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J.K.Rîwling >> Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (page 63)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 Flitwicks 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. Harrys 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; Voldemorts 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.” CHAPTER THIRTY 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. |
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