Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 14- The Goblet of Fire
"I don't believe it!" Ron says, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students file back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. "Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!"
"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," says Hermione.
"Only a Quidditch player?" Ron says, looking at her as though he can'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 we recross the entrance hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students heading for the Great Hall, I see 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 are frantically searching their pockets as they walk —
"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 says loftily as we pass the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick.
"I dunno maybe if you squint your eyes and turn your head like so he looks attractive." I say demonstrating the head position needed. Hermione giggles.
"I'm getting his autograph if I can," says Ron. "You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?"
"Nope, they're upstairs in my bag," says Harry.
We walk over to the Gryffindor table and sit down. Ron takes care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students are still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons have chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They are looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them are still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.
"It's not that cold," says Hermione defensively. "Why didn't they bring cloaks?"
"Over here! Come and sit over here!" Ron hisses. "Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space —"
"What?"
"Too late," says Ron bitterly.
Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students have settled themselves at the Slytherin table. I can see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As I watch, Malfoy bends forward to speak to Krum.
"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," says 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 snorts and I roll my eyes at that statement. "They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot," says Harry.
The Durmstrang students are pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them are picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.
Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, is adding chairs. He is wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion. I am surprised to see that he adds four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore's.
"But there are only two extra people," I comment. "Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?"
"Eh?" says Ron vaguely. He is still staring avidly at Krum.
When all the students have entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff enters, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line are Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appears, the pupils from Beauxbatons leap to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laugh. The Beauxbatons party appears quite unembarrassed, however, and does not resume their seats until Madame Maxime has sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remains standing, and a silence falls over the Great Hall.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests," says 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 gives what is unmistakably a derisive laugh.
"No one's making you stay!" Hermione whispers, bristling at her. Okay maybe she is taking this a little too far.
"The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast," says Dumbledore. "I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"
He sits down, and I see Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.
The plates in front of them fill with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seem to have pulled out all the stops; there is a greater variety of dishes in front of us than I have ever seen, including several that are definitely foreign.
"What's that?" says Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stands beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.
"Bouillabaisse," says Hermione.
"Bless you," says Ron.
"It's French," says Hermione, "I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice."
"I'll take your word for it," replies Ron, helping himself to black pudding. The Great Hall seems somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there are barely twenty additional students here; perhaps it is because their differently colored uniforms stand out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts robes. Now that they have removed their furs, the Durmstrang students are revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.
Hagrid sidles into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slides into his seat at the end and waves at Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me with a very heavily bandaged hand.
"Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?" Harry calls.
"Thrivin'," Hagrid returns back happily.
"Yeah, I'll just bet they are," says Ron quietly. "Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers." I roll my eyes at that, but part of me wonders if that's just the case.
At that moment, a voice says, "Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"
It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She has finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair falls almost to her waist. She has large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.
Ron goes purple. He stares up at her, opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out except a faint gurgling noise. I do have to admit she is very pretty.
"Yeah, have it," says Harry, pushing the dish toward the girl. Boys they have been turning into drooling messes since the beginning of time.
"You 'ave finished wiz it?"
"Yeah," Ron says breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."
The girl picks up the dish and carries it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron is still goggling at the girl as though he has never seen one before. Harry starts to laugh. The sound seems to jog Ron back to his senses. I roll my eyes at him. I really think that he is still part caveman.
"She's a veela!" he says hoarsely to Harry.
"Of course she isn't!" says Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"
But she isn't entirely right about that. As the girl crosses the Hall, many boys' heads turn, and some of them seem to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron. I even manage to see my brother with a bright red blush adorning his cheeks. That might also be since he is sitting near them.
"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" says Ron, leaning sideways so he can keep a clear view of her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"
"They make them okay at Hogwarts," says Harry without thinking. Cho happens to be sitting only a few places away from the girl with the silvery hair.
"When you've both put your eyes back in," says Hermione briskly, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived."
"Oh Hermione give it a rest they're boys, they can't help themselves from drooling stupidly." I say. Ginny snickers from further down the table overhearing my comment. I grin at her and she smiles back at me.
Hermione is pointing up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats have just been filled. Ludo Bagman is now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, is next to Madame Maxime. Well this is a surprise.
"What are they doing here?" asks Harry in surprise.
"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" says Hermione. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."
When the second course arrives we notice a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examines an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moves it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looks like a veela appears to have eaten enough, however, and does not come over to get it.
Thank Merlin for that too. I don't think the boys would survive round two with her. Once the golden plates have been wiped clean, Dumbledore stands up again. A pleasant sort of tension seems to fill the Hall now. I feel a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what is coming. Several seats down from us, Fred and George are leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration.
"The moment has come," says 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 mutters. Ron shrugs. A casket, I don't think that we need a casket here do we?
"— 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 is a smattering of polite applause — "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."
There is a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looks so much more likable. He acknowledges it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch does not smile or wave when his name is announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, he looks strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting look very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard.
Quite the odd couple they make indeed. "Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continues, "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 seems to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore has noticed our sudden stillness, for he smiles as he says, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."
Filch, who has been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approaches Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looks extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rises from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stands on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rises 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," says Dumbledore as Filch places 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 is filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seems to be breathing. "As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore goes 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 takes out his wand and taps three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaks slowly open. Dumbledore reaches inside it and pulls out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would be entirely unremarkable if it was not full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.
Dumbledore closes the casket and places the goblet carefully on top of it, where it is 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," says 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," says 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 says, his eyes glinting, as we all make our 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," says Hermione, "we just haven't learned enough . . ."
"Speak for yourself," says George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?" I pause because I hadn't thought before that Harry would actually want to put in his name let alone actually put in his name.
"Where is he?" says Ron, who isn't listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what has become of Krum. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"
But this query is answered almost instantly; we are level with the Slytherin table now, and Karkaroff has just bustled up to his students.
"Back to the ship, then," he is saying. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"
I see Krum shake his head as he pulls his furs back on. "Professor, I vood like some vine," says one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.
"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," snaps 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 —" Well isn't he just the most charming man you've ever met?
Karkaroff turns and leads his students towards the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. Harry stops to let him walk through first.
"Thank you," says Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him.
And then Karkaroff freezes. He turns his head back to Harry and stares at him as though he can't believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang come to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes move slowly up Harry's face and fix upon his scar. The Durmstrang students are staring curiously at Harry too. Out of the corner of my eye, I see comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudges the girl next to him and points openly at Harry's forehead.
"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," says a growling voice from behind us. I don't think that I've ever been more pleased for Moody to show up suddenly.
Professor Karkaroff spins around. Mad-Eye Moody is standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.
The color drains from Karkaroff's face as I watch. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear comes over him.
"You!" he says, staring at Moody as though unsure he is really seeing him.
"Me," says Moody grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."
It is true; half the students in the Hall are now waiting behind us, looking over one another's shoulders to see what is causing the holdup.
Without another word, Professor Karkaroff sweeps his students away with him. Moody watches him until he is out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. I wonder what that's all about?
As the next day is Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I however, are not alone in rising much earlier than we usually do on weekends. When we go down into the entrance hall, we see about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It has been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bears the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line has been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.
"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asks a third-year girl eagerly.
"All the Durmstrang lot," she replies. "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," says 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?" I raise my eyebrow at my friend for that statement. A small part of me is worried that Harry might have actually tried it. I shake my mind off that possibility though since Harry has been too busy to actually make an aging potion.
Someone laughs behind me. Turning, I see Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited.
"Done it," Fred says in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. "Just taken it."
"What?" says Ron.
"The Aging Potion, dung brains," says Fred.
"One drop each," says George, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."
Oh Merlin I have a feeling that this isn't going to end very well. "We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," says Lee, grinning broadly.
"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," says Hermione warningly. "I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this."
Fred, George, and Lee ignore her. "Ready?" Fred says to the other two, quivering with excitement. "C'mon, then — I'll go first —"
I watch, fascinated, as Fred pulls a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words Fred Weasley — Hogwarts. Fred walks right up to the edge of the line and stands 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 takes a great breath and steps over the line.
For a split second I think it has worked — George certainly thinks so, for he lets out a yell of triumph and leaps after Fred — but next moment, there is a loud sizzling sound, and both twins are hurled out of the golden circle as though they have been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They land painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there is a loud popping noise, and both of them sprout identical long white beards. Oh this is too good to be true.
I erupt into laughter along with everyone in the entrance hall. Even Fred and George join in, once they have gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards. "I can't believe they actually tried it. Grandfather did warn them." Ariana says coming up beside me. I flick my gaze over to her and shrug my shoulders.
"They're Fred and George everything must be tried at least once." I say simply.
"I did warn you," says a deep, amused voice, and everyone turns to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveys 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 is howling with laughter, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I also chortling, go in to breakfast.
The decorations in the Great Hall have changed this morning. As it is Halloween, a cloud of live bats are fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leer from every corner. Harry leads the way over to Dean and Seamus, who are 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 tells us. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."
I have played Quidditch against Warrington, and shake my head in disgust. "We can't have a Slytherin champion!"
"And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory," says Seamus contemptuously. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."
"Listen!" says Hermione suddenly. People are cheering out in the entrance hall. We all swivel around in our seats and see Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. A tall black girl who plays Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team (my fellow chaser and teammate), Angelina comes over to us, sits down, and says, "Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!"
"You're kidding!" says Ron, looking impressed.
"Are you seventeen, then?" asks Harry.
"'Course she is, can't see a beard, can you?" says Ron.
"I had my birthday last week," says Angelina.
"Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering," says Hermione. "I really hope you get it, Angelina!"
"Thanks, Hermione," says Angelina, smiling at her.
"You'd do great as a Champion Angie I've played with you enough times to know that." I say with a grin. Angelina rolls her eyes at me and reaches across the table to ruffle my hair. I shoot her an indignant and faux hurtful look in return.
"I have to be on the top of my game to wrangle you in line Pendragon." She responds mirthfully. I huff and grin back at her.
"Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory," says Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing our table to scowl heavily at him.
"What're we going to do today, then?" Ron asks Harry, Hermione, and me when we had finished breakfast and are leaving the Great Hall.
"We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet," says Harry.
"Okay," says Ron, "just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts."
A look of great excitement suddenly dawns on Hermione's face. "I've just realized — I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!" she says brightly. "Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?"
"What is it with her?" says Ron, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase.
"Hermione is out to save the world one magical race at a time." I reply very seriously. I think that once she gets older the world will be a much better place to live in because of her.
"Hey, Ron," says Harry suddenly. "It's your friend . . ."
The students from Beauxbatons are coming through the front doors from the grounds, among them, the veela-girl. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stand back to let them pass, watching eagerly.
Madame Maxime enters the hall behind her students and organizes them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students step across the Age Line and drop their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name enters the fire, it turns briefly red and emits sparks.
"What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?" Ron mutters to us as the veela-girl drops her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. "Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?"
I have no idea but part of me hopes that the veela-girl doesn't get chosen just so that she doesn't have to get accosted by all the boys here.
"She's pretty isn't she?" Ariana says again popping up mysteriously beside me. I jump and turn my gaze to her. Her brown eyes usually can tell me how she's feeling but today I just can't seem to get a read on her.
"Yes, but she looks a little too pretty don't you think— almost like she's fake. Personally I like blondes who are actually blond not near white." I say. I flush darkly when I realize what exactly I've just said, but the positively beaming smile that I receive from Ariana makes up for it.
"I couldn't agree more." She tells me before going off back to her dormitory. I blink and wonder what exactly just happened there. With a shake of my head I turn back to my oblivious friends.
"Dunno," says Harry. "Hang around, I suppose. . . . Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?"
When all the Beauxbatons students have submitted their names, Madame Maxime leads them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again.
"Where are they sleeping, then?" asks Ron, moving towards the front doors and staring after them. This boy is just crazy, its like she has him under a spell.
A loud rattling noise behind us announces Hermione's reappearance with the box of S.P.E.W. badges.
"Oh good, hurry up," says Ron, and he jumps down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela-girl, who is now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime.
As we near Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons' sleeping quarters is solved. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they have arrived has been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door, and the students are climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that have pulled the carriage are now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.
Harry knocks on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answer instantly.
"'Bout time!" says Hagrid, when he's flung open the door. "Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!"
"We've been really busy, Hag —" Hermione starts to say, but then she stops dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words. I can see why.
Hagrid is wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This isn't the worst of it, though; he has evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appears to be axle grease. It is now slicked down into two bunches — perhaps he has tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he has too much hair. The look doesn't really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggles at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she says, "Erm — where are the skrewts?"
"Out by the pumpkin patch," says 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?" I say, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, has just opened his mouth to say something about it.
"Yeah," says Hagrid sadly. "'S' okay, though, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' twenty."
"Well, that's lucky," says Ron. Hagrid misses the sarcasm.
Hagrid's cabin comprises a single room, in one corner of which is a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stand in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. We sit down at the table while Hagrid starts to make tea, and are soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seems quite as excited about it as we are.
"You wait," he says, 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, Hermione, and I urge him, but he just shakes his head, grinning.
"I don' want ter spoil it fer yeh," says 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!"
We end up having lunch with Hagrid, though we don't eat much — Hagrid has made what he says is a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearths a large talon in hers, she, Harry, Ron, and I rather lost our appetites. However, we enjoy ourselves trying to make Hagrid tell us what the tasks in the tournament are going to be, speculating which of the entrants are likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George are beardless yet. Part of me hopes that beards won't come off for a while.
A light rain has started to fall by midafternoon; it is 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 refuses to join S.P.E.W. when she shows him her badges.
"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he says 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' insultin' 'em if yeh tried ter pay 'em."
"But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!" says 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 looks very cross indeed and stuffs her box of badges back into her cloak pocket. I'm not going to say anything for it will likely end up with me in trouble with her.
By half past five it is growing dark, and Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I decide it is 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," says Hagrid, putting away his darning. "Jus' give us a sec."
Hagrid gets up, goes across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and begins searching for something inside it. We don't pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reaches our nostrils. Coughing, Ron says, "Hagrid, what's that?"
"Eh?" says Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. "Don' yeh like it?"
"Is that aftershave?" says Hermione in a slightly choked voice.
"Er — eau de cologne," Hagrid mutters. He is blushing. "Maybe it's a bit much," he says gruffly. "I'll go take it off, hang on . . ."
He stumps out of the cabin, and we see him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window.
"Eau de cologne?" I say in amazement. "Hagrid?"
"And what's with the hair and the suit?" says Harry in an undertone.
"Look!" says Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window.
Hagrid has just straightened up and turned 'round. If he was blushing before, it is nothing to what he is doing now. Getting to our feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid won't spot us, we peer through the window and see that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students have just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. We can't hear what Hagrid is saying, but he is talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression I have 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!" says Hermione indignantly. "I thought he was waiting for us!"
Without so much as a backwards glance at his cabin, Hagrid is 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!" says 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." What on earth is wrong with everyone here? Is there some sort of love potion in the air, or is this just the year for romance?
We let ourselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind us. It is surprisingly dark outside. Drawing our cloaks more closely around themselves, we set off up the sloping lawns.
"Ooh it's them, look!" Hermione whispers.
The Durmstrang party is walking up towards the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum is walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students are straggling along behind them. Ron watches Krum excitedly, but Krum does not look around as he reaches the front doors a little ahead of Hermione, Ron, Harry, and me and proceeds through them.
When we enter the candlelit Great Hall it is almost full. The Goblet of Fire has been moved; it is now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. Fred and George — clean-shaven again — seem to have taken their disappointment fairly well.
"Hope it's Angelina," says Fred as we sit down. I nod my head in agreement. My teammate could definitely win this thing.
"So do I!" says Hermione breathlessly. "Well, we'll soon know!"
The Halloween feast seems to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it is our second feast in two days, I don't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as I 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 has finished eating yet, I simply want the plates to clear, and to hear who has been selected as champions.
At long last, the golden plates return to their original spotless state; there is a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which dies away almost instantly as Dumbledore gets to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime look as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman is beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looks quite uninterested, almost bored. No wonder Percy works for him.
"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," says 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 indicates the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."
He takes out his wand and gives a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins are extinguished, plunging us into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shines more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watches, waiting. . . . A few people keep checking their watches. . . .
"Any second," Lee Jordan whispers, two seats away from Harry. The flames inside the goblet turn suddenly red again. Sparks begin to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shoots into the air, a charred piece of parchment flutters out of it — the whole room gasps.
Dumbledore catches the piece of parchment and holds it at arm's length, so that he can read it by the light of the flames, which has turned back to blue-white.
"The champion for Durmstrang," he reads, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."
"No surprises there!" yells Ron as a storm of applause and cheering sweeps the Hall. I see Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up towards Dumbledore; he turns right, walks along the staff table, and disappears through the door into the next chamber.
"Bravo, Viktor!" booms Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone can hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"
The clapping and chatting dies down. Now everyone's attention is focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turns red once more. A second piece of parchment shoots out of it, propelled by the flames.
"The champion for Beauxbatons," says Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"
"It's her, Ron!" I shout as the girl who so resembled a veela gets gracefully to her feet, shakes back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and sweeps up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.
I'm not too surprised by the outcome of that selection quite honestly. "Oh look, they're all disappointed," Hermione says over the noise, nodding towards the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. "Disappointed" is a bit of an understatement, I think. Two of the girls who have not been selected have dissolved into tears and are sobbing with their heads on their arms.
When Fleur Delacour too has vanished into the side chamber, silence falls again, but this time it is a silence so stiff with excitement you can almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next . . .
And the Goblet of Fire turns red once more; sparks shower out of it; the tongue of flame shoots high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulls the third piece of parchment.
"The Hogwarts champion," he calls, "is Cedric Diggory!" Oh well that's rather disappointing.
"No!" says Ron loudly, but nobody heards him except Harry and me; the uproar from the next table is too great. Every single Hufflepuff has jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric makes his way past them, grinning broadly, and heading off towards the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric goes on so long that it is some time before Dumbledore can make himself heard again.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore calls happily as at last the tumult dies 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 stops speaking, and it is apparent to everybody what has distracted him.
The fire in the goblet has just turned red again. Sparks are flying out of it. A long flame shoots suddenly into the air, and borne upon it is another piece of parchment.
Automatically, it seems, Dumbledore reaches out a long hand and seizes the parchment. He holds it out and stares at the name written upon it. There is a long pause, during which Dumbledore stares at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stares at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore clears his throat and reads out —
"Harry Potter." No. That can't be.
There is no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, is starting to fill the Hall; some students are standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sits, frozen, in his seat.
Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall has gotten to her feet and sweeps past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bends his ear towards her, frowning slightly.
Harry turned to Ron, Hermione, and me; beyond us, the long Gryffindor table is all watching him, openmouthed.
"I didn't put my name in," Harry says blankly. "You know I didn't."
The three of us stare just as blankly back. I don't know what to say or to think at the moment.
At the top table, Professor Dumbledore has straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.
"Harry Potter!" he calls again. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"
"Go on," Hermione whispers, giving Harry a slight push.
I watch as my friend gets up shakily and walks to the front of the Hall with everyone watching him. My eyes don't leave him until he disappears into the last chamber. Well that wasn't expected at all.