"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, rolling her eyes. With how he was acting, you'd think the Queen of England had come.
"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!"
Hermione didn't realise that either, but she didn't want to encourage Ron's obsession. As they recrossed the Entrance Hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students, more than a handful of students were jumping up and down, trying to catch a glimpse of the Durmstrang student. 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. If she were honest, it reminded her of Professor Lockhart and how people acted around him. Hermione was disgusted to think she had ever in her life acted like that.
"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. Hermione had one, but she refused to offer it if Ron didn't ask her specifically (which he didn't).
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 to 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. Nonetheless, they were all quite attractive and were earning almost as many glances and stares as the Quidditch star. Hermione hated to admit it, but she was quite jealous of their natural beauty and straight, blonde hair.
"It's not that cold," said Hermione irritably, who was watching them. "Why did they bring cloaks?" Hermione could just tell that the arrival of these new students would mean the end of any chance of a normal year of learning.
"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 instead of theirs. Hermione watched Malfoy bend forward to speak to Krum, much to Ron's chagrin.
"Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy," said Ron scathingly. "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. The fact Ron was so infatuated with Viktor Krum when he was so critical of Hermione in their second year was one of the most hypocritical things Hermione had ever experienced.
"They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot," said Harry, and Hermione had to agree. The students from Beauxbatons looked positively miserable. 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.
At the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his mouldy old tailcoat in honour of the occasion.
"But there are only two extra people," Harry said. "Why's Filch putting out four chairs? Who else is coming?"
"Eh?" said Ron. He was still staring avidly at Krum. Hermione glanced up at the head table and saw what Harry was talking about. The two extra seats were probably for the judges, but Hermione was too annoyed with Ron to speak clearly.
When all the students had entered the Hall and settled 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 and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore, however, 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 mocking 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!"
The dishes in front of them were filled with food that was probably slaved over all day. The House-Elves in the kitchen pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Hermione had ever seen, including several that were foreign.
"What's that?" said Ron, pointing at a large dish of shellfish stew 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 much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students; perhaps it was because their differently coloured 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, blood-red.
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 Hermione, Ron, and Harry 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. Hermione instinctively put her hand up to her bushy hair.
Ron went purple. He stared at her and opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes. What on earth was he doing? And why did her chest suddenly hurt? And what was that stinging in her eyes?
"Yeah, have it," said Harry, pushing the dish towards 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. Hermione had to look away.
"She's a Veela!" he said hoarsely, causing Hermione to whip back around.
"Of course she isn't!" said Hermione tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"
"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!"
Hermione felt as though she had been slapped. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt as horrible as she did, and the confusion made her panicky.
"They make them OK at Hogwarts," said Harry, without thinking. At first, Hermione thought he was standing up for her, but then she realised he was staring at Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw, in a very similar way as Ron was staring at the Beauxbaton student. She angrily turned away, instead looking back up at the staff table. She noticed two familiar faces taking their seats in the two empty chairs Harry had just been asking about.
"When you've both put your eyes back in," said Hermione briskly, "you'll be able to see who's just arrived."
She pointed up at the staff table. 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 daftly.
"They organised the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" said Hermione. Wasn't it obvious? "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."
Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. Several seats along from them, Fred and George were leaning forwards, 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. Hermione ignored his question and went back to listening to Dumbledore.
"– just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation" – 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 likeable. He acknowledged it with a cheery wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.
"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 which will judge the champions' efforts."
At the mention of the word 'champions', the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Even Hermione could feel herself getting caught up in the excitement.
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 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 carefully placed the Goblet on top of it, where it would be 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, 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 champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight 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 Ageing 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, choosing not to point out that a simple ageing potion would never fool a spell that Dumbledore cast. "We just haven't learnt enough," she added, trying to make them see reason.
"Speak for yourself," said George shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"
Hermione snapped her head and looked at Harry. He didn't think he could fool Dumbledore, too, did he? He couldn't be that dim.
"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. Hermione spotted Sophie staring at the Durmstrang Headmaster with a hint of disgust and fear in her eyes.
"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?"
Krum shook his head as he pulled his furs back on, his eyes glistening across the Great Hall. Hermione could have sworn they paused on her for just a moment, but she must have been seeing things.
"Professor, I vood 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 towards the doors, reaching them at precisely the same moment as Hermione, Ron, and Harry. 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 as well.. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry, too. The boy with food down his front nudged the girl beside him and pointed openly at Harry's forehead.
"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," said a growling voice behind them.
Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang Headmaster.
The colour drained from Karkaroff's face. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over his face.
"You!" he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was 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 each other's shoulders to see what was causing the hold-up.
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.
Hermione went back to her room in a foul mood. At first, the Triwizard Tournament seemed like a fascinating event, but here they were, not even a whole day into it, and she could tell it would be much more trouble than it was worth. For one thing, the entire student body and most of the staff seemed utterly uninterested in academics now that the Tournament was starting. Like Professor McGonagall had said, their fourth-year studies were pivotal in preparing them for their O. . If this stupid tournament prevented Hermione from getting her education, she would be extremely upset.
Speaking of being upset, the addition of the two foreign schools and all of the press that would inevitably come along with hosting an international Tournament would increase the House-Elve's duties tenfold. Hermione vowed to make another effort to get Ron and Harry re-engaged.
The thought of the two boys only made Hermione more angry. Was she so stupid to think that there was something more than just their regular friendship between herself and Ron that summer? She must have been wrong about the whole thing because Ron had never looked at her the way he looked at that Beauxbaton student. Sure, she didn't have poker-straight hair or dainty teeth, but she'd like to think her intelligence and personality would be more attractive.
Hermione went to the lavatory and stared in the mirror. Her hair was a mess of frizz and curls. Her eyebrows looked like caterpillars. The light dusting of freckles on her face looked like dirt. No wonder Ron didn't like her like that.
Hot tears welled up behind Hermione's eyes. She turned on the tap, scrubbing her face, and wetting down her hair. Why couldn't she be as pretty as other girls?
"What on earth are you doing?" came a high-pitched moan behind her. Hermione looked in the mirror and saw Moaning Myrtle floating behind her. Myrtle was the ghost that haunted the girls' lavatory on the second floor, though she sometimes drifted to others throughout the castle. Hermione had befriended her in her first year.
"Nothing," Hermione said through her tears.
"I may be dead, but I'm not stupid," Myrtle whined.
"Just having a bad day is all," Hermione said.
"At least you're not a cat," Myrtle said, referring to Hermione's second year when she accidentally used cat hairs in her Polyjuice Potion and transformed into a feline. Hermione didn't respond. She wasn't much in the mood to talk with Myrtle or anyone for that matter.
"I'm sorry, Myrtle, I think I am going to go to bed," Hermione sniffled and turned towards the door.
"Wetting down your hair won't make it less frizzy," Myrtle said. "I should know. My hair used to be frizzy when I was alive."
Hermione turned back around and noticed Myrtle's straight hair. "What did you do then?"
"I used a potion, duh," Myrtle said, sticking her tongue out and spinning around in a loop.
"I tried one," Hermione said grimly. "It didn't work."
"You didn't try this one," the ghost said. "Because I created it myself."
Hermione perked up. "Really? What was it?"
"I thought you were going to bed," Myrtle said with a mean smile.
"I am-was," Hermione said. "But I'd love to hear more about this potion."
"So you don't actually want to talk to me," Myrtle whined. "You just want to use me for my hair potion."
Hermione sighed. Myrtle took everything so personally. "Of course I want to talk to you, Myrtle," she said. "I'm just not having a good day because I am really upset about my hair, and when you mentioned there may be something that would work on it, it made me pause. That's all."
"I don't believe you," Myrtle moaned.
"Ok," Hermione said, too upset to try any harder. "You can believe whatever you want, Myrtle. I'm going to bed. If you'd like to chat some other time when I am not as upset, I'd love to."
With that, Hermione turned and walked out of the lavatory. She could hear Myrtle telling her to wait, but Hermione was too tired to play Myrtle's games. She would try again with the ghost when she was in a better mood - she needed that hair potion to survive this Triwizard Tournament.
Hermione slept surprisingly well in spite of everything, and even felt a hint of excitement when she woke up. It was Saturday, and while most students usually had breakfast late, many early risers were already in the Entrance Hall when Hermione walked in. Against her better judgement, she succumbed to routine and joined up with Ron and Harry as she did every other day for breakfast. Everyone was milling about, inspecting the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the centre of the hall on the stool that usually bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a ten-foot circle 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 in last night after we'd all gone to bed," said Harry. "I would've done if it had been me; wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the Goblet just gobbed you right back out again?"
Hermione noticed 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 Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "Just taken it."
"What?" said Ron.
"The Ageing 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. She, in fact, was extremely sure. "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 –"
They all 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, Hermione thought it had worked – George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred – but the next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though an invisible shot-putter had thrown them. 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 sprouted identical long white beards.
The Entrance Hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in once they had got 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 Hermione, Ron, and Harry, also chortling, went to breakfast.
The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats fluttered 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 rumour going round, Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean told them. "That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth."
Harry 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 swivelled 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 Hermione and Harry when they had finished breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall.
"We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet," said Harry.
"OK," said Ron. "Just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the Skrewts."
Hermione suddenly had a brilliant idea! Hagrid! His love of all magical creatures would make him the perfect S.P.E.W. member, as well as add credibility to their cause (a Hogwarts Professor would most assuredly heighten their status).
"I've just realised – 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?"
Hermione raced back up the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room and up the spiral staircase to the Girls' Dormitory. Slightly out of breath, she grabbed her manifesto and box of badges and made the journey back down to where Harry and Ron were waiting.
"Oh, good, hurry up," said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps. Hermione noticed he wasn't looking at her and tried to follow Ron's line of vision. Unfortunately, it fell upon Madame Maxine and the Veela girl across the lawn. Hermione tried to ignore the pain in her chest and wrote it off as a cramp from running all the way to her dormitory and back to retrieve the tin.
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 and seen who was knocking. "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, 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; he had 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. Hermione goggled at him for a moment before realising she was being rude. She tried to shake herself out of her shock and think of something, anything, to talk about other than Hagrid's appearance. "Erm – where are the Skrewts?" she asked, at a loss for any other subject.
"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'OK, 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 at the table while Hagrid started making 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!" Hermione, Ron, and Harry urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning. Hagrid was notorious for spilling secrets.
"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. They enjoyed 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 mid-afternoon; it was very cosy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and just chatting. Hermione thought it was the perfect time to talk to him about S.P.E.W.
"So, Hagrid," Hermione started. "I wanted to discuss something very important with you."
"Sure, what is it, 'Mione?" Hagrid asked, pausing his darning to look at her over his bushy beard.
"As you are probably aware, Hogwarts is one of the biggest employers - and I use that term very loosely - of House-Elves," Hermione started.
"Yeh! O'er a 'undred of 'em now I think!" Hagrid smiled broadly.
"Right," Hermione said, confused by his smile. "And, as you know, House-Elves have been mistreated and treated as slaves for hundreds of years."
"Come again?" Hagrid said.
"House-Elves have been bought and sold as property for hundreds of years," Hermione reiterated. "They are mistreated at best, abused at worse, and have been brainwashed into believing cooking and cleaning are all they are good for. That is the reason I am starting S.P.E.W. - the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare - and would like you to join us in our fight for a small cost. As you will see in my manifesto entitled Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status, our short-term goals are to secure House-Elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include-"
"Imma stop yeh right there, 'Mione," Hagrid said solemnly. "I'll be joinin' no such thing."
"If it's cost that is a deterrent, the membership fee is only two sickles, and that buys you one of these badges to proudly wear around Hogwarts."
"It's not 'bout the cost," Hagrid said, shaking his head.
"What is it then?" Hermione asked curtly.
"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he said gravely, returning to darning his socks. "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!" 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 furiously put the box of badges back into her cloak pocket. She couldn't understand how Hagrid, of all people, wouldn't want House-Elves to have fair treatment. She must tweak her presentation and mentally set aside some time to do so.
By half past five, it was growing dark. Hermione, Harry, and Ron decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast and 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, trying to be nice. In reality, it smelled like something that was dead and had been rotting for weeks.
"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!" blurted Ron, 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, Hermione, Ron, and Harry peered through the window. She 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. Hermione knew exactly what was happening - Hagrid had a crush on Madame Maxime!
"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, saying precisely what Hermione had been thinking. "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 were walking up towards 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. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's fangirling.
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 reasonably well.
"Hope it's Angelina," said Fred as they all sat down.
"So do I!" said Hermione breathlessly. "Well, we'll soon know!"
The Halloween feast took much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, but the dishes were not being cleared as promptly as usual. Hermione felt a stab of anger at the extra work expected of the House-Elves.
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, seemed 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 semi-dark state. 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.
The flames inside the Goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, and 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 as Viktor slouched towards 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 towards the remainder of the Beauxbaton's party. Hermione joined them in their angst - she'd have to put up with Ron's obsession for nearly the whole year now, though she wasn't nearly as overt about her anger as the other Beauxbaton students; 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 Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment from its tip.
"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"
"No!" said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Hermione and Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to their feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off towards 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."