维回来了，在皮箱上面的笼子里。 
　　他、罗恩和荷米恩正在拥挤的入口同其他的四年级学生一起等待着带他们回到霍格瓦彻站的火车。又是一个艳阳天。他猜想当他晚上到达时，普里怀特街会很热，树叶很密，花坛里长满五光十色的花。但他一点儿也不为这想法感到愉快。 
　　“哈利！” 
　　他看看四周。芙璐·迪来高正急急忙忙地登上城堡的石阶。在她身后远处的地方，哈利看到哈格力正帮着玛西姆夫人给两匹大马套上全新马具。比尔贝顿马车就要出发了。 
　　“我希望我们会再见，”芙璐说道。她走过来，伸出了手。“我希望在那里找一份工作，提高我的英语水平。” 
　　“这已经很好了。”罗恩用一种装腔作势的声音说。芙璐对他失笑，荷米恩皱了皱眉头。 
　　“再见，哈利，”芙璐转身要走了，“见到你很高兴。” 
　　当哈利看到芙璐匆忙穿过草地走向玛西姆夫人，银色头发在阳光下如波浪一般时，他的精神禁不住有点飘忽。 
　　“我在想卡克罗夫的学生们怎么回去呢？”罗恩说，“你想没有卡克罗夫他们能自己驾船吗？” 
　　“卡克罗夫不驾船，”一个粗厚的声音说道，“他留在屋里，让我们干那活儿。”是克伦过来向荷米恩说再见！“我能跟你说句话吗？”他问道。 
　　“嗯，好的……可以，”荷米恩有点儿慌乱地说道。她跟着克伦穿过人群，消失在他们视野中。 
　　“你最好快点！”罗恩叫她大声喊。“火车一会儿就来了。” 
　　但他让哈利留心看着马车。接下来的时间里自己伸长脖子在人群里四处张望，想看看克伦和荷米恩到底在干什么。他们很快就回来了。罗恩盯着荷米恩，但她却表情漠然。 
　　“我喜欢迪格瑞。”克伦突然对哈利说，“他对我总是很礼貌，即使我是跟卡克罗夫从丹姆斯安来的。”他皱眉说。 
　　“你们有新校长了吗？”哈利问。 
　　克伦耸了耸肩。他就像芙璐一样伸出手，同哈利和罗恩握了握手。 
　　罗恩看起来似乎在经受某种痛苦的内心挣扎。克伦已经开始走了，这时罗恩突然叫道，“能给我签个名吗？” 
　　荷米恩转过身去，微笑地看着那沉甸甸的火车正在车道上笨重地驶来，而克伦面露惊讶但很高兴地在罗恩的一角羊皮纸上签了名。 
　　回去金克斯的途中和去年九月去霍格瓦彻路上的天气截然不同。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩设法要了一个车厢的隔间。皮威军又藏在罗恩的袍子下面，海维的头埋在翅膀下面，昏昏欲睡。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在这时是一周里谈得最欢的。火车越来越快地向南驶去。 
　　哈利觉得丹伯多在告别会上的讲话在某种程度上令他释然了。现在来讨论发生过的事也已经没那么令人心痛了。说到丹伯多现在可能会采取什么措施来对付福尔得摩特时，他们中断了谈话，因为午餐的小推车来了。 
　　当荷米恩从餐车上回来，把钱放进书包里时，她取出来一份《先知日报》。 
　　哈利看了看，拿不准是否想知道里面说的是什么。 
　　但荷米恩见此情景，就镇静地说，“那没说什么。你可以自己看看，但里面确实没有什么。我每天都查看的。有一天有一小段说到你赢了比赛，他们没提到塞德里克，什么也没提到。我想，是法治强迫他们闭嘴的。” 
　　“他无法使理特闭嘴，”哈利说，“尤其是这样一个故事。” 
　　“哦，理特自从第二次任务以来就没再写什么了。”荷米恩用一种怪怪的压抑的声音说，“实际上，”她又微颤着说，“理特。史姬特会有一段时间不写东西了。除非她想让我暴露她的秘密。” 
　　“你什么意思呀？”罗恩说。 
　　“我发现她在没被允许的场合里偷听别人的私人对话。”荷米恩一口气说出来。 
　　哈利想她这几天肯定憋不住要告诉他们的，但因为发生了其他的事而忍住了。 
　　“她怎样干的？”哈利接着说。 
　　“你怎么发现的？”罗恩盯着她说。 
　　“好吧，其实是你给我这个想法的，哈利。”她说。 
　　“我吗？”哈利困惑地说，“怎么呢？” 
　　“窃听。”荷米恩欢快地说。 
　　“但你说他们没起作用——” 
　　“哦，不是窃听器。”荷米恩说道，“你瞧，理特。史姬特，”荷米恩的声音带着成功感而颤抖着，“是一个没登记的安尼摩格斯。 
　　她能变成——“ 
　　荷米恩从口袋里拿出一个封住的小玻璃瓶。 
　　“变成一只甲壳虫。” 
　　“你在开玩笑，”罗恩说，“你没有……她不是……” 
　　“哦，她是的。”荷米恩开心地向他们挥舞着那瓶子。 
　　里面有一些小树枝、树叶，还有一只又肥又大的甲壳虫。 
　　“那不可能——你在开玩笑——”罗恩把那瓶子举到眼前，喃喃说道。 
　　“不，我不是在开玩笑。”荷米恩喜悦地说，“我是医院病房的窗台上抓到她的。看仔细点儿，你会看到她触角上那些条纹像极了她戴着的可恶的眼镜。” 
　　哈利看了看，荷米恩说的很对。他还记得了什么，“我们偷听哈格力给玛西姆夫人讲他妈妈的那天晚上，雕像上也有一个大甲壳虫。” 
　　“对！”荷米恩说，“还有，我们在湖边说了话以后，维特从我头发上抓出了一只甲壳虫。还有，除非我记错，那天你的伤疤疼的时候。理特也伏在迪维纳雪课的窗台上。她一年到头都在到处打听事儿。” 
　　“我们看到马尔夫在树下时……”罗恩缓缓说道。 
　　“他正对着手上的她说话。”荷米恩说道，“他当然知道。怪不得她老是同史林德林的学生亲密交谈。他们才不在乎她干的事合不合法呢，只要向她提供一些关于我们和哈格力的坏消息就行了。” 
　　荷米恩从罗恩手里拿回了那瓶子，对着那虫子笑眯眯。那虫子在玻璃瓶里懊恼地嗡嗡乱叫。 
　　“我告诉他，我们回到伦敦以后，我就会放了她。”荷米恩说，“我已经在瓶上施了打不破的魔法，所以，她出不来。我还告诉她，她要把那支羽毛笔收起来一年，看看她能不能改掉诬蔑别人的坏习惯。” 
　　荷米恩笑嘻嘻地把瓶子放回到书包里了。 
　　房间的门轻轻地推开了。 
　　“很聪明啊，格林佐。”马尔夫说。 
　　克来伯和高尔站在他身后。他们三个无比开心，却又是使哈利觉得他们比以往都无知和危险。 
　　“现在，”马尔夫一字一句地说道。他看着他们，慢慢地踏进了厢间，嘴角里露出得意的一笑。“你们抓了个可怜的记者，丹伯多最喜爱的男孩子，大事情啊。” 
　　他得意地笑开了向克来伯和高尔斜着眼一瞥。 
　　“我们试着不去想它吧，是不是？”马尔夫逐个地看着他们，柔声说道。“假装什么也没有发生？” 
　　“出去。”哈利说。 
　　“你选了输的一方。我警告你，波特！还记得我告诉过你要谨慎交友吗？在霍格瓦彻的第一天，当我们在火车上碰到时。我告诉过你不要跟这种流氓地痞游游荡荡！”他猛地把头伸到罗恩和荷米恩面前。“现在太迟了，波特！他们会是第一个先走，现在黑暗公爵回来了！杂种和亲马格人最先走。嗯——第二——迪格瑞——” 
　　突然好像是有人在车箱里放了一箱爆竹一样，诅咒从四面八方爆炸，让人头昏眼花，砰砰声震耳欲聋。哈利眨眨眼睛，看着地板。 
　　现在马尔夫、克来伯、高尔都毫无知觉地躺在门口上。他、罗恩和荷米恩都站着，每个人用了不同的魔法。而且并不是只有他们三个这样做了。 
　　这时弗来德踩在高尔身上，走进车厢来，又拿出魔杖。乔治也这样，当他跟着弗来德走进来时，小心翼翼地踩在马尔夫身上。 
　　“多么有趣的效果啊，”乔治说。他俯身看着克来伯，“谁用了南方克鲁斯咒语？” 
　　“是我。”哈利说道。 
　　“真怪，”乔治轻声说，“我用了果冻腿，好像这两样不应该混合起来，他脸上好像长满了触角。好了，我们不要把他们留在这儿吧，他们不好看。” 
　　罗恩，哈利和荷米恩踢了踢，又把无知觉的马尔夫、克来伯、高尔翻过来，推走——每个都似乎被混合的咒语打得更坏——把他们拖到走廊里，再回到车箱中，把门关上了。 
　　“打牌，有人要玩吗？”弗来德掏出一副牌，问道。 
　　当他们打到第五轮中间时，哈利决定问他们：“你告诉我们吧？”他对乔治说，“你们在敲诈谁？” 
　　“哦，”乔治表示不知道，“那事儿。” 
　　“没关系。”弗来德不耐烦地摇摇头，“它不是什么重要的事，不管怎样，至少现在不是。” 
　　“我们放弃了。”乔治耸耸肩说。 
　　但哈利、罗恩和荷米恩继续问，最后弗来德说，“好吧，好吧，如果你们真要知道，……是露得。巴格蒙。” 
　　“巴格蒙？”哈利尖声说道，“你是说他也牵进了？——” 
　　“啊，”乔治忧愁地说，“没有这样的事，蠢蛋。他没头脑。” 
　　“啊，那，什么？”罗恩问道。 
　　弗来德犹豫了一下，说，“你还记得快迪斯杯上，我们和他的打赌吗？英格兰会赢，但克伦会得到那史尼斯球。” 
　　“记得。”哈利和罗恩缓缓地说。 
　　“嗯，那家伙用从爱尔兰福神那得到的金子付给我们。” 
　　“然后呢？” 
　　“然后，”弗来德不耐烦地说，“它消失了。第二天早上它就不见了。” 
　　“但——那肯定是意外，对不对？”荷米恩说。 
　　乔治苦笑了一下。“嗯，我们开始也是这么想的。我们以为只要写信给他，告诉他出了差错，他就会出声的。但那没用，他不理我们的信。我们在霍格瓦彻曾试图同他谈谈，但他总找借口避开我们。” 
　　“最后，他很让人不快，”弗来德说，“他告诉我们，我们要赌博还嫩着呢，其实他根本就没给我们什么。” 
　　“所以我们就要求拿回我们的钱。”乔治目露怒气地说。 
　　“他拒绝了吗？”荷术思喘着气说。 
　　“对了。”弗来德说。 
　　“但那是你所有的钱啊！”罗恩说。 
　　“告诉你们吧，”乔治说，“当然，我们最后终于发现是怎么回事了。李·乔丹的父亲要巴格蒙给钱时，也遇到了麻烦，原来巴格蒙正与小妖精纠缠不清呢，他向他们借了好多金子。有一群妖精在世界杯后，在树林里拦住了他，搜刮了他所有的金子，但那还不够还债。他们就一路跟踪他来到霍格瓦彻。他已经赔得精光了，一个克拉也不剩，你知道那傻瓜怎样还债吗？” 
　　“怎样？”哈利问。 
　　“他在你身上打赌，伙伴。”弗来德说，“他押了个大赌注，说你会赢比赛，与妖精们赌。” 
　　“怪不得他老是帮我夺取胜利，”哈利说，“我确实赢了，是不是那样他就可以把金子还你们了。” 
　　“不，”乔治摇摇头说，“妖精们跟他一样奸诈。他们说你和迪格瑞不分胜负，巴格蒙则说你会全赢，因此巴格蒙就得逃跑避债。 
　　从第三次任务以来，他就开始逃了。“ 
　　乔治深深地叹了口气，又开始摆弄那些牌。 
　　接下来的旅程让人非常惬意，哈利真希望整个夏天都这样过下去。实际上希望永远都别到达金克斯。但他那年已学会了承受艰辛。即使前面有令人不快的事，时间也不会缓慢下来。很快霍格瓦彻列车就在第九月台的第三个地区降下速度。学生们开始上月台时，走廊里又出现了通常的嘈杂混乱。罗恩和荷米恩提着皮箱小心绕过马尔夫、克来伯和高尔。 
　　哈利停下来了。“弗来德、乔治，等等。” 
　　那双胞胎转过身来。哈利拉开皮箱，拿出他在比赛赢得的钱。 
　　“拿着吧！”他把那袋金币扔到乔治手里。 
　　“什么？”弗来德惊愕地问。 
　　“拿去吧，”哈利坚定地说，“我不想要。” 
　　“你神经病了？”乔治想塞回给哈利。 
　　“不，我没有，”哈利说，“你拿着去搞发明吧。它是给搞笑店的。” 
　　“你还是挺聪明的。”弗来德敬畏地说。 
　　“听着，”哈利坚定地说，“如果你不要的话，我会扔到下水道里，我不想要，也不需要。有几个笑声对我就够了。我们都要一些笑声。我觉得我们不久会需要更多的笑声。” 
　　“哈利，”乔治手里掂着钱的重量，小声地说，“这儿大概有一千帆船币。” 
　　“对。”哈利露齿而笑，“想想那是黄油。” 
　　那双胞胎望着他。 
　　“别告诉你妈妈钱从哪儿来……尽管她可能不像以前那样非常希望你们进入部里，你们仔细考虑一下吧。” 
　　“哈利。”弗来德说道，但哈利已伸出了手。 
　　“看，”他断然说，“要么收下，要么我用魔法咒你。能帮我个忙吗？给罗恩买些别的袍子，就说是你们给他的。” 
　　一说完，他就离开了车厢，跨过马尔夫、克来伯和高尔——他们还躺在地板上，中了魔法。 
　　维能姨丈正在栅栏那边！威斯里夫人紧挨着他。一看到哈利，她就紧紧拥抱着他，在他耳边轻声说，“我想丹伯多在九月下旬会让你来我们这的。保持联系，哈利。” 
　　“再见，哈利。”罗恩说道，拍了拍他的后背。 
　　“再见，哈利。”荷米恩说道，她第一次吻了吻他的脸颊。 
　　“哈利，谢谢。”乔治喃喃说道，而弗来德则在他身边热情地点了点头。 
　　哈利朝他们眨眨眼睛，就转身走向维能姨丈，跟着他默默走出了车站。现在还没有什么可担心的，他坐上到普里怀特街的车后时，告诉自己，就像哈格力所说的，该来的会来，……当真来到的时候，他就得面对。 
Chapter 5 Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes
Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him, until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys’ kitchen fire.
“Did he eat it?” said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet.
“Yeah,” said Harry, straightening up. “What was it?”
“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” said Fred brightly. “George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer.…”
The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers.
“How're you doing, Harry?” said the nearer of the two, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it.
Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was - there was no other word for it - cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.
Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him.
“That wasn't funny Fred!” he shouted. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?”
“I didn't give him anything,” said Fred, with another evil grin. I just dropped it….It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.”
“You dropped it on purpose!” roared Mr. Weasley. “You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -”
“How big did his tongue get?” George asked eagerly.
“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!”
Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again.
“It isn't funny!” Mr. Weasley shouted. “That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons
“We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!” said Fred indignantly.
“No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git,” said George. “Isn't he, Harry?”
“Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry earnestly.
“That's not the point!” raged Mr. Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother -”
“Tell me what?” said a voice behind them.
Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion.
“Oh hello, Harry, dear,” she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. “Tell me what, Arthur?”
Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry's and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet - she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow.
“Tell me what, Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice.
“It's nothing, Molly,” mumbled Mr. Weasley, “Fred and George just - but I've had words with them -”
“What have they done this time?” said Mrs. Weasley. “If it's got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes -”
“Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?” said Hermione from the doorway.
“He knows where he's sleeping,” said Ron, “in my room, he slept there last -”
“We can all go,” said Hermione pointedly.
“Oh,” said Ron, cottoning on. “Right.”
“Yeah, we'll come too,” said George.
“You stay where you are!” snarled Mrs. Weasley.
Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and they, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories.
“What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked as they climbed.
Ron and Ginny both laughed, although Hermione didn't.
“Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room,” said Ron quietly. “Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that…”
“We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things,” said Ginny. “We thought they just liked the noise.”
“Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous,” said Ron, “and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms….She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected.”
O.W.L.s were Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the examinations Hogwarts students took at the age of fifteen.
“And then there was this big row,” Ginny said, “because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.”
Just then a door on the second landing opened, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.
“Hi, Percy,” said Harry.
“Oh hello, Harry,” said Percy. “I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.”
“We're not thundering, “said Ron irritably. “We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.”
“What are you working on?” said Harry.
“A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” said Percy smugly. “We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -”
“That'll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.”
Percy went slightly pink.
“You might sneer, Ron,” he said heatedly, “but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger -”
“Yeah, yeah, all right,” said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry, Hermione, and Ginny followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.
The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly.
“Shut up, Pig,” said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. “Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room,” he told Harry. “Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work.”
“Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?” Harry asked Ron.
“Because he's being stupid,” said Ginny, “Its proper name is Pigwidgeon.”
“Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all,” said Ron sarcastically. “Ginny named him,” he explained to Harry. “She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that.
Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him.
“Where's Crookshanks?” Harry asked Hermione now.
“Out in the garden, I expect,” she said. “He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before.”
“Percy's enjoying work, then?” said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.
“Enjoying it?” said Ron darkly. “I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch…as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion…Mr. Crouch was telling me…They'll be announcing their engagement any day now.”
“Have you had a good summer, Harry?” said Hermione. “Did you get our food parcels and everything?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot,” said Harry. “They saved my life, those cakes.”
“And have you heard from -?” Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about Harry's godfather as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence.
“I think they've stopped arguing,” said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?”
“Yeah, all right,” said Ron. The four of them left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.
“We're eating out in the garden,” she said when they came in. “There's just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two,” she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling.
“Oh for heaven's sake,” she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. “Those two!” she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and Harry knew she meant Fred and George. I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can….”
Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred.
“It's not as though they haven't got brains, she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, “but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office.”
Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.
“I don't know where we went wrong with them,” said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. “It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to - OH NOT AGAIN!”
She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse.
“One of their fake wands again!” she shouted. “How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?”
She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking.
“C'mon,” Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, “let's go and help Bill and Charlie.”
They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard.
They had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle-brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.
Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.
“Will you keep it down?!” he bellowed.
“Sorry, Perce,” said Bill, grinning. “How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?”
“Very badly,” said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.
By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad.
At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms.
“I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying pompously. “That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman -”
“I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over.”
“Oh Bagman's likable enough, of course,” said Percy dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department…when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”
“Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried.…”
“Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right,” said Percy. “I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth…but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However” - Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine - “we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.”
Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. “You know the one I'm talking about, Father.” He raised his voice slightly. “The top-secret one.”
Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, “He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”
In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition.
“…with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”
“Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” said Bill patiently.
“And your hair's getting silly, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly.” I wish you'd let me give it a trim.…”
“I like it,” said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. “You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's….”
Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup.
“It's got to be Ireland,” said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.”
“Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred.
“Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” said Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.”
“What happened?” said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive.
“Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.”
Harry had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned one of the best racing brooms in the world, a Firebolt. Flying came more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world, and he played in the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor House team.
Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks.
Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, “So - have you heard from Sirius lately?”
Hermione looked around, listening closely.
“Yeah,” said Harry softly, “twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here.”
He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him…but he really didn't want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful.
“Look at the time,” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.”
“Wow - hope it does this time!” said Harry enthusiastically.
“Well, I certainly don't,” said Percy sanctimoniously. “I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.”
“Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” said Fred.
“That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” said Percy, going very red in the face. “It was nothing personal!”
“It was,” Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. “We sent it.”
　　哈利转得越来越快，肘子紧贴身子，朦胧的火炉在他身旁闪闪而过，直至他感到恶心，闭上了眼睛。然后他感到速度慢了下来，因此他伸出手来，以免面朝下跌倒，随后走出了威斯里的壁炉。
　　“他吃了吗？”弗来德兴奋地说，伸出手拉哈利到身边。
　　“是的，”哈利说边边伸直了腰，“那究竟是什么？”
　　“长舌太妃糖，”弗来德高兴地说，“我和乔治发明的。我们一个夏天都在找人做试验……”
　　小小厨房笑声如雷。
　　哈利环顾四周，看见罗恩、乔治坐在一张擦得干干净净的木桌旁，另外还有有两个红头发的人，哈利从来未见过。但他马上意识到了他们是谁：比尔和查理，威斯里兄弟中的两个年纪大的。
　　“哈利，你好！”两个中比较靠近哈利的那位说道，他对哈利笑了笑，伸出他的大手，哈利和他握了握手，觉得手指下面有硬茧及水泡。他一定是查理，他在罗马尼亚和龙一起生活。查理相貌像孪生兄弟俩，但比伯希，罗恩矮胖，而他们却修长。他的脸很大，自然，太阳晒得厉害，多斑，看起来完全被太阳晒黑了，双臂肌肉强健，一只胳膊上有一个疤。
　　比尔微笑着站起来，也和哈利握了握手。他的到来有几分令哈利吃惊。他为一家魔界银行工作，他曾经是霍格瓦彻的孩子王。比尔真像伯希的翻版，但比他老，他们都对破坏规定的事非常敏感，小题大作，而且喜欢对别人颐指气使。可是对比尔没有别的话可以形容他的冷淡。他个子高大，长头发，留成马尾型。他戴一个耳环，像吊着一颗毒牙。他的衣服看起来比较适合摇滚音乐会，哈利认得他的靴子不是皮革的，而是龙皮做的。
　　谁都还未来得及说别的，就听见一声“砰”的轻响，威斯里先生回来了，站在乔治肩膀旁边。他看起来很生气，哈利从来也没有看见过他如此生气过。
　　“那不是闹着玩的，弗来德，”他吼道，“你究竟给他吃了什么？”
　　“我没有给他任何东西，”弗来德说，又诡秘地笑了一下，“我只是掉下它，……这是他自己的错，他自己走过去吃了它，我从来也没叫他吃。”
　　“你是有意掉的，”威斯里吼道，“你知道他会吃的，你知道他贪吃……”
　　“他的舌头变多大啦？”乔治急切地问道。
　　“在他父母要我缩小它前，四英尺长。”
　　哈利和威斯里家人又哄堂大笑。
　　“一点也不好笑！”威斯里先生说，“那种行为严重破坏了巫师与马格人的关系！我花了半辈子来解除马格人对我们的误解，然而我的儿子却——”
　　弗来德愤怒地说，“我们就是因为他是马格人才没有把糖给他。”
　　“不，我们给了他，因为他喜欢欺负弱小，”乔治说，“对吧，哈利？”
　　“是的，他是，威斯里先生。”哈利认真地说。
　　“不是那样！”威斯里生气地说，“你们等着我告诉你们的母亲……”
　　“告诉我什么？”身后的声音说道。
　　威斯里夫人刚刚进屋。她是一个矮小而丰满的女人，有着一张慈祥的脸，此时却因为疑惑而眼睛眯着。
　　“喂，哈利，亲爱的，”她笑着对哈利问好后眼睛又很快地转向她丈夫，“亚瑟，告诉我什么？”
　　威斯里先生犹豫了。哈利知道无论他对弗来德、乔治多么生气，他都并不是真的想把事情告诉威斯里夫人的。威斯里先生的眼睛紧张地注视着威斯里夫人，又是一阵沉默。接着威斯里夫人后面的厨房门口出现了两个女孩。其中一个有一头茂密的棕发，大门牙，是哈利和罗恩的朋友，名字叫荷米恩。格林佐，另外一个，小小个，红头发，是罗恩的妹妹，名字叫金妮。哈利对她们笑了笑，金妮的脸一下子红了，自从上次“回洞”金妮就喜欢上哈利了。
　　“亚瑟，告诉我什么？”威斯里夫人又问道，口气很硬。
　　“没有什么，”威斯里先生说，“是弗来德和乔治，刚才我跟他们吵了一架。”
　　“他们这次做了什么？”威斯里夫人说。“如果这件事与威斯里巫师爆笑弹有什么关系的话……”
　　“为什么不让哈利看看他睡在哪里呢，罗恩？”荷米恩在门口说。
　　“他知道他睡哪里，”罗恩说，“在我房间，他睡那……上——”
　　“我们都可以去。”荷米恩说，指了指。
　　“噢，”罗恩说着，也明白了，“好吧。”
　　“好，我们也来。”乔治说。
　　“你就在这里！”威斯里夫人说。
　　哈利和罗恩慢慢地出了厨房，与荷米恩和金妮走过长长的走廊，上了摇摇晃晃的楼梯。
　　“威斯里的巫师咆哮弹是什么意思？”边爬楼梯，哈利边问道。
　　罗恩和金妮笑了，荷米恩却没笑。
　　“妈妈在整理弗来德和乔治的房间时发现了一堆订货单。”罗恩平静地说。“很长的价目表，上面是他们自己发明的东西。都是些搞笑的东西，你知道的。假魔杖、魔法糖……很有趣，我从来不知道他们在搞发明……”
　　“我们很久以前就听见过爆炸声从他们房间里传出来，但我们从来没想到他们真的在‘造’东西，”金妮说，“我们认为他们只是喜欢那种声音。”
　　“只是，大多数的东西——噢，所有的东西——都有点危险，”
　　罗恩说，“他们准备在霍格瓦彻卖，赚些钱，妈妈气得发疯。叫他们不准再造任何东西，并烧掉所有的订单……她真的对他们大发雷霆。他们没有达到她期望的O.W.L。”
　　O.W.L是普通巫师水平考试，霍格瓦彻学生在十五岁时参加这种考试。
　　“那么现在肯定吵翻了天，”金妮说，“因为妈妈要他们像爸爸一样进魔法部，而他们却说他们想开搞笑商店。”
　　就在那时，第二平台上的一扇门打开了，探出一张脸来，戴着鹿角镶边的眼镜，一副很生气的表情。
　　“嗨，伯希。”哈利说。
　　“噢，哈利，”伯希说。“我在想谁那么吵。我在干活，我有份报告要完成，有人在楼上楼下像打雷似的来回走，我很难集中注意力。”
　　“我们没有像打雷一样走，”罗恩生气地说，“我们在走路，如果我们打搅了魔法部的超级秘密工作，那很抱歉。”
　　“你在忙些什么呢？”哈利说。
　　“为国家魔法合作部写报告，”伯希自命不凡地说，“我们要把大锅的厚度标准化。有些进口货太薄了一点，每年渗漏增加率为百分之三。”
　　伯希的脸色有点红了。
　　“罗恩，你可以耻笑，”他热烈地说，“但如果没有某项国际法制定的话，我们会发现市场上将充满品质低劣、浅底的物品，严重危及……”
　　“对，对。”罗恩打断他的话后开始上楼，伯希砰的一声关上房门。哈利，荷术恩，金妮跟着罗恩又上了三段楼梯，厨房里传来很大的吼叫声，好像威斯里先生已把“太妃糖”的事告诉了威斯里夫人。
　　罗恩的房间在房子顶层，看起来跟上次哈利来时一样。一样的贴着罗恩最喜欢的快迪斯队的海报；库得利加能大炮挂在墙上，在有点倾斜的天花板上旋转；窗台上以前装过青蛙卵的鱼缸里，现在有一只特别大的青蛙。罗恩的老鼠斯卡伯斯不在了，却有一只很小的灰色猫头鹰，它曾帮助罗恩把信送到普里怀特街给哈利，它在一个小笼子里上下窜跳，得意非凡地叽叽喳喳讲个不停。
　　“好了吧，猪，”罗恩说，房里挤着四张床，他走进两张床的中间，接着说，“弗来德，乔治和我们在一起，比尔，查理在他们的房里，”他告诉哈利，“伯希一个人一个屋，因为他要工作。”
　　“呃，你为什么要叫那只猫头鹰‘猪’呢？”哈利问罗恩。
　　“因为他有点蠢，”金妮说，“它‘猪’名字叫皮威军。”
　　“是的，那才不像‘猪’一样是个蠢名，”罗恩讥讽地说，“是金妮给它取的名，”他跟哈利解释说，“她认为这名字很甜，我想改它，但太迟了，叫别的它根本不答应。因此，它成了‘猪’，我不得不在这里养它，因为它惹恼了厄罗尔和荷米恩，它也让我恼火，来吧。”
　　猫头鹰在绕笼飞驰，开心得尖声霍霍叫。哈利太了解罗恩了，知道罗恩并不会太喜欢它，不停地叼念着他的旧伴老鼠斯卡伯斯，但荷米恩的猫克路殊克前不久吃掉了它，这点尤其让罗恩觉得痛心。
　　“克路殊克（猫）在哪里？”哈利问荷米恩。
　　“在外面花园里，我想，”她说，“它喜欢追逐地精，但它从来没有见过。”
　　“伯希很喜欢工作？哈利一张床上坐下来，看着库得利加能大炮在天花板的海报上驶进驶出。
　　“喜欢？”罗恩秘密地说，“如果不是爸爸要他回来，他是不会回来的，他着迷了，不要提及他老板的话题，根据克劳斯先生……
　　像我跟克劳斯先生说的那样……据克劳斯先生看来……克劳斯先生告诉我，他们将随时宣布他们的雇用契约。“
　　“你夏天过得不错吧，哈利？”荷米恩说。“你收到了我们给你的食物包裹等东西了吗？”
　　“收到了，太感谢了，”哈利说，“那些蛋糕，救了我的命。”
　　“你收到……？”罗恩开始问，但哈利的眼神使他没有说下去。
　　哈利知道罗恩将问及西里斯，罗恩和荷米恩在帮助西里斯逃出魔法部时出了很大力，他们对西里斯的关心就跟哈利一样。但在金妮面前讨论这件事不好。只有他们自己和丹伯多教授知道西里斯是如何逃跑的，也只有他们几个相信西里斯是无辜的。
　　“我认为他们已不再争吵了，”荷米恩说，想消除这尴尬的局面，金妮正在好奇地打量罗恩和哈利，“我们下去帮妈妈做饭，好吗？”
　　“好，”罗恩说完，四人就离开了罗恩的房间，下了楼，看见威斯里夫人独坐在厨房，看起来脾气特别坏。
　　“我们将在花园外面吃！”她说，“这里没有十一个人的地方。
　　孩子们，你们可以把盘子拿到外面去吗？比尔和查理在摆桌子，你们两个负责刀叉。“他对罗恩和哈利说。她把魔杖指向地窖里的马铃薯，一大堆马铃薯一个个都剥了皮从天花板上、墙上跳飞过来。
　　“噢，看在上帝的份上，”她说着，一边指向簸箕，旋即它从那边跳起来，滑过房间地板，把那些土豆捞起装在里面。她很粗暴地说，“那两个家伙，”她正在把厨柜里的锅、壶拉出来，哈利知道那两个家伙指谁，当然是弗来德和乔治，“我不知道他们会发生什么事，真的不知道。没有抱负，除非你不想惹他们那么多的麻烦……”
　　她把一个很大的铜炖锅放在餐桌上，开始挥舞魔杖在里面搅，乳脂色的酱从魔杖棒尖往下流。
　　“他们并不蠢，”她继续说，越说越气，把铜锅放到炉子上，摆了一下魔杖点燃了炉子，“但他们在自暴自弃，如果他们两个自己不拉自己一把，他们真的有麻烦。从霍格瓦彻飞来的关于他们的猫头鹰比其余的加在一起还要多。假如他们继续走现在走的路，他们将在滥用魔法办公室里玩完。”
　　威斯里夫人对刀具抽屉捅了一下魔杖，抽屉打开了。哈利和罗恩都闪开让路，几把刀从抽屉里飞出来，飞过厨房，开始切土豆，簸箕装着它们并把它们送入水槽。
　　“我不知道我们哪里和他们不同，”威斯里夫人说，她放下魔杖，拉出更多的铜锅。“好多年都是这样子，一件事接另一件事的。
　　他们就是不听，噢，没脑子！“
　　她捡起魔杖，发出一声巨大吱吱叫，魔杖变成了一只巨大的橡皮老鼠。
　　“又是他们的一根假魔杖，”她吼叫，“我多少次叫他们不要把它们放在附近。”
　　她抓起她的真杖，转过身来发现炉上的酱已在冒烟。
　　“来，”罗恩匆忙地对哈利说，从开着的抽屉里抓了一把刀具，“让我们去帮比尔和查理吧！”
　　他们离开了威斯里夫人，出了后门，来到庭院。
　　他们才刚走几步，突然荷米恩的麦黄色o型腿的猫——克库圣克斯快速跑出花园，瓶刷似的猫尾竖在空中，正在追逐一个有腿的土豆泥，哈利马上就认出那就是地精。不到十英寸高，喇叭形的小脚啪哒啪哒地跑，尽量快地跑过庭院，一头扎进一只防水长靴——门的四周有许多这样的长靴，哈利听见地精咯咯笑，因为描伸出爪子想抓他。就在这里，房屋另一边传来撞击声，他们进到花园就知道这是怎么回事了。原来比尔和查理两人各拿魔杖在手，让两台破旧的桌子飞上天空，在草坪上相互碰撞，都想碰碎对方的桌子。弗来德和乔治在欢呼，金妮在大笑，荷米恩在篱笆周围徘徊，很明显，她在好玩与担心间左右为难。
　　比尔的桌子碰上了查理的桌子，“砰”的一声，一条腿撞得掉了下来。头顶上有人大声说话，他们都仰起头来，伯希已从三楼窗户里探出头来。
　　“你把它弄下来，好吗？”他火吼道。
　　“抱歉，伯希。”比尔对他大笑，“锅底怎么样了？”
　　“真是太糟糕了，”伯希恼怒地说，他又关上了窗子。
　　比尔和查理放声大笑，把桌子安全地放到草坪上，比尔用魔杖轻打了一下，再次把桌腿接上，并用魔法不知从哪里变出了桌布。
　　七点钟，两台桌子上放满了威斯里夫人做得极好的饭菜，九个威斯里家人加上哈利、荷米恩在深蓝色万里无云的天空下吃晚餐。
　　对于一个整个夏天都吃味道不新鲜的蛋糕的孩子来说，这简直是天堂，起先，哈利只是听着别人谈话而没有加入，他正忙着吃鸡蛋火腿馅饼，煮土豆还有沙拉。
　　在桌子的那边，伯希在告诉他父亲关于锅底的报告。
　　“我告诉克劳斯先生我要在周二前搞好它，”伯希得意洋洋地说。“那比他意料的要快一点，我总是要走在前面。我及时完成，他会感激我的，现在这一阵子我们部门特别忙，因为世界杯的各种安排，我们就没有从魔法运动部那里得到我们需要的帮助。露得。
　　巴格蒙——“
　　“我喜欢露得，”威斯里先生柔和地说。“他为我们弄到这样的好票。我也给了他一点恩惠：他的兄弟，奥特，惹了点麻烦，用不正常的动力割草机，我为他把整个事情弄好了。”
　　“噢，巴格蒙是讨人喜欢的人，”伯希很听话地说，“但他怎么会成为部门的头呢？当我把他同克劳斯先生相比，我看，克劳斯先生不会失去我们部门的任何一票。您注意到了珀茜•佐金斯已失踪一个多月了吗？她去了阿尔巴尼亚度假后就再也没回来。”
　　“是的，我刚问过露得，”威斯里先生皱了皱眉头说，“他说珀茜以前已经失踪过好几次了，但如果是我部门里的某一位，我就会担心了。”
　　“噢，珀茜是没有希望了，对吧，”伯希说，“我听说她从一个部门降职到另一个部门，一直有许多麻烦，许多年来都是这样。巴格蒙应该设法找到她。克劳斯先生个人对她产生了兴趣，她一度也在我们部门待过，我想克劳斯先生很喜欢她。然而巴格蒙只是笑她可能看错了地图，去了澳大利亚，而不是阿尔巴尼亚。”伯希长叹一声，“还去找其它部门的成员？光是自己部门的事就已经够多了。
　　您知道，世界杯后，我们要组织另外一件大事。“
　　他清了清嗓子，朝桌子一路看过去，那边哈利、罗恩和荷米恩坐在那里。“您知道我在讲什么，父亲，”他稍微提高了嗓门，“顶级秘密的那件。”
　　罗恩眨眨他的眼睛，对哈利和荷米恩说，“他一直想让我们问他，自从他开始工作后的那件大事。也许是厚底大锅的展览会。”
　　桌子中间，威斯里夫人正与比尔争论耳环的事，好像是近段时间才戴的。
　　“……真的像带了一个可怕的大毒牙，银行里他们怎么说？”
　　“妈妈，只要我给家里带来极大的财富，银行里没有人对我的穿戴说三道四。”比尔耐心地说。
　　“你的头发有点傻乎乎的，亲爱的，”威斯里夫人说，爱抚地用手指摸了摸魔杖，“我希望你让我为你修剪一下……”
　　“我喜欢，”金妮说，她坐在比尔旁边，“您的想法不时髦了，妈妈，换句话说，丹伯多教授也一样。”
　　在威斯里夫人的旁边弗来德、乔治和查理都兴高采烈地谈论世界杯。
　　“肯定是爱尔兰，”查理说，满口土豆。“他们在半决赛中摆平了——秘鲁。”
　　“保加利亚有了维特。克伦。”弗来德说。
　　“克伦是一个像样的选手，但爱尔兰有七个。”查理说，“我希望英国通杀，但那是令人尴尬，那真是……”
　　“什么？”哈利关心地说，对他同巫师世界隔绝，回到了普里怀特街感到非常遗憾，哈利可是很忠心爱国的。
　　“输给了特雷西维尼亚，390比10。”查理不快地说。“令人震惊，威尔士输给了乌干达，苏格兰被卢森堡宰了。”
　　威斯里先生用魔法变出了蜡烛照亮了漆黑的花园，他们还没有吃自制的草毒冰淇淋，待吃完的时候，飞蛾在吧嗒吧嗒地响，飞得低低的，桌子上方到处都是。这湿热空气总是伴有草和忍冬的香味。哈利感觉特别饱，地精在玫瑰丛中疾奔，笑得前仰后合，后面那只克路殊克猫紧追不舍。
　　罗恩抬起头来仔细打量，发现家里的其他人都在忙着讲话，他很小声地对哈利说，“最近你收到了西里斯的信吗？”
　　荷米恩也四周看了看，靠了过来听。
　　“是的，”哈利轻声说，“两次。他说OK，前天我给他写了信，他将写回信到这里。”
　　他突然记起了他给西里斯写信的原因，一时间，差点就要告诉罗恩和荷米恩伤痕疼痛的事，告诉他们惊醒他的可怕的梦，……他不想要他们现在为他担心，而且此时此刻他自己此时此刻也感觉如此开心，如此和平安详，他也不想说这些破坏好的气氛。
　　“看看时间，”威斯里夫人突然说，她看了看手表。“你们真的要睡觉了，你们所有的人，破晓的时候都要起床看世界杯赛，哈利，假如你把学校用品清单给我，明天我就到蒂琼。艾丽去为你办。
　　其他人的我都买好了啦。世界杯开始后恐怕就没有时间买了，上次比赛就进行了五天时间。“
　　“哦，希望这次也一样！”哈利热情地说。
　　“噢，我可不希望那么久，”伯希假装神圣地说。“如果我五天不工作，想想我盘里的将会变成什么样的东西，我简直会发抖。”
　　“是的，有人可能又会在里面放龙屎，伯希？”弗来德说。
　　“还可是从挪威弄来的样品。”伯希说，涨红了脸。
　　“那可不是私货！”
　　“就是。”弗来德悄声对哈利说：“是我们找人寄过来的。”他们边说边从桌上起身。
Chapter 24 Rita Skeeter's Scoop
Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione's hair was bushy again; she confessed to Harry that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion on it for the ball, “but it's way too much bother to do every day,” she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.
Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. They were being quite friendly to each other, though oddly formal. Ron and Harry wasted no time in telling Hermione about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn't seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did.
“Well, I thought he must be,” she said, shrugging. “I knew he couldn't be pure giant because they're about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants. They can't all be horrible.…It's the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves.…It's just bigotry, isn't it?”
Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn't want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn't looking.
It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over - everybody except Harry, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.
The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn't done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. He therefore started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn't. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room - though he hadn't really expected that to help.
Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him, but his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to him that if Cedric had really wanted to give Harry a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. He, Harry, had told Cedric exactly what was coming in the first task - and Cedric's idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Harry to take a bath. Well, he didn't need that sort of rubbishy help - not from someone who kept walking down corridors hand in hand with Cho, anyway. And so the first day of the new term arrived, and Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too.
Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in condensation so thick that they couldn't see out of them in Herbology. Nobody was looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures much in this weather, though as Ron said, the skrewts would probably warm them up nicely, either by chasing them, or blasting off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin would catch fire.
When they arrived at Hagrid ‘s cabin, however, they found an elderly witch with closely cropped gray hair and a very prominent chin standing before his front door.
“Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago,” she barked at them as they struggled toward her through the snow.
“Who're you?” said Ron, staring at her. “Where's Hagrid?”
“My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,” she said briskly. “I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher.”
“Where's Hagrid?” Harry repeated loudly.
“He is indisposed,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.
Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry's ears. He turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.
“This way, please,” said Professor Grubbly-Plank, and she strode off around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses were shivering. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her, looking back over their shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. All the curtains were closed. Was Hagrid in there, alone and ill?
“What's wrong with Hagrid?” Harry said, hurrying to catch up with Professor Grubbly-Plank.
“Never you mind,” she said as though she thought he was being nosy.
“I do mind, though,” said Harry hotly. “What's up with him?”
Professor Grubbly-Plank acted as though she couldn't hear him. She led them past the paddock where the huge Beauxbatons horses were standing, huddled against the cold, and toward a tree on the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn was tethered.
Many of the girls “ooooohed!” at the sight of the unicorn.
“Oh it's so beautiful!” whispered Lavender Brown. “How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!”
The unicorn was so brightly white it made the snow all around look gray. It was pawing the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throwing back its horned head.
“Boys keep back!” barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, throwing out an arm and catching Harry hard in the chest. “They prefer the woman's touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it.…”
She and the girls walked slowly forward toward the unicorn, leaving the boys standing near the paddock fence, watching. The moment Professor Grubbly-Plank was out of earshot. Harry turned to Ron.
“What d'you reckons wrong with him? You don't think a skrewt -?”
“Oh he hasn't been attacked, Potter, if that's what you're thinking,” said Malfoy softly. “No, he's just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face.”
“What d'you mean?” said Harry sharply.
Malfoy put his hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded page of newsprint.
“There you go,” he said. “Hate to break it to you. Potter.…”
He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.
DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKE
Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. 
Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. 
An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being “very frightening.” 
‘I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm,” says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. “We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything.” 
Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed “Blast-Ended Skrewts,” highly dangerous crosses between manti-cores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. 
“I was just having some fun,” he says, before hastily changing the subject. 
As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. 
Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. 
While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Frid-wulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. 
In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants. 
Harry finished reading and looked up at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open.
“How did she find out?” he whispered.
But that wasn't what was bothering Harry.
“What d'you mean, ‘we all hate Hagrid'?” Harry spat at Malfoy. “What's this rubbish about him” - he pointed at Crabbe - “getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven't even got teeth!”
Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.
“Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf's teaching career,” said Malfoy, his eyes glinting. “Half-giant…and there was me thinking he'd just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young.…None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all.…They'll be worried he'll eat their kids, ha, ha.…”
“You -”
“Are you paying attention over there?”
Professor Grubbly-Planks voice carried over to the boys; the girls were all clustered around the unicorn now, stroking it. Harry was so angry that the Daily Prophet article shook in his hands as he turned to stare unseeingly at the unicorn, whose many magical properties Professor Grubbly-Plank was now enumerating in a loud voice, so that the boys could hear too.
“I hope she stays, that woman!” said Parvati Patil when the lesson had ended and they were all heading back to the castle for lunch. “That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like…proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters.…”
“What about Hagrid?” Harry said angrily as they went up the steps.
“What about him?” said Parvati in a hard voice. “He can still be gamekeeper, can't he?”
Parvati had been very cool toward Harry since the ball. He supposed that he ought to have paid her a bit more attention, but she seemed to have had a good time all the same. She was certainly telling anybody who would listen that she had made arrangements to meet the boy from Beauxbatons in Hogsmeade on the next weekend trip.
“That was a really good lesson,” said Hermione as they entered the Great Hall. “I didn't know half the things Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni -”
“Look at this!” Harry snarled, and he shoved the Daily Prophet article under Hermione's nose.
Hermione's mouth fell open as she read. Her reaction was exactly the same as Ron's.
“How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out? You don't think Hagrid told her?”
“No,” said Harry, leading the way over to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. “He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad he wouldn't give her loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to get him back.”
“Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the ball,” said Hermione quietly.
“We'd have seen her in the garden!” said Ron. “Anyway, she's not supposed to come into school anymore, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her.…”
“Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak,” said Harry, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and splashing it everywhere in his anger. “Sort of thing she'd do, isn't it, hide in bushes listening to people.”
“Like you and Ron did, you mean,” said Hermione.
“We weren't trying to hear him!” said Ron indignantly. “We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could have heard him!”
“We've got to go and see him,” said Harry. “This evening, after Divination. Tell him we want him back…you do want him back?” he shot at Hermione.
“I - well, I'm not going to pretend it didn't make a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once - but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!” Hermione added hastily, quailing under Harry's furious stare.
So that evening after dinner, the three of them left the castle once more and went down through the frozen grounds to Hagrid's cabin. They knocked, and Fang's booming barks answered.
“Hagrid, it's us!” Harry shouted, pounding on the door. “Open up!”
Hagrid didn't answer. They could hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it didn't open. They hammered on it for ten more minutes; Ron even went and banged on one of the windows, but there was no response.
“What's he avoiding us for?” Hermione said when they had finally given up and were walking back to the school. “He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?”
But it seemed that Hagrid did care. They didn't see a sign of him all week. He didn't appear at the staff table at mealtimes, they didn't see him going about his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continued to take the Care of Magical Creatures classes. Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity.
“Missing your half-breed pal?” he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry's retaliation. “Missing the elephant-man?”
There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January. Hermione was very surprised that Harry was going to go.
“I just thought you'd want to take advantage of the common room being quiet,” she said. “Really get to work on that egg.”
“Oh I - I reckon I've got a pretty good idea what it's about now,” Harry lied.
“Have you really?” said Hermione, looking impressed. “Well done!”
Harry's insides gave a guilty squirm, but he ignored them. He still had five weeks to work out that egg clue, after all, and that was ages…whereas if he went into Hogsmeade, he might run into Hagrid, and get a chance to persuade him to come back.
He, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together on Saturday and set off through the cold, wet grounds toward the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. He was very skinny indeed, but apparently a lot tougher than he looked, because he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms, and dived, right into the lake.
“He's mad!” said Harry, staring at Krum's dark head as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. “It must be freezing, it's January!”
“It's a lot colder where he comes from,” said Hermione. “I suppose it feels quite warm to him.”
“Yeah, but there's still the giant squid,” said Ron. He didn't sound anxious - if anything, he sounded hopeful. Hermione noticed his tone of voice and frowned.
“He's really nice, you know,” she said. “He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He likes it much better here, he told me.”
Ron said nothing. He hadn't mentioned Viktor Krum since the ball, but Harry had found a miniature arm under his bed on Boxing Day, which had looked very much as though it had been snapped off a small model figure wearing Bulgarian Quidditch robes.
Harry kept his eyes skinned for a sign of Hagrid all the way down the slushy High Street, and suggested a visit to the Three Broomsticks once he had ascertained that Hagrid was not in any of the shops.
The pub was as crowded as ever, but one quick look around at all the tables told Harry that Hagrid wasn't there. Heart sinking, he went up to the bar with Ron and Hermione, ordered three butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta, and thought gloomily that he might just as well have stayed behind and listened to the egg wailing after all.
“Doesn't he ever go into the office?” Hermione whispered suddenly. “Look!”
She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.
It was indeed odd. Harry thought, that Bagman was here at the Three Broomsticks on a weekend when there was no Triwizard event, and therefore no judging to be done. He watched Bagman in the mirror. He was looking strained again, quite as strained as he had that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up.
“In a moment, in a moment!” Harry heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub toward Harry, his boyish grin back in place.
“Harry!” he said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”
“Fine, thanks,” said Harry.
“Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?” said Bagman eagerly. “You couldn't give us a moment, you two, could you?”
“Er - okay,” said Ron, and he and Hermione went off to find a table.
Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta.
“Well, I just thought I'd congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry,” said Bagman. “Really superb.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, but he knew this couldn't be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of Ron and Hermione. Bagman didn't seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes.
“Absolute nightmare,” said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins too. “Their English isn't too good…it's like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup…but at least they used sign language another human could recognize. This lot keep gabbling in Gobblede-gook…and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means ‘pickax.’ I don't like to use it in case they think I'm threatening them.”
He gave a short, booming laugh.
“What do they want?” Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.
“Er - well…” said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. “They…er…they're looking for Barty Crouch.”
“Why are they looking for him here?” said Harry. “He's at the Ministry in London, isn't he?”
“Er…as a matter of fact, I've no idea where he is,” said Bagman. “He's sort of…stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he's ill. Apparently he's just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone. Harry? Because Rita Skeeter's still poking around everywhere she can, and I'm willing to bet she'd work up Bartys illness into something sinister. Probably say he's gone missing like Bertha Jorkins.”
“Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?” Harry asked.
“No,” said Bagman, looking strained again. “I've got people looking, of course…” (About time, thought Harry) “and it's all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin's house to go south and see an aunt…and she seems to have vanished without trace en route. Blowed if I can see where she's got to…she doesn't seem the type to elope, for instance…but still.…What are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you” - he lowered his voice - “how are you getting on with your golden egg?”
“Er…not bad,” Harry said untruthfully.
Bagman seemed to know he wasn't being honest.
“Listen, Harry,” he said (still in a very low voice), “I feel very bad about all this…you were thrown into this tournament, you didn't volunteer for it…and if…” (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) “if I can help at all…a prod in the right direction…I've taken a liking to you…the way you got past that dragon!…well, just say the word.”
Harry stared up into Bagman's round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.
“We're supposed to work out the clues alone, aren't we?” he said, careful to keep his voice casual and not sound as though he was accusing the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.
“Well…well, yes,” said Bagman impatiently, “but - come on. Harry - we all want a Hogwarts victory, don't we?”
“Have you offered Cedric help?” Harry said.
The smallest of frowns creased Bagman's smooth face. “No, I haven't,” he said. “I - well, like I say, I've taken a liking to you. Just thought I'd offer…”
“Well, thanks,” said Harry, “but I think I'm nearly there with the egg…couple more days should crack it.”
He wasn't entirely sure why he was refusing Bagman's help, except that Bagman was almost a stranger to him, and accepting his assistance would feel somehow much more like cheating than asking advice from Ron, Hermione, or Sirius.
Bagman looked almost affronted, but couldn't say much more as Fred and George turned up at that point.
“Hello, Mr. Bagman,” said Fred brightly. “Can we buy you a drink?”
“Er…no,” said Bagman, with a last disappointed glance at Harry, “no, thank you, boys…”
Fred and George looked quite as disappointed as Bagman, who was surveying Harry as though he had let him down badly.
“Well, I must dash,” he said. “Nice seeing you all. Good luck, Harry.”
He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin Ron and Hermione.
“What did he want?” Ron said, the moment Harry had sat down.
“He offered to help me with the golden egg,” said Harry.
“He shouldn't be doing that!” said Hermione, looking very shocked. “He's one of the judges! And anyway, you've already worked it out - haven't you?”
“Er…nearly,” said Harry.
“Well, I don't think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!” said Hermione, still looking deeply disapproving. “I hope he's trying to help Cedric as much!”
“He's not, I asked,” said Harry.
“Who cares if Diggory's getting help?” said Ron. Harry privately agreed.
“Those goblins didn't look very friendly,” said Hermione, sipping her butterbeer. “What were they doing here?”
“Looking for Crouch, according to Bagman,” said Harry. “He's still ill. Hasn't been into work.”
“Maybe Percy's poisoning him,” said Ron. “Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he'll be made head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”
Hermione gave Ron a don't-joke-about-things-like-that look, and said, “Funny, goblins looking for Mr. Crouch.…They'd normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”
“Crouch can speak loads of different languages, though,” said Harry. “Maybe they need an interpreter.”
“Worrying about poor ‘ickle goblins, now, are you?” Ron asked Hermione. “Thinking of starting up S.P.U.G. or something? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?”
“Ha, ha, ha,” said Hermione sarcastically. “Goblins don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to what Professor Binns has been telling us about goblin rebellions?”
“No,” said Harry and Ron together.
“Well, the're quite capable of dealing with wizards,” said Hermione, taking another sip of butterbeer. “They're very clever. They're not like house-elves, who never stick up for themselves.”
“Uh-oh,” said Ron, staring at the door.
Rita Skeeter had just entered. She was wearing banana-yellow robes today; her long nails were painted shocking pink, and she was accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She bought drinks, and she and the photographer made their way through the crowds to a table nearby. Harry, Ron, and Hermione glaring at her as she approached. She was talking fast and looking very satisfied about something.
“…didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in tow anyway? Showing them the sights…what nonsense…he was always a bad liar. Reckon something's up? Think we should do a bit of digging? ‘Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman…’ Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo - we just need to find a story to fit it -”
“Trying to ruin someone else's life?” said Harry loudly.
A few people looked around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widened behind her jeweled spectacles as she saw who had spoken.
“Harry!” she said, beaming. “How lovely! Why don't you come and join-?”
“I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick,” said Harry furiously. “What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?”
Rita Skeeter raised her heavily penciled eyebrows.
“Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-”
“Who cares if he's half-giant?” Harry shouted. “There's nothing wrong with him!”
The whole pub had gone very quiet. Madam Rosmerta was staring over from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon she was filling with mead was overflowing.
Rita Skeeter's smile flickered very slightly, but she hitched it back almost at once; she snapped open her crocodile-skin handbag, pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and said, “How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know. Harry? The man behind the muscles? Your unlikely friendship and the reasons behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?”
Hermione stood up very abruptly, her butterbeer clutched in her hand as though it were a grenade.
“You horrible woman,” she said, through gritted teeth, “you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, wont they? Even Ludo Bagman -”
“Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand,” said Rita Skeeter coldly, her eyes hardening as they fell on Hermione. “I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl…not that it needs it -” she added, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.
“Let's go,” said Hermione, “c'mon. Harry - Ron…”
They left; many people were staring at them as they went. Harry glanced back as they reached the door. Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill was out; it was zooming backward and forward over a piece of parchment on the table.
“She'll be after you next, Hermione,” said Ron in a low and worried voice as they walked quickly back up the street.
“Let her try!” said Hermione defiantly; she was shaking with rage. “I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this. First Harry, then Hagrid…”
“You don't want to go upsetting Rita Skeeter,” said Ron nervously. “I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig up something on you -”
“My parents don't read the Daily Prophet. She can't scare me into hiding!” said Hermione, now striding along so fast that it was all Harry and Ron could do to keep up with her. The last time Harry had seen Hermione in a rage like this, she had hit Draco Malfoy around the face. “And Hagrid isn't hiding anymore! He should never have let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!”
Breaking into a run, she led them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin.
The curtains were still drawn, and they could hear Fang barking as they approached.
“Hagrid!” Hermione shouted, pounding on his front door. “Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being -”
The door opened. Hermione said, “About it-!” and then stopped, very suddenly, because she had found herself face-to-face, not with Hagrid, but with Albus Dumbledore.
“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.
“We er we wanted to see Hagrid,” said Hermione in a rather small voice.
“Yes, I surmised as much,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “Why don't you come in?”
“Oh…um…okay,” said Hermione.
She, Ron, and Harry went into the cabin; Fang launched himself upon Harry the moment he entered, barking madly and trying to lick his ears. Harry fended off Fang and looked around.
Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. He looked a real mess. His face was blotchy, his eyes swollen, and he had gone to the other extreme where his hair was concerned; far from trying to make it behave, it now looked like a wig of tangled wire.
“Hi, Hagrid,” said Harry.
Hagrid looked up.
“'Lo,” he said in a very hoarse voice.
“More tea, I think,” said Dumbledore, closing the door behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione, drawing out his wand, and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore magicked the tray onto the table, and everybody sat down. There was a slight pause, and then Dumbledore said, “Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?”
Hermione went slightly pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued, “Hermione, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door.”
“Of course we still want to know you!” Harry said, staring at Hagrid. “You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry, Professor,” he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.
“I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said. Harry,” said Dumbledore, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.
“Er-right,” said Harry sheepishly. “I just meant-Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that-woman-wrote about you?”
Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and fell slowly into his tangled beard.
“Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. “I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it -”
“Not all of ‘em,” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Not all of ‘em wan me ter stay.”
“Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time,” said Dumbledore, now peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. “Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?”
“Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!” said Hagrid croakily.
“Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!” Harry said furiously. “Look at the Dursleys!”
“An excellent point,” said Professor Dumbledore. “My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery….”
“Come back and teach, Hagrid,” said Hermione quietly, “please come back, we really miss you.”
Hagrid gulped. More tears leaked out down his cheeks and into his tangled beard.
Dumbledore stood up. “I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday,” he said. “You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.”
Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fangs ears. When the door had shut behind him, Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Hermione kept patting his arm, and at last, Hagrid looked up, his eyes very red indeed, and said, “Great man, Dumbledore…great man.…”
“Yeah, he is,” said Ron. “Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?”
“Help yerself,” said Hagrid, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “Ar, he's righ', o’ course - yeh're all righ'…I bin stupid…my ol’ dad woulda bin ashamed o’ the way I've bin behavin'.…” More tears leaked out, but he wiped them away more forcefully, and said, “Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here…”
Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth - he looked hardly older than eleven.
“Tha was taken jus’ after I got inter Hogwarts,” Hagrid croaked. “Dad was dead chuffed…thought I migh’ not be a wizard, see, ‘cos me mum…well, anyway. ‘Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really…but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year.…”
“Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job…trusts people, he does. Gives ‘em second chances…tha's what sets him apar’ from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'…well…all tha’ respectable. But some don understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh…there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an’ say - I am what I am, an’ I'm not ashamed. ‘Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin’ with.’ An’ he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin’ with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones…I'll give her big bones.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another nervously; Harry would rather have taken fifty Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than admit to Hagrid that he had overheard him talking to Madame Maxime, but Hagrid was still talking, apparently unaware that he had said anything odd.
“Yeh know wha, Harry?” he said, looking up from the photograph of his father, his eyes very bright, “when I firs’ met you, you reminded me o’ me a bit. Mum an’ Dad gone, an’ you was feelin’ like yeh wouldn’ fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it…an’ now look at yeh, Harry! School champion!”
He looked at Harry for a moment and then said, very seriously, “Yeh know what I'd love. Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show ‘em all…yeh don’ have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show ‘em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin’ anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin’ with that egg, Harry?”
“Great,” said Harry. “Really great.”
Hagrid's miserable face broke into a wide, watery smile.
“Tha's my boy…you show ‘em, Harry, you show ‘em. Beat ‘em all.”
Lying to Hagrid wasn't quite like lying to anyone else. Harry went back to the castle later that afternoon with Ron and Hermione, unable to banish the image of the happy expression on Hagrid's whiskery face as he had imagined Harry winning the tournament. The incomprehensible egg weighed more heavily than ever on Harry's conscience that evening, and by the time he had got into bed, he had made up his mind - it was time to shelve his pride and see if Cedric's hint was worth anything.
　　到了第二天，所有的人都起得很晚。格林芬顿大房间里来也静了下来，那些无精打采的谈话不时地被哈欠打断。荷米恩的头发又乱得像草丛，她向哈利解释说为了参加舞会，她用了大量的定型发水，但如果每天都这样做的话就太麻烦了。她一边说一边把一卷发拨到耳后。
　　罗恩和荷米恩此时似乎心领神会，谁也不再争吵了。虽然之前他们相处得一团糟，但现在两人对彼此都很友好。一见到荷米恩，罗恩和哈利就抢着告诉她两人偷听到的玛西姆夫人和哈格力的谈话。然而荷米恩听到哈格力是半个巨人时，她似乎并不像罗恩那样惊奇。
　　“既然这样，我想他一定是吧。”她耸耸肩说，“我知道他一定不是个真正的巨人，因为他们有二十英尺。不过说实话，这些巨人的歇斯底里不会全都是那么可怕的，这只不过是人们的偏见罢了，就好像他们对在月圆之夜会变狼的人的偏见一样，对吗？”
　　罗恩似乎想给她苛刻的反驳，但他觉得摇头就足以表达他的不赞同了，所以就没说什么，可能他不想引起另一场争吵吧。
　　眼看二月二十四日一天天地逼近，可他却没能从金蛋里找到半点线索。每当他走进宿舍，他就把金蛋从大皮箱里拿出来打开，全神贯注地看着它，心里希望会有一点头绪。他使劲地回想除了这三十种像音乐般拉扯的声音，是否还有别的声音，但是，什么也听不到。无奈，他只好把蛋合上，用力摇一遍后再打开，想要找出声音的变化。他还试着大声提问金蛋，又哭又喊，可是一点作用也没有。他甚至把蛋在屋里扔来扔去，虽然他并不希望这样做会有一点点帮助。
　　哈利没有忘记塞德里克给他的忠告。不过，只要可以不用，哈利是不会接受塞德里克的忠告的，因为他不怎么喜欢塞德里克。无论如何，如果塞德里克真的想帮他的话，就应该把话说清楚一点。
　　他，哈利，早就告诉塞德里克第一个任务将会有些什么了。可是塞德里克以要求哈利洗一个澡作交换的条件。哼，他才不要一个老是和卓牵着手在走廊里荡来荡去的人的忠告呢。不知不觉，新学期又到了。哈利像往常一样，背着重重的书、羊皮纸和笔上学，不过，那只蛋的问题还是缠着他，像那些书、纸一样沉沉地压在他身上。
　　大地上的积雪依然很厚，温室的窗全都蒙上了一层水蒸气，从草药室往外看，什么也看不到。罗恩没有去注意听魔法生灵的保护这门课，而是注意天气去了。
　　当他们走到哈格力的小屋时，他们看见一个披着浓密友发，下巴凸出的老巫婆站在小屋的前门。
　　当他们艰难地在雪地里一步步地向她走过去时，那女人大声地吼道：“快点，铃在五分钟以前就响过了。”
　　“你是谁？”罗恩瞪着她说，“哈格力哪去了？”
　　“我是格兰比。朋克教授，”她简短地说，“是暂时教你们魔法动物保护的老师。”
　　“哈格力去哪了？”荷米恩大声地重复了一遍。
　　“他身体不舒服。”格兰比。朋克教授说。
　　一阵令人讨厌的笑声传到荷米恩耳朵里，他一转身，看到杰高。马尔夫和史林德林的其他学生正走过来。看到格兰比。朋克教授，他们一点也不感到奇怪，反而看上去还很高兴。
　　“走这边。”格兰比。朋克教授带着他们绕过小围场。那里有几匹比尔贝顿马在冷得打颤。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩一边跟着她，一边回过头来望着哈格力的小屋。小屋所有的窗帘都拉下了。哈格力在里面吗？他是病了还是一个人在里面呢？
　　“哈格力生了什么病？”哈利赶上格兰比。朋克教授问道。
　　“这个你不用管。”她说，看上去她觉得哈利很烦人。
　　“我要管。”哈利热切地说，“他到底是怎么了？”
　　格兰比。朋克教授装作没听见，她领着他们走过小围场，围场里的比克斯贝克顿斯马正在树林边上的一棵树下挤在一起取暖，在那棵树下，拴着一只美丽的独角兽。
　　女孩们看到那只独角兽，都“哇嘿”、“哇嘿”地叫起来。
　　“啊，它多漂亮啊！”莱文敦。布朗喃喃自语地说，“她是怎样逮到这只独角兽的呢！要知道，它们可是很难逮的呀！”
　　那独角兽白得如此耀眼，以至于周围的雪在它的对照下看起来像灰色了。它用金色的蹄子紧张地踏着土地，长着角的头不屈地甩来甩去。
　　“男孩们都回来！”格兰比。朋克教授大声喊道，伸出手一把抓住哈利。“独角兽喜欢女性摸它们，女孩子们走上前去，小心点。
　　来，别紧张。“
　　她和女孩们慢慢地靠近独角兽，留下一群男孩站在围场的篱笆旁瞪眼看着。
　　正在这个时候，哈利转身对罗恩说：“你估计他发生了什么事呢？你不会认为是一个史库斯——？”
　　“噢，他没有被人袭击，并非像你想的那样。”马尔夫轻轻地说，“他只不过是为他那张又大又丑的脸感到羞耻，不敢出现见人罢了。”
　　“这话是什么意思。”哈利尖声说。
　　马尔夫把手伸进罩衫口袋里，摸出一张折好的剪报。
　　“看这个，”他说，“我不想向你透露的，波特……”
　　他得意地笑着。哈利接过纸打开读起来。罗恩、西摩斯、迪恩和尼维尔都探过头来看，这是一篇附带照片的文章，照片中的哈格力看上去很狡诈。
　　丹伯多犯了大错特约记者理特。史姬特报导——霍格瓦彻学校，一所培养魔法人才的学校，其古怪校长艾伯斯。丹伯多，从来不害怕雇用一些有争议的职员。今年九月，他雇用声名狼藉的的“魔眼”莫迪担任防黑巫术课的教授，这个决定使魔法界大吃一惊，因为谁都知道莫迪有这样一个习惯：只要他在场，无论谁突然乱动，他都会袭击那个人。不过，刚开始接受教授职位时，“魔眼”莫迪看上去还算负责和平易近人。
　　曾经承认在教到第三年就遭到驱赶的霍格瓦彻学校教师哈格力，在丹伯多校长的提供下，早就得到一个职位。但是，去年哈格力就利用校长的影响力，又获得了担任“魔法动物保护学”教授的职位，完全不理会当时众多的更有资格的应征者。
　　凭着新到手的权利，再加上一副凶神恶煞的模样，哈格力曾接二连三地用怪物恐吓他的学生。到目前为止，已有多名学生承认哈格力在上课时使许多同学致残。而丹伯多对这些情况却睁一只眼闭一只眼。
　　“我曾经被一只希皮格利狒袭击过，我朋友卫森。克来伯则被一只弗伯乌特狠狠咬过。”杰高。马尔夫，一个四年级学生说，“我们恨透了哈格力，但我们都很害怕他，所以我们什么也不敢说。”
　　哈格力并不打算停止他的恐吓战。相反，上个月在与一个先知日报的记者的谈话中，他承认正在饲养“尾巴燃火的史库斯”，一种介于螳螂和火蟹之间的高度危险的动物。培育新品种无庸置疑要在学校部门的严格监控下进行，以保证对麾法动物的控制和规范。
　　但是，哈格力似乎认为他可以超越这些管制。
　　“我只不过是对此感兴趣罢了。”他说，然后就很快地转移话题。
　　似乎这些还不足以证明哈格力不是个纯血统的男巫，《先知日报》现在正把越来越多的证据公之于众，以揭发哈格力。他不是个男巫，甚至不是一个真正的人，他妈妈，我们可以排斥地说，只不过是个叫弗利乌法巨人，没有人知道她的下落。
　　这些嗜血成性、残忍的巨人由于在上个世纪发生内战，现在正濒临绝种。剩下的都成了无名氏，他们都是一些应该为其在暴政时期的屠杀行为负责任的暴徒。
　　许多为‘那个人’服务的巨人被奥挪士杀死，但弗利乌法不在其中。她可能逃到其他山脉，加入了别的巨人集团。然而，从哈格力在教学中表现出的暴戾行为来看，弗利乌法的这个儿子看来已经继承了她的残忍的本性。
　　在另一方面，哈格力和那本《你知道谁将垮台》的作者却是亲密的朋友。这一来就为他妈妈的躲藏找到了保护伞。也许哈利•波特并不知道这个关于他的巨人朋友的不愉快的事实。——但艾伯斯。丹伯多有责任确保哈利•波特和其他的学生明白和这个半巨人相处的危险性。
　　哈利读完后抬头看着罗恩，发现他嘴巴张得大大的。
　　“她是怎么找到的？”罗恩悄悄地说。
　　但这并不是哈利所关心的。
　　“我们都恨透了哈格力，你这是什么意思？”哈利向马尔夫唾了一口。然后指着克来伯说道：“瞧这些垃圾——被一只‘弗伯乌特’狠狠咬了一口！它们连牙齿也没有呢。”
　　克来伯痴痴地暗笑，很明显，他非常满意自己的杰作。
　　“太棒了，我想这白痴的教书生涯要因此结束啦。”马尔夫两眼发光地说，“半巨人——我猜他年轻时一定喝了一瓶史哥利高。根本没有父母会喜欢这个的，他们会担心他吃了他们的孩子，哈哈……”
　　“你们在用心看吗？”
　　格兰比。朋克教授的声音传过来。女孩们现在都围着独角兽抚摸它。哈利生气得连握纸的手都颤抖了，他转过身看着独角兽，实际上他什么也看不到。而格兰比。朋克教授正大声数着独角兽身上的魔性，好让那些男孩们也能听到。
　　“我希望她会留下来教我们，那个女人。”当下了课后孩子们回城堡吃午饭时，帕沃提。帕提说，“她上的魔法动物保护课比我想象的好多了。这种课就应该有相应的动物，比如独角兽，而不是怪物。”
　　“那哈格力怎么办？”哈利生气地说。
　　“他？”帕维提生硬地说，“他可以继续做他的猎物看守人，不是吗？”
　　自从舞会以后，帕维提就对哈利很冷淡。他想他本应该多照顾她的，不过她看上去也玩得很开心呀。她当时还兴高采烈地告诉别人关于她如何安排下周末赴那个比尔贝顿男孩的约会呢。
　　“这真是很精彩的一节课，”荷米恩说。他们边走进了大厅。
　　“在格兰比。朋克教授告诉我之前，我一点也不知道独角……”
　　“看看这个吧。”哈利打断她，把那篇文章在她鼻子底下扬了扬。
　　荷米恩读了那篇文章，她的反应就和罗恩一样。“那个可怕的史姬特女人是怎么知道的？你不会认为这是哈格力告诉她的吧？”
　　“不。”哈利走到桌子旁，气鼓鼓地一屁股坐在椅子上。“他没跟我们说曾经告诉她，对吗？我猜她一定是因为哈格力不肯告诉她我的情况而气疯了，所以才去搜查哈格力的资料来报复他。”
　　“也许是她在舞会上听到了他和玛西姆夫人的谈话。”荷米恩平静地说。
　　“我们在花园里没看见过她！”罗恩说，“总之，她不可以再来学校了。哈格力说校长已禁止她……”
　　“也许她当时穿了隐身衣，躲在暗处偷听人们讲话。她最拿手做这种事情了，不是吗？”哈利盛了一碟鸡汤，由于生气，他把汤溅得到处都是。
　　“就像你和罗恩做得那样吗？”荷米恩说。
　　“我们没有偷听。”罗恩愤愤地说，“我们没办法呀！那白痴当时谈到他妈妈时声音响得每个人都能听到。”
　　“我们必须去看看他。”哈利说，“今晚占卜课后就去。告诉他我们都想他回来……你一定想他回来的，是吗？”他看着荷米恩。
　　“我——好吧，上了一节这么生动的课，我可不会假装其中什么好的变化也没有，不过，我当然希望哈格力会回来。”荷米恩由于畏惧哈利的目光，她于是赶紧补充了几句。
　　所以晚餐过后，他们三个离开城堡，穿过冰封的雪地又来到了哈格力的小屋，他们敲了门，回答他们的只有猎犬弗兰的吠声。
　　“哈格力，是我们，快开门。”哈利一边喊一边略步地敲着门。
　　哈格力没有出来开门。他们听见弗兰在用爪子抓门板，哀号着，可门就是不开。他们锤打着门板，罗恩甚至撞玻璃窗，十分多钟过去了，里边毫无动静。
　　“他为什么躲着我们呢？他应该知道我们不会介意他是半巨人啊。”荷米恩说，他们最终还是放弃，失望地回学校了。
　　可哈格力似乎在意他们知道。他已经一个星期没露面了，饭桌上看不到他，操场上也不见这个猎物守护人。格兰比。朋克教授继续代课。马尔夫一有机会就幸灾乐祸。
　　“在想你的混血儿朋友吗？”他不断地在哈利耳边说，只要不远处有老师在，这样他就不怕哈利会报复他了。
　　一月中旬有个访问霍格马得的活动，荷米恩很奇怪哈利居然也去了。
　　“我还以为你会趁房间没人在时，好好地研究那只蛋呢。”她说。
　　“我，唔，我已知道那蛋的秘密了。”哈利撒谎道。
　　“真的吗？”荷米恩钦佩地说道，“做得好。”
　　哈利心里有点内疚，但他很快就忽略了，他还有五个星期的时间呢，这可是很长的一段时间呢。而且如果他遇到哈格力，他也许会遇见的，这样他就有机会劝他回来了。
　　他和罗恩还有荷米恩在星期六一起离开了学校，穿过又冷又湿的操场，走出校门，出发了。当他们走到泊在湖边的丹姆斯安船时，正好看到维特。克伦从甲板上走出来，他只穿着游泳衣，很瘦，不过明显比平时看上去要强壮很多。只见他举起双手，纵身一跃，跳进湖中。
　　“他一定是疯了。现在可是一月啊，水都结冰了。”哈利盯着克伦露出水面的头说。
　　“他家乡比这里要冷多了，”荷米恩说，“我猜他现在觉得就像春天一样暖和。”
　　“对，我想水里还有大乌贼。”罗恩满怀希望，但不紧不慢地说。荷米恩听出了他的语气，皱了皱眉头。
　　“他是个很可爱的人，”她说，“完全不是你想的那样，他更喜欢这儿，这是他亲口对我说的。”
　　罗恩不再说什么了。自从舞会以后，他绝口不提维特。克伦。
　　可是哈利在比赛那天在床底下发现一只小手臂，看上去就像是从穿着保加利罗罩衫的模特身上扯下来的一样。
　　哈利在满是积雪的大街上仔细留意着哈格力的踪影，当他确定哈格力不在任何一间商店里时，他建议再去三扫帚酒吧看看。
　　酒吧拥挤如常，但哈利只扫了全场一眼，就知道哈格力也不在这了。失望中，他和两个伙伴走近柜台，叫了三杯黄油啤酒。早知如此，他就留在宿舍里研究那只蛋了。
　　“难道他不会在办公室里吗？”荷米恩突然说，“看！”她指着柜台后面的镜子，镜子里倒映出露得。巴格蒙的身影，他正和一群恶鬼，坐在阴暗角落里呢。巴格蒙说话声又低又快，可那些恶鬼两手叉在胸前，样子恶狠狠的。
　　太奇怪了，巴格蒙居然会在一个没有“三男巫”事件发生的周末呆在酒吧里，他为什么在这呢？哈利心想。他看着镜子，只见巴格蒙看上去很紧张，就像那晚墨马克在树林里出现之前一样，就在这时，巴格蒙朝柜台这边看过来，发现哈利，于是站了起来。
　　“等一下，等一下。”哈利听见他粗鲁地对那些恶鬼说，等他快步走近柜台，哈利又听到了他那男孩般的笑声。
　　“哈利，你好吗？我早就想见到你了，一切都好吧？”
　　“很好，谢谢。”哈利说。
　　“我可以单独和你们说几句话吗？”巴格蒙热切地说，“你们两个离开几分钟，可以吧？”
　　“好的。”罗恩回答道，他和荷米恩另外找了张桌子坐下来。
　　巴格蒙又把哈利带到吧头的尽头，这里是离罗斯玛特夫人最远的了。
　　“我想我应该再次祝贺你对抗号尾龙的精彩表演，真是太出色了。”巴格蒙说。
　　“谢谢。”哈利说，但他知道巴格蒙想要说的一定不止这些，因为称赞他也可以在两个同伴面前称赞呀，干吗支开他们呢？然而巴格蒙着上去并不急着一吐为快，虽然哈利注意到他不时地朝镜子里看，而那些恶鬼也正在黑暗中朝他使眼色。
　　“真是恶梦。”巴格蒙注意到哈利正朝那边看时，压低噪音对哈利说：“他们英语说得不好……好在他们会指头划脚地补充。这群家伙老是用歌宝德克语说话。可我只知道其中一个词，意思是操斧子，我不喜欢用它以免他们认为我威胁他们。”他发出低而沉的笑声。
　　“他们想干什么？”哈利问道。
　　“呃，这个……”巴格蒙突然看上去有点紧张，“他们……他们正在找克劳斯。巴地。”
　　“为什么找到这来了？他不是在伦敦当牧师吗？”
　　“呃……事实上我也不知道他在哪，”巴格蒙说，“他有点……
　　不大来上班了。已经几个星期没看到他了。他的助手小伯希说他病了。表面上他已经叫猫头鹰去送指示了。但是哈利，你别把这些告诉别人好吗？因为理特。史姬特正到处打听他下落，我敢打保票她会把巴地生病吹嘘成是凶兆，或者说他像珀茜•佐金斯一样失踪了。“
　　“你有珀茜•佐金斯的消息吗？”
　　“没有。”巴格蒙又重新紧张起来，“我已派人找她了，不过事情很奇怪，她肯定已到了阿尔巴尼亚，因为她要看她的二表姐，然后离开表姐家，去南边看姨妈，后来就在路上失踪了。让我往下想想看她会去哪里，她不像是那种跟别人私奔的人……但是……我们在干吗？干吗谈论恶鬼和珀茜•佐金斯呢？我其实很想问你。”他压低声音说，“那金蛋怎么样了？”
　　“呃，不错。”哈利撒谎说。
　　巴格蒙似乎看出他的不老实。
　　“听着，哈利，”他仍然很小声，“我对这一切感觉不是很好，你已经被卷入这场竞赛了，尽管你不情愿，但如果……如果我能帮忙的话……给你指个方向……我是偏向你的……就是那条你超过那条龙的路，好了，就这些了。”
　　哈利看着他圆圆的脸和那两只像孩子似的蓝眼睛。
　　“我们会在蛋里找到线索的，对吗？”他尽量说得很随便。
　　“行，行。”巴格蒙有点不耐烦了，“我们都想要一个霍格瓦彻式的胜利，是吗？”
　　“你帮过塞德里克吗？”哈利问道。
　　巴格蒙光滑的脸此时皱了起来。
　　“没有，我，我是说，我是偏向你的，我只想帮你一个……”
　　“那样的话，太谢谢你了。不过我想那蛋再过几天就会裂开的。”
　　他不知道是否接受巴格蒙的帮助，对他来说巴格蒙还是个陌生人呢，而且如果接受的话，他会觉得欺骗了他的同伴。
　　巴格蒙看上去有点不高兴。就在这时，弗来德和乔治出现了，巴格蒙于是不再说什么。
　　“你好，巴格蒙先生，能赏脸喝杯酒吗？”弗来德高兴地说。
　　“不了，谢谢你，伙计。”巴格蒙最后失望地瞟了一眼哈利。
　　弗来德和乔治也同样失望，他们看着哈利，好像是他令他们失望似的。
　　“好了，我该走了。很高兴见到你，哈利，祝你好运。”巴格蒙匆匆走出酒吧，那几只妖怪也站起来，跟着他出去了。哈利走到罗恩和荷米恩坐的那张桌子。
　　“他想干吗？”罗恩问道。
　　“想帮我关于金蛋的事。”哈利回答道。
　　“他不应该这么做的。”荷米恩吃惊地说，“他可是裁判之一呢，而且，你已经找到线索了，是吗？”
　　“呃，差不多吧。”哈利说。
　　“我想丹伯多如果知道巴格蒙偷偷帮你的话，他一定会很生气的，但愿他也这样帮塞德里克吧。”
　　“他不会的，我问过他。”
　　“谁在乎他帮不帮迪格瑞呀？”罗恩说，哈利同意地点了点头。
　　“那几只恶鬼看上去都不友善。他们在这干吗？”荷米恩呷了一口啤酒说道。
　　“巴格蒙说他们在找克劳斯。他病了，一个星期没上班。”哈利说。
　　“也许伯希把他毒死了，这样他就能坐上国际魔法合作部的部长位置了。”罗恩说。
　　荷米恩瞪了他一眼，埋怨他不该开这样的玩笑，说：“真有趣，几只恶鬼在找克劳斯，他们应该和魔法动物监控局的人打交道才对。”
　　“克劳斯会说好几种语言，也许恶鬼们找他是为了让他当翻译。”哈利说。
　　“你在担心可怜的精灵吗？”罗恩问荷米恩，“是不是想成立个社团保护他们呢？”
　　“哈哈，精灵才用不着别人保护呢。你没听过宾西教授说的关于