 哈利·波特在霍格沃茨魔法学校经过三年的学习和磨炼，逐渐成长为一个出色的巫师。新学年开始前，哈利和好朋友罗恩，赫敏一起去观看精彩的魁地奇世界杯赛，无意间发现了消失十三年的黑魔标记。哈利的心头笼上了一团浓重的阴云，但三个少年依然拥有他们自己的伊甸园。然而，少男少女的心思是那样难以捉摸，三人之间的美好友情竟是那样一波三折，忽晴忽雨……哈利渴望与美丽的秋·张共同走进一个美丽的故事，但这个朦朦胧胧的憧憬却遭受了小小的失意。他要做一个普普通通的四年级魔法学生，可不幸的是，哈利注定永远都不可能平平常常——即使拿魔法界的标准来衡量。黑魔的阴影始终挥之不去，种种暗藏杀机的神秘事件将哈利一步步推向了伏地魔的魔爪。哈利渴望在百年不遇的三强争霸赛中战胜自我，完成三个惊险艰巨的魔法项目，谁知整个竞赛竟是一个天大的黑魔法阴谋。…… |
Chapter 1 The Riddle House The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it “the Riddle House,” even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied. The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was “creepy.” Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead. The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village and roused as many people as she could. “Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!” The police were summoned, and the whole of Little Hangleton had seethed with shocked curiosity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted their breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Riddle had been rich, snobbish, and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been, if anything, worse. All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer - for plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night. The Hanged Man, the village pub, did a roaring trade that night; the whole village seemed to have turned out to discuss the murders. They were rewarded for leaving their firesides when the Riddles’ cook arrived dramatically in their midst and announced to the suddenly silent pub that a man called Frank Bryce had just been arrested. “Frank!” cried several people. “Never!” Frank Bryce was the Riddles’ gardener. He lived alone in a run-down cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since. There was a rush to buy the cook drinks and hear more details. “Always thought he was odd,” she told the eagerly listening villagers, after her fourth sherry. “Unfriendly, like. I'm sure if I've offered him a cuppa once, I've offered it a hundred times. Never wanted to mix, he didn't.” “Ah, now,” said a woman at the bar, “he had a hard war, Frank. He likes the quiet life. That's no reason to -” “Who else had a key to the back door, then?” barked the cook. “There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we was all sleeping…” The villagers exchanged dark looks. “I always thought that he had a nasty look about him, right enough,” grunted a man at the bar. “War turned him funny, if you ask me,” said the landlord. “Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?” said an excited woman in the corner. “Horrible temper,” said Dot, nodding fervently. “I remember, when he was a kid…” By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles. But over in the neighboring town of Great Hangleton, in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddles’ deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale. Nobody else in the village had seen any such boy, and the police were quite sure Frank had invented him. Then, just when things were looking very serious for Frank, the report on the Riddles’ bodies came back and changed everything. The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangles, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health - apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death? As there was no proof that the Riddles had been murdered at all, the police were forced to let Frank go. The Riddles were buried in the Little Hangleton churchyard, and their graves remained objects of curiosity for a while. To everyone's surprise, and amid a cloud of suspicion, Frank Bryce returned to his cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. “As far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say,” said Dot in the Hanged Man. “And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we knows he did it.” But Frank did not leave. He stayed to tend the garden for the next family who lived in the Riddle House, and then the next - for neither family stayed long. Perhaps it was partly because of Frank that the new owners said there was a nasty feeling about the place, which, in the absence of inhabitants, started to fall into disrepair. * * * * * * The wealthy man who owned the Riddle House these days neither lived there nor put it to any use; they said in the village that he kept it for “tax reasons,” though nobody was very clear what these might be. The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening, however. Frank was nearing his seventy-seventh birthday now, very deaf, his bad leg stiffer than ever, but could be seen pottering around the flower beds in fine weather, even though the weeds were starting to creep up on him, try as he might to suppress them. Weeds were not the only things Frank had to contend with either. Boys from the village made a habit of throwing stones through the windows of the Riddle House. They rode their bicycles over the lawns Frank worked so hard to keep smooth. Once or twice, they broke into the old house for a dare. They knew that old Frank's devotion to the house and the grounds amounted almost to an obsession, and it amused them to see him limping across the garden, brandishing his stick and yelling croakily at them. Frank, for his part, believed the boys tormented him because they, like their parents and grandparents, though him a murderer. So when Frank awoke one night in August and saw something very odd up at the old house, he merely assumed that the boys had gone one step further in their attempts to punish him. It was Frank's bad leg that woke him; it was paining him worse than ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen with the idea of refilling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked up at the Riddle House and saw lights glimmering in its upper windows. Frank knew at once what was going on. The boys had broken into the house again, and judging by the flickering quality of the light, they had started a fire. Frank had no telephone, in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning about the Riddles’ deaths. He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and removing a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night. The front door of the Riddle House bore no sign of being forced, nor did any of the windows. Frank limped around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock, and opened the door noiselessly. He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years; nevertheless, although it was very dark, he remembered where the door into the hall was, and he groped his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of footsteps or voices from overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick. On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: At the every end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond. The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful. “There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry.” “Later,” said a second voice. This too belonged to a man - but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.” Frank turned his right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again. “Where is Nagini?” said the cold voice. “I - I don't know, My Lord,” said the first voice nervously. “She set out to explore the house, I think…” “You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,” said the second voice. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.” Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again. “My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?” “A week,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.” Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word “Quidditch,” which was not a word at all. “The - the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?” said Wormtail. (Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear.) “Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?” “Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.” Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words “Ministry of Magic,” “wizards,” and “Muggles.” Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code: spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still. “Your Lordship is still determined, then?” Wormtail said quietly. “Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.” There was a note of menace in the cold voice now. A slight pause followed - and the Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve. “It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord.” Another pause, more protracted, and then - “Without Harry Potter?” breathed the second voice softly. “I see…” “My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!” said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. “The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -” “I could use another wizard,” said the cold voice softly, “that is true…” “My Lord, it makes sense,” said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. “Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected -” “And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder…perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?” “My Lord! I - I have no wish to leave you, none at all -” “Do not lie to me!” hissed the second voice. “I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me…” “No! My devotion to Your Lordship -” “Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?” “But you seem so much stronger, My Lord -” “Liar,” breathed the second voice. “I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!” Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. The second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss. “I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldermort's wrath -” “My Lord, I must speak!” said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. “All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -” “If?” whispered the second voice. “If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition…Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -” “I am a faithful servant,” said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice. “Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement.” “I found you,” said Wormtail, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. “I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.” “That is true,” said the second man, sounding amused. “A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?” “I - I thought she might be useful, My Lord -” “Liar,” said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…” “R-really, My Lord? What -?” Wormtail sounded terrified again. “Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end…but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.” “You…you…” Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. “You…are going…to kill me too?” “Wormtail, Wormtail,” said the cold voice silkily, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns…” Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech. “We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail.” Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse - with amusement. He was dangerous - a madman. And he was planning more murders - this boy, Harry Potter, whoever he was - was in danger - Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village…but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might. “One more murder…my faithful servant at Hogwarts…Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet…I think I hear Nagini…” And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure. And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look, and found himself paralyzed with fright. Something was slithering toward him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realized with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - What was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where the two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him - But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap. There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea…This man could talk to snakes. Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again. “Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,” it said. “In-indeed, My Lord?” said Wormtail. “Indeed, yes,” said the voice, “According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.” Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps and then the door of the room was flung wide open. A short, balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm in his face. “Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?” The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn't see the speaker. the snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog. Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip on his walking stick and limped over the threshold. The fire was the only source of light in the room; it cast long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head. “You heard everything, Muggle?” said the cold voice. “What's that you're calling me?” said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war. “I am calling you a Muggle,” said the voice coolly. “It means that you are not a wizard.” “I don't know what you mean by wizard,” said Frank, his voice growing steadier. “All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too,” he added, on a sudden inspiration, “my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -” “You have no wife,” said the cold voice, very quietly. “Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows…he always knows…” “Is that right?” said Frank roughly. “Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn ‘round and face me like a man, why don't you?” “But I am not a man, Muggle,” said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. “I am much, much more than a man. However…why not? I will face you…Wormtail, come turn my chair around.” The servant gave a whimper. “You heard me, Wormtail.” Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug. And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor. Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start. 小汉格林顿的村民还叫它“谜宅”，尽管理德家很多年前曾居住在那里。谜宅坐落在小山上，山下是村庄，有时窗户用板封着，屋顶上瓦片不全，常青藤爬满屋前，已很久无人打理。它一度是一座华丽的庄园，是方圆几里内最大最雄伟的建筑物，但现在却潮湿阴霾，残桓断壁，无人居住。 村里人都认为谜宅令人毛骨悚然。半个世纪以前，那里发生了些稀奇古怪的事情，村里的老人在缺少聊天的话题时都喜欢谈论这件事。故事讲来讲去如此多遍，如此多次，以致于谁也不能确定事实到底是怎样的。但是每个版本的故事都有同样一个开头：五十年前，一个晴朗夏日的早晨，天刚刚亮，那时“谜宅”保养良好，一个女佣进入大堂，结果发现：谜宅的主人——理德一家三口都死了。 女佣尖叫着跑下山去，跑进村庄，尽量多唤醒些村民。 “躺在那里眼睛睁得大大的！像冰一样冷！还穿着晚宴服。” 警察来了。小村子整个骚动起来，村民们充满好奇、吃惊、掩饰不住的兴奋。没有谁需要假装伤悲，因为理德一家在村子里最不受欢迎。老理德夫妇非常有钱，但却很势利，而且待人刻薄，他们的儿子——汤姆，更是比他父母有过之而无不及。所有村民关心的是要证实他们确实被谋杀，显而易见，三个身体凉爽的人不可能因为自然死而死于同一个晚上。 那天晚上“闲士”酒吧做了一笔大生意，全村人都在聚论谋杀案。当理德家的厨师戏剧性地加入他们时，他们都自然而然地离开烤火炉，厨师对忽然静下来的酒吧宣布，一个叫弗兰克·布来斯的人刚刚被捕。 “弗兰克·布来斯！”几个人惊叫起来。“不可能！” 弗兰克怖来斯是“谜宅”的园丁。他独自住在谜宅地盘上的一座已停工的农舍里，孤单一人。弗兰克退役归来，一条腿不灵活，极不喜欢群居。他不喜欢嘈杂喧闹，自从退役以来一直就在为理德干活。 有人冲上来给厨师酒喝，想听更多的详情。 喝了第四杯酒，他告诉这些急着想听的村民：“我总是觉得他有些古里古怪的，也不对人友好，我每次都把茶送到他那，因为，他从来不和别人混在一起，从来不。” 酒馆里一位女士说，“啊，我说，他打了场很艰苦的仗，他喜欢宁静的生活，没有理由去——” 厨师反驳说，“除了他还有谁有后门钥匙？我记得在农舍里有一把备用钥匙，昨天晚上没有人强行破门，窗子也没有破坏，弗兰克·布来斯只需要爬到大房子里去，而我们都在熟睡……” 村民们交换了他们的眼色。 酒吧里一位男士咕哝道，“我总觉得他很邋遏。” 酒吧老板说：“战争把他搞得滑里滑稽的。” 角落里一个妇女兴奋得叫了起来，“我不是告诉你我不想说弗兰克·布来斯的坏话吗，多特？” 多特猛地点头，说道，“他的脾气太可怕了，我记得当他还是个孩子的时候……” 到第二天早晨为止，村子里几乎没有人再怀疑不是弗兰克·布来斯杀了理德全家。 但在汉格林顿邻镇那边，昏暗的警察局里，弗兰克固执地重复他是无辜的，他说在理德一家被杀的那天晚上，他只看见一个十几岁的男孩在他们家附近，那男孩从未见过，黑头发，面色苍白。但没有任何村民看见过这个男孩，警察断定弗兰克。布来斯是凭空捏造的。 就在情形对弗兰克·布来斯看起来很不利时，验尸报告拿回来了，从而改变了一切。 警察们从来没有见过这样离奇的验尸报告。法医们十分谨慎地验尸，结论是理德一家不是被毒死、熗杀、刺杀、扼杀，也不是被闷死的，甚至根本没受伤。事实上，验尸仍在继续，但实在让人迷惑不解，理德家除了的确死了以外，身体是处于完全凉爽的状态。 法医们特别注明（虽然他们决意要找出死者身上有什么不妥之处），理德一家人的脸上均有恐怖之色。但据灰心丧气的警察说，有谁听说过三个人同时被吓死的？ 既然没有证据证明理德一家是死于谋杀，警察不得不释放弗兰克·布来斯。死者葬在小汉格林顿镇的墓地。他们的坟墓也一度引起人们的好奇。令人吃惊的是，弗兰克·布来斯又回到理德家地盘上的农舍，这一切都充满疑云。 “闲士”酒吧里，多特说，“就我而言，是他杀了他们，我不管警察说啥。”“如果他还有脸的话，他会离开这里，他应知道我们晓得是他干的。”另一个人说。 但弗兰克没有走。他留下来为新搬来谜宅的一家照顾花园，接着又是新的一家，但两家都呆得不久。也许正是因为有弗兰克，两个新主人都说，这地方有一种阴冷的感觉，叫人起鸡皮疙瘩，渐渐地，这里因无人居住而年久失修。 现在的“谜宅”主人不住在里面，也不投入使用。他们说老板拥有它只是因为税务方面的原因，尽管谁也不清楚这些原因是什么。宅主有钱，弗兰克做园丁，宅主就付钱。弗兰克都快要七十七岁了，聋得很厉害，什么也听不见，他那条腿更加不能动弹，但天气晴朗的日子还可以见他在花床周围闲逛，虽然野草都开始把他淹没了。 弗兰克不光只与野草斗，村里的男孩常常向谜宅的窗户扔石子。弗兰克劳了很大的劲让草坪乎乎整整，而孩子们却在上面骑车，偶尔一两次他们竟破“宅”而人进行挑衅。他们知道弗兰克忠于谜宅和那片土地。孩子们看着弗兰克跛着腿走过花园，他们感到很有趣。弗兰克有时会挥舞着拐杖，对他们呱呱乱叫。对弗兰克来说他认为孩子们曲解了他，就像他们的父母、祖父母一样认为他是杀人凶手。八月一天夜间弗兰克一觉醒来，看到旧屋里有个怪物，他只不过认为一定是那些孩子们想进一步惩罚他。 是他那不中用的腿弄醒他，年纪大了，疼得更加厉害了。他站起来，破着下楼梯，进到厨房，想给暖水瓶再次加热水以镇镇膝痛。他站在水龙头边，灌水壶，仰起头来看“谜宅”，上面窗户里灯光闪烁。弗兰克马上意识到了到底是怎么回事。男孩们再次破门而入，从这闪烁的光来看，他们在那儿生了火。 弗兰克没有电话，不管怎么说，自从当初警察把他抓起来，盘问他关于理德一家的死因后，他对警察就抱着深深的不信任。他马上放下水壶，尽快地上楼，又很快地返回厨房，穿好了衣服，从门钩那里取下那柄生锈的旧钥匙，他拿起靠在墙边的拐杖，一头冲进夜里。 谜宅前门没有被破坏的痕迹，窗子也没有遭到破坏。弗兰克跛着腿到屋后一条完全被常青藤隐住的门的前面，他拿出钥匙，插进锁里，悄无声息地开了门。 他走进空荡荡的厨房。弗兰克已经很多年没有进来过了。虽然厨房很黑，但他还记得通往大厅的门在哪里，他的鼻子里满是腐烂的气味，耳朵竖起倾听脚步声及上面的任何声音。他到了大厅，因为前门两边窗子有竖条栏杆，比厨房光亮一些。他开始一步一步往上爬楼梯，多亏了石级上厚厚的灰尘，这样使得没人可以听得见他的脚步声及拐杖声。 一爬上楼，弗兰克向右转，马上就看见了入侵者在什么方位。 就在走廊尽头，大门半开半掩，摇动的光从门缝里透了出来，在黑黑的地板上投下金黄色的长条亮影。弗兰克慢慢地往门边靠近，拐杖握得紧紧的。离门口只有几英尺了，可以看见房间里狭窄的一部分。 他看清了，火烧在暖气炉里。这令他很惊讶。他停止向前走，专心地听，有一个人在屋里说话，声音听起来紧张、胆怯：“主人啊，如果还饿的话，瓶子里还有一点。” “过一会。”第二个人的声育，也是男音，不可思议的高音，像刺骨寒风突然爆裂一样冰冷。这声音有那么点东西使得弗兰克后脑勺上的几根稀松的头发也竖了起来。 “把我移得离火近点，温太尔！” 弗兰克用右耳贴近门面，听得清楚些。一个瓶子呕当一声放到一个坚硬的表面上，紧跟着是椅子拖过地板沉闷的刮地声。弗兰克瞥见了一个矮个子，背朝门，推着椅子靠近火炉。他身被一个长长的黑斗篷，后脑勺上没有头发。然后这小矮人就不见了。 “南格尼在哪里？”那冷酷的声音说话了。 “我不知道，主人，”第一个声音紧张地回应道，“我想她出去打探情况了……” “温太尔，在我们睡觉前，你给她挤奶，”第二个声音说，“我夜里需要喂奶，长途旅行让我筋疲力竭。” 弗兰克眉头紧锁，额头上堆起深深皱纹，他把右耳再贴近些，十分艰难地听着。好阵子没有声息。然后那个叫做温太尔的人又说话了。 “主人啊！您能告诉我们在此呆多久吗？” “一周，”冷音答，“也许还会长些。这地方总算还舒服。计划不能进行下去。在快迪斯世界杯赛结束之前行动是愚蠢可笑的。” 弗兰克把一个多节瘤的手指塞进耳朵里，掏转。毫无疑问，由于耳里有耳屎，他听见了“快迪斯”，其实这根本不是一个词。 “主人啊！快迪斯世界杯！”（弗兰克手指掏耳朵更用力了）“请您原谅我吧，但是我不懂，为什么我们要等到世界杯赛结束？” “傻瓜，因为在现在这个时候，全世界的巫师们都像潮水一般涌入这个国家，魔法部管事的都在值班，都在观察任何不同寻常活动的迹像，检查，再检查你的身份。他们很注意安全问题，我们不要行动，以免让马格人注意到什么。因此我们必须等待。” 弗兰克停止掏耳朵。他清楚地听到了“魔法部”、“巫师”、“马格人”。很显然，这些词语都表示某种神秘意义。弗兰克只能想起两种用暗号讲话的人，间谍和罪犯。弗兰克再次握紧手中的拐杖，更加注意地听下去。 温太尔静静地说，“那您的统治地位仍然很稳固吧？” “当然很稳固。”冷酷的声音中有一种威胁。 又稍微一段时间没有人讲话。接着温太尔说话了，这些话一下子从嘴里倒出来，好像在强迫自己在失去理智前一定要说完这些。 “主人啊！如果没有哈利·波特，我们早就成功了。” 又是一阵沉默，比刚才又要长些，接着第二个声音轻声说，“没有哈利·波特，让我想想……” 温太尔的声音越来越尖：“主人啊！我这样说并不是出于关心哈利·波特，这男孩对我来说一钱不值，根本无足轻重。只是如果用另一个女巫，或男巫，哪怕是任何巫师，这件事可以完成得快得多！假如您允许我离开您一会，您知道我将会最有效地伪装自己，并可以在短短的两天时间内，带来一个合适的人选。” 第二个声音轻轻地说，“我可以用另一个人，那倒是真的……” “主人啊！这样比较现实，”温太尔说，他的声音现在好像完全如释重负，“要碰哈利·波特，很难，他被保护得太好了。” “你自愿去找回另一个人。我想，也许照顾我的任务已经使你厌烦，温太尔？你建议放弃这个计划会不会是想丢下我不管？” “主人啊！我没想过要离开您，压根不想这样做！” 第二个声音嘘声说道，“不要对我撒谎了，温太尔，我还可以分辨。你在后悔又回到我身边。我对你不满意。当你看我时，我看见你害怕，当你碰我时，我觉得你在发抖……” “不是这样，我对您忠心不二……” “你的忠心只不过是怯懦而已。如果你有任何别的地方去，你不会呆在这里。每几小时我需要喂食，你不在这里我如何可以生存下去？谁去南格尼那里取奶？” “但您好像已经强壮得多了，主人啊！……” “骗子！”第二个声音说，“我并不强壮。过不了几天就可以把我在你愚笨的照顾下恢复的凉爽折腾殆尽。住嘴吧！” 温太尔一直在急速地讲话，语无伦次，一下子静了下来。接着第二个声音又说话了，但是悄声说的，简直就是嘶嘶声。 “我有我的理由要用这个男孩。我已经跟你解释过了，我不会用第二个。我等待了十三年。再等几个月没什么关系。至于那孩子周围的保护，我相信我的计划将会是有效的。而所需要的东西是来自你的勇气，温太尔，你要鼓起勇气，如果你不想让福尔得摩特公爵盛怒的话。” “主人啊，我一定要说！”温太尔说，声音里充满恐惧，“在整个旅途中我脑海里不断思考这个计划，珀茜·佐金斯的失踪过不了多久就会让人发现，如果我们继续下去，如果我诅咒——” 第二个声音悄声说，“假使？假使你继续这一计划，温太尔，部里将没有人会知道还有人失踪。你要静悄悄地干，不能忙中出错，我只希望我能自己干，但我现在这种情形，……来吧，温太尔，又一个障碍排除了，我们离哈利·波特又近一步。我不会要你一个人干，届时我忠实的仆人将再次加入我们……” 温太尔说，“我是一个忠实仆人。”声音有点阴沉。 “温太尔，我需要有脑筋的人，也需要从不动摇他的忠诚的人，但这两种要求你都达不到。” “是我发现了您。”温太尔说，他的声音几乎接近有些不高兴了，“正是我找到您，我把珀茜·佐金斯带给了您。” “那倒是真的。”第二个人说，听起来很快活。“我意想不到你那么聪明，温太尔，讲老实话，你不知道你抓到她时，她是多么有用，是吧！” “我，我认为她可能会有用，主人啊！” “撒谎。”第二个声音更大了，既冷酷又兴奋，“可是，我不否认她的信息是无价的，没有她的信息，我的计划不可能形成，因此，你也要得到奖赏。温太尔，我将让你代我完成一个重大的任务，我的许多追随者都用他们的右手去完成……” “真的吗，主人啊！什么——？”温太尔听起来又吓坏了。 “啊，温太尔，你吃惊吧？你的任务将在最后到来……但我答应你，你将会得到和珀茜·佐金斯一样的荣誉。” “您，您……”温太尔声音突然变得十分沙哑，好像他的嘴巴十分的干渴，“您……将……也要把我杀了？” “温太尔，温太尔，”冰冷声音变得柔和起来，“我为什么要杀你呢？我杀珀茜因为我实在迫不得已。我问完她后，她已不适合什么事情，已经完全无用。如果她回到部里说在她度假的时候碰到了你，那什么乱七八糟的问题都可能被问到。他们不会想到本来应该死掉的男巫们却会安然无事，还在路边旅馆里遇到的魔法部里的女巫们……” 温太尔喃喃自语，太小声音，弗兰克听不见，第二个人却笑了。尽管说话冰酷，但笑得却很开心。 “我们可能改变了她的记忆吗？当我问她时，已经证明了记忆咒语可以被一位法力强大的男巫破除。如果不用我从她那儿得到的信息，那是对她记忆的侮辱，温太尔。” 走廊外面，弗兰克突然意识到抓拐杖的手满是冷汗。那冷冷的人已杀了一个女人。他讲这件事完全没有不安，后悔，却带有风趣。他是个危险人物，是个疯子，在计划更多的谋杀，哈利·波特这个男孩，不管他是谁，正处于危险之中。 弗兰克知道他必须干点什么。现在是报警的时候，他要爬出去，直奔村里的电话亭，但冰冷之声又说话了，弗兰克原地不动，十分投入地听着。 “还有一个诅咒，……我忠实的猎场看守仆人在霍格瓦彻……，哈利·波特像矿藏一样珍贵，温太尔，就这么定了。以后不要再讨论这件事，安静……我认为我听见南格尼……” 第二个声音改变了，他开始发出弗兰克从来未听到过的噪音，他在不断发出嘶嘶声和呼噜声，弗兰克认为他一定是某种痰病发作。 接着，弗兰克听见漆黑的长廊里有动静，就在他身后，他朝身后看去，惊骇得瘫着不能动弹。 某东西正在漆黑的地板上朝他爬过来，当快接近灯光长影时，弗兰克惊恐万分地发现，那是条巨大的蛇，至少有十二英尺长。太惶恐了，太可怕了，弗兰克瞪着它的眼睛一动也不动，那蛇身如同波浪一样起伏不平，在厚厚的尘土上扭开一道宽宽的弯弯曲曲的灰沟。逃身的唯一办法就是进屋，但屋里有两人正在策划谋杀，假使果在原地那可是必死无疑。 但是他还未来得及作出决定，那蛇已经在他身边了，接着，那蛇不可思议地，奇迹般地闪过，原来它是听从那吐液声，嘶嘶声，服从那冰冷的声音，转眼间那钻石型的尾巴也在灰沟里消失了。 弗兰克的额头上也大汗淋漓，握杖之手已开始发颤，室内冰冷之声还在发出嘶嘶声，弗兰克突然闪一个怪念头。这个人可以与蛇讲话。 弗兰克不懂正在发生的是什么，他现在要做的远不止是去拿热水壶上床暖腿。因为他两腿好像不能动。他站在那儿发抖，他努力地控制自己，冰冷之声突然转用英语说：“南格尼有一则有趣的消息，温太尔！” “真——真的吗，主人啊！”温太尔说。 “真的如此！”那声音说，“根据南格尼所说，屋内有一个老家伙，听到了我们说的每一个词。” 弗兰克没有机会隐藏。有脚步声，房门一下子大开。 一个秃顶灰发，尖鼻子的矮个子站在地面前，眼睛小而湿润，脸上全是惊恐。害怕。 “请他进屋来，温太尔，你的礼貌到哪儿去了！” 那冰冷的声音是从炉火前的一把古旧的椅子上发出来的，弗兰克看不见说话人，那蛇在壁炉前的地毯上蟋伏成一堆，像一只小狗做一些滑稽的动作。 温太尔示意让弗兰克进屋。尽管还是发抖，弗兰克使劲地紧了紧手杖，破过了门槛。 火是房里的灯光来源，火在墙上映上长长的细亮的影子。弗兰克盯住椅子后面，里面的人好像还要比仆人矮，连他的后脑勺也看不见。 冰冷之声说话了，“你听见了所有的东西吗，马格？” “你在叫我什么？”弗兰克挑战似地说，现在已经进了屋，是采取行动的时候，他觉得要勇敢了一点，他在战场上总是这样的。 “我在叫你，马格，”冷音冷冷地说，“那就是说你不是巫师！” “我不明白你用‘巫师’一词说的是什么意思，”弗兰克声音越来越沉稳，“我只知道我今晚所听见的足够让警察感兴趣，你曾经杀过人，并且你在计划更多的谋杀，”不知从哪里来的灵感，他又说：“我老婆知道我上来了，如果我不回去的话……” “你没有老婆，”冷音静静地说，“没有人知道你在这里，你并未告诉任何人你来这里，不要对福尔得摩特撒谎，笨蛋，因为他是什么都知道的。” “是吗？”弗兰克粗声说，“福尔得摩特，是吗？我不管你那么多。转过来，像个男人一样面对我，你为什么不呢？” “但我并不是人，马格，”冷声说，在火苗的噼啪声中，几乎听不见，“我可是大大超过你们人类，为什么不呢？我就面对你，来，温太尔转动椅子。” 仆人发出一声抱怨。 “你听见我说话了吗？温太尔。” 矮个子慢慢地向前走去，脸扭曲着，好像他宁愿干任何事情也不愿去接近他的主人和那条蛇躺着的地毯，他开始转动椅子。椅腿钩破地毯，那蛇抬起它那丑恶的三角头，发出轻轻的嘶嘶声。 接着，椅子面对着弗兰克，他看见椅子里面有什么，他的手杖“咣当”一声掉在地板上。他张开嘴，尖叫起来，他的尖叫声音太大，听不见椅子里面的东西举起魔杖时所说的话，一道绿光一闪，加上呼啸之声，弗兰克·布来斯倒下了，他还未倒在地上就已经死了。 在两百英里以外的地方，那个叫做哈利·波特的男孩猛地惊醒。 |
Chapter 2 The Scar Harry lay flat on his back, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had awoken from a vivid dream with his hands pressed over his face. The old scar on his forehead, which was shaped like a bolt of lightning, was burning beneath his fingers as though someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. He sat up, one hand still on his scar, the other hand reaching out in the darkness for his glasses, which were on the bedside table. He put them on and his bedroom came into clearer focus, lit by a faint, misty orange light that was filtering through the curtains from the street lamp outside the window. Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned on the lamp beside him, scrambled out of bed, crossed the room, opened his wardrobe, and peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. A skinny boy of fourteen looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy black hair. He examined the lightning-bolt scar of his reflection more closely. It looked normal, but it was still stinging. Harry tried to recall what he had been dreaming about before he had awoken. It had seemed so real…There had been two people he knew and one he didn't…He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember… The dim picture of a darkened room came to him…There had been a snake on a hearth rug…a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail…and a cold, high voice…the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought… He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible…All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had awoken him…or had that been the pain in his scar? And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; Harry had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. Harry put his face into his hands, blocking out his bedroom, trying to hold on to the picture of that dimly lit room, but it was like trying to keep water in his cupped hands; the details were now trickling away as fast as he tried to hold on to them…Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harry could not remember the name…and they had been plotting to kill someone else…him! Harry took his face out of his hands, opened his eyes, and stared around his bedroom as though expecting to see something unusual there. As it happened, there was an extraordinary number of unusual things in this room. A large wooden trunk stood open at the foot of his bed, revealing a cauldron, broomstick, black robes, and assorted spellbooks. Rolls of parchment littered that part of his desk that was not taken up by the large, empty cage in which his snowy owl, Hedwig, usually perched. On the floor beside his bed a book lay open; Harry had been reading it before he fell asleep last night. The pictures in this book were all moving. Men in bright orange robes were zooming in and out of sight on broomsticks, throwing a red ball to one another. Harry walked over to the book, picked it up, and watched one of the wizards score a spectacular goal by putting the ball through a fifty-foot-high hoop. Then he snapped the book shut. Even Quidditch - in Harry's opinion, the best sport in the world - couldn't distract him at the moment. He placed Flying with the Cannons on his bedside table, crossed to the window, and drew back the curtains to survey the street below. Privet Drive looked exactly as a respectable suburban street would be expected to look in the early hours of Saturday morning. All the curtains were closed. As far as Harry could see through the darkness, there wasn't a living creature in sight, not even a cat. And yet…and yet…Harry went restlessly back to the bed and sat down on it, running a finger over his scar again. It wasn't the pain that bothered him; Harry was no stranger to pain and injury. He had lost all the bones from his right arm once and had them painfully regrown in a night. The same arm had been pierced by a venomous foot-long fang not long afterward. Only last year Harry had fallen fifty feet from an airborne broomstick. He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had a knack for attracting a lot of trouble. No, the thing that was bothering Harry was the last time his scar had hurt him, it had been because Voldemort had been close by…But Voldemort couldn't be here, now…The idea of Voldemort lurking in Privet Drive was absurd, impossible… Harry listened closely to the silence around him. Was he half expecting to hear the creak of a stair or the swish of a cloak? And then he jumped slightly as he heard his cousin Dudley give a tremendous grunting snore from the next room. Harry shook himself mentally; he was being stupid. There was no one in the house with him except Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, and they were plainly still asleep, their dreams untroubled and painless. Asleep was the way Harry liked the Dursleys best; it wasn't as though they were ever any help to him awake. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were Harry's only living relatives. They were Muggles who hated and despised magic in any form, which meant that Harry was about as welcome in their house as dry rot. They had explained away Harry's long absences at Hogwarts over the last three years by telling everyone that he went to St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys. They knew perfectly well that, as an underage wizard, Harry wasn't allowed to use magic outside Hogwarts, but they were still apt to blame him for anything that went wrong about the house. Harry had never been able to confide in them or tell them anything about his life in the wizarding world. The very idea of going to them when they awoke, and telling them about his scar hurting him, and about his worries about Voldemort, was laughable. And yet it was because of Voldemort that Harry had come to live with the Dursleys in the first place. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry would not have had the lightning scar on his forehead. If it hadn't been for Voldemort, Harry would still have had parents.… Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort - the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years - arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power - and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort's followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had become famous. It had been enough of a shock for Harry to discover, on his eleventh birthday, that he was a wizard; it had been even more disconcerting to find out that everyone in the hidden wizarding world knew his name. Harry had arrived at Hogwarts to find that heads turned and whispers followed him wherever he went. But he was used to it now: At the end of this summer, he would be starting his fourth year at Hogwarts, and Harry was already counting the days until he would be back at the castle again. But there was still a fortnight to go before he went back to school. He looked hopelessly around his room again, and his eye paused on the birthday cards his two best friends had sent him at the end of July. What would they say if Harry wrote to them and told them about his scar hurting? At once, Hermione Granger's voice seemed to fill his head, shrill and panicky. “Your scar hurt? Harry, that's really serious…Write to Professor Dumbledore! nd I'll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions…Maybe there's something in there about curse scars.…” Yes, that would be Hermione's advice: Go straight to the headmaster of Hogwarts, and in the meantime, consult a book. Harry stared out of the window at the inky blue-black sky. He doubted very much whether a book could help him now. As far as he knew, he was the only living person to have survived a curse like Voldemort's; it was highly unlikely, therefore, that he would find his symptoms listed in Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions. As for informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full length wizard's robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose. Wherever Dumbledore was, though, Harry was sure that Hedwig would be able to find him; Harry's owl had never yet failed to deliver a letter to anyone, even without an address. But what would he write? Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter. Even inside his head the words sounded stupid. And so he tried to imagine his other best friend, Ron Weasley's, reaction, and in a moment, Ron's red hair and long-nosed, freckled face seemed to swim before Harry, wearing a bemused expression. “Your scar hurt? But…but You-Know-Who can't be near you now, can he? I mean…you'd know, wouldn't you? He'd be trying to do you in again, wouldn't be? I dunno, Harry, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit…I'll ask Dad…” Mr. Weasley was a fully qualified wizard who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, but he didn't have any particular expertise in the matter of curses, as far as Harry knew. In any case, Harry didn't like the idea of the whole Weasley family knowing that he, Harry, was getting jumpy about a few moments’ pain. Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione, and Fred and George, Ron's sixteen year old twin brothers, might think Harry was losing his nerve. The Weasleys were Harry's favorite family in the world; he was hoping that they might invite him to stay any time now (Ron had mentioned something about the Quidditch World Cup), and he somehow didn't want his visit punctuated with anxious inquiries about his scar. Harry kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. What he really wanted (and it felt almost shameful to admit it to himself) was someone like - someone like a parent: an adult wizard whose advice he could ask without feeling stupid, someone who cared about him, who had had experience with Dark Magic.… And then the solution came to him. It was so simple, and so obvious, that he couldn't believe it had taken so long - Sirius. Harry leapt up from the bed, hurried across the room, and sat down at his desk; he pulled a piece of parchment toward him, loaded his eagle-feather quill with ink, wrote Dear Sirius, then paused, wondering how best to phrase his problem, still marveling at the fact that he hadn't thought of Sirius straight away. But then, perhaps it wasn't so surprising - after all, he had only found out that Sirius was his godfather two months ago. There was a simple reason for Sirius's complete absence from Harry's life until then - Sirius had been in Azkaban, the terrifying wizard jail guarded by creatures called dementors, sightless, soul-sucking fiends who had come to search for Sirius at Hogwarts when he had escaped. Yet Sirius had been innocent - the murders for which he had been convicted had been committed by Wormtail, Voldemort's supporter, whom nearly everybody now believed dead. Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew otherwise, however; they had come face-to-face with Wormtail only the previous year, though only Professor Dumbledore had believed their story. For one glorious hour, Harry had believed that he was leaving the Dursleys at last, because Sirius had offered him a home once his name had been cleared. But the chance had been snatched away from him - Wormtail had escaped before they could take him to the Ministry of Magic, and Sirius had had to flee for his life. Harry had helped him escape on the back of a hippogriff called Buckbeak, and since then, Sirius had been on the run. The home Harry might have had if Wormtail had not escaped had been haunting him all summer. It had been doubly hard to return to the Dursleys knowing that he had so nearly escaped them forever. Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn't be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather - for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent. Harry had received two letters from Sirius since he had been back at Privet Drive. Both had been delivered, not by owls (as was usual with wizards), but by large, brightly colored tropical birds. Hedwig had not approved of these flashy intruders; she had been most reluctant to allow them to drink from her water tray before flying off again. Harry, on the other hand, had liked them; they put him in mind of palm trees and white sand, and he hoped that, wherever Sirius was (Sirius never said, in case the letters were intercepted), he was enjoying himself. Somehow, Harry found it hard to imaging dementors surviving for long in bright sunlight, perhaps that was why Sirius had gone South. Sirius's letters, which were now hidden beneath the highly useful loose floorboards under Harry's bed, sounded cheerful, and in both of them he had reminded Harry to call on him if ever Harry needed to. Well, he needed to right now, all right.… Harry's lamp seemed to grow dimmer as the cold gray light that precedes sunrise slowly crept into the room. Finally, when the sun had risen, when his bedroom walls had turned gold, and when sounds of movement could be heard from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's room, Harry cleared his desk of crumpled pieces of parchment and reread his finished letter. Dear Sirius, Thanks for your last letter. That bird was enormous; it could hardly get through my window. Things are the same as usual here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn't even got Mega-Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things. I'm okay, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to. A weird thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterward? I'll send this with Hedwig when she gets back; she's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me. Harry Yes, thought Harry, that looked all right. There was no point putting in the dream; he didn't want it to look as though he was too worried. He folded up the parchment and laid it aside on his desk, ready for when Hedwig returned. Then he got to his feet, stretched, and opened his wardrobe once more. Without glancing at his reflection he started to get dressed before going down to breakfast. 哈利平平地仰卧着，呼吸艰难，好像他在奔跑似的。一个逼真的梦把他唤醒，他用手捂住脸。额头上的那条像霹雳一样的旧疤形，在手指下面灼烧，仿佛有人用烧得红红的铁丝按在他的皮肤上。 他坐起身来，一手按着伤疤，在黑暗中用另一只手去抓眼镜，眼镜就放在床边的桌上。他戴上眼镜，卧室看得清楚些了，因为微弱得像雾一样的橙黄的灯光透过窗帘照在房间里。 哈利用手指摸过伤痕，还在疼，他开亮身旁的灯，一骨碌从床上爬起来，走到房间另一头，打开衣柜，朝柜门里面的镜子里看去：一个清瘦的十四岁男孩看着他，黑黑的头发已凌乱不堪，一对绿色明亮大眼露出迷惑不解的神色。他靠近一点衣镜审视霹雳形伤痕。它看起来很正常，但还是有一种火辣辣的感觉。 哈利努力地去回忆醒来前梦里的事情，这一切好像如此真实，……有两个人，他认识的，还有一个，他不认识。他拼命地集中精力，努力地去记起…… 阴暗房间的暗淡画面向他走来，在炉前地毯上有一条蛇，有一个矮子叫彼得，绰号温太尔，还有一个冰冷高音，是福尔得摩特的声音。想到这里，他感到好像吞了一大块冰…… 他紧闭双眼，努力地去想福尔得摩特的样子，但这是不可能的，所有哈利能记起的，就是当福尔得摩特的椅子转动时，他感觉到的恐惧、抽搐弄醒了脑……，或许是伤疤的疼痛弄醒了他？。 那老人是谁？因为肯定有那么一个老人。哈利看见他倒在地上。这一切变得模糊不清，哈利用双手捂住脸，用他的房子作构图，努力地去抓住那阴暗房间的画面，但这样做就像用合成杯形的手去勺水一样，当他想记起那些细节时，它们反而都溜之大吉了……福尔得摩特与温太尔在谈论他们已经杀了的人，那人的名字却怎么也记不起来……而且他们在计划再杀某人……他…… 哈利拿开双手，睁开眼睛，环顾房间四周，好像想看到有什么不同寻常的东西。是的，他的房间里真的有许多不同寻常的东西。 床脚边的一个大箱子打开着，露出一只大汽锅、扫帚，黑施子，不同种类的拼写课本。一卷卷羊皮纸散乱在他的书桌上，没有放进那个又大又空的笼子，笼子是他那雪白猫头鹰栖息的地方。床边地板匕有一本书，打开着，昨天晚上入睡前他还读过。书本里的图画都在动。身着鲜橙色长袍的人骑在扫帚上飞驰，一会儿看得见，一会儿看不见，相互间投看一个红色的球。 哈利朝这本书走去，拿起来，看到一个巫师在给一个好球打分，办法是把球抛过一个五十英尺高的环架。他猛地把书合上。在哈利看来，甚至快迪斯世界杯赛中最好的运动在此刻都不能吸引他。他把《驾着大炮飞翔》放到床边的桌子上，走到窗子前，拉开窗帘，看下面的街道。 在星期六早上，普里怀特街仍像一条不错的郊区大街。所有的窗帘紧闭，黑暗中哈利目之所及的地方，没有一个人，甚至连一只猫也没有。 可是……可是……哈利烦躁不安地走回床边，坐下来，用手指摸头上伤痕。不是疼痛让他烦恼，哈利对伤痛、疼痛并不陌生，曾经右臂的骨头全没有了，而且还得忍受一夜间再长出来的巨痛。过后不久同样又是右臂遭到几乎一尺长的毒牙刺穿。仅仅去年又从五十英尺高的正在飞行的扫帚上掉下来。他已习惯于古里古怪的事故和伤痛。只要你进了霍格瓦彻的巫师学校，就有办法惹麻烦，这些事情都是不可避免的。 不是，让哈利心烦的是最近这次，伤痕在刺痛他。也许福尔得磨特曾经就在附近……但福尔得摩特现在不可能在这里……想想福尔得摩特就走在普里怀特街，这种想法真荒谬，完全不可能…… 哈利在一片静寂中仔细地听着。他盼望听到楼梯的吱咯声音，他盼望听到外套的沙沙声。接着当他听到邻房里达德里表兄的大鼾声时微微跳了一下。 哈利生气地摇晃了一下身子，刚才太蠢了，房屋里除了维能姨丈，帕尤妮亚姨妈，达德里表兄外并无他人，他们都还在睡觉，不受干扰，没有痛苦。 哈利最喜欢他们的时候就是他们睡着的时候，即使他们醒了也不会对他有任何帮助，他们三人是哈利世上唯一的亲人。他们都不是巫师，他们憎恨魔法的，藐视魔法，哈利在他们家当然可想而知。哈利前三年不在这里，去霍格瓦彻上学，他们解释给街邻说哈利去圣莫多的少管所。他们十分清楚一个未成年的巫师，是不允许在霍格瓦彻外使用魔法，但一旦这房子有什么问题，他们都会责备他。哈利从来不会相信他们，也不会把他在巫师世界里的生活经历讲给他们听，至于等他们睡醒后到他们那儿去，告诉他们伤痕的事以及担心福尔得库特的事，都是荒唐可笑的。 然而，正是因为福尔得库特，哈利才来这里与达德里住在一起，如果不是因为福尔得摩特，哈利还不会有前额上的伤痕，如果不是因为福尔得摩特，哈利的双亲将仍然还在世上…… 那天晚上福尔得摩特，本世纪最强大的黑暗巫师，执政十一年，到了他家里杀害了他的父亲、母亲，那时哈利才一岁。最后福尔得摩特把魔杖指向哈利，福尔得摩特要施那种曾毁掉了许多成年男女巫师的咒语，这曾使他一步一步迈向了权利的顶端，但难以置信的是，咒语没有起作用。不仅没有杀掉哈利且福尔得摩特还因此遭到报应。哈利除了额头上有一道霹雳样的伤痕以外活下来了，而福尔得摩特却几乎被消灭了。他的力量消失了，他的精神几乎全部崩溃，他逃走了。巫师群体中的恐惧也因此不在，福尔得摩特的追随者们作鸟兽散。哈利·波特因此一举成名。 十一岁那年生日时，哈利发现他是一个巫师，这已经够令他吃惊的了，更令他吃惊的是，他发现在隐秘的巫师世界里，人人都知道他的名字。哈利曾到过霍格瓦彻，发现无论他去到哪里人人都转过头去，在他后面窃窃私语。但现在已经习惯了，今年夏天一完，在霍格瓦彻的第四学年将要开始，返回城堡的日子屈指可数了。 但是还有两周才开学。他渺望了一下四周，眼睛停留在生日卡上，那是他两个最好的朋友七月底送来的。如果写信去告诉他们伤痕的事，他们会怎么说呢？ 马上，荷米恩。格林佐的声音在他脑子里响起，声音刺耳又有些惊慌。 “你的伤痕疼吗？哈利，那真的很严重。给丹伯多教授写信。 我将去普通魔病科一下，也许那里可以治符咒留下来的伤痕……“ 对，那确实会是荷米恩的建议，直接去找霍格瓦彻校长，同时找书看看。哈利望了望外面蓝黑的天，他很怀疑有没有这样一本书可以帮他。据他所知，他是在福尔得摩特的诅咒下唯一逃生的巫师。所以几乎没有可能在普通魔病科那里找到列出的疼痛症状。至于要告诉校长，放假后就不知道他去了哪里自娱自乐了。他为校长勾勒出一幅画面：长白胡子，长长巫师袍，尖顶帽子，躺在海滩的某处正把防晒露擦到他那又长又弯的鼻子。不论他在哪里，哈利确信海维能找到他，哈利的猫头鹰还没有失败过，它总是可以准确地把信交给任何人，哪怕没有地址也一样。但是他写些什么呢？ 亲爱的丹伯多教授，很抱歉打扰您，但今天早上我的伤痕刺痛。您忠实的，哈利·波特。 甚至在他大脑里，这些词听起来愚蠢可笑。 于是他努力地去想另外一位最好的朋友罗恩。威斯里的反应，一会儿，罗恩那长鼻子，布满麻斑的脸好像向地漂过来，一副呆呆的，迷惑的表情。 “你的伤痕疼吗？但是……但‘那个人’不是靠近不了你了吗？ 我是说……你知道的，不是吗？他可能又想杀死你，不是吗？我不知道，哈利，也许诅咒伤痕总会疼一下……我会问爸爸……“ 威斯里先生是一个完全合格的巫师，在魔法部办公室工作，但在诅咒事务方面没有专门经验。不管怎样，哈利不想让威斯里全家都为了他几分钟的刺痛而到处折腾。威斯里夫人将会比荷米恩说得更糟糕，还有弗来德，乔治，罗恩的十六岁的孪生兄弟，可能认为哈利发神经。威斯里家是哈利最喜爱的一家。他希望他们会邀请他去待些时间，（罗恩已经提及关于快迪斯世界杯赛），不管怎样，他不想他拜访他们时他们因为担心而问这问那。 哈利用手指关节操揉前额，他真正需要的是某个像父母一样的人（他觉得有点害羞），需要一个成年巫师，可以问他，请教他，而不会感到愚蠢，需要一个真正关心他，而在黑魔法方面又有经验好啦，有了办法啦，太简单，太明显，他简直不相信花了那么久才搞掂——找西里斯。 哈利从床上跳下来，走到房间的那边去，拿出一张羊皮纸，将羽毛笔注满墨水，写道，“亲爱的西里渐”然后停止了，不知道如何写出他的问题，他仍然对为什么没有直接想到西里斯而感到惊奇，但是，也许这并不是那么让人吃惊的，毕竟他两个月前才发现西里斯是他的教父。 西里斯直到现在才露面，原因很简单。他去了阿兹克班这个令人害怕的巫师监狱。当西里斯逃跑后，那些看不见的，吸人灵魂的敌人，来霍格瓦彻搜寻西里斯，可是西里斯是无辜的，他所被诬告的谋杀实际上是温太尔干的。但人人都相信温太尔已经死了，哈利、罗恩、荷米恩却知道他没死，因为，前年他们曾面对面见过，但这点只有丹伯多教授相信。 有那么一时，哈利相信他终于要离开了达德里家。一旦西里斯的名声昭雪了，他答应给哈利一个家。但机会又失去了，温太尔逃跑了，没有能够押送到魔法部。西里斯不得不再度逃命。哈利曾经帮助西里斯逃跑。如果不是温太尔逃跑，哈利就会在自己家里过暑假。既然以为自己可以永远离开了达德里家了，又要回来真是让他更加难受。 但是，西里斯对哈利很有帮助，即使他们不在一起。正是因为西里斯，他的书箱才会和他在一起。达德里家以前从来不允许这样。他们总的愿望是尽量让哈利觉得痛苦。而且他们害怕哈利的力量，今年夏天来这之前，他的书箱总是被锁在楼梯下面的茶柜里。 自从他们知道哈利有一个危险的杀人犯做教父，他们的态度完全改变了。哈利忘记告诉他们西里斯是无辜的。 哈利自从回到普里怀特街，已从西里斯那接到两封信。两封都不是猫头鹰带来的（巫师通常用猫头鹰），而是用又大，又色彩鲜艳的热带鸟传递。海维还没有认可这些虚有其表的外来者。她极不情愿地让它们在飞走前喝她水盘里的水。哈利却已喜欢上了它们。 他希望西里斯快乐，无论他在哪里，其实对他来说，万一信件被截获就麻烦了。不知怎的，哈利发现很难想象得蒙特可以在阳光下活很久，也许正是这个原因，西里斯去了南方。西里斯的信件隐藏在床下地板下面，地板是松动。信中言辞恳切，两封信都提醒哈利有问题时要找他。哦，现在就是需要的时候…… 灰冷的光线慢慢爬进房间，哈利的灯好像暗了一些。最后，太阳升起，卧室的墙壁都变得金黄，听见了维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈的动静，哈利清醒了，把桌子上羊皮纸清理好，把写完的信件又看了遍：亲爱的西里斯谢谢你最近的来信，那鸟很大，几乎飞不进窗来。 情况同以前差不多。达德里的伙食不太好。姨妈发现他昨天把油炸圈饼弄进房间，他们说如果他不改，他们将削减他的零用钱，因此，达德里大怒，把游戏机抛出窗外。那是一种可以玩游戏的计算机，真的有点蠢，现在他不再专心做事。 我没事，主要因为达德里一家很害怕，担心你会出现或者我会叫你把他们揍一顿。 但今天早上发生了件怪事。我的伤痕又痛了。上次痛是因为福尔得摩特在霍格瓦彻，但我认为他现在不在我附近。你知不知道诅咒伤痕以后还会疼吗？ 我将用海维发送这封信，现在她去捕食去了还未回来。请代我问比克贝好。 哈利是的，哈利想，那样看上去很好。没有提梦里的事，他不想让他自己看起来很担忧。他把羊皮纸折好，放在一边，好等海维回来发。接着他站起身来，伸了个懒腰，又打开衣柜，这次没看镜子，他开始穿衣准备下去吃早餐。 |
Chapter 3 The Invitation By the time Harry arrived in the kitchen, the three Dursleys were already seated around the table. None of them looked up as he entered or sat down. Uncle Vernon's large red face was hidden behind the morning's Daily Mail, and Aunt Petunia was cutting a grapefruit into quarters, her lips pursed over her horse-like teeth. Dudley looked furious and sulky, and somehow seemed to be taking up even more space than usual. This was saying something, as he always took up an entire side of the square table by himself. When Aunt Petunia put a quarter of unsweetened grapefruit onto Dudley's plate with a tremulous “There you are, Diddy darling,” Dudley glowered at her. His life had taken a most unpleasant turn since he had come home for the summer with his end-of-year report. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had managed to find excuses for his bad marks as usual: Aunt Petunia always insisted that Dudley was a very gifted boy whose teachers didn't understand him, while Uncle Vernon maintained that “he didn't want some swotty little nancy boy for a son anyway.” They also skated over the accusations of bullying in the report - “He's a boisterous little boy, but he wouldn't hurt a fly!” Aunt Petunia had said tearfully. However, at the bottom of the report there were a few well-chosen comments from the school nurse that not even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could explain away. No matter how much Aunt Petunia wailed that Dudley was big-boned, and that his poundage was really puppy fat, and that he was a growing boy who needed plenty of food, the fact remained that the school outfitters didn't stock knickerbockers big enough for him anymore. The school nurse had seen what Aunt Petunia's eyes - so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and in observing the comings and goings of the neighbors - simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size and weight of a young killer whale. So - after many tantrums, after arguments that shook Harry's bedroom floor, and many tears from Aunt Petunia - the new regime had begun. The diet sheet that had been sent by the Smeltings school nurse had been taped to the fridge, which had been emptied of all Dudley's favorite things - fizzy drinks and cakes, chocolate bars and burgers and filled instead with fruit and vegetables and the sorts of things that Uncle Vernon called “rabbit food.” To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley's. Aunt Petunia seemed to feet that the best way to keep up Dudley's morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry. But Aunt Petunia didn't know what was hidden under the loose floorboard upstairs. She had no idea that Harry was not following the diet at all. The moment he had got wind of the fact that he was expected to survive the summer on carrot sticks, Harry had sent Hedwig to his friends with pleas for help, and they had risen to the occasion magnificently. Hedwig had returned from Hermione's house with a large box stuffed full of sugar-free snacks. (Hermione's parents were dentists.) Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had obliged with a sack full of his own homemade rock cakes. (Harry hadn't touched these; he had had too much experience of Hagrid's cooking.) Mrs. Weasley, however, had sent the family owl, Errol, with an enormous fruitcake and assorted meat pies. Poor Errol, who was elderly and feeble, had needed a full five days to recover from the journey. And then on Harry's birthday (which the Dursleys had completely ignored) he had received four superb birthday cakes, one each from Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius. Harry still had two of them left, and so, looking forward to a real breakfast when he got back upstairs, he ate his grapefruit without complaint. Uncle Vernon laid aside his paper with a deep sniff of disapproval and looked down at his own grapefruit quarter. “Is this it?” he said grumpily to Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia gave him a severe look, and then nodded pointedly at Dudley, who had already finished his own grapefruit quarter and was eyeing Harry's with a very sour look in his piggy little eyes. Uncle Vernon gave a great sigh, which ruffled his large, bushy mustache, and picked up his spoon. The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and set off down the hall. Quick as a flash, while his mother was occupied with the kettle, Dudley stole the rest of Uncle Vernon's grapefruit. Harry heard talking at the door, and someone laughing, and Uncle Vernon answering curtly. Then the front door closed, and the sound of ripping paper came from the hall. Aunt Petunia set the teapot down on the table and looked curiously around to see where Uncle Vernon had got to. She didn't have to wait long to find out; after about a minute, he was back. He looked livid. “You,” he barked at Harry. “In the living room. Now.” Bewildered, wondering what on earth he was supposed to have done this time, Harry got up and followed Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen and into the next room. Uncle Vernon closed the door sharply behind both of them. “So,” he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry as though he were about to pronounce him under arrest. “So.” Harry would have dearly loved to have said, “So what?” but he didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested this early in the morning, especially when it was already under severe strain from lack of food. He therefore settled for looking politely puzzled. “This just arrived,” said Uncle Vernon. He brandished a piece of purple writing paper at Harry. “A letter. About you.” Harry's confusion increased. Who would be writing to Uncle Vernon about him? Who did he know who sent letters by the postman? Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, then looked down at the letter and began to read aloud: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, We have never been introduced, but I am sure you have heard a great deal from Harry about my son Ron. As Harry might have told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup takes place this Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you will allow us to take Harry to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosted the cup for thirty years, and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course be glad to have Harry stay for the remainder of the summer holidays, and to see him safely onto the train back to school. It would be best for Harry to send us your answer as quickly as possible in the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I am not sure he even knows where it is. Hoping to see Harry soon, Yours sincerely, Molly Weasley P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on. Uncle Vernon finished reading, put his hand back into his breast pocket, and drew out something else. “Look at this,” he growled. He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing. “She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make. His uncle's eyes flashed. “The postman noticed,” he said through gritted teeth. “Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny.” Harry didn't say anything. Other people might not understand why Uncle Vernon was making a fuss about too many stamps, but Harry had lived with the Dursleys too long not to know how touchy they were about anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Their worst fear was that someone would find out that they were connected (however distantly) with people like Mrs. Weasley. Uncle Vernon was still glaring at Harry, who tried to keep his expression neutral. If he didn't do or say anything stupid, he might just be in for the treat of a lifetime. He waited for Uncle Vernon to say something, but he merely continued to glare. Harry decided to break the silence. “So - can I go then?” he asked. A slight spasm crossed Uncle Vernon's large purple face. The mustache bristled. Harry thought he knew what was going on behind the mustache: a furious battle as two of Uncle Vernon's most fundamental instincts came into conflict. Allowing Harry to go would make Harry happy, something Uncle Vernon had struggled against for thirteen years. On the other hand, allowing Harry to disappear to the Weasleys’ for the rest of the summer would get rid of him two weeks earlier than anyone could have hoped, and Uncle Vernon hated having Harry in the house. To give himself thinking time, it seemed, he looked down at Mrs. Weasley's letter again. “Who is this woman?” he said, staring at the signature with distaste. “You've seen her,” said Harry. “She's my friend Ron's mother, she was meeting him off the Hog - off the school train at the end of last term.” He had almost said “Hogwarts Express,” and that was a sure way to get his uncle's temper up. Nobody ever mentioned the name of Harry's school aloud in the Dursley household. Uncle Vernon screwed up his enormous face as though trying to remember something very unpleasant. “Dumpy sort of woman?” he growled finally. “Load of children with red hair?” Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone “dumpy,” when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he'd been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall. Uncle Vernon was perusing the letter again. “Quidditch,” he muttered under his breath. “Quidditch - what is this rubbish?” Harry felt a second stab of annoyance. “It's a sport,” he said shortly. “Played on broom-” “All right, all right!” said Uncle Vernon loudly. Harry saw, with some satisfaction, that his uncle looked vaguely panicky. Apparently his nerves couldn't stand the sound of the word “broomsticks” in his living room. He took refuge in perusing the letter again. Harry saw his lips form the words “send us your answer…in the normal way.” He scowled. “What does she mean, ‘the normal way'?” he spat. “Normal for us,” said Harry, and before his uncle could stop him, he added, “you know, owl post. That's what's normal for wizards.” Uncle Vernon looked as outraged as if Harry had just uttered a disgusting swearword. Shaking with anger, he shot a nervous look through the window, as though expecting to see some of the neighbors with their ears pressed against the glass. “How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?” he hissed, his face now a rich plum color. “You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful back -” “Only after Dudley finished with them,” said Harry coldly, and indeed, he was dressed in a sweatshirt so large for him that he had had to roll back the sleeves five times so as to be able to use his hands, and which fell past the knees of his extremely baggy jeans. “I will not be spoken to like that!” said Uncle Vernon, trembling with rage. But Harry wasn't going to stand for this. Gone were the days when he had been forced to take every single one of the Dursleys’ stupid rules. He wasn't following Dudley's diet, and he wasn't going to let Uncle Vernon stop him from going to the Quidditch World Cup, not if he could help it. Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then said, “Okay, I can't see the World Cup. Can I go now, then? Only I've got a letter to Sirius I want to finish. You know - my godfather.” He had done it, he had said the magic words. Now he watched the purple recede blotchily from Uncle Vernon's face, making it look like badly mixed black currant ice cream. “You're - you're writing to him, are you?” said Uncle Vernon, in a would-be calm voice - but Harry had seen the pupils of his tiny eyes contract with sudden fear. “Well - yeah,” said Harry, casually. “It's been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn't he might start thinking something's wrong.” He stopped there to enjoy the effect of these words. He could almost see the cogs working under Uncle Vernon's thick, dark, neatly parted hair. If he tried to stop Harry writing to Sirius, Sirius would think Harry was being mistreated. If he told Harry he couldn't go to the Quidditch World Cup, Harry would write and tell Sirius, who would know Harry was being mistreated. There was only one thing for Uncle Vernon to do. Harry could see the conclusion forming in his uncle's mind as though the great mustached face were transparent. Harry tried not to smile, to keep his own face as blank as possible. And then - “Well, all right then. You can go to this ruddy…this stupid…this World Cup thing. You write and tell these - these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your - your godfather…tell him…tell him you're going.” “Okay then,” said Harry brightly. He turned and walked toward the living room door, fighting the urge to jump into the air and whoop. He was going…he was going to the Weasleys', he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup! Outside in the hall he nearly ran into Dudley, who had been lurking behind the door, clearly hoping to overhear Harry being told off. He looked shocked to see the broad grin on Harry's face. “That was an excellent breakfast, wasn't it?” said Harry. “I feel really full, don't you?” Laughing at the astonished look on Dudley's face, Harry took the stairs three at a time, and hurled himself back into his bedroom. The first thing he saw was that Hedwig was back. She was sitting in her cage, staring at Harry with her enormous amber eyes, and clicking her beak in the way that meant she was annoyed about something. Exactly what was annoying her became apparent almost at once. “OUCH!” said Harry as what appeared to be a small, gray, feathery tennis ball collided with the side of his head. Harry massaged the spot furiously, looking up to see what had hit him, and saw a minute owl, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, whizzing excitedly around the room like a loose firework. Harry then realized that the owl had dropped a letter at his feet. Harry bent down, recognized Ron's handwriting, then tore open the envelope. Inside was a hastily scribbled note. Harry - DAD GOT THE TICKETS - Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. They might already have the letter, I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway. Harry stared at the word “Pig,” then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn't read Ron's writing. He went back to the letter: We're coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can't miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway. Hermione's arriving this afternoon. Percy's started work - the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you. See you soon - Ron “Calm down!” Harry said as the small owl flew low over his head, twittering madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right person. “Come here, I need you to take my answer back!” The owl fluttered down on top of Hedwig's cage. Hedwig looked coldly up at it, as though daring it to try and come any closer. Harry seized his eagle-feather quill once more, grabbed a fresh piece of parchment, and wrote: Ron, it's all okay, the Muggles say I can come. See you five o'clock tomorrow. Can't wait. Harry He folded this note up very small, and with immense difficulty, tied it to the tiny owl's leg as it hopped on the spot with excitement. The moment the note was secure, the owl was off again; it zoomed out of the window and out of sight. Harry turned to Hedwig. “Feeling up to a long journey?” he asked her. Hedwig hooted in a dignified sort of a way. “Can you take this to Sirius for me?” he said, picking up his letter. “Hang on…I just want to finish it.” He unfolded the parchment and hastily added a postscript. If you want to contact me, I'll be at my friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup! The letter finished, he tied it to Hedwig's leg; she kept unusually still, as though determined to show him how a real post owl should behave. “I'll be at Ron's when you get back, all right?” Harry told her. She nipped his finger affectionately, then, with a soft swooshing noise, spread her enormous wings and soared out of the open window. Harry watched her out of sight, then crawled under his bed, wrenched up the loose floorboard, and pulled out a large chunk of birthday cake. He sat there on the floor eating it, savoring the happiness that was flooding through him. He had cake, and Dudley had nothing but grapefruit; it was a bright summer's day, he would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow, his scar felt perfectly normal again, and he was going to watch the Quidditch World Cup. It was hard, just now, to feel worried about anything - even Lord Voldemort. 哈利到达厨房时，三位已经围桌而坐了。他送来、坐下都一直没有人抬起头来。姨丈的大红脸被早报给遮住了，姨妈在把西柚分成四份，她的牙像马牙一样，嘴唇缩拢着。 达德里看起来盛怒，生气，好像要占比平常更多的地方。这个方桌他总是占据整整一条边。当姨妈把四份之一不太甜的葡萄放到他盘子上的时候，他生气地瞪了她一眼，姨妈还是对她说，“你的，吃吧，亲爱的！”自从夏天带年终学习报告回来后，他的生活就变得很不愉快。 维能姨丈和帕尤妮亚姨妈像往日一样为他们儿子的低分找出借口，姨妈说达德里是一个极有才赋的孩子，可惜老师并不理解他，姨丈则说他不要儿子太苦读。对成绩单上的批评话句，他们也只是一语带过，姨妈满眼泪花地说，“他是个性情狂暴的小孩，但却不会伤害一只苍蝇。” 然而，成绩单结尾处有一段学校护士的评语，姨丈姨妈怎么也解释不了。不管姨妈怎样哀怨达德里是如何骨骼大，按每磅所费的费用真是跟一个小狗差不多，说他是在长身体的时候，需要足够食物。但却改变不了这一事实，学校服装售货员说已找不到那么大的短灯笼裤供达德里穿。学校护士注意到姨妈的眼睛只有当有人在她闪亮墙壁上弄了胜指印和在观察邻居来来往往方面才会锐利，但对儿子的问题却视而不见，达德里并不需要营养，实际上已经在体重、大小方面达到了一头杀人鲸的份量。 发了许多脾气，通过争论，简直让哈利卧室地板也颤抖，姨妈流了许多眼泪，新的摄食法清单开始了。食物清单是学校护士送的，贴在冰箱上，除去所有达德里最喜欢吃的东西：起泡的饮料，蛋糕，巧克力糖，汉堡包，而塞进去的是水果，蔬菜，以及姨丈称之为“兔食”的食品，为了让达德里感觉好一点，姨妈坚持全家都跟新的食品清单进食。她现在把一份西柚给哈利，哈利注意到他的那份比达德里的那份要小许多。姨妈好像感觉到保持达德里斗志的最好方法就是让达德里确信，他确实吃的比哈利多。 但是姨妈还不知道楼上地板下所藏的东西。她不知道哈利根本就没有跟食谱吃。他一得到可能要一个暑假都吃胡萝卜过活的风声后，他马上放出海维向朋友恳求帮助，他们均慷慨相助。海维从荷米恩的家里带回一个大盒子无糖点心（荷米恩的父母都是牙医）。 哈利的学校管理员给了一袋石饼，自己家做的（哈利还没有动，他对管理员的烹调手艺大清楚了）。威斯里夫人派她家的猫头鹰（厄罗）送来了大袋水果饼，及各种各样的肉馅饼，可怜的厄罗，上了年纪及身体虚弱，需要五天才能恢复体力。后来哈利的生日那天（杜斯理完全忽略了）他收到四个大蛋糕，罗恩，荷米恩，查理，西里斯一人送了一个。哈利还留了两个，做真正的早餐。他开始吃袖子，没有丝毫抱怨。 姨丈放开他的报纸，对此嗤之以鼻，很不赞成，然后他看看自己的那份水果。 “就这些吗？”他咕哝地对姨妈说。 姨妈严厉地看了他一眼，看着达德里点了点头，达德里早已吃完他的那份，他那贪婪的小眼睛还酸酸地看着哈利的那份。 姨丈长叹一气，弄乱了他那一大把浓密的胡子，他拿起汤匙。 门铃响了，姨丈从椅子里起来，到大厅里去，达德里趁他妈妈忙于给水壶加水霹雳般地把他爸爸的那份剩下的全吃了。 哈利听到门口讲话，有人笑，姨丈粗鲁地应答。接着前门关闭，从厅里传来撕纸的声音。 姨妈把茶壶放在桌上，好奇地环顾四周，想知道姨丈去哪了。 她不必等很久就知道答案了：过了约一分钟，他就回来了。他看起来很生气。 他对哈利吼道，“你，到起居室里去，就现在！” 哈利迷惑不解，不知道这次他到底做了些什么，哈利站起来，跟着姨丈出了厨房，进了另一个房间，姨丈“砰”地一声关了门。 “因此，”他边说边走到壁炉进，转过身对着哈利，仿佛要逮捕哈利似的怒吼道，“因此。” 哈利本来要反问：“因此，什么？”但他觉得不要一大清早惹姨丈，尤其是在早餐食物不足高度紧张的情况下。因此他站在那里，彬彬有礼但看起来大惑不解。 “这刚刚收到，”姨丈说，他对哈利挥舞着一张紫色信纸，“一封信。你的。” 哈利更加迷惑了。谁在给姨丈写信讲关于他的事呢？谁又知道通过邮政人员传寄信件呢？ 姨文对哈利怒目而视，然后向下看信，大声读道：亲爱的杜斯利先生及夫人，我们素未谋面，但我确信你们知道许多关于我儿子罗恩的事情。 哈利也许告诉你们了，快迪斯决赛将于下周一晚上举行，我丈夫亚瑟通过关系在魔法运动部里弄到了票。 我希望你们允许我们接哈利去看比赛，因为这可是终生中唯一的机会。 美国已经三十年没有做东道主了，票特别难买，我们当然很高兴让哈利在我们这里度过剩余的假日，直至送他平安登上火车返回学校。 最好让哈利尽快回信给我们，以正常方式，因为非魔界邮递员从来不给我们家送信，我不确信他是否知道地址。 希望不久就见哈利，你真诚的摩莉。威斯里附言；我确实希望我们已贴够邮票。 姨丈读完信，手又放回胸间口袋，又拉出一样东西。 “看看这个吧！”他咆哮道。 他举起威斯里夫人的信纸，哈利不得不压住想笑的冲动。信封上满是邮票，除了一小条用小写字体写的杜斯利家的地址。 哈利说，“她可贴足了邮票，”尽量说得听起来好像威斯里夫人犯了一个任何人都可能犯的错误一样。姨丈的眼睛闪了闪。 姨丈牙齿咬得响响的，他说，“邮递员注意到了，而且很有趣地想知道这信从哪里来，他按门铃就是这个道理。他好像认为这样很滑稽。” 哈利一句话也说不出来。别人不懂姨丈为什么会对邮票过多吹毛求疵，但哈利和达德里住在一起太久了，不会不知道他们会对任何超出寻常的事情过敏。他们最担心的是别人把他们和威斯里夫人这样的人联系在一起。 维能姨丈还是瞪着哈利，哈利尽力地去强作自然，不说蠢话，不做蠢事。他等维能姨丈说话。但他只是瞪眼。哈利决定打破寂寞。 “那么——我可以走了吗？”他问道。 姨丈紫色大脸上一阵抽搐，胡子也竖起来了。哈利知道那胡子后面，姨丈最根本的两种本性在激烈交锋。允许哈利走会让哈利快乐，这就与十三年来，姨丈一直为之奋斗的目标相反，另一方面，让哈利到威斯里去度余假，提前两周走，这是其他人求之不得的事。姨丈真是恨哈利在他家里。好像要给他自己考虑的时间，他又看看威斯里夫人的信封。 “这女人是谁？”他说，嫌恶地盯住签名。 “您已经见过的，”哈利说，“她是我朋友罗恩的母亲，她接他下霍格——，下学校的火车，那是上学期未。” 他几乎说出“霍格瓦彻快车”，那准会让姨丈怒发冲冠。没有人斗胆敢在杜斯利家里提哈利学校的名字。 姨丈脸上皱起一道道皱纹好像在努力记起某些极不愉快的事。 “矮胖类型的女人？”他最后咆哮说，“一大堆红头发的孩子？” 哈利皱眉了，姨丈可以叫任何人“矮胖型”，但对他自己的儿子却绝对不行，自从三岁起就不准这样叫。 姨丈又再次看了看信件。 “快迪斯，”他屏住呼吸喃喃说道，“这是什么垃圾？” 哈利又一次被愤怒刺了一下。 “这是一种运动，”他说得很短，“在扫帚上进行比赛。” “对，对！”姨大大声说。哈利有几分满意，他看见姨丈有些恐惧。很明显，他的神经忍受不了“扫帚”这个词在他的起居室里被说出。他通过看信转移注意力。哈利看见他的嘴唇似乎在说：“以正常方式给我们答复。”他怒目而视。 “正常方式？她是什么意思？”他质问道。 “对我们来说正常，“哈利说，姨丈还没有制止他，他又补充说，”您知道，用猫头鹰寄信。那对于巫师来说是正常。“ 维能姨丈看起来勃然大怒，仿佛哈利刚刚说了句令人恶心的誓言。气得浑身发抖，他不安地朝窗外看去，好像要看见有几个邻居用耳朵贴在玻璃上偷听。 “多少次我告诉你不要在家里提那些不自然的东西？”他说，脸完全变成了猪肝色。“你站在那里，你这个忘恩负义的东西穿我和你姨妈给你的衣服——” “只是达德里穿了不要了的！”哈利冷冷地说，的确，他穿的汗衫太大，衣袖要卷五卷才伸提出手，汗衫长过膝头，他的牛仔裤也特别肥大。 “不允许跟我这样讲话！”维能姨丈说，气得发抖。 但是哈利不准备再忍受这些。那些被迫去服从杜斯利家的条条规则的日子过去了，他不会按达德里的食谱进食。他不会让维能姨丈阻止他去看快迪斯世界杯赛。 哈利深深地吸了口气，说道，“OK，我不能看世界杯。我可以走了吗？现在？我要给西里斯写封信，信未写完。您知道，西里斯，我教父！” 他这样做了，像说了些有魔力的话，现在他看到姨丈脸上紫色褪去，布满汗滴，看起来像混有黑醋粒的冰淇淋。 “你会给他写信，是吗？”姨丈说，想镇定下来，但哈利看见他因害怕而瞳孔收缩。 “噢，”哈利随便地说，“自从他收到我的信已有一阵子了，您知道，假如他没有收到我的信，他可能开始考虑是不是有什么麻烦。” 他站在那里，得意地体会这些话的效果。他几乎能看到姨丈在想什么。假使他阻止哈利给西里斯写信，西里斯将认为哈利在受虐待。假如他不允许哈利去看世界杯，哈利会写信告诉西里斯，他也会认为哈利在受虐待。那么姨丈只能做一件事情。哈利仿佛能看见结论正在姨丈大脑中形成，仿佛他的大脑是透明的。哈利尽量装得没有表情，接着——“那好，你可以去看这愚蠢的——世界杯赛。你写信告诉这些，这些威斯里家的人，要他们来接你，我没有时间去送你。你可以在那里度余假。你可以告诉你的——你的教父。告诉他……告诉他……你要去。” “OK。”哈利高兴地说。 他转过身来，朝卧室门口走去，压住想跳跃想欢呼的冲动。他要去，要去威斯里家，他要去看世界杯！ 大厅外面他差点与达德里撞了个满怀，达德里一直在门后偷听，明显想听到他父亲叫哈利走。但当他看到哈利露齿而笑时却大吃一惊。 “那可真是精美早餐，不是吗？”哈利说，“我真觉得饱了，你不是吗？” 达德里脸上大惊失色，哈利大声地笑着，一次三阶地上楼梯，匆匆回到卧室。 他看见的第一个东西是海维回来了。她正坐在笼子里，大大的琥珀眼一动不动地看着哈利，鸟嘴咯当响，意思是为某原因生气。 的确，那正让她生气的事马上就明了了。 “哎哟。”哈利说。 好像有一个小小的有羽毛的灰色的网球撞了一下哈利的头顶，哈利恼火地摸了摸头，仰起头来看究竟是什么撞了他。他看见了一个很小的猫头鹰，小得可以放在手掌心，在屋子里飞驰，就像烟火爆炸时那样，哈利意识到猫头鹰丢了封信到他脚边，他弯下腰，认出是罗恩的手迹，接着哈利打开信封，里面有一张草写的便条：哈利，父亲弄了票，爱尔兰对保加尼亚，星期一晚上。妈妈写信给你要你来住。他们可能已经寄了信。我不知道邮递员快不快。 因此我叫猪把这信送给你。 哈利盯着“猪”这词看，哈利看了半天也没有发现小猫头鹰身上有像猪的地方。然后抬起头看着小猫头鹰，它正在天花板上的灯影里飞来飞去，哈利从来也没有看见像它身上有任何像猪的地方。 也许是他看错了罗恩写的信，因此他又继续看了下去：不管他们喜欢不喜欢，我们来接你，你不能错过这次世界杯赛，只是爸妈认为先征求他们意见好些。如果他们说“好”，让猪及时回来回答我，我们星期天五点来接你。如果他们说“不行”，也让猪回来，我们也是在周日五点来接你。 荷米恩今天下午到达。伯希已经开始工作——国际魔法合作分部的工作，你在这里时不要提及国外的任何事情。 不久见——罗恩“静一静吧。”小猫头鹰低飞时哈利说，它不断鸣叫，仿佛让哈利知道他很自豪地将信件投送给了该收的人。“来这里吧，我需要你把答案带回去。” 小猫头鹰一下子飞落到笼子上面，海维冷冷地向上看，仿佛在激它再近些。 哈利又一次抓住羽毛笔，拿出一张羊皮纸，写道：罗恩，这件事OK.他们说我可以去。明天5点钟见。我迫不及待想见你们。 哈利他把它折得很小，费了很大劲才绑在小猫头鹰腿上，而它却兴奋得跳来跳去。便条一系好，它就又走了，飞出窗户，飞得不见了。 哈利转向海维。 “感觉可以长途旅行吗？”他问她。 海维充满自豪地霍霍叫唤。 “你能为我把它送给西里斯吗？”他说着，拿起信件，“等着，我就写完它。” 他把羊皮纸打开，很快写了附言。 假如你要跟我联系，我将在罗恩。威斯里家里过完假日。他父亲给我们弄到了世界杯票。 信写完了，他把它绑在海维腿上，她保持出人意料的静，仿佛决心显示出一只真正的空中邮鹰的风姿。 哈利告诉她，“你回来去罗恩那里。” 她爱抚地啄了啄他的手指，轻轻地叫了一声，张开巨大翅膀，飞出了窗户。 哈利望着她直到完全看不见。然后爬到床下，掀开松地板，拿出一大块蛋糕。他坐在地板上吃生日蛋糕，边吃边品味这满心的快乐。他有蛋糕吃，而达德里只有柚子吃，真是个明媚的夏天。明天他就要离开普里怀特街，他的伤痕完全恢复正常，他将去看快迪斯世界杯赛，此时此刻，什么事情都不会再担心了，哪怕是福尔得摩特公爵。 |
Chapter 4 Back To The Burrow By twelve o'clock the next day, Harry's school trunk was packed with his school things and all his most prized possessions - the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father, the broomstick he had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of Hogwarts he had been given by Fred and George Weasley last year. He had emptied his hiding place under the loose floorboard of all food, double-checked every nook and cranny of his bedroom for forgotten spellbooks or quills, and taken down the chart on the wall counting down the days to September the first, on which he liked to cross off the days remaining until his return to Hogwarts. The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense. The imminent arrival at their house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day. “I hope you told them to dress properly, these people,” he snarled at once. “I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all.” Harry felt a slight sense of foreboding. He had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call “normal.” Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness. Harry wasn't bothered about what the neighbors would think, but he was anxious about how rude the Dursleys might be to the Weasleys if they turned up looking like their worst idea of wizards. Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but Harry knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating. Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully grown wizard with a curly pig's tail poking out of the seat of his trousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for its removal at a private hospital in London. It wasn't altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervously over his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so as not to present the same target to the enemy. Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't, eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry. “They'll be driving, of course?” Uncle Vernon barked across the table. “Er,” said Harry. He hadn't thought of that. How were the Weasleys going to pick him up? They didn't have a car anymore; the old Ford Anglia they had once owned was currently running wild in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. But Mr. Weasley had borrowed a Ministry of Magic car last year; possibly he would do the same today? “I think so,” said Harry. Uncle Vernon snorted into his mustache. Normally, Uncle Vernon would have asked what car Mr. Weasley drove; he tended to judge other men by how big and expensive their cars were. But Harry doubted whether Uncle Vernon would have taken to Mr. Weasley even if he drove a Ferrari. Harry spent most of the afternoon in his bedroom; he couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, Harry went back downstairs and into the living room. Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and Harry was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. Harry couldn't take the tension; he left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, his eyes on his watch and his heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves. But five o'clock came and then went. Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly. “They're late!” he snarled at Harry. “I know,” said Harry. “Maybe - er - the traffic's bad, or something.” Ten past five…then a quarter past five…Harry was starting to feel anxious himself now. At half past, he heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia conversing in terse mutters in the living room. “No consideration at all.” “We might've had an engagement.” “Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late.” “Well, they most certainly won't be,” said Uncle Vernon, and Harry heard him stand up and start pacing the living room. “They'll take the boy and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay their kind don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d -AAAAAAAARRRRRGH!” Harry jumped up. From the other side of the living room door came the sounds of the three Dursleys scrambling, panic-stricken, across the room. Next moment Dudley came flying into the hall, looking terrified. “What happened?” said Harry. “What's the matter?” But Dudley didn't seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen. Harry hurried into the living room. Loud bangings and scrapings were coming from behind the Dursleys’ boarded-up fireplace, which had a fake coal fire plugged in front of it. “What is it?” gasped Aunt Petunia, who had backed into the wall and was staring, terrified, toward the fire. “What is it, Vernon?” But they were left in doubt barely a second longer. Voices could be heard from inside the blocked fireplace. “Ouch! Fred, no - go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake - tell George not to - OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron -” “Maybe Harry can hear us, Dad - maybe he'll be able to let us out -” There was a loud hammering of fists on the boards behind the electric fire. “Harry? Harry, can you hear us?” The Dursleys rounded on Harry like a pair of angry wolverines. “What is this?” growled Uncle Vernon. “What's going on?” “They - they've tried to get here by Floo powder,” said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. “They can travel by fire - only you've blocked the fireplace - hang on -” He approached the fireplace and called through the boards. “Mr. Weasley? Can you hear me?” The hammering stopped. Somebody inside the chimney piece said, “Shh!” “Mr. Weasley, it's Harry…the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there.” “Damn!” said Mr. Weasley's voice. “What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?” “They've got an electric fire,” Harry explained. “Really?” said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. “Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that….Let's think…Ouch, Ron!” Ron's voice now joined the others'. “What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?” “Oh no, Ron,” came Fred's voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.” “Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here,” said George, whose voice sounded muffled, as though he was squashed against the wall. “Boys, boys…” said Mr. Weasley vaguely. “I'm trying to think what to do….Yes…only way…Stand back, Harry.” Harry retreated to the sofa. Uncle Vernon, however, moved forward. “Wait a moment!” he bellowed at the fire. “What exactly are you going to -” BANG. The electric fire shot across the room as the boarded-up fireplace burst outward, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ron in a cloud of rubble and loose chippings. Aunt Petunia shrieked and fell backward over the coffee table; Uncle Vernon caught her before she hit the floor, and gaped, speechless, at the Weasleys, all of whom had bright red hair, including Fred and George, who were identical to the last freckle. “That's better,” panted Mr. Weasley, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. “Ah - you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!” Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Uncle Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Uncle Vernon backed away several paces, dragging Aunt Petunia. Words utterly failed Uncle Vernon. His best suit was covered in white dust, which had settled in his hair and mustache and made him look as though he had just aged thirty years. “Er - yes - sorry about that,” said Mr. Weasley, lowering his hand and looking over his shoulder at the blasted fireplace. “It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see - just for an afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send the boys back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate.” Harry was ready to bet that the Dursleys hadn't understood a single word of this. They were still gaping at Mr. Weasley, thunderstruck. Aunt Petunia staggered upright again and hid behind Uncle Vernon. “Hello, Harry!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. “Got your trunk ready?” “It's upstairs,” said Harry, grinning back. “We'll get it,” said Fred at once. Winking at Harry, he and George left the room. They knew where Harry's bedroom was, having once rescued him from it in the dead of night. Harry suspected that Fred and George were hoping for a glimpse of Dudley; they had heard a lot about him from Harry. “Well,” said Mr. Weasley, swinging his arms slightly, while he tried to find words to break the very nasty silence. “Very - erm - very nice place you've got here.” As the usually spotless living room was now covered in dust and bits of brick, this remark didn't go down too well with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon's face purpled once more, and Aunt Petunia started chewing her tongue again. However, they seemed too scared to actually say anything. Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder. “They run off eckeltricity, do they?” he said knowledgeably. “Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs,” he added to Uncle Vernon. “And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are.” Uncle Vernon clearly thought Mr. Weasley was mad too. He moved ever so slightly to the right, screening Aunt Petunia from view, as though he thought Mr. Weasley might suddenly run at them and attack. Dudley suddenly reappeared in the room. Harry could hear the clunk of his trunk on the stairs, and knew that the sounds had scared Dudley out of the kitchen. Dudley edged along the wall, gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, and attempted to conceal himself behind his mother and father. Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon's bulk, while sufficient to hide bony Aunt Petunia, was nowhere near enough to conceal Dudley. “Ah, this is your cousin, is it, Harry?” said Mr. Weasley, taking another brave stab at making conversation. “Yep,” said Harry, “that's Dudley.” He and Ron exchanged glances and then quickly looked away from each other; the temptation to burst out laughing was almost overwhelming. Dudley was still clutching his bottom as though afraid it might fall off. Mr. Weasley, however, seemed genuinely concerned at Dudley's peculiar behavior. Indeed, from the tone of his voice when he next spoke, Harry was quite sure that Mr. Weasley thought Dudley was quite as mad as the Dursleys thought he was, except that Mr. Weasley felt sympathy rather than fear. “Having a good holiday, Dudley?” he said kindly. Dudley whimpered. Harry saw his hands tighten still harder over his massive backside. Fred and George came back into the room carrying Harry's school trunk. They glanced around as they entered and spotted Dudley. Their faces cracked into identical evil grins. “Ah, right,” said Mr. Weasley. “Better get cracking then.” He pushed up the sleeves of his robes and took out his wand. Harry saw the Dursleys draw back against the wall as one. “Incendio!” said Mr. Weasley, pointing his wand at the hole in the wall behind him. Flames rose at once in the fireplace, crackling merrily as though they had been burning for hours. Mr. Weasley took a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the powder inside, and threw it onto the flames, which turned emerald green and roared higher than ever. “Off you go then, Fred,” said Mr. Weasley. “Coming,” said Fred. “Oh no - hang on -” A bag of sweets had spilled out of Fred's pocket and the contents were now rolling in every direction - big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers. Fred scrambled around, cramming them back into his pocket, then gave the Dursleys a cheery wave, stepped forward, and walked right into the fire, saying “the Burrow!” Aunt Petunia gave a little shuddering gasp. There was a whooshing sound, and Fred vanished. “Right then, George,” said Mr. Weasley, “you and the trunk.” Harry helped George carry the trunk forward into the flames and turn it onto its end so that he could hold it better. Then, with a second whoosh, George had cried “the Burrow!” and vanished too. “Ron, you next,” said Mr. Weasley. “See you,” said Ron brightly to the Dursleys. He grinned broadly at Harry, then stepped into the fire, shouted “the Burrow!” and disappeared. Now Harry and Mr. Weasley alone remained. “Well…'bye then,” Harry said to the Dursleys. They didn't say anything at all. Harry moved toward the fire, but just as he reached the edge of the hearth, Mr. Weasley put out a hand and held him back. He was looking at the Dursleys in amazement. “Harry said good-bye to you,” he said. “Didn't you hear him?” “It doesn't matter,” Harry muttered to Mr. Weasley. “Honestly, I don't care.” Mr. Weasley did not remove his hand from Harry's shoulder. “You aren't going to see your nephew till next summer,” he said to Uncle Vernon in mild indignation. “Surely you're going to say good-bye?” Uncle Vernon's face worked furiously. The idea of being taught consideration by a man who had just blasted away half his living room wall seemed to be causing him intense suffering. But Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand, and Uncle Vernon's tiny eyes darted to it once, before he said, very resentfully, “Good-bye, then.” “See you,” said Harry, putting one foot forward into the green flames, which felt pleasantly like warm breath. At that moment, however, a horrible gagging sound erupted behind him, and Aunt Petunia started to scream. Harry wheeled around. Dudley was no longer standing behind his parents. He was kneeling beside the coffee table, and he was gagging and sputtering on a foot-long, purple, slimy thing that was protruding from his mouth. One bewildered second later, Harry realized that the foot-long thing was Dudley's tongue - and that a brightly colored toffee wrapper lay on the floor before him. Aunt Petunia hurled herself onto the ground beside Dudley, seized the end of his swollen tongue, and attempted to wrench it out of his mouth; unsurprisingly, Dudley yelled and sputtered worse than ever, trying to fight her off. Uncle Vernon was bellowing and waving his arms around, and Mr. Weasley had to shout to make himself heard. “Not to worry, I can sort him out!” he yelled, advancing on Dudley with his wand outstretched, but Aunt Petunia screamed worse than ever and threw herself on top of Dudley, shielding him from Mr. Weasley. “No, really!” said Mr. Weasley desperately. “It's a simple process it was the toffee - my son Fred - real practical joker - but it's only an Engorgement Charm - at least, I think it is - please, I can correct it -” But far from being reassured, the Dursleys became more panic- stricken; Aunt Petunia was sobbing hysterically, tugging Dudley's tongue as though determined to rip it out; Dudley appeared to be suffocating under the combined pressure of his mother and his tongue; and Uncle Vernon, who had lost control completely, seized a china figure from on top of the sideboard and threw it very hard at Mr. Weasley, who ducked, causing the ornament to shatter in the blasted fireplace. “Now really!” said Mr. Weasley angrily, brandishing his wand. “I'm trying to help!” Bellowing like a wounded hippo, Uncle Vernon snatched up another ornament. “Harry, go! Just go!” Mr. Weasley shouted, his wand on Uncle Vernon. “I'll sort this out!” Harry didn't want to miss the fun, but Uncle Vernon's second ornament narrowly missed his left ear, and on balance he thought it best to leave the situation to Mr. Weasley. He stepped into the fire, looking over his shoulder as he said “the Burrow!” His last fleeting glimpse of the living room was of Mr. Weasley blasting a third ornament out of Uncle Vernon's hand with his wand, Aunt Petunia screaming and lying on top of Dudley, and Dudley's tongue lolling around like a great slimy python. But next moment Harry had begun to spin very fast, and the Dursleys’ living room was whipped out of sight in a rush of emerald-green flames. 第二天十二时前，哈利的行李箱塞满了上学用品，也塞满了所有的奖品——他从父亲那里继承下来的隐身衣，西里斯那里得到的扫帚，去年弗来德和乔治给的霍格瓦彻魔法地图。他清空了地板底下的所有吃的东西，小心翼翼地检查每个角落，每个缝隙，不要忘记拼写课本及羽毛笔，从墙取下一直划到9月1日的时间表——哈利划去的，为了早日返回霍格瓦彻。 普里怀特街四号里面的气氛特别紧张。一批巫师就要到他们家，达德里一家坐立不安，暴躁易怒。哈利告诉他威斯里家人五点到，维能看上去完全处于惊恐之中。 “我希望你已告诉他们穿得体面些，这些人，”他马上厉声说道，“我曾经看见过你们这些人穿的那种衣服，他们最好体面地穿上正常服装。就这些。” 哈利有一种预感。他从来没有见过威斯里夫妇穿杜斯利夫妇称之为正常的衣服。假期，他们的孩子们可能穿马格的衣服，仅威斯里夫妻俩通常穿肮脏无比的长袍。哈利不担心邻居们会怎么想，他担心当威斯里穿的是维能姨丈最厌恶的那种样子，维能姨丈对威斯里一家将会何等粗鲁。 维能姨丈穿上他最好的衣服。对某些人来说，这样可能是出于表示欢迎，但哈利知道姨丈是要给别人留下深刻印像，同样对别人也是一种威胁。达德里却精神没那么好。不是因为新食谱终于起作用，而是由于害怕。他上次遇到了一个大巫师用一个卷毛猪尾刺穿他的座位并刺进了他的屁股。为此不得不付笔钱让他在伦敦一家私人医院取出猪尾。因此，达德里总是一边紧张地从一个房间踱到另一个房间，一边用手摸屁股，好像不会让同一目标再送给敌人似的。 午餐悄悄地进行。达德里也不抱怨食物（农家奶酪，磨碎了的芹菜）。姨妈什么也不吃。她撑着胳膊，双唇紧闭，好像在嚼舌头，虽然她想狠狠地怒斥哈利，但又缩了回去。 “他们开车来的吧？”对面姨丈说话。 “呃。”哈利说。 他本想过，他们将怎样接他走呢？他们也没有车，曾经有的那辆旧福得。安利亚现在正在霍格瓦彻禁林里狂奔。但威斯里先生去年从魔法部里借了部车，也许今天也一样？ “我想是这样。”哈利说。 维能姨丈嗤之以鼻。通常情况下，姨丈会再问威斯里先生开什么样的车，他趋向于根据车的大小，车的昂贵程度来判断他人。但哈利怀疑即使威斯里先生开法拉利来，他也会无动于衷。 下午大部分时间哈利都是在卧室里度过。姨妈每隔一会就朝窗帘外看去，好像有人警告说一头犀牛在逃窜。哈利实在受不了。终于，四点四十五分时，哈利下了楼，来到客厅。 姨妈粗暴地把沙发坐垫弄直。姨丈在假装着报，但他的小眼睛却未动，哈利肯定他实际上在全神贯注地听是否有小车在开过来。 达德里坐在手扶椅上，肥肥大手放在屁股下，牢牢地钳住。哈利没有办法消除紧张局面，他离开房间，坐在大厅里的楼梯上，眼睛看着大门，因为兴奋，心跳得飞快。 但五点到了，很快又过了五点，姨丈穿着的衣服都被汗浸湿，他打开前门，往街上两头望望，然后很快就回来了。 “他们迟到了。”他对哈利说。 “我知道。”哈利说，“也许，塞车，或者别的原因。” 五点过五分，……接着五点过十分……哈利现在开始感到不安。五点半时，他听到姨丈和姨妈在客厅里简短地对话。 “根本没有考虑别人。” “我们本来有个约会。” “也许他们认为如果迟些我们会请他们吃饭。” “他们最好别想。”姨丈说，哈利听见他站起来，在客厅来回踱步。“他们来接这个孩子后马上就得走，周围没有什么好逗留的。 那是说他们来的话。也许搞错了日期。我敢说他们那种人根本不知道做事情要一丝不苟。要么这样，他们开了辆破车，在路上环！“ 从客厅另一边的门那儿，传来杜斯利一家三口惊恐的叫声。接着达德里飞一般回到大厅，看起来受了惊吓。 哈利跳了起来说，“怎么回事？有什么不妥？” 但达德里好像说不出话来。双手还是护着屁股，他尽快走进厨房。哈利匆忙来到客厅。 杜斯利家的暖火炉后面传来很大的“砰”及“刮到”声，炉子有煤火堵在前面。 “那是什么？”姨妈说，她已回到墙那边，眼睛一动不动，看着炉火吓坏了。“那是什么？维能？” 但很快他们就知道真相了，壁炉里面传出了声音。 “噢，弗来德，不要——回去吧，回去吧，有点毛病，叫乔治不要——哎哟！不要，没有地方，马上回去，告诉罗恩——” “也许哈利能听见我们说话，也许他会让我们出去。” 电炉后面传来用拳头敲打木板的声音。 “哈利？哈利，你能听见吗？” 杜斯利一家围住哈利，就像几个发怒的狼罐一样。 “这是什么？”姨丈咆哮说，“这是怎么回事？” “他们想用芙露粉到这里。”哈利说，真想大笑起来，“他们会在火上行，只是你们封住了壁炉的出口——等一等——” 他靠近炉子，对着木板喊叫。 “威斯里先生，你能听见我说话吗？” 敲打声停止了。烟囱里有人说，“是”。 “威斯里先生，是哈利呀。壁炉被封住了，您过不来。” “该死的！”威斯里先生说，“他们究竟为什么要封住壁炉？” “他们有电炉。”哈利解释说。 “真的吗？”威斯里先生说，他很兴奋，“电吗，你说？有插头？ 天哪，我得看看，让我们想想……哎哟，罗恩！“ 罗恩的声音现在加入了。 “我们在这里干啥？有什么问题吗产”噢，没有，罗恩，“弗来德说，好像有点讥讽的口气。”这里刚好是咱们的目的地。“ “噫，我们在享受人生，”乔治说，他的声音很低，好像头撞到了墙。 威斯里先生含糊不清地说，“孩子们，我在想怎么办。是的……唯一的办法……往后站，哈利！” 哈利退后到沙发。可姨丈却向上前走。 “等一下！”他对着火炉说：“你们究竟要干什么？” 嘭！ 木板壁炉向外迸裂出来，电炉射过房间，威斯里，弗来德，乔治，罗恩满是石头碎片，木屑片洒了一地。姨妈尖叫着向后倒向咖啡桌，姨丈在她还未倒在地上扶起了她，目瞪口呆，一句话也说不出来。这几位威斯里家人，全部都是红红的头发，包括弗来德、乔治，他们完全一样。 “这下好了，”威斯里先生上气不接下气地说，刷刷他那绿色长施上的灰尘，正了正眼镜，“啊——你们一定就是哈利的姨丈、姨妈吧！” 又高又瘦还完头的威斯里先生朝姨丈走去，伸出手，但姨丈却后退了几步，拉住姨妈，姨丈完全说不出话来。他最好的衣服上满是灰尘，连头发，胡子里也是这样，使他看上去好像老了三十年。 “呃——真是的——抱歉，”威斯里先生说，他放下手，低头看了看炸了的炉子，“都是我的错，我们从另一端出不来，我不应该这样的。我把您的炉子连到福仑网上，只接一个下午，这样我们就可以接哈利，你们的炉子是不应该连接在一起的，严格地说起来就是这样，但我事先进行了有用的连接……我可以在顷刻之间把它恢复原样。别担心。我会升堆火把孩子们送回去。在我走前，我可以为您修好炉子。” 哈利敢打赌杜斯利一家完全不懂威斯里的意思。他们惊得目瞪口呆。姨妈摇摇晃晃，站立不安，干脆躲到姨丈身后去了。 “喂，哈利，”威斯里说，“把你的行李箱准备好！” “在楼上。”哈利笑着说。 “我们去拿，”弗来德马上说，对哈利眨眨眼睛，弗来德和乔治离开了房间。他们知道哈利的卧室在哪里。哈利怀疑他们可能只是想看一眼达德里，他们从他那里听说过很多关于他的事。 “噢，”威斯里先生甩了甩手，他想搜索枯肠找些话来打破这令人不快的沉默。“很，很好的地方，你们这个地方不错。” 这平常一尘不染的客厅现在满是尘土，砖砾，这样说对杜斯利一家来说并不是太好。姨丈的脸又一次变紫，姨妈又开始嚼舌头。 然而他们好像太怕了，什么也说不出。 威斯里先生环顾四周。他喜爱马格人的一切东西。哈利可以看出他想去看看电视机，录像机。 “他们关掉了电源，是吧？”他好像知道似地说。 “呵！我可以看见插头，我收集插头。”他对维能姨文说。“还有电池。收集一大堆电池。我妻子认为我有毛病，但哪有这回事。” 维能姨丈也认为威斯里疯了。他慢慢地往右靠，挡住姨妈，好像认为威斯里会突然扑过去对他们发动袭击似的。 达德里突然又在房间里出现。哈利听见楼上关行李箱的声音，知道这声音把达德里吓得从厨房跑了出来。达德里靠着墙边走，眼里充满恐惧，盯着威斯里先生看，想躲在他妈妈爸爸的身后。不幸的是，他爸爸的身躯足可以遮着他妈妈，但怎么也遮不住他。 “呵！这是你表兄，哈利？”威斯里尝试着说。 “是，”哈利说，“他是达德里。” 他和罗恩交换了一下眼色，随即离开了，因为很难抗拒想笑的诱惑。达德里还是护住他的屁股，生怕掉下来。威斯里先生可真的关心达德里这个特别动作。从他下句话的语气来看，哈利很肯定威斯里认为达德里疯了，就如同达德里认为他疯了一样，所不同的是，威斯里感到同情而不是害怕。 “假期过得好吧，达德里？”他和蔼地说。 达德里开始啜泣。哈利看见他的手握得他那硕大的屁股更紧更紧了。 弗来德和乔治返回房间，手里拿着哈利的行李箱。当他们进来时向四周看了看，认出了达德里，同时都邪邪地笑了笑。 “呵，好，”威斯里说，“最好大笑。” 他捋了捋袖子，拿出魔杖，哈利看见杜斯利三人朝墙靠，挤得像一个人一样。 “点火，”威斯里把魔杖指向他身后的墙洞，说道。 壁炉里火炮随即升起，噼哩作响，好像已烧了几小时。威斯里从口袋里掏出一个系绳袋，打开它，取出一点粉扔到火焰上，火焰变成了翠绿色，烧得比以前更高更猛。 “弗来德，你去吧！”威斯里说。 “来了，”弗来德说，“不，等一下。” 一袋糖果排出来了，滚得满地都是，又大又肥的太妃糖，包装得很漂亮。 弗来德到处爬找，把糖果又塞了回去。然后高兴地朝达德里挥挥手，向前走去，走进火里，说了声“回洞”，姨妈浑浑发抖，屏住了呼吸，“飕”的一声，弗来德不见了。 “乔治，来，”威斯里说，“你和行李箱。” 哈利帮助乔治把行李箱拿过火里，乔治说了声“回洞”，“飕” 的一声，乔治也不见了。 “罗恩，你下一个。”威斯里说。 “再见。”罗恩很高兴地对达德里说。他对哈利唏唏一笑，走进火里，说了声“回洞”，消失了。 现在只有哈利，威斯里先生了。 “那么，再见吧。”哈利对姨文家人说。 他们什么也没说。哈利往火里走去。就在他快走到达炉边时，威斯里伸出手并把他拉了回来，他对达德里一家的反映感到很惊讶。 “哈利跟你们说再见，”他说，“你们听不见吗？” “没关系。”哈利喃喃地对威斯里先生说，“我真不在意。” 威斯里先生没有松开他的手，仍放在哈利肩上。 “要到明年夏天你才会见到你的侄子，”他有几分义愤地对维能姨丈说，“你当然要向他说再见。” 姨丈脸上愠怒于色。被一个炸掉半个客厅的人教训好像让他很难受。 然而，威斯里的魔杖在手，姨丈的小眼瞅了瞅它一眼，很怨恨地说道，“再见吧。” “再见”。哈利说，一脚踏进绿焰，仿佛觉得是温暖的呼吸一样。就在那时，身后传来可怕的呕吐声。姨妈开始惊叫。 哈利转过身来。达德里不再站在他父母身后。他跪在咖啡桌边，并且在呕吐，从他口中伸出的一个一英尺长的紫色细条物在嘛啪作响。惶恐了一会后哈利才意识到了那一英尺长的细物是达德里的舌头，那个漂亮的太妃糖纸就在他前面的地板上。 姨妈不顾一切地向达德里身边的地板扑过去。抓住达德里浮肿舌头的一端，想把它从口中拨出来，一点也不奇怪，达德里叫得更凶，吐得更厉害，他想把他妈妈推开。维能姨丈大吼大叫，挥动胳膊兜圈子，威斯里不得不大叫才能让他们听得见。 “别担心，我能有办法，”他伸出魔杖，朝达德里走去，但姨妈叫得更厉害了，趴在达德里身上，不想让威斯里接近达德里。 “不，真的，”威斯里先生绝望他说，“这是一个简单的过程。 就是因为那太妃糖，我儿子弗来德，真的喜欢开玩笑，但这是一个咒语，至少，我认为，我可以纠正它——“ 但是这远远没有让杜斯利一家清除疑虑，他们变得更加惶恐。 姨妈歇斯底里的哭泣，拉住达德里的舌头好像决心要把它拉出来，在他母亲和舌头的双重压力下达德里几乎窒息。姨丈已完全失去控制，抓住一个厨柜里的陶瓷像向威斯里用力砸去，威斯里低下头躲过，这装饰品却在壁炉里摔得粉碎。 “现在，真的，”威斯里说，他生气了，挥舞着魔杖，“我来试试看。” 维能姨丈像一头受伤的河马，大喊大叫，抓起了另一件装饰物。 “哈利，走吧。”威斯里吼道，魔杖打在姨丈身上。 哈利不想错过这热闹。但姨丈的第二个装饰物就在他左耳边经过，权衡一下后，他认为最好还是把这种局面交给威斯里先生来处理。他向火里走去，说了声“回洞”，最后看见威斯里用魔杖让姨文手中的第三个装饰物飞出去后炸掉。姨妈尖叫着，躺在杜斯利身上，达德里的舌头筋疲力竭地靠着她，像一条巨大的黏滑的蟒蛇。 但哈利已开始快速打转，在绿色火焰中刹那间飞出了达德里的客厅。 |
Chapter 5 Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Harry spun faster and faster, elbows tucked tightly to his sides, blurred fireplaces flashing past him, until he started to feel sick and closed his eyes. Then, when at last he felt himself slowing down, he threw out his hands and came to a halt in time to prevent himself from falling face forward out of the Weasleys’ kitchen fire. “Did he eat it?” said Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Harry to his feet. “Yeah,” said Harry, straightening up. “What was it?” “Ton-Tongue Toffee,” said Fred brightly. “George and I invented them, and we've been looking for someone to test them on all summer.…” The tiny kitchen exploded with laughter; Harry looked around and saw that Ron and George were sitting at the scrubbed wooden table with two red-haired people Harry had never seen before, though he knew immediately who they must be: Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers. “How're you doing, Harry?” said the nearer of the two, grinning at him and holding out a large hand, which Harry shook, feeling calluses and blisters under his fingers. This had to be Charlie, who worked with dragons in Romania. Charlie was built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Percy and Ron, who were both long and lanky. He had a broad, good-natured face, which was weather-beaten and so freckly that he looked almost tanned; his arms were muscular, and one of them had a large, shiny burn on it. Bill got to his feet, smiling, and also shook Harry's hand. Bill came as something of a surprise. Harry knew that he worked for the wizarding bank, Gringotts, and that Bill had been Head Boy at Hogwarts; Harry had always imagined Bill to be an older version of Percy: fussy about rule-breaking and fond of bossing everyone around. However, Bill was - there was no other word for it - cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill's clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide. Before any of them could say anything else, there was a faint popping noise, and Mr. Weasley appeared out of thin air at George's shoulder. He was looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. “That wasn't funny Fred!” he shouted. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?” “I didn't give him anything,” said Fred, with another evil grin. I just dropped it….It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.” “You dropped it on purpose!” roared Mr. Weasley. “You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet -” “How big did his tongue get?” George asked eagerly. “It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!” Harry and the Weasleys roared with laughter again. “It isn't funny!” Mr. Weasley shouted. “That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons “We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!” said Fred indignantly. “No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git,” said George. “Isn't he, Harry?” “Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry earnestly. “That's not the point!” raged Mr. Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother -” “Tell me what?” said a voice behind them. Mrs. Weasley had just entered the kitchen. She was a short, plump woman with a very kind face, though her eyes were presently narrowed with suspicion. “Oh hello, Harry, dear,” she said, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snapped back to her husband. “Tell me what, Arthur?” Mr. Weasley hesitated. Harry could tell that, however angry he was with Fred and George, he hadn't really intended to tell Mrs. Weasley what had happened. There was a silence, while Mr. Weasley eyed his wife nervously. Then two girls appeared in the kitchen doorway behind Mrs. Weasley. One, with very bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth, was Harry's and Ron's friend, Hermione Granger. The other, who was small and red-haired, was Ron's younger sister, Ginny. Both of them smiled at Harry, who grinned back, which made Ginny go scarlet - she had been very taken with Harry ever since his first visit to the Burrow. “Tell me what, Arthur?” Mrs. Weasley repeated, in a dangerous sort of voice. “It's nothing, Molly,” mumbled Mr. Weasley, “Fred and George just - but I've had words with them -” “What have they done this time?” said Mrs. Weasley. “If it's got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes -” “Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?” said Hermione from the doorway. “He knows where he's sleeping,” said Ron, “in my room, he slept there last -” “We can all go,” said Hermione pointedly. “Oh,” said Ron, cottoning on. “Right.” “Yeah, we'll come too,” said George. “You stay where you are!” snarled Mrs. Weasley. Harry and Ron edged out of the kitchen, and they, Hermione, and Ginny set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzagged through the house to the upper stories. “What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry asked as they climbed. Ron and Ginny both laughed, although Hermione didn't. “Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room,” said Ron quietly. “Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that…” “We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things,” said Ginny. “We thought they just liked the noise.” “Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous,” said Ron, “and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms….She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L.s as she expected.” O.W.L.s were Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the examinations Hogwarts students took at the age of fifteen. “And then there was this big row,” Ginny said, “because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.” Just then a door on the second landing opened, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression. “Hi, Percy,” said Harry. “Oh hello, Harry,” said Percy. “I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.” “We're not thundering, “said Ron irritably. “We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.” “What are you working on?” said Harry. “A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” said Percy smugly. “We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year -” “That'll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.” Percy went slightly pink. “You might sneer, Ron,” he said heatedly, “but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger -” “Yeah, yeah, all right,” said Ron, and he started off upstairs again. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut. As Harry, Hermione, and Ginny followed Ron up three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echoed up to them. It sounded as though Mr. Weasley had told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees. The room at the top of the house where Ron slept looked much as it had the last time that Harry had come to stay: the same posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, and the fish tank on the windowsill, which had previously held frog spawn, now contained one extremely large frog. Ron's old rat, Scabbers, was here no more, but instead there was the tiny gray owl that had delivered Ron's letter to Harry in Privet Drive. It was hopping up and down in a small cage and twittering madly. “Shut up, Pig,” said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. “Fred and George are in here with us, because Bill and Charlie are in their room,” he told Harry. “Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work.” “Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?” Harry asked Ron. “Because he's being stupid,” said Ginny, “Its proper name is Pigwidgeon.” “Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all,” said Ron sarcastically. “Ginny named him,” he explained to Harry. “She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that. Pigwidgeon zoomed happily around his cage, hooting shrilly. Harry knew Ron too well to take him seriously. He had moaned continually about his old rat, Scabbers, but had been most upset when Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, appeared to have eaten him. “Where's Crookshanks?” Harry asked Hermione now. “Out in the garden, I expect,” she said. “He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before.” “Percy's enjoying work, then?” said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling. “Enjoying it?” said Ron darkly. “I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch…as I was saying to Mr. Crouch… Mr. Crouch is of the opinion…Mr. Crouch was telling me…They'll be announcing their engagement any day now.” “Have you had a good summer, Harry?” said Hermione. “Did you get our food parcels and everything?” “Yeah, thanks a lot,” said Harry. “They saved my life, those cakes.” “And have you heard from -?” Ron began, but at a look from Hermione he fell silent. Harry knew Ron had been about to ask about Sirius. Ron and Hermione had been so deeply involved in helping Sirius escape from the Ministry of Magic that they were almost as concerned about Harry's godfather as he was. However, discussing him in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but themselves and Professor Dumbledore knew about how Sirius had escaped, or believed in his innocence. “I think they've stopped arguing,” said Hermione, to cover the awkward moment, because Ginny was looking curiously from Ron to Harry. “Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?” “Yeah, all right,” said Ron. The four of them left Ron's room and went back downstairs to find Mrs. Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered. “We're eating out in the garden,” she said when they came in. “There's just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two,” she said to Ron and Harry, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she had intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shot out of their skins so fast that they ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. “Oh for heaven's sake,” she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the sideboard and started skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. “Those two!” she burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard, and Harry knew she meant Fred and George. I don't know what's going to happen to them, I really don't. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can….” Mrs. Weasley slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and began to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from the wand tip as she stirred. “It's not as though they haven't got brains, she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, “but they're wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they'll be in real trouble. I've had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they're going, they'll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office.” Mrs. Weasley jabbed her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shot open. Harry and Ron both jumped out of the way as several knives soared out of it, flew across the kitchen, and began chopping the potatoes, which had just been tipped back into the sink by the dustpan. “I don't know where we went wrong with them,” said Mrs. Weasley, putting down her wand and starting to pull out still more saucepans. “It's been the same for years, one thing after another, and they won't listen to - OH NOT AGAIN!” She had picked up her wand from the table, and it had emitted a loud squeak and turned into a giant rubber mouse. “One of their fake wands again!” she shouted. “How many times have I told them not to leave them lying around?” She grabbed her real wand and turned around to find that the sauce on the stove was smoking. “C'mon,” Ron said hurriedly to Harry, seizing a handful of cutlery from the open drawer, “let's go and help Bill and Charlie.” They left Mrs. Weasley and headed out the back door into the yard. They had only gone a few paces when Hermione's bandy-legged ginger cat, Crookshanks, came pelting out of the garden, bottle-brush tail held high in the air, chasing what looked like a muddy potato on legs. Harry recognized it instantly as a gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet pattered very fast as it sprinted across the yard and dived headlong into one of the Wellington boots that lay scattered around the door. Harry could hear the gnome giggling madly as Crookshanks inserted a paw into the boot, trying to reach it. Meanwhile, a very loud crashing noise was coming from the other side of the house. The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety. Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead, and they all looked up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor. “Will you keep it down?!” he bellowed. “Sorry, Perce,” said Bill, grinning. “How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?” “Very badly,” said Percy peevishly, and he slammed the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely onto the grass, end to end, and then, with a flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere. By seven o'clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To somebody who had been living on meals of increasingly stale cake all summer, this was paradise, and at first, Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad. At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms. “I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying pompously. “That's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman -” “I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble - a lawnmower with unnatural powers - I smoothed the whole thing over.” “Oh Bagman's likable enough, of course,” said Percy dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department…when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?” “Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now - though must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried.…” “Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right,” said Percy. “I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth…but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her - but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However” - Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine - “we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.” Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. “You know the one I'm talking about, Father.” He raised his voice slightly. “The top-secret one.” Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, “He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.” In the middle of the table, Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Bill about his earring, which seemed to be a recent acquisition. “…with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?” “Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” said Bill patiently. “And your hair's getting silly, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly.” I wish you'd let me give it a trim.…” “I like it,” said Ginny, who was sitting beside Bill. “You're so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it's nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore's….” Next to Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie were all talking spiritedly about the World Cup. “It's got to be Ireland,” said Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.” “Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” said Fred. “Krum's one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” said Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.” “What happened?” said Harry eagerly, regretting more than ever his isolation from the wizarding world when he was stuck on Privet Drive. “Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” said Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.” Harry had been on the Gryffindor House Quidditch team ever since his first year at Hogwarts and owned one of the best racing brooms in the world, a Firebolt. Flying came more naturally to Harry than anything else in the magical world, and he played in the position of Seeker on the Gryffindor House team. Mr. Weasley conjured up candles to light the darkening garden before they had their homemade strawberry ice cream, and by the time they had finished, moths were fluttering low over the table, and the warm air was perfumed with the smells of grass and honeysuckle. Harry was feeling extremely well fed and at peace with the world as he watched several gnomes sprinting through the rosebushes, laughing madly and closely pursued by Crookshanks. Ron looked carefully up the table to check that the rest of the family were all busy talking, then he said very quietly to Harry, “So - have you heard from Sirius lately?” Hermione looked around, listening closely. “Yeah,” said Harry softly, “twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here.” He suddenly remembered the reason he had written to Sirius, and for a moment was on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione about his scar hurting again, and about the dream that had awoken him…but he really didn't want to worry them just now, not when he himself was feeling so happy and peaceful. “Look at the time,” Mrs. Weasley said suddenly, checking her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you you'll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Harry, if you leave your school list out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.” “Wow - hope it does this time!” said Harry enthusiastically. “Well, I certainly don't,” said Percy sanctimoniously. “I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.” “Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” said Fred. “That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” said Percy, going very red in the face. “It was nothing personal!” “It was,” Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. “We sent it.” 第五章 威斯里的巫师咆哮弹 哈利转得越来越快，肘子紧贴身子，朦胧的火炉在他身旁闪闪而过，直至他感到恶心，闭上了眼睛。然后他感到速度慢了下来，因此他伸出手来，以免面朝下跌倒，随后走出了威斯里的壁炉。 “他吃了吗？”弗来德兴奋地说，伸出手拉哈利到身边。 “是的，”哈利说边边伸直了腰，“那究竟是什么？” “长舌太妃糖，”弗来德高兴地说，“我和乔治发明的。我们一个夏天都在找人做试验……” 小小厨房笑声如雷。 哈利环顾四周，看见罗恩、乔治坐在一张擦得干干净净的木桌旁，另外还有有两个红头发的人，哈利从来未见过。但他马上意识到了他们是谁：比尔和查理，威斯里兄弟中的两个年纪大的。 “哈利，你好！”两个中比较靠近哈利的那位说道，他对哈利笑了笑，伸出他的大手，哈利和他握了握手，觉得手指下面有硬茧及水泡。他一定是查理，他在罗马尼亚和龙一起生活。查理相貌像孪生兄弟俩，但比伯希，罗恩矮胖，而他们却修长。他的脸很大，自然，太阳晒得厉害，多斑，看起来完全被太阳晒黑了，双臂肌肉强健，一只胳膊上有一个疤。 比尔微笑着站起来，也和哈利握了握手。他的到来有几分令哈利吃惊。他为一家魔界银行工作，他曾经是霍格瓦彻的孩子王。比尔真像伯希的翻版，但比他老，他们都对破坏规定的事非常敏感，小题大作，而且喜欢对别人颐指气使。可是对比尔没有别的话可以形容他的冷淡。他个子高大，长头发，留成马尾型。他戴一个耳环，像吊着一颗毒牙。他的衣服看起来比较适合摇滚音乐会，哈利认得他的靴子不是皮革的，而是龙皮做的。 谁都还未来得及说别的，就听见一声“砰”的轻响，威斯里先生回来了，站在乔治肩膀旁边。他看起来很生气，哈利从来也没有看见过他如此生气过。 “那不是闹着玩的，弗来德，”他吼道，“你究竟给他吃了什么？” “我没有给他任何东西，”弗来德说，又诡秘地笑了一下，“我只是掉下它，……这是他自己的错，他自己走过去吃了它，我从来也没叫他吃。” “你是有意掉的，”威斯里吼道，“你知道他会吃的，你知道他贪吃……” “他的舌头变多大啦？”乔治急切地问道。 “在他父母要我缩小它前，四英尺长。” 哈利和威斯里家人又哄堂大笑。 “一点也不好笑！”威斯里先生说，“那种行为严重破坏了巫师与马格人的关系！我花了半辈子来解除马格人对我们的误解，然而我的儿子却——” 弗来德愤怒地说，“我们就是因为他是马格人才没有把糖给他。” “不，我们给了他，因为他喜欢欺负弱小，”乔治说，“对吧，哈利？” “是的，他是，威斯里先生。”哈利认真地说。 “不是那样！”威斯里生气地说，“你们等着我告诉你们的母亲……” “告诉我什么？”身后的声音说道。 威斯里夫人刚刚进屋。她是一个矮小而丰满的女人，有着一张慈祥的脸，此时却因为疑惑而眼睛眯着。 “喂，哈利，亲爱的，”她笑着对哈利问好后眼睛又很快地转向她丈夫，“亚瑟，告诉我什么？” 威斯里先生犹豫了。哈利知道无论他对弗来德、乔治多么生气，他都并不是真的想把事情告诉威斯里夫人的。威斯里先生的眼睛紧张地注视着威斯里夫人，又是一阵沉默。接着威斯里夫人后面的厨房门口出现了两个女孩。其中一个有一头茂密的棕发，大门牙，是哈利和罗恩的朋友，名字叫荷米恩。格林佐，另外一个，小小个，红头发，是罗恩的妹妹，名字叫金妮。哈利对她们笑了笑，金妮的脸一下子红了，自从上次“回洞”金妮就喜欢上哈利了。 “亚瑟，告诉我什么？”威斯里夫人又问道，口气很硬。 “没有什么，”威斯里先生说，“是弗来德和乔治，刚才我跟他们吵了一架。” “他们这次做了什么？”威斯里夫人说。“如果这件事与威斯里巫师爆笑弹有什么关系的话……” “为什么不让哈利看看他睡在哪里呢，罗恩？”荷米恩在门口说。 “他知道他睡哪里，”罗恩说，“在我房间，他睡那……上——” “我们都可以去。”荷米恩说，指了指。 “噢，”罗恩说着，也明白了，“好吧。” “好，我们也来。”乔治说。 “你就在这里！”威斯里夫人说。 哈利和罗恩慢慢地出了厨房，与荷米恩和金妮走过长长的走廊，上了摇摇晃晃的楼梯。 “威斯里的巫师咆哮弹是什么意思？”边爬楼梯，哈利边问道。 罗恩和金妮笑了，荷米恩却没笑。 “妈妈在整理弗来德和乔治的房间时发现了一堆订货单。”罗恩平静地说。“很长的价目表，上面是他们自己发明的东西。都是些搞笑的东西，你知道的。假魔杖、魔法糖……很有趣，我从来不知道他们在搞发明……” “我们很久以前就听见过爆炸声从他们房间里传出来，但我们从来没想到他们真的在‘造’东西，”金妮说，“我们认为他们只是喜欢那种声音。” “只是，大多数的东西——噢，所有的东西——都有点危险，” 罗恩说，“他们准备在霍格瓦彻卖，赚些钱，妈妈气得发疯。叫他们不准再造任何东西，并烧掉所有的订单……她真的对他们大发雷霆。他们没有达到她期望的O.W.L。” O.W.L是普通巫师水平考试，霍格瓦彻学生在十五岁时参加这种考试。 “那么现在肯定吵翻了天，”金妮说，“因为妈妈要他们像爸爸一样进魔法部，而他们却说他们想开搞笑商店。” 就在那时，第二平台上的一扇门打开了，探出一张脸来，戴着鹿角镶边的眼镜，一副很生气的表情。 “嗨，伯希。”哈利说。 “噢，哈利，”伯希说。“我在想谁那么吵。我在干活，我有份报告要完成，有人在楼上楼下像打雷似的来回走，我很难集中注意力。” “我们没有像打雷一样走，”罗恩生气地说，“我们在走路，如果我们打搅了魔法部的超级秘密工作，那很抱歉。” “你在忙些什么呢？”哈利说。 “为国家魔法合作部写报告，”伯希自命不凡地说，“我们要把大锅的厚度标准化。有些进口货太薄了一点，每年渗漏增加率为百分之三。” 伯希的脸色有点红了。 “罗恩，你可以耻笑，”他热烈地说，“但如果没有某项国际法制定的话，我们会发现市场上将充满品质低劣、浅底的物品，严重危及……” “对，对。”罗恩打断他的话后开始上楼，伯希砰的一声关上房门。哈利，荷术恩，金妮跟着罗恩又上了三段楼梯，厨房里传来很大的吼叫声，好像威斯里先生已把“太妃糖”的事告诉了威斯里夫人。 罗恩的房间在房子顶层，看起来跟上次哈利来时一样。一样的贴着罗恩最喜欢的快迪斯队的海报；库得利加能大炮挂在墙上，在有点倾斜的天花板上旋转；窗台上以前装过青蛙卵的鱼缸里，现在有一只特别大的青蛙。罗恩的老鼠斯卡伯斯不在了，却有一只很小的灰色猫头鹰，它曾帮助罗恩把信送到普里怀特街给哈利，它在一个小笼子里上下窜跳，得意非凡地叽叽喳喳讲个不停。 “好了吧，猪，”罗恩说，房里挤着四张床，他走进两张床的中间，接着说，“弗来德，乔治和我们在一起，比尔，查理在他们的房里，”他告诉哈利，“伯希一个人一个屋，因为他要工作。” “呃，你为什么要叫那只猫头鹰‘猪’呢？”哈利问罗恩。 “因为他有点蠢，”金妮说，“它‘猪’名字叫皮威军。” “是的，那才不像‘猪’一样是个蠢名，”罗恩讥讽地说，“是金妮给它取的名，”他跟哈利解释说，“她认为这名字很甜，我想改它，但太迟了，叫别的它根本不答应。因此，它成了‘猪’，我不得不在这里养它，因为它惹恼了厄罗尔和荷米恩，它也让我恼火，来吧。” 猫头鹰在绕笼飞驰，开心得尖声霍霍叫。哈利太了解罗恩了，知道罗恩并不会太喜欢它，不停地叼念着他的旧伴老鼠斯卡伯斯，但荷米恩的猫克路殊克前不久吃掉了它，这点尤其让罗恩觉得痛心。 “克路殊克(猫)在哪里？”哈利问荷米恩。 “在外面花园里，我想，”她说，“它喜欢追逐地精，但它从来没有见过。” “伯希很喜欢工作？哈利一张床上坐下来，看着库得利加能大炮在天花板的海报上驶进驶出。 “喜欢？”罗恩秘密地说，“如果不是爸爸要他回来，他是不会回来的，他着迷了，不要提及他老板的话题，根据克劳斯先生…… 像我跟克劳斯先生说的那样……据克劳斯先生看来……克劳斯先生告诉我，他们将随时宣布他们的雇用契约。“ “你夏天过得不错吧，哈利？”荷米恩说。“你收到了我们给你的食物包裹等东西了吗？” “收到了，太感谢了，”哈利说，“那些蛋糕，救了我的命。” “你收到……？”罗恩开始问，但哈利的眼神使他没有说下去。 哈利知道罗恩将问及西里斯，罗恩和荷米恩在帮助西里斯逃出魔法部时出了很大力，他们对西里斯的关心就跟哈利一样。但在金妮面前讨论这件事不好。只有他们自己和丹伯多教授知道西里斯是如何逃跑的，也只有他们几个相信西里斯是无辜的。 “我认为他们已不再争吵了，”荷米恩说，想消除这尴尬的局面，金妮正在好奇地打量罗恩和哈利，“我们下去帮妈妈做饭，好吗？” “好，”罗恩说完，四人就离开了罗恩的房间，下了楼，看见威斯里夫人独坐在厨房，看起来脾气特别坏。 “我们将在花园外面吃！”她说，“这里没有十一个人的地方。 孩子们，你们可以把盘子拿到外面去吗？比尔和查理在摆桌子，你们两个负责刀叉。“他对罗恩和哈利说。她把魔杖指向地窖里的马铃薯，一大堆马铃薯一个个都剥了皮从天花板上、墙上跳飞过来。 “噢，看在上帝的份上，”她说着，一边指向簸箕，旋即它从那边跳起来，滑过房间地板，把那些土豆捞起装在里面。她很粗暴地说，“那两个家伙，”她正在把厨柜里的锅、壶拉出来，哈利知道那两个家伙指谁，当然是弗来德和乔治，“我不知道他们会发生什么事，真的不知道。没有抱负，除非你不想惹他们那么多的麻烦……” 她把一个很大的铜炖锅放在餐桌上，开始挥舞魔杖在里面搅，乳脂色的酱从魔杖棒尖往下流。 “他们并不蠢，”她继续说，越说越气，把铜锅放到炉子上，摆了一下魔杖点燃了炉子，“但他们在自暴自弃，如果他们两个自己不拉自己一把，他们真的有麻烦。从霍格瓦彻飞来的关于他们的猫头鹰比其余的加在一起还要多。假如他们继续走现在走的路，他们将在滥用魔法办公室里玩完。” 威斯里夫人对刀具抽屉捅了一下魔杖，抽屉打开了。哈利和罗恩都闪开让路，几把刀从抽屉里飞出来，飞过厨房，开始切土豆，簸箕装着它们并把它们送入水槽。 “我不知道我们哪里和他们不同，”威斯里夫人说，她放下魔杖，拉出更多的铜锅。“好多年都是这样子，一件事接另一件事的。 他们就是不听，噢，没脑子！“ 她捡起魔杖，发出一声巨大吱吱叫，魔杖变成了一只巨大的橡皮老鼠。 “又是他们的一根假魔杖，”她吼叫，“我多少次叫他们不要把它们放在附近。” 她抓起她的真杖，转过身来发现炉上的酱已在冒烟。 “来，”罗恩匆忙地对哈利说，从开着的抽屉里抓了一把刀具，“让我们去帮比尔和查理吧！” 他们离开了威斯里夫人，出了后门，来到庭院。 他们才刚走几步，突然荷米恩的麦黄色o型腿的猫——克库圣克斯快速跑出花园，瓶刷似的猫尾竖在空中，正在追逐一个有腿的土豆泥，哈利马上就认出那就是地精。不到十英寸高，喇叭形的小脚啪哒啪哒地跑，尽量快地跑过庭院，一头扎进一只防水长靴——门的四周有许多这样的长靴，哈利听见地精咯咯笑，因为描伸出爪子想抓他。就在这里，房屋另一边传来撞击声，他们进到花园就知道这是怎么回事了。原来比尔和查理两人各拿魔杖在手，让两台破旧的桌子飞上天空，在草坪上相互碰撞，都想碰碎对方的桌子。弗来德和乔治在欢呼，金妮在大笑，荷米恩在篱笆周围徘徊，很明显，她在好玩与担心间左右为难。 比尔的桌子碰上了查理的桌子，“砰”的一声，一条腿撞得掉了下来。头顶上有人大声说话，他们都仰起头来，伯希已从三楼窗户里探出头来。 “你把它弄下来，好吗？”他火吼道。 “抱歉，伯希。”比尔对他大笑，“锅底怎么样了？” “真是太糟糕了，”伯希恼怒地说，他又关上了窗子。 比尔和查理放声大笑，把桌子安全地放到草坪上，比尔用魔杖轻打了一下，再次把桌腿接上，并用魔法不知从哪里变出了桌布。 七点钟，两台桌子上放满了威斯里夫人做得极好的饭菜，九个威斯里家人加上哈利、荷米恩在深蓝色万里无云的天空下吃晚餐。 对于一个整个夏天都吃味道不新鲜的蛋糕的孩子来说，这简直是天堂，起先，哈利只是听着别人谈话而没有加入，他正忙着吃鸡蛋火腿馅饼，煮土豆还有沙拉。 在桌子的那边，伯希在告诉他父亲关于锅底的报告。 “我告诉克劳斯先生我要在周二前搞好它，”伯希得意洋洋地说。“那比他意料的要快一点，我总是要走在前面。我及时完成，他会感激我的，现在这一阵子我们部门特别忙，因为世界杯的各种安排，我们就没有从魔法运动部那里得到我们需要的帮助。露得。 巴格蒙——“ “我喜欢露得，”威斯里先生柔和地说。“他为我们弄到这样的好票。我也给了他一点恩惠：他的兄弟，奥特，惹了点麻烦，用不正常的动力割草机，我为他把整个事情弄好了。” “噢，巴格蒙是讨人喜欢的人，”伯希很听话地说，“但他怎么会成为部门的头呢？当我把他同克劳斯先生相比，我看，克劳斯先生不会失去我们部门的任何一票。您注意到了珀茜-佐金斯已失踪一个多月了吗？她去了阿尔巴尼亚度假后就再也没回来。” “是的，我刚问过露得，”威斯里先生皱了皱眉头说，“他说珀茜以前已经失踪过好几次了，但如果是我部门里的某一位，我就会担心了。” “噢，珀茜是没有希望了，对吧，”伯希说，“我听说她从一个部门降职到另一个部门，一直有许多麻烦，许多年来都是这样。巴格蒙应该设法找到她。克劳斯先生个人对她产生了兴趣，她一度也在我们部门待过，我想克劳斯先生很喜欢她。然而巴格蒙只是笑她可能看错了地图，去了澳大利亚，而不是阿尔巴尼亚。”伯希长叹一声，“还去找其它部门的成员？光是自己部门的事就已经够多了。 您知道，世界杯后，我们要组织另外一件大事。“ 他清了清嗓子，朝桌子一路看过去，那边哈利、罗恩和荷米恩坐在那里。“您知道我在讲什么，父亲，”他稍微提高了嗓门，“顶级秘密的那件。” 罗恩眨眨他的眼睛，对哈利和荷米恩说，“他一直想让我们问他，自从他开始工作后的那件大事。也许是厚底大锅的展览会。” 桌子中间，威斯里夫人正与比尔争论耳环的事，好像是近段时间才戴的。 “……真的像带了一个可怕的大毒牙，银行里他们怎么说？” “妈妈，只要我给家里带来极大的财富，银行里没有人对我的穿戴说三道四。”比尔耐心地说。 “你的头发有点傻乎乎的，亲爱的，”威斯里夫人说，爱抚地用手指摸了摸魔杖，“我希望你让我为你修剪一下……” “我喜欢，”金妮说，她坐在比尔旁边，“您的想法不时髦了，妈妈，换句话说，丹伯多教授也一样。” 在威斯里夫人的旁边弗来德、乔治和查理都兴高采烈地谈论世界杯。 “肯定是爱尔兰，”查理说，满口土豆。“他们在半决赛中摆平了——秘鲁。” “保加利亚有了维特。克伦。”弗来德说。 “克伦是一个像样的选手，但爱尔兰有七个。”查理说，“我希望英国通杀，但那是令人尴尬，那真是……” “什么？”哈利关心地说，对他同巫师世界隔绝，回到了普里怀特街感到非常遗憾，哈利可是很忠心爱国的。 “输给了特雷西维尼亚，390比10。”查理不快地说。“令人震惊，威尔士输给了乌干达，苏格兰被卢森堡宰了。” 威斯里先生用魔法变出了蜡烛照亮了漆黑的花园，他们还没有吃自制的草毒冰淇淋，待吃完的时候，飞蛾在吧嗒吧嗒地响，飞得低低的，桌子上方到处都是。这湿热空气总是伴有草和忍冬的香味。哈利感觉特别饱，地精在玫瑰丛中疾奔，笑得前仰后合，后面那只克路殊克猫紧追不舍。 罗恩抬起头来仔细打量，发现家里的其他人都在忙着讲话，他很小声地对哈利说，“最近你收到了西里斯的信吗？” 荷米恩也四周看了看，靠了过来听。 “是的，”哈利轻声说，“两次。他说OK，前天我给他写了信，他将写回信到这里。” 他突然记起了他给西里斯写信的原因，一时间，差点就要告诉罗恩和荷米恩伤痕疼痛的事，告诉他们惊醒他的可怕的梦，……他不想要他们现在为他担心，而且此时此刻他自己此时此刻也感觉如此开心，如此和平安详，他也不想说这些破坏好的气氛。 “看看时间，”威斯里夫人突然说，她看了看手表。“你们真的要睡觉了，你们所有的人，破晓的时候都要起床看世界杯赛，哈利，假如你把学校用品清单给我，明天我就到蒂琼。艾丽去为你办。 其他人的我都买好了啦。世界杯开始后恐怕就没有时间买了，上次比赛就进行了五天时间。“ “哦，希望这次也一样！”哈利热情地说。 “噢，我可不希望那么久，”伯希假装神圣地说。“如果我五天不工作，想想我盘里的将会变成什么样的东西，我简直会发抖。” “是的，有人可能又会在里面放龙屎，伯希？”弗来德说。 “还可是从挪威弄来的样品。”伯希说，涨红了脸。 “那可不是私货！” “就是。”弗来德悄声对哈利说：“是我们找人寄过来的。”他们边说边从桌上起身。 |
Chapter 6 The Portkey Harry felt as though he had barely lain down to steep in Ron's room when he was being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley. “Time to go, Harry, dear,” she whispered, moving away to wake Ron. Harry felt around for his glasses, put them on, and sat up. It was still dark outside. Ron muttered indistinctly as his mother roused him. At the foot of Harry's mattress he saw two large, disheveled shapes emerging from tangles of blankets. “'S time already?” said Fred groggily. They dressed in silence, too sleepy to talk, then, yawning and stretching, the four of them headed downstairs into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing sweater and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt. “What d'you think?” he asked anxiously. “We're supposed to go incognito - do I look like a Muggle, Harry?” “Yeah,” said Harry, smiling, “very good.” “Where're Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?” said George, failing to stifle a huge yawn. “Well, they're Apparating, aren't they?” said Mrs. Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and starting to ladle porridge into bowls. “So they can have a bit of a lie-in.” Harry knew that Apparating meant disappearing from one place and reappearing almost instantly in another, but had never known any Hogwarts student to do it, and understood that it was very difficult. “So they're still in bed?” said Fred grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge toward him. “Why can't we Apparate too?” “Because you're not of age and you haven't passed your test,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “And where have those girls got to?” She bustled out of the kitchen and they heard her climbing the stairs. “You have to pass a test to Apparate?” Harry asked. “Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley, tucking the tickets safely into the back pocket of his jeans. “The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done property it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves.” Everyone around the table except Harry winced. “Er - splinched?” said Harry. “They left half of themselves behind,” said Mr. Weasley, now spooning large amounts of treacle onto his porridge. “So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind…..” Harry had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive. “Were they okay?” he asked, startled. “Oh yes,” said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. “But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms - slower, but safer.” “But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?” “Charlie had to take the test twice,” said Fred, grinning. “He failed the first time. Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?” “Yes, well, he passed the second time,” said Mrs. Weasley, marching back into the kitchen amid hearty sniggers. “Percy only passed two weeks ago,” said George. “He's been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.” There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking pale and drowsy. “Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny said, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table. “We've got a bit of a walk,” said Mr. Weasley. “Walk?” said Harry. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?” “No, no, that's miles away,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup…” “George!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, and they all jumped. “What?” said George, in an innocent tone that deceived nobody. “What is that in your pocket?” “Nothing!” “Don't you lie to me!” Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pocket and said, “Accio!” Several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand. “We told you to destroy them!” said Mrs. Weasley furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!” It was an unpleasant scene; the twins had evidently been trying to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it was only by using her Summoning Charm that Mrs. Weasley managed to find them all. “Accio! Accio! Accio!” she shouted, and toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans. “We spent six months developing those!” Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away. “Oh a fine way to spend six months!” she shrieked. “No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!” All in all, the atmosphere was not very friendly as they took their departure. Mrs. Weasley was still glowering as she kissed Mr. Weasley on the cheek, though not nearly as much as the twins, who had each hoisted their rucksacks onto their backs and walked out without a word to her. “Well, have a lovely time,” said Mrs. Weasley, “and behave yourselves,” she called after the twins’ retreating backs, but they did not look back or answer. “I'll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday,” Mrs. Weasley said to Mr. Weasley, as he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny set off across the dark yard after Fred and George. It was chilly and the moon was still out. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Harry, having been thinking about thousands of wizards speeding toward the Quidditch World Cup, sped up to walk with Mr. Weasley. “So how does everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?” he asked. “It's been a massive organizational problem,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains - remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed.” Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. “What sort of objects are Portkeys?” said Harry curiously. “Well, they can be anything,” said Mr. Weasley. “Unobtrusive things, obviously, so Muggles don't go picking them up and playing with them…stuff they'll just think is litter….” They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Harry's hands and feet were freezing. Mr. Weasley kept checking his watch. They didn't have breath to spare for talking as they began to climb Stoatshead Hill, stumbling occasionally in hidden rabbit holes, slipping on thick black tuffets of grass. Each breath Harry took was sharp in his chest and his legs were starting to seize up when, at last, his feet found level ground. “Whew,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his sweater. “Well, we've made good time - we've got ten minutes.” Hermione came over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. “Now we just need the Portkey,” said Mr. Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. “It won't be big….Come on…” They spread out, searching. They had only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rent the still air. “Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it.” Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop. “Amos!” said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a moldy-looking old boot in his other hand. “This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?” Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts. “Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at them all. Everybody said hi back except Fred and George, who merely nodded. They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year. “Long walk, Arthur?” Cedric's father asked. “Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?” “Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still…not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons - and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy.…” Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?” “Oh no, only the redheads,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron's - and Harry, another friend -” “Merlin's beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “Harry? Harry Potter?” “Er - yeah,” said Harry. Harry was used to people looking curiously at him when they met him, used to the way their eyes moved at once to the lightning scar on his forehead, but it always made him feel uncomfortable. “Ced's talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year…I said to him, I said - Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will….You beat Harry Potter!” Harry couldn't think of any reply to this, so he remained silent. Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. “Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. I told you…it was an accident….” “Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman…but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier!” “Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. “Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?” “No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets,” said Mr. Diggory. “There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?” “Not that I know of,” said Mr. Weasley. “Yes, it's a minute off…We'd better get ready….” He looked around at Harry and Hermione. “You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do -” With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the nine of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. Nobody spoke. It suddenly occurred to Harry how odd this would look if a Muggle were to walk up here now…nine people, two of them grown men, clutching this manky old boot in the semidarkness, waiting…. “Three…” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, two…one…” It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. His feet left the ground; he could feel Ron and Hermione on either side of him, their shoulders banging into his; they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color; his forefinger was stuck to the boot as though it was pulling him magnetically onward and then - His feet slammed into the ground; Ron staggered into him and he fell over; the Portkey hit the ground near his head with a heavy thud. Harry looked up. Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric were still standing, though looking very windswept; everybody else was on the ground. “Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” said a voice. 第六章 波奇 当哈利被威斯里太太摇醒时，他觉得他几乎没有在罗恩的房间睡着似的。 “亲爱的哈利，该走了。”她小声说完后就走开去叫罗恩起床了。 哈利到处摸索着找他的眼镜，找到后戴上并坐了起来。外面仍然很黑，当他妈妈叫醒他时，罗恩含糊地抱怨。在哈利的床角，他看到两个大大的，凌乱的东西从毛毯边冒了出来。 “时间到了吗？”佛来德摇摇摆摆地问。 他们安静地一边穿好衣服，一边打着阿吹。因为大家都太困了，都不想说话。然后他们一行四人沿着楼梯走进了厨房。 威斯里太太正在搅拌着火炉上的大锅，而威斯里先生坐在桌子边，看着一叠很大的羊皮纸做成的票子。当男孩们进来时，他抬起头，张开他的双臂。这样，他们能更清楚地观察他的衣服。他穿着一件适于打高尔夫球的衬衣，一条很旧的牛仔裤，而且那条牛仔裤有点大，他得束上一条牛皮皮带才能勒紧裤头。 “怎么样？”他紧张地问：“我们得隐姓埋名，哈利，你觉得我看起来像个马格吗？” “比尔、查理和伯希去哪里了？”乔治问，打了个大大的呵吹。 “他们会移身术，对吧？”威斯里太太过说边把那个大锅放在桌子上，开始往碗里倒粥。“这样他们就能睡懒觉。” 哈利知道移身术是很难的，那意味着从一个地方消失，然后马上出现在另一个地方。 “那么他们还在床上喽。”说：“为什么我们不会移身术呢？” “因为你还没到那年龄，而且你还没通过考试。”威斯里太太打断地，“那些女孩们都去哪里了？” 她冲出厨房，然后传来爬楼梯的声音。 “学会移身术必须通过考试吗？”哈利问。 “噢，是的，”威斯里先生说，并小心翼翼地把票放进他牛仔裤后面的裤袋子里。“一些人几天前被魔法交通部罚款，因为他们用了移身术却又没有执照。移身术是不简单的，如果做得不好的话，会导致很严重的后果。我所说的那两个人就因为这样，最后把自己分成了两半。” 除了哈利以外，桌子周围的每个人都打了个冷颤。 “呃。被分开了？”哈利问。 “他们把自己的一半留在原处了，”说着，威斯里先生舀了一大勺的糖浆放进稀饭中。“所以，当然，他们现在被困住了，哪边都动不了，只有等魔法意外修理中心把他们修补好。我可以告诉你，就像古老的马格造纸，把马格人弄脏了的麻布再造成干净的纸一样。” 哈利忽然想起了遗弃在普里怀特街的人行道上的一双腿和一个眼球。 “他们不好吗？”他问，有点吓呆了。 “噢，很好，”威斯里先生理所当然地说，“但是他们被罚了一大笔钱，而且我不认为他们还敢再试一次。你不要瞎搞瞬间移动，这里有很多成年的巫士不愿意用它，他们情愿用扫帚，虽然慢一点但更安全。” “但是比尔、查理和伯希可以。”弗来德笑着说：“查理参加了两次考试。第一次失败了。他本打算到南边五里的地方去，却正好落在某个正在买东西的老人的上方，记得吗？” “是的。但是第二次他便通过了。”威斯里先生说，然后他回到厨房，在里面偷笑。 “伯希是在两个星期前通过的。从那以后，他每个早上都从楼梯上瞬间移动下来，只是为了证明他可以瞬间移动了。”乔治告诉他。 从通道传来了脚步声，荷米恩和金妮走进了厨房，她们看起来都很苍白和昏昏欲睡。 “我们为什么要这么早起床呢？”金妮一边揉着眼睛一边说，然后坐在桌子旁边。 “我们要走一段路。”威斯里先生说。 “走？”哈利问，“什么？我们是走去看世界杯吗？” “不，不，那有几英里远，”威斯里先生笑着说，“我们只需要走一小段路。因为一大群巫士聚集在一起，要想不吸引马格的注意都很难。对于我们的出发时间和一个这样的盛事，我们要非常小心。” “乔治！”威斯里太太大声地喊着，大家都跳起来。 “什么事！”乔治用一种很天真无邪的语气问，但那欺骗不了任何人。 “你口袋里装的是什么？” “什么都没有！” “你没有撒谎吗？” 威斯里太太用她的魔杖指向乔治的口袋，嘴里念着：“阿西欧！” 几个小的，颜色鲜艳的东西从乔治的口袋升了起来，他想去抓住它们，但扑了个空。它们都准确无误地落到了威斯里太太伸出的手上。 “我们告诉过你的，毁掉它们！”威斯里太太生气地说，“我们告诉过你不要拿这些东西！把你们的口袋弄干净，快点！你们两个！” 这不是个令人愉快的场面：很明显的，这双胞胎想从家里尽可能多地拿太妃糖出去。威斯里太太用她的魔力把它们找了出来了。 “阿西欧！阿西欧！阿西欧！”她喊着，那些太妃糖从各个地方升了出来，包括乔治的衬套、弗来德的牛仔裤。 当他妈妈扔掉这些太妃糖时，弗来德朝着他妈妈喊：“我们花了六个月来研制出这些东西！” “噢，好个六个月的时间！”她喊着，“怪不得你不能拿多些O.W.L！” 总之，当他们出发时，气氛并不是那么友好。当威斯里太太吻威斯里先生的脸颊时，她仍然很生气。但那双胞胎更生气。他们背起背包走了出去，没有跟她说一句话。 “玩得高兴！不要太调皮！”威斯里太太朝着双胞胎离去的背影喊着。但是他们没有回头，也没有回答。“我大约在中午会叫比尔、查理和伯希，”威斯里太太对威斯里先生说，然后威斯里、哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和金妮穿过漆黑的院子出发了，跟在弗来德和乔治的后面。 外面很寒冷，月亮还在。只有他们右边，地平线上一处阴暗的、浅绿色的谈光告诉他们，天就快亮了。哈利想现在成千上万个巫士都在向快迪斯世界杯出发，因此加紧了步伐，跟上威斯里先生。 “那么每个人怎样才能到达那里而不被马格发现呢？”他问。 “这已经成为一个很重大的组织问题，”威斯里先生说，“问题是，有大约十万个巫士会出现在世界杯上，当然我们还没有一个足够大的魔法场地去容纳他们。有些地方马格是无法洞察的，但想象一下吧，要把十万个巫士塞到迪安更港。所以我们必须找一个更好的没人的荒野，设置更多的防御马格的措施。整个内阁为这个已经忙了几个月了。首先，当然我们必须安排好到达的情况。拥有低价票的人要提早两个星期到。限定一定数量的人使用马格的交通工具。但是我们不能用太多，那会阻碍他们的汽车和火车——记住，世界各地的巫土都要来。有些用瞬间移动，但是我们必须建立安全的地方让他们出现，必须远离马格。我相信有个森林可以用作他们到达的地方点。对于哪些不想瞬间移动的或者不能的，我们用波奇。在筹备时期，这些东西足够用来把巫士从一个地点传送到另一个地点的，如果你需要的话，你可以一次传送一大群。在英国，有两百个波奇公布在重要的战略地点，离我们最近的，是在石头山的山顶，所以我们正在往那里前进。” 威斯里先生指着前面高出奥特里村庄的一个大的黑团。 “波奇到底是一种什么东西？”哈利十分好奇地问。 “喔，它可以是任何东西，”威斯里先生说，“很显然，它们是毫不起眼的东西，所以马格不会去捡，也不会去碰它们……是一些他们认为是垃圾的东西。” 他们沿着漆黑、湿冷的小巷向着村庄艰难地走着。四周十分寂静，只能听到他们的脚步声。当他们艰难地穿过村庄时，天空慢慢亮起来了。漆黑的天空慢慢地被冲淡成深蓝。哈利的手和脚都冻僵了，威斯里先生不断地看表。 当他们开始去爬石头山时，根本没有力气去谈话。有时他们会摸到隐藏的野兔窝，有时会踩到密集的草而打滑。每一次呼吸，哈利都觉得胸口刺痛，当他的脚接触到平地时，他的腿正抖得厉害。 “唷！”威斯里先生气喘吁吁地说。他拿下眼镜，用他的毛衣擦着。“太好了，我们对时间掌握得很好，我们有十分钟……” 荷米恩最后一个爬到山顶，手里紧抓着一块布。 “现在我们只是需要波奇了，”威斯里先生说着，并重新戴上眼镜，斜视着地面四周的情况。“不会很大……快来吧……” 他们分散开来，到处寻索。过了一会儿，忽然一个喊声划破了宁静的星空。 “在这里！亚瑟！在这里，我的孩子，我们来了！” 在山顶的另一边，在星空下出现了两个高的轮廓。 “阿姆斯！”威斯里先生喊着。他笑着大步走向那个刚才大喊的人。其余人紧紧跟着。 威斯里先生和那个脸色红润的有着短胡须的巫士握手。他的另一只手拿着一个发霉的旧靴子。 “孩子们，这位是阿姆斯。迪格瑞，”威斯里先生向大家介绍着。 他在魔法部的纪律和控制部门工作，我想你们认识他的儿子塞德里克。“ 塞德里克。迪格瑞是一个非常英俊的男孩，大约十七岁。他是霍格瓦湖海夫巴夫队的快迪斯队的队长和搜索者。 “你们好！”塞德里克看着大家说。 这些人都向塞德里克说“你好”，除了弗来德和乔治只是点了点头。他们还无法原谅塞德里克在去年第一届快迪斯中打败他们队。 “走了很长的路吧，亚瑟？”塞德里克的爸爸说。 “不是太长，”威斯里先生说，“我们住在村庄的另一边，你呢？” “我们得两点钟起床，是吧，塞德里克？我告诉你，如果他通过他的瞬间移动测试，我将会很高兴。然而……不说了……绝对不能错过快迪斯世界杯。而且票又是那么的贵。提醒你，不要让我太容易取胜。”阿姆斯。迪格瑞很自然地看了一下威斯里旁边的三个孩于，哈利满米恩和金妮。“都是你的吧，亚瑟？” “懊，不，红头的才是，”威斯里先生说，指出他的孩子。“这个是荷米恩，罗恩的朋友；这是哈利，另一个朋友。” 阿姆斯。迪格瑞睁大了眼睛说，“哈利？哈利-波特？” “呃，是的。”哈利说。 哈利早已习惯了当人们见到他时好奇的目光，习惯了在路上他们的目光注视着他前额的伤疤，不过这总是令他觉得不舒服。 “当然，塞德里克曾经谈过你，”阿姆斯。迪格瑞说：“他把去年和你玩的事都告诉了我们……我对你说，塞德里克，将来你有东西可以对你的孙子说了，那就是你打败了哈利-波特！” 哈利一时想不出任何去回答，所以他只好保持沉默，弗来德和乔治又一次皱起了眉头，而塞德里克看起来有点尴尬。 “哈利从他的扫帚上摔了下来，爸爸，”他低声说，“我告诉过你……这是个意外……” “是的，但你没有摔下来，对吗？”阿姆斯愉快地叫着，拍着他儿子的背。“总是那么谦虚，我们的塞德里克总是那么有绅士风度……但是只有最好的男人才能赢。我肯定哈利也这么认为，对吗？呃？一个从扫帚上摔下来，一个还在上面，你不用想也可以区分难是更好的飞行者？” “时间快到了，”威斯里先生说，再一次拿出他的手表：“阿姆斯，你知道我们还要等谁吗？” “没有了，来顾的一家一个星期前就到那儿了，福塞特一家拿不到票，”迪格瑞先生说，“在这个地区除了我们没有其他人了。” “我认识的就没有了，”威斯里先生说，“只有一分钟了，我们得准备好……” 他看了一下哈利和荷米恩说：“你们只需要触一下波奇就行了，一个手指就可以完成——” 因为背着塞得满满的背包，他们一行九人十分困难地挤在阿姆斯。迪格瑞拿出的旧靴子周围。 寒风扫过山顶，他们紧紧地围成一个圆，站在那里。没有一个人说话。哈利忽然想到如果一个马格现在经过这里，看到他们这样，那么会多么奇怪呀！九个人，两个成人，在三更半夜紧紧握着这个男式的旧靴子，等待着…… “三……”威斯里先生咕哝着，仍然注视着他的手表，“二……一……” 这一切瞬间发生：哈利觉得好像在他被肚脐后面的一个钩突然地拉向前去。他的脚离开了地面，他可以感到罗恩和荷米恩在他的两边，他们的臂膀碰撞着他的；他们都在风的怒号中前进，旋转着；他的食指紧紧地粘住靴子好像它正拉着他向前…… 他的脚被扔到地面；罗恩摇摇晃晃地想站起来，但摔倒了，波奇“砰”他一声，在他头的旁边，重重地撞向地面。 哈利抬起头，威斯里先生、迪格瑞先生和塞德里克仍然站着，虽然他们看起来也被风吹得很乱；其余的人都跌倒在地上。 一个声音响起“七点零五分，从石头山……” |
Chapter 7 Bagman And Crouch Harry disentangled himself from Ron and got to his feet. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. “Morning, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him; Harry could see an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football. “Hello there, Arthur,” said Basil wearily. “Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some….We've been here all night….You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite….Weasley…Weasley….” He consulted his parchment list. “About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory…second field…ask for Mr. Payne.” “Thanks, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him. They set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, Harry could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field toward a dark wood on the horizon. They said good-bye to the Diggory's and approached the cottage door. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. Harry knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them. “Morning!” said Mr. Weasley brightly. “Morning,” said the Muggle. “Would you be Mr. Roberts?” “Aye, I would,” said Mr. Roberts. “And who're you?” “Weasley - two tents, booked a couple of days ago?” “Aye,” said Mr. Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. “You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?” “That's it,” said Mr. Weasley. “You'll be paying now, then?” said Mr. Roberts. “Ah - right - certainly -” said Mr. Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned Harry toward him. “Help me, Harry,” he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. “This one's a - a - a ten? Ah yes, I see the little number on it now…So this is a five?” “A twenty,” Harry corrected him in an undertone, uncomfortably aware of Mr. Roberts trying to catch every word. “Ah yes, so it is….I don't know, these little bits of paper…” “You foreign?” said Mr. Roberts as Mr. Weasley returned with the correct notes. “Foreign?” repeated Mr. Weasley, puzzled. “You're not the first one who's had trouble with money,” said Mr. Roberts, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley closely. “I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.” “Did you really?” said Mr. Weasley nervously. Mr. Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. “Never been this crowded,” he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. “Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up….” “Is that right?” said Mr. Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him. “Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking ‘round in a kilt and a poncho.” “Shouldn't he?” said Mr. Weasley anxiously. “It's like some sort of…I dunno…like some sort of rally,” said Mr. Roberts. “They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.” At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr. Roberts's front door. “Obliviate!” he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts. Instantly, Mr. Roberts's eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a took of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. Harry recognized the symptoms of one who had just had his memory modified. “A map of the campsite for you,” Mr. Roberts said placidly to Mr. Weasley. “And your change.” “Thanks very much,” said Mr. Weasley. The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them toward the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted: His chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr. Roberts, he muttered to Mr. Weasley, “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.” He Disapparated. “I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports,” said Ginny, looking surprised. “He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?” “He should,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, “but Ludo's always been a bit…well…lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic head of the sports department though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.” They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that Harry could hardly be surprised that Mr. Roberts was getting suspicious. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. A little farther on they passed a tent that had three floors and several turrets; and a short way beyond that was a tent that had a front garden attached, complete with birdbath, sundial, and fountain. “Always the same,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling. “We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.” They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, and here was an empty space, with a small sign hammered into the ground that read WEEZLY. “Couldn't have a better spot!” said Mr. Weasley happily. “The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be.” He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. “Right,” he said excitedly, “no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult….Muggles do it all the time….Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?” Harry had never been camping in his life; the Dursleys had never taken him on any kind of holiday, preferring to leave him with Mrs. Figg, an old neighbor. However, he and Hermione worked out where most of the poles and pegs should go, and though Mr. Weasley was more of a hindrance than a help, because he got thoroughly overexcited when it came to using the mallet, they finally managed to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. All of them stood back to admire their handiwork. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belonged to wizards, Harry thought, but the trouble was that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, they would be a party of ten. Hermione seemed to have spotted this problem too; she gave Harry a quizzical look as Mr. Weasley dropped to his hands and knees and entered the first tent. “We'll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.” Harry bent down, ducked under the tent flap, and felt his jaw drop. He had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. Oddly enough, it was furnished in exactly the same sort of style as Mrs. Figg's house: There were crocheted covers on the mismatched chairs and a strong smell of cats. “Well, it's not for long,” said Mr. Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering in at the four bunk beds that stood in the bedroom. I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago.” He picked up the dusty kettle and peered inside it. “We'll need water….” “There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us,” said Ron, who had followed Harry inside the tent and seemed completely unimpressed by its extraordinary inner proportions. “It's on the other side of the field.” “Well, why don't you, Harry, and Hermione go and get us some water then -” Mr. Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans “- and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?” “But we've got an oven,” said Ron. “Why can't we just -” “Ron, anti-Muggle security!” said Mr. Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. “When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it!” After a quick tour of the girls’ tent, which was slightly smaller than the boys', though without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans. Now, with the sun newly risen and the mist lifting, they could see the city of tents that stretched in every direction. They made their way slowly through the rows, staring eagerly around. It was only just dawning on Harry how many witches and wizards there must be in the world; he had never really thought much about those in other countries. Their fellow campers were starting to wake up. First to stir were the families with small children; Harry had never seen witches and wizards this young before. A tiny boy no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent. “How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecchh!” She had trodden on the giant slug, which burst. Her scolding carried after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy's yells “You bust slug! You bust slug!” A short way farther on, they saw two little witches, barely older than Kevin, who were riding toy broomsticks that rose only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard had already spotted them; as he hurried past Harry, Ron, and Hermione he muttered distractedly, “In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose -” Here and there adult wizards and witches were emerging from their tents and starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjured fires with their wands; others were striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though sure this couldn't work. Three African wizards sat in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looked like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sat gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that read: THE SALEM WITCHES’ INSTITUTE. Harry caught snatches of conversation in strange languages from the inside of tents they passed, and though he couldn't understand a word, the tone of every single voice was excited. “Er - is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron. It wasn't just Ron's eyes. They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names. “Harry! Ron! Hermione!” It was Seamus Finnigan, their fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor. “Like the decorations?” said Seamus, grinning. “The Ministry's not too happy.” “Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?” said Mrs. Finnigan. “You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?” she added, eyeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione beadily. When they had assured her that they were indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron said, “Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot.” “I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?” said Hermione. “Let's go and have a look,” said Harry, pointing to a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag - white, green, and red - was fluttering in the breeze. The tents here had not been bedecked with plant life, but each and every one of them had the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was, of course, moving, but all it did was blink and scowl. “Krum,” said Ron quietly. “What?” said Hermione. “Krum!” said Ron. “Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!” “He looks really grumpy,” said Hermione, looking around at the many Krum's blinking and scowling at them. “'Really grumpy?” Ron raised his eyes to the heavens. “Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see.” There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation. “Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious -” “I bought this in a Muggle shop,” said the old wizard stubbornly. “Muggles wear them.” “Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,” said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. “I'm not putting them on,” said old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ‘round my privates, thanks.” Hermione was overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she had to duck out of the queue and only returned when Archie had collected his water and moved away. Walking more slowly now, because of the weight of the water, they made their way back through the campsite. Here and there, they saw more familiar faces: other Hogwarts students with their families. Oliver Wood, the old captain of Harry's House Quidditch team, who had just left Hogwarts, dragged Harry over to his parents’ tent to introduce him, and told him excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Next they were hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff fourth year, and a little farther on they saw Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who played Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waved and smiled at Harry, who slopped quite a lot of water down his front as he waved back. More to stop Ron from smirking than anything, Harry hurriedly pointed out a large group of teenagers whom he had never seen before. “Who d'you reckon they are?” he said. “They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?” “'Spect they go to some foreign school,” said Ron. “I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil…this was years and years ago…and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up.” Harry laughed but didn't voice the amazement he felt at hearing about other wizarding schools. He supposed, now that he saw representatives of so many nationalities in the campsite, that he had been stupid never to realize that Hogwarts couldn't be the only one. He glanced at Hermione, who looked utterly unsurprised by the information. No doubt she had run across the news about other wizarding schools in some book or other. “You've been ages,” said George when they finally got back to the Weasleys’ tents. “Met a few people,” said Ron, setting the water down. “You've not got that fire started yet?” “Dad's having fun with the matches,” said Fred. Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life. “Oops!” he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise. “Come here, Mr. Weasley,” said Hermione kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly. At last they got the fire lit, though it was at least another hour before it was hot enough to cook anything. There was plenty to watch while they waited, however. Their tent seemed to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members kept hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley cordially as they passed. Mr. Weasley kept up a running commentary, mainly for Harry's and Hermione's benefit; his own children knew too much about the Ministry to be greatly interested. “That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office….Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now…Hello, Arnie…Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator - member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know…and that's Bode and Croaker…they're Unspeakables….” “They're what?” “From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to….” At last, the fire was ready, and they had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy came strolling out of the woods toward them. “Just Apparated, Dad,” said Percy loudly. “Ah, excellent, lunch!” They were halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr. Weasley jumped to his feet, waving and grinning at a man who was striding toward them. “Aha!” he said. “The man of the moment! Ludo!” Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person Harry had seen so far, even including old Archie in his flowered nightdress. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. He had the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes were stretched tightly across a large belly he surely had not had in the days when he had played Quidditch for England. His nose was squashed (probably broken by a stray Bludger, Harry thought), but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion made him look like a very overgrown schoolboy. “Ahoy there!” Bagman called happily. He was walking as though he had springs attached to the balls of his feet and was plainly in a state of wild excitement. “Arthur, old man,” he puffed as he reached the campfire, “what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming…and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements….Not much for me to do!” Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rushed past, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of a magical fire that was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air. Percy hurried forward with his hand outstretched. Apparently his disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman ran his department did not prevent him from wanting to make a good impression. “Ah - yes,” said Mr. Weasley, grinning, “this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, George, sorry - that's Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.” Bagman did the smallest of double takes when he heard Harry's name, and his eyes performed the familiar flick upward to the scar on Harry's forehead. “Everyone,” Mr. Weasley continued, “this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets -” Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing. “Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?” he said eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. “I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match.” “Oh…go on then,” said Mr. Weasley. “Let's see…a Galleon on Ireland to win?” “A Galleon?” Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. “Very well, very well…any other takers?” “They're a bit young to be gambling,” said Mr. Weasley. “Molly wouldn't like -” “We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,” said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, “that Ireland wins - but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand.” “You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that,” Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter. “Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!” Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. “Boys,” said Mr. Weasley under his breath, “I don't want you betting….That's all your savings….Your mother -” “Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!” boomed Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. “They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance….I'll give you excellent odds on that one….We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we….” Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins’ names. “Cheers,” said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr. Weasley. “Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.” “Mr. Crouch?” said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. “He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll.…” “Anyone can speak Troll,” said Fred dismissively. “All you have to do is point and grunt.” Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look and stoked the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to the boil. “Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?” Mr. Weasley asked as Bagman settled himself down on the grass beside them all. “Not a dicky bird,” said Bagman comfortably. “But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha…memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July.” “You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?” Mr. Weasley suggested tentatively as Percy handed Bagman his tea. “Barty Crouch keeps saying that,” said Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, “but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!” A wizard had just Apparated at their fireside, and he could not have made more of a contrast with Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his old Wasp robes. Barty Crouch was a stiff, upright, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short gray hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush mustache looked as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes were very highly polished. Harry could see at once why Percy idolized him. Percy was a great believer in rigidly following rules, and Mr. Crouch had complied with the rule about Muggle dressing so thoroughly that he could have passed for a bank manager; Harry doubted even Uncle Vernon would have spotted him for what he really was. “Pull up a bit of grass, Barry,” said Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him. “No thank you, Ludo,” said Crouch, and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. “I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.” “Oh is that what they're after?” said Bagman. I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.” “Mr. Crouch!” said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of halfbow that made him look like a hunchback. “Would you like a cup of tea?” “Oh,” said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. “Yes - thank you, Weatherby.” Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle. “Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur,” said Mr. Crouch, his sharp eyes falling upon Mr. Weasley. “Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.” Mr. Weasley heaved a deep sigh. “I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle Artifact by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?” “I doubt it,” said Mr. Crouch, accepting a cup from Percy. “He's desperate to export here.” “Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?” said Bagman. “Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle, said Mr. Crouch. “I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve - but that was before carpets were banned, of course.” He spoke as though he wanted to leave nobody in any doubt that all his ancestors had abided strictly by the law. “So, been keeping busy, Barty?” said Bagman breezily. “Fairly,” said Mr. Crouch dryly. “Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.” “I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?” said Mr. Weasley. Ludo Bagman looked shocked. “Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun….Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to took forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?” Mr. Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. “We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details -” “Oh details!” said Bagman, waving the word away like a cloud of midges. “They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts -” “Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know,” said Mr. Crouch sharply, cutting Bagman's remarks short. “Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.” He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Ludo to rise; Bagman struggled to his feet, swigging down the last of his tea, the gold in his pockets chinking merrily. “See you all later!” he said. “You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!” He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and both of them Disapparated. “What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?” said Fred at once. “What were they talking about?” “You'll find out soon enough,” said Mr.Weasley, smiling. “It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,” said Percy stiffly. “Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it.” “Oh shut up, Weatherby,” said Fred. A sense of excitement rose like a palpable cloud over the campsite as the afternoon wore on. By dusk, the still summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation, and as darkness spread like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards, the last vestiges of pretence disappeared: the Ministry seemed to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the signs of blatant magic now breaking out everywhere. Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which were squealing the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that really roared, flags from both countries that played their national anthems as they were waved; there were tiny models of Firebolts that really flew, and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves. “Been saving my pocket money all summer for this,” Ron told Harry as they and Hermione strolled through the salesmen, buying souvenirs. Though Ron purchased a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature Krum walked backward and forward over Ron's hand, scowling up at the green rosette above him. “Wow, look at these!” said Harry, hurrying over to a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars, except that they were covered with all sorts of weird knobs and dials. “Omnioculars,” said the saleswizard eagerly. “You can replay action…slow everything down…and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain - ten Galleons each.” “Wish I hadn't bought this now,” said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars. “Three pairs,” said Harry firmly to the wizard. “No - don't bother,” said Ron, going red. He was always touchy about the fact that Harry, who had inherited a small fortune from his parents, had much more money than he did. “You won't be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. “For about ten years, mind.” “Fair enough,” said Ron, grinning. “Oooh, thanks, Harry,” said Hermione. “And I'll get us some programs, look -” Their money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold. And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. “It's time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let's go!” 哈利把自己和罗恩松开，站了起来，他们到了一个看起来十分荒凉的、雾气蒙蒙的荒野。在他们前面是一对看起来很累很粗暴的巫师。他们其中一个拿着一只大金表，另一个拿着一卷厚厚的羊皮纸和一支羽毛笔。两个都穿得像马格似的，不过看起来很拙劣。拿着表的男人穿着一件苏格兰粗呢外套，他的同事穿着一件有褶裥的裙子和一件宽大的防水衣。 “早上好，巴西人。”威斯里先生打着招呼，拿起靴子，把它递给穿裙子的巫士。他把靴子扔进了旁边的一个装着用过的波奇的大箱子里；哈利可以看到一份旧报纸，一个空饮料罐和一个有洞的足球。 “你好，亚瑟，”巴西人疲倦地说，“不用值班吧？对某些人来说是好事……我们已经在这里一个晚上了……你最好让让路，一大群人即将到达，他们来自黑森林，五点十五分出发的，等一下，我找一下你的营地……威斯里……威斯里……”他查看着羊皮纸上的名单，“在那边，大约四分之一英里，你去一号营地，找派恩先生。” “谢谢！”威斯里先生叫其他人跟着他。 他们穿过荒野出发了。大约二十分钟以后，在路的旁边，有石头小屋出现在眼前。除了这个，哈利还可以看到成百上千个外型丑陋的帐篷，布满了这片原野。他们同迪格瑞父子道别后，走向小屋。 一个男人站在门口，望向那些帐篷。哈利一眼就看出他是这方圆几英亩内唯一的真正马格。当他听到脚步声后转了过来，看向他们。 “早上好！”威斯里先生聪明地说。 “早上好！”马格说。 “您是罗伯特先生吗？” “是的，”罗伯特先生回答，“你是谁？” “威斯里，两个帐篷，几天前就预订了。” “啊，”查看了一下钉在门上的名单，罗伯特先生说，“你的在森林的旁边，只是一晚，对吗？” “是的。”威斯里先生说。 “你是现在付钱还是迟些呢？”罗伯特先生问道。 “啊，现在，好，当然！”说着，威斯里先生走出小屋去叫哈利到他这里来。“帮我，哈利，”他低声说，从口袋里拿出一卷马格人的钱，开始把它分开。“这是一个……十？啊，对，我看到上面的小数字！……所以这是一个五？” “二十。”哈利小声地纠正他，非常担心地发现罗伯特先生正在努力地听他们在谈什么。 “啊，对，是的……我不知道，这些小纸张……” 当威斯里先生拿着正确数目的钱回来时，罗伯特先生问：“你是外国人吗？” “外国人？”威斯里先生重复着，十分迷惑。 “你并不是第一个不懂得用钱的，”罗伯特先生说着，凑近去仔细观察威斯里先生，“十分钟以前有两个人竟然想用如瓶盖那么大的金币付钱。” “真的吗？”威斯里先生紧张地问。 罗伯特先生在一个铝罐中找零钱。 “这里从来没有这么拥挤过，”他突然说，又看了一下迷蒙的田野。“成百上千个人都预订了。有些刚刚才出现……” “真的吗？”威斯里先生问着，他伸出手去拿他的零钱，但罗伯特先生没有给他。 “啊，”他若有听思地说，“那些人来自世界各地，有很多外国人，不仅仅是外国人，还有很多古怪的人，你知道吗？有个家伙穿着裙子和风衣到处走。” “他怎么可以这样？”威斯里先生十分紧张地说。 “看起来像……我想……像某种集合，”罗伯特先生说，“他们似乎都互相认识，像一个大聚会。” 在那时候，一个巫土悄悄地出现在罗伯特先生的前面。 “遗忘！”他用魔杖指着罗伯特先生厉声说道。 一瞬间，罗伯特先生的眼睛马上失去焦距，他的眉毛松散，脸上呈现出一种漠不关心的样子。哈利认得这种症状，那意味着的他的记忆被限制住了。 “你的营地地图，”罗伯特先生平静地对威斯里先生说，“这是你的零钱。” “非常感谢。”威斯里先生说。 刚才那个巫士陪着他们走到营地的门口，他看起来十分疲惫，他的下巴是蓝色的，布满了胡茬，眼睛下面有深紫色的眼圈。一出罗伯特先生的听力范围，他就对威斯里先生小声说：“这家伙非常麻烦。一天需要施十次记忆魔法才能让他高兴。露得。巴格蒙不肯帮忙。特洛厅到处大声地谈论布鲁佐球和可尔夫球，一点也不担心防御马格系统的安全情况。啊呀！当这一切结束时，我一定会很高兴的。待会见，亚瑟！” 他消失了。 “我想巴格蒙先生是魔法运动部的领导吧？”金妮说，看起来十分惊讶。“他应该知道在马格人旁边谈论布鲁佐球是怎么样的，对吗？” “他应该知道，”威斯里先生笑着说，把他们引进营地，“但是露得总是对安全情况比较大意。即使如此，再也没有比他更热情积极的运动部门的领导了。你知道他为英格兰打快迪斯，他是温包尔黄蜂队最优秀的队员。” 池们在迷蒙的田野上的一排排帐篷中艰难地走着。绝大部分看起来很平常；它们的主人已经尽量把它们弄得像马格人一样，如加上了烟囱、铃钟，或者风向标。然而，到处都有帐篷实在是太明显了，哈利对罗伯特先生的怀疑一点也不感到惊讶。半路上，有一个过度奢侈、矫揉造作的作品，挂着一条一条的丝绸，就像宫殿一样。在人口还系着几个活着的孔雀。木久他们经过一个三层高，有几个角楼的帐篷；前面几米，有个帐篷前面设有花园，里面还建有水盆、日规和喷泉。 “总是这样，”威斯里先生笑着说，“当我们聚到一起时，我们总是忍不住要显示一下自己。啊，我们的在这里，看，这是我们的。” 他们到达了森林的边上，在田野的最前方。这是一个空旷的地方，只有一个小小的用铁锤打在地面上的标志，上面写着“威斯里”。 “这真是个再好不过的地方！”威斯里先生十分高兴地说。“搭帐篷的地方正好在森林的另一边，我们要尽可能地接近。”他从臂膀上拿下他的背包，“好了，”他兴奋地说，“不许用魔法，严格地说，我们将用手把帐篷搭起来！不会太困难的……马格人经常做……这里，哈利，你认为我们应该从哪里开始呢？” 哈利一生中还从没有露营过，杜斯利一家在假期从来没有带他外出过，他们情愿把他放在一个老邻居菲格太太家里。虽然如此，他和荷术恩还是决定了在哪里应该打柱子和桩子。当威斯里开始用木锤时，他实在是兴奋过度了。他成一个障碍，帮不上什么忙。但是，最后他们还是搭起了两个简陋帐篷。 所有的人都站到后面去欣赏他们亲手做的物品。哈利想没有人会猜到这些帐篷是由巫上造成的。但是问题是一旦比尔、查理和伯希到后，他们将会是十个人。荷米恩似乎想到了这个问题。当威斯里先生，第一个进入帐篷时，她投给哈利一个戏弄的眼神。 “我们将会很拥挤的，”他说，“但我认为我们都可以挤进去。 来看一下吧。“ 哈利弯下腰来，有三个房间，还有沐浴室和厨房。巧合的是，它的样式跟菲格太太家的完全一样，在椅子上有钩针织品的盖布，一点也不搭配，还有一股很浓的猫味。 “呃，不是住很久的，”威斯里先生说着，用手帕擦他的光头，斜看着房间里的四张床铺。“我向帕金的办公室借的。他现在不露营了。可怜的家伙，他现在正腰痛。” 他拿起那个满是灰尘的水壶，斜视了下里面，“我们需要水……” “在马格人给我们的地图中可以看到一个水龙头，”罗恩说，他跟着哈利走进了帐篷，而且看起来对里面的情况一点儿也不感到奇怪。“在田野的另一边。” “好。不如你、哈利和荷米恩去取一些水，好吗？”威斯里先生把水壶递过来，还有一个锅，“其余的将去找些木材，因为我们需要火。” “但是我们有火炉，”罗恩说，“为什么我们不能只是……？” “罗恩，这是为了安全，防御马格人！”威斯里先生说，他的脸上充满了期待。“当真正的马格人露营时，他们用火在户外煮东西，我见过这些！” 很快地看了一下女孩子的帐篷后，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩拿着水壶和锅，穿过营地出发了。女孩子的帐篷只是比男孩的稍微小了一点，但没有那股猫味。 现在，太阳刚刚升起，雾也小了很多，他们可以看到这个帐篷的世界向各个方向伸展。他们慢慢地穿过那一排排的帐篷，到处张望。只有哈利会在想这个世界上到底有多少的巫婆和巫士；他从来没有想过那些在其它国家的巫士。 其他的露营者开始起床了。首先是一些有着小孩子的家庭；哈利从来没有见过这么年幼的小巫婆和巫士。一个不超过两岁的小男孩从一个金字塔形的帐篷爬了出来，拿着一个魔杖，十分高兴地戳着草地上的一个慢慢膨胀得像意大利香肠那么大的蛞蝓。当他们走近他时，他的妈妈急忙从帐篷里走了出来。 “多少次了，凯文？你不可以碰爸爸的魔杖！” 她踩了一下那巨大的蜡输，那蛞蝓便裂开了。她的骂声，混合了小男孩的哭喊声“你弄破了蛞蝓！你弄破了蛞蝓！”飘荡在宁静的空中。 不远处，他们看到两个小巫婆，和凯文年龄差不多。她们正骑着一个玩具扫帚，只能升到一个女孩的脚趾头那么高，仅仅可以掠过带有露珠的小草。一位巫士官员发现了她们，经过哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，他急忙跑向她们，并不停地发牢骚：“都大白天了，父母还在睡懒觉，我想……” 四周的巫婆和巫士们都从帐篷里出来了，开始准备早餐。有些偷偷地看一下四周，然后用魔杖点火；有些充满怀疑地试着用火柴点火，好像这是不可能似的。三个非洲的巫婆正在严肃地交谈，她们都穿着长长的白色泡子，而一群中年的美国巫上坐在一个亮晶晶的标语下面十分高兴的闲谈。那个标语挂在他们帐篷之间，上面写着“巫土沙龙”。当他们经过这些帐篷时，哈利听到里面正用一种奇怪的语言交谈，虽然他听不懂，但每个声音的语调都是非常兴奋的。 “呃，是我眼睛的问题，还是有些东西变绿了？”罗恩问。 不仅仅是罗恩眼睛的问题。他们走进了一个帐篷的营地，那里所有的帐篷看起来都像用三叶草盖着，透过那些打开人口的帐篷可以看到一张张笑脸，忽然，在他们后面，他们听到了有人叫他们的名字。 “哈利！罗恩！荷米恩！” 是谢默斯。芬尼更——格林芬顿的队友。他正坐在他自己的有三叶草盖着的帐篷前，旁边有红发妇女，应该是他的妈妈，还有他的最好的朋友，迪恩，也是格林芬顿的队友。 “好像装饰品吧？”谢默斯嘴笑着问，笑着当哈利、罗恩和荷米思走过来打招呼时。“内阁不是很高兴。” “啊，为什么我们不能用我们喜欢的颜色呢？”芬尼更太太问，“你们应当看一下保加利亚是拿什么来炫耀的。你们当真会支持爱尔兰？”她补充说，盯着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩。 当他们保证他们真的支持爱尔兰后，他们又重新出发了，不过，正如罗恩所说的：“在那种情况下，我们必须说些东西。” “我对于保加利亚人放在他们帐篷上，拿来炫耀的东西很好奇。”荷米恩说。 “我们去看一下吧。”哈利说着，并指向前方那片大的营地，在那里，保加利亚的红、绿、白国旗，在风中飘扬。 帐篷不是用植物来装饰，而是每一个都帖着同样的海报。一张印有一个深黑色眉毛的傲慢的脸。这张画不断地移动，但画中的脸却是不断地眨眼和皱眉。 “克伦。”罗恩小声地说。 “什么？”荷米恩问。 “克伦！”罗恩说，“维特。克伦，保加利亚的搜索者！” “他看起来真是很粗鲁。”荷米恩说，看着周围这么多克伦在向他们眨眼和皱眉。 “真的很粗鲁吗？”罗恩抬起头望着天空。“谁在乎他长得怎么样呢？他简直是不可思议，他也真的很年轻。只有十八岁左右，他是一个天才，到今天晚上，你就可以看到了。” 在田野角落的水龙头旁，早就已经有一小队人在等了。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩加入了他们，站在两个男人后面，他们正在激烈地争论著。 其中一个是个非常老的巫土，穿着一件花花的长睡衣，另一个是一个巫主官员，他拿着一件细条纹裤几乎要愤怒地哭了。 “穿上它，阿奇卡，你是一个好家伙，你不能这样到处走。在门口的马格人早就怀疑了。” “我在马格人的店里买的，”老巫士顽固地说，“马格人也穿这些。” “马格女人才穿这个，阿奇卡是男人，应该穿这些。”巫主官员挥动着细条纹长裤说。 “我不穿这些，”阿奇卡生气地说，“我喜欢感受凉爽的微风，谢谢！” 荷米恩对这种情形忍不住大笑起来，她赶紧从队伍中走出来。 直到阿奇卡装了水离开后才回来。 因为水的重量，他们现在走得更慢了。他们艰难地穿过营地往回走，并在周围看到更多熟悉的面孔——其他的霍格瓦彻的学生和他们的家人，奥立弗。伍德，哈利的快迪斯队的老队长，他刚刚离开霍格瓦彻队。他把哈利拉到他的父母的帐篷，把他介绍给大家，并兴奋地告诉哈利他刚刚和联合队签了约。接着，他们遇到到了埃尼。马米安，一个海夫巴夫的队员。接着，不远处，他们看到了卓，一个非常漂亮的女孩子，她在卫文卡罗队打搜索者的位置。她朝着哈利招手和微笑，而哈利向她抬手时，溅出了不少的水。罗恩不断的傻笑。哈利急忙指出一大组他从来没有见过的少年。 “你猜他们是谁？”他问，“他们不去霍格瓦彻，对吗？” “他们去某个外国学校，”罗恩说，“我知道有些人，看到对方也不知道彼此认识。比尔有个笔友在巴西，这是很多年前的事了，他想去作一个交换旅行，但爸妈无法支付。当他说他不去并送给了对方一顶受诅咒的帽子，他的笔友觉得被冒犯了。那帽子使他的耳朵枯萎了。” 哈利笑了，但没有比当他听到其它巫士学校时感到很有趣。他想，他在营地看到那么多国家，到现在他才发现自己曾经多么愚蠢，竟然没有意识到霍格瓦彻并不是唯一的一个。他盯着荷米恩，她对这消息竟然一点也不惊讶。那不奇怪，她在书或其它地方已经看到过关于巫士学校的新闻。 当他们最后回到威斯里的帐篷时，乔治对他们说：“你们去了好久啊！” “我们遇到了一些人，”罗恩说，并把水放好，“你们还没有点火呢？” “爸爸正在玩火柴玩得高兴呢！”弗来德说。 威斯里先生怎样也无法把火点着，但并不是因为缺少尝试。他把火柴散在他的周围，但他看起来似乎已经试了一辈子的时间了。 “糟糕！”他说着，因为他终于擦着了一根火柴，并惊讶地把它扔到地上。 “来这里，威斯里先生。”荷米恩温柔地说，她把盒子拿过来，并开始教他应该怎样做才是正确的。 最后，他们终于把火点起来了，但如果要等到它热到可以煮东西，那将至少还要一个小时。当他们等待的时候，周围有很多东西可以观赏。因为，他们的帐篷看来是搭在合适的地方了，内阁的巫士们不断地急急忙忙地跑上跑下，当他们经过时，热情地同威斯里先生打招呼。因为哈利和荷米思的缘故，威斯里先生要不断的解释，而他自己的孩子已经太熟悉那个内阁了，并没有引起大家的很大兴趣。 “那个是凯斯伯。迈克居，妖精联络办公室的领导，这个是盖波。威伯，他是魔法实验委员会的委员，他有是角的，等一下，现在，你好，阿姆斯波斯顿，他是魔法意外修理队的成员……” “他们是什么人？” “来自机密部门，高度机密，没人知道他们要做什么。” 最后，火已经准备好了，当比尔、查理和伯希从森林走向他们时，他们刚刚开始煮鸡蛋和香肠。 “刚刚瞬间移动来到这，爸爸，”伯希大声地说，“啊，太好了，午餐！” 当他们吃香肠和鸡蛋吃到一半时，忽然威斯里先生跳了起来，朝着一个正在走向他们的人招手和微笑。“啊，”他说，“当今风流人物！露得！” 露得。巴格蒙很显然是到目前为止哈利所见到的人当中最引人注目的一个人，甚至包括穿着花长睡衣的老阿奇卡。他穿着一件快迪斯长袍，上面有一条条鲜艳的黄和黑的水平条纹。一个巨大的黄蜂的图案在他胸前。他拥有一个强壮的男子的体格。因为他的大肚脯，长袍显得有点紧，看来在他不再为英格兰打快迪斯后，他肯定已经没再穿了。他的鼻子弯弯的，哈利想它可能是被一个碟子打断的，但是他圆圆的蓝眼睛，短短的金发和红色的皮肤让他看起来像个成熟得过早的男孩。 “啊，那里！”巴格蒙十分高兴地喊着。他走起来像脚下有一个弹簧似的，非常的兴奋。 “亚瑟，老家伙，”当他到营火旁，便吹嘘，“多美妙的一天，呃？多美妙的一天！再也找不到比这更好的天气的。一个无云的夜晚正来临……整个组织一点障碍都没有，我都没什么事好干了！” 在他后面，一组憔悴的内阁巫士急急忙忙地经过，跑向着远方发着火光的、有二十英尺高的魔法营火。 伯希急忙跟着跑了过去。很显然，虽然他不赞成露得。巴格蒙管理他的部门的方式，但这并不阻止他想给他留下一个好印像。 “啊，是的，”威斯里先生笑着说，“这是我的儿子伯希，他刚刚开始在内阁工作，这是弗来德，比尔、查理、罗恩，这是金妮和罗恩的朋友荷米恩。格林佐和哈利·波特。” 当巴格蒙听到哈利的名字时，他有一点怀疑，而且他的眼睛也扫视了一下哈利额头的伤疤。 “孩子们，”威斯里先生继续说，“这是露得。巴格蒙，你们知道他是谁。真该感谢他让我们拿到那么好的票！” 巴格蒙高兴的笑着，挥着手，好像在说，这没什么。 “请一下比赛的结果吧，亚瑟！”他热切地说，身上发出叮叮当当的响，好像他的黄黑色的长袍口袋里有一大堆的金子。“我早就和露迪。旁特尼打赌，保加利亚会先得分，我给他漂亮的奇怪的东西，考虑到爱尔兰的前三号是我这么多年来看到的最优秀的。还有小阿哥西。厅西把她的鳗鱼池塘的一半的股份放在为期一个星期的比赛上。” “噢，走着瞧，”威斯里先生说，“我赌一个帆船币，爱尔兰赢！” “只一个帆船币？”露得。巴格蒙看起来有点失望，但是他很快恢复常态。“很好，很好……还有谁想参加？” “他们太年轻了，不能赌钱，”威斯里先生说，“摩莉不会喜欢的……” “我们将赌三十七帆船币，十五镰刀币，三克拉币，”弗来德说，他和乔治迅速清点他们的钱，“爱尔兰赢，但是维特。克伦获得史尼斯球。噢，我们将加上一个假魔杖。” 伯希不满地说：“你们不要把那种垃圾东西拿给巴格蒙先生看。”但巴格蒙得一点儿也不认为那个魔杖是垃圾，相反，当他从弗来德那里看到那个魔杖后，他孩子气的脸上因兴奋而发光，还有当魔杖叭叭响，并变成一个橡皮鸡后，巴格蒙高兴得呱呱叫。 “精彩极了！我多年来还从未看到过这样一种东西！我愿意出五个帆船币来买它！” 伯希看到这种情况，呆住了。 “孩子们，”威斯里先生小声地说，“我不想你们赌钱，那是你们所有的积蓄……你们的妈妈……” “不要扫大家的兴了，亚瑟！“露得。巴格蒙抗议道，他兴奋地让他的口袋嘎嘎响，”他们已经长大了，知道又己需要什么！你们认为爱尔兰会赢但克伦将获得史尼斯球吗？没有机会的，孩子们，没有机会的……我将加五个帆船币买那个可爱的魔杖，我们可以……“ 威斯里先生失望地看着露得。巴格蒙拿出一个笔记本和一支羽毛笔，匆匆记下了双胞胎的名字。 “加油！”乔治说着，拿着巴格蒙递给他的那卷羊皮纸，把它塞进他的长袍的前面。 巴格蒙非常兴奋地转向威斯里先生，“我想图谋不会成功的，我无法留意巴地。克劳斯的，我的保加利亚对手已在制造困难，我无法听懂他讲的一个字。巴地可以弄明白，他可以讲一百五十种语口0”克劳斯先生吗？“伯希问，突然，他放弃了异议，因为兴奋而非常苦恼。”他可以讲超过两百种！“ “有人可以说思洞语吗？”弗来德轻视地说。 伯希非常厌恶地看了弗来德一眼，往火里添柴，使火烧得更猛烈，水壶里的水又开了。 当巴格蒙坐到他们旁边的草地时，“有关于珀茜·佐金斯的消息吗，露得？”威斯里先生问道。 “一点也没有，”巴格蒙舒服地说，“但她将会出现。可怜的巴格蒙……忘记就像一个有漏洞的大汽锅，一点方向感也没有。她将在十月的某个时候游游荡荡地回办公室，还以为仍然是七月份。” “你不认为是时候该派人去寻找她了吗？”威斯里先生试探着建议。伯希把茶递给了巴格蒙。 “巴地。克劳斯总是这样说，”巴格蒙说，睁大他的天真的圆眼睛，“但是在这个时候我们腾不出人来干这事。噢，不要那个可恶的家伙了！巴地！” 一个巫士刚刚瞬间转移来到他们的营火边，他与巴格蒙先生的印有黄蜂的旧长袍形成鲜明的对比。巴地。克劳斯是一个严厉的、正直的、年老的男人，他穿着没有瑕庇的外套，打着领带。他的短发直得非常的不自然，还有他那窄长的牙刷形的胡子看起来好像他用直尺修剪似的。他的鞋子被刷得光亮亮的。哈利马上就明白为什么伯希崇拜他了。伯希是一个崇信严格纪律的人，而克劳斯先生完全根据马格人编纂的纪律条规行事。他做得那么地认真全面，几乎可以做一个银行的经理。 哈利怀疑即使是维能姨丈是否也可以讲出他的真正身份。 “坐一下吧，巴地。”露得高兴地说，拍着他旁边的地面。 “不了，谢谢，露得。”克劳斯说，而且他的语气显得很不耐烦。“我到处找你，保加利亚人坚持要求我们增加十二个席位给他们。” “噢，那就是他们追求的吗？”巴格蒙说，“我想那个家伙想借一把钳子。” “克劳斯先生！”伯希气喘吁吁的叫着，他半鞠躬，那使他看起来很恶心，“您要杯茶吗？” “噢，好的，谢谢你。”克劳斯先生说看，很惊讶地看了下伯希。 弗来德和乔治十分气愤，只是埋头喝茶。怕希忙着弄水壶。 “我，我一直想跟你谈一下，亚瑟！”克劳斯先生说，他锐利的注视着威斯里先生，“阿里。贝希尔正在出征的路上，他想跟你谈一下你禁止使用的飞毯。” 威斯里先生深深叹了口气，“我上个星期才刚刚送三个猫头鹰给他。我已经跟他讲过几百次了：飞毯被看成马格人的工艺品，这是由魔法禁止物品登记处决定的，但他会听吗？” “我十分怀疑，”克劳斯先生说，接过伯希递过来的茶。“他非常希望从这里把它偷出去。” “呃，在英国它们永远也无法取代扫帚，对吗？”巴格蒙问。 “阿里认为在市场上有一种壁灶，非常运会用于家庭交通工具，”克劳斯先生说，“我记得我的祖母有一种毛毯，可以坐十二个人——但那当然是在飞毯被禁用之前。” 他讲着，好像他想让每个人毫无疑问地清楚他的祖先是严守法律的。 “所以，巴地，你一直很忙？”巴格蒙笑着说。 “还可以啦，”克劳斯先生冷冰冰地回答，“组织波奇通过五大洲并不是一件什么大事，露得。” 露得。巴格蒙看起来像愣住了，“太好了！我再也找不到比这些更有趣的事了。还有，看起来好像我们可以找到任何事来做了。 呃？巴地？还有很多需要组织，对吗？“ 克劳斯先生对巴格蒙扬了一下眉毛，“我们答应过直到细节弄好才公布的……” “哦，细节！”巴格蒙先生喊道，“他们已经签了，对吗？我想这些孩子很快就会清楚地知道。我的意思是，这些发生在霍格瓦彻”露得，我们需要会见保利亚人，你知道的。“克劳斯先锐声说道。打断了巴格蒙的话，”谢谢你的茶，孩子。“ 他把他未喝的茶递回给伯希，等待露得站起来。巴格蒙重新艰难地站起来，倒掉了他最后的茶，他口袋里的金子又在叮当叮当地n向。 “待会见！”他说，“你们将在头等厢见到我！我做评解！”他挥挥手，巴地。克劳斯有礼貌地点点头‘然后他们两人都消失了。 “霍格瓦彻发生什么事了，爸爸？”弗来德马上就问，“他们在讲什么？” “你很快就可以清楚地知道了。”威斯里先生笑着说。 “这是机密消息，直到恰当时候，内阁才决定公开，”伯希严肃地说，“克劳斯先生没有说出来，做得很对。”“哦，闭嘴！”弗来德喊道。 在下午，营地中洋溢着一种兴奋的感觉。到了黄昏时分，静止的夏天空气好像也因为期待而颤抖。当黑夜像窗帘一样降到成千上万个期待着的巫士身上的时候，最后伪装的痕迹也消失了，禁止党相斗争炫耀魔法的标语相继被打破了。 销售员每几步地瞬间移动，拿着盘子，推着小车，里面装满特别的商品。有发亮的玫瑰花结——绿色代表爱尔兰，红色代表保加利亚——上面还有队员的名字。绿色的帽子用三叶草来装饰，保加利亚围巾则用在吼叫的狮子装饰，两个国家的国旗在不同的国歌声中挥动。还有小的燃烧的箭头模型，真的能飞；还有用于收集的著名队员的模型，可以在掌心走动，自己打扮自己。 “我存了整个夏天的钱就是为这个。”罗恩告诉哈利，当他们和荷米恩经过销售员时，他们停下来买纪念品。罗恩买了一个跳舞用的三叶草帽子和一个大的绿色的玫瑰花结，她也买了一个小的维特。克伦的模型。微型的克伦在罗恩的手中向前和向后走，对着他上面的绿色玫瑰花结皱眉。 “哇，看这些！”哈利兴奋地叫着，急忙冲向一个堆满了看起来像铜制的双筒望远镜的小车，上面盖着各式各样的奇异的抽屉辆和刻度盘。 “望远镜，”销售巫士热切地说，你可以设置焦距，还可以放慢一些镜头，如果你需要的话，十分便宜，每个才十个帆船币。“ “我现在希望我没有买这个。”罗恩指着他的跳舞三叶草帽子，渴望地望着那望远镜。 “三个。”哈利肯定地对巫士说。 “不，不要麻烦了。”罗恩红着脸说。他总是对哈利的钱比他多而神经过敏，因为哈利从他父母手中继承了一小笔的财产。 “你在圣诞节时就拿不到任何东西了，”哈利告诉他，并把望远镜塞到他和荷米恩的手中。“记住，大约十年。” “十分公平。”罗恩笑道说。 他们的钱袋很明显地轻了很多后就回到帐篷。比尔、查理和金妮都买了绿色的玫瑰花结，而威斯里先生拿着一面爱尔兰旗。弗来德和乔治没有买纪念品，因为他们所有的金子都给了巴格蒙。 接着，在森林某处的上空响起一阵巨响，绿色的和红色灯笼在树丛中燃烧起来，照亮了一条到帐篷地区的路。 “时间到了，”威斯里先生喊着，看起来和其他人一样兴奋。 “来吧，我们走！” |
Chapter 8 The Quidditch World Cup Clutching their purchases, Mr. Weasley in the lead, they all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; Harry couldn't stop grinning. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. Though Harry could see only a fraction of the immense gold walls surrounding the field, he could tell that ten cathedrals would fit comfortably inside it. “Seats a hundred thousand,” said Mr. Weasley, spotting the awestruck look on Harry's face. “Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they've suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again…bless them,” he added fondly, leading the way toward the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards. “Prime seats!” said the Ministry witch at the entrance when she checked their tickets. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, and as high as you can go.” The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple. They clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. Mr. Weasley's party kept climbing, and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry, filing into the front seats with the Weasleys, looked down upon a scene the likes of which he could never have imagined. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field. The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer…Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain!…Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade… Harry tore his eyes away from the sign and looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short they stuck out in front of it on the chair, was wearing a tea towel draped like a toga, and it had its face hidden in its hands. Yet those long, batlike ears were oddly familiar…. “Dobby?” said Harry incredulously. The tiny creature looked up and stretched its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. It wasn't Dobby - it was, however, unmistakably a house-elf, as Harry's friend Dobby had been. Harry had set Dobby free from his old owners, the Malfoy family. “Did sir just call me Dobby?” squeaked the elf curiously from between its fingers. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice, and Harry suspected though it was very hard to tell with a house-elf - that this one might just be female. Ron and Hermione spun around in their seats to look. Though they had heard a lot about Dobby from Harry, they had never actually met him. Even Mr. Weasley looked around in interest. “Sorry,” Harry told the elf, “I just thought you were someone I knew.” “But I knows Dobby too, sir!” squeaked the elf. She was shielding her face, as though blinded by light, though the Top Box was not brightly lit. “My name is Winky, sir - and you, sir -” Her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry's scar. “You is surely Harry Potter!” “Yeah, I am,” said Harry. “But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!” she said, lowering her hands very slightly and looking awestruck. “How is he?” said Harry. “How's freedom suiting him?” “Ah, sir,” said Winky, shaking her head, “ah sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favor, sir, when you is setting him free.” “Why?” said Harry, taken aback. “What's wrong with him?” “Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir, ” said Winky sadly. “Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir.” “Why not?” said Harry. Winky lowered her voice by a half-octave and whispered, “He is wanting paying for his work, sir.” “Paying?” said Harry blankly. “Well - why shouldn't he be paid?” Winky looked quite horrified at the idea and closed her fingers slightly so that her face was half-hidden again. “House-elves is not paid, sir!” she said in a muffled squeak. “No, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down, Dobby. He is getting up to all sorts of high jinks, sir, what is unbecoming to a house-elf. You goes racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and next thing I hear you's up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.” “Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun,” said Harry. “House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter,” said Winky firmly, from behind her hands. “House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter” - she glanced toward the edge of the box and gulped - “but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.” “Why's he sent you up here, if he knows you don't like heights?” said Harry, frowning. “Master - master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter. He is very busy,” said Winky, tilting her head toward the empty space beside her. “Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf.” She gave the edge of the box another frightened look and hid her eyes completely again. Harry turned back to the others. “So that's a house-elf?” Ron muttered. “Weird things, aren't they?” “Dobby was weirder,” said Harry fervently. Ron pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down into the crowd on the other side of the stadium. “Wild!” he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again…and again…and again…” Hermione, meanwhile, was skimming eagerly through her velvetcovered, tasseled program. “'A display from the team mascots will precede the match,"’ she read aloud. “Oh that's always worth watching,” said Mr. Weasley. “National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.” The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him. “Harry Potter, you know,” he told the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. “Harry Potter…oh come on now, you know who he is…the boy who survived You-Know-Who…you do know who he is -” The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. “Knew we'd get there in the end,” said Fudge wearily to Harry. “I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat….Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places…ah, and here's Lucius!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy; his son, Draco; and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother. Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts. A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose. “Ah, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. “How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?” “How do you do, how do you do?” said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?” It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts’ bookshop, and they had had a fight. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row. “Good lord, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?” Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest.” “How - how nice,” said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile. Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy's lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn't dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father. “Slimy gits,” Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box. “Everyone ready?” he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. “Minister - ready to go?” “Ready when you are, Ludo,” said Fudge comfortably. Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said “Sonorus!” and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. “Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans - A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval. “I wonder what they've brought,” said Mr. Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. “Aaah!” He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. “Veela!” “What are veel -?” But a hundred veela were now gliding out onto the field, and Harry's question was answered for him. Veela were women…the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen…except that they weren't - they couldn't be - human. This puzzled Harry for a moment while he tried to guess what exactly they could be; what could make their skin shine moon-bright like that, or their white-gold hair fan out behind them without wind…but then the music started, and Harry stopped worrying about them not being human - in fact, he stopped worrying about anything at all. The veela had started to dance, and Harry's mind had gone completely and blissfully blank. All that mattered in the world was that he kept watching the veela, because if they stopped dancing, terrible things would happen. And as the veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry's dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed a good idea…but would it be good enough? “Harry, what are you doing?” said Hermione's voice from a long way off. The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard. Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn't want the veela to go. Harry was with them; he would, of course, be supporting Bulgaria, and he wondered vaguely why he had a large green shamrock pinned to his chest. Ron, meanwhile, was absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat. Mr. Weasley, smiling slightly, leaned over to Ron and tugged the hat out of his hands. “You'll be wanting that,” he said, “once Ireland have had their say.” “Huh?” said Ron, staring openmouthed at the veela, who had now lined up along one side of the field. Hermione made a loud tutting noise. She reached up and pulled Harry back into his seat. “Honestly!” she said. “And now,” roared Ludo Bagman's voice, “kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!” Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. Something like golden rain seemed to be falling from it - “Excellent!” yelled Ron as the shamrock soared over them, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up at the shamrock, Harry realized that it was actually comprised of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red vests, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green. “Leprechauns!” said Mr. Weasley over the tumultuous applause of the crowd, many of whom were still fighting and rummaging around under their chairs to retrieve the gold. “There you go,” Ron yelled happily, stuffing a fistful of gold coins into Harry's hand, “for the Omnioculars! Now you've got to buy me a Christmas present, ha!” The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you - Dimitrov!” A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. “Ivanova!” A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out. “Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand - Krum!” “That's him, that's him!” yelled Ron, following Krum with his Omnioculars. Harry quickly focused his own. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked like an overgrown bird of prey. It was hard to believe he was only eighteen. “And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!” yelled Bagman. “Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand - Lynch!” Seven green blurs swept onto the field; Harry spun a small dial on the side of his Omnioculars and slowed the players down enough to read the word “Firebolt” on each of their brooms and see their names, embroidered in silver, upon their backs. “And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!” A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache to rival Uncle Vernon's, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry spun the speed dial on his Omnioculars back to normal, watching closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open - four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls. “Theeeeeeeey're OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!” It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose. The speed of the players was incredible - the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top, and he was immediately watching in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums. HAWKSHEAD ATTACKING FORMATION, he read as he watched the three Irish Chasers zoom closely together, Troy in the center, slightly ahead of Mullet and Moran, bearing down upon the Bulgarians. PORSKOFF PLOY flashed up next, as Troy made as though to dart upward with the Quaffle, drawing away the Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova and dropping the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swung hard at a passing Bludger with his small club, knocking it into Moran's path; Moran ducked to avoid the Bludger and dropped the Quaffle; and Levski, soaring beneath, caught it - “TROY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to Ireland!” “What?” Harry yelled, looking wildly around through his Omnioculars. “But Levski's got the Quaffle!” “Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!” shouted Hermione, who was dancing up and down, waving her arms in the air while Troy did a lap of honor around the field. Harry looked quickly over the top of his Omnioculars and saw that the leprechauns watching from the sidelines had all risen into the air again and formed the great, glittering shamrock. Across the field, the veela were watching them sulkily. Furious with himself, Harry spun his speed dial back to normal as play resumed. Harry knew enough about Quidditch to see that the Irish Chasers were superb. They worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves, and the rosette on Harry's chest kept squeaking their names: “Troy - Mullet - Moran!” And within ten minutes, Ireland had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from the green-clad supporters. The match became still faster, but more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, were whacking the Bludgers as fiercely as possible at the Irish Chasers, and were starting to prevent them from using some of their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and then, finally, Ivanova managed to break through their ranks; dodge the Keeper, Ryan; and score Bulgaria's first goal. “Fingers in your ears!” bellowed Mr. Weasley as the veela started to dance in celebration. Harry screwed up his eyes too; he wanted to keep his mind on the game. After a few seconds, he chanced a glance at the field. The veela had stopped dancing, and Bulgaria was again in possession of the Quaffle. “Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh I say!” roared Bagman. One hundred thousand wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the center of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars, squinting to see where the Snitch was - “They're going to crash!” screamed Hermione next to Harry. She was half right - at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats. “Fool!” moaned Mr. Weasley. “Krum was feinting!” “It's time-out!” yelled Bagman's voice, “as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!” “He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!” Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck. “Which is what Krum was after, of course.…” Harry hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes. He watched as Krum and Lynch dived again in slow motion. WRONSKI DEFENSIVE FEINT - DANGEROUS SEEKER DIVERSION read the shining purple lettering across his lenses. He saw Krum's face contorted with concentration as he pulled out of the dive just in time, while Lynch was flattened, and he understood - Krum hadn't seen the Snitch at all, he was just making Lynch copy him. Harry had never seen anyone fly like that; Krum hardly looked as though he was using a broomstick at all; he moved so easily through the air that he looked unsupported and weightless. Harry turned his Omnioculars back to normal and focused them on Krum. He was now circling high above Lynch, who was being revived by mediwizards with cups of potion. Harry, focusing still more closely upon Krum's face, saw his dark eyes darting all over the ground a hundred feet below. He was using the time while Lynch was revived to look for the Snitch without interference. Lynch got to his feet at last, to loud cheers from the green-clad supporters, mounted his Firebolt, and kicked back off into the air. His revival seemed to give Ireland new heart. When Mostafa blew his whistle again, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivaled by anything Harry had seen so far. After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier. As Mullet shot toward the goal posts yet again, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over so quickly Harry didn't catch it, but a scream of rage from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle blast, told him it had been a foul. “And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing - excessive use of elbows!” Bagman informed the roaring spectators. “And - yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!” The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets when Mullet had been fouled, now darted together to form the words “HA, HA, HA!” The veela on the other side of the field leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily, and started to dance again. As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuffed their fingers into their ears, but Hermione, who hadn't bothered, was soon tugging on Harry's arm. He turned to look at her, and she pulled his fingers impatiently out of his ears. “Look at the referee!” she said, giggling. Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing veela, and was acting very oddly indeed. He was flexing his muscles and smoothing his mustache excitedly. “Now, we can't have that!” said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. “Somebody slap the referee!” A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; Harry, watching through the Omnioculars again, saw that he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous. “And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!” said Bagman's voice. “Now there's something we haven't seen before…Oh this could turn nasty… It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words “HEE, HEE, HEE.” Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians’ arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle. “Two penalties for Ireland!” shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. “And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms…yes…there they go…and Troy takes the Quaffle…” Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom. “Foul!” roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green. “Foul!” echoed Ludo Bagman's magically magnified voice. “Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!” The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. Watching through his Omnioculars, Harry saw that they didn't look remotely beautiful now. On the contrary, their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders - “And that, boys,” yelled Mr. Weasley over the tumult of the crowd below, “is why you should never go for looks alone!” Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. Harry turned this way and that, staring through his Omnioculars, as the Quaffie changed hands with the speed of a bullet. “Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Mullet - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!” But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov - The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn't blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Harry couldn't blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight. Harry wanted someone to realize that Krum was injured; even though he was supporting Ireland, Krum was the most exciting player on the field. Ron obviously felt the same. “Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him -” “Look at Lynch!” Harry yelled. For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing… “He's seen the Snitch!” Harry shouted. “He's seen it! Look at him go!” Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on…but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again - “They're going to crash!” shrieked Hermione. “They're not!” roared Ron. “Lynch is!” yelled Harry. And he was right - for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela. “The Snitch, where's the Snitch?” bellowed Charlie, along the row. “He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!” shouted Harry. Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight. “IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!” “What did he catch the Snitch for?” Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. “He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!” “He knew they were never going to catch up!” Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. “The Irish Chasers were too good…He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all.… “He was very brave, wasn't he?” Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. “He looks a terrible mess.…” Harry put his Omnioculars to his eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but he could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn. “Vell, ve fought bravely,” said a gloomy voice behind Harry. He looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. “You can speak English!” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you've been letting me mime everything all day!” “Veil, it vos very funny,” said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging. “And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!” roared Bagman. Harry's eyes were suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light, as the Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, he saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he'd been using sign language all day for nothing. “Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!” Bagman shouted. And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; Harry could see thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction. One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch. Harry noticed that he seemed much less coordinated on the ground. He was slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name was announced, the whole stadium gave him a resounding, earsplitting roar. And then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. Harry's hands were numb with clapping. At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, “Quietus.” “They'll be talking about this one for years,” he said hoarsely, “a really unexpected twist, that.…shame it couldn't have lasted longer.…Ah yes…yes, I owe you.…how much?” For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. 各自拿着自己买的东西，大家沿着由灯笼照亮的小道，急急忙忙地往森林里赶，威斯里先生走在最前面。他们可以听到成千上万的人在他们四周移动的声音——叫声，笑声和歌声。大家都被这狂热兴奋的气氛而深深感动了，哈利一直都咧嘴大笑。他们在森林走了三十分钟，沿途一直大声地谈话和开玩笑，最后，终于到达森林的另一端，发现在自己的前面有一个巨大的体育馆。虽然哈利只能看见环绕在搭帐篷地区周围的一部分，但肯定一点也不会拥挤。 威斯里先生注意到哈利脸上敬畏的表情后，对他说：“可以坐十万人。在这一年里内阁雇佣了五百人来建这个体育馆。这里的每一英寸都有防御马格人的魔法。在这一年中，每一次马格人接近这里时，他们就要马上重新市署，并再次飞快地跑开……上帝保佑他们。”他情深地补充道。威斯里先生带领大家走向最近的一个人口，在那里，早就聚集了一大群吵吵嚷嚷的巫婆和巫士们。 “前座！”一个在门口的巫婆官员看了他们的票后，说：“上等厢！直上楼梯，亚瑟，走到最高处。” 进入体育馆的楼梯铺着豪华的紫色的地毯。他们和人群一起爬着楼梯。慢慢地，有的人转入楼梯左边或右边的门中。威斯里先生～行人继续沿着楼梯往上爬，最后到达了楼梯顶部的小阁，他们发现自己进入了一个小箱子里。这个小箱设在体育馆的最高处，刚好在两个金色的边线柱子中间。大约有二十张紫色、镀金的椅子，分成两排。哈利跟着威斯里先生坐到前排去，往下看到了一个他永远无法想象的场景。 在椭圆的广场里，下面的椅子按一定的比例一排比一排高一点，十万个巫婆巫士坐在他们的座位上。整个体育馆都弥漫着一种神秘的金色的光，就像体育馆自己发出来的似的。从他们处于高处的位置看来，广场就像天鹅绒一样的光滑，并且两端都有三个用于进球的铁环，十五英尺高；在他们的正对面，几乎与哈利的目光平行的地方有一个巨大的的黑板，金色的字在上面潦草书写；又马上把它擦去。看了一会儿后，哈利才发现上面写着的是广告。 蓝瓶：一个适用于全家使用的扫帚——安全、可靠，装有防卫巴格拉的汽笛……史高水太太的魔法清理器：无痛无斑点！……格来杰斯巫士杂货铺——伦敦巴黎、霍斯马得…… 哈利把目光从那个广告移开，转过头看包厢里除了他们以外还有谁。到目前为止，还没有其他人，除了一个微小的生物正坐在他们后面的倒数第二排。这个生物的腿非常短，因此它把腿放在座位上。它穿着一条茶几盖市，看起来像古罗马市民容的宽外袍，它正把它的脸埋在手里。而那双长的，像蝙蝠一样的耳朵非常奇怪，但又似曾相识。 “是多比吗？”哈利难以相信地问。 那个小生物抬起头，张开它的手指，张开它大大的棕色眼睛，它的鼻子的大小和形状就好像一个西红柿。它不是多比。然而，毫无疑问，它是一个佣人小精灵，就好像哈利的朋友多比一样。哈利已经把多比从它的前主人马尔夫家中解救出来了。 “先生叫我多比吗？”这个精灵好奇从它的指缝中吱吱地问。它的声音比多比的要大一点，那是一种极小的，发抖的吱吱声。虽然和精灵交谈是很困难的，但哈利猜这个精灵是个女的。罗恩和荷米恩也从他们的座位站起来，跑过去看。虽然他们已经听哈利讲了很多关于多比的事，但他们从来没见过他，甚至威斯里先生也很感兴趣地向四周张望。 哈利对小精灵说：“对不起，我刚才以为你是我认识的一个朋友。” “但是我也认识多比，”小精灵吱吱地说。她捂着脸，好像光会弄瞎她的眼睛似的，事实上等厢的光线一点也不强烈。“我叫温奇。 先生，您叫……“当她的目光停在哈利的伤疤上时，她睁大了她棕黑色的眼睛，”你一定是哈利·波特！“ “嗯，我是。”哈利说。 她说：“多比整天都在讲你，先生！”她稍微放下她的手，非常敬畏地望着哈利。 “他怎么样了？”哈利问。 “先生，我并不是想冒犯你，但是我不认为当你给多比自由时，你帮了他一个忙。”温奇说。 “为什么不是呢？”哈利问。温奇降低八度，低声说：“他正在等著有人为他的工作付款，先生！” “付钱？”哈利茫然地问，“为什么别人不能付钱给他？” 温奇看起来被这种想法吓坏了。她慢慢合起她的手指，这样一半脸又被藏起来了。 “佣人精灵是没有钱收的，”她低沉地吱吱说，“不，不，不，我跟多比说，我说，出去后为自己找一个好的家庭，然后安顿下来。他现在沉醉于各种幻想中，这对一个佣人精灵来说是非常不好的。我说：“多比，如果你继续这样放纵下去，那么我很快就可以听到关于你像某些普通的妖精一样，被送到魔法生物纪律条规部门的消息了。“ “但是，该是时候让他放松一下，娱乐一下了。”哈利说。 “佣人精灵是不可以娱乐的，哈利·波特，”温奇严厉地说。“佣人精灵必须做主人要它们做的任何事，我有畏高症，”她望了一眼包厢的边缘，哭泣地说：“但是我的主人派我来上等厢，我就只好来了。” “如果他知道你畏高，他为什么还派你来这里？”哈利皱着眉头问。 “主人，主人要我帮他占个座位，哈利·波特，他非常忙。”温奇说着，用头点了一下旁边的空位，温奇希望回到主人的帐篷中，但是她必须做她被吩咐做的事，她是个很好的佣人精灵。 她又敬畏地看了一眼包厢的边缘，又完全把眼睛闭上。哈利转向其他人。 “这就是那种佣人小精灵？”罗恩小声地说，“不可思议的东西，是不是？” “多比更不可思议。”哈利激动地说。 罗恩拿出他的望远镜，开始测试它。用它来望体育馆的另外一边的人们。 “太刺激了！”他说着，一边旋转着旁边的球形纽，“我可以让那个老家伙不断地抓他的鼻子，一次又一次。” 同时，荷米恩迫不及特地浏览着她的盖着天鹅绒的节目表。 “队伍的吉祥物将在比赛前先展示。”她大声读出来。 “懊，那总是值得一看的，”威斯里先生说，“你知道吗？国家队从他们本国带来生物，展示在这个地上。” 接着过了半小时，包厢里的人逐渐多了，大家坐在他们周围。 威斯里不断地和那些显然是重要人物的巫士握手。伯希经常跳起来，好像坐在一个刺猾上似的。当魔法大臣可尼斯。法治到达时，伯希深深地鞠了个躬，使得他的眼镜摔到地上打碎了。他非常尴尬地用他的魔杖把它修好。从那以后就乖乖地坐在他的座位上。当他看到可尼斯就像老朋友似的同哈利打招呼时，他非常妒忌地看看哈利。他们以前见过面，法治就像父亲一样，慈祥地与哈利握手，问他现在怎样，又把他两边的巫士介绍给他认识。 “你认识的，哈利·波特，”他大声地告诉保加利亚的大臣。他穿着一件华丽的黑色的天鹅绒长袍，下摆镶着金色，看起来似乎不懂英语，“哈利·波特，过来。你知道他是谁，他是从‘那个人’手中唯一逃生的男孩。你们肯定知道他是谁。” 这个保加利亚巫士突然注意到哈利的伤疤，然后开始兴奋地大声地指着它讲个不停。 “我们应该让他简短点，”法治疲惫地对哈利说，“我并不擅长于多国语言，在这方面，我需要巴地。克劳斯帮忙。啊，我看到他的佣人精灵给他占了个位。干得很好！这些保加利亚的讨厌鬼，老是嚷着要最好的座位……啊，这位是露布斯！” 哈利，罗恩和荷米恩马上转过来。走向第二排最后三个空着的座位，正好在威斯里后面的，不是别人，正是多比以前的主人——露布斯。马尔夫，他的儿子杰高和一个女人，哈利猜一定是杰高的妈妈。 自从他们一同去霍格瓦彻以来，哈利和杰高。马尔夫就成为了敌人。杰高看起来很像他父亲，是一个苍白、尖头，有着金发的男孩。他的妈妈也是金发的，很高，很苗条。如果她不是带着一副好像这里有一股难闻气味的表情的话，她是长得很好看的。 “啊，法治，”马尔夫先生伸出手与魔法大臣握手，“你最近好吗？你还没见过我的太太南希斯和我的儿子杰高吧？” “你们好，你们好。”法治笑着说，并稍微向马尔夭太太鞠了个躬。“让我来介绍一下，这位是……奥布龙斯科先生，他是保加利亚的魔法大臣，但他听不懂我讲的话，没关系。这位是……我敢肯定你认识他，亚瑟。威斯里。” 这是一个很紧张的时刻，威斯里先生和马尔夫先生体看看我，我看看你。哈利马上想起了上一次他们面对面的情景。那是在布鲁。特斯书店，他们打了一架。马尔夫先生冷酷的灰眼睛扫过威斯里先生，然后走了过来。 “亲爱的亚瑟，”他轻声说，“你卖了什么才能得到这个上等厢的票？你的屋子肯定值不了那么多钱。” 法治没有听到，说：“露市斯刚刚捐了一大笔钱给圣曼哥的魔法疾病和伤残医院，他是我的客人。” “太、太好了！”威斯里先生勉强地笑了笑。 马尔夫先生的视线又转到了荷米恩身上。荷米恩的脸红红的，意志坚定地盯着他。哈利十分清楚是什么令马尔夫先生嘟了一下嘴。马尔夫家对于自己的纯种血液感到无比骄傲，换一句而言，他们认为任何一个马格人都是低等的，像荷米恩，是第二阶层的，然而，在魔法大臣的注视下，他没有说什么。他轻蔑地朝威斯里先生点了点头，继续走到他座位上去。杰高轻蔑地膘了哈利、罗恩和荷米思一眼，然后坐到他爸爸和妈妈中间。 “卑陋的杂种！”罗恩咕哝着。当哈利和荷米恩再转向广场时，一会儿，露得。巴格蒙也进了包厢。 “大家都准备好了吗？”他问着，圆圆的像干酪一样的脸看起来很兴奋。“长官，可以开始了吗？” “露得，你准备好就可以了。”法治温柔地说。 露得拿出他的魔杖，指着自己的喉咙，说：“索尼勒！”然后对着挤满体育馆的人说话。他的声音回荡在整个体育馆，每个角落都能听到他的声音：“女士们！先生们！欢迎大家！欢迎大家来到快迪斯世界杯总决赛的现场！” 观众们尖叫着，热烈地鼓掌，挥动着成千上万的旗子，夹杂着各自的国歌。他们对面的大黑板上已经擦去了刚才的信息——“贝迪波特的美味豆——让你不得不试”，现在上面写着的是：保加利亚：零，爱尔兰：零。 “现在，刻不容缓，让我来介绍……保加利亚队的吉祥物！” 在架子的右边，一个鲜红色的滑车冲了出来。 “我很好奇他们带来了什么？”威斯里先生说，身体向前探。 “啊！”他忽然摘下他的眼镜，急忙把它塞到长袍里去，“米拉！” 但是当一百个米拉滑到广场上时，哈利的问题就得到了解答。 米拉是女人……哈利所见过的最美丽的女人……但是她们绝对不是人类。这让哈利困惑了一会儿，他尽力地猜她们到底是什么？是什么让她们的皮肤像月光一样的白皙光亮？是什么令她们金色的头发在没有风的情况下飞扬……但是当音乐响起时，哈利就不再为她们不是人类而烦恼了。事实上，他开始不再为任何事而烦恼。 那些米拉开始跳舞了。哈利的头脑一片空白，沉浸在喜悦当中。现在最重要的事是观看米拉们跳舞，因为如果她们停止跳舞，恐怖的事情将会发生。 当米拉越跳越快的时候，一些疯狂的、不成形的思想开始在哈利混顿的头脑中跳跃。他想马上做些给人以深刻印像的事情。“从包厢跳到体育馆中去，这似乎是个好主意，但是吗？” “哈利，你在做什么？”荷米恩的声音从远处传来。 音乐结束了，哈利眨了眨眼。他正站着，一只腿放在包厢的墙上。在他旁边，罗恩僵住了，好像他刚从一个跳板上跳水似的。 生气的叫喊声响遍了体育馆。大家都不希望米拉走。哈利也和他们一样。他当然是可以支持保加利亚队的，而且他一点也不明白自己为什么把一个绿色的三叶草放在胸前。同时，罗恩也漫不经心地在撕他帽子上的三叶草。威斯里先生微微一笑，倾向罗恩，把他手中的帽子拿了过来。 “你会需要它的，”他说，“一旦爱尔兰队开始说话时。” “哦？”罗恩张大嘴望着在广场的边上排队的米拉。 荷米恩不耐烦地大声说了声“嘘！”她站起来，把哈利拉回他的座位，说：“老实点！” “现在，”露得。巴格蒙的声音响起，“请把你们魔杖举起来…… 因为爱尔兰队的吉祥物将要出场了！“ 下一秒，看起来像一个大的绿色的、金色的像彗星一样的东西嗡嗡地来到育馆。它在体育馆绕场一周，后分成两个小一点的彗星，每个都飞向球门。一道彩虹忽然出场在广场上，连接着这两个球。人群中不断发出“哇”和“啊”的声音，好像在看烟花汇演似的。现在彩虹淡去，两个发光的球又重新溶合为～体。他们形成了一张巨大的，闪闪发光的三叶草，它升到天空，并开始在上空飞翔，有一种像金雨似的东西纷纷下落。 “精彩极了！”罗恩喊道。三叶草在他们上方飞，重重的金币落了下来，散在他们的头上和座位上。瞟了一眼三叶草，哈利发现它由成千上万个小的、有胡子、穿着红色背心的人组成的，每个人都拿着一个金色或绿色的灯。 “这是矮精灵！”威斯里先生说。场内响着激烈的掌声，群情汹涌，很多人为拿椅子下面的金子而不惜大打出手。 “这个给你，”罗恩高兴地喊着，把满满一手的金币塞到哈利的手中，“给你望远镜的钱，现在你得买给我圣诞礼物了，哈哈！” “现在，女士们，先生们！让我们热烈欢迎——保加利亚国家快迪斯队！” 一个骑在扫帚上面的，穿着鲜红色的身影，在巨大的鼓掌声中出现在入口处。 “艾文努！” 第二个队员出现了。 “周格莱夫！莱思基！维尔可努！福尔可夫！啊！克伦！” “是他了，是他了！”罗恩喊着，拿他的望远镜盯着克伦看。哈利也马上将自己的调好焦距。 维特。克伦是一个瘦黑的人，他有一个弯鼻子，深黑色的眉毛。 他看起来很老成。实在很难相信他只有十八岁。 “现在，让我们来欢迎——爱尔兰国家快迪斯队！”巴格蒙喊着，“出场——克农利！莱恩！特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！快格利！啊！ 莱恩斯！“ 七个穿绿色衣服的人出现在广场中。哈利旋转着望远镜旁的掣，把队员的动作调慢，看到了队员们扫帚上的字，还有他们背上的用银色装饰的名字。 “这位是不远千里，来自埃及的裁判，由魔法国际快迪斯协会承认的海森。莫斯特夫！” 一个瘦小的巫士大步走到广场中。他的头全秃了，有着像维能姨文一样的胡子，穿着一个纯金色的抱子，与体育馆的颜色十分相衬。他含着一个银哨子，在胳膀下面夹着一个大的木箱，另一边夹着他的扫帚。哈利把他的望远镜又调回正常，清晰地看到莫斯特夫骑上他的扫帚，把木箱打开——四个球蹦到空中，鲜红色的叫可尔夫球，两个黑色的叫布鲁佐球（哈利快速扫现了它一眼），还有小的，有翅膀的金色的史尼斯球。在一声哨子声中，莫斯特夫也飞到空中。 “他……们……，开始了！”巴格蒙喊着。“这是摩莉特！特洛！ 莫兰！迪米特弗！又回到摩莉特！特洛！莱思基！莫兰！“ 这就是快迪斯，哈利以前从来没有打过。他紧紧地把望远镜放在眼前，而他的眼镜被望远镜压在了他的鼻梁上。队员的速度快得难以置信——追逐者之间传递可尔夫球的速度太快了，巴格蒙只有时间讲他们的名字。哈利投了一下望远镜上的放慢速度的键，又按了一下“重复播放”的键，这样，他马上就可以看到慢动作。镜头在闪闪地发着紫光，巨大的叫喊声震撼着他的耳膜。 “鹰头进攻模式。”他说看。三个爱尔兰追逐者紧紧地站在一起，特洛在中间，稍前方是摩莉特和莫兰，他们一起防御着保加利亚人、接着，特洛假装要扔出可尔夫球，把保加利亚的追逐手艾文努引开，并赶紧把可尔夫球传给莫兰，一个保加利亚进攻手福尔可夫，用他的小棍大力地击打飞过来的布鲁位球，把它打到莫兰这边，莫兰低下头，避过了布鲁佐球，用力投可尔夫球；在他下面的莱恩斯接住了。 “特洛得分！”巴格蒙大声喊道，体育馆响起了雷鸣般的掌声和欢呼声。“十比零，爱尔兰领先！” “什么？”哈利一边透过望远镜看，一边喊，“但是莱恩斯才刚刚接到可尔夫球！” “哈利，如果你不用正常速度看，你会错过很多精彩片段的！” 荷米恩喊道，而她正高兴地跳舞，用力地挥动着手臂，因为特洛得分了。哈利赶忙从望远镜的上方看去，看到在旁边观看的矮精灵已经又升到空中，形成了一个巨大的发光的三叶草。在场地的另一边，米拉正愠怒地看着。 当比赛又开始时，哈利生气地把望远镜的速度又调回正常。 哈利通过快迪斯，发现爱尔兰追逐者真是很优秀。他们队伍的配合天衣无缝，看到对方的位置，就能想到他想做什么，哈和胸前的玫瑰花结吱吱地叫着他们的名字：“特洛！摩莉特！莫兰！”接着，在十分钟内，爱尔兰队又拿了两次分，把他们的比分改写成“三十比零”，领先三十分！而他们的支持者也不断地发出一浪又一浪震耳欲聋的欢呼声和掌声。 比赛越来越快，也越来越暴力。保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努，大力地向爱尔兰追逐者击打着布鲁佐球，并开始阻碍他们的团体移动。有两次他们被迫分散，最后，艾文努终于冲破了他们的阵列，避开守门员莱恩，为保加利亚取得了第一分。哈利把他的眼睛也闭上了。他想把精力集中在比赛上。过了几秒钟，他瞟了广场一眼，发现米拉已经不再跳舞，而保加利亚人又一次拿着可尔夫球。 “迪米特弗！莱思基！迪米特弗！迪米特弗，哦，我说……” 巴格蒙大声地喊着。 当两名搜索者克伦和林科在追逐者当中骤然下跌时，十万个巫婆和巫士都停住了呼吸，他们看起来就好像不用降落而从飞机上跳下来一样。哈利透过望远镜，看着他们下落的过程，想看一下史尼斯球在哪里。 “他们要摔到地面了！”在哈利旁边的荷米恩尖叫着。 她只对了一半。在最后一秒钟，维特。克伦从下跌中旋身，控制自己，而林科重重地撞到地面去，那响声整个体育馆都可以听得到。爱尔兰人的座位响起一阵巨大的呻吟声。 “傻瓜！”威斯里先生悲叹道，“克伦使诈！” “中场休息！”巴格蒙叫道，“一个受过训练的巫上医生急忙跑到广场中，去检查艾丹。林科！” “他会没事的！只是伤了脊骨！”查理向金妮保证，而金妮正冲到包厢前面，紧张地看着，她吓坏了。“这当然就是克伦想得到的结果！” 哈利不断按望远镜上的“重播”和“分播”的按键，旋转控制速度的表盘，然后把望远镜放到眼前去看。 他用慢动作看了一遍克伦和林科下落的动作。镜头上显示了一行紫色的字“使诈！一种十分危险的搜索者决策！”他看到当克伦开始下跌时，及时地集中注意力，脸部都扭曲变形了，而克伦看起来就好像没有用扫帚一样，看起来似乎是没有支持物，一点重量也没有。哈利又把他的望远镜调回正常，把它对准克伦。他正在林科的上空绕圈，而巫医正在喂林科喝一杯药水。哈利正仔细地观察他的脸，发现他的黑眼睛正投向一百英尺下的地面。他正在利用林科接受治疗的时间寻找史尼斯球，一点也不受到干扰。 林科最后终于又站了起来，骑上他的扫帚，又重新回到空中去。全场的穿绿衣服的支持者对此而大声欢呼。他的恢复给爱尔兰队增添了信心。当莫斯特夫又吹哨子时，追逐者们又风驰电掣在空中，那速度之快，是哈利所从未见的。 在十五分钟速度的运动中，爱尔兰又得了十次分，扩大了比分的距离。他们现在一百三十比十而领先。比赛开始变得更加激烈了。 当摩莉特又一次把球投向球门时，保加利亚的守门员周格莱夫紧紧地用手臂夹住了飞向她的可夫尔球。这一切发生得太快了，哈利还未看清楚。但爱尔兰人都生气地尖叫，而莫斯特夫先生的长哨声告诉了他这是犯规的。 “莫斯特夫判保加利亚守门员犯规，她用了手肘！”巴格蒙先生大叫地告诉观众。“对了，爱尔兰点球！” 当看到摩莉特被判犯规后，矮精灵们像一群发光的大黄蜂，生气地升到空中，形成“哈！哈！哈！”几个字。在广场另一边的米拉也跳了起来，生气地摇摆着头发，又开始了跳舞。 马上，所有威斯里家的男孩和哈利把他们的手指塞到耳朵里，但荷米恩不需要这样做，她拉拉哈利的手。他转过来看着她，她不耐烦地把他的手指拉出他的耳朵。 “看那个裁判！”她小声地说。 哈利往广场看去。海森。莫斯特夫降落在跳舞的米拉前，他的动作十分奇怪。他弯曲着他的胳膊，显示他的肌肉，并十分兴奋地摸着他的胡子。 “现在不能这样！”露得。巴格蒙说，虽然听起来他也很兴奋。 “有人可以用力打一下裁判吗？” 巫医穿过广场，他也把手指塞在自己的耳朵上。他用力地踢了一下莫斯特夫。莫斯特夫似乎清醒了很多，他正在对那些停止跳舞，看起来很生气的米拉大叫。 “如果我没猜错的话，莫斯特夫正在试图驱逐保加利亚队的吉祥物！”巴格蒙先生的声音响起，“现在发生的事是我们以前从未遇见过的，哦，这会变得很糟糕的。” 果然不出所料，保加利亚的进攻手福尔可夫和维尔可努落到莫斯特夫的两边，并开始十分生气地和他争吵，指着正在高兴地形成“嘻！嘻！嘻！”字样的矮精灵。莫斯特夫不理会保加利人的争论。 他指着空中叫他们重新回到空中去。当他们拒绝后，他吹了两声短哨。 “爱尔兰两个点球！”巴格蒙叫道，保加利亚人群生气地吵闹着。“现在福尔克夫和维尔可努最好回到扫帚上去。好的，他们走了，现在特洛拿着可尔夫球……” 比赛现在进入一种极度野蛮的状态。两队的进攻者都毫无怜悯地互相进攻：特别是福尔可夫和维尔可努，他们看起来根本不在乎他们的木棍是打到布鲁位球还是人。迪米特弗直接冲向拿着可尔夫球的莫兰身上，使她几乎从扫帚上摔下来。 “犯规！”当一个爱尔兰支持者吼出来后，所有的爱尔兰支持者都站了起来，形成一遍绿色的浪潮。 “犯规！”露得回巴格蒙的强调的声音也响起。“迪米特弗擦过莫兰，不顾一切地撞向她，这应该又罚一个点球！是的，哨声响起！” 矮精灵又升到空中，这一次，他们形成一个巨大的手，这对对面的米拉来说，是一个很粗鲁的标志。这时候，米拉失去了控制，她们穿过广场，把一些看似火球的东西扔向矮精灵。哈利通过他的望远镜看到这一切，他现在觉得米拉一点也不美丽了。相反，她们的睑伸长成尖的鸟嘴形，有鳞的翅膀从她们肩膀上爆裂出来。 “孩子，就是为什么你们不可以独自来看的原因。”威斯里先生看着下面骚动的人群说。 巫士官员涌到场地去分开米拉和矮精灵，但是没有成功。同时，下面的战斗并没有影响上面的人。哈利赶紧又用他的望远镜去观看空中的比赛。可夫尔球就像子弹似的传到另一个人手中。 “莱思基一迪米特弗一莫兰一特洛一摩莉特一艾文努又传给莫兰，莫兰，莫兰得分！” 但是因为米拉的尖叫声，内阁成员魔杖发出的声音，保加利亚人生气的吼叫，几乎都没办法听得到爱尔兰支持者的欢呼声。比赛马上又开始了，现在莱思基拿着可尔夫球。 爱尔兰的进攻者凯里大力地把飞过的布鲁位球未向克伦。克伦没有来得及低下头，布鲁佐球重重地打在了他的脸上。 人群中响起了大声的呻吟声。克伦的鼻子好像打断了，正在流血，但是海森。莫斯特夫没有吹哨。他刚才分散了注意力。哈利认为这不能责怪他，因为刚才一个米拉向他扔了一个火球，他扫帚的尾部着火了。 哈利希望有人意识到克伦受伤了。虽然他是支持爱尔兰的，但克伦是球场上最优秀的队员。很显然，罗恩也是这样认为的。 “暂停！啊，快！他不可以这样继续比赛！看他！” “看林科！”哈利大叫。 因为这个爱尔兰搜索者突然俯冲，哈利很肯定这不是在使诈，这次是真的…… “他看见史尼斯球了！”哈利喊着，“他看见它了！看他走的方向！” 一半人都似乎意识发生什么事了，爱尔兰观众又站了起来，开始做绿色的人浪，他们对着自己的搜索者尖叫……但是克伦跟在他后面。他怎么可以看见他是往哪里走呢？哈利对此无法理解。在他后面有红色的斑点在空中飞，但他现在已经追上了林科，然后他们两人又一起跃向地面。 “他们要摔到地面了！”荷米恩尖叫。 “他们不会的。”罗恩吼着。 哈利叫道：“林科会的！” 他是对的，因为下一秒，林科又重重地摔到了地面，他马上被大群生气的米拉进攻。 |
Chapter 9 The Dark Mark “Don't tell your mother you've been gambling,” Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs. “Don't worry, Dad,” said Fred gleefully, “we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated.” Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. “Oh I am glad I'm not on duty,” muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. “I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating.” Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint.…Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like.…Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, “I give you.…Potter!” Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep - his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams - all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting. “Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!” Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas. “'S’ matter?” he said. Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, “No time, Harry - just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!” Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels. By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them.…They didn't seem to have faces.…Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder. The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. “That's sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick.…” Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys’ tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out. “We're going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!” Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer. “C'mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall. The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain. “What happened?” said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. “Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - lumos!” She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground. “Tripped over a tree root,” he said angrily, getting to his feet again. “Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” said a drawling voice from behind them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees. Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley. “Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?” He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. “What's that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly. “Granger, they're after Muggles, “said Malfoy. “D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around.…they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” “Hermione's a witch,” Harry snarled. “Have it your own way, Potter,” said Malfoy, grinning maliciously. “If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.” “You watch your mouth!” shouted Ron. Everybody present knew that “Mudblood” was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage. “Never mind, Ron,” said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron's arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy. There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy chuckled softly. “Scare easily, don't they?” he said lazily. “I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?” “Where're your parents?” said Harry, his temper rising. “Out there wearing masks, are they?” Malfoy turned his face to Harry, still smiling. “Well…if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?” “Oh come on,” said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, “let's go and find the others.” “Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,” sneered Malfoy. “Come on,” Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron up the path again. “I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!” said Ron hotly. “Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!” said Hermione fervently. “Oh I can't believe this. Where have the others got to?” Fred, George, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though the path was packed with plenty of other people, all looking nervously over their shoulders toward the commotion back at the campsite. A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, “Oü est Madame Maxime? Nous l'avons perdue -” “Er - what?” said Ron. “Oh…” The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on they distinctly heard her say, “'Ogwarts.” “Beauxbatons,” muttered Hermione. “Sorry?” said Harry. “They must go to Beauxbatons,” said Hermione. “You know…Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.…I read about it in An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe.” “Oh…yeah…right,” said Harry. “Fred and George can't have gone that far,” said Ron, pulling out his wand, lighting it like Hermione's, and squinting up the path. Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand - but it wasn't there. The only thing he could find was his Omnioculars. “Ah, no, I don't believe it…I've lost my wand!” “You're kidding!” Ron and Hermione raised their wands high enough to spread the narrow beams of light farther on the ground; Harry looked all around him, but his wand was nowhere to be seen. “Maybe it's back in the tent,” said Ron. “Maybe it fell out of your pocket when we were running?” Hermione suggested anxiously. “Yeah,” said Harry, “maybe…” He usually kept his wand with him at all times in the wizarding world, and finding himself without it in the midst of a scene like this made him feel very vulnerable. A rustling noise nearby made all three of them jump. Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible were trying to hold her back. “There is bad wizards about!” she squeaked distractedly as she leaned forward and labored to keep running. “People high - high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!” And she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her. “What's up with her?” said Ron, looking curiously after Winky. “Why can't she run properly?” “Bet she didn't ask permission to hide,” said Harry. He was thinking of Dobby: Every time he had tried to do something the Malfoys wouldn't like, the house-elf had been forced to start beating himself up. “You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!” said Hermione indignantly. “It's slavery, that's what it is! That Mr. Crouch made her go up to the top of the stadium, and she was terrified, and he's got her bewitched so she can't even run when they start trampling tents! Why doesn't anyone do something about it?” “Well, the elves are happy, aren't they?” Ron said. “You heard old Winky back at the match…'House-elves is not supposed to have fun'…that's what she likes, being bossed around.…” “It's people like you, Ron,” Hermione began hotly, “who prop up rotten and unjust systems, just because they're too lazy to -” Another loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood. “Let's just keep moving, shall we?” said Ron, and Harry saw him glance edgily at Hermione. Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy had said; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were. They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn't there. They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny. They passed a group of goblins who were cackling over a sack of gold that they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble at the campsite. Farther still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly. “I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!” one of them shouted. “I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.” “No, you're not!” yelled his friend. “You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron…but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far -” A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, “I'm about to become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, I am.” Harry snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, “Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?” “Honestly!” said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away. By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter. Harry looked around. “I reckon we can just wait here, you know. We'll hear anyone coming a mile off.” The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them. Even by the feeble light of the two wands, Harry could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy-faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained. “Who's that?” he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. “What are you doing in here, all alone?” They looked at one another, surprised. “Well - there's a sort of riot going on,” said Ron. Bagman stared at him. “What?” “At the campsite…some people have got hold of a family of Muggles.…” Bagman swore loudly. “Damn them!” he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he Disapparated with a small pop! “Not exactly on top of things, Mr. Bagman, is he?” said Hermione, frowning. “He was a great Beater, though,” said Ron, leading the way off the path into a small clearing, and sitting down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. “The Wimbourne Wasps won the league three times in a row while he was with them.” He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around. Like the real Krum, the model was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive on his splayed feet than on his broomstick. Harry was listening for noise from the campsite. Everything seemed much quieter; perhaps the riot was over. “I hope the others are okay,” said Hermione after a while. “They'll be fine,” said Ron. “Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy,” said Harry, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. “He's always said he'd like to get something on him.” “That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right,” said Ron. “Those poor Muggles, though,” said Hermione nervously. “What if they can't get them down?” “They will,” said Ron reassuringly. “They'll find a way.” “Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!” said Hermione. “I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -” But she broke off abruptly and looked over her shoulder. Harry and Ron looked quickly around too. It sounded as though someone was staggering toward their clearing. They waited, listening to the sounds of the uneven steps behind the dark trees. But the footsteps came to a sudden halt. “Hello?” called Harry. There was silence. Harry got to his feet and peered around the tree. It was too dark to see very far, but he could sense somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision. “Who's there?” he said. And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell. “MORSMORDRE!” And something vast, green, and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness Harry's eyes had been struggling to penetrate; it flew up over the treetops and into the sky. “What the -?” gasped Ron as he sprang to his feet again, staring up at the thing that had appeared. For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realized that it was a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Harry didn't understand why, but the only possible cause was the sudden appearance of the skull, which had now risen high enough to illuminate the entire wood like some grisly neon sign. He scanned the darkness for the person who had conjured the skull, but he couldn't see anyone. “Who's there?” he called again. “Harry, come on, move!” Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward. “What's the matter?” Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified. “It's the Dark Mark, Harry!” Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. “You-Know-Who's sign!” “Voldemort's - ?” “Harry, come on!” Harry turned - Ron was hurriedly scooping up his miniature Krum - the three of them started across the clearing - but before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them. Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: Each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Ron, and Hermione. Without pausing to think, he yelled, “DUCK!” He seized the other two and pulled them down onto the ground. “STUPEFY!” roared twenty voices - there was a blinding series of flashes and Harry felt the hair on his head ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Raising his head a fraction of an inch he saw jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards’ wands, crossing one another, bouncing off tree trunks, rebounding into the darkness - “Stop!” yelled a voice he recognized. “STOP! That's my son!” Harry's hair stopped blowing about. He raised his head a little higher. The wizard in front of him had lowered his wand. He rolled over and saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified. “Ron - Harry” - his voice sounded shaky - “Hermione - are you all right?” “Out of the way, Arthur,” said a cold, curt voice. It was Mr. Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry got to his feet to face them. Mr. Crouch's face was taut with rage. “Which of you did it?” he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. “Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?” “We didn't do that!” said Harry, gesturing up at the skull. “We didn't do anything!” said Ron, who was rubbing his elbow and looking indignantly at his father. “What did you want to attack us for?” “Do not lie, sir!” shouted Mr. Crouch. His wand was still pointing directly at Ron, and his eyes were popping - he looked slightly mad. “You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!” “Barty,” whispered a witch in a long woolen dressing gown, “they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to -” “Where did the Mark come from, you three?” said Mr. Weasley quickly. “Over there,” said Hermione shakily, pointing at the place where they had heard the voice. “There was someone behind the trees…they shouted words - an incantation -” “Oh, stood over there, did they?” said Mr. Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione now, disbelief etched all over his face. “Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy -” But none of the Ministry wizards apart from Mr. Crouch seemed to think it remotely likely that Harry, Ron, or Hermione had conjured the skull; on the contrary, at Hermione's words, they had all raised their wands again and were pointing in the direction she had indicated, squinting through the dark trees. “We're too late,” said the witch in the woolen dressing gown, shaking her head. “They'll have Disapparated.” “I don't think so,” said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric's father. “Our Stunners went right through those trees.…There's a good chance we got them.…” “Amos, be careful!” said a few of the wizards warningly as Mr. Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing, and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione watched him vanish with her hands over her mouth. A few seconds later, they heard Mr. Diggory shout. “Yes! We got them! There's someone here! Unconscious! It's - but - blimey…” “You've got someone?” shouted Mr. Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. “Who? Who is it?” They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr. Diggory reemerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry recognized the tea towel at once. It was Winky. Mr. Crouch did not move or speak as Mr. Diggory deposited his elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr. Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again. “This - cannot - be,” he said jerkily. “No -” He moved quickly around Mr. Diggory and strode off toward the place where he had found Winky. “No point, Mr. Crouch,” Mr. Diggory called after him. “There's no one else there.” But Mr. Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around and the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching. “Bit embarrassing,” Mr. Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky's unconscious form. “Barty Crouch's house-elf.…I mean to say…” “Come off it, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, “you don't seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark's a wizard's sign. It requires a wand.” “Yeah,” said Mr. Diggory, “and she had a wand.” “What?” said Mr. Weasley. “Here, look.” Mr. Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr. Weasley. “Had it in her hand. So that's clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken, for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand.” Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr. Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upward at the emerald-green skull. “The Dark Mark!” he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned inquiringly to his colleagues. “Who did it? Did you get them? Barry! What's going on?” Mr. Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush mustache were both twitching. “Where have you been, Barty?” said Bagman. “Why weren't you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat too - gulping gargoyles!” Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. “What happened to her?” “I have been busy, Ludo,” said Mr. Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. “And my elf has been stunned.” “Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why -?” Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman's round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky, and then at Mr. Crouch. “No!” he said. “Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn't know how! She'd need a wand, for a start!” “And she had one,” said Mr. Diggory. “I found her holding one, Ludo. If it's all right with you, Mr. Crouch, I think we should hear what she's got to say for herself.” Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr. Diggory, but Mr. Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky, and said, “Ennervate!” Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr. Diggory's feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing, and burst into terrified sobs. “Elf!” said Mr. Diggory sternly. “Do you know who I am? I'm a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!” Winky began to rock backward and forward on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience. “As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago,” said Mr. Diggory. “And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!” “I - I - I is not doing it, sir!” Winky gasped. “I is not knowing how, sir!” “You were found with a wand in your hand!” barked Mr. Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognized it “Hey - that's mine!” he said Everyone in the clearing looked at him. “Excuse me?” said Mr. Diggory, incredulously. “That's my wand!” said Harry. “I dropped it!” “You dropped it?” repeated Mr. Diggory in disbelief. “Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?” “Amos, think who you're talking to!” said Mr. Weasley, very angrily. “Is Harry Potter likely to conjure the Dark Mark?” “Er - of course not,” mumbled Mr. Diggory. “Sorry…carried away…” “I didn't drop it there, anyway,” said Harry, jerking his thumb toward the trees beneath the skull. “I missed it right after we got into the wood.” “So,” said Mr. Diggory, his eyes hardening as he turned to look at Winky again, cowering at his feet. “You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you'd have some fun with it, did you?” “I is not doing magic with it, sir!” squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. “I is…I is…I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!” “It wasn't her!” said Hermione. She looked very nervous, speaking up in front of all these Ministry wizards, yet determined all the same. “Winky's got a squeaky little voice, and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper!” She looked around at Harry and Ron, appealing for their support. “It didn't sound anything like Winky, did it?” “No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It definitely didn't sound like an elf.” “Yeah, it was a human voice,” said Ron. “Well, we'll soon see,” growled Mr. Diggory, looking unimpressed. “There's a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?” Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr. Diggory raised his own wand again and placed it tip to tip with Harry's. “Prior Incantato!” roared Mr. Diggory. Harry heard Hermione gasp, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them; it looked as though it were made of thick gray smoke: the ghost of a spell. “Deletrius!” Mr. Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke. “So,” said Mr. Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively. “I is not doing it!” she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. “I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn't using wands, I isn't knowing how!” “You've been caught red-handed, elf!” Mr. Diggory roared. “Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!” “Amos,” said Mr. Weasley loudly, “think about it…precious few wizards know how to do that spell.…Where would she have learned it?” “Perhaps Amos is suggesting,” said Mr. Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, “that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?” There was a deeply unpleasant silence. Amos Diggory looked horrified. “Mr. Crouch…not…not at all. “You have now come very close to accusing the two people in this clearing who are least likely to conjure that Mark!” barked Mr. Crouch. “Harry Potter - and myself. I suppose you are familiar with the boy's story, Amos?” “Of course - everyone knows -” muttered Mr. Diggory, looking highly discomforted. “And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practice them?” Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again. “Mr. Crouch, I - I never suggested you had anything to do with it!” Amos Diggory muttered again, now reddening behind his scrubby brown beard. “If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” shouted Mr. Crouch. “Where else would she have learned to conjure it?” “She - she might've picked it up anywhere -” “Precisely, Amos,” said Mr. Weasley. “She might have picked it up anywhere.…Winky?” he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he too was shouting at her. “Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?” Winky was twisting the hem of her tea towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. “I - I is finding it…finding it there, sir…” she whispered, “there…in the trees, sir. “You see, Amos?” said Mr. Weasley. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they'd done it, leaving Harry's wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.” “But then, she'd have been only a few feet away from the real culprit!” said Mr. Diggory impatiently. “Elf? Did you see anyone?” Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Her giant eyes flickered from Mr. Diggory, to Ludo Bagman, and onto Mr. Crouch. Then she gulped and said, “I is seeing no one, sir…no one…” “Amos,” said Mr. Crouch curtly, “I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.” Mr. Diggory looked as though he didn't think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to Harry that Mr. Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him. “You may rest assured that she will be punished,” Mr. Crouch added coldly. “M-m-master…” Winky stammered, looking up at Mr. Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. “M-m-master, p-p-please…” Mr. Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze. “Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible,” he said slowly. “I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes.” “No!” shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr. Crouch's feet. “No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!” Harry knew that the only way to turn a house-elf free was to present it with proper garments. It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea towel as she sobbed over Mr. Crouch's feet. “But she was frightened!” Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr. Crouch. “Your elf's scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of their way!” Mr. Crouch took a step backward, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she were something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes. “I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,” he said coldly, looking over at Hermione. “I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master's reputation.” Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing. There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr. Weasley, who said quietly, “Well, I think I'll take my lot back to the tent, if nobody's got any objections. Amos, that wand's told us all it can - if Harry could have it back, please -” Mr. Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it. “Come on, you three,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. But Hermione didn't seem to want to move; her eyes were still upon the sobbing elf. “Hermione!” Mr. Weasley said, more urgently. She turned and followed Harry and Ron out of the clearing and off through the trees. “What's going to happen to Winky?” said Hermione, the moment they had left the clearing. “I don't know,” said Mr. Weasley. “The way they were treating her!” said Hermione furiously. “Mr. Diggory, calling her ‘elf’ all the time…and Mr. Crouch! He knows she didn't do it and he's still going to sack her! He didn't care how frightened she'd been, or how upset she was - it was like she wasn't even human!” “Well, she's not,” said Ron. Hermione rounded on him. “That doesn't mean she hasn't got feelings, Ron. It's disgusting the way -” “Hermione, I agree with you,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, beckoning her on, “but now is not the time to discuss elf rights. I want to get back to the tent as fast as we can. What happened to the others?” “We lost them in the dark,” said Ron. “Dad, why was everyone so uptight about that skull thing?” “I'll explain everything back at the tent,” said Mr. Weasley tensely. But when they reached the edge of the wood, their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr. Weasley coming toward them, many of them surged forward. “What's going on in there?” “Who conjured it?” “Arthur - it's not - Him?” “Of course it's not Him,” said Mr. Weasley impatiently. “We don't know who it was; it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.” He led Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking. Charlie's head was poking out of the boys’ tent. “Dad, what's going on?” he called through the dark. “Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but the others -” “I've got them here,” said Mr. Weasley, bending down and entering the tent. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered after him. Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken. “Did you get them, Dad?” said Bill sharply. “The person who conjured the Mark?” “No,” said Mr. Weasley. “We found Barry Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conured the Mark.” “What?” said Bill, Charlie, and Percy together. “Harry's wand?” said Fred. “Mr. Crouch's elf?” said Percy, sounding thunderstruck. With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods. When they had finished their story, Percy swelled indignantly. “Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!” he said. “Running away when he'd expressly told her not to…embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry…how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control -” “She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked very taken aback. Hermione had always got on fairly well with Percy - better, indeed, than any of the others. “Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!” said Percy pompously, recovering himself. “She didn't run amok!” shouted Hermione. “She just picked it up off the ground!” “Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?” said Ron impatiently. “It wasn't hurting anyone.…Why's it such a big deal?” “I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron,” said Hermione, before anyone else could answer. “I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.” “And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years,” said Mr. Weasley quietly. “Of course people panicked…it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again.” “I don't get it,” said Ron, frowning. “I mean…it's still only a shape in the sky…” “Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,” said Mr. Weasley. “The terror it inspired…you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside.…” Mr. Weasley winced. “Everyone's worst fear…the very worst…” There was silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, said, “Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now.” “Death Eaters?” said Harry. “What are Death Eaters?” “It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves,” said Bill. “I think we saw what's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway.” “We can't prove it was them, Bill,” said Mr. Weasley. “Though it probably was,” he added hopelessly. “Yeah, I bet it was!” said Ron suddenly . “Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!” “But what were Voldemort's supporters -” Harry began. Everybody flinched - like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. “Sorry,” said Harry quickly. “What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?” “The point?” said Mr. Weasley with a hollow laugh. “Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them,” he finished disgustedly. “But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?” said Ron. “They'd have been pleased to see it, wouldn't they?” “Use your brains, Ron,” said Bill. “If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives.…I don't reckon he'd be over-pleased with them, do you?” “So…whoever conjured the Dark Mark…” said Hermione slowly, “were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?” “Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione,” said Mr. Weasley. “But I'll tell you this…it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now.…Listen, it's very late, and if your mother hears what's happened she'll be worried sick. We'll get a few more hours sleep and then try and get an early Portkey out of here.” Harry got back into his bunk with his head buzzing. He knew he ought to feel exhausted: It was nearly three in the morning, but he felt wide-awake - wide-awake, and worried. Three days ago - it felt like much longer, but it had only been three days - he had awoken with his scar burning. And tonight, for the first time in thirteen years, Lord Voldemort's mark had appeared in the sky. What did these things mean? He thought of the letter he had written to Sirius before leaving Privet Drive. Would Sirius have gotten it yet? When would he reply? Harry lay looking up at the canvas, but no flying fantasies came to him now to ease him to sleep, and it was a long time after Charlie's snores filled the tent that Harry finally dozed off. 第九章 黑色标记 当他们走下紫地毯铺着的楼梯时，威斯里先生恳求他们说：“不要告诉你们的妈妈，你们赌钱了。” “别担心，爸爸，”弗来德高兴地说，“我们对怎样花这笔钱有个伟大的计划，我们不想让它被没收。” 威斯里先生看起来好像想问他们的伟大的计划是什么，但想了一会儿后，决定他还是不要知道为好。 他们很快就跟上了涌出体育馆的人群，并和大家一起走回营地。当他们走在被灯笼照亮的小道上时，到处都听到沙哑的歌声，呵呵地笑着和拿着灯笼的矮精灵在他们头上飞。当他们最后到达帐篷后，都没有睡意。因为他们不断地制造吵闹声，最后威斯里先生不得不同意他们在睡觉之前再喝一杯可可。大家都兴高采烈地谈论著比赛。威斯里先生很不同意查理的观点。最后，因为金妮困倦，趴在小桌子上并打翻了一杯热可可，因此威斯里先生宣布停止讨论，每一个都必须去睡觉。荷米恩和金妮走进另一个帐篷，哈利和其余威斯里家的男孩换上睡衣，爬上了他们的床铺。他们仍然可以听到营地的另一边传来的歌声和砰砰的撞击声。 “哦，我太高兴我不用值班了，”威斯里先生十分困倦地咕哝，“我无法想象要怎样才能使那些爱尔兰人停止庆祝。” 哈利睡在罗恩的上铺，看着帐篷的帆布顶，看到一个矮精灵拿着灯笼飞过，然后又想象一些克伦迅速移动的精彩画面。他怎样骑回他的扫帚，又设计出骗局来欺骗林科……林科永远也无法作出这样快速扭动的曲线。这种移动就像……哈利看到自己穿着后面印有名字的袍子，想象着自己处于那种场景，听到千万欢呼声，露得。 巴格蒙的声音在体育馆中回荡：“波特出场！” 哈利不清楚自己到底睡着了没有，他想，如果像克伦那样飞可能只是在做梦。忽然，威斯里先生大叫着。 “起床了，罗恩、哈利！快点，起床，非常紧急！” 哈利马上坐起来，头碰到了帐篷的帆布顶。 “什么事？”他问。 朦朦胧胧地，他不知道有何不妥。营地的声音变了。歌声没有了，他可以听到尖叫声和人们奔跑的声音。 他从床铺滑下来，拿起他的衣服。但是刚把牛仔裤套在他睡衣上的威斯里先生说：“没时间了，哈利，拿一件夹克就行，出去，快！” 哈利听到后，急忙跑出帐篷，罗恩跟在他后面。 借着仍在燃烧的火堆，他可以看到人们正跑进森林，躲避着某种穿过田野追逐着他们的东西，某种发出奇怪的像喝醉了的吵闹声向他们飘来，然后射来一阵强烈的绿光，照亮了整个场地。 一群包裹得严严实实的巫士，手里拿着魔杖指向前方，正在慢慢地穿过田野。哈利瞟了他们一眼，他们好像没有睑……然后意识到他们的头用头巾包着，戴着面具。在他的上面，半空中飘着四个打斗的身影，扭曲成十分怪异的形状。好像在地上带着面具的巫士是在操纵木偶，在上面的人像木偶像被魔杖发出了一条条无形的线控制着。其中的两个身影十分小。 更多的巫土加入了游行队伍，一边笑一边指着飘浮着的身影。 当游行队伍膨胀后，帐篷被压弯，倒了下来。有一两次，哈利看到游行队伍中的人用魔杖点燃帐篷。连续几个帐篷都烧着了，尖叫声更加大。 当飘动的身影经过一个烧着的帐篷时，它们突然被照亮了，哈利发现他们当中一个是罗伯特先生——营地的管理人员。另外三个看起来可能是他的妻子和孩子。下面的～个游行人用魔杖轻弹一下罗伯特太太，她马上上下颠倒了，她的睡裙滑了下来，露出了她的内裤。她努力去盖住自己，而下面的人群高兴地尖叫。 “太过分了！”罗恩低声说，看看最小的马格小孩，他因为在六十英尺的高空，头不稳定地摇来摇去，已经开始吐了。“真是太过分了！” 荷米恩和金妮急急忙忙地跑问他们，在她们的睡裙上披上外套，威斯里先生就在他们后面。同时，衣冠整齐的比尔、查理和伯希也从男孩的帐篷里出来了，他们卷着袖子，拿着他们的魔杖。 “我们要去帮内阁，”威斯里先生大声地喊着，卷起他的袖子。 “你们跑进森林，站在一起。当我们搞定一切后，会去接你们的。” 比尔、查理和伯希早就全速冲向游行队伍，威斯里先生跟在他们后面，内阁成员也从各个方向冲向混乱的来源，在罗伯特一家下面的人群越走越近了。 “快走！”弗来德抓住金妮的手，拖着往森林里面去。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和乔治跟在他们后面。当他们到达森林时，他们都往后看。罗伯特家下面的人越来越多了。他们看到内阁的巫士正努力地要穿过去，盖住中间的巫士，但是他们有很大困难，看起来他们害怕太暴力会让罗伯特一家从上面摔下来。 照亮通往体育馆的颜色各异的灯笼已经熄了。黑黑的身影在森林中乱撞，小孩都在哭。紧张的叫唤声、吓坏的尖叫声响遍了寒冷的夜空。哈利觉得自己被人一会推向这边，一会推向那边，但看不见他们的脸。忽然，他听到罗恩痛苦的叫声。 “发生什么事了？”荷米恩紧张地问，她突然停住，哈利撞了上去。“罗恩，你在哪里？噢，真该死！” 她点亮她的魔杖，靠微弱的光线寻找罗恩，看见罗恩趴在地上。 “我被一个树根绊倒了。”他生气地说，又站了起来。 “哦，有那样的脚，真是很难不被绊到。”一个声音从他们后面传来。 哈利、罗恩和荷米恩马上转过身，看到杰高。马尔夫自己一人站在他们旁边，靠着树，非常高兴。他抱着臂，他似乎可以透过之间的缝隙，看到营地里发生的一切。 “威斯里，”马尔夫说，他的灰眼睛闪闪发光，“你现在最好快点，你也不想让她发现，对吧？” 他向荷米恩点点头，在那时候，营地传来好像是爆炸的声音，一道绿光顿时照亮了森林。 “那意味着什么？”荷米恩大胆地问。 “格林佐！他们在追马格人，”马尔夫说，“你想把你的内裤显示在半空中吗？因为如果你想，吊起来……他们正在朝这走来，我们可以大笑一通。” “荷米恩是一个女巫。”哈利吼道。 “少多管闲事，波特，”马尔夫邪恶地笑着说，“如果你以为他们分辨不出一个杂种，就继续这样吧。” “注意你的话！”罗恩叫道。每个在场的人都知道，“杂种”对于一个有马格人血统的女巫或巫土，是一个很无礼的词语。 森林的另一边传来一声巨响，他们附近的一些人尖叫了。 马尔夫轻轻一笑，“太容易被吓到了，不是吗？”他慢悠悠地说：“我想你们的爸爸叫你们躲起来。他去哪里了？想拯救那些马格人吗？” “你的父母呢？”哈利问道，他生气了。“他们在哪里戴着面具，对吧？” 马尔夫转向哈利，仍然笑着。“呃，如果他们是的，我也不可能告诉你，对吧，波特？” “哦，快走，”荷米恩说着，厌恶地看了马尔夫一眼。“我们去找其他人吧。” “继续往下走吧，格林佐！”马尔夫轻蔑地说。 “走吧，”荷米恩重复一遍，接着她拉着哈利和罗恩又回到路上。 “我敢打赌，他爸爸在戴面具的人群当中。”罗恩生气地说。 “上帝保佑，最好内阁可以抓住他！”荷米恩生气地说：“噢，难以置信，其他人都去哪里了？” 看不到弗来德、乔治和金妮。路上挤满了人，大家都紧张地向后看着营地。 不远处一群穿着睡衣的少年正激烈地在路上争论著。当他们看到哈利、罗恩和荷米恩时，一个有着厚厚的卷头发的女孩转过身，快速地讲了一些他们听不懂的话。 “呃，什么？”罗恩问。 “哦，”刚才讲话的女孩转身去了，当他们继续走时，他们清楚地听到她说：“欧杰沃斯。” “比尔贝顿。”荷米恩低声说。 “对不起，你说什么？”哈利问。 “他们一定是去比尔贝顿，”荷米恩说，“你知道比尔贝顿，魔法学院。我在《欧洲魔法教育》中看到过。” “噢，对！”哈利说。 “弗来德和乔治不可能走这么远。”罗恩说着，拿出他的魔杖，像荷米恩一样点亮它，照了一下小路。哈利把手伸进口袋找他的魔杖——但没有！他能找到的东西只有他的望远镜。 “噢，我不相信！我的魔杖不见了！” “你在这开玩笑吧！” 罗恩和荷米恩高举他们的魔杖，几束分散的光线照亮了地面。 哈利到处找，但是仍然看不见他的魔杖。 “可能在帐篷里。”罗恩说。 “可能在我们跑时，它掉出来了。”荷米恩紧张地说。 “对，”哈利说，“可能……” 在魔法世界，他总是整天都拿着魔杖，发现自己没有了它以后，他觉得自己是非常易受伤害的。 一个沙沙声使他们三人都跳了起来，温奇，那个佣人精灵，正在树丛中挣扎着找路。她处于一种最奇异的状态。很显然，她有很大困难，就好像有个无形的人要把她抓回去。 “到处都有坏的巫士！”她发狂地吱吱叫，她钻出来后，继续拼命跑。 她气喘吁吁地跑着消失在树林中。 “她在干什么？”罗恩好奇地望着温奇，“为什么她不能在路上跑？” “我打赌她应该没有被允许躲起来。”哈利说。他想到了多比：每一次他试图去做一些马尔夫家不允许的事，他就要被责打。 “你知道吧？佣人精灵被很残忍地对待！”荷米恩愤愤不平地说，“这是奴隶制。当克劳斯先生叫她去体育馆的顶部，她吓坏了。 他使她吓呆了，所以当他们拆帐篷时，她甚至不可以跑！为什么不能为他们做一些事呢？“ “呃，精灵是高兴这样的，不是吗？”罗恩说，“你在赛场也听到温奇说‘佣人精灵是不可以有快乐的’，这就是说她喜欢被人指使。” “就是像你这样的人，”荷米恩激怒地说，“支撑着这个腐朽、不公平的制度，因为你们太懒了……” 另一个从森林边传来的巨响回荡在森林中。 “我们继续走吧，好吗？”罗恩说。哈利看到他生气地盯着荷米恩。或许马尔夫所说的是对的，荷米恩比他们更危险。他们又出发了，哈利仍然在口袋里搜索着，即使他知道魔杖已不在那里了。 他们沿着黑黑的道路走进森林深处，仍然到处找弗来德、乔治和金妮。他们经过一群妖精时，发现他们正对着一袋金子呵呵地笑，毫无疑问，他们是因比赛打赌而赢的，而且他们看起来似乎不受营地的混乱的影响。再走几步，他们进入一条有银色灯的路，当看向森林时，发现三个美丽的米拉被一群年轻的巫土围着，他们在大声地讲话。 “我一年拿一百袋的帆船币，”他们当中的一个叫道，“我是危险生物销毁委员会的杀手。” “不，你不是，”他的朋友喊，“你是李奇。高尔顿的洗碟工人，但我是吸血鬼的猎手，我到目前为止杀了九十个……” 第三个年轻的巫士插口说：“我将会成为魔法大臣。”即使在米拉昏暗的银光下，他脸上的青春痘也可以很清楚的看到。 哈利轻蔑地笑着。他认识那个长着青春痘的巫士，他的名字叫史丹。圣派克，他实际上是汽车公司的售票员。 他转向罗恩，想告诉他。但是罗恩的脸变得非常的苍白，下一秒钟，他喊道：“我不是告诉过你我已经发明一种扫帚，可以到达木星吗？” “冷静点！”荷米恩说，她和哈利紧紧地抓住他的胳膊，把他拉到一边去。这时候，米拉和她们的崇拜者的声音慢慢消失了，他们进入了森林的中心。好像周围只有他们，四周非常的安静。 哈利向四周张望，“我想我们可以在这里等，因为这里可以听到一里内的声音。” 话音刚落，露得。巴格蒙忽然从一棵树后走出来，站在他们的前面。 即使是靠着微弱的灯光，哈利也可以看到巴格蒙的巨大变化。 他不再是兴高采烈的，脸色红红的，他的脚下也不再有弹簧，他看起来十分苍白和痛苦。 “谁？”他向他们眨眼，想看清他们的脸，“你们在这里干什么？ 就你们几个？“ 他们惊讶地互相看着对方。 “呃，外面有骚乱。”罗恩说。 “什么？”巴格蒙盯着他。 “在营地上……一些人抓住了一个马格人家庭。” 巴格蒙大声地诅咒说：“该死！”他看起来很迷惑。他不再说一句话，“砰”的一声，他便瞬间移动了。 “巴格蒙并不是能控制一切事情的，对吗？”荷米恩皱着眉头说。 “但他还是一个优秀的进攻手，”罗恩说，坐在一棵树下的干草上。“当他在温布尔登黄蜂队时，这支队赢了三次。” 他从口袋中拿出克伦的模型，把它放在地上，看它走路，就像真的克伦一样，这个模型有鸭子似的脚和圆肩膀，它分开的双脚比它的扫帚更令人注意。哈利听着从营地来的声音。一切都显得很安静，可能骚乱已经结束了。 过了一会儿，荷米恩说：“我希望其他人没事。” “他们会没事的。”罗恩说。 “想想如果你爸爸抓住了露布斯。马尔夫，”哈利说着，坐到罗恩旁边，看着小克伦模型在落叶上走路，“你爸爸总是说要从他身上找出些什么东西。” “那会扯破老杰高的假面具，太好了！”罗恩说。 “那些可怜的马格人，”荷米恩紧张地说，“如果他们弄不下来，那该怎么办？” “他们会的，”罗恩保证道，“他们会找方法的。” “太疯狂了。在所有的魔法内阁成员都在这里的时候做这种事情！”荷米恩说。“我是指，他们还想着逃脱吗？你认为是因为他们喝了酒，还是……” 但她忽然停了下来，往身后看。哈利和罗恩也马上向四周看。 听起来好像有人正朝他们这边走来。他们一边听着从黑色森林后面传来的参差的脚步声，一边等着。但那些脚步声忽然停止了。 “有人吗？”哈利喊道。 没有回答，哈利站起来，到处张望。实在太黑了，并不能看得很远，但是他可以感到某人正站在他的视线范围之外。 “谁在哪里？”他问。 然而，在毫无预告的情况，沉默被一个他们从未听过的声音打破。这不是一个吓坏了的声音，而是像在拼写似的。 “摩斯莫雷德！” 从黑暗中迸出一个巨大的，发着绿光的东西。哈利尽力透过它看清楚，它开始上升，超过树顶，进入天空。 “这是什么？”罗恩气喘吁吁地问，他赶快站起来，看着刚刚出现的东西。 过了几秒钟，哈利以为这是矮精灵的另一个排列。然后他意识到这是一个巨大的头颅，由像绿宝石的星星组成，还有一条蛇从嘴里伸出来，像舌头似的。当他们在看时，它越升越高，发出绿色的烟，在黑色的天空的映衬下，像一个新的星座。 忽然，整个森林充满了尖叫声。哈利不明白是怎么一回事，唯一的可能就是头颅的突然出现。现在这个头颅越升越高，已经可以照亮整个森林，就像一个狰狞的霓虹灯标志。他扫视一下森林，想找出变出头顿的人，但见不到任何人。 “谁在那里？”他又问了一次。 “哈利，快跑！”荷米恩抓住他背后的夹克，拖着他向后跑。 “是黑色标记，哈利！”荷米恩吼道，拼命拉着他，“是——是——‘那个人’的标志！” “福尔得摩特？” “哈利，快！” 哈利转过身，罗恩急忙拿起他的微型克伦，他们三人开始穿过这片林地，但是还没走到几步，一系列的“砰”声告诉了他们二十个巫士来了，他们出现在空中，包围着他们三人。 哈利转过身，几秒内，他知道一个事实：每个巫士都拿着魔杖指着他，罗恩和荷米恩想都没来得及想，他便大喊：“低头！”他抓另外两个人，把他们推到地面。 “吓呆了！”二十个声音叫着，有一道强得刺眼的光闪过，哈利感到他头发都飘动了，就好像有一股强风扫过这片林地。稍微抬起头，他看见从巫士的魔杖飞出很多发着如火光的喷气，正在向他们飞来。 “住手！”一个他认识的声音响起，“住手！那是我的儿子。” 哈利的头发不再飘动。他把头抬高一点。站在他前面的巫士放下魔杖。他翻滚过来，当看到威斯里先生正如他们大步走来时，吓坏了。 “罗恩，哈利，荷米恩，你们没事吧？”他的声音在颤动。 “走开，亚瑟。”传来一个简短、冷酷的声音。 是克劳斯先生，他和其他内阁巫士走近他们。哈利站起来，面对着他们。克劳斯先生的脸因愤怒而绷得紧紧的。 “谁做的？”他问道，他锐厉的眼睛盯着他们，“是谁变出黑色标记的？” “我们没有！”哈利指着那头颅说。 “我们什么都没做，”罗恩擦着他的手肘，愤愤不平地看着他的爸爸。“你们为什么要攻击我们？” “不要说谎！”克劳斯先生厉声喝道，他的魔杖仍然直接指着罗恩，他的眼睛睁得大大的，他看起来有点疯了似的。“你们在犯罪的现场！” “巴地，”一个穿着长裙子的巫婆小声地说，“他们是孩子，巴地，他们无法做得到了。” “你们三个，标记是从哪里来的？”威斯里先生马上问。 “在那里，”荷米恩说，指着他们听到声音的地方，手在发抖，“有人躲在林的后面……他们讲了一个词，是咒语。” “在那里，是吗？”克劳斯先生问，把他的大眼睛转向荷米恩，脸上写满了怀疑。“讲了一个咒语，是吗？小姐，你似乎很清楚标记说了什么。” 除了克劳斯先生外，没有一个内阁巫士认为哈利、罗恩、荷术恩有可能变出这个头颅，相反地，当听到荷米恩的话后，他们又都举起了魔杖，指向她指示的方向，往黑漆漆的森林里看。 “我们太迟了，”穿着长裙的巫婆说，摇着她的头，“他们早就瞬间转移了。” “我不这样认为，”一个有着棕色短胡子的巫士说。他是阿姆斯。迪格瑞，塞德里克的爸爸。“我们穿过那些树丛，很有希望能抓住他们……” 当迪格瑞先生挺挺胸，举起他的魔杖，穿过林地，消失在黑暗中时，一些巫士提醒他：“阿姆斯，小心点！”荷米恩把手捂住嘴，看着他消失了。 几秒钟后，他们听到迪格瑞的叫喊声。 “是的！我们抓住他们了，这里有个人！没有意识了！是…… 但是……我的天啊……“ “你抓到谁了？”克劳斯先生喊道，听起来很不相信，‘雌？是谁？“ 他听到折断树枝的声音，树叶的沙沙声，还有脚步声，接着迪格瑞先生从树丛后面走了出来。他抱着一个瘦小的，软弱的东西。 哈利马上认得那个茶几盖布，是温奇。 当迪格瑞先生把克劳斯先生的精灵放在他脚旁的地上时，他没有动，也没有讲话，其他内阁巫士看着克劳斯先生，他呆住了几秒钟，当他向下看着温奇时，他白色的脸上冒着火焰。然后，他又清醒了。 “这……不可能……”他急忙说，“不。” 他马上在迪格瑞先生周围走来走去，然后大步走向他发现温奇的地方。 “没用的，克劳斯先生，”迪格瑞先生在他背后说，“那里没有其他人了。” 但克劳斯先生好像不打算听他的，他们看到他到处走，他把树丛推到一边，到处找，树叶发出沙沙的声音。 “挺尴尬的，”迪格瑞先生小声说，看着不省人事的温奇，“巴地。克劳斯家的佣人精灵，我的意思是……” “它不能成功的，阿姆斯，”威斯里先生小声说，“你不会认为是这个精灵吧？那个黑色标记是个巫士的标志，它需要一个魔杖。” “是的，她有一个魔杖，”迪格瑞先生说。 “什么？”威斯里先生问。 “这里看，”迪格瑞先生拿起一个魔杖，递给威斯里先生。“这个东西在她的手中。这是有违魔法使用的宪法的。非人类是不可以拿魔杖的。” 这时候，又传来“砰”一声，露得。巴格蒙出现在威斯里先生旁边，看起来气喘吁吁地，分不清方向。他瞪大眼睛，盯着那个绿宝石的头颅。 “黑色标记！”他气喘吁吁地说。在他转向他的同事时，他几乎踩到温奇了。“谁做的？你们抓到他了吗？巴地！发生了什么事？” 克劳斯先生空着手回来。他的脸还是十分苍白，像鬼一样，他的手和胡子都在抖动。 “你去哪里了，巴地？”巴格蒙刚刚注意到温奇躺在地上，“她怎么了？” “我很忙，露得，”克劳斯先生说，他仍然十分震惊，嘴唇几乎动也没动，“我的精灵昏迷了。” “昏迷？你是指因为你们？但是为什么？” 恍然大悟的表情突然出现在巴格蒙的圆的发光的脸上，他抬头看着那个头颅，又看看温奇，然后又看着克劳斯先生。 “不！”他说，“温奇吗？变出那个黑色标记？她不可能知道怎么弄。首先她需要一个魔杖！” “她有，”迪格瑞说，“我找到她时，她手里拿着一个魔杖，克劳斯先生，如果你没事的话，我想我们应该听听她怎样为自己辩护。” 克劳斯先生不作任何表示，对迪格瑞先生的话不作反应，但迪格瑞先生把他的沉默当作答应。他举起他的魔杖，指向温奇说：“安威纳！” 温奇虚弱地动了一下。她张开她棕色的眼睛，惊讶地眨了几下。她看到迪格瑞先生的脚，然后慢慢地，害怕地抬起头看到他的脸。然后，更慢地，她看到天空去。哈利可以看到那个飘动的头颅映在她巨大的透明眼睛中。她气喘吁吁地、害怕地看了一下挤满人的林地，害怕得呜咽起来。 “精灵！”迪格瑞先生严厉地说，“你知道我是谁吗？我是魔法生物纪律条现控制部门的成员之一！” 温奇开始向前和向后地滚动，她的呼吸声越来越重。哈利想起了多比违背了命令时的害怕神情。 “精灵，你可以看到，这个黑色标记是刚才变出来的，”迪格瑞先生说，“而你就在它的下面被发现！解释清楚！” “我，我，我没有做，先生！”温奇喘息说，“我不懂得怎么做。 先生！“ “我们发现你时，你拿着一个魔杖！”迪格瑞先生大声吼道，在她前面挥动着魔杖。当魔杖被周围的绿光照亮时，哈利认得它。 “嗨，是我的！”他说。 在场的每个人都看着他。 “什么？”迪格瑞先生不相信地问。 “那是我的魔杖！”哈利说，“我把它弄丢了。” “你丢了它？”迪格瑞先生不相信地重复，“这算是告白吗？你变出标记后，把它扔到一边？” “阿姆斯，想想你在和谁讲话？”威斯里先生非常生气地说：“哈利-波特可能变出黑色标记来吗？” “呃，当然不可能，”迪格瑞先生喃喃而言，“对不起，我失言了。” “不管怎样，我并没有把它扔在哪里，”哈利说，指着头颅下面的树丛。“我一进树林就弄丢它了。” “所以，先生，”迪格瑞先生说，当他又看向温奇时，他的目光变行锋利了，低着腰，“你发现了这个魔杖，是吗？精灵？你拾起它，然后想你应该用它来获得一些乐趣，对吗？” “我没有用它来变魔法，先生！”温奇吱吱地说，眼泪沿着她扁扁的圆形鼻子流了下来。“我只是把它捡起来，我并没有变黑色标记，先生！我不懂！” “不是她！”荷米恩说。她看起来非常紧张，她走到内阁巫士面前说，“温奇只是那么丁点的声音，而我们听到的讲咒语的声音很低沉。”她看着哈利和罗恩，寻求他们的支持，“绝对不像是温奇做的，对吗？” “是的，”哈利摇着头说，“肯定不像一个精灵的声音！” “是的，是一个人的声音。”罗恩说。 “呃，呃，我们很快就知道了。”迪格瑞先生咆哮着，看起来不为所动。“有一个简单的方法，可以知道魔杖最后做了什么。精灵，你知道吗？” 温奇发抖着，疯狂地摇着头，她的耳朵在振动。迪格瑞先生举起了他的魔杖，把它的尖头顶着哈利的。 “伯希因汉特土！”迪格瑞先生吼叫着。 当一个巨大的有着蛇形舌头的头颅从两个魔杖接头的地方冒了出来，哈利听到荷米恩的喘气声，她吓呆了。但它只是高处那个绿色的头颅的影子，看起来好像由厚厚的灰烟组成。 “德利斯！”迪格瑞先生大叫，烟组成的头颅消失了，只剩下一股烟。 “所以”迪格瑞说，他有着一种狂热的胜利感，他看着温奇，现在她仍然在发抖。 “不是我做的！”她吱吱地说，她的眼珠害怕地疯狂转动，“不是我！不是我！我不懂！我是个好精灵，我不会用魔杖！我不懂！” “证据确凿，精灵！”迪格瑞先生吼着，“我们抓到你手拿着这个犯罪的魔杖！” “阿姆斯，”威斯里先生大声说，“想想吧，只有几个巫士懂得。 她从哪里学到的？“ “或者阿姆斯在想，”克劳斯先生冷冰冰地一字一字地说，“我经常教我的佣人变黑色标记！” 一片寂静！ 阿姆斯。迪格瑞看起来非常生气，“克劳斯先生，不，一点也不是！” “你现在控诉这里的两个人，他们有可能变出黑色标记！”克劳斯先生吼着，“哈利-波特和我！我想你对这个男孩的故事十分清楚，阿姆斯？” “当然，每个人都知道。”迪格瑞先生小声说，非常困窘的样子。 “我相信你还记得我给了很多证据。基于多年的工作经验，我讨厌和憎恨变邪的技术和那些用这种技术的人。”克劳斯先生大声说，他的眼睛凸了出来。 “克劳斯先生，我从来没有认为你与这个有什么关系！”迪格瑞先生小声地说，他那有着棕色短胡子的脸变红了。 “如果你指控我的精灵，那就指控我吧！迪格瑞！”克劳斯先生大声说，“她还能从哪里学到这种技术呢？” “她，她可能在别处学的。” “准确点，阿姆斯，”威斯里先生说，“她可能在别处学的…… 温奇？“他转向精灵，温柔地说。但是她畏缩着，好像他也对她大吼似的，”你到底在哪里捡到哈利的魔杖的？“ 温奇大力纽着她的衣角，把她的手指都磨破了。 “我，我在……我在那里找到的，先生……”她小声说，“那里，在树林丛中，先生。” “你明白了吗？阿姆斯？”威斯里先生说，“任何一个人变出标记以后，可以马上瞬间移动，把哈利的魔杖丢在这里，因为那会暴露出自己来。温奇在这里，不幸地见到了这魔杖，并把它捡起来。” “但是，她应该离真正的犯人不远！”迪格瑞先生不耐烦地说，“精灵！你看到什么人吗？” 温奇抖得更厉害了。她巨大的眼睛从迪格瑞先生转向露得。巴格蒙，又转向克劳斯先生。 然后吞吞口水，说：“我没看到任何人，先生……没人……” “阿姆斯，”克劳斯先生简短地说，“我非常清楚地知道，在通常情况下，你会把温奇带到你的部门去审问。然而，我希望你能让我来处理。” 迪格瑞看起来好像听不懂他讲的话似的，但是哈利知道，克劳斯先生在内阁中是一个很重要的人物，迪格瑞先生不敢拒绝他的。 “你可以迟些再肯定她将被惩罚。”克劳斯先生冷酷地补充。 “长，长官，”温奇结结巴巴地说，“长，官，求求您了！”她望着克劳斯先生，眼睛里闪着泪光。 克劳斯先生盯着她，他的脸轮廓分明，十分严厉，他的注视中没有同情。“温奇今晚的行为，我无法相信这是真的，”他慢慢地说，“我叫她留在帐篷里。我告诉她留在那里，我出来解决问题。 但我发现她违背了我的命令，这意味着她想要衣服！“ “不！”温奇尖叫着，卧倒在克劳斯先生的脚不，“不，主人！ 不要衣服！不要！“ 哈利知道放一个佣人小精灵自由的唯一办法是给它一件衣服。 看到温奇趴在克劳斯先生脚边呜咽，手紧紧地抓着身上的茶几盖布，真是非常可怜。 克劳斯先生向后退了一步，与精灵拉开距离，不想与她有接触。他看着她就好像是一些肮脏的，腐坏的东西，会弄脏了他闪闪发光的鞋子似的。 “一个违背我命令的精灵对我没用，”他冷冷地说，他看着荷米恩，“一个忘记了对主人的责任和维护主人荣誉的佣人是没用的。” 温奇哭得非常的伤心，她的哭声响遍这个地方。又是一遍寂静、沉默，最后被威斯里先生打破了。他平静地说：“呃，我想把我的孩子们带回帐篷，如果没人反对的话，阿姆斯那个魔杖很有用的，如果哈利可以拿回它，请……” 迪格瑞把魔杖递给哈利，哈利把它放到口袋里。 “走吧，你们三个家伙！”威斯里先生平静地说，但是荷米恩好像不想走。她仍盯着哭泣的精灵。“荷米恩！”威斯里先生催促她。 她转过身，跟着哈利和罗恩，走出那块地进入了森林。 “温奇会怎样？”他们一离开林地，荷米恩就问。 “我不知道。”威斯里先生说。 “他们对待她的方法！”荷米恩生气地说，“迪格瑞先生一直叫她‘精灵’……还有克劳斯先生！她知道她不会做的，但他还是要解雇她！他不管她有多么害怕，或者她是多么地伤心，就好像她不是人似的！” “呃，她不是。”罗恩说。 荷米恩转向他，说：“那并不意味着她没有感情，罗恩，这是很令人讨厌的。” “荷米恩，我同意，”威斯里先生马上说，向她点头，“但是现在不是讨论精灵权利的时候。我只想尽快回到帐篷去。其他人怎么样？” “我们在黑暗中走散了，”罗恩说，“爸爸，为什么每个人看到那个头颅都那么害怕？” “回到帐篷后我再解释。”威斯里先生紧张地说。 但当他们走到森林边的时候，他们的计划被阻碍了。 一大群神情慌张的巫士和巫婆聚集在那里，当他们看见威斯里先生朝他们走来，他们都拥了过去，“发生什么事了？是谁变的？” “亚瑟，不是他吧？” “当然不是他，”威斯里先生不耐烦地说，“我们不知道是谁，看起来好像他们瞬间转移了，现在请让一让，我想去睡觉。” 他领着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩穿过人群，回到营地。现在一切都很安静，不过几个被破坏的帐篷仍在冒烟。 查理的头从男孩的帐篷中探了出来。 “爸爸，发生什么事了？”他在黑暗中问，“弗来德、乔治和金妮都平安回来了，但其他人……” “我找到他们了，在这里。”威斯里先生说，弯腰走进了帐篷。 哈利、罗恩和荷米恩跟在他后面。 比尔坐在厨房的小桌子旁，拿着一张床单裹着手臂，手臂还在流血。查理的衬衣撕开了大块，伯希的鼻子正在流血。弗来德、乔治和金妮看来没有受伤，但吓坏了。 “你抓到他们了吗，爸爸？”比尔尖锐地问，“那个变出标记的人？” “没有，”威斯里先生说，“我们找到巴地。克劳斯的精灵拿着哈利的魔杖，但我们都不如那个变出标记的人聪明。” “什么？”比尔、查理和伯希问，听起来非常震惊。 在哈利、罗恩和荷米恩的协助下，威斯里先生讲述了发生在森林的事情，当他们结束了故事后，伯希非常气愤。 “解雇这样一个精灵，克劳斯先生做得非常正确！”他说，“当他确切对她说不要乱跑时，她还跑出去……让他在整个内阁面前难堪，如果她被带到纪律条规控制部门，那将会怎样呢？” “她什么也没做！她只是在错误的时间出现在错误的地点！”荷米恩打断伯希。伯希对此有点吃惊。荷米恩一直以来都和伯希相处得很好，实际上，比其他人要好。 伯希恢复正常后，马上对荷米恩说，“荷米恩，一个处于克劳斯先生地位的巫士是不容许一个佣人精灵拿着魔杖疯狂逃的跑。” “她没有逃跑！”荷米恩大声说，“她只是把它从地上捡起来！” “瞧，有人能解释头颅是什么东西吗？”罗恩不耐烦地问。“它没有伤害任何人，为什么造成这么大的混乱呢？” “我告诉你，这是‘那个人’的标志，罗恩，”在任何人能回答之前，荷米恩说，“我在《黑术的沉浮》中看到过有关报道。” “已经十三年了，”威斯里先生平静地说：“当然人们会惊恐，这就好像又见到了‘那个人’一样。” “我还不明白，”罗恩皱眉说，“我意思是，这只是一个在空中的形状……” “罗恩，‘那个人’和他的同伙在杀人时，会把黑色标志升到空中，”威斯里先生说，“这是很恐怖的，你不清楚是因为你还太小，只要知道你在里面会看到什么……”威斯里先生发抖了，“每个人最怕的……最怕的……” 帐篷内一片沉默。 然后比尔把床单移开，检查自己的伤口，说：“无论是谁变的，对我们今晚帮助都不大，当食尸者看见它以后，都吓得瞬间移动了，我们还没有来得及走近，拿掉他们的面具。我们在罗伯特家掉到地面之前接住他们。他们的记忆马上被限制住了。” “食尸者？”哈利问，“什么是食尸者？” “这是‘那个人’的支持者自己这样称呼自己的吗？”比尔问，“我想我们今晚看到他们留下了什么——那些试图逃避去阿兹克班坐牢的人！” “比尔，我们还不能证明是他们，”威斯里说，“虽然可能是。” 他失望地补充。 “是的，我赌它是！”罗恩忽然说，“爸爸，我们在森林遇见了杰高。马尔夫，他几乎告诉我们他的爸爸是那些戴面具的之一！我们都知道马尔夫一家曾经和‘那个人’在一起！” “但是什么是福尔得摩特的支持者，”哈利说，每个都畏缩了一下，像魔法世界的每个人一样，威斯里一家一向都避免讲福尔得摩特的名字。“对不起，”哈利马上说，“‘那个人’的支持者，到底想干什么？把马格人浮在空中？我的意思是，目的是什么？” “目的？”威斯里先生大笑着，“哈利那真是个有趣的想法。当‘那个人’在位时，一半的马格人被杀了，只为了好玩，我想他们今晚喝了一点酒忍不住要提醒我们他们还有很多人。一个小小的美好的聚会。” “但他们是‘食尸者’，为什么当他们看到黑色标记时，也要瞬间移动呢？”罗恩问，“他们应该很高兴看到它才对呀？” “动动脑子吧，罗恩，”比尔说，“如果他们真的是死亡食人者，当‘那个人’下台后，他们费尽心机逃脱去阿兹克班坐牢的惩罚，还讲着各种关于他们被强迫去杀人和折磨人的谎言。我敢打赌如果他回来了，他们会比我们都要害怕。当他下台后，他们拒绝承认曾经和他有任何关系，重新回到他们的日常生活中……我不认为他更喜欢他们，你说呢？” “那么，无论是谁变的黑色标记……”荷米恩慢慢说，“是做了显示支持食尸者的事呢？还是为了吓跑他们？” “你的猜想和我们的一样，荷米恩，”威斯里先生说，“但是我得告诉你们，只有食尸者才知道怎么去变它。我很惊讶，一个不是食尸者的人，或者他现在不是……听着，现在很晚了，如果你们的妈妈知道这些，她会很担心的。我们要先睡几个小时，然后尽早找个波奇离开这里。” 哈利爬上床铺，他的头嗡嗡响。他知道自己应该很疲倦了，已经快凌晨三点钟了，但他还很清醒——非常清醒和担心。 三天以前——好像好久以前似的，但仅仅是三天以前——他因为伤疤灼热而醒了过来，然而今晚，十三年来的第一次，福尔得摩特的标记出现在天空，这些意味着什么？ 他想着在离开布莱维特之前曾写给西里斯的信，不知西里斯收到了没有。他什么时候回信呢？哈利躺着，望着帆布顶，但没有飞跃的幻想来安抚他，让他入睡，查理呼嗜声响了很久以后，最后，才慢慢地睡着了。 |
Chapter 10 Mayhem At The Ministry Mr. Weasley woke them after only a few hours sleep. He used magic to pack up the tents, and they left the campsite as quickly as possible, passing Mr. Roberts at the door of his cottage. Mr. Roberts had a strange, dazed look about him, and he waved them off with a vague “Merry Christmas.” “He'll be all right,” said Mr. Weasley quietly as they marched off onto the moor. “Sometimes, when a person's memory's modified, it makes him a bit disorientated for a while…and that was a big thing they had to make him forget.” They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys lay, and when they reached it, they found a great number of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys, all clamoring to get away from the campsite as quickly as possible. Mr. Weasley had a hurried discussion with Basil; they joined the queue, and were able to take an old rubber tire back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had really risen. They walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of their breakfast. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane. “Oh thank goodness, thank goodness!” Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand. “Arthur - I've been so worried - so worried -” She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Harry saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops. “You're all right,” Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, “you're alive.…Oh boys…” And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together. “Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us -” “I shouted at you before you left!” Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. “It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough OW.L.s? Oh Fred…George…” “Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay,” said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. “Bill,” he added in an undertone, “pick up that paper, I want to see what it says…” When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder. “I knew it,” said Mr. Weasley heavily. “Ministry blunders…culprits not apprehended…lax security…Dark wizards running unchecked…national disgrace.…Who wrote this? Ah…of course…Rita Skeeter.” “That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!” said Percy furiously. “Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans -” “Do us a favor, Perce,” said Bill, yawning, “and shut up.” “I'm mentioned,” said Mr. Weasley, his eyes widening behind his glasses as he reached the bottom of the Daily Prophet article. “Where?” spluttered Mrs. Weasley, choking on her tea and whiskey. “If I'd seen that, I'd have known you were alive!” “Not by name,” said Mr. Weasley. “Listen to this: ‘If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the wood expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark alleging that nobody had been hurt, but refusing to give any more information. Whether this statement will be enough to quash the rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.'.Oh really,” said Mr. Weasley in exasperation, handing the paper to Percy. “Nobody was hurt. What was I supposed to say? Rumors that several bodies were removed from the woods…well, there certainly will be rumors now she's printed that.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office; this is going to take some smoothing over.” “I'll come with you, Father,” said Percy importantly. “Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck. And I can give him my cauldron report in person.” He bustled out of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley looked most upset. “Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This hasn't got anything to do with your office; surely they can handle this without you?” “I've got to go, Molly,” said Mr. Weasley. “I've made things worse. I'll just change into my robes and I'll be off.…” “Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry suddenly, unable to contain himself, “Hedwig hasn't arrived with a letter for me, has she?” “Hedwig, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly. “No…no, there hasn't been any post at all.” Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry. With a meaningful look at both of them he said, “All right if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?” “Yeah…think I will too,” said Ron at once. “Hermione?” “Yes,” she said quickly, and the three of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “What's up, Harry?” said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them. “There's something I haven't told you,” Harry said. “On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again.” Ron's and Hermione's reactions were almost exactly as Harry had imagined them back in his bedroom on Privet Drive. Hermione gasped and started making suggestions at once, mentioning a number of reference books, and everybody from Albus Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse. Ron simply looked dumbstruck. “But - he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean - last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?” “I'm sure he wasn't on Privet Drive,” said Harry. “But I was dreaming about him…him and Peter - you know, Wormtail. I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill…someone.” He had teetered for a moment on the verge of saying “me,” but couldn't bring himself to make Hermione look any more horrified than she already did. “It was only a dream,” said Ron bracingly. “Just a nightmare.” “Yeah, but was it, though?” said Harry, turning to look out of the window at the brightening sky. “It's weird, isn't it?…My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign's up in the sky again.” “Don't - say - his - name!” Ron hissed through gritted teeth. “And remember what Professor Trelawney said?” Harry went on, ignoring Ron. “At the end of last year?” Professor Trelawney was their Divination teacher at Hogwarts. Hermione's terrified look vanished as she let out a derisive snort. “Oh Harry, you aren't going to pay attention to anything that old fraud says?” “You weren't there,” said Harry. “You didn't hear her. This time was different. I told you, she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again…greater and more terrible than ever before…and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him…and that night Wormtail escaped.” There was a silence in which Ron fidgeted absentmindedly with a hole in his Chudley Cannons bedspread. “Why were you asking if Hedwig had come, Harry?” Hermione asked. “Are you expecting a letter?” “I told Sirius about my scar,” said Harry, shrugging. “I'm waiting for his answer.” “Good thinking!” said Ron, his expression clearing. “I bet Sirius'll know what to do!” “I hoped he'd get back to me quickly,” said Harry. “But we don't know where Sirius is…he could be in Africa or somewhere, couldn't he?” said Hermione reasonably. “Hedwig's not going to manage that journey in a few days.” “Yeah, I know,” said Harry, but there was a leaden feeling in his stomach as he looked out of the window at the Hedwig-free sky. “Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry” said Ron. “Come on - three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play.…You can try out the Wronski Feint.…” “Ron,” said Hermione, in an I-don't-think-you're-being-very-sensitive sort of voice, “Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now.…He's worried, and he's tired.…We all need to go to bed…” “Yeah, I want to play Quidditch,” said Harry suddenly. “Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt.” Hermione left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like “Boys.” * * * * * * Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before the rest of the family got up, and returned well after dinner every night. “It's been an absolute uproar,” Percy told them importantly the Sunday evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts. “I've been putting out fires all week. People keep sending Howlers, and of course, if you don't open a Howler straight away, it explodes. Scorch marks all over my desk and my best quill reduced to cinders.” “Why are they all sending Howlers?” asked Ginny, who was mending her copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi with Spellotape on the rug in front of the living room fire. “Complaining about security at the World Cup,” said Percy. “They want compensation for their ruined property. Mundungus Fletcher's put in a claim for a twelve-bedroomed tent with en-suite Jacuzzi, but I've got his number. I know for a fact he was sleeping under a cloak propped on sticks.” Mrs. Weasley glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. Harry liked this clock. It was completely useless if you wanted to know the time, but otherwise very informative. It had nine golden hands, and each of them was engraved with one of the Weasley family's names. There were no numerals around the face, but descriptions of where each family member might be. “Home,” “school,” and “work” were there, but there was also “traveling,” “lost,” “hospital,” “prison,” and, in the position where the number twelve would be on a normal clock, “mortal peril.” Eight of the hands were currently pointing to the “home” position, but Mr. Weasley's, which was the longest, was still pointing to “work.” Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Your father hasn't had to go into the office on weekends since the days of You-Know-Who,” she said. “They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be ruined if he doesn't come home soon.” “Well, Father feels he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?” said Percy. “If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it with his Head of Department first -” “Don't you dare blame your father for what that wretched Skeeter woman wrote!” said Mrs. Weasley, flaring up at once. “If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would just have said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented,” said Bill, who was playing chess with Ron. “Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Remember, she interviewed all the Gringotts’ Charm Breakers once, and called me ‘a long-haired pillock'?” “Well, it is a bit long, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley gently. “If you'd just let me -” “No, Mum.” Rain lashed against the living room window. Hermione was immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, copies of which Mrs. Weasley had bought for her, Harry, and Ron in Diagon Alley. Charlie was darning a fireproof balaclava. Harry was polishing his Firebolt, the broomstick servicing kit Hermione had given him for his thirteenth birthday open at his feet. Fred and George were sitting in a far corner, quills out, talking in whispers, their heads bent over a piece of parchment. “What are you two up to?” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, her eyes on the twins. “Homework,” said Fred vaguely. “Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Yeah, we've left it a bit late,” said George. “You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. “You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?” “Now, Mum,” said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. “If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?” Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Weasley. “Oh your father's coming!” she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again. Mr. Weasley's hand had suddenly spun from “work” to “traveling"; a second later it had shuddered to a halt on “home” with the others, and they heard him calling from the kitchen. “Coming, Arthur!” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room. A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the warm living room carrying his dinner on a tray. He looked completely exhausted. “Well, the fat's really in the fire now,” he told Mrs. Weasley as he sat down in an armchair near the hearth and toyed unenthusiastically with his somewhat shriveled cauliflower. “Rita Skeeter's been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow. I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago.” “Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks,” said Percy swiftly. “Crouch is very lucky Rita hasn't found out about Winky,” said Mr. Weasley irritably. “There'd be a week's worth of headlines in his house-elf being caught holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark.” “I thought we were all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?” said Percy hotly. “If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky no one at the Daily Prophet knows how mean he is to elves!” said Hermione angrily. “Now look here, Hermione!” said Percy. “A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants -” “His slave, you mean!” said Hermione, her voice rising passionately, “because he didn't pay Winky, did he?” “I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!” said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. “Come on now, all of you.…” Harry repacked his broomstick servicing kit, put his Firebolt over his shoulder, and went back upstairs with Ron. The rain sounded even louder at the top of the house, accompanied by loud whistlings and moans from the wind, not to mention sporadic howls from the ghoul who lived in the attic. Pigwidgeon began twittering and zooming around his cage when they entered. The sight of the half-packed trunks seemed to have sent him into a frenzy of excitement. “Bung him some Owl Treats,” said Ron, throwing a packet across to Harry. “It might shut him up.” Harry poked a few Owl Treats through the bars of Pigwidgeon's cage, then turned to his trunk. Hedwig's cage stood next to it, still empty. “It's been over a week,” Harry said, looking at Hedwig's deserted perch. “Ron, you don't reckon Sirius has been caught, do you?” “Nah, it would've been in the Daily Prophet,” said Ron. “The Ministry would want to show they'd caught someone, wouldn't they?” “Yeah, I suppose.…” “Look, here's the stuff Mum got for you in Diagon Alley. And she's got some gold out of your vault for you…and she's washed all your socks.” He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry's camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. Apart from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, by Miranda Goshawk, he had a handful of new quills, a dozen rolls of parchment, and refills for his potion-making kit - he had been running low on spine of lionfish and essence of belladonna. He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him. “What is that supposed to be?” He was holding up something that looked to Harry like a long, maroon velvet dress. It had a moldy-looking lace frill at the collar and matching lace cuffs. There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley entered, carrying an armful of freshly laundered Hogwarts robes. “Here you are,” she said, sorting them into two piles. “Now, mind you pack them properly so they don't crease.” “Mum, you've given me Ginny's new dress,” said Ron, handing it out to her. “Of course I haven't,” said Mrs. Weasley. “That's for you. Dress robes.” “What?” said Ron, looking horror-struck. “Dress robes!” repeated Mrs. Weasley. “It says on your school list that you're supposed to have dress robes this year…robes for formal occasions.” “You've got to be kidding,” said Ron in disbelief. “I'm not wearing that, no way.” “Everyone wears them, Ron!” said Mrs. Weasley crossly. “They're all like that! Your father's got some for smart parties!” “I'll go starkers before I put that on,” said Ron stubbornly. “Don't be so silly,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You've got to have dress robes, they're on your list! I got some for Harry too…show him, Harry.…” In some trepidation, Harry opened the last parcel on his camp bed. It wasn't as bad as he had expected, however; his dress robes didn't have any lace on them at all - in fact, they were more or less the same as his school ones, except that they were bottle green instead of black. “I thought they'd bring out the color of your eyes, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley fondly. “Well, they're okay!” said Ron angrily, looking at Harry's robes. “Why couldn't I have some like that?” “Because…well, I had to get yours secondhand, and there wasn't a lot of choice!” said Mrs. Weasley, flushing. Harry looked away. He would willingly have split all the money in his Gringotts vault with the Weasleys, but he knew they would never take it. “I'm never wearing them,” Ron was saying stubbornly. “Never.” “Fine,” snapped Mrs. Weasley. “Go naked. And, Harry, make sure you get a picture of him. Goodness knows I could do with a laugh.” She left the room, slamming the door behind her. There was a funny spluttering noise from behind them. Pigwidgeon was choking on an overlarge Owl Treat. “Why is everything I own rubbish?” said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak. 他们睡了没多久，威斯里先生就把他们叫醒了，他用魔法把帐篷收了起来，然后他尽可能快的离开了露营地。在罗伯特先生的石屋门前，他们遇上了他，罗伯特先生用奇怪的眼光盯着威斯里先生，然后他一边作手势，一边含糊的说了声“圣诞快乐”。 “他很快就没事的。”威斯里先生很快的说，然后他们进了沼泽地。有时候，当一个人的记忆受到限制时，他就会变得有点不知方向……要让他忘记，那就难了。 当他们到达放着波奇的地方时，他们听到紧急的呼声并且发现许多女巫和男巫在贝希尔周围（贝希尔是波奇的守护人）。他们都狂叫着要尽可能快的离开露营地。威斯里先生跟贝希尔很快的商量了一下，他们加入到队伍中去，并能够在太阳真正升起之前拿到一个旧的橡胶轮船到石头山去。在黎明的微光中，他们穿过奥特里卡波街向穴口走去。他们太累了，所以很少说话，一心想着他们的早餐。当穴口就在眼前时，突然从潮湿的小道上传来一声尖叫的回声。 “噢，感谢上帝，感谢上帝！” 威斯里夫人显然已经在院子前在等他们。她跑向他们，还穿着拖鞋，脸色苍白而严肃，手中紧紧的抓着一张《先知日报》：“亚瑟——我好担心，好担心……” 她用她的手臂紧紧的绕在威斯里先生的脖上，那份《先知日报》也掉到地上去了。哈利往下一看，看到正面的标题：“快迪斯世界杯的恐怖场景”，还附一张从树顶拍的黑色标记的黑白照片，那照片上黑色标记闪闪发光。 “你们都好吧？”威斯里夫人放开威斯里先生，低声说着，眼睛红红的盯着他们看，“你们都还活着……，噢，孩子们……” 让每个人都吃惊的是，她抓住弗来德和乔治，把他们推到一块，挨得紧紧的，以至他们的头碰了头。 “噢！妈妈——你会勒死我们的——” “你们走的时候，我嘱咐过你们！”威斯里夫人开始抽泣着说，“我只是想着，如果‘那个人’害了你们，我说的最后一件事将是你们还没有得到足够的O.W.L吗？噢，弗来德……乔治……” “好了，摩莉，我们现在非常非常好，行了吗？”威斯里先生抚慰着她，让她离开那对双胞胎，带着她向家里走去。“比尔，”他低声说道。“把那张报纸拣起来，我想知道上面说些什么……” 当他们都挤到厨房里后，荷米恩给威斯里先生冲了一杯浓茶。 威斯里先生坚持要加一些老威士忌过去。比尔这时把那张报纸给了他爸爸。威斯里先生扫了一眼头版，伯希也从他肩上望了过去看着。 “我知道了，”威斯里先生沉重的说，“内阁犯下大错……犯人没有被逮捕……安全被疏忽了……黑巫师不可抑止的狂奔……国家耻辱……谁写的？啊……当然是……理特。史姬特”。 “那个女人乱造魔法部的谣！”伯希恼怒地说，“上星期她还说我们浪费时间挑大汽锅厚度的毛病，说我们应该找出诈骗者。好像那些都没有在‘关于处理非巫师的规定’的第十二段特殊注明似的。”‘“伯希，请帮帮忙，”比尔一边说一边打着哈欠，“请住嘴。” “我也被提到了，”威斯里先生说道，他的眼镜下的眼睛睁得大大的，视线落到了《先知日报》底部的文章。 “哪里？”威斯里夫人激动地说，被她的茶和威士忌呛着了。 “如果我看到了那篇章，我就会知道你们还活着的！” “没有指名道姓，”威斯里先生说，“听这段话，‘如果那些受惊的女巫和男巫们——他们正在树林边屏住呼吸的听消息——预料到魔法部的再次保证，他们会很伤心，很失望的，一个内阁官员在黑色标记出现后露过一次面，声称没有人受伤，便拒绝泄露任何其它消息。这个声明是否能粉碎那个说一小时后将有许多人被转移的谣言，这还有待进一步观察。”’“噢，真的吗！”威斯里先生恼怒地说着，把报纸递给了伯希，“没有人受伤，那我还能说什么？谣言说许多人将被转移出树林……这下好了，她这样一写，当然会有谣言了。” 他长叹一声，说：“摩莉，我得去一趟办公室，这一次是为了澄清一下。” “我要跟你一起去，爸爸，”伯希很郑重地说。“劳克斯先生会需要各种人手来帮忙的，我可以亲自给他提供汽锅的报告。” 他催促着走出了厨房。 威斯里夫人看起来很伤心。“亚瑟，你应该是在度假啊！这事跟你的公事毫无关系，没有你，他们肯定也能解决的！” “我必须去，摩莉，”威斯里先生答道，“是我使事情变得更糟的，我要换制服，现在就走……” “威斯里夫人，”哈利突然说，自己确定地问，“海维还没有送信给我，是吗？” “海维，亲爱的，”威斯里夫人迷惑地说：“不……不，根本没有什么信。” 罗恩和荷米恩好奇地看着哈利。 他带着某种含意的望着他们说：“如果我去把我的东西放到你房间，可不可以，罗恩？” “是的……我也这么想。”罗恩马上说，“荷米恩？” “是的。”她很快地答道，然后他们三个就出了厨房，爬上楼去了。 “怎么回事，哈利？”罗恩问道他们在阁楼把门给关了。 “我有些事没告诉你们，”哈利说道，“星期天早上，我睡醒时，我的疤开始疼了。” 罗恩和荷米恩的反应跟哈利在布莱维特时所想象的差不多，荷米恩一边喘着气一边开始提建议，提出了一系列的参考书和咨询人，从艾伯斯。丹伯多到波姆弗雷夫人——霍格瓦彻保姆。 罗恩惊呆了，“但是——他不在那里，不是吗？‘那个人’？我的意思是——上次你的伤疤正疼的时候，他在霍格瓦彻，不是吗？” “我肯定他不在普里怀特，”哈利说，“但我梦到了他……他和彼得——你知道，温太尔，我记不清所有事情了，但他们正谋划着去杀……某个人。” 他在要说到“我”时，停住了。但这也没有罗恩令荷米恩放心，而且觉得更害怕。 “那只是个梦，”罗恩激动地说，“只是个恶梦。” “是的，但它毕竟是！”哈利说，转身望着窗外正逐渐变得明朗的天空。“很奇怪，不是吗？……我的伤疤疼起来了。三天后食尸者们就开始活动起来，福尔得摩特的标记又在天空呈现。” “不要说他的名字！”罗恩咬着牙说道。 “记得特雷络尼教授说过什么吗？”哈利继续说道，不理会罗思，“去年年底？” 特雷络尼教授是他们在霍格瓦彻的神学老师。 荷米恩恐惧的表情消失了，她放意吸了吸鼻子，说：“噢，哈利，你不会对那些骗人的故事感兴趣吧？” “你不在那里，”哈利说道，“你没有听到怎么说，这次不用了，我告诉你，她进入神游——一次真正的神游。她说黑爵士会再次出现……和以前更强大更恐怖。他会成功的，因为他的仆人将会回到他身办……而那天晚上温太尔逃走了。” 大家安静了下来，罗恩烦躁不安，心神不宁，直望着他那库得利加能床单的一个洞。 “如果海维回来的话，你有什么要问，哈利？”荷米恩问道：“你等着一封信？” “我告诉了西里斯有关我的伤疤的事。”哈利答道。耸了耸肩，“我在等他的回复。” “好主意！”罗恩说道，他的表情变得明朗起来。“我敢打赌，西里斯肯定知道该怎么做！” “我希望他能尽快回来。”哈利说道。 “但我们不知道西里斯在哪儿……他可能会在非洲，或什么别的地方，不是吗？”荷米恩理智地说。海维不可能在短短几天内到来的。 “是的，我知道。”哈利说道，但在他的心里，有一种沉闷、沮丧的感觉，他透过窗户向海推自由翱翔的天空望去。 “来果园玩快迪斯游戏吧，哈利，”罗恩叫道，“来吧——三对三，比尔、查理和弗来德。乔治将玩……” “罗恩，”荷米恩用一种“你一点也不理智”的口吻说道，“哈利现在不想玩快迪斯……他很担心，而且他也很累了……我们都想去睡觉。” “不，我想玩快迪斯。”哈利突然说道，“等一下，我去拿我的火螺丝。” 荷米恩离开了房间，一路含糊地说着什么，好像是说“男孩子们”之类的东西。 接下来的一个星期，威斯里先生和伯希都不在家。每天他们都是在全家起来之前离开，晚饭后才回来。 “这显然是一场骚乱，”在他们回霍格瓦彻前的星期天晚上，伯希郑重其事地对他们说：“我已经努力去平息了，人们还是继续寄咆哮弹来，当然，如果你不直接打开咆哮弹，它就会爆炸，烧焦的印记在我桌上到处都是。我最好的羽毛笔已经成了灰。” “为什么他们要寄咆哮弹？”金妮问道，她正走在居室炉火前的地毯上用咒符胶贴她的那本《一千种魔法草药和菌类》。 “他们对世界杯赛的安全措施感到不满而抱怨，”伯希答道，“他们要求对他们被损坏的财产进行补偿。曼丹塔斯。弗雷斯的要求得到一套十二个睡房的，带史威特的帐篷。但我已经得到他的实际情况了。我知道，事实上，他当时睡在一个棍子支撑起来的斗篷底下。” 威斯里先生看看角落里的老爷钟。哈利喜欢这座钟，虽然你想从它身上知道时间的话，它毫无用处，但它很有价值。它有九个金指针，每一个指针上都有威斯里家族中一个人的名字。在钟表面没有数字，显示着每一个家庭成员可能在的地方。有“家”，“学校” 和“工作”，但也有“失踪”，“医院”，“监狱”关且在普通钟数字12应该在的地方，有“致命的危险”的字样。有八个指钟正指在“家”的位置，但那个最长的指针，代表威斯里先生的，还指着“工作”，威斯里太太叹了口气：“咱从‘那个人’事件之后，你们的爸爸就得周末在办公室了，”她说道，“他们让他工作得太多了，他如果不马上回来的话，他的晚餐又泡汤了。” “爸爸是想为他在比赛时的过失弥补点什么吗？”伯希说道，“事实上，他在他向部门内部澄清之前就对公众作出声明有一点不明智——” “不要因为那个可恶的女人史姬特写的东西而指责你爸爸！”威斯里太太马上激动地反驳道。 “如果爸爸什么都不说，老理特又会说内阁没有人出来作出解释，这是很耻辱的事情，”比尔说道，他正和罗恩下棋，“理特。史姬特让谁都没面子，记得她采访了所有的格林高斯咒语的破除者，还叫我是长头发的蠢猪。” “噢，亲爱的，稍微长了一点。”威斯里太太说道，“如果你肯让我——” “不，妈妈。” 雨敲打着起居室的窗户，荷米恩沉迷在《标准符咒课本。四年级》那本书里，那是威斯里太太、哈利和罗恩在迪安更。安利买的。 查理正在缝一条防火用长头巾，哈利正在给他的火炮熗上油。荷米恩送给他的十三岁生日礼物扫帚的配套原件被打开了，放在他的脚边。弗来德和乔治正在较远的一个角落，剔着牙，悄悄地说着话，他们的头凑在一张羊皮纸上。 “你们两个在干什么？”威斯里太太尖声说道，她的眼尖地落在这对双胞胎身上。 “家庭作业！”弗来德含糊地答道。 “别傻了，你正在度假期！”威斯里太太说道。 “是，我们已经迟做了。”乔治答道。 “你们不是要写出一个新的订单吧？”威斯里太太敏感地问。 “你们不会想着重新开始吧？” “妈妈，”弗来德说道，抬起头来看着她，脸上带着痛苦的神情，“如果明天，霍格瓦彻快车撞毁，乔治和我死了，当你知道我们最后听到的竟是毫无根据的指责，你会怎么想？” 每个人都笑了起来，甚至连威斯里太太也是。 “噢，你的爸爸回来了！”她突然说，再次看了一下钟。 威斯里先生的指钟突然从“工作”跳到“旅行”，一秒钟后，又突然跳到了“家”，跟其它人的在一起，他们听到他从厨房里叫他们。 “来了，亚瑟！”威斯里太太一边说，一边起身从房间里出来了。 不一会儿，威斯里已经来到了温暖的起居室，手里拿着装着的晚餐的碟子，他看起来累极了。 “现在，真是麻烦了。”他一边对威斯里太太说，一边坐在火炉的扶手椅上，没精打采地玩弄着像花菜一样的皱着的东西，“理特。 史姬特整个星期都在搜索资料，希望找到内阁乱成一团糟的报道，她现在已经找出可怜的珀茜失踪的消息了，这将会是明天《先知日报》的头条，我已经告诉巴格蒙，叫他派人去找她。“ “克劳斯先生已经一而再、再而三地说过了。”伯希很快地说道。 “克劳斯很幸运，理特还没有发现温奇的事。”威斯里先生恼怒地说，“他的精灵被人发现拿着放出黑色标记的魔杖，这将会成为整个星期的头条。” “我相信我们都同意，尽管那个精灵不理智，但它确实没有放出标记吧？”伯希恼火地说道。 “如果你问我，那克劳斯先生真是幸运，《先知日报》居然不知道他对小精灵做了什么！”荷米恩生气地说。 “你看，荷米恩！”伯希说道，“一个内阁高官，像克劳斯这样的，应该得到他佣人忠实的顺从！” “他的奴隶——你的意思！”荷米恩说道，她的嗓声提得很尖，“因为温奇没有酬劳，不是吗？” “我想你们最好上楼去检查一下你是否都打好包了！”威斯里太太说道，打断了争执，“来吧，你们……” 哈利再次包了一下他的扫帚配套原件，把他的魔杖束在腰间，然后和罗恩一起上楼去了。屋顶的雨听起来似乎更大了，风随着雨呼啸吹过，更不用说阁楼里住的鬼偶尔的嚎叫了。皮威军开始颤抖，当他们进来时，它在笼子旁叫着，当它看到半打开的箱子，它似乎变得狂喜。 “给它一些猫头鹰食。”罗恩说道，把一个袋子扔给哈利，这该会让它闭嘴！ 哈利扔了些猫头鹰食到皮威军的笼子里，然后转身向着他的箱子，海维的笼子在它的旁边，还空着。 “已经一个星期了，”哈利也说，一边看着海维废弃的栖身处，“罗恩，你不能断定西里斯已经被抓了，不是吗？” “没有，如果是的话，《先知日报》应该会报导，”罗恩说道，“内阁应该想显示他们已经抓到了什么人，是不是？” “是的，我想……” “看，这是妈妈从迪安更。安利给你带的东西，她从你的地下室找到了一些金子给你……她已经把你所有的袜子都洗了。” 他提起一堆包裹放到哈利的床上，拿出一些钱袋和一堆袜子，放在旁边，哈利开始打开买来的东西：除了玛丽达。高斯沃的《四年级标准符咒书》之外，他还有一大把新羽毛笔，十二卷羊皮纸，他的药箱也被装满了，他已经对狮子鱼的脊柱和颠茄剂不感兴趣了。正当他把内衣往大汽锅里塞时，罗恩在他身后发出一种厌恶的声音：“妈妈要干什么？” 他手里正拿着件长长的茶色天鹅绒的礼服。这衣服的衣领褶边的饰带似乎发霉了。袖口也有同样的饰带。 这时响起了敲门声，威斯里夫人进来了，手里拿了很多刚烫好的霍格瓦彻外套。 “给你的，”她一边说，一边把衣服分成两叠，“小心把它们放好，以免弄皱了。” “妈妈，你把金妮的新衣给我了。”罗恩说到，同时把衣服递给她。 “当然没有，”威斯里太太再重复了一下，“听说你们学校今年要求你们穿制服……在正式场合穿的制服。” “你一定是开玩笑吧，”罗恩难以置信地说道，“我从没听说过，不可能。” “每个人都得穿，罗恩！”威斯里太太不高兴地说，“他们都是这样，你们跟你爸爸一样！” “我穿上它会疯的。”罗恩执拗地说。 “别这样傻了。”威斯里太太说道，“你必须穿制服，它们在你的计划内，我还给哈利买了一些……给他看看，哈利……” 一阵惊恐，哈利打开了在他床上的最后一个包裹，跟他预料的一样糟，但他的制服根本没有什么饰带，事实上，或多或少地有点像他的校服，除了它们是玻璃绿而不是黑色的外。 “我想它们就像你眼睛的颜色，亲爱的。”威斯里太太打趣地说。 “它们还可以！”罗恩生气地说，看着哈利的制服，又说到，“我为什么不能有这种衣服？” “因为……我得给你二手的，而这没多少可供选择！”威斯里太太红着脸答道。 哈利转移了视线，他愿意与大家分享他在格林高斯银行里的所有钱，但他知道他们不会要的。 “我不会穿他们的！”罗恩固执地说，“永远不会！” “好！”威斯里太太大声说道，“别穿衣服，哈利给他照张像，天知道，我会一边干活一边笑的。” 她离开房间，他们背后发出一阵气急败坏的可笑的声音——皮威军被一块大的猫头鹰食给噎住了。 “为什么我的东西都是垃圾？”罗恩气恼之极地说着，大步地走过去掰开皮威军的嘴。 |
Chapter 11 Aboard The Hogwart Express There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when Harry awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as he got dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt; they would change into their school robes on the Hogwarts Express. He, Ron, Fred, and George had just reached the first-floor landing on their way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed. “Arthur!” she called up the staircase. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!” Harry flattened himself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When Harry and the others entered the kitchen, they saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers - “I've got a quill here somewhere!” - and Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to - Harry shut his eyes hard and opened them again to make sure that they were working properly. Amos Diggory's head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg. It was talking very fast, completely unperturbed by the sparks flying around it and the flames licking its ears. “…Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-‘ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there -” “Here!” said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hands. “- it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it,” said Mr. Diggory's head. “I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off - if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur -” “What does Mad-Eye say happened?” asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes. Mr. Diggory's head rolled its eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins.” “What did the dustbins do?” asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically. “Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Diggory. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up -” Mr. Weasley groaned. “And what about the intruder?” “Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Diggory's head, rolling its eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there's a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it - think of his record - we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department - what are exploding dustbins worth?” “Might be a caution,” said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. “Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?” “I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,” said Mr. Diggory, “but they'll have a job proving it, there aren't any casualties.” “All right, I'm off,” Mr. Weasley said, and he stuffed the parchment with his notes on it into his pocket and dashed out of the kitchen again. Mr. Diggory's head looked around at Mrs. Weasley. “Sorry about this, Molly,” it said, more calmly, “bothering you so early and everything…but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…” “Never mind, Amos,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?” “Oh go on, then,” said Mr. Diggory. Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth. “Fanks,” he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished. Harry could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy, and the girls. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair. “I'd better hurry - you have a good term, boys, said Mr. Weasley to Harry, Ron, and the twins, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate. “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King's Cross?” “Of course I will,” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we'll be fine.” As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen. “Did someone say Mad-Eye?” Bill asked. “What's he been up to now.” “He says someone tried to break into his house last night,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Mad-Eye Moody?” said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. “Isn't he that nutter -” “Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly. “Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?” said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather.…” “Moody was a great wizard in his time,” said Bill. “He's an old friend of Dumbledore's, isn't he?” said Charlie. “Dumbledore's not what you'd call normal, though, is he?” said Fred. “I mean, I know he's a genius and everything.…” “Who is Mad-Eye?” asked Harry. “He's retired, used to work at the Ministry,” said Charlie. “I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror - one of the best…a Dark wizard catcher,” he added, seeing Harry's blank look. “Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though…the families of people he caught, mainly…and I heard he's been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn't trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.” Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King's Cross station, but Percy, apologizing most profusely, said that he really needed to get to work. “I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment,” he told them. “Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me.” “Yeah, you know what, Percy?” said George seriously. “I reckon he'll know your name soon.” Mrs. Weasley had braved the telephone in the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take them into London. “Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us,” Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. “But there weren't any to spare.…Oh dear, they don't look happy, do they?” Harry didn't like to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred's trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man's leg. The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that they were jammed in the back of the taxis with their trunks. Crookshanks took quite a while to recover from the fireworks, and by the time they entered London, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all severely scratched. They were very relieved to get out at King's Cross, even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and they got soaked carrying their trunks across the busy road and into the station. Harry was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. They did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it…and as they did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of them. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. Pigwidgeon became noisier than ever in response to the hooting of many owls through the mist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off to find seats, and were soon stowing their luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. They then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. “I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye. “Why?” said Fred keenly. “You'll see,” said Charlie. “Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it…it's ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,’ after all.” “Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year,” said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train. “Why?” said George impatiently. “You're going to have an interesting year,” said Bill, his eyes twinkling. “I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it.” “A bit of what?” said Ron. But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors. “Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. “Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry. “Oh it was my pleasure, dears,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I'd invite you for Christmas, but…well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with…one thing and another.” “Mum!” said Ron irritably. “What d'you three know that we don't?” “You'll find out this evening, I expect,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -” “What rules?” said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. “I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you.…Now, behave, won't you? Won't you, Fred? And you, George?” The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. “Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. “What rules are they changing?” But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. “Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts,” he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what -” “Shh!” Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. “…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do.…” Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. “So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?” she said angrily. “I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him.” “Durmstrang's another wizarding school?” said Harry. “Yes,” said Hermione sniffily, “and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.” “I think I've heard of it,” said Ron vaguely. “Where is it? What country?” “Well, nobody knows, do they?” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows. “Er - why not?” said Harry. “There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets,” said Hermione matter-of-factly. “Come off it,” said Ron, starting to laugh. “Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts - how are you going to hide a great big castle?” “But Hogwarts is hidden,” said Hermione, in surprise. “Everyone knows that…well, everyone who's read Hogwarts, A History, anyway.” “Just you, then,” said Ron. “So go on - how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?” “It's bewitched,” said Hermione. “If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.” “So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?” “Maybe,” said Hermione, shrugging, “or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable -” “Come again?” “Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?” “Er…if you say so,” said Harry. “But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms.” “Ah, think of the possibilities,” said Ron dreamily. “It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident.…Shame his mother likes him.…” The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for them to share. Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom, a round-faced, extremely forgetful boy who had been brought up by his formidable witch of a grandmother. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking “Troy - Mullet - Moran!” but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm. Neville listened jealously to the others’ conversation as they relived the Cup match. “Gran didn't want to go,” he said miserably. “Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though.” “It was,” said Ron. “Look at this, Neville…” He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum. “Oh wow,” said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand. “We saw him right up close, as well,” said Ron. “We were in the Top Box -” “For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.” Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar. “Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” said Harry coolly. “Weasley…what is that?” said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious. Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled. “Look at this!” said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, “Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…” “Eat dung, Malfoy!” said Ron, the same color as the dress robes as he snatched them back out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. “So…going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know…you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won.…” “What are you talking about?” snapped Ron. “Are you going to enter?” Malfoy repeated. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?” “Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy,” said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4. A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face “Don't tell me you don't know?” he said delightedly. “You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago…heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry.…Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley…yes…they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him.…” Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared. Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered. “Ron!” said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered “Reparo!” and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door. “Well…making it look like he knows everything and we don't.…” Ron snarled. “'Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry'…Dad could've got a promotion any time…he just likes it where he is.…” “Of course he does,” said Hermione quietly. “Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -” “Him! Get to me!? As if!” said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp. Ron's bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn't talk much as they changed into their school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station. As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads. “Hi, Hagrid!” Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform. “All righ', Harry?” Hagrid bellowed back, waving. “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!” First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. “Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this weather,” said Hermione fervently, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville climbed gratefully into one of them, the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle. 哈利在第二天清晨醒来时，明显感觉到空气中充满假期结束了的忧郁气像，大雨依旧拍打着窗户，噼啪作响，哈利穿上了牛仔裤，套上了运动衫。他准备到了霍格瓦彻再将校服换上。 罗恩、弗来德、乔治和哈利下楼吃早餐，他们一下到一楼就看见威斯里太太站在楼梯口，一副忧心忡忡的样子。 “亚瑟！”她朝着楼梯口叫，“亚瑟！部长传来紧急消息了！” 哈利紧贴着墙站着，看着穿反了衣服的威斯里急急忙忙地走过来，然后很快消失在视线中。哈利和其他人走进厨房时，见到威斯里太太在焦急地翻寻着橱柜，威斯里先生弯腰对着火炉，口中喃喃着，“我记得这儿有一支羽毛笔的呀！” 哈利使劲地闭了下眼睛，然后又睁开，确定他的眼睛运作正常。 阿姆斯。迪格端的头正在火焰中间，看上去像一个有胡子的大鸡蛋，它飞快地说着，丝毫未受到周围飞溅的火星和舔着它耳朵的火焰的影响。 马格邻居听见了砰砰的响声和尖叫声，于是他们去叫来了那些他们所谓的警察。 “亚瑟，你快点去那儿——” “给你。”威斯里太太气喘吁吁地说着，一边将一张牛皮纸，一瓶墨水和一支弯曲的羽毛笔塞到了威斯里先生手中。 “听说这件事，确实很幸运。”迪格瑞先生的头说道，“早些时候我去办公堂送两只猫头鹰，我发现不正确的魔法都被启动了——如果理特。史姬特控制了这个，亚瑟——” “魔眼，怎么说。”威斯里问道，拧开墨水瓶，吸了水，准备记录。 威斯里先生眼睛溜溜的转，说道：“他说他听到一个入侵者进入他的后院，他们正爬向他的房子。但他已经用垃圾桶设了埋伏。” “垃圾桶能有什么用？”威斯里先生边记一边问道。 “用它们来制造恐怖的噪声，点燃各处的垃圾，我所知道的就这些。”迪格瑞先生说道，很显然，他们中有一个在警察出现时正发动进攻！ 威斯里先生皱了皱眉，“那些人侵者呢？” “亚瑟，你都知道魔眼的啦！”迪格瑞先生说道，又眼睛溜溜的转，“有人在深夜爬进他的后院，更像是一只金甲壳虫用土豆皮掩护自己在哪里荡悠。如果不正确的魔法控制了魔眼，他已有前科了——想想他的记录——我们得以一个较小的罪名来让他得以从轻发落，用你屋里的某样东西——会爆炸的垃圾桶有什么用？” “不过还是小心起见，”威斯里先生说，依然飞速地写着，眉头紧锁。“魔眼没用他的魔杖？他真的没袭击任何人？” “我敢打赌，他肯定从床上跳了起来，然后把他抓到的东西都排到窗外，想把晦气扔走……”迪格瑞先生说，“但他们得费番工夫去证明，还没听说有什么伤亡损失呢。” “得了，我要走了。”威斯里先生说，他把记着笔记的羊皮纸塞进口袋，又冲出了厨房。 迪格瑞先生转过头来看着威斯里太太。 “很抱歉，摩莉，”他说，稍平静一些，又说，“这么早就打扰了你，并且每一件事……但亚瑟是唯一的可以让魔眼得以从轻发落的人，而且魔眼正打算从今天开始他的新职业，他为什么偏要选在昨晚……”“ “没关系，阿姆斯，”威斯里太太说，“我想你在离开之前会要点面包或别的什么吧。” “噢，那么请给我来点吧。”迪格瑞先生说。 威斯里太太从厨房饭桌上的袋子里拿出一片徐了黄油的面包片，用火钳夹着，把它塞进迪格瑞先生的嘴里。 “谢了！”他鼓着嘴含糊地说，随即，一声轻微的“啪”，不见了。 哈利能听到威斯里先生向比尔、查理、伯希和那些女孩们匆匆地道别，五分钟后，他回到了厨房，这回他的袍子穿正了，头发上插着梳子，垂了下来。 “我得快点——你们不用急，孩子们。”威斯里先生向哈利、罗恩和双胞兄弟说道，他拖过斗篷技在肩上，准备隐身，“摩莉，你带孩子们到凯罗斯王街去，没问题吧？” “我会的，”她说，“你照看魔眼就行了，我们没事的。” 威斯里先生刚消失，比尔和查理走进了厨房。 “有谁说到魔眼了吗？”比尔问道，“他现在怎么样了？” “听说，昨晚有人想闯进他的屋子。”威斯里太太说。 “魔眼莫迪？”乔治若有所思地说，一边往他的面包片上涂桔子酱，“他不就是那个怪人——” “你爸爸对魔眼莫迪评价不菲！”威斯里太太正色地说。 “呀，爸爸老是说好话，对吧？”弗来德在威斯里太太离开房间时悄悄地说，“物以类聚……” “莫迪是他那时的大魔法家。”比尔说。 “他是丹伯多的一个老朋友，对吗？”查理说。 “但丹伯多可不是你说的‘常人’，是不是？”弗来德说，“我的意思是，我知道他是个天才，无所不能……” “谁是魔眼？”哈利问道。 “他以前在部里干过，现在退休了。”查理说，“当爸爸带我去上班时，我遇见过他一次，他是个——一位最好的……恶巫克星。” 他补充道。看着哈利一副茫然的神情，“他使阿兹克班一半的监房住满了，然而，他给自己树立了无数的仇敌，……主要是他抓获的那些人的家人……我还听说他在老年真的得了幻觉症，再也不相信任何人，到处都看到恶巫。” 比尔和查理决定去凯罗斯王街车站，为大家送行，但伯希极力道歉，说他实在离不开工作。 “我就是没理由在那时走开，”他告诉他们，“克劳斯先生真的是开始依靠我了。” “哎，你知道什么，伯希？”乔治严肃地说，“我想他很快就会知道你的名字的。” 威斯里太太在村邮局里打了电话，订了三部普通的马格的士载他们去伦敦。 “亚瑟试着为我们借部里的车，”威斯里太太悄声对哈利说。他们站在让雨冲刷过的院子里，看的士司机把六个笨重的霍格瓦彻行李箱堆到车里，“但没有一部空着的车……噢，天啊，他们看上去并不高兴，对吧？” 哈利不想告诉威斯里太太关于马格的土司机极少动载太兴奋的猫头鹰，因为皮威军制造出震耳欲聋的声音。也不想告诉威斯里太太当弗来德的行李箱弹开时，菲利巴特医生的无热湿动火药突然爆炸了，这些使得司机在忍受克路殊克爬上他的腿的同时，不得不又怕又痛地大叫着。 由于他们和行李箱一起被塞在的士的后部，旅行很不舒服，克路殊克花了好长时间才从火药中苏醒过来，当他们抵达伦敦时，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩全都被重重地抓伤了，在凯罗斯王街，雨下得比先前更大了，但他们从车里出来的都大大舒了一口气，抬着箱子穿过繁忙的马路，进入车站，他们全都湿透了。 哈利现在习惯在九又四分之三站台上车，只要穿过显目的九号与十号站台间的栏障，直走下去就行了。不起眼地走着，以免招惹马格的注意是唯一的难处。今天他们分组走，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩（最显眼的，他们由皮威军和克路殊克陪同）先走，他们悠闲地靠着障栏，随意地聊天，从小路溜过，他们就这么做。九又四分之三站台出现在面前了。 霍格瓦彻快车，闪亮的红色蒸汽车，早已停在那儿了，蒸汽一团团地从中升起，透过蒸汽，许多霍格瓦彻学生和家长像灰暗的鬼魅般出现在站台上，皮威军比以前更吵闹了，和从迷雾中传来的许多猫头鹰的叫声相和着。哈利，罗恩和荷米思去找座位，很快就把行李装进火车中部的一个车厢里，然后，他们跑回站台，向威斯里太太、比尔和查理道别。 “我可能会比你们所想的更早些见到你们。”查理笑着说，他拥抱了金妮作告别。 “为什么呢？”弗来德急切地问。 “你等着看吧。”查理说，“别告诉伯希我提到的事……那是机秘消息，等时机成熟时，部长自会公开。” “哎，我想今年回霍格瓦彻去就好了。”比尔说，他的手插在衣袋里，几乎是若有所思地望着火车。 “为什么？”乔治不耐烦地问。 “你今年将会觉的很有趣的。”比尔眨着眼睛说，“我甚至可能会抽空来看它一下……” “看一下什么？”罗恩说。 但在那时，哨声响了，威斯里太太把他们推向火车门。 “多谢你的款待，威斯里太太。”荷米恩他们爬进车厢，关上门，又探出头来和她说话。 “哎，是啊，谢谢你为我们做的每一件事，威斯里太太。”哈利说。 “噢，亲爱的，我很乐意那样的。”威斯里太太说，“我想请你们来过圣诞节，但……好了，我想你们全都希望待在霍格瓦彻做点什么……” “妈！”罗恩恼怒地说，“你们三个知道什么我们不知道的？” “我想今晚你就可以知道了，”威斯里太太微笑着说。“那将很让人兴奋——提醒你一声，我很高兴他们已经改变了规则。” “什么规则？”哈利，罗恩，弗来德和乔治异口同声地问。 “我肯定丹伯多教授会告诉你们的……现在，规矩点，知道吗？ 弗来德，明白了吗？还有你，乔治？“ 汽塞咝咝作响，火车开始移动了。 “告诉我们在霍格瓦彻要发生什么！”弗来德的叫声从窗户中传出来，威斯里太太，比尔和查理正迅速地远离他们，“他们改变了什么规则？” 但威斯里太太只是微笑，向他们招手。火车还没拐弯，比尔和查理已经消失了。 哈利、罗恩和荷米恩回到他们的车厢，密密的雨敲击着窗户，这使得他们很难看清外面，罗恩解开行李箱，抽出他紫酱色的衣抱，把他们盖在皮威军的笼子上，以掩住它的叫声。 “巴格蒙想告诉我们在霍格瓦彻发生的事。”他咕哝着，在哈利身旁坐下，“世界杯那时，记得吗？但我妈妈不会说的，我想知道到底是什么——” “嘘！”荷米恩突然压低声音，手指按在唇上，指向隔壁车厢，哈利和罗恩一听，一个熟悉的拖长的嗓音从开着的门中飘过来。 “你知道，爸爸事实上考虑把我送往丹姆斯安而不是霍格瓦彻的，他认识那校长，嗯，你知道他对丹姆斯安的看法——那人很奇怪——丹姆斯安不承认那种不体面的东西，但妈妈不乐意我去那么远的地方上学，爸爸说丹姆斯安在巫术方面比霍格瓦彻更为高明。 丹姆斯安的学生事实上是在学法术，而不仅仅是像我们一样，做些防卫这种无意义的事。“ 荷米恩站了起来，蹑足走到车厢门边，缓缓关上门，阻挡了马尔夫的嗓音。 “看来他认为丹姆斯安会适合他，对吗？”她生气地说，“我希望他早点滚开，那样我们就不必容忍他了。” “丹姆斯安是另一所魔法学校吗？”哈利问。 “是的。”荷米恩哼了一声，“它的名声极为恶劣，据欧洲魔法教育评论，这学校非常注重巫术。” “我想我已听说了。”罗恩含糊地说，“它在哪儿？哪个国家？” “哎，谁都不知道，对吗？”荷米恩抬抬眉头说道。 “嗯，怎么会这样？”哈利问。 “传统上在所有的魔法学校间存在着很多竞争，丹姆斯安和比尔贝顿喜欢隐藏他们的行踪，这样就没有人能够窃取他们的秘密。” 荷米恩若有其事地说。 “别逗了，”罗恩开始大笑，“丹姆斯安大概就和霍格瓦彻一样大，你如何隐藏一个脏肮的大城堡？” “但霍格瓦彻是隐形的。”荷米恩惊讶地说，“谁都知道……嗯，不管怎样，看了霍格瓦彻，读历史的都知道。” “就只有你了。”罗恩说，“往下说吧——你怎么隐藏像霍格瓦彻那样的地方的？” “它被施了魔法。”荷米恩说，“如果一个马格观察它，他们所见不过是一堆废墟，门口挂着写有‘危险勿进’的告示牌。” “那么丹姆斯安在外人眼中也只是像堆废墟吗？” “可能吧。”荷米恩耸耸肩，“或许它上面有马格禁地咒语，像世界杯体育馆一样，不让外来的魔法师找到它，他们把它弄成不可勘测的——” “又来了？” “哎，你可以施法于一个建筑，使它不可能在地图上被勘测到，是不是？” “嗯……要是你这样说的话。”哈利说。 “但我认为丹姆斯安一定在远处北部的某个地方，”荷米恩思索着说，“一个很冷的地方，因为他们制服中有毛斗篷。” “啊，想想那可能性，”罗恩梦呓般说，“不可能会这么容易把马尔夫推进冰河然后把这制造成一场意外……他妈妈那么喜欢他，多可惜啊……” 火车越往北开，雨也下的越大了，天空一片漆黑，窗户雾气蒙蒙，正午就点上灯笼。餐车嘎嘎地沿着走廊过来了，哈利买了一大叠大锅蛋糕分着吃。 下午有几个朋友，包括谢默斯，迪恩和尼维尔，来看望他们，谢默斯仍戴着他那爱尔兰缎结，它的一些魔力似乎消耗掉了，虽然它还是“特格！马利特！莫兰！”这样吱吱作响，但已是一种微弱，快耗尽的声音了，过了大约半个小时，荷米恩厌倦了无休止的快迪斯谈话，又开始埋头阅读《标准符咒课本。四年级》试图学一种召唤咒语。 尼维尔妒嫉地听着别人重温世界杯赛事的谈话。 “格林佐不想去，”他痛苦地说，“不会买票，虽说听起来让人大吃一惊。” “是的。”罗恩说，“看这个，尼维尔……” 他翻检着放在行李架上的箱子，拖出一个维特。克伦的微型雕像。 “哇！”尼维尔羡慕地叫了起来，罗恩把克伦塞到他胖乎乎的手里。 “我们也很近地看过他。”罗恩说，“那时是在上等厢。” “那是你一生中第一次也是最后一次，威斯里。” 杰高。马尔夫出现在走廊中，身后站着克来伯和高尔，他们是他的死党，长的又高又大，像个罪犯，这个夏天他俩至少长高了一英尺，很显然，当迪恩和谢默斯让门开着的时候，他们通过车厢门听到了谈话。 “别说你要加入我们，马尔夫。”哈利冷冷地说。 “威斯里……那是什么？”马尔夫指着皮威军的笼子问道。罗恩的衣袍的一只袖子从笼子上垂了下来，随着火车的移动摇晃着，那发霉的带花边袖子非常显眼。 罗恩试图把袍子塞起来，但马尔夫比他更快，他抓住袖子一抽。 “看哪！”马尔夫欣喜若狂。他举着罗恩的饱子给克来伯和高尔看。“威斯里，你不会想穿把。我说——这在1890年左右很时兴……” “闭嘴，马尔夫！”罗恩喝道，他从马尔夫紧握的手中扯回饱子，他涨红的脸如同袍子的颜色。马尔夫由此而来的大笑响如嚎叫，而克来伯和高尔跟着傻笑。 “看来，你要报名参加了，是不是，威斯里？弄点荣誉光耀门桅？你知道，那还会有钱进帐的，你将能够担负得起一件体面的饱子的花费，如果你赢了……” “你们在说什么？”罗恩厉声说。 “你要报名参加吗？”马尔夫重复道，“我想你会的，波特，你从不放过任何炫耀的机会，对吧？” “要么解释你的话，要么滚开，马尔夫。”荷米恩从《标准符咒课本。四年级》上抬起头来生气地说。 马尔夫苍白的脸上掠过一丝的意外的微笑。 “别告诉我你们不知道。”他高兴地说，“你爸、你哥都在部里，而你居然不知道？上帝！我爸爸几年前就告诉了我……从可尼斯。 法治那听来的，但那时，爸爸经常和部里高层人物来往……可能你爸官位卑职小不知道这事，威斯里……是的，他们极可能不在他面前谈论部里的要事……“ 又一次大笑起来，马尔夫向克来伯和高尔打着手势，他们三个便离开了。 罗恩站了起来，砰地在他们身后重重地关上车厢的门，他用力很大，玻璃都震碎了。 “罗恩！”荷米恩责备地喊了一声，她抽出魔杖，念道“恢复！” 碎玻璃飞起来重新合成一片，然后又飞回门上。 “好，就当他什么都知道，我们不……”罗恩吼道：“爸爸经常和部里高层人物来往……爸爸任何时候都可以得到升职的……他只是乐于在他现在的职位……” “当然是这样的。”荷米恩平静地说，“别把马尔夫的话当真，罗恩——” “哼！当真！做梦！”罗恩拿起一块剩下的蛋糕把它一起塞进口中。 接下来的行程中，罗恩仍是一副坏心情，他们换上了校袍，他并不多说话，当霍格瓦彻快车慢慢减速，最后停在漆黑的霍格马得车站时，他还是怒火冲天。 火车门打开了，一阵雷声响起，荷米恩把克路殊克捆起，放在斗篷里，罗恩则把衣抱盖在皮威军上边，下了火车。迎着倾泻而下的雨，他们低着头，眯着眼往前行。现在雨下的又密又快，似乎是成桶成桶的冰水不断地从他们头上倒下来。 “嗨，哈格力！”哈利看到在站台的远处一端有个高大的背影就叫了起来。 “哎！哈利？”哈格力回过头来，挥挥手，“要是没淹死的话，在庆典上见吧！” 一年级学生按传统总是和哈格力坐船通过湖泊抵达霍格瓦彻城堡的。 “唉，我不能想象在这种天气里穿过湖泊，”荷米患急切地说，他们和人群在一起，小步小步地慢慢沿着黑暗的平台往前走。一百辆没套马的车子在车站外等候他们。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和尼维尔满怀感激，爬进其中的一辆，门叭地关上了。几分钟后，随着剧烈的晃动，车子嘎吱嘎吱地开始了它的征途，溅着泥水，蹒跚在通向霍格瓦彻城堡的路上。 |
Chapter 12 Triwizard Tournament Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive the carriages trundled, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt before the great oak front doors, which stood at the top of a flight of stone steps. People who had occupied the carriages in front were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumped down from their carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall, with its magnificent marble staircase. “Blimey,” said Ron, shaking his head and sending water everywhere, “if that keeps up the lake's going to overflow. I'm soak - ARRGH!” A large, red, water-filled balloon had dropped from out of the ceiling onto Ron's head and exploded. Drenched and sputtering, Ron staggered sideways into Harry, just as a second water bomb dropped - narrowly missing Hermione, it burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks. People all around them shrieked and started pushing one another in their efforts to get out of the line of fire. Harry looked up and saw, floating twenty feet above them, Peeves the Poltergeist, a little man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again. “PEEVES!” yelled an angry voice. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!” Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling. “Ouch - sorry, Miss Granger -” “That's all right, Professor!” Hermione gasped, massaging her throat. “Peeves, get down here NOW!” barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through her square-rimmed spectacles. “Not doing nothing!” cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!” And he aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived. “I shall call the headmaster!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “I'm warning you, Peeves -” Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely. “Well, move along, then!” said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face. The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semitransparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, but with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra-festive, and insuring that his head didn't wobble too much on his partially severed neck. “Good evening,” he said, beaming at them. “Says who?” said Harry, taking off his sneakers and emptying them of water. “Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving.” The Sorting of the new students into Houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it. Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table. “Hiya, Harry!” It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was something of a hero. “Hi, Colin,” said Harry warily. “Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis!” “Er - good,” said Harry. “He's really excited!” said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. “I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?” “Er - yeah, all right,” said Harry. He turned back to Hermione, Ron, and Nearly Headless Nick. “Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?” he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor. “Oh no, not necessarily,” said Hermione. “Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?” Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor, but there was another empty chair too, and Harry couldn't think who else was missing. “Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers. They had never yet had a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry's favorite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. He looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there. “Maybe they couldn't get anyone!” said Hermione, looking anxious. Harry scanned the table more carefully. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway gray hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra's other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape - Harry's least favorite person at Hogwarts. Harry's loathing of Snape was matched only by Snape's hatred of him, a hatred which had, if possible, intensified last year, when Harry had helped Sirius escape right under Snape's overlarge nose - Snape and Sirius had been enemies since their own school days. On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Harry guessed was Professor McGonagall's. Next to it, and in the very center of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin fingers were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the ceiling too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and he had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it. “Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, beside Harry, “I could eat a hippogriff.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school - all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair, who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The coat was so big for him that it hooked as though he were draped in a furry black circus tent. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking almost painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey's eye, gave a double thumbs-up, and mouthed, I fell in the lake! He looked positively delighted about it. Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty patched wizard's hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song: A thousand years or more ago, When I was newly sewn,There lived four wizards of renown, Whose names are still well known: Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fin. They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, They hatched a daring plan To educate young sorcerers Thus Hogwarts School began. Now each of these four founders Formed their own house, for each Did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach. By Gryffindor, the bravest were Prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest Would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were Most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin Loved those of great ambition. While still alive they did divide Their favorites from the throng, Yet how to pick the worthy ones When they were dead and gone? Twas Gryffindor who found the way, He whipped me off his head The founders put some brains in me So I could choose instead! Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind And tell where you belong! The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. “That's not the song it sang when it Sorted us,” said Harry, clapping along with everyone else. “Sings a different one every year,” said Ron. “It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.” Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment. “When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first years. “When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table. “Ackerley, Stewart!” A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on, and sat down on the stool. “RAVENCLAW!” shouted the hat. Stewart Ackerley took off the hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. Harry caught a glimpse of Cho, the Ravenclaw Seeker, cheering Stewart Ackerley as he sat down. For a fleeting second, Harry had a strange desire to join the Ravenclaw table too. “Baddock, Malcolm!” “SLYTHERIN!” The table on the other side of the hall erupted with cheers; Harry could see Malfoy clapping as Baddock joined the Slytherins. Harry wondered whether Baddock knew that Slytherin House had turned out more Dark witches and wizards than any other. Fred and George hissed Malcolm Baddock as he sat down. “Branstone, Eleanor!” “HUFFLEPUFF!” “Cauldwell, Owen!” “HUFFLEPUFF!” “Creevey, Dennis!” Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid's moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers’ table. About twice as tall as a normal man, and at least three times as broad, Hagrid, with his long, wild, tangled black hair and beard, looked slightly alarming - a misleading impression, for Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew Hagrid to possess a very kind nature. He winked at them as he sat down at the end of the staff table and watched Dennis Creevey putting on the Sorting Hat. The rip at the brim opened wide - “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted. Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother. “Colin, I fell in!” he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. “It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!” “Cool!” said Colin, just as excitedly. “It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!” “Wow!” said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster. “Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?” Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma Dobbs. The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the L's. “Oh hurry up,” Ron moaned, massaging his stomach. “Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food,” said Nearly Headless Nick as “Madley, Laura!” became a Hufflepuff. “Course it is, if you're dead,” snapped Ron. “I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,” said Nearly Headless Nick, applauding as “McDonald, Natalie!” joined the Gryffindor table. “We don't want to break our winning streak, do we?” Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a row. “Pritchard, Graham!” “SLYTHERIN!” “Quirke, Orla!” “RAVENCLAW!” And finally, with “Whitby, Kevin!” ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away. “About time,” said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his golden plate. Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. “I have only two words to say to you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.” “Hear, hear!” said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes. Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded their own plates. “Aaah, ‘at's be'er,” said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato. “You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know,” said Nearly Headless Nick. “There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.” “Why? Wha’ ‘appened?” said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak. “Peeves, of course,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. “The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance - but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.” The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control Peeves. “Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something,” said Ron darkly. “So what did he do in the kitchens?” “Oh the usual,” said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. “Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits -” Clang. Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no attention. “There are house-elves here?” she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless Nick. “Here at Hogwarts?” “Certainly,” said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. “The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.” “I've never seen one!” said Hermione. “Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?” said Nearly Headless Nick. “They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning…see to the fires and so on.…I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?” Hermione stared at him. “But they get paid?” she said. “They get holidays, don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?” Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck. “Sick leave and pensions?” he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and securing it once more with his ruff. “House-elves don't want sick leave and pensions!” Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and fork down upon it and pushed it away from her. “Oh c'mon, ‘Er-my-knee,” said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. “Oops - sorry, ‘Arry -” He swallowed. “You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!” “Slave labor,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. “That's what made this dinner. Slave labor.” And she refused to eat another bite. The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with puddings. “Treacle tart, Hermione!” said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. “Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!” But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up. When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard. “So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered,” ("Hmph!” said Hermione) “I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. “Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it.” The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. “It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.” “What?” Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbhedore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -” But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teachers’ table. A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped. The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any Harry had ever seen.It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all they could see was whiteness. The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbhedore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students. “May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.” It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him. “Moody?” Harry muttered to Ron. “Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning?” “Must be,” said Ron in a low, awed voice. “What happened to him?” Hermione whispered. “What happened to his face?” “Dunno,” Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination. Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and Harry saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot. Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.” “You're JOKING!” said Fred Weasley loudly. The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. “I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.” Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. “Er - but maybe this is not the time…no…” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament…well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. “The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.” “Death toll?” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. But her anxiety did not seem to be shared by the majority of students in the Hall; many of them were whispering excitedly to one another, and Harry himself was far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago. “There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger. “The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.” “I'm going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more. “Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen years or older - will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This -” Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious - “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred's and George's mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. “The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!” Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall. “They can't do that!” said George Weasley, who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. “We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?” “They're not stopping me entering,” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!” “Yeah,” said Ron, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, a thousand Galleons.…” “Come on,” said Hermione, “we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move.” Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. “Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?” said Harry. “Dunno,” said Fred, “but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…” “Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though,” said Ron. “Yeah, but he's not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?” said Fred shrewdly. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names.” “People have died, though!” said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase. “Yeah,” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn't it? Anyway, where's the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get ‘round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?” “What d'you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older….Dunno if we've learned enough…” “I definitely haven't,” came Neville's gloomy voice from behind Fred and George. “I expect my gran'd want me to try, though. She's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honor. I'll just have to - oops…” Neville's foot had sunk right through a step halfway up the staircase. There were many of these trick stairs at Hogwarts; it was second nature to most of the older students to jump this particular step, but Neville's memory was notoriously poor. Harry and Ron seized him under the armpits and pulled him out, while a suit of armor at the top of the stairs creaked and clanked, laughing wheezily. “Shut it, you,” said Ron, banging down its visor as they passed. They made their way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, which was concealed behind a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress. “Password?” she said as they approached. “Balderdash,” said George, “a prefect downstairs told me.” The portrait swung forward to reveal a hole in the wall through which they all climbed. A crackling fire warmed the circular common room, which was full of squashy armchairs and tables. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and Harry distinctly heard her mutter “Slave labor” before bidding them good night and disappearing through the doorway to the girls’ dormitory. Harry, Ron, and Neville climbed up the last, spiral staircase until they reached their own dormitory, which was situated at the top of the tower. Five four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Dean and Seamus were already getting into bed; Seamus had pinned his Ireland rosette to his headboard, and Dean had tacked up a poster of Viktor Krum over his bedside table. His old poster of the West Ham football team was pinned right next to it. “Mental,” Ron sighed, shaking his head at the completely stationary soccer players. Harry, Ron, and Neville got into their pajamas and into bed. Someone - a house-elf, no doubt - had placed warming pans between the sheets. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the storm raging outside. “I might go in for it, you know,” Ron said sleepily through the darkness, “if Fred and George find out how to…the tournament.…you never know, do you?” “S'pose not.…” Harry rolled over in bed, a series of dazzling new pictures forming in his mind's eye….He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen.…he had become Hogwarts champion…he was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming…he had just won the Triwizard Tournament. Cho's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration…. Harry grinned into his pillow, exceptionally glad that Ron couldn't see what he could. 穿过两边满是有翼公猪雕像的一道道门，车子沿着陡峭的坡路前进着，在随即形成的疾风中危险地晃动。靠着窗户，哈利可以看到霍格瓦彻越来越近了，它那许许多多亮着灯的窗户在厚厚的雨帘后闪闪烁烁。当他们的车子在巨大的橡木门面前停下来时，一道霹雳划过天空，大门由一段石阶进入堡里。哈利、罗恩、荷米恩和尼维尔从车子里跳下来，也急忙登上台阶。直到安全地进入大门，来到点看火把的砌着华美的大理石阶梯的前厅时，他们才抬起了头。 “布林米，”罗恩说，摇摇头上的雨水，“要是再这样下雨的话，湖沟要涨满了，我浑身湿透了——啊啾！” 一个巨大的充满水的红色汽球从屋顶落到罗恩的头上，炸裂了。全身湿漉漉的，还滴着水，罗恩踉跄地闪到哈利侧边，正好第二枚水弹落下来——差点击中荷米恩，它在哈利的脚边炸开，冷水浅到他的袜子上，周围的人全都尖叫着，互相推撞，试图逃离现场。哈利抬起头，看到在他们头顶上20英尺处飘浮的皮维斯——喧哗鬼，他是个戴着饰有铃铛的帽子、系着橙色领结的矮小的鬼魂，当他再次瞄准时，邪恶的脸因过于专注而变形了。 “皮维斯！”一个愤怒的声音喊道，“皮维斯，立即下来！”副校长兼格林芬顿主任麦康娜教授，从大厅里急走进来，她在湿湿的地板上滑了一下，她抓住荷米恩的颈部以免再滑下去。“哎哟！——对不起，格林佐小姐。” “没关系，教授。”荷米恩揉揉喉咙，喘着气说。 “皮维斯，立即下来！”麦康娜教授喝道，扶直她有圆点的帽子，透过方框眼镜往上怒视。 “没什么！”皮维斯一边咯咯地笑一边朝几个五年级女生丢下一个水弹，那些女孩们尖叫着俯冲进大厅。“他们早就湿透了，不是吗？小家伙们！唿……！”他又将另一枚炸弹瞄向刚刚到达的一群二年级学生。 “我要叫校长来！”麦康娜教授怒吼道，“我警告你，皮维斯。” 皮维斯伸伸舌头，把他最后一枚水弹扔在空中，陡然落在大理石台阶上，疯子般咯咯地笑起来。 “哎，继续前进！”麦康娜教授厉声对惊慌失措的学生说，“快点，进大厅！” 哈利、罗恩和荷米思溜过前厅，穿过右边的双层门，罗恩一边把湿透的头发从脸上拨开，一边恼怒地嘟味着。 大厅还是它以往那副金碧辉煌的样子，因开学庆典而装饰一新，金色的盘子和高脚杯在成百支浮在半空中的蜡烛的光辉中闪闪发亮，四张长长的大桌子坐满了闲聊的学生，在大厅顶部，教工职员坐在第五张桌子边，面对着他们的学生。这儿暖和多了，哈利。 罗恩和荷米思经过史林德林、卫文卡罗和海夫巴夫，和其余的格林芬顿一起，远远地坐在大厅的另一边，靠近几乎无头的尼克，尼克全身珍珠白、半透明，今晚穿着他平常的紧身袍子，系着一个特大领结，这个领结有双重作用，一可以显得特别有节日气氛，二可以保证他的脑袋不至于在部分切开的脖子上晃得太厉害。 “晚上好。”他朝着他们笑。 “谁在说？”哈利脱下鞋子倒掉里面的水，“希望他们赶紧结束给学生分类，我饿极了。” 每学年开学都要将新生分类！进入不同的班，但由于不走运，哈利自他那年分类后，再也没赶上过一次学生的分类，他对此向往已久了。 正在那时，一个极为兴奋，摒住呼吸的声音从上边桌子传下来，“嗨呀，哈利！” “那是柯林。”哈利小心地说。 “哈利，你猜猜，你猜猜，哈利，我的弟弟开学了，我的弟弟丹尼斯！” “嗯，不错。”哈利说。 “他兴奋极了！”柯林说，一边熟练地在他的座位上跳上跳下，“我就指望他分到格林芬顿！哎！哈利，为他祈福吧。” “嗯，好的。”哈利说，他转向荷米恩、罗恩和尼维尔，“兄弟姐妹通常分在同一种班里，是吗？”他说，他正依威斯里家的孩子作判断，他们七个全被分进格林芬顿了。 “噢，那倒不一定。”荷米恩说，“帕维提。帕提的双胞胎都在卫文卡罗，因为她们是双胞姐妹，你就认为她们会在一块，对吗？” 哈利抬头看着教工那张桌子，那儿似乎比往日多了不少空位子。哈格力，当然还和一年级新生一起奋战在湖上；麦康娜教授可能在监督别人弄干前厅的地板，但那还是有个空位，他想不起还缺了谁。 “新来的黑巫术防御老师在哪儿？”荷米恩在看着老师们说。 他们从未有过能维持三学期以上的黑巫术防御老师，到目前为止，哈利最喜欢的老师是露平教授，他去年辞职了。他上上下下地看了一遍教工桌子，那儿绝没有新脸孔。 “可能他们没法找到下一位！”荷米恩说，他看上去很着急。 哈利更仔细地测览过桌子，小菲特威克教授即咒语老师，正坐在一大堆垫子上，他旁边是草苗老师——史包特教授，她戴在飞出灰白的头发上的帽子不是很正，她在和天文系的希尼斯特教授讲话，在希尼斯特教授的另一边是黄脸钩界，头发油腻腻的药脂老师史纳皮——霍格瓦彻最受讨厌的人，哈利对史纳皮的憎恶与史纳皮对他的厌恨是相当的。可能的话，史纳皮对他的厌恨自去年已加剧了，那时哈利帮助西里斯——史纳皮和西里斯早在学生时代就是仇敌了——从史纳皮的眼皮底下逃脱了。 在史纳皮的另一边是个空座位，哈利猜想可能是麦康娜教授的，与座位相邻，在桌子的正中坐着校长丹伯多教授。他的满头银发和长领在烛光中闪耀着，他那华美的深绿的饱子绣着许多星星和月亮。他细长手指并在一起，托着下巴，他透过半月形的眼镜盯着天花板，似乎陷入了沉思。哈利也向天花板扫视一番，它被施了法术，看起来像外面的天空。他从未见过像这样的天空，征兆着暴风雨的黑色和紫色的云翻滚过空中，随着外面又一阵雷声响起，一道霹雳划过。 “噢，快点吧。”罗恩在哈利旁边抱怨，“我可以吃下一个希普格利夫。” 他的话音刚落，大厅打开了，人们立即安静下来，麦康娜教授领着一长列一年级新生走上大厅里边。要是哈利、罗恩和荷米恩是湿的话，那与这些新生们相比可算不了什么，他们看上去是游过湖泊而不是用船渡过来的，他们全都因寒冷和紧张而颤抖着。他们站成一列，对着其他师生，停了下来，所有的新生都这样，除了他们之中那个最小的男孩之外，他长着小鼠般的头发，包在哈利认为是哈格力的鼹鼠皮大衣里，衣服对于他显得过分的大，看上去，他像套在一个毛茸茸的黑帐篷里。他的小脸从衣领上伸出来，看样子似乎兴奋得发痛了，当他和惊恐的同伴们站成一队时，他碰上柯林的视线，竖起大拇指，用口型说，“我掉进了湖里。”他倒是对此很高兴。 在一年级新生面前，麦康娜教授现在往地上摆了张四脚板凳，在凳子上面，是一个极为破旧肮脏的补着补丁的巫师帽，新生们盯着帽子，其他人也盯着帽子。一时间，一片沉寂，随即，帽沿边的一道裂缝像嘴巴似的张开，帽子开始唱歌了：“至少一千年以前当我刚刚织成时有四位有名的魔法师他们的名字仍然广为人们所识勇敢的格林芬顿，来自荒原公正的卫文卡罗，来自峡谷甜蜜的海夫巴夫所来之处山谷绵绵精明的史林德林从沼泽地中走出他们怀有共同的愿望、希望和梦想他们提出大胆的方案来教育年轻的一代这样霍格瓦彻学校创办而今这四位前辈每一位都把各自的班来开每一班都有不同之品德值的珍藏对于格林芬顿，最勇敢的嘉奖总在其余的之前对于卫文卡罗，最聪明的总是最好的对于海天巴夫，勤奋的工人是最值得欣赏追求权势的文林德林偏爱那些抱负远大的他们在世时可以挑选当他们逝去多年汤玛利格林芬顿找到了办法他将我从他头上驱下先驱给了我一些法力所以我能够让他们选择，作为代替把我舒服地从你们身边滑过我从来没有出借我能看穿你们的心思告诉你们立身之处。” 分类帽唱完歌，大厅里响起震耳的掌声。 “这不是它给我们分类时唱的那首。”哈利和别人一起鼓掌说道。 “每年都唱一首不同的歌。”罗恩说，“过着帽子的生活，总是相当烦人的，对不？我想它花整年的时间来编造下一首歌。” 麦康娜教授现在展开了一大卷羊皮纸。 “当我叫到你的名字时，你就戴上帽子，坐在凳上。”她吩咐新生们，“帽子宣布你的班之后，你就去坐到相应的桌子边去。” “阿克利。史德瓦特！” 一位男孩走上前，很明显地从头到脚地发着抖，他抬起分类帽，戴上，坐在凳上。 “卫文卡罗。”帽子叫道。 他脱下帽子，急步走到卫文卡罗桌边的座位上，他周围的人都鼓掌欢迎他。哈利瞥了一眼罗尼文劳搜索者单，她正朝着刚坐下的阿克利。史德瓦特欢呼，一时之间，哈利也想加入卫文卡罗，这个奇怪的念头在他脑中一闪而过。 “巴德克。迈可姆！” “史林德林班！” 大厅另一端的桌子爆发出欢呼声，哈利看到当巴德克加入史林德林时，马尔夫在拍掌，哈利怀疑巴德克是否知道史林德林班创造了比任何别的班都多的邪术魔法。弗来德和乔治则向准备就座的巴德克发出嘘声。 “希朗斯场。艾娜！” “海夫巴夫！” “可德威尔。欧文！” “海夫巴夫！” “克利威。丹尼斯！”‘小丹尼斯往前蹒跚一步，差点绊倒在哈格力的鼹鼠皮衣里，他那时正从教工桌后的一道门侧身溜进了大厅。哈格力的身高是常人的两倍，块头则至少比别人多两倍，他蓄着又长又乱打结的黑发，留了胡子，看上去有点让人警惕。这可是个误导的印像，罗恩和荷米恩知道哈格力有副好心肠，他在教工桌尽头处坐下，朝他们眨了眨眼，然后观看丹尼斯戴上分类帽，帽沿的缝张开的很大——“格林芬顿！”帽子喊道。 哈格力和格林芬顿班的学生一齐鼓起掌来，丹尼斯灿烂地笑开了，他脱下帽子，放回凳上，跑向他哥哥。 “柯林，我掉进湖了！”他尖叫着倒在一张空位上，“太神奇了！ 水里有个东西抓住我，把我推回到船上！“ “真爽！”柯林也同样兴奋，“很可能是大鲸鱼哪，丹尼斯！” “哇！”丹尼斯叫起来，似像即使在最离奇的幻想中也没人幻想象到掉到风雨大作，泛着泡沫的湖里，然后又被一只巨大的海怪推出水面的经历。 “丹尼斯！丹尼斯！看到那边的男孩没有？那个黑头发戴眼镜的，看到了吗？知道是谁吗？丹尼斯！” 哈利往远处专注地看那分类帽，它正在给艾姆分班。 分班进行着。男孩，女孩们各自带着程度不一的害怕的神情，一个接一个地走向三脚凳，队列慢慢缩短了。麦刚那高教授念到姓氏以“L”开头的学生了。 “噢，快点。”罗恩揉着肚子嘟味着。 “喂，罗恩，分班可是比吃饭重要多了。”赫斯。尼克说道，“一个叫玛德利。罗拉的女孩被分去了海夫巴天那里。” “见鬼，要是你死了才好！”罗恩还口。 “好希望今年分到的这批人是够标准的。”尼克边为加入到格林芬顿桌来的迈克顿特和纳特里鼓掌边说，“我们可不想中断向来的成功。” 格林芬顿在近三年中连续在校内锦标赛中获胜。 “浦林杰格拉！” “史林德林！” “凯尔。欧拉！” “卫文卡罗！” 最后，“凯文，”他被分去了海夫巴夫那里，分班结束了，麦康娜教授拾起帽子和凳子，把它们拿开。 “时候到了。”罗恩抓起刀叉，期待地望着他金色的盘子。 丹伯多教授站了起来，微笑着张开双臂欢迎学生们。 “我只说两个字，”他对学生讲，“吃吧。”他深沉的话音回荡在大厅里。 “听听，听听！”哈利和罗恩大嚷，眼前的空盘神奇地堆满了食物。 “啊，还是吃饭好。”罗恩嘴里满是土豆泥。 “你知道，今晚还算走运，毕竟有顿大餐。”尼克说，“早些时，厨房出乱子了。” “哇？出什么事了？”哈利咬着一大块肉排说。 “当然是皮维斯的那家伙。”尼克摇着头说，他的头晃的好像要掉下来，他把领结扯高一些，“你知道，还不是以前那番争论。他想参加庆典——那是不可能的，像他那样满口服话，看到一盘食物就禁不住乱扔的家伙！我们开了幽灵委员会！法特。芙莱想给他这次机会，但我认为最明智的是布莱蒂。巴伦反对这事。” 布莱蒂。巴伦是史林德林的幽灵，他身材削瘦，沉默寡言，身上覆盖着银色的血迹，他是霍格瓦彻中唯—一位真正可以控制皮维斯的人。 “对了，我们也觉的皮维斯似乎在找碴。”罗恩郁郁地说，“他在厨房里干什么？” “噢，平常那套把戏。”尼克耸耸肩，“泄愤地制造大乱，四处乱扔盘子罐子，在汤里游泳，把养的小精灵吓傻。” “铿！”荷米思弄翻了她的全盘，南瓜汁慢慢地渗到桌布上，把白亚麻染成橙色，但荷米恩可不管。 “学校养的小精灵？”荷米恩问。 “嗯，白天他们很少走出厨房。”尼克说，“他们晚上出来做点清洁工作……看看炉火等等……我说，你不会想见他们吧。 荷米恩盯着他。 “他们有工资吧。”她说，“他们也能享受假期、病体和养老金等各种待遇，对吗？”尼克大笑起来，他笑过了头，领结滑下来，他的头也掉了，连着点皮肉从脖子上垂下。 “病休？养老金？”他把头推回脖子上，围好领结以免再次掉下，“校养精灵不要病休和养老金！” 荷米恩低头看了一下她几乎没怎么碰的食物，把刀叉放在盘子上，推走了盘子。 “噢，这不希奇，哎，我的膝盖。”罗恩说着，不小心把约克郡布丁喷到哈利身上，“啊，对不起！”“啊”地一声，他吞下布丁，“你不会饿着自己而给他们病休的！”“做苦工的奴隶。”荷米恩用鼻子深深吸了口气，“就是做苦工的奴隶们做了这顿饭。” 她一点都吃不下了。 雨点仍击鼓般敲着又高又黑的窗子，又一阵雷声震撼了窗户，乌云密布的天空掠过霹雳，照亮了金盘子，盘子上第一道菜的残余消失了，随即换上了布丁。 “糖浆烘饼，荷米恩！”罗恩故意把香味?向她，“眼尖的侦探，看呐，巧克力奶油蛋糕！” 但荷米恩的神情很像麦康娜教授，他便不再引诱她。 布丁也吃光了，最后一点碎屑从盘中消失的干干净净，艾伯斯。丹伯多又站了起来，厅里嗡嗡的谈话声立刻停止了，只可听到低吼的风声和大雨的敲击声。 “注意了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑着。“现在我们全都吃饱喝足了。”（“哼”！荷米恩说〕，“我的提醒你们要注意，我要通知几件事。” “风纪长费驰先生要我告诉你们，今年学校忌禁清单上增加了例如：呦呦尖叫，齿边飞盘和回飞镖等等，整个清单共计四百三十七项。我想，感兴趣的学生可以到费驰先生的办公室里查看。” 丹伯多的嘴角动了一下。 他继续说，“我还是要提醒你们，平地的那片森林是不许学生进入的，三年级以下的还不能去汉格米尔村。” “我还要遗憾地告诉你们，今年的校内决迪斯杯赛将不举行。” “什么？”哈利倒抽一口气，他环顾着在快迪斯队的同伙弗来德和乔治，他们对着丹伯多无声地张着嘴，显然是太惊愕而说不出话来。 丹伯多又说，“这是因为一场开始于十月份，并将持续整个学年的赛事。它占去了老师们的很多时间和精力——但我保证，你们会很喜欢这场赛事的，我很高兴宣布，霍格瓦彻，今年——” 就在那时，震耳欲聋的雷声响起了，大厅的门砰地一声打开了。 有个人站在走廊上，拄着一根长长的拐杖，盖着黑色旅行用斗篷，大厅里的每个人都转过头来看着这个外来客。突然间一道霹雳划过屋顶，照亮了他，他解下兜帽，一缕灰色的长鬃毛和深灰色的头发垂落下来。他开始向教工桌走去。 他每走一步，大厅就回荡起沉沉的咯咯声，他走到桌子尽头，向右转身，走向丹伯多，又一道霹雳划过屋顶，荷米恩屏住呼吸。 霹雳清晰地显示了那人的脸，一张哈利从未见过的脸，对一个对人类的脸只有一点点模糊的概念的人来说，它似乎是从朽木上刻出来的一样，雕刻者对怎么用凿似乎也毫无经验，脸上每一寸皮肤好像都结了疤，嘴巴像个斜切的深口子，鼻梁的一大段缺了，但让哈利害怕的是那人的眼睛。 其中一只眼如同珠子，又小又黑，另一只眼睛则像个硬币，又大又圆，还是湛蓝色的。这个蓝眼睛不停地转动着，也不眨一下，上转下转，左看右看，很不像个正常的眼，蓝眼睛转到右边去了，向着他的后脑勺，所以他们只能看到他的眼白。 陌生人走近了丹伯多，他伸出跟他的脸一样结满疤的手，丹伯多与他握手，说些什么，哈利没法听清，他好像在询问那陌生人，而陌生人则压着嗓子面无笑容地摇着头回答。丹伯多点点头，示意那人坐到他右手边的空位上去。 陌生人坐下了，拨开脸边深灰色的鬃毛，拉过一盘香肠，拿起盘子用他那残存的鼻子闻了闻，然后从袋里掏出把小刀，叉起香肠的一端，开始吃起来，他那只正常的眼盯着香肠，但他的蓝眼还在眼窝里不停地转，环视整个大厅和学生们。 “让我介绍一下我们新来的黑巫术防御老师。”丹伯多打破沉寂高兴地说，“他是莫迪教授。” “莫迪？”哈利对罗恩说，“魔眼莫迪？你爸今早去帮忙的那个人？” “可能是。”罗恩敬畏地低声回答。 “他怎么啦？”荷米恩悄声问，“他的脸怎么啦？” “不知道。”罗恩也悄悄地说。一边饶有兴趣地看着莫迪。 莫迪看起来对并不热情的欢迎一点也不在乎，他的手伸进旅行用斗篷，掏出一个大腹瓶子，大大吸了一口，他对面前的那罐南瓜汁并不理会，在他抬起手臂喝东西时，他的斗篷在离地面尺寸的地方拉开了一些，哈利看到了一只有爪的脚在桌下木桌脚边露了出来。 丹伯多又清了清喉咙。 “我刚才说到，”他对学生微笑着说，所有的学生仍在目瞪口呆地看着魔眼莫迪。“我们很荣幸在下个月承办一场极为激动人心的盛事，它已有一个多世纪没举行了，我很高兴告知你们，魔法三人对抗赛，今年将在霍格瓦彻举行！” “你在开玩笑吧！”弗来德。威斯里大声说。 自莫迪的到来而充斥着大厅的紧张气氛被打破了。 几乎每个人都笑了起来，丹伯多也发出理解的笑声。 “我不是开玩笑，威斯里先生。”他说，“既然你提到笑话，我这个夏天倒听了个不赖的笑话，讲的是一个洞仙，一个女巫和一个老巫土，他们全都去了一间酒吧——” 麦康娜教授大声地清了清喉咙。 “嗯——或许现在还不是讲笑话的时候吧。”丹伯多说，“我讲到哪儿了？对了，魔法三人对抗赛，你们中有些人不知道这个联赛是怎么回事，所以我希望那些知道的可以容许我稍稍作个解释，知情的学生可以关注些别的东西。” “魔法三人对抗赛于大约七百年前，作为三大魔法学校霍格瓦彻、比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安间的一种友好竞赛。每所学校选出一名冠军选手作代表，这三个选手则在三场魔法中竞技。魔法学校每五年轮流承办一次比赛，为众人所认可，这是一个在年轻的法师们之间建立联系的最佳办法，直到死亡人数太多时，比赛便中止了。” “死亡人数？”荷米恩警觉起来，低声说道。但厅里其他的学生似乎并不分担她的忧虑，许多学生彼此兴奋地耳语，而哈利他自己对多听一些关于比赛的事比担忧几百年前的死亡则来劲得多。 “几个世纪以来，人们几次尝试着恢复比赛。”丹伯多接着说，“没有一次是较成功的，然而，我们的国标魔法合作系和魔法竞赛系认为再作一次尝试的是时机已成熟了，整个夏天我们都在为之努力着。这一次，冠军选手不会走火入魔的。” “比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的校长会携同他们筛选出来的选手在十月份到达我校，三名选手的选拔赛则在万圣节时举行，届时将由一名公正无私的裁判来决定哪一位最有资格赢取三巫术赛奖杯，那将是他们学校的光荣，并可得到一千帆船币个人奖金。” “我要参加！”弗来德。威斯里在桌子下边咝咝沙沙地说。想到了能得到的光荣和财富，他热情洋溢，容光焕发。他并不是把自己视为霍格瓦彻冠军选手的唯—一人。在每张桌子，哈利可以看到学生们要么全神贯注地看着丹伯多，要么时不时地与邻座窃窃私语，但当丹伯多又说话时，大厅再次静了下来。 “虽然我知道你们都想为霍格瓦彻带来三巫术赛奖杯，”他说，“参赛学校的校长和魔法部都同意这次对选手的年龄作个限制，只有达到年龄的学生——即十七岁或十七岁以上，才被允许报名参选。这个——”丹伯多听到几个人对他的话颇有微词，威斯里双胞胎兄弟看上去突然变得极为愤慨，他提高话音，“这是我们认为必要的措施，因为无论怎么预防，赛项将仍是困难重重，危险性很大的。低于六七年级的学生没什么可能可以应付它，我将亲自出马，保证不够年龄的学生无法糊弄我们公正的裁判，使他们成为霍格瓦彻的冠军选手。”他看到弗来德和乔治叛逆的脸时，他浅蓝的眼睛眨了几下。“所以对那些不满十七岁的，我请你们别浪费时间为自己提名。” “比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的代表队将于十月份抵达，今年的大部分时间都会和我们在一起，我知道你们在他们逗留期间会给外宾们全部的热诚，并且全心支持霍格瓦彻的冠军选手的，现在时候不早了，我希望你们明天上课时得保持清醒，放松头脑，这非常重要，快去休息吧。” 丹伯多又坐了下来转向魔眼，和他说话。学生们站起来蜂拥向前厅的双层门。一片擦擦声和砰砰响了起来。 “他们怎么能那样做？”乔治。威斯里说，他没有随人群走向大门，站立着盯着丹伯多，“明年四月我们就十七了，为什么我们不能试一试？” ““他们拦不住我的。”弗来德固执地说，也对着上边的桌子怒目而视，“冠军们可以做任何事，而你连正当的事都不让我们干，哪还有一千帆船币奖金！” “是啊。”罗恩的心思好像飘到远方，“是啊，一千帆船币……” “走吧。”荷米恩说，“你再不走的，这儿就只剩我们了。” 哈利、罗恩、荷米恩、弗来德和乔治走向前厅，弗来德和乔治在争论著丹伯多为阻止不满十七岁的学生参赛可能采取的方法。 “决定参赛冠军的公正裁判是谁？”哈利问。 “不知道。”弗来德说，“但我们要糊弄的正是他们，我想几滴陈年药水大概有用吧。乔治……” “但丹伯多知道你不到年龄呀。”罗恩说。 “是的，但他可不是决定谁赢得比赛的人，对吗？”弗来德狡黠地说，“我觉得一旦挑选想参加的人，他会从每个学校中挑出最优秀的，而不会计较他们的年龄，丹伯多不过试图不让我们说出自己的名字。” “但死过人了！”荷米恩忧心忡忡地说，他们穿过一道隐藏在挂毯后面的门，登上另一段狭窄的楼梯。 “是啊。”弗来德漫不经心地说，“但是几年前的事了，对吗？ 不管怎样，没有一点风险，哪来的乐趣？嘿，罗恩，要是我们避开丹伯多会怎样呢？想不想参赛？“ “你说什么？”罗恩问哈利，“参赛当然很爽，但我想他们可能要些年长点的，而不论我们是否学够了……” “我绝对没学够。”尼维尔郁郁的话音从弗来德和乔治身后传来。“但我想我的奶奶会要我试试的，她总是说我该如何光宗耀祖，我不得不，呼……” 尼维尔的脚正好从楼梯中间的一级台阶上陷了下去，在霍格瓦彻有许多这样的圈套，大多数较年长的学生都会跳过这级特设的台阶，养成一种第二本能，但尼维尔是有名的健忘，哈利和罗恩抓住他手臂，把他拖出来，一套盔甲在楼梯顶端喘着气铛啷铿锵地笑着。 “你给我闭嘴。”罗恩说，他们经过盔甲时，罗恩重重打了一下它的面甲。 他们摸索着向格里哈特塔的入口走去，入口被截在一幅巨大的穿着粉色绸衣的胖大婶的画像后边。 “咒语是？”他们靠近人口时她问道。 “布拉丁打希。”格林佐说：“楼下的级长告诉我的。” 画像往前晃动，露出墙上的一个洞，他们全都爬过墙洞，一堆呼呼燃烧的火温暖了流通室，流通室里到处是矮矮的椅子和桌子。 向欢快地跳动的火苗投去冷冷的一瞥，他们互相道晚安，荷米恩消失在通往女生宿舍的走廊中。哈利清楚鼓舞着她说，“做苦力和奴隶。” 哈利、罗恩和尼维尔爬上最后一段螺形楼梯，到了位于塔顶的宿舍。五张四往床各有一挂深红色的帘子向着墙，床脚边放着各人的行李箱，迪恩和谢默斯早已在床上了，谢默斯把他爱尔兰袍子挂在顶板上，迪恩钉了幅维特。克伦的海报在床头桌上，他原来的西部汉姆球队的海报被钉在旁边。 “神经病！”罗恩叹了口气，对着一动也不动的球员叹了口气，摇了摇头。 哈利、罗恩和尼维尔换上睡衣上了床，有人——无疑是一个校养精灵在床单间放了保温平锅。躺在床上，聆听外面的暴风雨声，特别舒适。 “我或许要为之努力，你知道的。”罗恩渴睡的声音从黑暗中传来，“如果弗来德和乔治找到法子……比赛……你不知道是吗？” “假如不……”哈利在床上翻一下身，一系列醒目的新画面从他心头涌起……他已糊弄了公正裁判，让他相信是十七岁……他已成为霍格瓦彻的冠军……他站在地上，向全校师生胜利地举起手臂，他们全都欢呼尖叫起来……他刚刚赢得了魔法三人对抗赛…… 卓的脸容在模糊的人群中分外清晰，脸上满是敬慕之情，笑容灿烂。 哈利在枕上开心地笑了，尤为高兴的是罗恩不能看到他能看到的图景。 |
Chapter 13 Mad-eye Moody The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter gray swirled overhead as Harry, Ron, and Hermione examined their new course schedules at breakfast. A few seats along, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were discussing magical methods of aging themselves and bluffing their way into the Triwizard Tournament. “Today's not bad…outside all morning,” said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. “Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures…damn it, we're still with the Slytherins….” “Double Divination this afternoon,” Harry groaned, looking down. Divination was his least favorite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying. “You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?” said Hermione briskly, buttering herself some toast. “Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy.” “You're eating again, I notice,” said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too. “I've decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,” said Hermione haughtily. “Yeah…and you were hungry,” said Ron, grinning. There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and gray. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville Longbottom and deposited a parcel into his lap - Neville almost always forgot to pack something. On the other side of the Hall Draco Malfoy's eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach, Harry returned to his porridge. Was it possible that something had happened to Hedwig, and that Sirius hadn't even got his letter? His preoccupation lasted all the way across the sodden vegetable patch until they arrived in greenhouse three, but here he was distracted by Professor Sprout showing the class the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black, giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid. “Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout told them briskly. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus -” “The what?” said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted. “Pus, Finnigan, pus,” said Professor Sprout, “and it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves; it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, bubotuber pus.” Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints. “This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,” said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.” “Like poor Eloise Midgen,” said Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, in a hushed voice. “She tried to curse hers off.” “Silly girl,” said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.” A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signaling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Hufflepuffs climbing the stone steps for Transfiguration, and the Gryffindors heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As they drew nearer, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions. “Mornin'!” Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Be'er wait fer the Slytherins, they won’ want ter miss this - Blast-Ended Skrewts!” “Come again?” said Ron. Hagrid pointed down into the crates. “Eurgh!” squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward. “Eurgh” just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in Harry's opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches. “On'y jus’ hatched,” said Hagrid proudly, “so yeh'll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!” “And why would we want to raise them?” said a cold voice. The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words. Hagrid looked stumped at the question. “I mean, what do they do?” asked Malfoy. “What is the point of them?” Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds’ pause, then he said roughly, “Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Now, yeh'll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff'rent things - I've never had ‘em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake - just try ‘em out with a bit of each.” “First pus and now this,” muttered Seamus. Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, and Hermione pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths. “Ouch!” yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. “It got me.” Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. “Its end exploded!” said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand. “Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” said Hagrid, nodding. “Eurgh!” said Lavender Brown again. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?” “Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender quickly withdrew her hand from the box). “I reckon they're the males.…The females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies….I think they might be ter suck blood.” “Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive,” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?” “Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful,” Hermione snapped. “Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?” Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew only too well - he had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better. “Well, at least the skrewts are small,” said Ron as they made their way back up to the castle for lunch an hour later. “They are now,” said Hermione in an exasperated voice, “but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long.” “Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something, will it?” said Ron, grinning slyly at her. “You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up,” said Hermione. “As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.” They sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her. “Er - is this the new stand on elf rights?” said Ron. “You're going to make yourself puke instead?” “No,” said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth bulging with sprouts. “I just want to get to the library.” “What?” said Ron in disbelief. “Hermione - it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!” Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, “See you at dinner!” and departed at high speed. When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lived. The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat down at the same small circular table. “Good day,” said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump. A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large amount of beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight. “You are preoccupied, my dear,” she said mournfully to Harry. “My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas…most difficult…I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass.…and perhaps sooner than you think…” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs very close to her. “My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars,” she said. “The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays, which intermingle.…” But Harry's thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made him feel sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling never held him exactly spellbound - though he couldn't help thinking about what she had just said to him. “I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass…” But Hermione was right, Harry thought irritably, Professor Trelawney really was an old fraud. He wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all…well, unless you counted his fears that Sirius had been caught…but what did Professor Trelawney know? He had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortunetelling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner. Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again…and Dumbledore himself had said that he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry had described it to him. “Harry!” Ron muttered. “What?” Harry looked around; the whole class was staring at him. He sat up straight; he had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts. “I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn,” said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words. “Born under - what, sorry?” said Harry. “Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!” said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. “I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth.…Your dark hair…your mean stature…tragic losses so young in life…I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?” “No,” said Harry, “I was born in July.” Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough. Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles. “I've got two Neptunes here,” said Harry after a while, frowning down at his piece of parchment, “that can't be right, can it?” “Aaaaah,” said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, “when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry….” Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown - “Oh Professor, look! I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?” “It is Uranus, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart. “Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?” said Ron. Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class. “A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart,” she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. “I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!” “Miserable old bat,” said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. “That'll take all weekend, that will…” “Lots of homework?” said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. “Professor Vector didn't give us any at all!” “Well, bully for Professor Vector,” said Ron moodily. They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them. “Weasley! Hey, Weasley!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something. “What?” said Ron shortly. “Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!” said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. “Listen to this! FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.” Malfoy looked up. “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?” he crowed. Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on: Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen, but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene. “And there's a picture, Weasley!” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?” Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him. “Get stuffed, Malfoy,” said Harry. “C'mon, Ron…” “Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?” sneered Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?” “You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry - both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy - “that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?” Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink. “Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter.” “Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” said Harry, turning away. BANG! Several people screamed - Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his face - he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he'd even touched it, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall. “OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!” Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry - at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head. “Did he get you?” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly. “No,” said Harry, “missed.” “LEAVE IT!” Moody shouted. “Leave - what?” Harry said, bewildered. “Not you - him!” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head. Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons. “I don't think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again - it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more. “I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned,” growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…” The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. “Never - do - that - again -” said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again. “Professor Moody!” said a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books. “Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher. “What - what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air. “Teaching,” said Moody. “Teach - Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms. “Yep,” said Moody. “No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing. “Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall wealdy. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” “He might've mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock -” “We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!” “I'll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike. Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words “my father” were distinguishable. “Oh yeah?” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy.…You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son…you tell him that from me.…Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?” “Yes,” said Malfoy resentfully. “Another old friend,” growled Moody. “I've been looking forward to a chat with old Snape.…Come on, you…” And he seized Malfoy's upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms. “Don't talk to me,” Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened. “Why not?” said Hermione in surprise. “Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,” said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. “Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret.” Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began doling beef casserole onto each of their plates. “He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,” she said. “It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it -” “Hermione!” said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, “you're ruining the best moment of my life!” Hermione made an impatient noise and began to eat at top speed again. “Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?” said Harry, watching her. “Got to,” said Hermione thickly. “Loads to do.” “But you told us Professor Vector -” “It's not schoolwork,” she said. Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed. No sooner had she gone than her seat was taken by Fred Weasley. “Moody!” he said. “How cool is he?” “Beyond cool,” said George, sitting down opposite Fred. “Supercool,” said the twins’ best friend, Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. “We had him this afternoon,” he told Harry and Ron. “What was it like?” said Harry eagerly. Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks full of meaning. “Never had a lesson like it,” said Fred. “He knows, man,” said Lee. “Knows what?” said Ron, leaning forward. “Knows what it's like to be out there doing it,” said George impressively. “Doing what?” said Harry. “Fighting the Dark Arts,” said Fred. “He's seen it all,” said George. “'Mazing,” said Lee. Ron dived into his bag for his schedule. “We haven't got him till Thursday!” he said in a disappointed voice. 第二天早上暴风雨终于过去了，尽管大礼堂的屋顶还是很幽暗，沉重的铅灰色的云还在头顶盘旋。哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在吃早饭的时候检查了一遍他们的新课程表。隔了几个座位，弗来德、乔治和李·乔丹正在讨论怎样用魔法使他们自己变老并且混入那场三人巫术比赛。 “今天天气不错……整个早上外头都很好，”罗恩说道，他的手指正在课程表的星期一那一栏上划动，“草药学和喷火术，还有魔法变出小动物……见鬼，我们还是和史林德林在一起上课……” “今天下午是双重占卜术课。”哈利叹息着说，看着这一栏的下面，除了调制巫药，占卜术就是哈利最不喜欢的科目。特雷络尼教授老是在预言哈利的死期，这使得他极度讨厌。 “你应该像我一样放弃这一科，对不对？”荷米恩轻快地说，一边在她的吐司上抹黄油，“然后做一些明智的事情，比如说数字占卜法”。 “我注意到你又在吃了。”罗恩说，一边看着荷米恩在她抹了黄油的吐司上又涂上大量的果酱。 “我认为有更好的办法来维护我们小精灵的权利。”荷米恩十分骄傲地说道。 “你说得对……而且你很饿。”罗恩微笑着说。 他们的头顶突然响起一阵沙沙声，一百多只猫头鹰穿过开着的窗户飞了进来，带来了早上的信件。哈利本能地抬头去看，但却没有在那堆褐色和灰色的猫头鹰中看到他自己那只白猫头鹰的影子。 那些猫头鹰在桌边绕围，寻找这些邮件和包裹的主人。一只黄褐色的大猫头鹰飞向尼维尔并在他膝上放下一个包裹——尼维尔总是忘记把东西包起来。在礼堂的另一边，马尔夫的猫头鹰停在他的肩头上，带来的东西一看就觉得是和往常一样：家里寄来的糖果和蛋糕。为了消除胃里由于失望而引起的下沉感，哈利回到座位上继续喝麦片粥。是不是海维出了什么事，以至西里斯至今还没有收到他的信？ 在他们穿过湿漉漉的菜地间的小路走到第三温室去的路上，哈利一直想着这些事情。但当史包特教授，在温室里向全班同学显示一种植物——哈利所见过的植物中最丑陋的一种时，他却被这种东西吸引住了，不再去想信件的事。实际上，这种植物看起来不像植物，倒更像许多大且黑的蛞蝓从土壤中径直地伸出来，每只都有点轻微扭动变形，上面长满大且发亮的肿块，里面看起来充满了液体。 “布波鸠伯斯（这种怪植物的名称），”史包特教授轻快地告诉他们。“得把它们榨了，然后你们收集那些脓液——” “收集什么？”谢默斯。芬尼更抗议似的说。 “脓液，芬尼更，我是说收集脓液，”史包特教授说：“这些脓液相当有用，别浪费掉。你们要把脓液收集在这些瓶子里。戴上你们的龙皮手套。如果在没有稀释之前沾到皮肤，可能会发生古怪的反应。” 榨布波鸠伯斯的工作让人觉得恶心，但却出奇地顺利。携带着浓烈的汽油味。他们按照史包特教授的指示把脓液装入瓶子里。下课时，他们总共收集了好几品脱的脓液。 “这会使女士高兴，”史包特教授说，同时将最后一个瓶子用软木塞塞好。“布波鸠伯斯的脓液是治疗顽固粉刺的特效药，必须阻止学生们再用竭斯底里的方法去除粉刺了。” “比如可怜的艾罗丝。米德根，”汉娜。艾伯特用一种平静的语气说，他是学喷火术的。“她企图用咒语去除粉刺。” “促姑娘，”史包特教授摇摇头说，“但波姆弗雷女士后来竟把鼻子钉起来。” 一阵隆隆的铃声在城堡的湿漉漉的地上回响，带给大家下课的讯息。于是同学们各自散去，学喷火术的踏上石阶去上变身术课，学驯狮鹰兽的格林芬顿则朝另一个方向走去下了斜斜的草坪，向哈格力的小木屋走去，那是间建在弗里比顿森林边上的小木屋。 哈格力站在他的木屋外，一只手牵着他那只大黑猫犬——“弗兰”的项圈。他的脚边有几只打开的木箱，‘佛兰“一边猎猎的叫，一边拉扯扭着项圈，显然很想走近箱子去看看里面有什么。当同学们走近时，一阵奇怪的嘈杂声传入他们的耳中，像是一些小炸弹发出的。 “早上好！”哈格力笑着对哈利、罗恩和荷米恩说。“我们等一等史林德林班的吧，”他们不想让她错过这个——尾巴会冒火星的史库特斯。 “又来了？”罗恩问。 哈格力指了指脚边的木箱。 “尤尔夫！”荣文登。布朗尖叫着向后跳了一步。 在哈利看来，尤尔夫是对尾巴会冒火星的史库斯的最好概括。 它们看起来是变了形的、没有亮的龙虾，颜色惨白且污秽，在奇怪的地方伸出很多脚来，却看不到它们的头。每箱大约有一百只这种东西，每只大约有六英寸长，爬在彼此的身上，或瞎撞到箱壁上。 它们发出一种很浓的腐鱼臭味。它们的尾巴会不时地伴随啪的一声冒出一阵火花来，同时身体向前推进几英寸。 “刚刚孵化出来的，”哈格力自豪地说，“因此你们可以自己饲养他们。不过我们得先定个计划。” “我们为什么会想养这些东西呢？”一个冷冷的声音说。 史林德林班的到了。刚才说话的是杰高。马尔夫，而克来伯和高尔在一旁赞成地咯咯笑。 哈格力对这个问题感到为难。 “我是说，它们是干什么用的？”马尔夫问道：“我们养它们有什么用？” 哈格力张开嘴巴却停了几秒钟，显然在艰难地恩索，而后他冷冷地说：“那是下节课的内容，你们今天只须喂养它们。现在，你们试一试喂它们吃不同的东西——我以前也没有养过这种东西，不知道他们吃什么——我准备了一些蚂蚁蛋、青蛙肝和一些草蛇，每样给它们试一点。” “先是脓液，再是这东西。”谢默斯咕哝道。 是对哈格力深深的爱戴使哈利、罗恩和荷米恩默默地捧起一杯青蛙肝并放入木箱中去诱那些尾巴会冒火星的史库斯。哈利忍不住认为这样做毫无意义，因为那些史库特斯看起来没有嘴。 “哎哟！”过了十分钟后，迪恩。托马斯大叫。“它伤到我了。” 哈格力赶紧走到他身边，神情焦虑。 “他的尾巴冒火星了！”迪恩一边生气地说一边将被灼伤的手伸给哈格力看。 “啊，是的，它们冒火星时会伤人。”哈格力点头说。 “尤尔夫！”莱文登。布朗又说，“尤尔夫，哈格力，它身上尖尖的东西是什么？” “哦，有些身上有螫，”哈格力兴奋地说。莱文登赶快将手从箱中抽回来。“我原以为都是雄性的——雌性的腹上长有类似吸管的螫……我想是用来吸血的。” “哦，我知道我们养这些东西是做什么用，”马尔夫讽刺地说：“谁不想拥有一只会烧伤、刺伤又会咬伤人的宠物？” “只是因为它们样貌不佳，但这不说明它们没用，”荷米恩打断他的话，“龙血有惊人的魔力，但你却不会想要一只龙作宠物，对不对？” 哈利和罗恩对着哈格力咧开嘴笑，而哈格力则报之狡黠的微笑。正如哈利、罗恩和荷米恩所清楚的那样，没有什么东西能比一只宠物龙更让哈格力喜欢——在他们还是这所学校的一年级生时，哈格力曾在一段短时期内拥有一只龙，一只邪恶的挪威山脊背龙。 哈格力只喜欢恐怖的生物——越能致人死命越好。 “至少那些史库斯是小生物。”一小时后他们回到城堡里吃午餐时，罗恩如是说。 “它们只是现在小而已，”荷米恩声音显示她像被激怒了，“一旦哈格力不断给它们东西吃，它们就会长到六英尺长。” “有什么关系呢？如同我们发现它们能用来治晕船的话，对吗？”罗恩俏皮地朝她笑了笑。 “你当然知道我那样说只是为了让马尔夫闭嘴，”荷米恩说，“老实说我认为他是对的。我们最应该做的事就是趁它们还没长到能攻击我们之前将它们全部踩扁。” 他们坐在驯狮鹰兽者的桌子边开始吃羊肉和马铃薯。荷米恩吃得很快，以致哈利和罗恩都盯着她看。 “哦——这就是维护小精灵权利的新方法吗？”罗恩说，“你是不是想使自己呕吐？” “不，”荷米恩说，她的嘴因为塞满芽菜而胀鼓鼓的，却拼命想使自己显得很尊贵，“我只是想去图书馆。” “什么？”罗恩不相信自己听到的话。“荷米恩——今天才是开学第一天，我们还没有作业要做！” 荷米恩耸耸肩，又继续狂吃食物，就像她已经几天没吃过饭了似的。然后她跳起身来说：“晚餐再见！”然后以快速离席而去。 下午的上课铃响的时候，哈利和罗恩出发去北塔，那是间处于螺旋形楼梯的顶部的房间，房里有架银梯，通向天花板上的扇圆形活板门。特雷络尼教授就住在里面。 当他们来到楼梯顶的时候，一阵熟悉的香气飘入他们的鼻。像往常一样，门上挂着帘子，圆形的房间沐浴在几盏灯的昏暗而微红的光线中，房里挂满了披肩和围巾。哈利和罗恩穿过那些已有人坐了的椅子和坐垫，然后他们坐在同一张圆桌边。 “日安，”特雷络尼教授的大嗓门从哈利的背后响起，吓了他一大跳。 特雷络尼教授是个戴着副巨大无比的眼镜、瘦极了的女人，那副眼镜使得她的眼睛看起来大得与她的脸不成比例。她又在以一贯的那种悲惨的神情凝视着哈利。在炉火发出的光里，她身上戴的珠子。项链和镯子闪闪发光。 “你很专心，亲爱的，”她用忧伤的语气对哈利说，“我心中的眼睛穿透了你勇敢的面孔，看到了你内心的烦恼。很遗憾，我必须告诉你：你的忧虑不是毫无根据的。我看见你前面的艰难岁月了，哎呀……非常的艰难……恐怕你一直害怕的事情会真的到来……，还有可能来得比你预料中早。” 她说话的声音越来越低，到后来几乎成了耳语。罗恩的眼光在哈利身上转来转去，哈利却看起来面无表情。特雷络尼教授的眼光将他们全部扫视了一遍，然后在火炉边的太师椅上坐了下来，看着全班同学。那两个非常钦佩特雷络尼教授的学生——莱文登。布朗和帕维提。帕提，坐在离她很近的坐垫上。 “亲爱的，我们该讨论一下星星了，”她说。“讨论一下它们那些只为理解了神的舞步的人所能洞察的行星运动和神秘的凶兆。人类的命运可以用行星的射线来解释，这些射线是混合的……” 可是哈利走神了。那散发着香气的炉火总是使他感到想瞌睡和思维迟钝，而特雷络尼教授的不连贯的关于算卦的讲话从来无法令他入神——虽然他忍不住想起她刚才对他说的那番话。“我恐怕你害怕的事情会真的变成事实……” “但荷米恩是对的，”哈利生气地想，特雷络尼教授的确是个老骗人精。他现在压根儿没有在害怕什么……除非你将西里斯的被捉计算在他害怕的事情当中……但特雷络尼教授怎么知道这件事呢？ 很久以来他便一直认为她那所谓能预测未来的幌子不过是幸运的猜测和她鬼一样明森森的神态带来的。 当然，除了那次——上学期末，她预测福尔得摩特正在上升……当哈利将她的预言描述给丹伯多听时，他说她认为这种催眠状态复的发生过。 “哈利！”罗恩低声叫他。 “什么事？” 哈利环顾四周，发现全班同学都在盯着他看。他马上坐直了身体。在炉火的温暖和自己的恩绪中迷失的他已经几乎睡着了。 “亲爱的，我是说你显然是出生在上星罪恶的影响之下的，”教授说。当她看到哈利明显地没在认真听她的讲话时，她的语气里带了一丝愤怒。 “对不起，在什么之下出生？” “土星，宝贝，土星！”特雷络尼说，因为看到哈利的恩绪居然没被这个消息吸引过来而被激怒了。“我是说你出生的时候，土星在天堂里肯定处于当权的地位……你的黑发……你的矮小的身材……年纪轻轻就悲惨地失去了……我想我猜的没错的话，你是出生于仲冬？” “错了，”哈利说：“我是七月份出生的。” 罗恩在一旁笑得咳嗽起来。 半小时后，他们每人手里都发到了一张复杂的圆形图表，并试图在表示他们出生时刻的位置上画上相应的行星，这是项单调的工作，需要不断查阅时间表和计算角度。 过了一会儿，哈利边皱着眉头看自己手中的羊皮纸一边说：“我这里有两颗海王星，这不可能是对的，是吗？” “呀！”罗恩模仿特雷络尼教授那种神秘的低语说：“当天上出现两颗海王星的时候，就肯定预示著有一个戴眼镜的侏儒正在降生，哈利……” 坐在旁边画图的西莫斯和迪恩偷偷地笑出了声，虽然这笑声还不足以掩过莱文登。布朗激动的大叫：“噢，教授你看！我想我得到了一颗意想不到的行星！噢——教授，那是什么？” “亲爱的，那是天王星，”特雷络尼教授说，一边注视着那张图表。 “莱文登，可以让我也看一下那颗天王星吗？”罗恩问。 很不幸的是，特雷络尼教授听到了这句话，也许就是这句话，使得教授今天下课时给他们布置了一大堆作业。 “写一份关于下个月影响你们的行星运动的详细分析，附上你们个人的图表为佐证，”她厉声说，语气一点都不像平时那个优雅纤巧的她，倒像极了麦康娜教授，“必须在下个星期一交上来，不能以任何理由不交作业户”可怜的老蝙蝠，“罗恩痛苦地说，当时他们正加入下楼梯的人流，准备去大礼堂吃晚餐，”这么多作业，要做上一整个星期的，那会……“ “一大堆作业？”荷米恩赶上他们，快乐地说：“沃特教授一点都没给我们市置作业！” “天，沃特教授多好啊！”罗恩闷闷不乐地说。 他们来到了大礼堂门口，那里站满了排队打饭的人。他们刚加入到队伍的末尾，便听到后面传来了一个大嗓门：“威斯里！嗨，威斯里！” 哈利、罗恩和荷米恩都转过身来。马尔夫手里挥舞着一份《先知日报》，说话的声音大得使礼堂里的每个人都听见了。“听听这个消息！” “法部长的新麻烦特别通讯员理特。史姬持报道：看来魔法部长的麻烦还没到头。 最近，魔法部长因为在世界杯快迪斯大赛中因控制群众的表现太差而被解雇，并且仍然无法对一名女巫的失踪一事作出合理解释。昨天他又因为阿诺。威斯里的古怪行为——被误认为是抢劫犯，而陷入新的困境。“ 马尔夫抬起头来。 “想一想他们甚至没有写对他的名字，威斯里，似乎它是完全不存在的，对吗？”他欢呼似的说。 现在饭厅里的每个人都在听他说话。马尔夫抖了一下报纸，把它立起来，接着念：阿诺。威斯里，两年前被控拥有一架飞行轿车，昨天又卷入一宗国持有一些是攻击性物品而与几个处理抢劫案的警察发生争吵的案件：威斯里先生似乎得到过‘魔眼’莫迪的帮助——那个前任部长，因无法区分握手与企图抢劫的区别而退休。所以很自然地，当威斯里先生来到莫迪先生那戒备森严的住所时，莫迪先生又一次错按了警报。威斯里先生不得不解释一大通才得以摆脱了那些警察。 但他不愿回答《先知日报》记者的问题：为什么他会使部长卷入一幕如此失礼和尴尬的情景。 “还有一张照片，威斯里！”马尔夫说。他用手指轻弹了一下报纸并将它举高。“是你爸爸妈妈站在他们房子前面的照片。你妈妈要是瘦一点会更好，不是吗？” 罗恩因为愤怒而浑身发抖。每个人都盯着他看。 “闭嘴吧，马尔夫。”哈利说，“这很普通，罗恩……” “噢，对了，你今年夏天和他们一家住在一起，是吗，波特？” 马尔夫讥讽道：“那么告诉我，他妈妈是真的有那么胖，还只是在这张照片上显得胖？” “你知道你妈妈是什么样的吗？马尔夫？”哈利说——他和荷米恩抓着罗恩的上衣背后以阻止他扑向马尔夫——“她的表情就像她的鼻子下面有堆屎？她是老那个样子呢？还是只是和你在一起才那样？” 马尔夫苍白的脸上泛起一阵粉红。“你怎么敢骂我妈妈？” “那就闭上你的臭嘴。”哈利说，并转过身去。 砰！ 有几个人尖叫起来——哈利感到有个白色、发热的东西轻轻擦过他的脸——他急忙伸手去抓他的魔杖。但还没来得及摸到那魔杖，他又听到一声巨响“砰！”和在饭厅里的巨大回响。 “噢不，别这样！” 哈利转了一圈。莫迪教授一瘸一拐地走下楼梯，他的魔杖在手里，正指向一只白雪貂，在石地板上闪着光，那正是马尔夫刚才站着的地方。 饭厅里是一阵可怖的沉默。除了莫迪没有人动一动。莫迪转身看着哈利——直到现在他那只正常的眼才看着哈利，另外一只则望向他的后脑勺。 “他伤到你了吗？”莫迪咆哮地问。 “没有，”哈利说，“射偏了。” “别动它！”莫迪大声道。 “别动——什么？”哈利疑惑地说。 “不是说你——是说他！”莫迪咆哮，手掌绕过肩膀伸向后面的克来伯刚想去捡起那只白貂，见到莫迪的手便僵在那里了。莫迪转动的眼睛像魔法般的能穿过脑袋看到身后发生的事情。 莫迪走向克来伯，高尔和那只白貂。白貂发出一声恐怖的尖叫后开始向地牢的方向奔去。 “这怎么成！”莫迪咆哮，他的魔杖再度指向白貂——它向空中飞起十英尺，啪地掉他，然后又弹起来。 “我不喜欢在敌人背后袭击的人，”莫迪吼道，小白貂越弹越高，痛苦得尖叫。“令人讨厌、胆小鬼、卑劣的做法……” 白貂在空中飞动，它的腿和尾巴无助地挥动着。 “不许再这样做！”莫迪一字一顿地说，白貂重重地掉他，接着又弹上半空。 “莫迪教授！”一个惊讶的声音叫道。 麦康娜教授正走下楼梯，手里捧着一叠书。 “哈罗，麦康娜教授。”莫迪平静地说，将白貂越弹越高。 “你——你在干什么？”麦康娜教授的眼睛盯着弹起又落下的白貂问。 “教学。”莫迪说。 “教——莫迪，那是个学生吗？”麦康娜教授尖叫起来，手里的书掉到地上。 “是的。”莫迪说。 “别这样！”麦康娜教授叫道。她跑下楼梯，拿出魔杖。一刻钟后，随着一声疾响，杰高。马尔夫恢复了原形，缩成一团躺在地板上，金色的头发覆满了发亮却苍白的脸。他站起来，向后缩。 “莫迪，我们不能用变形术来惩罚学生。”麦康娜教授轻声说。 “丹伯多教授一定告诉过你了吧？” “是的，他也许提过。”莫迪说，一边抓自己的下巴，毫不在意的样子，“但我认为一个恰到好处的惩罚——” “我们可以留堂，或告诉侵犯别人的学生的家长！” “我会这样做的。”莫迪用极不喜欢的神情望着马尔夫。 马尔夫的眼里还含着因疼痛和被羞辱而流的泪水。恶狠狠地盯着莫迪咕咕咬咬，只有“我爸爸”几个字听得清。 “哦，是吧？”莫迪平静地说，被着上了几级楼梯，他的木腿击在石上的钝音回响在饭厅里。“孩子，我认识你的老父亲……你告诉他莫迪在注意他的儿子……你告诉我……你的家长叫露布斯，对吗？” “是的。”马尔夫恨恨地说。 “另一个老伙伴，”莫迪吼道，“我一直想和老露布斯聊聊…… 来吧……“他抓住马尔夫的上臂，把他拖到地牢去。 麦康娜教授焦虑地望着他们的背影好一会儿，然后挥动魔杖，使掉了地的书本飞回到她的手中。 “别和我说话。”当他们几分钟后坐在饭桌旁时，罗恩对哈利和荷米恩说。周围的人都在议论这件事。 “为什么？”荷米恩惊奇地问。 “因为我想永远记住那一幕，”罗恩说，他闭上眼睛，脸上的表情僵僵的，“杰高。马尔夫，那奇妙的弹跳小白貂……” 哈利和荷米恩都笑了。荷米恩开始吃他们的盘子里的粉蒸牛肉。 “但这样会真的伤到马尔夫的，”她说：“麦康娜教授出来阻止他还是好的——” “荷米恩！”罗恩愤怒地说，他的睛睛忽地睁开了。“你在破坏我一生中最美好的时刻。” 荷米恩发出一声不耐烦的声音然后开始快速吃饭。 “别告诉我你今晚又要去图书馆。”哈利看着他说。 “是的，”荷米恩重重地说，“有一堆事要做。” “但你告诉我们维克福教授——” “不是作业，”她说，五分钟之内她便洗了碟子离去了。 她一走，弗来德。威斯里便坐了她的椅子。“莫迪！”他说，“他多‘酷’啊！” “不只是‘酷’。”乔治说，他坐在弗来德对面。 “超级酷”双胞胎的好朋友李·乔丹边坐到乔治旁边说：“我们今天下午上他的课。” “他讲课如何？”哈利急切地问。 弗来德，乔治和李交换了一下意味深长的眼神。 “从来没上过这样的课。”弗来德说。 “他知道的。”李说。 “知道什么？”罗恩侧过身来问。 “知道在那外面做会怎么样？”乔治说。 “做什么？”哈利问。 “和达克。阿特斯打架。”弗来德说。 “他全看到了。”乔治说。 “令人惊奇！”李说。 罗恩冲向他的书包去找课程表。 “我们下周二才会上他的课！”他十分失望地说。 |
Chapter 14 The Unforgivable Curses The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads. “You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?” said Ron to Harry as they watched Hermione teaching Neville a Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under his fingernails. “Yeah,” said Harry. “Moody.” It was common knowledge that Snape really wanted the Dark Arts job, and he had now failed to get it for the fourth year running. Snape had disliked all of their previous Dark Arts teachers, and shown it - but he seemed strangely wary of displaying overt animosity to Mad-Eye Moody. Indeed, whenever Harry saw the two of them together - at mealtimes, or when they passed in the corridors - he had the distinct impression that Snape was avoiding Moody's eye, whether magical or normal. “I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad,” said Ron, his eyes misting over, “and bounced him all around his dungeon…” The Gryffindor fourth years were looking forward to Moody's first lesson so much that they arrived early on Thursday lunchtime and queued up outside his classroom before the bell had even rung. The only person missing was Hermione, who turned up just in time for the lesson. “Been in the -” “Library.” Harry finished her sentence for her. “C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats.” They hurried into three chairs right in front of the teacher's desk, took out their copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, and waited, unusually quiet. Soon they heard Moody's distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes. “You can put those away,” he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won't need them.” They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking excited. Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled gray hair out of his twisted and scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered. “Right then,” he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, “I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?” There was a general murmur of assent. “But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark -” “What, aren't you staying?” Ron blurted out. Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled - the first time Harry had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was nevertheless good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. Ron looked deeply relieved. “You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?” Moody said. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago.…Yeah, I'm staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledor.…One year, and then back to my quiet retirement.” He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together. “So - straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking.” Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently Moody's magical eye could see through solid wood, as well as out of the back of his head. “So…do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?” Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender. “Er,” said Ron tentatively, “my dad told me about one.…Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?” “Ah, yes,” said Moody appreciatively. “Your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Harry felt Ron recoil slightly next to him - Ron hated spiders. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, “Imperio!” The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backward and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. Everyone was laughing - everyone except Moody. “Think it's funny, do you?” he growled. “You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?” The laughter died away almost instantly. “Total control,” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…” Ron gave an involuntary shudder. “Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse,” said Moody, and Harry knew he was talking about the days in which Voldemort had been all-powerful. “Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. “The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barked, and everyone jumped. Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. “Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?” Hermione's hand flew into the air again and so, to Harry's slight surprise, did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology which was easily his best subject. Neville looked surprised at his own daring. “Yes?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville. “There's one - the Cruciatus Curse,” said Neville in a small but distinct voice. Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes. “Your name's Longbottom?” he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again. Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move. “The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said, pointing his wand at the spider. “Engorgio!” The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody's desk as possible. Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, “Crucio!” At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently - “Stop it!” Hermione said shrilly.” Harry looked around at her. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville, and Harry, following her gaze, saw that Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified. Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch. “Reducio,” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar. “Pain,” said Moody softly. “You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse.…That one was very popular once too. “Right…anyone know any others?” Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone's faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air. “Yes?” said Moody, looking at her. “Avada Kedavra,” Hermione whispered. Several people looked uneasily around at her, including Ron. “Ah,” said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. “Yes, the last and worst. Avada Kedavra.…the Killing Curse.” He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he trapped it, and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface. Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt a sudden thrill of foreboding. “Avada Kedavra!” Moody roared. There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air - instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backward and almost toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him. Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor. “Not nice,” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me.” Harry felt his face redden as Moody's eyes (both of them) looked into his own. He could feel everyone else looking around at him too. Harry stared at the blank blackboard as though fascinated by it, but not really seeing it at all.… So that was how his parents had died…exactly like that spider. Had they been unblemished and unmarked too? Had they simply seen the flash of green light and heard the rush of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies? Harry had been picturing his parents’ deaths over and over again for three years now, ever since he'd found out they had been murdered, ever since he'd found out what had happened that night: Wormtail had betrayed his parents’ whereabouts to Voldemort, who had come to find them at their cottage. How Voldemort had killed Harry's father first. How James Potter had tried to hold him off, while he shouted at his wife to take Harry and run…Voldemort had advanced on Lily Potter, told her to move aside so that he could kill Harry…how she had begged him to kill her instead, refused to stop shielding her son…and so Voldemort had murdered her too, before turning his wand on Harry.… Harry knew these details because he had heard his parents’ voices when he had fought the dementors last year - for that was the terrible power of the dementors: to force their victims to relive the worst memories of their lives, and drown, powerless, in their own despair.… Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. With a massive effort, he pulled himself back to the present and listened to what Moody was saying. “Avada Kedavra's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it. “Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and the whole class jumped again. “Now…those three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills…copy this down.…” They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices - “Did you see it twitch?” “- and when he killed it - just like that!” They were talking about the lesson, Harry thought, as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but he hadn't found it very entertaining - and nor, it seemed, had Hermione. “Hurry up,” she said tensely to Harry and Ron. “Not the ruddy library again?” said Ron. “No,” said Hermione curtly, pointing up a side passage. “Neville.” Neville was standing alone, halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse. “Neville?” Hermione said gently. Neville looked around. “Oh hello,” he said, his voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?” “Neville, are you all right?” said Hermione. “Oh yes, I'm fine,” Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson - what's for eating?” Ron gave Harry a startled look. “Neville, what -?” But an odd clunking noise sounded behind them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All four of them fell silent, watching him apprehensively, but when he spoke, it was in a much lower and gentler growl than they had yet heard. “It's all right, sonny,” he said to Neville. “Why don't you come up to my office? Come on…we can have a cup of tea.…” Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry. “You all right, are you, Potter?” “Yes,” said Harry, almost defiantly. Moody's blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed Harry. Then he said, “You've got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you've got to know. No point pretending…well…come on, Longbottom, I've got some books that might interest you.” Neville looked pleadingly at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but they didn't say anything, so Neville had no choice but to allow himself to be steered away, one of Moody's gnarled hands on his shoulder. “What was that about?” said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner. “I don't know,” said Hermione, looking pensive. “Some lesson, though, eh?” said Ron to Harry as they set off for the Great Hall. “Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he? When he did Avada Kedavra, the way that spider just died, just snuffed it right -” But Ron fell suddenly silent at the look on Harry's face and didn't speak again until they reached the Great Hall, when he said he supposed they had better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight, since they would take hours. Hermione did not join in with Harry and Ron's conversation during dinner, but ate furiously fast, and then left for the library again. Harry and Ron walked back to Gryffindor Tower, and Harry, who had been thinking of nothing else all through dinner, now raised the subject of the Unforgivable Curses himself. “Wouldn't Moody and Dumbledore be in trouble with the Ministry if they knew we'd seen the curses?” Harry asked as they approached the Fat Lady. “Yeah, probably,” said Ron. “But Dumbledore's always done things his way, hasn't he, and Moody's been getting in trouble for years, I reckon. Attacks first and asks questions later - look at his dustbins. Balderdash.” The Fat Lady swung forward to reveal the entrance hole, and they climbed into the Gryffindor common room, which was crowded and noisy. “Shall we get our Divination stuff, then?” said Harry. “I s'pose,” Ron groaned. They went up to the dormitory to fetch their books and charts, to find Neville there alone, sitting on his bed, reading. He looked a good deal calmer than at the end of Moody's lesson, though still not entirely normal. His eyes were rather red. “You all right, Neville?” Harry asked him. “Oh yes,” said Neville, “I'm fine, thanks. Just reading this book Professor Moody lent me…” He held up the book: Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. “Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I'm really good at Herbology,” Neville said. There was a faint note of pride in his voice that Harry had rarely heard there before. “He thought I'd like this.” Telling Neville what Professor Sprout had said, Harry thought, had been a very tactful way of cheering Neville up, for Neville very rarely heard that he was good at anything. It was the sort of thing Professor Lupin would have done. Harry and Ron took their copies of Unfogging the Future back down to the common room, found a table, and set to work on their predictions for the coming month. An hour later, they had made very little progress, though their table was littered with bits of parchment bearing sums and symbols, and Harry's brain was as fogged as though it had been filled with the fumes from Professor Trelawney's fire. “I haven't got a clue what this lot's supposed to mean,” he said, staring down at a long list of calculations. “You know,” said Ron, whose hair was on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration, “I think it's back to the old Divination standby.” “What - make it up?” “Yeah,” said Ron, sweeping the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipping his pen into some ink, and starting to write. “Next Monday,” he said as he scribbled, “I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter.” He looked up at Harry. “You know her - just put in loads of misery, she'll lap it up.” “Right,” said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. “Okay…on Monday, I will be in danger of - er - burns.” “Yeah, you will be,” said Ron darkly, “we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll…erm…” “Lose a treasured possession,” said Harry, who was flicking through Unfogging the Future for ideas. “Good one,” said Ron, copying it down. “Because of…erm…Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?” “Yeah…cool…” said Harry, scribbling it down, “because…Venus is in the twelfth house.” “And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worst in a fight.” “Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet.” “Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight.…” They continued to make up predictions (which grew steadily more tragic) for another hour, while the common room around them slowly emptied as people went up to bed. Crookshanks wandered over to them, leapt lightly into an empty chair, and stared inscrutably at Harry, rather as Hermione might look if she knew they weren't doing their homework properly. Staring around the room, trying to think of a kind of misfortune he hadn't yet used, Harry saw Fred and George sitting together against the opposite wall, heads together, quills out, poring over a single piece of parchment. It was most unusual to see Fred and George hidden away in a corner and working silently; they usually liked to be in the thick of things and the noisy center of attention. There was something secretive about the way they were working on the piece of parchment, and Harry was reminded of how they had sat together writing something back at the Burrow. He had thought then that it was another order form for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, but it didn't look like that this time; if it had been, they would surely have let Lee Jordan in on the joke. He wondered whether it had anything to do with entering the Triwizard Tournament. As Harry watched, George shook his head at Fred, scratched out something with his quill, and said, in a very quiet voice that nevertheless carried across the almost deserted room, “No - that sounds like we're accusing him. Got to be careful…” Then George looked over and saw Harry watching him. Harry grinned and quickly returned to his predictions - he didn't want George to think he was eavesdropping. Shortly after that, the twins rolled up their parchment, said good night, and went off to bed. Fred and George had been gone ten minutes or so when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed into the common room carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box whose contents rattled as she walked in the other. Crookshanks arched his back, purring. “Hello,” she said, “I've just finished!” “So have I!” said Ron triumphantly, throwing down his quill. Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair, and pulled Ron's predictions toward her. “Not going to have a very good month, are you?” she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap. “Ah well, at least I'm forewarned,” Ron yawned. “You seem to be drowning twice,” said Hermione. “Oh am I?” said Ron, peering down at his predictions. “I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff.” “Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?” said Hermione. “How dare you!” said Ron, in mock outrage. “We've been working like house-elves here!” Hermione raised her eyebrows. “It's just an expression,” said Ron hastily. Harry laid down his quill too, having just finished predicting his own death by decapitation. “What's in the box?” he asked, pointing at it. “Funny you should ask,” said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed them the contents. Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E .W. “Spew?” said Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. “What's this about?” “Not spew,” said Hermione impatiently. “It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.” “Never heard of it,” said Ron. “Well, of course you haven't,” said Hermione briskly, “I've only just started it.” “Yeah?” said Ron in mild surprise. “How many members have you got?” “Well - if you two join - three,” said Hermione. “And you think we want to walk around wearing badges saying ‘spew,’ do you?” said Ron. “S-P-E-W!” said Hermione hotly. “I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto.” She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them. “I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now.” “Hermione - open your ears,” said Ron loudly. “They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!” “Our short-term aims,” said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, “are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented.” “And how do we do all this?” Harry asked. “We start by recruiting members,” said Hermione happily. “I thought two Sickles to join - that buys a badge - and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got you a collecting tin upstairs - and Harry, you're secretary, so you might want to write down everything I'm saying now, as a record of our first meeting.” There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at the pair of them, and Harry sat, torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron's face. The silence was broken, not by Ron, who in any case looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by a soft tap, tap on the window. Harry looked across the now empty common room and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl perched on the windowsill. “Hedwig!” he shouted, and he launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window. Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of Harry's predictions. “About time!” said Harry, hurrying after her. “She's got an answer!” said Ron excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to Hedwig's leg. Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly. “What does it say?” Hermione asked breathlessly. The letter was very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry read it aloud: Harry - I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is. I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry. Sirius Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, who stared back at him. “He's flying north?” Hermione whispered. “He's coming back?” “Dumbledore's reading what signs?” said Ron, looking perplexed. “Harry - what's up?” For Harry had just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, jolting Hedwig out of his lap. “I shouldn't've told him!” Harry said furiously. “What are you on about?” said Ron in surprise. “It's made him think he's got to come back!” said Harry, now slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig landed on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. “Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I haven't got anything for you,” Harry snapped at Hedwig, who was clicking her beak expectantly, “you'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food.” Hedwig gave him an extremely offended look and took off for the open window, cuffing him around the head with her outstretched wing as she went. “Harry,” Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice. “I'm going to bed,” said Harry shortly. “See you in the morning.” Upstairs in the dormitory he pulled on his pajamas and got into his four-poster, but he didn't feel remotely tired. If Sirius came back and got caught, it would be his, Harry's, fault. Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut? A few seconds’ pain and he'd had to blab.…If he'd just had the sense to keep it to himself.… He heard Ron come up into the dormitory a short while later, but did not speak to him. For a long time, Harry lay staring up at the dark canopy of his bed. The dormitory was completely silent, and, had he been less preoccupied, Harry would have realized that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that he was not the only one lying awake. 除非你把尼维尔在药水里融了他第六个汽锅算作件大事，接下来的两天是没发生什么的。史纳皮教授的报复心似乎经过一个夏天后提高到一个新水平，他扣留了尼维尔让他给满满一桶的有角蛤蟆开肠剖肚，这让他回来时近乎精神崩溃了。 “你知道史纳皮为什么会如此坏脾气吗？”罗恩问哈利，他们在看荷米恩教尼维尔一种清理咒语，如何除去他指甲下的青蛙的肠子。 “知道。”哈利说，“是因为莫迪。” 众所周知，史纳皮的确想教邪术防御课，他第四年的竞争还是失败了，史纳皮向来讨厌他们的前任邪术教师，并且表露出他的厌恶，但他似乎令人惊讶地谨慎地藏起了对魔眼的憎恨，的确这样，无论何时哈利见到他们俩在一起——就餐时，或在走廊上相遇时——他明显地觉察到史纳皮在逃避莫迪的眼睛，不管是正常眼，还是魔眼。 “我想史纳皮有点害怕，你知道的。”哈利沉思着说。 “想想，要是莫迪把史纳皮变成一只有角蛤蟆。”罗恩说，他眼睛迷糊了，“把他在地牢里扔来扔去……” 格林芬顿的四年级学生热切盼望莫迪的第一堂课，他们午饭后，上课铃还没响就已早早到了，在教室外排好了队。 唯一不在场的是荷米恩，她刚好赶上上课。 “我在——” “图书馆。”哈利替她说完，“快点，不然我们没好座位了。” 他们急忙在讲台面前的三张椅子上坐下，拿出《邪恶力量自卫指南》，分外安静地等候着。不久，他们听到莫迪特有的咯咯的脚步声从走廊上传进来，他进了教室，跟以往一样让人觉得陌生、害怕。他们只能看到他那只有爪的木脚从袍子下边伸出来。 “你们可以拿走那些东西。”他咆哮着，走向讲台坐了下来，“那些书，你们不会用到的。” 他们把书放回书包，罗恩看上去很兴奋。莫迪拿出注册本，把他扭曲的结满疤的脸上的灰长的鬃毛拔开，开始点名，他正常的眼睛逐步顺著名单往下扫视，而他的魔眼则转动着，盯住应到的每一个学生。 “好了。”当最后一个人应到，表明在场后，他说，“我从露平教授处拿到关于这个班的一封信，看来你们对怎么对付邪物有了扎实的基础——你们已学了博格特斯，红帽，金克朋克斯，格林弟罗，凯普斯和维尔欧维斯，对吗？” 学生大多认可了他的话。 “但你们落后了，非常落后，在对付咒语方面。”莫迪说，“因此，我想让你们了解巫师们可以怎样相互作法，我有一年时间来教你们如何对付邪——” “什么，你不留下来吗？”罗恩脱口问道。 莫迪的魔眼转过来盯着罗恩，罗恩看上去很害怕，但莫迪一会儿就微笑了，——哈利第一次见他微笑，结果是使得他满是疤痕的脸看上去扭曲变形得更厉害了，然而，知道他会以微笑作友好的表示，总是种宽慰，罗恩显得放松多了。 “你该是亚瑟。威斯里的儿子吧？”莫迪说，“你爸爸几天前帮我摆脱了困境……是的，我只待一年，承蒙丹伯多错爱……一年，然后回去安静地养老。” 他的笑声嘶哑，青筋毕露的手轻拍了一下。 “因此，直接开始上咒语，它们形式多样，威力无穷，尊照魔法部的指示，我要教你们反邪术的技巧，然后到那为止，到了六年级，我才会让你们看非法毒咒是什么样子，但丹伯多教授对你们评价甚高，认为你们应付的来，我的意见是，你们越早知道你们防备的东西就越好，但你们如何保护自己，防备那些从未见过的东西呢？要对你们施恶咒的巫师是不会告诉你们他的行动的。他可不会当着你们的面，对你们友好、礼貌地施咒，你们得有所防备，必须警觉谨慎，布郎小姐，当我讲课时你得把那东西放到一边去。” 莱文登吓了一跳，脸红了，她刚才在桌子下面向普怀特展示刚完成的星卦图，莫迪的魔眼不仅能透过她的脑袋视物，而且可以穿过木头视物。 “那么，你们谁知道最受巫术法严惩的咒语是哪些吗？” 好几只手陆续地举起，包括罗恩和荷米恩的在内，莫迪指着罗恩，然而他的魔眼仍盯着莱文登。 “嗯。”罗恩试探地说，“我爸爸告诉有一个……它是叫英普流斯咒语，还是什么来的？” “啊，对了。”莫迪赞赏他说，“你爸该知道那个，英普流斯咒语有段时间，给部里制造了许多麻烦。” 莫迪不对称的脚费力地支撑起他，站好了，他打开抽屉，拿出个玻璃罐，里面有三只巨大的巨蜘蛛，哈利感觉到罗恩在旁稍稍缩了一下——罗恩讨厌蜘蛛。 莫迪的手伸进罐里，抓住一只蜘蛛，放在掌上，以便所有的学生都能看到。 然后，他用魔杖指着它，说声，“英普流斯！” 蜘蛛搭在一根细丝线上，从莫迪掌中跃下，开始像荡高架一样前晃后晃，它僵直地伸出腿，往后翻转，线断了，蜘蛛落到桌上，它开始像车轮一样转着圈儿，莫迪猛挥一下魔杖，蜘蛛用两足立起起来，毫无疑问，它在跳踢达舞。 每个人——除了莫迪都大笑起来。 “你们觉得好笑吧？”他低吼着，“要是我向你们施咒，你们会高兴吗？” 笑声即刻停了下来。 “任由我摆布，”莫迪平静地说，蜘蛛蜷成一团，滚来滚去，“我可以让它从窗口跳出，溺死自己，或把它投进你们的喉咙……” 罗恩不禁颤抖了一下。 “几年前，许多巫师、法师被英普流斯咒语控制了，”莫迪说，哈利知道他讲的是福尔得摩特当权时的事，“部里的一项工作就是尽力分清谁是被动的，谁是主动的。” “英普流斯咒语是可以破的，我会教你们怎么个破法，但这需要心力，并非每个人都有此心力，你能的话最好避开它，保持警惕！”他吼起来，大家都吓了一跳。 莫迪抬起来那耍杂技的蜘蛛，把它扔回罐子里，“还有谁知道非法咒语吗？” 荷米恩又举了手，让哈利有点惊讶的是尼维尔也举了手，他通常只在上他最善长的算卦课时才会主动举手。就连尼维尔也为自己的大胆而感到吃惊。 “是什么？”莫迪的魔眼转向尼维尔。 “有一个，叫克鲁希尔特斯咒语。”尼维尔的声音虽小却很清晰。 莫迪这回两眼紧盯着尼维尔。 “你是叫尼维尔吗？”他的魔眼低下去，看注册本。 尼维尔紧张地点点头，但莫迪并未再作询问，转向全班学生，他从罐中取出另一只蜘蛛，把它放在桌面，蜘蛛显然是吓得一动也不动。 “克鲁希尔特斯咒语，”莫迪说，“要点大些的东西，你们才可以理解。”他用魔杖指着蜘蛛，念道，“恩格里欧！” 蜘蛛膨胀起来，比一只塔兰图拉毒蜂还大，罗恩不再掩盖自己的惧怕，把椅子拉得离莫迪的桌子尽可能地远。 莫迪又挥起魔杖，指着蜘蛛说，“克鲁塞欧！” 话音刚落，蜘蛛把腿弯向身上，它滚动着，剧烈地扭曲着，左右摇晃，它没发出任何声音，但哈利肯定要是它能发声的话，一定是大声尖叫，莫迪挥动他的魔杖，蜘蛛开始颤抖，剧动着。 “停住！”荷米恩尖声说道。 哈利朝她看去，她不是在看蜘蛛，而是在看尼维尔，哈利顺着她的眼光，发现尼维尔紧握的双拳放在面前的桌子上，指关节发白，他睁大眼睛，吓坏了。 莫迪抬了抬魔杖，蜘蛛的腿松懈了，但它仍继续扭动着。 “勒得塞克。”莫迪念道，蜘蛛缩回原样后被放回了罐子。 “痛苦，”莫迪柔声说，“如果你能施克鲁希尔特斯咒语，你就不需要夹手指的刑具或刀子来折磨人……这种咒语也一度被滥用。” “好了，谁知道别的咒语吗？” 哈利环顾四周，从大家脸上的表情，他猜想他们都想知道最后一只蜘蛛会有什么遭遇，荷米恩第三次举手时，她的手微微抖了一下。 “是什么？”莫迪望着她说。 “阿文的。卡德罗。”荷米恩低声说。 几个人，包括罗恩都不安地看着她。 “啊，对了，”莫迪说，一丝微笑扭曲了他缺了一边的嘴，“是的，最后一个最恶毒的咒语，阿文的。卡德罗……死亡的诅咒。” 他把手伸进罐里，就像知道自己的劫数一样，第三只蜘蛛在罐底疯狂地乱爬，极力躲避莫迪的手，但他捉住了蜘蛛，把它放在台面上，蜘蛛在木桌面上乱爬起来。 莫迪举起魔杖，哈利感到一阵突如其来的凶兆。 “阿文的。卡德罗！”莫迪吼道。 一道刺目的绿光闪过，伴随着一声巨响，好像有个看不见的庞然大物在空中咆哮，同时，蜘蛛翻过身来，没什么迹像，但明显是死了，几个女孩强忍住叫声，蜘蛛向罗恩滑过来，罗恩往后倒着，几乎弄翻了椅子。 莫迪把死蜘蛛落扫到地上。 “够毒的，”他平静地说，“不好受吧，没有与之相抗衡的咒语，什么也阻挡不了这个咒语，人们知道的唯一那个逃脱了死亡咒语的人，正坐在我面前。” 当莫迪的双眼望着他的眼睛时，他感觉到自己的脸红了，也觉察到别人也全都在望着他，哈利盯着空白的黑板，好像让黑板吸引住了，其实地根本没在看。 那就是他父母的死法……与那蜘蛛完全一样，他们身上也是没有留下任何蛛丝马迹吗？他们死的时候是不是只见到那闪逝的绿光，听到那瞬息而至的死亡之声吗？ 自从哈利得知他父母是被谋杀以来，自从他得知那天晚上的遭遇时起，这已经三年了，他已一遍又一遍地想象他们的死亡经历：温太尔怎么向福尔得摩特告密，透露他父母的行踪，福尔得摩特在他们的小屋中发现了他们，福尔得摩特怎样光杀了他的爸爸，杰姆斯。波特怎样一边大叫他妻子带着哈利逃跑，一边竭力阻止福尔得摩特，还有福尔得摩特又怎样地赶上莉莉。波特，告诉她躲到一边让他杀死哈利，而她又怎样拒绝放开儿子，请求由她替哈利一死，这样在他的魔杖指向哈利之前，福尔得摩特也把她杀了…… 哈利知道这些细节，因为去年他和温太尔搏斗时，听到了他父母的声音，那是温太尔可怕的法力：强迫他加害的人重现一生中最恐惧的记忆。然后毫无反抗地溺死在他们自己的绝望之海中…… 莫迪又开口了，哈利觉的他的声音是从遥远的地方传来的，他作了极大的努力，把自己拖回到现实中，听莫迪说话。 “阿文的。卡德罗是一种需要强大法力相佐的咒语，你们要都拿出魔杖，向我施咒，我怀疑顶多只会让我流鼻血。但那设所谓，我在此可不是教你们怎么施咒的。” “既然没有咒语与之相抗，我为什么还要演示给你们看呢？因为你们必须明白，什么是最恶毒的，你们不希望自己处于面对恶咒的情形吧，保持警惕！”他吼了一声，全班学生又吓了一跳。 “这三种咒语——阿文的。卡德罗。英普流斯和克鲁希尔特斯被称作不可饶恕的诅咒，对常人施加其中任一种咒语就足以在阿兹克班被判死刑，那就是你们要防范的，就是我要教给你们对抗的，你们必须有所准备，必须警惕，但首先，你们得时刻保持警惕，拿出羽毛笔，记下这些……” 剩下的时间他们都花在记关于这三种不可能饶恕的诅咒的笔记上了，谁也没说话，直到铃声响了，莫迪下课了，他们离开教室，随而进行了激烈的谈讨，多数人以恐惧的噪音讨论著咒语——“你看到它抽搐了吗？”，“他杀死蜘蛛时就像这样！” 他们讨论著课上的情景就像讨论特别表演一样，哈利心想。他并不觉的很有趣，似乎荷米恩也不觉的好玩。 “快点。”她对哈利和罗恩急匆匆地说。 “不是又去图书馆吧？”罗恩问。“不，”荷米恩简略答道，手指向一条小路，“尼维尔。” 尼维尔独自站在小路的半坡上，以一种和他看莫迪演示克鲁希尔特斯咒语时同样惊恐的神情盯着他对面的石墙。 “尼维尔？”荷米恩轻声说。 尼维尔转过来看他们。 “噢，你好？”他说，话音比往常高了许多，“很有趣的一课，是吗？ 我在想晚餐吃些什么，我——我饿了，你们不饿吗？“ “尼维尔，你没事吧？”荷米恩说。 “没事，我很好。”尼维尔吐出句话，仍然不自然的高调子，“很有趣的晚餐——我是说课——吃些什么呢？” 罗恩对哈利投去惊愕的目光。 “尼维尔，怎么——” 一阵奇特的哈哈脚步声在他们身后传来，他们回过头看见莫迪教授跛着脚向他们走来，他们全都不说话了，敬畏地望着他，但他一开口，他们便发现莫迪的声音比他们听到的要低沉轻柔的多了。 “没事的，孩子。”他对尼维尔说，“来我办公室坐一坐，来吧…… 我们可以喝杯茶……“ 要和莫迪一起喝茶，这让尼维尔更加害怕，他既不走动也不说话。 莫迪的魔眼转向哈利，“你还好吧，波特？” “我很好。”哈利几乎是挑战般答道。 莫迪接着说，“你必须知道，或许是有点残酷，但你得知道，假装是毫无意义的……好了……来吧……尼维尔，我有些你可能会觉得有趣的书。” 尼维尔求助地望着哈利、罗恩和荷米恩，但他们什么也没说，所以尼维尔别无选择，只得由莫迪的手搭着他的肩，随之而去。 “怎么回事？”罗恩望着尼维尔和莫迪拐过角落说。 “我不知道。”荷米恩神情忧郁。 “是上什么课吧？”罗恩对哈利说，他们往大厅走去，“弗来德和乔治说对了，莫迪他的确知道要讲些什么，看他施阿文的。卡德罗咒语，和那蜘蛛死时的情形——” 但罗恩一看到哈利脸上的神情就停住了，直到他们到达了大厅，他才再次开口，说他觉得今晚最好开始学习特雷络尼教授的预言，那可得花上几个小时。 荷米恩没有加入哈利与罗恩的谈话，她吃得奇快无比，然后又前往图书馆，哈利和罗恩走回格林芬顿塔，晚饭时一直没想别的事的哈利，自己又提出不可饶恕的咒语这一话题。 “部里的人要是知道我们看过咒语的演示，会找莫迪和丹伯多的麻烦吗？”哈利问，这时他们已走近胖大婶肖像了。 “啊，可能的。”罗恩说，“但丹伯多向来我行我素，而莫迪几年来一直麻烦不断，先是遭攻击，后来又被审问并检查他的垃圾箱。” 画像移向前，露出人口，他们爬了过去，进入拥挤喧闹的格林芬顿大厅。 “我们拿丹伯多的书吗？”哈利问。 “要吧。”罗恩低吼了声。 他们走到宿舍取书和图表，发现尼维尔正独自坐在床上看书，他比上莫迪的课时平静多了，虽说还未完全恢复常态，他双眼通红。 “没事吧，尼维尔？”哈利问他。 “没事。”尼维尔说，“我很好，谢了，我在看莫迪借我的书呢……” 他举起书，《中世纪神奇的水生植物及其性能》。 “显然，史纳皮教授告诉莫迪教授我药草学不错。”尼维尔说，话音中流露出一点自豪，这是哈利以前很少听到的，“他想我会喜欢这本书的。” 哈利想告诉尼维尔，史纳皮教授对他的评价倒是个振作尼维尔的好办法，因为尼维尔很少听到自己被称赞擅长什么的。这是露平教授采取的那种方法。 哈利和罗恩拿了他们的《拨开未来和迷雾》回到大屋，找了位置坐下，开始做下个月的预言作业，一小时过去了，他们没什么进展，虽然桌面上布满了写满数字和符号的细羊皮纸片，哈利意识模糊，似乎脑里充满了特雷络尼教授的火堆上冒出的烟。 “这玩意是什么意思，我一点头绪也没有。”他盯着一长串数据说，“你知道，”罗恩说，他的头发全在一边，因为在困惑时他一直用手拨弄着头发，“我想该用迪维尼雪那套老把戏了。” “什么，瞎编啊？”，“没错。”罗恩说，他扫掉桌上杂乱的纸条，把笔蘸进墨水里，开始写了。 “下星期一，”他边说边写，“由于火星和木星相连带来晦气，我可能要犯咳嗽，”他抬头望着哈利，“你知道她的——只要讲一堆痛苦的事，她会接受的。” “对啊，”哈利说，他把先前的努力成果揉成一团，把它抛过一群正在闲聊的一年级学生的脑袋，落到火堆里，“好……在星期一，我有——嗯——被烧伤的危险。” “没错，你会那样的，”罗恩狠狠地说，“我们周一时又要看到史库斯了，好，周二，我会……嗯……” “丢了一件珍贵的东西。”哈利翻着《拔开未来的迷雾》找到灵感。 “好主意，”罗恩说，写下了这条，“因为水星，你怎么不写让一个你以为是朋友的人从背后捅了一刀呢？” “对……不错……”哈利说，赶紧记下为，“因为……金星在第十二宫。” “星期三，我想，我会在争斗中惨败。” “啊，我将和别人打一架，对了，我输掉赌注。” “对了，就说你打赌，我打架会赢的……” 他们继续编了一小时的作业（后来逐渐变成悲剧性了），周围的人们都回去睡觉了，大厅慢慢空了起来，克劳圣克斯漫步走向他们，轻轻坐在一个空位上，她看着哈利，神情令人费解，仿佛她得知他们并未好好写作业。 哈利环顾屋子，竭力想再找出他还没用到的不幸，他看到弗来德和乔治靠着对面的墙坐在一起，头碰头地，羽毛笔放在外头，他们正专注地研究一小片牛皮纸，奇怪，弗来德和乔治居然会躲在角落里埋头学习？他们通常在中心地带，在喧闹的注意力焦点之处，他们研究那张纸条的样子有点诡秘。哈利想起了以前他们如何坐在一起，在纸上写些坏话，那次他原以为是为巫师爆笑弹的另一种命令公式，但这次看来不像，要是那样的话，他们一定会捉弄李·乔丹的，他怀疑那是不是与参加魔法三人对抗赛有关。 哈利正看着，乔治对弗来德摇摇头，用羽毛笔写了什么东西，然后悄声地说话，尽管声音很小，但在在这几乎空荡荡的屋子里能听到的，“别，——那会显得我们在谴责他，得小心点……” 乔治环顾一下，发现哈利在看着他，哈利咧嘴笑了，赶紧继续他的预言——他不想让乔治认为他在偷听，不久后，这对双胞弟兄卷起他们的牛皮纸，道了晚安，爬上了床。 大约弗来德和乔治离开后10分钟左右，画像后的洞开了，荷米恩爬进了大屋，一手拿着叠牛皮纸，一手拿着个盒子，盒子里的东西随着她的移动当当作响，克劳圣克斯弓着背，发泄高兴的细细喵喵声。 “你好。”她说，“我刚完成了。” “我也做完了。”罗恩扔下羽毛笔，胜利地宣布。 “下个月的情况不太妙吧，”她嘲讽地说，克劳圣究斯错缩在她膝上。 “嗯，至少我作了预言。”罗恩打了个哈欠。 “看样子你两次失足溺水。”荷米恩说。 “我吗？”罗恩看着他的预言说，“我最好把其中的一个改成让一只横冲直撞的希普格利夫踩着了。” “你不觉得这有点不言而喻你是在编造吗？” “你敢这样说！”罗恩假装发怒，“我们在这像校养精灵一样苦干。” 荷米恩抬了抬眉头。 “不过是句套用的话。”罗恩赶紧说。 哈利刚刚写完他遭斩首身亡的预言，也放下了羽毛笔。 “盒子里是什么？”他指着问。 “没想到你会问，真好笑。”荷米思不怀好意地看着罗恩说，她揭开盖子，给他们看里面的东西。 里边约有50个徽章，颜色全都不同但都有S.P.E.W的字样。 “史纳皮？”哈利捡起一个徽章端详着，“干什么用的？” “不是史纳皮，”荷米思不耐烦地说，“是S-P-E-W，代表着精灵福利促进会！” “从没听说过。”罗恩说。 “哎，你当然没听过，”荷米恩立即说道，“我不过是刚刚创办了它。”“啊？”罗恩有点意外，“你招了多少会员了？” “嗯，如果你们俩参加的话，一共三个。”荷米恩说。 “你以为我们想佩着这些徽章招摇过市，说‘spew’吗？”罗恩说。 “S-P－E-W，”荷米恩生气地说，“我要阻止虐待和我们同等的有魔法的生灵的暴行，发起改变他们在法律上的状况的运动，但还不是时候，那是我们宣言的主纲。” 她朝他们挥挥那叠牛皮纸，“我在图书馆作仔细的调研，奴役小精灵这一陋习可上溯到世纪以前，我就不信在此之前对它无动于衷。” “荷米恩——听着，”罗恩大声说，“他们喜欢被役使，他们乐于受奴役！” “我们的近期目标，”荷米恩声音比罗恩更大，似乎她刚才什么也没听见，“是保证佣人小精灵的工资及工作条件，我们的长期目标则包括修改法律，禁止滥用魔杖，以及捉进一个小精灵就要进入生灵规范监控部。” “那我们怎么做这些工作？”哈利问。 “我们就从招募会员开始，”荷米恩高兴地说，“我要塞克斯兄弟俩加入，买个徽章，这个手续可以为我们的宣传活动筹集资金，罗恩，你是财务，我为你准备了个募捐箱，在楼上——哈利，你是秘书，所以呢，你得把我现在说的话全都记写来，作为我们的第一次会议记录。” 荷米恩说完后，朝他俩笑了，哈利坐着，又是被荷米恩惹恼了，又是被罗恩脸上的表情逗乐了，打破沉默的不是罗恩，他似乎一时间成了哑巴，而是一阵嗒嗒的敲窗的声音，哈利从空无一人的大屋望过去，月光下是个雪白的猫头鹰停在窗台上。 “海维！”他叫道，他从椅子上蹦起，穿过屋子，拉开了窗。 海维飞了进来，在屋里旋绕了一圈，落在哈利的预言作业本上。 “正是时候！”哈利向她急走过去。 “她带来了回音！”罗恩指着海维腿上绑着一片脏兮兮的纸条兴奋地说。 哈利赶紧解下纸条，坐下看信，海维拍着翅膀，在他膝上咕咕地叫着，“信上说了什么？”荷米恩屏息问道。 信相当简短，潦草，似乎是在仓促间写下的，哈利大声念道：“哈利：我立刻赶往北部，我在这儿听到了一系列奇怪的谣言，最新的一个说法是关于你的伤疤的事，如果你还痛的话，直接向丹伯多求助——他们说他让魔眼莫迪任课，那意味着即使别人没看过警示，他已看到了。 我将很快再与你联系，请问候罗恩和荷米恩，自己小心！ 西里斯“ 哈利抬头看看罗恩和荷米恩，他们俩也望着他。 “他要赶往北方？”荷米恩低声说，“他会回来吧。” “丹伯多看了什么警示？”罗恩大为不解地问，“哈利——怎么回事？” 哈利用拳击着自己的额头，吓得海维赶紧从地膝上跳下。 “我不该告诉他的！”哈利怒道。 “你在说什么？”罗恩惊诧地问。 “这使得他认为自己得回来！”哈利重重地在桌子上击了一拳说道。海维愤怒地咕咕叫着，落到罗恩的椅背上，“他想我有麻烦了，所以他要回来，但我什么事也没有！我没东西喂你。”哈利朝海维叫道，而海维正张着嘴巴等着，“你要吃的话得去奥里路。” 海维很生气地望了他一眼，飞向开着的窗子，她飞过时在他的头用张开的翅膀拍了几下。 “哈利，”荷米恩安抚地说。 “我要睡了。”哈利简短地说，“明早见。” 在楼上的宿舍里，他套上睡衣，钻进四柱床，但他却不觉得累。 如果西里斯回来被逮住的话，那将是他哈利多嘴说错的话，为什么不能闭紧嘴巴呢？几秒钟的疼痛就泄露了秘密……要是没那么蠢，保住秘密就好了……过了一会儿，听到罗恩进了宿舍，但他没有对罗恩说什么，好年一段时间哈利躺在床上盯着黑乎乎的顶篷，宿舍里一片寂静，当他放松一点时，哈利发觉没听到平常尼维尔的鼾声，看来他并不是唯—一个睡不着的人。 |
Chapter 15 Beauxbatons And Durmstrang Early next morning, Harry woke with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain had been working on it all night. He got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, left the dormitory without waking Ron, and went back down to the deserted common room. Here he took a piece of parchment from the table upon which his Divination homework still lay and wrote the following letter: Dear Sirius, I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal. Harry He then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tried to overturn a large vase on him halfway along the fourth-floor corridor), finally arriving at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower. The Owlery was a circular stone room, rather cold and drafty, because none of the windows had glass in them. The floor was entirely covered in straw, owl droppings, and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and voles. Hundreds upon hundreds of owls of every breed imaginable were nestled here on perches that rose right up to the top of the tower, nearly all of them asleep, though here and there a round amber eye glared at Harry. He spotted Hedwig nestled between a barn owl and a tawny, and hurried over to her, sliding a little on the dropping-strewn floor. It took him a while to persuade her to wake up and then to look at him, as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail. She was evidently still furious about his lack of gratitude the previous night. In the end, it was Harry suggesting she might be too tired, and that perhaps he would ask Ron to borrow Pigwidgeon, that made her stick out her leg and allow him to tie the letter to it. “Just find him, all right?” Harry said, stroking her back as he carried her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall. “Before the dementors do.” She nipped his finger, perhaps rather harder than she would ordinarily have done, but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same. Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise. Harry watched her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in his stomach. He had been so sure that Sirius's reply would alleviate his worries rather than increasing them. “That was a lie, Harry,” said Hermione sharply over breakfast, when he told her and Ron what he had done. “You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it.” “So what?” said Harry. “He's not going back to Azkaban because of me.” “Drop it,” said Ron sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent. Harry did his best not to worry about Sirius over the next couple of weeks. True, he could not stop himself from looking anxiously around every morning when the post owls arrived, nor, late at night before he went to sleep, prevent himself from seeing horrible visions of Sirius, cornered by dementors down some dark London street, but betweentimes he tried to keep his mind off his godfather. He wished he still had Quidditch to distract him; nothing worked so well on a troubled mind as a good, hard training session. On the other hand, their lessons were becoming more difficult and demanding than ever before, particularly Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts. To their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects. “But - but you said it's illegal, Professor,” said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle of the room. “You said - to use it against another human was -” “Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” said Moody, his magical eye swiveling onto Hermione and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go.” He pointed one gnarled finger toward the door. Hermione went very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry and Ron grinned at each other. They knew Hermione would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson. Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it. “Potter,” Moody growled, “you next.” Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, “Imperio!” It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk…jump onto the desk… Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring. Jump onto the desk.… Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice. Jump onto the desk.… No, I don't think I will, thanks, said the other voice, a little more firmly…no, I don't really want to.… Jump! NOW! The next thing Harry felt was considerable pain. He had both jumped and tried to prevent himself from jumping - the result was that he'd smashed headlong into the desk knocking it over, and, by the feeling in his legs, fractured both his kneecaps. “Now, that's more like it!” growled Moody's voice, and suddenly, Harry felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. He remembered exactly what was happening, and the pain in his knees seemed to double. “Look at that, you lot…Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!” * * * * * * “The way he talks,” Harry muttered as he hobbled out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Harry through his paces four times in a row, until Harry could throw off the curse entirely), “you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second.” “Yeah, I know,” said Ron, who was skipping on every alternate step. He had had much more difficulty with the curse than Harry, though Moody assured him the effects would wear off by lunchtime. “Talk about paranoid…” Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. “No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted ‘Boo’ behind him on April Fools’ Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius Curse with everything else we've got to do?” All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a particularly loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned. “You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education!” she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. “Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer -” “We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!” said Dean Thomas indignantly. “Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!” Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. Harry and Ron were deeply amused when Professor Trelawney told them that they had received top marks for their homework in their next Divination class. She read out large portions of their predictions, commending them for their unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for them - but they were less amused when she asked them to do the same thing for the month after next; both of them were running out of ideas for catastrophes. Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this one seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms. Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their “project,” suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior. “I will not,” said Draco Malfoy flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. “I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks.” Hagrid's smile faded off his face. “Yeh'll do wha’ yer told,” he growled, “or I'll be takin’ a leaf outta Professor Moody's book.…I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.” The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting. Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Malfoy was particularly satisfying, especially because Malfoy had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year. When they arrived in the entrance hall, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two: TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT THE DELEGATIONS FROM BEAUXBATONS AND DURMSTRANG WILL BE ARRIVING AT 6 O'CLOCK ON FRIDAY THE 30TH OF OCTOBER. LESSONS WILL END HALF AN HOUR EARLY- “Brilliant!” said Harry. “It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!” STUDENTS WILL RETURN THEIR BAGS AND BOOKS TO THEIR DORMITORIES AND ASSEMBLE IN FRONT OF THE CASTLE TO GREET OUR GUESTS BEFORETHE WELCOMING FEAST. “Only a week away!” said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him.…” “Cedric?” said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off. “Diggory,” said Harry. “He must be entering the tournament.” “That idiot, Hogwarts champion?” said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd toward the staircase. “He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch,” said Hermione. “I've heard he's a really good student - and he's a prefect.” She spoke as though this settled the matter. “You only like him because he's handsome,” said Ron scathingly. “Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!” said Hermione indignantly. Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like “Lockhart!” The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves. Harry noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics. Other members of the staff seemed oddly tense too. “Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!” Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus. When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffiindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down beside Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them. “It's a bummer, all right,” George was saying gloomily to Fred. “But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forrever.” “Who's avoiding you?” said Ron, sitting down next to them. “Wish you would,” said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption. “What's a bummer?” Ron asked George. “Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” said George. “You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?” Harry asked. “Thought any more about trying to enter?” “I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling,” said George bitterly. “She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon.” “Wonder what the tasks are going to be?” said Ron thoughtfully. “You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before.…” “Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't,” said Fred. “McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks.” “Who are the judges?” Harry asked. “Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, “because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.” She noticed them all looking at her and said, with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read all the books she had, “It's all in Hogwarts, A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School.” “What are you on about?” said Ron, though Harry thought he knew what was coming. “House-elves!” said Hermione, her eyes flashing. “Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts, A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!” Harry shook his head and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. His and Ron's lack of enthusiasm had done nothing whatsoever to curb Hermione's determination to pursue justice for house-elves. True, both of them had paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, but they had only done it to keep her quiet. Their Sickles had been wasted, however; if anything, they seemed to have made Hermione more vociferous. She had been badgering Harry and Ron ever since, first to wear the badges, then to persuade others to do the same, and she had also taken to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under their noses. “You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved?” she kept saying fiercely. Some people, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them. A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say, but were reluctant to take a more active role in campaigning. Many regarded the whole thing as a joke. Ron now rolled his eyes at the ceiling, which was flooding them all in autumn sunlight, and Fred became extremely interested in his bacon (both twins had refused to buy a S.P.E.W. badge). George, however, leaned in toward Hermione. “Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?” “No, of course not,” said Hermione curtly, “I hardly think students are supposed to -” “Well, we have,” said George, indicating Fred, “loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world -” “That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!” Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. Harry looked up at once, and saw Hedwig soaring toward him. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Hedwig anxiously as she fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder, folded her wings, and held out her leg wearily. Harry pulled off Sirius's reply and offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to Ron and Hermione. Nice try, Harry. I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself Don't forget what I said about your scar. Sirius “Why d'you have to keep changing owls?” Ron asked in a low voice. “Hedwig'll attract too much attention,” said Hermione at once. “She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding…I mean, they're not native birds, are they?” Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes, wondering whether he felt more or less worried than before. He supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. He couldn't deny either that the idea that Sirius was much nearer was reassuring; at least he wouldn't have to wait so long for a response every time he wrote. “Thanks, Hedwig,” he said, stroking her. She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak briefly into his goblet of orange juice, then took off again, clearly desperate for a good long sleep in the Owlery. There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as they had been instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hall. The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. “Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.” Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait. “Follow me, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “First years in front…no pushing.…” They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing between Ron and Hermione in the fourth row from the front, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation among the other first years. “Nearly six,” said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive that led to the front gates. “How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?” “I doubt it,” said Hermione. “How, then? Broomsticks?” Harry suggested, looking up at the starry sky. “I don't think so…not from that far away.…” “A Portkey?” Ron suggested. “Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?” “You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?” said Hermione impatiently. They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quite as usual. Harry was starting to feel cold. He wished they'd hurry up.…Maybe the foreign students were preparing a dramatic entrance.…He remembered what Mr. Weasley had said back at the campsite before the Quidditch World Cup: “always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together.…” And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers - “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” “Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions. “There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest. Something large, much larger than a broomstick - or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks - was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time. “It's a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely. “Don't be stupid…it's a flying house!” said Dennis Creevey. Dennis's guess was closer.…As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powderblue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed - then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes. Harry just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened. A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage - a shoe the size of a child's sled - followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped. Harry had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in his life, and that was Hagrid; he doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow - maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid - this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it. “My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.” “Dumbly-dort,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?” “In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore. “My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her. Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what Harry could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces. “As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked. “He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?” “Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ‘orses -” “Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other - er - charges.” “Skrewts,” Ron muttered to Harry, grinning. “My steeds require - er - forceful ‘andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong.…” “I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?” “It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing. “Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps. “How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?” Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati to address Harry and Ron. “Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them,” said Harry. “That's if he hasn't been attacked by his skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?” “Maybe they've escaped,” said Ron hopefully. “Oh don't say that,” said Hermione with a shudder. “Imagine that lot loose on the grounds.…” They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then - “Can you hear something?” said Ron suddenly. Harry listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed.… “The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!” From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water - except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks -and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.… What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool…and then Harry saw the rigging.… “It's a mast!” he said to Ron and Hermione. Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle…but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair. “Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” “Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied. Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own. “Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. “How good it is to be here, how good.…Viktor, come along, into the warmth…you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…” Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He didn't need the punch on the arm Ron gave him, or the hiss in his ear, to recognize that profile. “Harry - it's Krum!” 第二天一大早，哈利醒过来了，心里计划得满满的，似乎他休眠的大脑整夜都在计划着，他起了床，在微弱的晨光中穿好衣服，没叫醒罗恩就离开了宿舍，回到空空的大屋去，他从桌上拾起一片写着他的作业的纸片，写了下面这封信：亲爱的西里斯：我想我的伤疤犯痛不过是种想象，上次给你写信时我迷迷糊糊的，你不必回来，这儿一切均好，别为我担心，我现在一切如常。 哈利然后他爬出画像洞口，城堡静悄悄的，他往堡顶走去，最后他到了，在西塔楼的顶部。 奥里路是个用石头建的流通室，因为窗子全都没有玻璃，所以风很大，极为冷。地面上到处都是稻草、猫头鹰粪和老鼠、田鼠的残骸，成百只各类的猫头鹰在伸向塔顶的栖木上筑巢，几乎所有的猫头鹰都在睡觉，但时不时有个褐色的圆眼睛盯住哈利，哈利认出海维，她的巢在一只谷仓猫头鹰和一个茶猫头鹰之间，他急忙走过去，在满是鸟粪的地板上稍稍滑了一下。 他花了一会儿的工夫叫醒了她，她边看着他边在巢里跳来跳去，给他看她的尾巴，显然，她仍然对他前一天晚上的不敬感到气愤，最后，哈利说担心她会太累可能他该向罗恩借用皮维军，这才使得她伸出腿，让他把信绑在上面。 “一定要找到他，行吗？”哈利抚着她的背，把她托在手臂上走到一个墙洞口，“要在丹伯多之前找到他。” 她啄着他的手指，可能比平常用力，但她轻轻地咕咕叫着，好像在作保证一样，然后她展开翅膀，飞向天空，看着她飞去，哈利又有种熟悉的不安的感觉。他曾经是多么肯定西里斯的回信会缓解而不是增加他的忧虑。 “那是骗人，哈利。”荷米恩早餐时尖声说，哈利刚告诉了她和罗恩他所做的事。“你没有假想伤疤犯痛，你自己知道的。” “那又怎么样？”哈利说，“他不会因为我而回到阿兹克班去！” 荷米恩张嘴还要再辩，罗恩尖叫着说，“别说了。”荷米恩看他一眼，不说话了。 接下来的几个星期，哈利竭力不去担心西里斯，他希望还有快迪斯来让他分心，艰苦的训练对于烦恼的心灵是最有效的，另一方面，他们的功课，尤其是邪术防御，越来越难了，要求也越来越高。 让他们吃惊的是莫迪教授宣布，他将轮流对他们施英普流斯咒语，以展示它的威力和试验他们能否抗拒它的作用。 “但是——你说那是非法的，教授。”荷米恩犹豫地说，莫迪已挥动魔杖，清除了课桌，房子中间空出一大片地方，“你说——对人施咒是——” “丹伯多想让你们通过切身体会去学。”莫迪说，他的魔眼转向荷米恩，眼神古怪，一眨不眨地盯着她，“如果你宁愿以痛苦的方式——让别人对你施咒以便完完全全摆布你——去学的话，你可以走，我可无所谓。” 他疤结的手指向教室门，荷米恩脸红了，低声嘟哝，她并不是不想上课。哈利和罗恩相视而笑，他们知道荷米恩宁可喝布鸠伯斯波脓液也不愿错过如此重要的一课。 莫迪开始一个一个地把学生叫上前来，对他们施英普流斯咒，哈利看着同学在咒语的作用下一个个地做着最奇怪的动作，迪恩。 托马斯绕着屋子单足跳了三次，唱着国歌，莱文登。布朗模仿麻雀的样子，尼维尔表演了一套让人惊诧的体操，在他的常态中，他显然是不能够那样做的。他们并不都能够抵抗咒语，每个人只有在莫迪解除咒语时才恢复了正常。 “波特！”莫迪吼道，“你是下一个。” 哈利走上前，站在莫迪移开了桌子的空地上，莫迪举起魔杖，指着哈利说：“英普流斯。” 这是最奇妙的感觉，哈利觉得要飞起来了，所有心中的想法和忧虑被轻轻地拂走了，只留下模糊的，毫无踪迹的快乐，他站在那里，感到非常轻松，只是隐约知道大家都在看着他。 然后，他听到莫迪的声音，在他空荡荡的脑中回响着，“跳上桌子……跳上桌子……” 哈利驯服地弯下膝盖，准备跳了。 “跳上桌子……” “但，为什么要跳？”另外一个声音从他脑后而来，提醒了他，“那样做真是够蠢的。”那声音说。 “跳上桌子……” “不，我不想跳。”另一个声音说，它变得更坚定了……“不，我真不想……” 跳！立即跳！ 接下来，哈利觉得非常痛苦，跳和竭力阻他跳的念头，他两者兼有，结果是他仓促地冲向桌子，把它碰倒了，他腿上的痛感，他知道伤了双膝。 “啊，有点像样了。”莫迪大叫道，突然间哈利发觉脑中那空洞、回荡的感觉消失了，他对刚才的事一清二楚，膝上的痛似乎加剧了。 “你们看，……波特抵抗了，他抵抗了咒语，他几乎战胜了，我们再试一次，波特，其余的注意了——观察他的双眼，那是你们该看的地方——很好，波特，棒极了，咒语可没那么容易摆布你！” 一小时后，哈利一瘸一拐地走出课堂，（莫迪坚持要哈利连续4次作演示，直到他完全可以摆脱咒语为止），“听他说，那样子。” 哈利说，“好像我们全都随时会被袭击。” “啊，我知道。”罗恩说，他两级两级地跳着楼梯，在施咒时，他可比哈利惨多了，虽然莫迪和向他保证到午餐时，症状便会消失的。“他总是臆想，”罗恩紧张地往身后扫视，确信莫迪肯定听不到讲话，他接着说，“难怪在那里他们很高兴摆脱了他，你听到他告诉西摩斯的话吗？关于他怎么报复那个在愚人节时在他背后啐了一口的女巫的事，我们什么时候必须看完抵制英普流斯诅咒的书并完成其它的作业？” 所有的四年级学生都注意到这学期他们的完成的作业量明显增加了。当麦康娜教授布置了大量的变形学作业，招来全班学生特别大声的抗议时，她解释了其中的原因。 “你们现在处于魔法教育的一个非常重要的阶段！”她告诉他们，眼睛在方框镜片后发着眩目的亮光，“你们的普通巫师水平测试迫近了——” “我们五年级时才要测试！”迪思斯愤愤地说。 “那不一定，托马斯，相信我，你们应作好能做的所有准备！ 全班只有格林佐小姐成功地将一只豪猪变成一个令人满意的针插，我得提醒你，托马斯，你的针插却在别人拿着针靠近它时，还是惊恐地蟋起来！“ 荷米恩，又一次脸红了，好像竭力不使自己显得太高兴。 在下节咒语课上，特雷络尼教授说哈利和罗恩的作业得了最高分，这让他俩觉得十分好笑，她念了大部分他们的预言，表扬他们毫不畏惧地迎接蕴藏的恶运，但当她要他们为后个月再作预言时，他们不觉得开心了，因为他们俩都想不出什么灾祸了。 同时，教魔法历史的宾西教授要他们写一周一次的文章，关于18世纪妖精起义的事。史纳皮教授迫使他们研究解毒剂，他们不敢掉以轻心，因为他暗示说可能会在圣诞之前毒倒一个学生，以试验他们的解毒剂是否有效，菲利特威克教授吩咐他们多读三本书，为召唤符咒的课作准备。 甚至哈格力也增加了他们的负担，尾巴冒火的史库斯生长得很快而没人发现它们吃了什么。哈格力对此很高兴，作为他们“工程”的一部分，他建议他们每隔一晚去一次他小屋观察史库斯，并记下它们异常的表现。 “我不干，”杰高。马尔夫直接说道，他觉得哈格力的建议好像是圣诞老人从他的袋子里拿走了一件特别大的玩具。“谢天谢地，上课时我可看够了这些禽类。” 哈格力脸上的微笑消失了。 “你得按我吩咐的做，”他咆哮道，“否则，我要向莫迪教授学一招……我听说，你表演的雪貂似模似样的，马尔夫。” 全班学生大笑起来，马尔夫因生气而满脸通红，但显然，想起莫迪给他的惩罚是足以让他痛苦的无法还嘴。上完课，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩兴高采烈地回到城堡，看到哈格力压住马尔夫特别让人满意。尤其是因为上一年马尔夫竭力使哈格力遭解雇。 到了前厅，他们发现无法前行了，因为那儿聚集了一大群学上，全都围着在一个坚在大理五楼梯下的大告示牌，他们三个中最高的是罗恩，他踮起足尖，越过前面的人，大声地对另外两位念道：魔法三人对抗赛来自比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的代表队将于10月30日，周五六点抵达，届时将提前半小时下课——“太好了！”哈利说，“周五最后一节是药剂课，史纳皮将没时间给我们下毒！” 欢迎宴会开始之前，学生必须把书包及课本放回宿舍，然后在城堡门前集合，欢迎来宾。 “只有一个星期了！”海夫巴夫的埃尼·麦米兰眼里闪着光，从人群里冒出来，“塞德利克知道吗？我想我得去告诉他……” “塞德利克？”罗恩茫然地问，埃尼已跑开了。 “就是迪格瑞。”哈利说，“他一定会进入比赛的。” “那个白痴，会是霍格瓦彻的冠军？”罗恩问，他们从议论纷纷的人群中费力挤过，走向楼梯。 “他不是白痴，你不能因为他在快迪斯中打败了格林芬顿就讨厌他！”荷米恩说，“我听说他确是个好学生——并且他是个级长。” 她似乎想以此终了这个话题。 “你不过因为他长得英俊就喜欢他。”罗恩尖刻地说。 “对不起，我可不会只因别人长得英俊就喜欢他们！”荷米恩愤愤地说。 罗恩大声地假装咳嗽，听起来很奇怪，像“啦咔！” 前厅告示牌对城堡里的人影响极大，接下来的一周内，无论哈利去哪里，似乎都只听到一个话题，魔法三人对抗赛，谣言像传染性很强的细菌一样，在学生间流传着：谁要争霍格瓦彻冠军宝座，比赛将牵涉到什么，比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安的学生又如何与他们不同。 哈利也注意到，城堡似乎在经历一场彻底的清洁，几张肮脏的画像被取了下来，让它们的主人公很不高兴，他们坐着挤在画框里，恶毒地骂着，当他们摸到淡红的脸时，又目不忍睹似地闭着眼。那几套盔甲突然间变得锃亮，走动起来也没有吱吱声了，校容校纪主任阿格斯。费驰对学生忘记擦干净鞋子表现得极为暴怒，他甚至把两个一年级学生吓得患了病。 别的教工似乎也很古怪。 “尼维尔，求你别在丹姆斯安学生面前表露你连简单的变形符咒也不会！”在一堂特别难的课快结束时，麦康娜这么对尼维尔说，他在这节课上不小心把自己的耳朵接到一棵仙人掌上。 10月30日早上他们下去吃早餐时，发现大厅一夜间已被装饰一新，巨大的丝质长幅从墙上垂下来，每个长幅代表霍格瓦彻的一个班，绘有金狮的红色长幅是格林芬顿，有金鹰的蓝幅是卫文卡罗，有黑獾的黄幅是海夫巴夫，有银蛇的绿幅是史林德林，教工桌的后由，是一个最大的长幅，上面是霍格瓦彻学校队的标识：狮、鹰、獾和蛇，全都绕在一个大大的“霍格瓦彻”周围。 哈利、罗恩和荷米恩在格林芬顿桌上看到了弗来德和乔治，第二次了，他们不同寻常地坐在远离别人的地方，低声说话，哈利、罗恩、荷米恩向他们走去。 “好了，这是个班姆。”乔治不悦地对弗来德说，“但要是他不肯亲自和我们说话，我们就得把信给他送去，或者塞到他手里，他总不能老躲着我们。” “谁在躲开你们？”罗恩问道，在旁坐下。 “班姆想躲开你。”弗来德对罗恩的插嘴很恼火。 “班姆是什么？”罗恩问乔治。 “他有个像你这么多嘴的弟弟！”乔治说。 “你们俩知道关于魔法三人对抗赛的什么事吗？”哈利问，“有法子混过去吗？” “我问麦康娜冠军是怎么个选法，但她不告诉我。”乔治生气地说，“她只叫我闭嘴。” “到底是什么赛项呢？”罗恩沉思道，“你也知道，我肯说我们行的，哈利，我们以前就做过危险的事……” “没在一群裁判面前做过，你们没有。”弗来德说，“麦康娜说选手们将按他们比赛表现的好坏程度得到加分。” “裁判是谁？”哈利问。 “嗯，参赛学校的校长总是裁判团的成员。”荷米恩说，每个人都惊奇地望着她，“因为在1792年的比赛中，三位校长都受伤了，那时一头选手们要捕获的棕熊到处冲撞。” 她注意到他们全都看着她，带着她惯有的对别人没有读过的书的不耐烦，她又说，“全在《霍格瓦彻历史》上写着呢，当然，那本书不完全可信，它应改名叫《霍格瓦彻修订历史》才更准确，或者叫《精选霍格瓦彻历史》，书里掩盖了学校阴暗的一面。” “你说的是什么？”罗恩问，但哈利想他知道她接着要说的话。 “佣人小精灵！”荷米恩大声说，证实了哈利的想法，“在一千多页书里《霍格瓦彻的历史》一次也没提到，我们全都是压迫一百个奴隶的同谋！” 哈利摇摇头，吃他的炒蛋，他和罗恩的冷淡丝毫没有影响荷米恩要为佣人小精灵申诉的决心，的确，他们俩都花了两个钱币买了个徽章，但那样做不过是为了让她安静下来。但是，他们的钱似乎白花了，因为他们的做法，如果要说有什么成效的话，只是让荷米恩说得更多了，她自那时就一直纠缠着他们俩，先是要佩戴徽章，然后要劝说别人也这么做，她甚至喜欢每晚到格林芬顿的大厅里荡悠，拦住人们把募捐箱放到他们鼻子下边，晃动着。 “你们知道吗？为你们换床单、升火炉、清教室、弄伙食的是一群没有工资的被奴役的生灵！”她仍愤怒地说。 有些人，像尼维尔，捐了钱不过是免得荷米恩再对他们怒目而视，有些人对她的话稍有点兴趣，但不愿在宣传运动中再作进一步积极的行动，很多人则把整件事当作玩笑。 罗恩把眼睛转向天花板上，上面秋天的阳光照耀着他们，而弗来德对他的牛排尤为感兴趣，（这对双胞胎都拒绝买一个徽章），但乔治却向荷米恩探过身去。 “听着，荷米恩你去过厨房吗？” “没有，当然没有。”荷米恩无礼地说，“我可不认为学生可以——” “我们去过，”乔治指着弗来德说，“去过很多次，去偷东西吃，我们见过他们，他们都很快活，觉得他们的工作是世界上最好的——” “那是因为他们受教育不够，又被洗了脑！”荷米恩变得火爆了，但她接下来的几句话被头顶上传来的呼呼的喧闹声淹没了，那声音宣告了猫头鹰信差们来了，哈利立刻往上看，海维朝他飞来，荷米恩随即停止说话，和罗恩急切地望着海维，她拍着翅膀，落到哈利肩上，收拢双翼，疲倦地伸出腿。 哈利拿下西里斯的回信，把他的牛排结海维吃，她便感激地吃了，哈利确信弗来德和乔治已沉浸在对比赛的进一步讨论中后，他低声给罗恩和荷米恩念西里斯的信。 哈利：我回到乡下，妥善地隐蔽起来了，我要你把在霍格瓦彻发生的事全都写信告诉我，别用海维，频繁更换猫头鹰，不必担心我，你自己小心就行了，别忘了我上次说的关于你的伤疤的话。 西里斯“为什么要频繁更换猫头鹰？”罗恩低声问。 “海维会招人注意的！”荷米恩立刻说道，“她与众不同，一个雪白的猫头鹰，不断地出没在他的藏身之处……我是说，它不是本地有的鸟，对吗？” 哈利卷起信，把它塞进袍里，心里比先前放心了一些。他觉得西里斯该回来了，没有被抓住真是件了不起的事。他也并不否认西亚斯离他近多了更让他放心，至少，他不必为每次回信都等那么长时间。 “谢谢，海维。”他抚摸着她说，她疲乏地咕咕着，在他杯里蘸了点桔子汁，然后又飞起来，显然是赶回奥里路睡个好觉。 那天学校里有种愉快的期待的气氛，大家上课都有点心不在焉，对晚上那些从比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安来的人更感兴趣，甚至药剂课也比以前更可容忍了，因为它提前半个小时结束了。当铃声响了时，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩赶紧回格林芬顿塔，按要求放好书包和课本，披上斗篷，冲下楼，跑到前厅。 各班主任正在指挥学生们排队。 “威斯里戴好帽子，”麦康娜教授对罗恩叫道，“普特先生，把你头上那可笑的玩意拿下。” 普怀特皱着眉，从发辫梢上取下一个大大的装饰蝴蝶。 “跟着我，快。”麦康娜教授说，“一年级的在前……别推……” 他们鱼贯走下前面的台阶，在城堡面前排好，这是个寒冷的晚上，天空中没有云朵，夜幕降下来了，苍白的半透明的月亮照在森林的上空，哈利在罗恩和荷米恩中间，站在前面第4排，他看到可利维在别的一年级学生间兴奋的发抖，充满期盼。 “快六点了。”罗恩看了一下表说，然后又往下看看那通往前门的马路，“你觉得他们会怎样来这儿的？坐火车吗？” “我怀疑不是。”荷米思说。 “那么怎么样来？坐在扫帚上？”哈利望着星空，猜测着说。 “我认为不是那样的……没那么远……” “通过波奇？”罗恩猜道，“还是他们会变身——” “在霍格瓦彻之内你不能变身，我得告诉你多少次？”荷米恩不耐心地说。 他们兴奋地往暗下来的地面上看，但没什么动静，一切都像平常那样安静，哈利开始觉得冷了，他盼望他们快点来，那外地学生都在准备一个戏剧般的出场式……他记得在快迪斯世界杯之前，威斯里先生在营地上讲的话——“总是这样，我们聚在一起时，也禁不住要炫耀一番……” 丹伯多的叫声从后排传来，他和几位老师在那里站着，“啊！ 我没弄错的话，比尔贝顿代表队来了！“ “哪儿？”许多学生急切地问，他们向四处张望。 “在那儿！”一位六年级学生指向森林说道。 一个很大的，比扫帚大得多得东西——或者说比100把扫帚大得多的东西，在深蓝的天空中飞驰而来，不断地变得越来越大。 “是条龙！”一个一年级学生完全昏了头，尖叫起来。 “别傻了……是一所飞屋！”迪尼。可利维说。 迪尼的猜测更贴切，那巨大的黑影掠过森林的树梢，从城堡窗里发出来的光照到了它，他们看到了一个庞大的、粉蓝色的马车，有一座大屋子那么大，向他们呼啸而来，十二匹有翼的马，每匹都如大象那样大，在空中拉着车子。 马车飞低了一些，前三排的学生往后退了几步，马车猛地停在地上，一声巨响吓得尼维尔往后一跳，踩到一个史林德林五年级学生的脚。那些比盘子还大的马蹄猛击到了地面。随即，车子也降下来，巨大的车轮蹦了几下，金色的大马扭着头，转着又大又红的暴眼。 车门打开前，哈利刚好看清车门上有一层防御图腾像（两支交叉的金色魔杖各自射出三颗星）。 一个穿着浅蓝袍子的男孩从车上跳下来，俯身向前在车厢地板上摸索了一会儿，展开一段金色的叠梯，他恭敬地往后退，哈利随后看到一只闪亮的黑高跟鞋从车里伸出来，鞋子如同小孩的雪撬那么大，接着，几乎在一瞬间一个哈利平生见过的最高大的妇人走了出来，一下子就解释了马和车子的体积为什么那么大，几个人倒抽了一口气。 哈利只见过一个人有这位妇人这么高大，那即是哈格力，他怀疑他们的身高是否有丝毫的差别，但不知怎么地——或许是他已看惯了哈格力——这位妇人（她现在走到楼梯下面，环视着睁大眼的前来欢迎的人群）看上去更显得异常的高大，她往前迈步，笼罩在从前厅中射来的灯光中，她展现了一张俊俏的皮肤，光滑的脸，眼睛只大又黑，水质一般，鹰钩鼻子，头发往后梳成髻，在脖根处闪亮着，她从头到脚都是黑缎，精美耀眼蛋白石在她脖子上和厚实的手指上闪闪发亮。 丹伯多开始鼓掌，学生们跟着爆发出掌声，很多人踮着脚，以便看得更清楚。 她向丹伯多走去，脸上露出优雅的微笑，她伸出亮闪闪的手，丹伯多虽说不矮，却几乎不必俯下身去吻她的手。 “亲爱的玛西姆女士。”他说，“欢迎到霍格瓦彻来！” “丹伯多，”玛西姆女士的嗓音深沉，“别来无恙吧？” “我很好，谢谢。”丹伯多说。 “同学们。”玛西姆女士说，往身后随便挥了一下她的大手。 哈利一直注意着玛西姆女士，现在看到了大约有12个男孩。 女孩，从他们的长相看，都在十六岁以上，他们从车里出来，站在玛西姆女士身后，他们的饱子是上乘的绸料做的，全都没披斗篷，只有几个在头上围了围巾，难怪他们在发抖。从哈利可以看到的那部分脸（他们站在玛西姆的巨大背影中），他们是在仰望着霍格瓦彻，神情急切。 “克罗夫到了吗？”玛西姆女士说。 “他随时会到的。”丹伯多说，“你愿意在这儿等候他，还是要进去暖和一下？” “暖一暖吧，我想。”玛西姆夫人说，“但这些马——” “我们的魔灵教师会很乐意照料它们。”丹伯多说，“他——从他——嗯，别的事务中回来，就会去照料你的马的，他现在在处理一点小事。” “史库斯。”罗恩笑着对哈利说。 “我的马——嗯——不太驯服，得强硬点。”玛西姆夫人说，看上去她似乎怀疑没什么霍格瓦彻的魔灵教师能够胜任。“他们很强壮的……” “我担保哈格力完全能胜任的。”丹伯多微笑着说。 “好极了。”玛西姆夫人稍稍一鞠，“请你告诉那位哈格力先生，这些马只饮麦芽威士忌。” “会照您的吩咐去做的。”丹伯多说，他也一鞠身。 “来吧。”玛西姆命令她的学生。霍格瓦彻的人分开一条路让她和她的学生通过石阶。 “你觉得丹伯多的马会有多大？”谢默斯从莱文登和普怀特旁探出身来对哈利和罗恩说话。 “要是比这群还大的话，就连哈格力也没法对付了。”哈利说。 “可能他们逃脱了。”罗恩满怀希望地说。 “噢，别那么说，”荷米恩说，抖了一下，“想想这些东西逃脱了出来……” 他们都在稍稍地颤抖，站着等候丹姆斯安代表队的到来，多数人充满希望地望着天空，好几分钟，只有玛西姆夫人的马的鼻息声和跺脚声才打破了沉默，然后——“你听到什么了吗？”罗恩突然说。 哈利一听，一种奇怪的响声从黑暗中飘来，混杂着轰轰声和吸气声，似乎是有个巨大的吸尘器沿着河床移过来…… “湖泊！”李·乔丹指向下面的湖大声说：“看那湖！” 他们站在俯视地面的草坪顶部，从这儿可以清楚地看到黑色平滑的湖面——但突然水面激荡起来，湖心深处有动静，大水泡在水面形成了，波浪冲击着泥泞的湖岸——然后，湖的正中间出现了个漩涡，好像一个大活塞刚被从湖底拔了出来…… 一个看起来像又长又黑的往子开始慢慢地从漩涡中间升上来，随后，哈利看到了帆缆…… “是桅船！”他对罗恩和荷米恩说。 船慢慢地气势雄伟地浮上水面，在月光中闪亮着，它样子很奇怪，骨架似的，仿佛是艘修复的废船，那模糊的灯光在舷窗里闪着微光，像鬼眼一般，终于，一声巨大的排水声，船完全浮现了，在荡漾的水面上波动，开始向岸边驶来，不一会儿，他们见到了锚被抛入浅处的溅水声和把木板铺上岸的砰砰声。 人们下船了，他们看到他们经过舷窗里的灯光的剪影，哈利注意到，他们的块头全都如同克来伯和高尔那样……但当他们走进了一些，走上草地，让前厅的光照到时，他发现他们的身影高大是因为穿了长毛编织的毛斗篷，但那领头走向城堡的人穿了另外一种毛斗篷，是光滑、银色的，就像他的头发一样。 “丹伯多！”他热情地招呼，走上斜坡，“你好吗？我亲爱的伙计，你好吗？” “好得很，谢谢，卡克罗夫教授。”丹伯多回答。 卡克罗夫的嗓音听起来有点装腔作势，假热心，当他走进前门灯光中时，他们看到他长得高高瘦瘦的，像丹伯多的身材，但他的白发很短，下巴上的胡子（修成小卷儿）并没能完全掩盖他松驰的下巴，他靠近了丹伯多，双手握住丹伯多的手。 “亲爱的霍格瓦彻城堡。”他说，仰望着城堡微笑着。他的牙极黄，哈利注意到他的双眼并没有笑意，而是冷酷狡诈的，“在这儿多好啊，多好……维特过来，暖和一下……你不介意吧，丹伯多？ 维特有点感冒……“ 卡克罗夫往前召唤他其中的一个学生，那男孩走过时，哈利瞥见一个突出的鹰钩鼻子和又黑又浓的眉毛，罗恩不用在他臂上击一拳或对他的耳朵嘘一声，哈利都可以认出那个剪影。 “哈利——是克伦！” |
Chapter 16 The Goblet Of Fire I don't believe it!” Ron said, in a stunned voice, as the Hogwarts students filed back up the steps behind the party from Durmstrang. “Krum, Harry! Viktor Krum!” “For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player,” said Hermione. “Only a Quidditch player?” Ron said, looking at her as though he couldn't believe his ears. “Hermione - he's one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!” As they recrossed the entrance hall with the rest of the Hogwarts students heading for the Great Hall, Harry saw Lee Jordan jumping up and down on the soles of his feet to get a better look at the back of Krum's head. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked - “Oh I don't believe it, I haven't got a single quill on me -” “D'you think he'd sign my hat in lipstick?” “Really,” Hermione said loftily as they passed the girls, now squabbling over the lipstick. “I'm getting his autograph if I can,” said Ron. “You haven't got a quill, have you, Harry?” “Nope, they're upstairs in my bag,” said Harry. They walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron took care to sit on the side facing the doorway, because Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students were still gathered around it, apparently unsure about where they should sit. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads. “It's not that cold,” said Hermione defensively. “Why didn't they bring cloaks?” “Over here! Come and sit over here!” Ron hissed. “Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space -” “What?” “Too late,” said Ron bitterly. Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Harry could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As he watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum. “Yeah, that's right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly. “I bet Krum can see right through him, though…bet he gets people fawning over him all the time.…Where d'you reckon they're going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry…I wouldn't mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed.” Hermione snorted. “They look a lot happier than the Beauxbatons lot,” said Harry. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed. Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion. Harry was surprised to see that he added four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore's. “But there are only two extra people,” Harry said. “Why's Filch putting out four chairs, who else is coming?” “Eh?” said Ron vaguely. He was still staring avidly at Krum. When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their House tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed, however, and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore's left-hand side. Dumbledore remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and - most particularly - guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.” One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh. “No one's making you stay!” Hermione whispered, bristling at her. “The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” He sat down, and Harry saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation. The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign. “What's that?” said Ron, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding. “Bouillabaisse,” said Hermione. “Bless you,” said Ron. “It's French,” said Hermione, “I had it on holiday summer before last. It's very nice.” “I'll take your word for it,” said Ron, helping himself to black pudding. The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts’ robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred. Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand. “Skrewts doing all right, Hagrid?” Harry called. “Thrivin',” Hagrid called back happily. “Yeah, I'll just bet they are,” said Ron quietly. “Looks like they've finally found a food they like, doesn't it? Hagrid's fingers.” At that moment, a voice said, “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore's speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth. Ron went purple. He stared up at her, opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a faint gurgling noise. “Yeah, have it,” said Harry, pushing the dish toward the girl. “You ‘ave finished wiz it?” “Yeah,” Ron said breathlessly. “Yeah, it was excellent.” The girl picked up the dish and carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Ron was still goggling at the girl as though he had never seen one before. Harry started to laugh. The sound seemed to jog Ron back to his senses. “She's a veela!” he said hoarsely to Harry. “Of course she isn't!” said Hermione tartly. “I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!” But she wasn't entirely right about that. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys’ heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like Ron. “I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. “They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!” “They make them okay at Hogwarts,” said Harry without thinking. Cho happened to be sitting only a few places away from the girl with the silvery hair. “When you've both put your eyes back in,” said Hermione briskly, “you'll be able to see who's just arrived.” She was pointing up at the staff table. The two remaining empty seats had just been filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff's other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime. “What are they doing here?” said Harry in surprise. “They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?” said Hermione. “I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.” When the second course arrived they noticed a number of unfamiliar desserts too. Ron examined an odd sort of pale blancmange closely, then moved it carefully a few inches to his right, so that it would be clearly visible from the Ravenclaw table. The girl who looked like a veela appeared to have eaten enough, however, and did not come over to get it. Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Harry felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming. Several seats down from them, Fred and George were leaning forward, staring at Dumbledore with great concentration. “The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket -” “The what?” Harry muttered. Ron shrugged. “- just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation” - there was a smattering of polite applause - “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry thought he looked strange in wizard's robes. His toothbrush mustache and severe parting looked very odd next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard. “Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.” At the mention of the word “champions,” the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.” Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students; Dennis Creevey actually stood on his chair to see it properly, but, being so tiny, his head hardly rose above anyone else's. “The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways.. their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.” At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. “As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.” Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall. “Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. “To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. “Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.” “An Age Line!” Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in that goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!” “But I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione, “we just haven't learned enough…” “Speak for yourself,” said George shortly. “You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?” Harry thought briefly of Dumbledore's insistence that nobody under seventeen should submit their name, but then the wonderful picture of himself winning the Triwizard Tournament filled his mind again.…He wondered how angry Dumbledore would be if someone younger than seventeen did find a way to get over the Age Line. “Where is he?” said Ron, who wasn't listening to a word of this conversation, but looking through the crowd to see what had become of Krum. “Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?” But this query was answered almost instantly; they were level with the Slytherin table now, and Karkaroff had just bustled up to his students. “Back to the ship, then,” he was saying. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?” Harry saw Krum shake his head as he pulled his furs back on. “Professor, Ivood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully. “I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy -” Karkaroff turned and led his students toward the doors, reaching them at exactly the same moment as Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry stopped to let him walk through first. “Thank you,” said Karkaroff carelessly, glancing at him. And then Karkaroff froze. He turned his head back to Harry and stared at him as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind their headmaster, the students from Durmstrang came to a halt too. Karkaroff's eyes moved slowly up Harry's face and fixed upon his scar. The Durmstrang students were staring curiously at Harry too. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces. The boy with food all down his front nudged the girl next to him and pointed openly at Harry's forehead. “Yeah, that's Harry Potter,” said a growling voice from behind them. Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster. The color drained from Karkaroff's face as Harry watched. A terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over him. “You!” he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him. “Me,” said Moody grimly. “And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway.” It was true; half the students in the Hall were now waiting behind them, looking over one another's shoulders to see what was causing the holdup. Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him until he was out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. * * * * * * As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have breakfasted late. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not alone in rising much earlier than they usually did on weekends. When they went down into the entrance hall, they saw about twenty people milling around it, some of them eating toast, all examining the Goblet of Fire. It had been placed in the center of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction. “Anyone put their name in yet?” Ron asked a third-year girl eagerly. “All the Durmstrang lot,” she replied. “But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet.” “Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed,” said Harry. “I would've if it had been me…wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the goblet just gobbed you right back out again?” Someone laughed behind Harry. Turning, he saw Fred, George, and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, all three of them looking extremely excited. “Done it,” Fred said in a triumphant whisper to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Just taken it.” “What?” said Ron. “The Aging Potion, dung brains,” said Fred. “One drop each,” said George, rubbing his hands together with glee. “We only need to be a few months older.” “We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins,” said Lee, grinning broadly. “I'm not sure this is going to work, you know,” said Hermione warningly. “I'm sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.” Fred, George, and Lee ignored her. “Ready?” Fred said to the other two, quivering with excitement. “C'mon, then - I'll go first -” Harry watched, fascinated, as Fred pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket bearing the words Fred Weasley - Hogwarts. Fred walked right up to the edge of the line and stood there, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. Then, with the eyes of every person in the entrance hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line. For a split second Harry thought it had worked - George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred - but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical long white beards. The entrance hall rang with laughter. Even Fred and George joined in, once they had gotten to their feet and taken a good look at each other's beards. “I did warn you,” said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, his eyes twinkling. “I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.” Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, accompanied by Lee, who was howling with laughter, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione, also chortling, went in to breakfast. The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those Hogwarts students of seventeen or over who might be entering. “There's a rumor going around that Warrington got up early and put his name in,” Dean told Harry. “That big bloke from Slytherin who looks like a sloth.” Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington, shook his head in disgust. “We can't have a Slytherin champion!” “And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,” said Seamus contemptuously. “But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks.” “Listen!” said Hermione suddenly. People were cheering out in the entrance hall. They all swiveled around in their seats and saw Angelina Johnson coming into the Hall, grinning in an embarrassed sort of way. A tall black girl who played Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Angelina came over to them, sat down, and said, “Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!” “You're kidding!” said Ron, looking impressed. “Are you seventeen, then?” asked Harry. “Course she is, can't see a beard, can you?” said Ron. “I had my birthday last week,” said Angelina. “Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor's entering,” said Hermione. “I really hope you get it, Angelina!” “Thanks, Hermione,” said Angelina, smiling at her. Yeah, better you than Pretty-Boy Diggory, said Seamus, causing several Hufflepuffs passing their table to scowl heavily at him. “What're we going to do today, then?” Ron asked Harry and Hermione when they had finished breakfast and were leaving the Great Hall. “We haven't been down to visit Hagrid yet,” said Harry. “Okay,” said Ron, “just as long as he doesn't ask us to donate a few fingers to the skrewts.” A look of great excitement suddenly dawned on Hermione's face. “I've just realized - I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!” she said brightly. “Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?” “What is it with her?” said Ron, exasperated, as Hermione ran away up the marble staircase. “Hey, Ron,” said Harry suddenly. “It's your friend…” The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the front doors from the grounds, among them, the veela-girl. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly. Madame Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks. “What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones who aren't chosen?” Ron muttered to Harry as the veela-girl dropped her parchment into the Goblet of Fire. “Reckon they'll go back to school, or hang around to watch the tournament?” “Dunno,” said Harry. “Hang around, I suppose.…Madame Maxime's staying to judge, isn't she?” When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madame Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again. “Where are they sleeping, then?” said Ron, moving toward the front doors and staring after them. A loud rattling noise behind them announced Hermione's reappearance with the box of S. P. E.W. badges. “Oh good, hurry up,” said Ron, and he jumped down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the veela-girl, who was now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime. As they neared Hagrid's cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the mystery of the Beauxbatons’ sleeping quarters was solved. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid's front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it. Harry knocked on Hagrid's door, and Fang's booming barks answered instantly. “'Bout time!” said Hagrid, when he'd flung open the door. “Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!” “We've been really busy, Hag -” Hermione started to say, but then she stopped dead, looking up at Hagrid, apparently lost for words. Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn't the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches - perhaps he had tried a ponytail like Bill's, but found he had too much hair. The look didn't really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, Hermione goggled at him, then, obviously deciding not to comment, she said, “Erm - where are the skrewts.” “Out by the pumpkin patch,” said Hagrid happily. “They're gettin’ massive, mus’ be nearly three foot long now. On'y trouble is, they've started killin’ each other.” “Oh no, really?” said Hermione, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who, staring at Hagrid's odd hairstyle, had just opened his mouth to say something about it. “Yeah,” said Hagrid sadly. “S’ okay, though, I've got ‘em in separate boxes now. Still got abou’ twenty.” “Well, that's lucky,” said Ron. Hagrid missed the sarcasm. Hagrid's cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. They sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea, and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as they were. “You wait,” he said, grinning. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. Firs’ task…ah, but I'm not supposed ter say.” “Go on, Hagrid!” Harry, Ron, and Hermione urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning. “I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh,” said Hagrid. “But it's gonna be spectacular, I'll tell yeh that. Them champions're going ter have their work cut out. Never thought I'd live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!” They ended up having lunch with Hagrid, though they didn't eat much - Hagrid had made what he said was a beef casserole, but after Hermione unearthed a large talon in hers, she, Harry, and Ron rather lost their appetites. However, they enjoyed themselves trying to make Hagrid tell them what the tasks in the tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet. A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for he flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she showed him her badges. “It'd be doin’ ‘em an unkindness, Hermione,” he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. “It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin’ ‘em unhappy ter take away their work, an’ insutin’ ‘em if yeh tried ter pay ‘em.” “But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!” said Hermione. “And we heard he's asking for wages now!” “Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin’ there isn't the odd elf who'd take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of ‘em ter do it - no, nothin’ doin', Hermione.” Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket. By half past five it was growing dark, and Ron, Harry, and Hermione decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Halloween feast - and, more important, the announcement of the school champions. “I'll come with yeh,” said Hagrid, putting away his darning. “Jus’ give us a sec.” Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and began searching for something inside it. They didn't pay too much attention until a truly horrible smell reached their nostrils. Coughing, Ron said, “Hagrid, what's that?” “Eh?” said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. “Don’ yeh like it?” “Is that aftershave?” said Hermione in a slightly choked voice. “Er - eau de cologne,” Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. “Maybe it's a bit much,” he said gruffly. “I'll go take it off, hang on…” He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window. “Eau de cologne?” said Hermione in amazement. “Hagrid?” “And what's with the hair and the suit?” said Harry in an undertone. “Look!” said Ron suddenly, pointing out of the window. Hagrid had just straightened up and turned ‘round. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to their feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn't spot them, Harry, Ron, and Hermione peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast too. They couldn't hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression Harry had only ever seen him wear once before - when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert. “He's going up to the castle with her!” said Hermione indignantly. “I thought he was waiting for us!” Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides. “He fancies her!” said Ron incredulously. “Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record - bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton.” They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves, they set off up the sloping lawns. “Ooh it's them, look!” Hermione whispered. The Durmstrang party was walking up toward the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them. Ron watched Krum excitedly, but Krum did not look around as he reached the front doors a little ahead of Hermione, Ron, and Harry and proceeded through them. When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers’ table. Fred and George - clean-shaven again - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well. “Hope it's Angelina,” said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down. “So do I!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Well, we'll soon know!” The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, Harry didn't seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as he would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. “Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” - he indicated the door behind the staff table - “where they will be receiving their first instructions.” He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting.…A few people kept checking their watches… “Any second,” Lee Jordan whispered, two seats away from Harry. The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it - the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.” “No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber. “Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!” The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. “The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!” “It's her, Ron!” Harry shouted as the girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. “Oh look, they're all disappointed,” Hermione said over the noise, nodding toward the remainder of the Beauxbatons party. “Disappointed” was a bit of an understatement, Harry thought. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next… And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment. “The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!” “No! ” said Ron loudly, but nobody heard him except Harry; the uproar from the next table was too great. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again. “Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real -” But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out - “Harry Potter.” 霍格瓦彻的学生排队，跟着丹姆斯安学生上楼。罗恩十分震惊，“我不信！哈利，那是克伦，维特。克伦！” “看在老天爷的份上，罗恩，他只不过是个玩快迪斯球的。”荷米恩说。 “只不过是个玩快迪斯的？”罗恩看看她，简直不敢相信他的耳朵，“荷米恩——可是世界上最优秀的搜寻者之一哪！我根本就不知道他居然还在学校里。” 他们跟着其他的霍格瓦彻学生穿过人口大厅，朝大会堂走去。 哈利看见李-乔丹光着脚板窜上跳下，只为了更好地看看克伦的后脑勺。九个六年级的女生一边走一边发狂地掏口袋——“天哪，难以致信，我竟然一支笔都没带——”，“你想他愿意用口红在我的帽子上签名吗？” “啊，真的呀！”荷米恩极夸地叫道。他们经过那群女生，她们现在正在为那支口红争吵。 “可以的话，我也要去找他签名。”罗恩说，“哈利，你没有带笔，是不是？” “带了，在我的书包上层。”哈利说。 他们走到格林芬顿桌边，坐了下来，罗恩特意坐在对着门的那一边，因为克伦和他的同伴们还围在门边，很显然他们要坐在哪里还不确定。从比尔贝顿来的学生已经在卫文卡罗桌坐下。她们神情沮丧，四处张望，打量这个大厅。有三个人还牢牢拽着头巾、披肩不放。 “没有那么冷吧，”荷米恩看着他们，有些烦躁。“她们干嘛不把斗篷带来呢？” “过来！过来坐这！”罗恩轻嘘，“这里！荷米恩，移进一点，挤出点位置——” “干嘛？” “太迟了。”罗恩很沮丧。 维特。克伦和他的同学已经在史林德林那桌坐下了。哈利看得出克来伯和高尔对此非常得意。马尔夫俯身向前跟克伦说话。 “是了，没错，拍他的马屁吧，马尔夫，”罗恩讥讽道，“我敢打赌克伦一眼就看透他，尽管……当然他身边总是有人奉承他……你认为他们会睡在哪？我们可以在宿舍里给他腾出点地方来，哈利……把我的床给他睡我都不介意，我可以睡折叠床。” 荷米恩对此嗤之以鼻。 “看来他们比比尔贝顿那伙人高兴多了。”哈利说。 丹姆斯安的学生们在脱他们的厚皮衣，还颇有兴趣地看那星星闪烁的黑色天花板。其中一两个拿起金盘，高脚杯，仔细观看，显然很受感染。 职员桌那边，管理员费驰在加椅子，为此盛事他穿上了那件都发霉了的破燕尾服。看见他在丹伯多的椅子两旁各加了两把椅子，哈利很惊讶。 “但是只多了两个人呀，”哈利说，“费驰干嘛要摆四把椅子呢？ 还有谁要来呢？“ “什么？”罗恩茫然地问，他还在热切地盯着克伦看。 所有学生进了大厅，在各自的桌边坐定之后，职员们进来，排队上桌坐好。排在队末的有丹伯多教授，卡克罗夫教授和玛西姆——比尔贝顿学校的女校长。她一出现，比尔贝顿的学生都跳了起来。 霍格瓦彻的一些学生笑起来。弄得她们挺尴尬的，没敢坐下直到玛西姆夫人在丹伯多左边的位置坐定后，她们才坐下。而丹伯多还站着，巨厅里鸦雀无声。 “女士们，先生们，鬼魂们——特别是客人们，晚上好，”丹伯多，朝外校学生们微笑，“非常欢迎大家到霍格瓦彻来。我希望我也相信在这里你们会过得舒舒服服，开开心心。” 一个比尔贝顿女生，她还抓着头上的围巾，发出一声冷笑，肯定是冷笑。 “没人强迫你留下来！”荷米恩低声朝她怒吼。 “盛夏之后比赛正式开始，”丹伯多宣布，“现在请大家不要客气，尽请吃喝吧。” 他坐下来，哈利看到卡克罗夫马上靠了过去跟他说话。 跟平时一样他们面前的碟子装满了食物。看来厨房里的小精灵门把所有的储藏都拿出来了。哈利还从没见过这么多各式各样的菜肴，其中有几道菜显然是舶来品。 “那是什么？”罗恩指着摆在一大碟肾丝布丁旁的一盘贝类似的炖菜。 “鱼羹。”荷米恩回答。 “上帝保佑。”罗恩说。 “是法国菜，”荷米恩说，“前年夏天度假时我吃过，很好吃的。” “我相信你的话。”罗恩说，动手吃起黑布丁。 虽说只多了20个学生，可大厅却显得比往常拥挤多了。可能是因为穿着不同颜色的校服的缘故。脱去皮衣之后，丹姆斯安的学生们露出了暗红色的袍子，比霍格瓦彻学生穿的黑袍子抢服多了。 宴会开始20分钟之后，哈格力从职员桌后面的门挤进来，溜到他在末端的位子。向哈利、罗恩和荷米恩挥了挥他那扎着厚厚绷带的手。 “史库斯们表现还不错吧？哈格力。”哈利喊。 “棒极了！”哈格力高兴地回答。 “是啊，我早就说过他们会很棒的。”罗恩平静地说，“看来他最终还是找到他们喜欢吃的食物了，不是吗？是哈格力的手指头。” 这时一个声音响起，“对不起，你们还要这鱼羹吗？” 那个在丹伯多讲话时冷笑的比尔贝顿女孩问。她终于摘掉头巾，露出一片亮闪闪的金发，头发几乎长及腰际。她有一双深蓝的大眼睛，一口洁白整齐的牙齿。 罗恩满脸通红，仰头瞪着她，张嘴想回答，可除了模糊的咕噜声，他一句话也说不出。 “哦，拿去吧，”哈利说，把那碟菜推给女孩。 “你们吃过了吧？” “是啊，”罗恩几乎喘不过气来，“是啊，味道好极了。” 女孩端起盘子小心翼翼地朝卫文卡罗桌走去。罗恩还在盯着女孩看，好像从来没见过女人一样。哈利笑了起来，这一笑才把罗恩惊醒，回过神来。 “她是个维拉！”他对哈利说，声音沙哑。 “她当然不是！”荷米恩酸溜溜地。“我没见到还有谁像个白痴一样瞪着她看的。” 可她说的并不完全正确。女孩穿过大厅时。许多男孩都回头看她。有些跟罗恩一样目瞪口呆。 “我跟你说，那绝不是个普通女孩！”罗恩往边上靠了靠，好清楚地看到她，“在霍格瓦彻，她们可不会使他们这样！” “在霍格瓦彻，她们使他们一切正常。”哈利想都没想就说了。卓刚巧坐在离亮发女孩不远的地方。 “等你们俩位把视线收回，”荷米恩轻快地说，“你们就发现是谁到了。” 她指指职员席。那两个空位已经坐上人了。露得。巴格蒙坐在卡克罗夫教授旁边，而伯希的上司克劳斯先生则坐在玛西姆夫人旁边。 “他们来这里干什么？”哈利很诧异。 “三巫师争霸赛是他们组织的，不是吗？”荷米恩说，“我想他们来是想看赛事开幕吧。” 第二道菜上来了，他们也注意不少奇怪的布丁。罗恩仔细观察了一种淡白的牛奶冻布丁，然后小心地把它移过右边几英寸，即使从卫文卡罗桌那也能清楚看到的地方。可惜那个维拉女孩像是吃饱了，没有过来拿。 金碟子上的菜一扫而光之后，丹伯多又站起来，大厅里充满了一种令人愉快的紧张气氛，哈利兴奋地有些发抖，想接下来会发生的事。离他们不远的地方，弗雷德和乔治往前靠了靠，专注地盯着丹伯多。 “这个时刻到了，”丹伯多朝人海中上仰的脸微笑着说：“三巫赛即将开始。在我们拿珠宝箱进来之前，我先说几句。” “拿什么？”哈利嘟嚷了一句。 罗恩耸耸肩。 “只是解释一下今年我们采取的步骤。首先还是让我为那些不认识他们的朋友的介绍一下：巴地。克劳斯先生，国际魔法合作系系主任。(响起稀稀拉拉的礼貌性掌声)，这位是露得。巴格蒙先生，魔法游戏与运动系的系主任。” 巴格蒙得到的掌声比克劳斯多，可能是因为他作为追逐者的名声，也可能只是因为他长得更讨人喜欢吧。他愉快地挥手表示感谢。 巴地。克劳斯却不同，宣布他的名字时，他不笑也不挥手。哈利想起他在快迪斯世界杯时穿戴整洁的样子，觉得穿上巫师袍后的他看起来怪怪的。跟丹伯多的长发和胡须相比，他那牙刷一样的胡子和明显的头发分界线看起来非常古怪。 “在过去的几个月中，为了三巫赛的筹备工作，巴格蒙先生和克劳斯先生废寝忘食地工作。”丹怕多继续说，“他们将与我，卡克罗夫教授及玛西姆夫人一起组成评判选手们努力程度的评委小姐。 一提到选手，学生们更是竖起耳朵。 可能丹伯多注意他们突然安静下来，就笑着说，“现在，费驰先生，请拿珠宝箱来。” 没人注意到费驰已经在大厅角落里呆了多久，他拿着一个古老的镶着珠宝的大盒子朝丹伯多走去。学生们七嘴八舌兴奋地议论开。事实上，为了看得见珠宝箱，丹尼斯。克成都站到椅子上去了，可惜他实在太小个了，还是被别人挡住了视线。 “克劳斯先生和巴格蒙先生早已检查过今年冠军们将面临的任务说明书，”在丹伯多说话的当儿，费驰已经小心地把箱子放在他面前的桌子上，“他们已为每一个挑战作了必要的准备。三个任务将贯穿整个学年，他们将用不同的方法检测选手，检测他们的魔法才能，胆量，推理能力，当然还有应对危险的能力。” 话音刚落，整个大厅一片寂静，静到好像没人呼吸。 “你们知道，将有三位选手参赛。”丹伯多冷静地往下说，“每个参赛学校一名。我们将给各位选手在各项比赛任务中的表现打分。三项比赛任务完成之后，总分最高者获胜。比赛选手将由一位公正无私的选择者——燃烧的高脚杯——选出。” 丹伯多拿出魔杖在珠宝箱上敲了三下。盖子嘎吱嘎吱慢慢打开。他把手伸进去拉出一个巨大的粗略削制而成的木杯。若不是木杯边缘跳跃着蓝白火焰，它真的是毫不起眼。 丹伯多盖上珠宝箱，小心翼翼把燃烧的高脚杯放在箱子上面，好让大家都能看清楚。 “报名者必须在羊皮纸上工工整整写下名字和学校，再把羊皮纸扔到杯子里，”丹伯多说：“有志者请在24小时内将名字投入杯中，明天晚上，也就是万圣节前夕，高脚杯将给出它选中的最有资格代表他们学校的选手名字。今晚高脚杯就放在入口大厅，要报名的都可以进去，为了避免未成年者因为挡不住诱惑报名参加，”丹伯多说，“等高脚杯放入人口大厅之后，我就会在它周围画条年龄线，17岁以下者无法越过该线。最后，我想提醒一下各位，这次大赛不是随随便便想参加就参加的，一旦被燃烧的高脚杯选中，他或她就必须将比赛进行到底。因为把名字放进杯子后自然就结成有约束力的魔力的合约。一旦做了选手就不能改变主意。因此，在把名字扔进杯子之前，一定要考虑清楚你自己是不是真的全心全意准备去拼搏。好了，我想大家该休息了，祝你们晚安。” “一条年龄线！”弗来德。威斯里说，双眼闪闪有光，他们穿过大厅走向进入口大厅。“嗯，那它不就会被年龄剂愚弄了，不是吗？一旦你的名字在那杯中，你就会发笑——它又不知道你有没有17岁。” “但我认为17岁以下的不会有什么机会。”哈利说，“我们学得还不够……” “你自己说，”乔治马上问哈利，“你会想办法进去的，对吧？” 哈利想丹伯多说过问岁以下不可以报名的，但不一会他就满脑子是他自己赢得三巫杯赛的奇妙情景。他想象不出丹伯多会有多恼怒，如果他发现有17岁以下的人想出办法越过年龄线…… “他在哪里？”罗恩问。他根本就没听他们说话，自顾在人群中寻找克伦，看他怎么样了。“丹伯多没说丹姆斯安人睡哪里吧？” 这个问题几乎马上就有了答案，他们现在跟史林德林桌处同一水平面。卡克罗夫刚刚还在催他的学生。 “回到船上去。”他说，“维特你怎么样？吃饱没有？要不要我叫人去厨房拿些加了糖和香料的酒来？” 哈利看见克伦摇了摇头，在穿皮衣。 “教授，我想要些酒。”另一个丹姆斯安男生满怀希望。 “我可不是跟你说话。”卡克罗夫厉声说道，他的慈祥的父爱神态马上消失，“我发现你又把食物弄得满衣襟都是，令人恶心的孩子——” 卡克罗夫转身领着他的学生朝门走去。刚巧哈利、罗恩和荷米恩也到那。哈利让他先过。 “谢谢。”卡克罗夫漫不经心看了他一眼。 卡克罗夫惊呆了。他回头盯着哈利，简直不敢相信他的眼睛。 在他身后，丹姆斯安的学生也停住。卡克罗夫的眼睛从下到上慢慢打量哈利的脸，最后停在那道疤上。丹姆斯安的学生也好奇地盯着哈利看。从眼角的余光中，哈利看到其中有些人脸上流露恍然大悟的神情。那个袍子前襟粘满食物的男孩轻轻碰了碰他边上的女孩，公然指着哈利的前额。 “没错，是哈利-波特。”后面传来咆哮声。 卡克罗夫教授转过身来，魔眼莫迪站在那，靠着他的学生，他的魔眼眨也不眨地瞪着丹姆斯安的校长。 哈利观察到，卡克罗夫的脸变了颜色，流露出了夹杂着愤怒和恐惧的骇人神色。 “你！”他瞪着莫迪，好像不相信自己的眼睛。 “我怎么了，”莫迪阴沉沉地说道，“如果你没什么话要对哈利说，卡克罗夫，你就该让个位，你把门给堵住了。”卡克罗夫一言不发，领着他的学生们浩浩荡荡地走开。莫迪望着他走出视线，魔眼再盯他的背影，支离破碎的脸上露出极度厌恶的神情。 确实如此，大厅里有半数的学生在他后面等，一个个伸长着脖子想看看究竟是什么引起了阻塞。 第二天是星期六，正常来说多数学生会迟些吃早餐。然而不单单是哈利、罗恩和荷米思起得比平常周末还早。他们进入口大厅后发现大厅里早就有力来个人在周围转悠，有的吃着烤面包片，不过个个都在仔细观察那个燃烧的高脚杯。它在大厅中间的那把平时用来放分类帽的凳子上面。它周围的地板捞上了一道细金线，形成了一个以它为圆心，半径为10英尺的圆。 “有没有人放名字进去？”罗恩急切地问一个13岁女孩。 “那伙丹姆斯安人都放了，”她回答说，“可是我还没有见到有霍格瓦彻人放名字进去。” “我打赌他们中有些人在昨晚我们走后就把名字扔进去了。”哈利说。“是我的话，我也会那样做，我可不想让大家都看到。万一那杯子马上就吐出你的名字可怎么办哪？” 有人在他背后笑起来。哈利转过身，看见弗来德、乔治和李-乔丹从楼上冲下来，他们显得特兴奋。 “搞定。”弗来德得意洋洋，低声对哈利、罗恩和荷米恩说，“刚刚服下的。” “服什么？”罗恩问。 “年龄剂，死脑筋，”弗来德说。 “每人一滴。”乔治兴奋地直搓手。“我们只要大几个月就行了。” “我们三个中任何一个赢的话，平分那1千帆船币。”乔丹咧嘴笑。 “很难保证有没有效，你知道。”荷米恩告诫道：“我想丹伯多一定也想到这一招了。” 弗来德，乔治和李不理她。 “准备好了吗？”弗来德问另外两个，兴奋地发抖，“那就来吧，我先上。” 哈利看着，极为好奇，弗来德从口袋里扯出一块羊皮纸，写下“弗来德。威史林——霍格瓦彻”然后径直走到那条线边缘，站在那，活动脚踝，像个准备从50英尺高处向下跳的潜水运动员。运动完以后，在众人的注视下，他深深吸了口气，跨了进去。 那一瞬间，哈利以为他成功了——乔治一定也这么想，因为他发出一声胜利的叫声，跟着弗来德跳了进去——但在另一瞬间，一阵咝咝声响起，两个双胞胎被猛扔出金线圈中，好像是被一个看不见的掷铅球者扔了出来一样，重重地摔在离圈十尺远的又冷又硬的石地板上，发出了砰砰两声巨响，更倒霉的是两人同时长出了长长的白胡子。 整个人口大厅笑成一片，他们自己站起身来互相看了一眼以后，也笑起来。 “我早就警告过你们。”一个低沉的忍俊不禁的声音响起，大家转身看到了丹伯多教授正从外面进来。他看了看弗来德和乔治，目露笑意。“我建议你们俩去找波姆弗雷夫人。她已经在照看卫文卡罗的非可芙小姐和海夫巴夫的希马西先生，那两个人也决定要变老一点，不过我得说，他们俩的胡子都没有你们的好。” 李-乔丹笑得要命，陪弗来德和乔治去了医院，而哈利、罗恩和荷术恩地咯咯笑着吃早餐去了。 早上大厅里的装饰已经更换过了。由于是万圣节前夕，一大群蝙蝠在迷人的顶篷周围拍翅飞舞，成百上千雕刻的南瓜从各个角落窥视众人。哈利朝迪思和西摩斯走去。他们俩正在讨论霍格瓦彻校中那些问岁以上有可能参赛的学生。 “有传言说沃林顿一大早就起床把名字扔进去了，”迪思告诉哈利，“就是那个大块头，来自史林德林，长得跟个树獭似的。” 哈利跟沃林顿打过快迪斯，他厌恶地摇摇头，“人们可不能要一个来自史林德林的。” “所有的海夫巴夫都在讨论迪格瑞，”西摩斯轻蔑地说。“可我却不认为他有胆拿他那副小白脸冒险。” “听！”荷米恩突然说了一句。 人口大厅的人在欢呼，他们都在绕着椅子转，安琪尔。琳娜走进大厅，挺尴尬地咧嘴笑。安琪儿。琳娜，是格林芬顿快迪斯队的追捕者，个子挺高，长得黑黑的她走到他们的这边坐了下来，“好了，搞定，我刚刚把名字放过去！” “你开玩笑！”罗恩很惊奇。 “那你满17岁啦？”哈利问。 “那废话，她没长出胡子，是吧？”罗恩说。 “我上星期才过的生日。”安琪儿。琳娜说。 “嗯，我很高兴，格林芬顿总算有人报名了，”荷米恩说，“我真希望你能被选中，安琪儿琳娜。” “谢谢你，荷米恩。”安琪儿。琳娜朝她笑了笑。 “没错，你总比那个金苍蝇彼格理强。”西摩斯说的这话，惹得几个经过他们的桌的海夫巴夫学生朝他大皱眉头。 罗恩问哈利和荷米恩，“那我们吃完早餐离开大厅。今天干什么？” “我们还没拜访过哈格力呢。”哈利说。 “好吧。”罗恩说，“只要他别叫我贡献几个手指给那些史库斯就行了。” 荷米恩的脸上突然兴奋起来。 “我刚刚才发觉，我还没叫哈格力加入S.P.E.W呢！”她高兴地说，“等等我，行吗？我赶快上楼拿徽章盒。” 荷米恩沿着大理石阶跑上楼时，罗恩恼怒地说：“她像个什么？” “嘿，罗恩，”哈利突然说，“那是你的朋友……” 那些比尔贝顿的学生从外面走进前门。那个维拉女孩也在其中。燃烧的高脚杯周围的人们都给她们退出一条路，大家急切地看着。 玛西姆夫人跟在她的学生后面进了大厅。她把学生排成一列纵队。然后她们就一个接一个地跨进年龄圈，把羊皮纸扔进蓝白的火焰中。每个名字一进林，杯火马上就变红，还溅出火花。 “你想，那些没被选中的人会怎么样呢？”当那个维拉女孩把她的名字扔进火里的时候，罗恩跟哈利低语：“他们是回校呢还是留下来看比赛？” “不太清楚。”哈利说，“我猜会留下来吧……玛西姆夫人不是要留下来做裁判吗？” 所有的比尔贝顿学生报名之后，玛西姆夫人又领他们出大厅进了场地。 罗恩朝前门移了移，盯着她们看。“那她们睡哪儿？”他问。 他们身后的嘎嘎声表明荷米恩已经拿好装S.P.E.W徽章的盒子出来了。 “哦，行了，快点吧。罗恩边说边从石阶上跳下来。他两眼还盯着那个维拉女孩的背影，她现在和玛西姆夫人走在横穿草坪的路上。 他们靠近禁忌森林边上哈格力的小屋。比尔贝顿宿营地的秘密解许了。载他们来的巨大粉蓝马车就停在离哈格力小屋前门200码处。学生们正在上车。拉车的巨型飞马在边上临时搭起的围场里吃草。 哈利敲敲哈格力的门，弗兰应道，他推开门看谁在敲门，发现是他们就说，“我以为你们这群家伙忘了我住哪了！” “哈格力，我们真的很忙。”荷米恩才开口就马上又打住了。她抬头看哈格力，一句话也说不出了。 哈格力穿着他最好(也很可怕)的毛绒绒的褐色外套，系了条黄橙相间的格子领带。这还不算太糟。糟的是他显然用大量的像是轮轴润滑油的东西擦头企图理顺头发，可能他已经试过扎比尔那种马尾辫，可惜头发太多了，弄不成又把头发扎成两股，直垂下来。这种装扮根本就不适合哈格力。荷米恩朝他咯咯笑了好一会儿。然后，强忍住不对此作任何评价，问道，“嘿，史库斯在哪？” “到南瓜地附近去了，”哈格力愉快地说，“他们长得越来越大了，现在大概有了六英尺那么长。唯一的麻烦是他们开始互相屠杀。” “哦，天，真的吗？”荷米恩边说边给罗恩丢了眼神，叫他别对此发表言论。 “是啊，”哈格力难过的说，“不过没关系，现在我把他们隔开放在不同的盒子里。大概足有20个。” “哦，挺幸运的。”罗恩说。哈格力没听出他的话外音。 哈格力的小屋只有一个房间，房间的角落有张大床，床上罩着用碎布拼成的褥子。火炉前面，摆了张大桌和几把椅子，天花板上挂了大量的熏火腿和死鸟，正好吊在桌子上方。他们坐在桌边，哈格力开始泡茶。他们很快就沉浸于三巫赛的讨论之中。看来哈格力对此跟他们一样兴奋。 “你们等着瞧。”他笑着说，“只要等着，就会看到一些你从来没见过的东西。第一个任务……啊，我不能说。” “说吧，哈格力。”哈利、罗恩和荷米恩催他，可他只是唉声摇头。 “我不想因你们坏了规矩？”哈格力说，“但我可以告诉你们，场面将十分壮观。我从没想到我还能活到再看一次三巫赛。” 他们最后跟哈格力一起吃早餐，吃得不多。哈格力做了他所谓牛肉沙锅菜，荷米恩在莱里发现一个大爪子，三人顿时胃口全无。他们喜欢叫哈格力告诉他们比赛中将有什么任务，也喜欢推测报名者中哪些可能被选中。他们也想着弗来德和乔治的胡子去掉没有。 下午三时左右天空开始飘起雨，哈利坐在火边，听雨滴敲打窗户发出的温柔的塔塔声，再看哈格力边补袜子，边同荷米恩争论有关佣人小精灵们的事之后，当她拿徽章给他看后，他断然拒绝加入S.P.E.W.这一切真是很惬意。 “这对他们很残酷，荷米恩，”他神情严肃，拿黄色的粗沙线穿巨骨针。“照顾人类是他们的天性，是他们喜欢做的，付钱给他们，那就更是对他们天大的污辱了。” “但是哈利给了多比自由，多比可高兴了。”荷米恩说。“我们听说他开始要求领工资了。” “是啊，不错，在每一种种类中你都可以找到例外，在此我不是说不存在想要自由的古怪精灵，但你永远不可能劝服他们中的多数那样做，不，不可能的，荷米恩。” 荷米恩看起来很生气，把她的徽章塞回斗篷。 5点半后天黑下来，罗恩、哈利和荷米恩觉得该回城堡去了。不仅仅是为了万圣节晚宴，要主要的是那时将宣布各校选手。 “我跟你们一起去。”哈格力说，把他的外线活放到一旁，“请稍候片刻。” 他站起身，走到床边，在带抽屉的柜子里摸来摸去找什么东西。 对始他们不怎么在意，然后闻到一股难闻的气味。 罗恩边咳边问，“哈格力，什么东西？” “啊？”哈格力转过身来拿着一个大瓶子，“你们不喜欢？” “是不是古龙水？”荷米恩有点厌烦。 “呃，是科隆香水，”哈格力咕哝道，脸红了，“可能多了点，”他含糊其辞，“我去洗掉它，等会……” 他噔噔噔出了小屋。他们看见他在窗外的水桶里起劲地洗着。 “科隆香水？”荷米恩非常惊奇，“哈格力？” “那头发和衣服上的是什么？”哈利低声说。 “看！”罗恩突然指着窗户外面叫起来。 哈格力刚站起身转过来。要说刚才他脸红的话，那跟他现在做的相比简直算不了什么。为了不让哈格力发现他们，哈利、罗恩和荷米恩小心谨慎地站起来透过窗户往外看。玛西姆夫人和那群比尔贝顿学生刚从马车上下来，显然他们也准备开始赴宴。哈格力在跟玛西姆夫人说话。他们听不见他说什么但可以看见他说话的神情痴迷、梦幻。那种神情哈利只见过一次，就是他看幼龙诺贝特时的那种神情。 “他打算和她一起去城堡！”荷米恩有些气愤，“我还以为他是在等我们呢。” 哈格力头也不回就跟玛西姆夫人走了，他们沿着场地吃力地向上来。比尔贝顿的学生追随着他们的足迹，小跑着跟上他们的大步子。 “他喜欢她！”罗恩觉得不可思议。“那么，要是他们发展到生小孩的话，他们就会创造世界纪录——我敢打赌他们的孩子个个重达一吨。” 他们走出小屋关上门。外面很黑，裹紧斗篷，他们沿着倾斜的草地向上走。 “噢，看，是他们！”荷米恩低语。 那群丹姆斯安人从湖边向城堡起来。维特。克伦和卡克罗夫并肩走着，其他学生散乱地跟在后面。罗恩兴奋地看着克伦，可克伦没有四处张望。他比荷米恩、罗恩和哈利早些到前门，在他们之前进去了。 他们到达巨厅，厅内烛光摇曳，人满为患，燃烧的高脚杯已经被移到老师们的桌子上去，放在丹伯多的椅子前面。弗来德和乔治——胡子没有了——看来已平静地接受挫败的事实。 “我希望是安琪儿。琳娜。”哈利、罗恩和荷米恩坐下，弗来德说。 “我也是。”荷米恩气喘吁吁。“很快就知道了。” 万圣节晚宴持续的时间看来比平时长，可能是因为这是他们两天之内的第二个盛宴，哈利不像平常那样那么喜欢这些精心准备的食物。个个都伸长脖子张望，露出不耐烦的神色，坐立不安的时不时站起来看丹伯多吃完没有。跟他们一样，哈利只希望快点吃完听听谁被选中了。 那些金碟总算清理干净，恢复了一尘不染。大厅里喧闹声有增无减。可丹伯多一站起身，所有的喧闹声消失得一干二净，卡克罗夫教授和玛西姆夫人站在他两旁，他们跟其他人一样神情紧张，满怀希望。露的。巴格蒙微笑着朝不少学生眨眼，而克劳斯先生却显得很冷漠，甚至还很烦。 “嗯，高脚杯差不多准备好了，可以做出决定了，”丹伯多说，“估计还得1分钟，那叫到名字的同学请走到厅头，沿着职员桌从这个门走到隔壁房去。”他指了指职员后的门，“他们将在那里接受第一个指令。” 他取出魔杖，用力一挥，除了在雕刻过的南瓜中的蜡烛，其他的蜡烛都灭了。一切都在昏暗之中。整个大厅只有燃烧的高脚杯发出明亮的光，光花闪烁，耀眼的蓝白火燃刺痛双眸。大家都在看着，等着，有些人在看表。 “时间到！”李-乔丹顿低语，他坐在离哈利两个位置远的地方。 高脚杯里的火焰突然又变红，火花四射，过了一会，火舌直窜上来，一张烧焦的羊皮纸飞了过来——人人吸了口气。 丹伯多抓住那张羊皮纸，伸手张开它，借着变回蓝白的火焰读起来。 “代表丹姆斯安的选手是，”他的声音清晰有力，“维特。克伦。” 一时厅内掌声雷动。“意料之中！”罗恩喊道。哈利见维特。克伦从史林德林桌站起身，懒懒散散地朝丹伯多走去，右转，沿职员桌而下，消失在通往隔壁房间的走道上。 “维特。克伦！”卡克罗夫大叫，他的声音比掌声还响，人人都听到了。“我就知道有你的份。” 掌声，谈论声渐渐小了。大家的注意力又移到杯上几秒之后，它再次变红，火焰推出第二张羊皮纸。 “代表比尔贝顿学校的选手是，”丹伯多宣布，“芙璐-迪米高！” “罗恩，是她！”哈利叫起来。那个长得像维拉的女孩优雅地站起身。往后一甩那锻子般闪亮的金发昂首阔步从卫文卡罗桌与海夫巴夫桌间穿过。 “哦，看她们多么失望哪，”荷米恩看着那群女生说。“用失望这个词也太轻描淡写了。”哈利暗想有两个落选女生已经哭成泪人了，现在在抱头抽泣呢。 芙珊。迪来高也消失在走道里。大厅里又是一片寂静，不同的是这次的沉寂太强烈，大刺激了，几乎能感觉出来。下一个是代表霍格瓦彻的选手…… 燃烧的高脚杯再次变红，火花四射，火舌高卷。丹伯多从火端扯出第三张羊皮纸。 “代表霍格瓦彻的是。”他叫道，“塞德里克。迪格瑞！” “不！”罗恩大叫，但除哈利外没人听到，邻桌的叫喊声更大。海夫巴夫的人个个跳起来，又是尖叫又是跺脚。塞德里克笑着从他们中间走过，朝教师桌后的房间去了。为塞德里克加油的掌声持继了挺久的，事实上，挺长一段时间后，大家才能听到丹伯多的声音。 “好极了！”最后一次喧哗过去之后，丹伯多开心极了。“现在，我们已选出三个选手。我相信你们所有人包括比尔贝顿和丹姆斯安留下来的学生，会全心全意，尽心尽力地支持你们的斗士。为他们加油，你们的贡献将是非常真切——” 丹伯多突然不说了，大家一眼就看出丹伯多有什么东西让他分心了。 高脚杯里的火又一次变红了。火花四处飞溅。突然射击一道长长的火光，火光之上燃烧着的是另一张羊皮纸。 看来丹伯多是不由自主地伸出长臂抓住那张羊皮纸，展开它盯着上面的名字，出现长久停顿，丹伯多瞪着手中的纸，而房间里的其他人则瞪着他。最后他清清噪子，读出——“哈利-波特！” |
Chapter 17 The Four Champions Harry sat there, aware that every head in the Great Hall had turned to look at him. He was stunned. He felt numb. He was surely dreaming. He had not heard correctly. There was no applause. A buzzing, as though of angry bees, was starting to fill the Hall; some students were standing up to get a better look at Harry as he sat, frozen, in his seat. Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear toward her, frowning slightly. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione; beyond them, he saw the long Gryffindor table all watching him, openmouthed. “I didn't put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn't.” Both of them stared just as blankly back. At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall. “Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!” “Go on,” Hermione whispered, giving Harry a slight push. Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn't seem to be getting any nearer at all, and he could feel hundreds and hundreds of eyes upon him, as though each were a searchlight. The buzzing grew louder and louder. After what seemed like an hour, he was right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him. “Well…through the door, Harry,” said Dumbledore. He wasn't smiling. Harry moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was seated right at the end. He did not wink at Harry, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished and stared at Harry as he passed like everyone else. Harry went through the door out of the Great Hall and found himself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite him. The faces in the portraits turned to look at him as he entered. He saw a wizened witch flit out of the frame of her picture and into the one next to it, which contained a wizard with a walrus mustache. The wizened witch started whispering in his ear. Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair. “What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?” She thought he had come to deliver a message. Harry didn't know how to explain what had just happened. He just stood there, looking at the three champions. It struck him how very tall all of them were. There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry by the arm and led him forward. “Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry's arm. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen…lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce - incredible though it may seem - the fourth Triwizard champion?” Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Harry and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.” “Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Harry's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!” Krum's thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned. “But evidently zair ‘as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “'E cannot compete. ‘E is too young.” “Well…it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Harry. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name's come out of the goblet…I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage.…It's down in the rules, you're obliged…Harry will just have to do the best he -” The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr. Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door. “Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!” Somewhere under Harry's numb disbelief he felt a ripple of anger. Little boy? Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black-satin bosom swelled. “What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she said imperiously. “I'd rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don't remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions - or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” He gave a short and nasty laugh. “C'est impossible,” said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur's shoulder. “'Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most injust.” “We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.” “It's no one's fault but Potter's, Karkaroff,” said Snape softly. His black eyes were alight with malice. “Don't go blaming Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules. He has been crossing lines ever since he arrived here -” “Thank you, Severus,” said Dumbledore firmly, and Snape went quiet, though his eyes still glinted malevolently through his curtain of greasy black hair. Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, who looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly. “No,” said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows. “Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” said Professor Dumbledore, ignoring Snape. “No,” said Harry vehemently. “Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime. Snape was now shaking his head, his lip curling. “He could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that -” “Dumbly-dorr must ‘ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging. “It is possible, of course,” said Dumbledore politely. “Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!” said Professor McGonagall angrily. “Really, what nonsense! Harry could not have crossed the line himself, and as Professor Dumbledore believes that he did not persuade an older student to do it for him, I'm sure that should be good enough for everybody else!” She shot a very angry look at Professor Snape. “Mr. Crouch…Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our - er - objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?” Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr. Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.” “Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed. “I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore.” “But Karkaroff, it doesn't work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire's just gone out - it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament -” “- in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” exploded Karkaroff. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!” “Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk. “Convenient?” said Karkaroff. “I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody.” Harry could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists. “Don't you?” said Moody quietly. “It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing he'd have to compete if it came out.” “Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime. “I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards -” “If anyone's got reason to complain, it's Potter,” growled Moody, “but…funny thing…I don't hear him saying a word…” “Why should ‘e complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. “'E ‘as ze chance to compete, ‘asn't ‘e? We ‘ave all been ‘oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money - zis is a chance many would die for!” “Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it,” said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl. An extremely tense silence followed these words. Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man…what a thing to say!” “We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly. “Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons. “Imagining things, am I?” growled Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy's name in that goblet…” “Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands. “Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” said Moody. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament.…I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category.…” “You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is - though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you'll understand if we don't take you entirely seriously.…” “There are those who'll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It's my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff - as you ought to remember… “Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly. Harry wondered for a moment whom he was speaking to, but then realized “Mad-Eye” could hardly be Moody's real first name. Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction - Karkaroff's face was burning. “How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do.…” “Ah, but Dumbly-dorr -” “My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.” Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid; Bagman, however, looked rather excited. “Well, shall we crack on, then?” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honors?” Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. “Yes,” he said, “instructions. Yes…the first task…” He moved forward into the firelight. Close up, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. “The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard…very important.… “The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. “The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.” Mr. Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. “I think that's all, is it, Albus?” “I think so,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?” “No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment.…I've left young Weatherby in charge.…Very enthusiastic…a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told…” “You'll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore. “Come on, Barry, I'm staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It's all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!” “I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch with a touch of his old impatience. “Professor Karkaroff - Madame Maxime - a nightcap?” said Dumbledore. But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur's shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence. “Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.” Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together. The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality. “So,” said Cedric, with a slight smile. “We're playing against each other again!” “I s'pose,” said Harry. He really couldn't think of anything to say. The inside of his head seemed to be in complete disarray, as though his brain had been ransacked. “So…tell me…” said Cedric as they reached the entrance hall, which was now lit only by torches in the absence of the Goblet of Fire. “How did you get your name in?” “I didn't,” said Harry, staring up at him. “I didn't put it in. I was telling the truth.” “Ah…okay,” said Cedric. Harry could tell Cedric didn't believe him. “Well…see you, then.” Instead of going up the marble staircase, Cedric headed for a door to its right. Harry stood listening to him going down the stone steps beyond it, then, slowly, he started to climb the marble ones. Was anyone except Ron and Hermione going to believe him, or would they all think he'd put himself in for the tournament? Yet how could anyone think that, when he was facing competitors who'd had three years’ more magical education than he had - when he was now facing tasks that not only sounded very dangerous, but which were to be performed in front of hundreds of people? Yes, he'd thought about it…he'd fantasized about it…but it had been a joke, really, an idle sort of dream…he'd never really, seriously considered entering.… But someone else had considered it…someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn't think so, somehow… To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish.… But to get him killed? Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn't someone have put Harry's name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead? Harry was able to answer that at once. Yes, someone wanted him dead, someone had wanted him dead ever since he had been a year old…Lord Voldemort. But how could Voldemort have ensured that Harry's name got into the Goblet of Fire? Voldemort was supposed to be far away, in some distant country, in hiding, alone…feeble and powerless.… Yet in that dream he had had, just before he had awoken with his scar hurting, Voldemort had not been alone…he had been talking to Wormtail…plotting Harry's murder.… Harry got a shock to find himself facing the Fat Lady already. He had barely noticed where his feet were carrying him. It was also a surprise to see that she was not alone in her frame. The wizened witch who had flitted into her neighbor's painting when he had joined the champions downstairs was now sitting smugly beside the Fat Lady. She must have dashed through every picture lining seven staircases to reach here before him. Both she and the Fat Lady were looking down at him with the keenest interest. “Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Violet's just told me everything. Who's just been chosen as school champion, then?” “Balderdash,” said Harry dully. “It most certainly isn't!” said the pale witch indignantly. “No, no, Vi, it's the password,” said the Fat Lady soothingly, and she swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room. The blast of noise that met Harry's ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling. “You should've told us you'd entered!” bellowed Fred; he looked half annoyed, half deeply impressed. “How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George. “I didn't,” Harry said. “I don't know how -” But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn't be me, at least it's a Gryffindor -” “You'll be able to pay back Diggory for that last Quidditch match, Harry!” shrieked Katie Bell, another of the Gryffindor Chasers. “We've got food, Harry, come and have some -” “I'm not hungry, I had enough at the feast -” But nobody wanted to hear that he wasn't hungry; nobody wanted to hear that he hadn't put his name in the goblet; not one single person seemed to have noticed that he wasn't at all in the mood to celebrate.…Lee Jordan had unearthed a Gryffindor banner from somewhere, and he insisted on draping it around Harry like a cloak. Harry couldn't get away; whenever he tried to sidle over to the staircase up to the dormitories, the crowd around him closed ranks, forcing another butterbeer on him, stuffing crisps and peanuts into his hands.…Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had tricked Dumbledore's Age Line and managed to get his name into the goblet.… “I didn't,” he said, over and over again, “I don't know how it happened.” But for all the notice anyone took, he might just as well not have answered at all. “I'm tired!” he bellowed finally, after nearly half an hour. “No, seriously, George - I'm going to bed -” He wanted more than anything to find Ron and Hermione, to find a bit of sanity, but neither of them seemed to be in the common room. Insisting that he needed to sleep, and almost flattening the little Creevey brothers as they attempted to waylay him at the foot of the stairs, Harry managed to shake everyone off and climb up to the dormitory as fast as he could. To his great relief, he found Ron was lying on his bed in the otherwise empty dormitory, still fully dressed. He looked up when Harry slammed the door behind him. “Where've you been?” Harry said. “Oh hello,” said Ron. He was grinning, but it was a very odd, strained sort of grin. Harry suddenly became aware that he was still wearing the scarlet Gryffindor banner that Lee had tied around him. He hastened to take it off, but it was knotted very tightly. Ron lay on the bed without moving, watching Harry struggle to remove it. “So,” he said, when Harry had finally removed the banner and thrown it into a corner. “Congratulations.” “What d'you mean, congratulations?” said Harry, staring at Ron. There was definitely something wrong with the way Ron was smiling: It was more like a grimace. “Well…no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use - the Invisibility Cloak?” “The Invisibility Cloak wouldn't have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly. “Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might've told me if it was the cloak…because it would've covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?” “Listen,” said Harry, “I didn't put my name in that goblet. Someone else must've done it.” Ron raised his eyebrows. “What would they do that for?” “I dunno,” said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, “To kill me.” Ron's eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. “It's okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said. “If you don't want everyone else to know, fine, but I don't know why you're bothering to lie, you didn't get into trouble for it, did you? That friend of the Fat Lady's, that Violet, she's already told us all Dumbledore's letting you enter. A thousand Galleons prize money, eh? And you don't have to do end-of-year tests either.…” “I didn't put my name in that goblet!” said Harry, starting to feel angry. “Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in exactly the same sceptical tone as Cedric. “Only you said this morning you'd have done it last night, and no one would've seen you.…I'm not stupid, you know.” “You're doing a really good impression of it,” Harry snapped. “Yeah?” said Ron, and there was no trace of a grin, forced or otherwise, on his face now. “You want to get to bed, Harry. I expect you'll need to be up early tomorrow for a photo-call or something.” He wrenched the hangings shut around his four-poster, leaving Harry standing there by the door, staring at the dark red velvet curtains, now hiding one of the few people he had been sure would believe him. 哈利呆坐在那，觉察到巨厅里人人都转过头来看着他。全身麻木，他一定是在做梦。他一定听错了。 没有掌声，大厅里有的只是如蜜蜂发出的嗡嗡声。一些学生站起来，乘他呆坐在座位上时好好看看。 在最高桌那边，麦康娜教授站起来，经过露得。巴格蒙和卡可卡罗夫教授，急促地跟丹伯多教授低语，丹伯多教授凑过耳朵，眉头微皱。 哈利转过身，对着罗恩和荷米恩，他那边格林芬顿一整桌人都张大嘴看着他。 “我没有放名字过去，”哈利茫然地说。“你们知道我没有。” 他们两个也是茫然地瞪着他。 最高桌那边，丹伯多教授挺直身子朝麦康娜教授点头。 “哈利·波特！“他又叫。”哈利！请上这来！“ “去吧。”荷米恩低声说，轻轻推了推哈利。 哈利站起来，踩住了饱子下摆差点跌倒，他从史林德林桌和海夫巴夫桌间穿过。那条路好像没有尽头，最高桌似乎是遥不可及。 他感到成百上千双眼在注视他。而每双眼都仿佛是探照灯。嗡嗡声越来越响。感觉好像是过了1小时他才走到丹伯多前面，又感到所有老师的目光都在望着他。 “嗯……通过那扇门，哈利。”丹伯多说，他没有笑容。 哈利沿着老师的桌子向前走。哈格力就坐在另一头。他没有朝哈利眨眼，没有挥手，也没有任何他常有的问候动作。他完全惊呆了。哈利走过时，他和其他人一样，盯着他。哈利走出大会堂，发现自己进了一个挂满男巫女巫画像的小房间。正对他的是个火炉，炉火烧得正旺。 他一进去，画上的脸都朝他看来，只见一个干枯的女巫从她自己的相框里飞出来，飞进旁边一个长着海象胡子的男巫像里，在他耳边低语。 维特。克伦，赛德里克。迪格瑞还有芙璐·迪米高围坐在火边，映着火光，他们给人一种奇怪的印像。克伦拱着身子靠着壁炉架在沉思，与另两个分开，塞德里克背着手站着，盯着大门看，而哈利进去时，芙璐·迪来高四处张望，往后甩头发。 “什么事？”她问，“他们要我们回大厅去吗？” 她以为他是来捎口信的，对刚发生的事哈利不知该如何解释。 他只能站在那，看着那三位选手，发现他们高得惊人。 身后传来一阵忙乱的脚步，路得。巴格蒙进了房间，他牵着哈利的手向前走。 “真不寻常！”他咕哝着，拧着哈利的胳膊。“实在是不寻常！ 先生们……小姐们。“他加了句，靠近火边，跟其他三个说：“请容许我介绍——有点不可思议——第四位三巫赛选手。“ 维特。克伦直起身。打量着哈利，他傲慢的脸阴沉了下来。塞德里克迷惑不解地看看巴格蒙又看看哈利。好像怀疑自己是不是听错巴格蒙说的话了。而芙璐·迪来高则摇头笑着说，“呕，非常可笑的玩笑，巴格蒙先生。” “玩笑？”巴格蒙重复了一下，有点迷惑，“不，不，根本不是玩笑。燃烧的高脚杯刚刚给出哈利的名字。” 芙璐皱起眉头。“但是明显是错了，”她轻蔑地对着巴格蒙说，“他不能参赛。他太小了。” “嗯……是挺奇怪，”巴格蒙摸摸光滑的下巴朝哈利笑说。“但是，你知道，年龄限制是今年才加的特别安全措施。他的名字从杯中出来……我的意思是在这种情况下，我认为退出是不可能的了。 这是规则，你必须……哈利只要尽其所能——“ 门又开了，一大群人走进来：丹伯多教授，紧跟着克劳斯先生，卡克罗夫教授，玛西姆夫人，麦康娜教授和史纳皮教授。哈利听到墙的另一边传来无数学生的嗡嗡声，麦康娜教授关上门。 “玛西姆夫人！”芙璐马上朝她的校长过去，“他们说这个小男孩也要参赛！” 在哈利满怀疑虑的麻木了的心灵某种却也泛起了怒浪，小男孩？ 确实，相比哈利的矮个头玛西姆夫人显得相当高，她优美的头部都碰到点蜡的吊灯，而她那宽大的黑锻缎衣脑襟下也鼓起来了。 “这是什么意思嘛，丹伯多？”她傲慢地发问。 “我也想知道，丹伯多，”卡克罗夫教授也说。他笑容冷峻，目露寒光。“霍格瓦彻有两名选手。我可不记得有什么人说过东道主学校可以有两个选手的，是不是那些规则我读得还不够仔细？” 他发出刺耳的笑声。 “这不可能，”玛西姆夫人说，她那戴了许多猫眼石的大手放在芙璐的肩上。“霍格瓦彻不可以有两个选手，那样太不公平了。” “丹伯多，我们都很相信你的年龄线能够阻止年少者报名。”卡克罗夫还是那副冷峻像，只是目光更加冷酷。“否则的话，我们当然也会从学校带多些候选人来，范围大一些。” “这都是波特的错，卡克罗夫，”史纳皮温和地说。他的黑眼珠闪着邪恶的光芒。“不要因为哈利执意要违反规则而责备丹伯多，他从来这里起就在惹麻烦。” “谢了，塞维鲁施。”丹伯多坚定地说。史纳皮不作声，但透过他那油腻的黑发可见他的双眼仍然闪着邪恶的光。 丹伯多教授看着哈利，哈利也在看他，试图解读教授半月镜片后的眼神。 “哈利，你有没有把名字放进燃烧的高脚杯了？”丹伯多发问，很冷静。 “没有，”哈利回答，他知道大家都在密切地注视着他。在暗处，史纳皮轻轻哼一声，显然是不耐烦，不信任。 丹伯多教授没理史纳皮，他继续问：“那你有没有叫比你大的学生帮你放？” “没有！”哈利反应强烈。 “哼，他当然是撒谎！”玛西姆夫人说，史纳皮在摇头，双唇扭曲。 “他不可能越过年龄线。”麦康娜厉声说道，“我相信我们大家都同意——” “丹伯多一定弄错年龄线了。”玛西姆夫人耸耸肩。 “当然，这有可能的。”丹伯多很有礼貌地回答。 “丹伯多，你没有弄错，这一点你知道得一清二楚。”麦康娜很生气。“真是废话！哈利自己没可能越过年龄线。如丹伯多教授所说他没有让哪个比他大的学生帮他放，但难保说有什么好心人帮他做了。” 她非常生气地瞟了史纳皮教授一眼。 “克劳斯先生，巴格蒙先生，”卡克罗夫油腔滑调地，“你们可是客观裁制，你们一定也认为这是最不合常理的吧。” 巴格蒙拿着条手帕擦脸。圆圆的脸，挺孩子气的。他在着克劳斯先生，后者站在火光圈外，脸隐藏在阴暗之中，阴森森的，黑暗使他显得老多了，也让人觉得他像个骷髅。他开口了，声音和平常一样散慢，“我们须遵守规则。规则上写得清清楚楚，凡是名字从燃烧的高脚杯中出来了的人就必须参加比赛。” “巴地对条例书可是了如指掌。”巴格蒙笑着转过身对着卡克罗夫和玛西姆夫人，好像这条事就这么完结似的。 “我坚持我的其他学生再报一次名。”卡克罗夫一改油腔滑调，没有笑容，都是满脸丑恶，“你再把燃烧的高脚杯摆出来，我们继续往里扔名字，到每个学校有两名选手为止。只有这样才公平，丹伯多。” “可是，卡克罗夫，那样不行，”巴格蒙。“燃烧的高脚杯刚熄，要到下次比赛开始才会再烧起来。” “那么，哈利将不能参加比赛！”卡克罗夫爆出这样的话。“开了这么多会议，做了这么多协商让步，我压根没想到有这种事发生！现在我差不多想走了。” “卡克罗夫，别做无谓的威胁了。”门边响起一个声音，“现在你可不能丢下你的选手不管。他还得比赛呢，他们都得比。如丹伯多所言，有约束力的魔力契约。方便吧，呃？” 莫迪刚进来，他一拐一拐地朝炉火这边走，他每走一步都发出铿锵巨响。 “方便？”卡克罗夫说话。“莫迪，恐怕我不明白你在说什么。” 哈利看得出他竭力扮清高，装出他根本就不知道莫迪说什么的样子，可惜他那握成拳头的双手背叛了他。 “是吗？”莫迪静静地说，“这很简单，卡克罗夫，有人把波特的名字放进杯子，他知道一旦被选中，波特就必须参赛。” “显而易见，有人希望霍格瓦彻有更多获胜机会。”玛西姆夫人叫起来。 “我赞同您的看法，玛西姆夫人。”卡克罗夫朝她鞠躬。“我将向魔法部和国际巫师协会提出抗议。” “要说有谁有理由抗议的话，那就是波特。”莫迪咆哮，“可笑的是，我没听到他说过一句话。” “他有什么好抱怨的？”芙珊。迪来高跺脚冒出一句。“他得到了参赛的机会，不是吗？几周以来，我们都希望被选中参赛。为了学校的荣誉，为了那一千金币的奖金。这可是许多人梦寐以求的机会。 “可能有人希望哈利因此而亡。”莫迪带着咆哮的口吻。 话音刚落。房间里一片死寂。 露得。巴格蒙，看来真的很紧张，他不安地走来走去，“莫迪，你这老东西，说的是什么话。” “我们都知道，午餐之前莫迪教授若还没找出六个暗算杀他的阴谋，他会觉得早晨白过了。”卡克罗夫大声说，“显然他在教他的学生也畏惧暗杀。丹伯多，这可是个冒犯我们的怪招。当然，你有你的理由。” “说是我编造的？”莫迪吼道，“还不明白吗？呃？是某个技术高超的巫师把那孩子的名字放进杯里的……” “你有什么证据？”玛西姆夫人大手一挥。 “因为他欺骗了一个魔力强大的东西！”莫迪说，“要迷惑高脚杯，使它忘记只有三所学校参赛，需要一个非常强的魔咒。我猜测他把波特的名字放在第四所学校，确保他是那类中唯一的一个。” “莫迪，看来你考虑的还挺多的哦。”卡克罗夫冷冷地说，“当然，这个理论还挺高明的。我听说最近你把生日礼物中的一个漂亮杯子当作经过巧妙包装的蜥蜴蛋打了个粉碎，因此我们不把你的话当回事，你应该能理解吧。” “有些人总想利用一些无关的事件，”莫迪用威胁的口气反驳。 “想那些阴险的巫师怎么做是我的事，卡克罗夫——你应该还记得……” “阿拉施特！”丹伯多警告道。哈利一时不知道他是跟谁说，后来意识到这才是“魔眼”莫迪的真名。莫迪不作声，但还是得意地打量着卡克罗夫，后者已是怒火中烧。 “怎么会出现这种情况，我们不知道，”丹伯多对房间里的人说。“在我看来，除了接受事实外我们别无选择。塞德里克和哈利都被选中了参赛，那他们也只得……” “丹伯多——可是——” “亲爱的玛西姆夫人，您要是有什么好建议的话，我洗耳恭听。” 丹伯多等她说。可她没开口只是瞪着眼。不只她，史纳皮看来也很愤怒，卡克罗夫面色铁青，而巴格蒙却相当兴奋。 “那么我们就开始了。”他援搓手，笑视四周。“该给选手们指令了吧？巴地，有兴趣帮个忙吗？” “行，指令，是了，第一个任务……” 巴地凑近火光。哈利觉得他病了。眼圈发黑，干枯的皮肤干瘦如纸。可快迪斯世界杯赛时，他不是那样的。 “第一个任务用来检测你们的胆量，”他告诉哈利，塞德里克，芙璐和克伦。“当然我们不会告诉你这是个什么任务。面对未知，勇气对一个巫师来说很重要，非常重要。” “第一个任务将于十一月二十四号进行，当着全体裁判和学生的面。” “完成参赛任务的过程中选手不能请老师帮忙，也不能接受老师任何形式的援助，选手们将在魔杖的帮助下进行第一个任务。完成第一个任务后他们才被告知有关第二个任务的信息。鉴于比赛的耗时费神性，选手们期末可以免试。” 克劳斯先生转身看丹伯多。“艾怕斯，我想就这么多，是吧？” “我想也是。”丹伯多关切地看着克劳斯。“确实今晚不留在霍格瓦彻过夜了？巴地？” “不留了，丹伯多，我得回部里去，”克劳斯先生说。“这阵子比较艰难，很忙……我让维塞拜负责，这小伙子很热心。不过，说句老实话，有点热心过头了。” “那起码走之前来喝一杯吧？” “巴地，留下来吧，我要呆在这。”巴格蒙快乐地说。“你知道，霍格瓦彻将有什么发生。留在这可比呆在办公室里好多了。” “我不这么想，露得。”克劳斯又恢复那种不耐烦的神情。 “卡克罗夫教授——玛西姆夫人——睡前来一杯怎么样？”丹伯多问。 可玛西姆夫人早就搂着芙璐的肩，快步走出去了。哈利听到她们用法语快速地交谈。卡克罗夫示意克伦。他们俩个也静静地离去。 “哈利，塞德里克，你们也该去睡了。”丹伯多朝他们微笑，“我相信格林芬顿和海夫巴夫还等和你们一块庆祝呢，可别剥夺了他们这个制造混乱和噪音的好借口哟！” 哈利看看塞德里克，他点头了。于是俩人一块走。 大厅空荡荡的。蜡烛快烧完了，使南瓜们发出的光，参差不齐，摇曳着阴森。 “那，”塞德里克微微一笑。“我们又成了对手。” “我想也是。”哈利说，实际上他想不出要说什么。头脑还是一片混乱，像被洗了脑一样。 “那，告诉我……”他们走到人口大厅的时候，塞德里克问，“你是怎么把名字放进去的？” 火把代替燃烧的高脚杯照亮大厅。 “我没有故名字进去。”哈利瞪着他，“我没有。我说的是真话。” “啊，那好吧，再见。”哈利看得出塞德里克不相信他。 塞德里克不走大理石阶梯，向它右边的门走去。哈利站在那听他踏着石阶离去时的脚步声，这才上了大理石梯。 除了罗恩和荷米恩可能相信他之外，大家都认为为了参赛，是他自己把名字放进去的。但他们怎么可以那样想呢？要知道他面临的竞争对手比他多上了三年的魔法课，而且他还要当着众人的面完成那些非常危险的任务。没错，他是曾经想过，也为之着迷过，但实际上只是玩笑，一个白日梦。他真的从来就没有正儿八经地想过要参加的。 但有人却想到了。有人希望他参赛，而且还让他被选中了。为什么呢？是给他恩典吗？他可不这么想，可能是…… 看他出丑？那他们很可能会如愿以偿。 想害死他？莫迪不也是这样想吗？还是有人恶意开他的玩笑？ 没错，有人希望他死掉。从他一岁起就有人想他死……福尔得摩特？但他怎么能使他的名字进了燃烧的高脚杯呢？福尔得摩特现在应该是躲在某个遥远的国度，孤独，脆弱，无助。 但在他因疤疼醒来之前所做的梦里，福尔得摩特不是一个人，他和温太尔谈论关于谋杀波特的事。 波特突然发现自己在对着胖大婶，吓了一大跳，他没意识到自己一直在走。胖大婶不是一个人呆在相框里这也挺奇怪的。刚才他下楼时看到的那个飞到隔壁像框去的女巫正得意地坐在胖大婶旁。 她一定是飞过霍斯马得阶梯上挂着的每幅画像，赶在他前面到的，她们俩兴致勃勃，朝他上下打量。 “好呀，好呀。”胖大婶说，“维莉特把一切都告诉我了。那你被选中做代表了？” “胡说八道。”哈利闷闷地说了句。 “当然不是胡说！”苍白女巫挺气愤地说。 “噢，噢，维，别生气，这是暗号。”胖大婶安慰她。胖大婶转了转枢纽开门让哈特进了公共休息室。 门一开，一阵吵闹声几乎把波特撞了回去。接着他就被房里的几十双手抓住，面对所有格林芬顿的人。个个又是尖叫又是鼓掌吹哨。 “你早该告诉我们你报名了。”弗来德大叫，半喜半怒。 “太厉害了，你怎么样不长白胡子就做到了呢？”乔治笑着吼。 “我没有，”哈利说，“我不知道怎么——” 恩格利纳已经朝他扑来。“虽然不是我，但好歹是格林芬顿一员。 “现在你可以一雪最后一场快迪斯比赛之耻，报复迪格瑞了！” 凯蒂·贝尔——格林芬顿队追捕者之一尖笑。 “我们拿了些食物，哈利，来吃点吧。” “我不饿，晚宴上吃饱了。” 没人想听他说他不饿，也没人想听他说他没有把名字放进去。 也没有一个人注意到他根本没心情庆祝。李·乔丹不知从哪弄了块格林芬顿的旗，坚持要把旗裹在哈利身上，像件斗篷。哈利脱不了身，每次他试图从楼梯跑回宿舍去，众人就把他围在中间，强迫他再来一杯巴特酒，把甜点、花生往他手里塞。人人都想知道他是怎么做到的，他是怎样骗过丹伯多的年龄线，把名字放进去的…… “我没有。”他说了一遍又一遍，“我不知道这是怎么回事。” 从大家看他的那副样子判断，他说了也白说。 差不多半小时之后，他忍无可忍叫了起来，“我累了，乔治，真的，我要睡了。” 他最想做的事是找到罗恩和荷米恩。到他的那寻求理解。可看来两个都不在场。他坚持要去睡觉。在楼梯口，格利维弟兄俩试图拦住他不让他走，他差点把他们压倒在地。总算摆脱众人，他飞快地爬进宿舍。 在空空的宿舍里他发现罗恩和衣躺在床上，不由舒了口气。哈利使劲关上门。罗思才抬起头看他。 “你到哪去了？”哈利问他。 “嗨，你好啊！”罗恩在笑，笑得挺勉强也挺古怪。 哈利突然意识到自己还围着那面猩红色的格林芬顿旗。绑得太紧了，他扯了半天才把它弄下来。而罗恩躺在床上看着他，动也不动。 “那么，恭喜了。”见哈利扯下旗，把它扔到角落里，罗恩才说。 “恭喜？你这是什么意思？”哈利瞪着罗恩。罗恩笑得很异样，像狞笑。 “没其他人越过年龄线。”罗恩说。“弗来德和乔治部没能越过，你用了什么——隐身斗篷？” “隐身斗篷也帮不了我越过那条年龄残。”哈利慢慢地说。 “不错，”罗恩说。“如果是隐身斗篷，你可能会告诉我。它可以把我们俩都裹住，不是吗？可你发现了另一个办法。” “你给我听着，我没有把名字放进去。一定是别人干的。” 罗恩一挑眉。“他们为什么要那样做？” “我不知道。”哈利觉得说“计划把我杀了”太荒唐。 “没关系的，你可以告诉我真相，”他说。“如果你不想让别人知道，那也没什么。可我不知道你干嘛使劲撒谎。你不会有麻烦的。胖大婶的朋友，那个维尔莉特早就告诉我们说丹伯多让你参加了。有1千金币和奖金，是吧？还有不用参加期末考试……” “我没有把名字放进去！”哈利怒气上升。 “好吧，”罗恩用跟塞德里克一模一样的怀疑的口吻说，“你早晨还说，你也会在夜里放名字进去，那样没人会见到你。我可不是傻瓜。” “你倒记得很清楚。”哈利打断他。 “是啊。”罗恩面无笑容，“哈利，你想睡了吧。我估计你明天一大早就要起身接可视电话，做诸如此类的事。” 他放下缠在柱子周围的布帘。哈利站在门进，瞪着那红天鹅绒的布帘。在那后面，躺着的是他曾坚信会相信他的少数朋友之一。 |
Chapter 18 The Weighing Of The Wands When Harry woke up on Sunday morning, it took him a moment to remember why he felt so miserable and worried. Then the memory of the previous night rolled over him. He sat up and ripped back the curtains of his own four-poster, intending to talk to Ron, to force Ron to believe him - only to find that Ron's bed was empty; he had obviously gone down to breakfast. Harry dressed and went down the spiral staircase into the common room. The moment he appeared, the people who had already finished breakfast broke into applause again. The prospect of going down into the Great Hall and facing the rest of the Gryffindors, all treating him like some sort of hero, was not inviting; it was that, however, or stay here and allow himself to be cornered by the Creevey brothers, who were both beckoning frantically to him to join them. He walked resolutely over to the portrait hole, pushed it open, climbed out of it, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione. “Hello,” she said, holding up a stack of toast, which she was carrying in a napkin. “I brought you this.…Want to go for a walk?” “Good idea,” said Harry gratefully. They went downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast, as Harry told Hermione exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To his immense relief, Hermione accepted his story without question. “Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself,” she said when he'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. “The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry…I don't think any student could have done it…they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore's -” “Have you seen Ron?” Harry interrupted. Hermione hesitated. “Erm…yes…he was at breakfast,” she said. “Does he still think I entered myself?” “Well…no, I don't think so…not really,” said Hermione awkwardly. “What's that supposed to mean, ‘not really'?” “Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?” Hermione said despairingly. “He's jealous!” “Jealous?” Harry said incredulously. “Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?” “Look,” said Hermione patiently, “it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault,” she added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. “I know you don't ask for it…but - well - you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous - he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…” “Great,” said Harry bitterly. “Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it.…People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go…” “I'm not teiling him anything,” Hermione said shortly. “Tell him yourself. It's the only way to sort this out.” “I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!” Harry said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. “Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or -” “That's not funny,” said Hermione quietly. “That's not funny at all.” She looked extremely anxious. “Harry, I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?” “Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the -” “Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts.…It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill out with me -” “Come off it,” said Harry, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. “He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament -” “He'd want you to tell him,” said Hermione sternly. “He's going to find out anyway.” “How?” “Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet,” said Hermione, very seriously. “This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing.…You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know…and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would.” “Okay, okay, I'll write to him,” said Harry, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake. They both stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Then they returned to the castle. “Whose owl am I going to use?” Harry said as they climbed the stairs. “He told me not to use Hedwig again.” “Ask Ron if you can borrow -” “I'm not asking Ron for anything,” Harry said flatly. “Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them,” said Hermione. They went up to the Owlery. Hermione gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall and wrote his letter. Dear Sirius, You told me to keep you posted on what's happening at Hogwarts, so here goes - I don't know if you've heard, but the Triwizard Tournament's happening this year and on Saturday night I got picked as a fourth champion. I don't who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn't. The other Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff. He paused at this point, thinking. He had an urge to say something about the large weight of anxiety that seemed to have settled inside his chest since last night, but he couldn't think how to translate this into words, so he simply dipped his quill back into the ink bottle and wrote, Hope you're okay, and Buckbeak - Harry “Finished,” he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig fluttered down onto his shoulder and held out her leg. “I can't use you,” Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. “I've got to use one of these.” Hedwig gave a very loud hoot and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into his shoulder. She kept her back to Harry all the time he was tying his letter to the leg of a large barn owl. When the barn owl had flown off, Harry reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters out of reach. “First Ron, then you,” Harry said angrily. “This isn't my fault.” * * * * * * If Harry had thought that matters would improve once everyone got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day showed him how mistaken he was. He could no longer avoid the rest of the school once he was back at lessons - and it was clear that the rest of the school, just like the Gryffindors, thought Harry had entered himself for the tournament. Unlike the Gryffindors, however, they did not seem impressed. The Hufflepuffs, who were usually on excellent terms with the Gryffindors, had turned remarkably cold toward the whole lot of them. One Herbology lesson was enough to demonstrate this. It was plain that the Hufflepuffs felt that Harry had stolen their champion's glory; a feeling exacerbated, perhaps, by the fact that Hufflepuff House very rarely got any glory, and that Cedric was one of the few who had ever given them any, having beaten Gryffindor once at Quidditch. Ernie Macmillan and Justin FinchFletchley, with whom Harry normally got on very well, did not talk to him even though they were repotting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray - though they did laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggled free from Harry's grip and smacked him hard in the face. Ron wasn't talking to Harry either. Hermione sat between them, making very forced conversation, but though both answered her normally, they avoided making eye contact with each other. Harry thought even Professor Sprout seemed distant with him - but then, she was Head of Hufflepuff House. He would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too - the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion. Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place. “Ah, look, boys, it's the champion,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. “Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer.…Half the Triwizard champions have died…how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet.” Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely. “Take this thing for a walk?” he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. “And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?” “Roun’ the middle,” said Hagrid, demonstrating. “Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution, like. Harry - you come here an’ help me with this big one.…” Hagrid's real intention, however, was totalk to Harry away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to Harry and said, very seriously, “So - yer competin', Harry. In the tournament. School champion.” “One of the champions,” Harry corrected him. Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows. “No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?” “You believe I didn't do it, then?” said Harry, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid's words. “Course I do,” Hagrid grunted. “Yeh say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yeh - an’ Dumbledore believes yer, an’ all.” “Wish I knew who did do it,” said Harry bitterly. The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs- but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control. “Look like they're havin’ fun, don’ they?” Hagrid said happily. Harry assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts’ ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet. “Ah, I don’ know, Harry,” Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at him with a worried expression on his face. “School champion…everythin’ seems ter happen ter you, doesn’ it?” Harry didn't answer. Yes, everything did seem to happen to him…that was more or less what Hermione had said as they had walked around the lake, and that was the reason, according to her, that Ron was no longer talking to him. * * * * * * The next few days were some of Harry's worst at Hogwarts. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this had been during those months, in his second year, when a large part of the school had suspected him of attacking his fellow students. But Ron had been on his side then. He thought he could have coped with the rest of the school's behavior if he could just have had Ron back as a friend, but he wasn't going to try and persuade Ron to talk to him if Ron didn't want to. Nevertheless, it was lonely with dislike pouring in on him from all sides. He could understand the Hufflepuffs’ attitude, even if he didn't like it; they had their own champion to support. He expected nothing less than vicious insults from the Slytherins - he was highly unpopular there and always had been, because he had helped Gryffindor beat them so often, both at Quidditch and in the Inter-House Championship. But he had hoped the Ravenclaws might have found it in their hearts to support him as much as Cedric. He was wrong, however. Most Ravenclaws seemed to think that he had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name. Then there was the fact that Cedric looked the part of a champion so much more than he did. Exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes, it was hard to say who was receiving more admiration these days, Cedric or Viktor Krum. Harry actually saw the same sixth-year girls who had been so keen to get Krum's autograph begging Cedric to sign their school bags one lunchtime. Meanwhile there was no reply from Sirius, Hedwig was refusing to come anywhere near him, Professor Trelawney was predicting his death with even more certainty than usual, and he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick's class that he was given extra homework - the only person to get any, apart from Neville. “It's really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him as they left Flitwick's class - she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet for board dusters, wastepaper baskets, and lunascopes. “You just weren't concentrating properly -” “Wonder why that was,” said Harry darkly as Cedric Diggory walked past, surrounded by a large group of simpering girls, all of whom looked at Harry as though he were a particularly large Blast-Ended Skrewt. “Still - never mind, eh? Double Potions to look forward to this afternoon…” Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins, all of whom seemed determined to punish Harry as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing Harry could imagine. He had already struggled through one Friday's worth, with Hermione sitting next to him intoning “ignore them, ignore them, ignore them” under her breath, and he couldn't see why today should be any better. When he and Hermione arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges - then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage: SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY- THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION! “Like them, Potter?” said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. “And this isn't all they do - look!” He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green: POTTER STINKS! The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck. “Oh very funny,” Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, “really witty.” Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either. “Want one, Granger?” said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. “I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up.” Some of the anger Harry had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. He had reached for his wand before he'd thought what he was doing. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor. “Harry!” Hermione said warningly. “Go on, then, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. “Moody's not here to look after you now - do it, if you've got the guts -” For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted. “Funnunculus!” Harry yelled. “Densaugeo!” screamed Malfoy. Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles - Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up - Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth. “Hermione!” Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth - already larger than average - were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry. “And what is all this noise about?” said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, “Explain.” “Potter attacked me, sir -” “We attacked each other at the same time!” Harry shouted. “- and he hit Goyle - look -” Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. “Hospital wing, Goyle,” Snape said calmly. “Malfoy got Hermione!” Ron said. “Look!” He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth - she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, “I see no difference.” Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight. It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however. “Let's see,” he said, in his silkiest voice. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions.” Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room. Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him.…If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse…he'd have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching.… “Antidotes!” said Snape, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…” Snape's eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming. Snape was going to poison him. Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head - And then a knock on the dungeon door burst in on Harry's thoughts. It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape's desk at the front of the room. “Yes?” said Snape curtly. “Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.” Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face. “Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” said Snape coldly. “He will come upstairs when this class is finished.” Colin went pink. “Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him,” he said nervously. “All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs…” Harry would have given anything he owned to have stopped Colin saying those last few words. He chanced half a glance at Ron, but Ron was staring determinedly at the ceiling. “Very well, very well,” Snape snapped. “Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote.” “Please, sir - he's got to take his things with him,” squeaked Cohn. “All the champions…” “Very well!” said Snape. “Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!” Harry swung his bag over his shoulder, got up, and headed for the door. As he walked through the Slytherin desks, POTTER STINKS flashed at him from every direction. “It's amazing, isn't it, Harry?” said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. “Isn't it, though? You being champion?” “Yeah, really amazing,” said Harry heavily as they set off toward the steps into the entrance hall. “What do they want photos for, Colin?” “The Daily Prophet, I think!” “Great,” said Harry dully. “Exactly what I need. More publicity.” “Good luck!” said Colin when they had reached the right room. Harry knocked on the door and entered. He was in a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a witch Harry had never seen before, who was wearing magenta robes. Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fheur were in conversation. Fheur looked a good deal happier than Harry had seen her so far; she kept throwing back her head so that her long silvery hair caught the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera that was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye. Bagman suddenly spotted Harry, got up quickly, and bounded forward. “Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come…nothing to worry about, it's just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment -” “Wand weighing?” Harry repeated nervously. “We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they're your most important tools in the tasks ahead,” said Bagman. “The expert's upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there's going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward the witch in magenta robes. “She's doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet.…” “Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry. Her hair was set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore jeweled spectacles. The thick fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson. “I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she said to Bagman, but still gazing fixedly at Harry. “The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of color?” “Certainly!” cried Bagman. “That is - if Harry has no objection?” “Er -” said Harry. “Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, and in a second, her scarlet-taloned fingers had Harry's upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip, and she was steering him out of the room again and opening a nearby door. “We don't want to be in there with all that noise,” she said. “Let's see…ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.” It was a broom cupboard. Harry stared at her. “Come along, dear - that's right - lovely,” said Rita Skeeter again, perching herself precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Harry down onto a cardboard box, and closing the door, throwing them into darkness. “Let's see now…” She unsnapped her crocodile-skin handbag and pulled out a handful of candles, which she lit with a wave of her wand and magicked into midair, so that they could see what they were doing. “You won't mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…” “A what?” said Harry. Rita Skeeter's smile widened. Harry counted three gold teeth. She reached again into her crocodile bag and drew out a long acid-green quill and a roll of parchment, which she stretched out between them on a crate of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. She put the tip of the green quill into her mouth, sucked it for a moment with apparent relish, then placed it upright on the parchment, where it stood balanced on its point, quivering slightly. “Testing…my name is Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter.” Harry hooked down quickly at the quill. The moment Rita Skeeter had spoken, the green quill had started to scribble, skidding across the parchment: Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, who's savage quill has punctured many inflated reputations - “Lovely,” said Rita Skeeter, yet again, and she ripped the top piece of parchment off, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her handbag. Now she leaned toward Harry and said, “So, Harry…what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?” “Er -” said Harry again, but he was distracted by the quill. Even though he wasn't speaking, it was dashing across the parchment, and in its wake he could make out a fresh sentence: An ugly scar, souvenier of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes - “Ignore the quill, Harry,” said Rita Skeeter firmly. Reluctantly Harry looked up at her instead. “Now - why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?” “I didn't,” said Harry. “I don't know how my name got into the Goblet of Fire. I didn't put it in there.” Rita Skeeter raised one heavily penciled eyebrow. “Come now, Harry, there's no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn't really have entered at all. But don't worry about that. Our readers hove a rebel.” “But I didn't enter,” Harry repeated. “I don't know who -” “How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” said Rita Skeeter. “Excited? Nervous?” “I haven't really thought…yeah, nervous, I suppose,” said Harry. His insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke. “Champions have died in the past, haven't they?” said Rita Skeeter briskly. “Have you thought about that at all?” “Well…they say it's going to be a lot safer this year,” said Harry. The quill whizzed across the parchment between them, back and forward as though it were skating. “Of course, you've looked death in the face before, haven't you?” said Rita Skeeter, watching him closely. “How would you say that's affected you?” “Er,” said Harry, yet again. “Do you think that the trauma in your past might have made you keen to prove yourself? To live up to your name? Do you think that perhaps you were tempted to enter the Triwizard Tournament because -” “I didn't enter,” said Harry, starting to feel irritated. “Can you remember your parents at all?” said Rita Skeeter, talking over him. “No,” said Harry. “How do you think they'd feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?” Harry was feeling really annoyed now. How on earth was he to know how his parents would feel if they were alive? He could feel Rita Skeeter watching him very intently. Frowning, he avoided her gaze and hooked down at words the quill had just written: Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember. “I have NOT got tears in my eyes!” said Harry loudly. Before Rita Skeeter could say a word, the door of the broom cupboard was pulled open. Harry looked around, blinking in the bright light. Albus Dumbledore stood there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard. “Dumbledore!” cried Rita Skeeter, with every appearance of delight - but Harry noticed that her quill and the parchment had suddenly vanished from the box of Magical Mess Remover, and Rita's clawed fingers were hastily snapping shut the clasp of her crocodile-skin bag. “How are you?” she said, standing up and holding out one of her large, mannish hands to Dumbledore. “I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference?” “Enchantingly nasty,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.” Rita Skeeter didn't look remotely abashed. “I was just making the point that some of your ideas are a little old-fashioned, Dumbhedore, and that many wizards in the street -” “I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind the rudeness, Rita,” said Dumbledore, with a courteous bow and a smile, “but I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start, and it cannot take place if one of our champions is hidden in a broom cupboard.” Very glad to get away from Rita Skeeter, Harry hurried back into the room. The other champions were now sitting in chairs near the door, and he sat down quickly next to Cedric, hooking up at the velvet-covered table, where four of the five judges were now sitting - Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman. Rita Skeeter settled herself down in a corner; Harry saw her slip the parchment out of her bag again, spread it on her knee, suck the end of the Quick-Quotes Quill, and place it once more on the parchment. “May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ table and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.” Harry hooked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had met Mr. Ollivander before - he was the wand-maker from whom Harry had bought his own wand over three years ago in Diagon Alley. “Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Olhivander and handed him her wand. “Hmm…” he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it chose to his eyes and examined it carefully. “Yes,” he said quietly, “nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…” “An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer's.” So Fleur was part veela, thought Harry, making a mental note to tell Ron…then he remembered that Ron wasn't speaking to him. “Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I've never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands…however, to each his own, and if this suits you…” Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, “Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. “Very well, very well, it's in fine working order,” said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr. Diggory, you next.” Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her. “Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn't it?” said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition…You treat it regularly?” “Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning. Harry hooked down at his own wand. He could see finger marks all over it. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to rub it clean surreptitiously. Several gold sparks shot out of the end of it. Fleur Delacour gave him a very patronizing look, and he desisted. Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric's wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.” Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr. Ollivander. He thrust out his wand and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes. “Hmm,” said Mr. Olhivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I'm much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I…however…” He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. “Yes…hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees…quite rigid…ten and a quarter inches…Avis!” The hornbeam wand let off a blast hike a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight. “Good,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves…Mr. Potter.” Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander. He handed over his wand. “Aaaah, yes,” said Mr. Ohlivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.” Harry could remember too. He could remember it as though it had happened yesterday.… Four summers ago, on his eleventh birthday, he had entered Mr. Ollivander's shop with Hagrid to buy a wand. Mr. Ollivander had taken his measurements and then started handing him wands to try. Harry had waved what felt like every wand in the shop, until at last he had found the one that suited him - this one, which was made of holly, eleven inches long, and contained a single feather from the tail of a phoenix. Mr. Ollivander had been very surprised that Harry had been so compatible with this wand. “Curious,” he had said, “curious,” and not until Harry asked what was curious had Mr. Olhivander explained that the phoenix feather in Harry's wand had come from the same bird that had supplied the core of Lord Voldemort's. Harry had never shared this piece of information with anybody. He was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something it couldn't help - rather as he couldn't help being related to Aunt Petunia. However, he really hoped that Mr. Ollivander wasn't about to tell the room about it. He had a funny feeling Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes Quill might just explode with excitement if he did. Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry's wand than anyone else's. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition. “Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end -” Feeling that at last something had gone right today, Harry got up to leave, but the man with the black camera jumped up and cleared his throat. “Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?” “Er - yes, let's do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes were upon Harry again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.” The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn't stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, whom Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions. At last, they were free to go. Harry went down to dinner. Hermione wasn't there - he supposed she was still in the hospital wing having her teeth fixed. He ate alone at the end of the table, then returned to Gryffindor Tower, thinking of all the extra work on Summoning Charms that he had to do. Up in the dormitory, he came across Ron. “You've had an owl,” said Ron brusquely the moment he walked in. He was pointing at Harry's pillow. The school barn owl was waiting for him there. “Oh - right,” said Harry. “And we've got to do our detentions tomorrow night, Snape's dungeon,” said Ron. He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at Harry. For a moment, Harry considered going after him - he wasn't sure whether he wanted to talk to him or hit him, both seemed quite appealing - but the lure of Sirius's answer was too strong. Harry strode over to the barn owl, took the letter off its leg, and unrolled it. Harry - I can't say everything I would like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk face-to-face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd ofNovember? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself and while you're around Dumbledore and Moody I don't think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in that tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbkdore's nose. Be on the watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd ofNovember as quickly as you can. Sirius 第十八章 检量魔杖 哈利星期天早上醒来，花了好一阵子才想起他为什么那么悲伤、苦恼。昨夜的一幕一幕浮上心头。他坐起身，挂好床帘，准备找罗恩说话，逼他相信自己——却发现罗恩的床空着，显然他吃早餐去了。 哈利穿好衣服，沿着螺旋楼梯进了公共休息室。他刚出现，吃完早餐的人们又鼓起掌来。到大厅去，面对那群把他当作英雄的人？恐怕前景不太乐观，可是留在这？ 格利威兄弟俩会把他逼到角落，强迫他加入他们。他下定决心走向肖像往，拉开它，爬了出去，发现自己面对着荷米恩。 “嗨，”她举起手里的用餐纸包好的吐司。“我给你拿了这个……想出去走走吗？” “好主意。”哈利挺感激地。 他们下楼，没往大厅里看，快快走过人口大厅，很快就走在了通往小湖的草坪上。丹姆斯安的小船停在湖边，阴暗的倒影在水中。早晨挺冷的。他们边走边啃吐司。哈利告诉她昨晚他离开格林芬顿桌后发生的一切。发现荷米恩没问什么就相信他说的话，他大大松了口气。 他告诉她离开大厅之后在那个房间里的情景。她说，“我当然知道你自己没有报名，看你听到丹伯多宣市你名字后的神情就知道啦！可问题在于是谁把名字放进去的呢？哈利，莫迪说的对，我想没有任何学生可以做到那一点……他们骗不了高脚杯也骗不了丹伯多的——” “你有没有看见罗恩？”哈利打断她。 她犹豫了一下。 “嗯，见到了，他在吃早餐。” “他是不是还认为是我自己报名的？” “不是，我想不会吧，不真的是。”她有些尴尬。 “不真的是，那是什么意思？” “哈利，那还不明显吗？”她绝望了。“他是妒忌。” “妒忌？”哈利觉得不可理喻。“妒忌什么？他想在全校人面前出丑？” “哪，”荷米恩耐心地解释给他听，“你知道，总是你得到关注。 我知道这不是你的错。“见他愤怒地张开嘴，她赶快地加了句，”我知道你也不想，可是，呃，你知道，在家里罗恩要和他的兄弟们竞争。你是他最要好的朋友，你真的太出名了。每次大家注意你的时候，他总是悄悄地退到一边。他在忍受着，虽然他从没提过。这一次，我估计，他再也忍受不了。“ “很好，真是很好。”哈利痛苦地说，“你去告诉他，任何时候，只要他想，我都愿意跟他换，告诉他，我欢迎他来换……换人们对我前额疤痕的关注……” 荷米恩立刻说，“我什么都不跟他说。你自己去说，这是唯一的解决办法。” “我可不会在他身边跑来跑去，好让他成熟起来。”哈利说得很大声，惊飞了附近一棵树上的几只猫头鹰。“可能要等我掉了脑袋他才会相信我并不喜欢那一切。” “别说笑了。”荷米恩轻声说了一句，“一点都不好玩。”看来她很紧张。“哈利，我一直在想，你知道我们该做什么了吧？我们一回城堡就该做的事？” “知道，狠狠踢罗恩一脚，把他踢到——” “是写信给西里斯！你必须告诉他发生了什么。他叫你写信告诉霍格瓦彻里发生的一切。很可能他已经料到会发生这种事。我带了支羽毛笔和一些羊皮纸。” “算了吧。”哈利看看四周，以免有人偷听。周围一片荒凉。 “只因为我疤痛，他就到乡下来。要是我告诉他有人帮我报了名参加三巫赛，他不马上冲进城堡来才怪。” “他希望你告诉他，”荷米恩态度坚决。“不管怎样，他总会知道这件事的。” “怎么知道？” “哈利，这事是藏不住的。”荷米恩很严肃。“这个比赛很出名，你也很有名，如果说《先知日报》上没有关于你参赛的任何消息，那才奇怪。大半名人大全的书里早有你的大名了。你知道的。西里斯，我相信他更乐意从你这知道这个消息。” “好吧，好吧，我给他写信。”哈利把最后一片吐司扔进湖里。 他们双双站在那儿，看着那片面包在水上漂了一阵子，被水里伸出的一只大触角卷进水底。他们回到城堡。 “我用谁的猫头鹰好呢？”上楼时哈利问。“他叫我不要再用海维了。” “问问罗恩，可不可以借一下——” “我不要向他借东西。”哈利断然拒绝。 “那好吧，借只学校的吧，大家都可以用。” 他们上了奥拉路。荷米恩给哈利一张羊皮纸，一只羽毛笔，一瓶墨水。哈利就靠着墙坐下开始写信。她则在长长的栖木周围逛，观察不同的猫头鹰。 “亲爱的西里斯你叫我写信告诉你霍格瓦彻里发生的一切。现在我来告诉你。 不知你听说过没有，今年将举行三巫赛。星期六晚上我被选中做第四个参赛选手。我不知道是谁把我的名字放进燃烧的高脚杯里，反正不是我自己。霍格瓦彻学校的另一个选手叫塞德里克。迪格瑞，来自海夫巴夫。 写到这，他停笔想了想。他很想告诉他，自昨晚以来他内心的巨大压力。可他又不知道该怎么表达，最后他蘸了蘸笔写道：祝你和乌德巴克一切顺利——波特。“ “写好了。”他站起来，掸掸袍子上的皮屑。这时，海维飞下来停在他肩上，伸出爪子。 “我不能用你。”哈利告诉她，望了望四周的校鹰说，“我必须用它们中的……” 海维大叫一声飞离哈利的肩，她飞得太突然了，爪子都划伤了他的肩。哈利把信绑在一只谷仓猫头鹰的腿上，她背对着他，不理他。谷仓猫头鹰飞走之后，哈利伸手抚摸她，可她狠狠地啄了哈利一下，就飞到他够不着的椽上去了。 “先是罗恩，后是你，”哈利恨恨地说，“这又不是我的错。” 要是哈利认为一旦大家习惯了他做选手之后形势就会好转的话，那他可就大错特错了。他一回去上课就免不了碰到其他人。显然同那伙格林芬顿一样，其他人也认为是哈利自己报名参赛的。与格林芬顿人不同的是，他们一点也不高兴。 平时海夫巴夫的学生同格林芬顿的学生相处得挺好的，可是现在，他们全都变得很冷漠，一节草药学课就说明了这一切。明摆着，海夫巴夫的学生觉得哈利抢走他们选手的风头。这可能是因为他们太少拿到什么荣誉的缘故，所以他们为塞德里克——这位在快迪斯比赛中打败格林芬顿为他们争得荣誉的人打抱不平。玛克米斯还有弗来里平时跟哈利相处得挺好的，现在也不跟他说话了。虽然他们还在同一个盘上玩跳跳球，虽然有时见哈利的跳跳球出来击中他的脸，他们也会发笑。罗恩也不跟哈利说话，荷米恩坐在他们中间，强迫他们说话。虽然两人像平常一样回答她，他们却是谁也不看谁。哈利觉得史伯特教授对他疏远了好多——可以理解，她是海夫巴夫的头领。 正常情况下，他盼望着上哈格力的课，但是要上魔法生物保护课也就意味着会见到史林德林的人。这是他做选手来与他们的第一次会面。 意料之中，马尔夫带着他常有的那副讥笑神情来到哈格力的小屋。 “嘿，看哪，选手来了。”他故意在哈利听得到的地方对克来伯和高尔说。“带了签名本没有啊？最好现在就要个签名。我担心他活不长了……一半的三巫赛选手都死了……你以为你能熬多久，波特？我猜，第一个任务开始十分钟不到你就玩蛋了。” 克来伯和高尔哄然大笑，他们在拍马尔夫的马屁。马尔夫不说了，因为哈格力从屋后转了出来，捧着一个摇摇欲坠由木箱组成的塔楼，每个木箱里装着一只大史库斯。令人恐惧的是，哈格力开始解释为什么那些史库斯会互相屠杀，因为他们被禁锢的精力实在太旺盛了。解决的办法是每个同学给每只史库斯绑上皮带，带他去散散步。这个计划的唯一好处就是它完全分散了马尔夫对哈利的注意力。 “带这个东西去散步？”他朝盒子里看，觉得挺恶心的。“那要把皮带绑在它的哪一部位呢？螫周围，尾部，还是吸盘上？” “绑在中部。”哈格力边说边演示。“呃，可能要戴上龙皮手套，作为特别的预防措施。哈利——你过来帮我看着这只大的…… 其实他的用意是想单独同哈利谈谈，等到其他人都带着史库斯走后，他很严肃地对哈利说，“哈利，那么，你是要作为学校的选手参赛了？” “学校的选手之一。”哈利纠正他。 哈格力浓眉下的那双近视眼看来很担忧。“哈利，到底谁把你名字放进去的，有没有头绪？” “你相信不是我干的？”听了哈格力的话，哈利有点艰难地流露出他对此的感激之情。 “我当然相信。”哈格力哼了一声。“你说不是你就不是你。我相信，丹伯多也相信，大家都相信。” “我真想知道是谁干的。”哈利挺痛苦的。 两人望着草坪，全班都散开了，挺费劲地，史库斯们有三英尺长了。 强壮有力，不再是无色无壳的，长出了厚厚一层闪亮的灰色盔甲，它们长得像巨蝎，也像被拉长的螃蟹。可惜还是没头没眼的。 现在他们很健壮，几乎难以驾驭了。 “看来他们玩得还挺开心的，嗯？”哈格力挺快乐的。哈利以为他是说史库斯。他的同学们一定不开心，因为任何一只史库斯时刻都可能“呼”地一声跳开，一般一跳就是几码远。那时候，拉着它的人可就惨了，会被它拉得趴下，现在那边已经有几个人趴下了，死命挣扎着站起来。 “咳，哈利，我不知道。”哈格力突然叹了口气，担心地看着他。“学校的选手，怎么什么事都让你给碰上了呢？” 哈利没有回答，是啊，好像什么事都给他赶上了。多少如荷米恩在湖边散步时对他说的那样，据她所知，这就是为什么罗恩不再跟他说话的原因。 接下来在霍格瓦彻的日子，对哈利来说真是糟透了。以前他也经历过类似的情况。那是二年级的时候，在那几个月里学校里的大部分人都怀疑是他袭击同学。不过那时有罗恩在他身边支持他。可现在，他想，要是有罗恩这个朋友在身边支持他，他就能应付学校里其他所有的同学。但如果罗恩不想跟他说话，他也不会试图去劝服他跟他说话。尽管如此，他觉得很孤独，承受着四面八方投来的厌恶目光。 尽管他讨厌海夫巴夫班学生的态度，他还是能理解他们，毕竟他们有自己的选手要支持。而从史林德林班那伙人那除了恶意污辱外，他没指望过他们会给他什么。在他们中间，他很不受欢迎。因为他常常帮助格林芬顿在快迪斯比赛和馆际冠军杯中打败他们。他原指望罗尼克劳会像支持塞德里克那样支持他，可他错了。大部分罗尼克劳同学认为他为了使自己名声更响而不惜耍手段欺骗了燃烧的高脚杯，让它接受了他的名字。 事实上，塞德里克比他更看重选手这个身份。他长相英俊非凡：挺拔的鼻梁、一头黑发、灰色的眼睛。很难说那时候究竟是他还是维特。克伦更受仰慕。一次午餐时，哈利看到曾经狂热地找克伦签名的那群六年级女生求塞德里克在她们的书包上签名。 西里斯还没回信。海维拒绝他靠近。特洛雷尼教授更常说他的死期快到了。还有菲利特威克教授上的召唤术课他感觉越来越难。 他成绩太差，做些额外的家庭作业，他是除了尼维尔之外唯一要做额外功课的学生。 上完菲利特威克的课之后，荷米恩想安慰他说，“哈利，真的没那么困难的。你只是没有专心听而已。”她已经在所有课上引起别人的非议，被当成是吸引尘土板、废纸篓和疯子观察器。 “真想不通这是怎么回事？”哈利忧郁地说。一群嘻嘻哈哈的女生拥着塞德里克。迪格瑞走过他身边，个个拿怪异的眼神看他，好像他是只特大的史库斯。“算了，下午还得上药剂课。” 药剂课向来是令人恐惧的。尤其这些日子，课上事事对哈利来说都是折磨。要和史纳皮，还有那群史林德林的人在地下室里呆1个半小时，这是哈利能想象到的最令人不快的事了。因为他们所有人都变着法子要惩罚他这个胆敢做选手的人。上个星期五是在荷米恩在身边不停的“别理他们，别理他们，别理他们”的低语声中，他才勉强熬过来。看来今天是好不到哪去。 午饭后，他和荷米恩一起到了地下室，发现那群史林德林的家伙围在门外，个个都在衣袍前襟别了个大徽章，开始哈利以为他们戴的是S.P.E.W章。后来他看见上面用闪亮的红字写着同样的话，字在微暗的背衬之下闪闪发光。上面写着：支持塞德里克。迪格瑞——真正的霍格瓦彻选手！ “喜欢吗？波特。”见哈利走近，马尔夫大声问：“这还不全是呢，你看——” 他往胸膛按按那个章，上面的字消失了，出现了另一行发绿的字：波特恶臭熏天。 他们哄然大笑。个个都按住徽章。“波特恶臭熏天。”全都亮起来，哈利被绿光围绕着，面红耳赤。 “哦，很好玩哪。”荷米恩挖苦班西。帕金森和她那伙人。她们笑得比谁都大声，“挺聪明的。” 罗恩和迪恩还有西摩斯倚着墙站着，他没有笑，但也没有为哈利辩护。 “格林佐？要一个吗？”他递了一个给荷米恩。“我多的是！拿吧，但别碰到我的手，我刚洗过，你也知道我可不想让个混血儿弄脏我的手。” 哈利连日来受的气一下子涌上心头。他不知不觉拔出魔杖，周围的人吓得直往走廊后退。 “哈利！”荷米恩告诫他。 “波特，那就来吧。”马尔夫挺冷静，也抽出了魔杖。“现在莫迪不在这，他关照不了你。来啊，你有胆就上。” 瞬间，他们彼此对望一眼，同时出手。 “法南克鲁丝！”哈利喊道。 “登朔驹偶。”马尔夫尖叫。 两只魔杖飞到半空，从不同角度来回对台，火花四溅。哈利的魔杖击中高尔的脸，而马尔夫的击中了荷米恩。高尔大叫一声，双手捂住鼻子，他的鼻子流出一大难让人恶心的鼻涕。荷米恩吓哭了，捂着嘴呜咽。 “荷米恩！”罗恩跑进来看她怎么了。 哈利转身见到罗恩拿开荷米恩捂嘴的手。她那副样子不敢恭维。她的门牙本来就大了，现在更是以惊人的速度变长。她的门牙越来越长，看起来更像只海狸了，门牙长到下唇，向下巴延伸。感觉到这一变化，她吓坏了，发现恐惧的叫声。 “怎么这么吵？”一个死气沉沉的声音响起，史纳皮来了。 史林德林班的人抢着解释。史纳皮伸出一个黄手指，指着马尔夫，“你说。” “老师，波利攻击我。” “我们是同时进攻对方的！”哈利叫起来。 “他打中了高尔，您看。” 史纳皮看了高尔，他的脸跟家里那些书上画的毒菌一样。 “高尔，到医院去看看。”史纲皮冷静地吩咐。 “马尔夫击中了荷米恩！”罗恩说，“您看！” 他强迫荷米恩把牙给史纳皮看。她竭力用手捂住牙，但是很困难，因为它们已经长到衣领了。帕金森和其他女孩都笑弯了腰。他们在史纳皮背后对荷米恩指指点点。 史纳皮冷漠地看了眼荷米恩，说，“没什么不同的呀。” 荷米恩呜咽了一声，双眼充满了泪水。转身拔腿就跑，一直跑上走廊，消失在视野中。 哈利和罗恩同时朝史纳皮吼。他们的声音回荡在石厅里，震耳欲袭。太大声又大吵了，史纳皮没听清楚他们骂他什么，但他也听了个大概。 “让我想想，”他用最柔和的语调说，“罚50分。波特和威斯里各关禁闭一周。现在进去，否则再加一星期禁闭。” 哈利双耳轰鸣，这太不公平了，他很不得将史纳皮咒成污秽的碎片。他经过史纳皮和罗恩走到地牢后面，把书包重重地往桌上一扔。罗恩也气得全身发抖。那一瞬，感觉像回到了从前。可罗恩又转身走了，和迪恩、西摩斯他们坐一块，留下哈利孤零零地坐在那。地下室另一边，马尔夫背对着马尔夫摁了摁他的徽章，得意的笑。“波特恶臭熏天”的光再次亮起。 开始上课了，哈利坐在那瞪着马尔夫，想象他将遇到的种种恐怖事物。要是他会施克鲁希尔特斯咒语就好了。他一定会把马尔夫变成那只蜘蛛，四脚朝天，挣扎扭动着。 “解毒剂！”史纳皮环视大家，冷酷的黑眼睛闪着令人不快的光芒。“你们应该都准备好秘方了吧。希望你们仔细泡制，之后我们会选个人来试试。” 史纳皮与哈利对视，哈利知道等待他的是什么了。史纳皮想毒死他。哈利想象他举起大汽锅，冲到教室前端，往史纳皮那油腻腻的头上浇。 敲门声打断了哈利的思绪。 是柯林。他挤进教室，冲哈利笑笑，朝立在教室前端的马尔夫走去。 “有事吗？”史纳皮问了句。 “老师，我要带哈利波特上楼去。” 史纳皮鹰钩鼻向下，瞪着柯林，笑容渐渐消失。 “波特还要泡制半小时的药剂，”史纳皮冷冷地说。“等上完课他会上楼去的。” 柯林脸红了。 “老——老师，是巴格蒙先生找他的，”他紧张地说，“所有的选手都得去，我想他们要照相……” 要是他能阻止柯林说出这最后几个字的话，哈利真愿意把他们拥有的一切都给他。他偶尔瞟瞟罗恩，可罗恩在专注地盯着天花板。 “行了，行了。”史纳皮打断他，“波特，把东西留在这，我希望你过后下来检测你的解毒剂。” “老师——他必须把东西都带走。”柯林小声地说，“所有的选手——” “够了！”史纳皮叫道。“波特，拿上书包，不要让我再看到你。” 波特把包往肩上一甩，站起身朝门走去。他穿过史林德林的课桌时，“波特恶臭熏天”发出的光从四面八方向他射来。 哈利一关上门，柯林就开始说话，“太令人惊讶了，哈利不是吗？你是选手耶！” “是啊，真的太令人惊奇了。”哈利沉重地说。他们沿阶梯向入口大厅走去。“柯林，他们干嘛要照片？” “我想是给《先知日报》吧。” “哦。”哈利闷闷不乐，“我们真的需要更多的公众注意力？” “祝你好运！”到了右边房间柯林向他告别，哈利敲敲门，走了进去。 这个教室挺小，大部分的课桌被移到后面中间空出一大块。他们三个早就坐在那了。一块长天鹅绒盖住了黑板，铺盖着天鹅绒的课桌后放着5把椅子。露得。巴格蒙坐在其中一把上，在和一个穿紫红施子的巫师说话。哈利以前从没见过那个巫师。 维特。克伦跟平时一样，神情忧郁地呆在角落，不与任何人说话。塞德里克和芙璐在聊天。哈利从来没见过芙璐这么高兴。她时不时甩一下头，好用头发引人注目。一个挺着大肚子的男人举着一个远在冒着轻烟的黑色大相机，拿眼角膘她。 巴格蒙突然认出哈利，很快站起来，跳向前，“哈，他来啦！ 四号选手！进来，哈利，进来，没什么好怕的，一个魔杖测量典礼而已，其他裁判很快就到了。“ “魔杖测量？”哈利紧张了，重复了一遍。 “我们必须检查一下，确保你们的魔杖一切正常，没有毛病。 要知道，它们可是你们完成面临的任务的重要工具。“巴格蒙说，”专家现在在楼上，和丹伯多一起。我们还要照张像。这位是理特。 史姬特。“他加了一句，朝紫袍巫师作了个手势，”她为《先知日报》写篇有关大赛的小报道。“ “可能不太小，霍得。”理特。史姬特将视线停留在哈利身上。 她的头发精心梳理成僵硬的卷曲，跟她的大下巴相比，显得特别古怪。她戴了副镶珠宝的眼镜。指甲有两寸长，除了深红的指甲油。肥胖的手紧抓着她的鳄鱼皮包。 “在开始之前，我想可不可以和哈利先聊几句呢？”她问巴格蒙，但还是盯着哈利看。“最年轻的选手，你知道……增添些色彩。” “当然可以！”巴格蒙说，“哈利不反对吧？” “这——”哈利犹豫了。 “亲爱的，”转眼之前，理特。史姬特猩红的手已经抓住哈利的手臂——她的力气大得惊人——把他又带到房间外面。她打开最近的一间房门。 “我们不想呆在那么吵的地方。”她说，“让我看看，啊，对了，这里还不错，温暖又舒适。” 可这是放扫帚的壁橱。哈利瞪着她看。 “来吧，亲爱的，没关系的，”理特。史姬特又叫了。她自己坐在一个倒置的篮子上，摇摇晃晃地。她把哈利推进壁橱，关上门，他们沉浸在黑暗之中。“现在看看……” 她打开鳄鱼皮包，拉出一小把蜡烛，手轻轻一挥把它们点亮，停留在半空中，这样一来，他们干活就看得清了。 “哈利，你不介意我用速记笔吧？那样我就可以正常自如地跟你说话了。” “用什么？” 她笑得更开心了。哈利数出她有三只金牙。她又把手伸进皮包，掏出一支绿色的羽毛笔，一卷羊皮纸，她把羊皮纸摊开摆在一个木箱上。其实木箱是史科特太太的多功能魔力除污器。她把笔尖放进嘴里，像吃什么美味一样吮了一会，再把它竖放在羊皮纸上。 它稳稳地立在上面，微微颤动。 “检测，我叫理特。史姬特，是《先知日报》的记者。” 哈利低头看那只羽毛笔。理特。史姬特才开口，那支笔就开始在羊皮纸上滑行，写道：“迷人的理特。史姬特，43岁，金发，她毫不留情的笔已戳穿不少夸大其辞的声名。” “好极了，”理特。史姬特撕掉羊皮纸的纸头，揉成一团塞进包里。她凑近哈利问道，“那么，哈利，是什么使你下定决心参加三巫赛的呢？” “这——”哈利又来了。他被那支笔吸引住了。虽然他没说什么，可笔却在羊皮纸上来回穿梭随后他看到了一个句子：一道丑陋的疤痕，是悲惨过去的留念。它毁了哈利波特迷人的脸，他的双眸……“ “哈利，别管它，”理特。史姬特态度坚决。哈利挺不情愿地看着她。“那，你为什么下决心要报名参加这次比赛呢？” “我没有。”哈利说。“我不知道我的名字是怎么进了燃烧的高脚杯的，不是我放的。” 理特咬姬特扬起她那描得又黑又粗的眉毛，“说吧，哈利，没必要担心惹麻烦，我们都清楚，你根本就不应该报名。不过别担心，我们的读者喜欢叛逆者。” “可我没有报名，”哈利重复，“我不知道谁——” “对将面临的任务，你有何感想？”理特。史姬特问，“兴奋？紧张不安？” “我还没认真想过……对，我想是紧张不安。”说这话时，他内心紧促不安，很不舒服。 “过去发生过选手死亡事件，是吧？”理特。史姬特轻快地说，“你有没有想到过这一点？” “呃，他们说今年会安全些。” 羽毛笔快速地在羊皮纸上写着，来来回回像在溜冰。 “当然，你曾经直面过死亡，是吧？”理特。史姬特密切地观察他。“你怎么看待它对你的影响呢？” 哈利又说：“这——”你认不认为过去的创伤使你更加热衷于提高自身？不负你的声名？你认不认为此次你受了诱惑报名参加三巫赛可能是因为……“ “我没有报名。”哈特被激怒了。 “你还记得你父母吗？”理特史姬特在他头顶上发话。 “不记得。” “你认为如果他们知道你要参加三巫赛，他们会怎么想呢？为你自豪？为你担忧？还是很生气？” 这次哈利可真的是烦了。他怎么知道他父母会怎么想，如果他们还活着的话。他觉察到她关切的目光，皱了皱眉，避开了她的目光，读那支笔刚刚写下的句子：“当我们的话题转到他没有什么印像的父母时，他那绿得惊人的双眼眼水盈荡。” “我的眼里没有眼泪！”哈利大叫。 理特。史姬特没来得及说什么，壁橱的门就被拉开了。哈利往外望。外面光线太强了，他眨了眨眼。艾伯斯。丹伯多站在那里，俯视这两个挤在壁橱里的人。 “丹伯多！”理特。史姬特高兴地叫起来。哈利发现她的笔和羊皮的纸突然从魔力除污器上消失了。她弯曲的手指忙乱地扣上鳄鱼皮包。“你怎么样？”她问，站起身，向丹伯多伸出粗壮的大手。 “相信你看了我这个夏天写的关于国际巫师协会会议的报道。” “好得令人作呕，”丹伯多的眼睛闪闪发光，“我特别喜欢你把我写成一个陈腐的无业游民。” 理特史姬特一点也不感到窘迫，“我认为你的有些想法落伍了，丹伯多，街上那么多的巫师……” “我很乐意听你无礼评论背后的推理。”丹伯多客气地鞠了一躬，笑着说，“但恐怕这个问题要迟些讨论了，魔杖测量仪式就要开始了，如果其中一个选手被藏在放扫帚的壁橱里面，那可就开不成了。” 哈利很高兴能摆脱理特。史姬特，他赶回教室。其他选手坐在靠门的椅子上，他赶紧挨着塞德里克坐下，看到天鹅绒布盖着的桌子，四个裁判坐在那里：卡克罗夫教授，玛西姆夫人，克劳斯先生和露得。巴格蒙。理特。史姬特选了个座位坐下。哈利看见她又从包里扯出羊皮纸，平铺在膝盖上，吮了吮笔尖，又把它放在羊皮纸上。 “我来介绍，奥立文德先生。”丹伯多在裁判席桌前就坐，对选手们说：“他将检查你的魔杖，以确保开赛前他们状态良好。” 哈利张望了一下，看见一个老巫师静静地站在窗边，他的眼睛很大，但目光黯淡。哈利十分震惊，他以前见过他。他是个魔杖制作师，三年前，他在戴尔更街，从他那里买了魔杖。 “迪米高小姐，请你先走出来。”奥立文德先生说着站到了中间。 芙璐-迪来高阔步向前，把魔杖交给他。 “嗯……”他沉吟着，修长的手指如同摆弄指挥棒般地转动魔杖。魔杖发出一些粉色、金色的火，随后他把魔杖凑到眼前，仔细观察。 “是了，9.25英寸，不易折，花梨木，还有……我的天。” “它用威乐毛。”芙璐说。“我奶奶的。” “没错，”奥立文德先生说，“是了，虽然我自己制作魔杖从来不用威乐毛，不过它还是相当敏感度高的魔杖……不管怎样，各有所好，只要它适合你……” 奥立文德先生的手指沿着魔杖滑动，显然是在查找抓痕和撞痕。过后他咕哝一句：“阿奇迪尔丝！”魔杖顶端开出一束鲜花。 “很好，很好，工作状态还不错。”奥立文德先生拨出鲜花把它们连同魔杖一起交给芙璐。 “迪格瑞先生，轮到你了。” 芙璐悄然回位，朝塞德里克笑笑。 “哈，这把魔杖是我制作的，是吧？”奥立文德先生接过塞德里克的魔杖，显得更热心。“没错，我记得很清楚，因为一根从一只特别好的公独角兽尾巴上拔下来的毛。那只公独角兽有17只手，我扯住它的尾巴，它差点没用角把我抵死。12.25英寸长，有弹性，很好，工作状态良好。你是不是定期擦它？” “昨晚才用油擦过。”塞德里克咧嘴笑。 哈利低头看他的魔杖，手指印都处都是。他把膝盖上的饱子揪成一团，想偷偷地把魔杖擦干净。它的底端射出几条金色的火花。 芙璐-迪来高非常傲慢地瞟了他一眼，他就不敢再擦了。 奥立文德先生从塞德里克的魔杖项发出一串银烟圈，他非常满意，叫道：“克伦先生，该你了。” 维特。克伦站起来，垂头曲背，朝奥立文德急速走去，他抽出魔杖，皱着眉，站在那，双手插在袍子口袋里。 “嗯。”奥立文德先生说，“如果我没弄错的话，这是格林芬顿制作的，他可是个制杖好手。虽然他制作的款式跟我的从来就……” 他举起魔杖，把它放在眼前转来转去，观察得非常仔细。“是了，鹅耳枥和龙心弦？”他看了克伦一眼，克伦点点头，“比普通的厚一些，相当稳，1O.25英寸……阿维丝！” 鹅耳流做成的魔杖发出一声熗响，它的魔端里长出几个吱吱喳喳的小鸟，它们从窗户里飞出去，在明媚的阳光里飞翔。 “很好，”奥立文德先生把魔杖还给克伦。“谁最后……彼特先生？” 哈特站起身，从克伦身边经过走向奥立文德，他递过魔杖。 “啊，是了。”奥立文德暗淡的双眼一亮。“是了，是了，我还记得。” 哈利也记得，一切仿佛是昨天才发生…… 4年前他11岁生日那天，哈格力带他到奥立文德店里去买魔杖。奥立文德为他量身之后，给了他一些魔杖。他试过之后，觉得店里的魔杖都差不多。直到最后，他才找到了适合他的魔杖，就是这把，冬青木制作，长11英，含有一根凤凰尾巴上的羽毛。它与他很相称谐和，令奥立文德惊诧不已。“奇了，”他说，“……真是奇了。”哈利就问他奇在何处，奥立文德解释说这支魔杖上的羽毛是从那只吸收了福尔得摩特魔杖魔法精髓的凤凰身上拔来的。 哈利没有跟任何人说起过这个秘密，他非常喜欢这支魔杖，在他看来，它与福尔得摩特魔杖的关系是它无法避免的，像他无法避免跟帕尤妮亚姨妈的关系一样。他真地希望奥立文德不要把这件事告诉屋里的人。要是他说了的话，哈利想到理特。史姬特速记笔可能会兴奋地爆炸掉，他觉得很好笑。 奥立文德花了很长的时间检查那支魔杖，最后，从魔杖里喷出一股酒泉，他把魔杖还给哈利，说它的工作状态极佳。 “谢谢大家。”丹伯多站起来。“你们现在可以回去上课了，或者也可以下楼吃晚餐，因为他们准备结束——” 今天总算做了些正经事，哈利站起来准备走，那个拿黑相机的男人跳起来，清了清嗓子。 “照相，丹伯多，照相哪！”巴格蒙兴奋地叫起来。“裁判和选手合影，您意下如何呢，理特？” “这——，好吧，先照合影。”理特。史姬特说着，又盯着哈利看。“然后再照些单人照。” 照了好久。玛西姆不管站在哪总挡了别人，摄影师要站在很远的地方，才能照得到她，可房间又太小，最后只好让其他人都站着，她坐着。卡克罗夫不停地捻他的山羊须，想把它弄卷一点。克伦半躲半藏，站在人群后面。哈利原来还以为他对这种事早就习以为常了，摄影师好像很喜欢让芙璐站在前面，可每次理特。史姬特总要冲上来把哈利拉到抢眼的位置。她还坚持要给选手们照单人相。最后总算可以走了。 哈利吃晚餐去了，荷米恩不在那。他估计她还在医院修牙。独自吃完晚餐后，他回到格林芬顿塔，脑子里想着那些必须完成的召唤术课额外的家庭作业。在宿舍，他碰到罗恩。 “有只猫头鹰在等你。”他进去时，罗恩冒出一句，指指哈利的枕头。那只校鹰在那里等他。 “哦。”哈利说。 “明天晚上我们得到史纳皮的地牢去禁闭了。”罗恩说完之后，看也不看哈利，径直走了。那一刻，哈利真想追出去，他也不知道自己是想跟他说话呢还是想打他一顿，不过这两个主意都挺诱人的。当然相比之下西里斯的回信更诱人。他走到谷仓鹰那里，取下信，打开。 哈利：有些事信里不好说，万一猫头鹰被拦截，那太危险了。我们需要面对面谈一谈，你能不能保证，11月22号凌晨1点单独留在格林芬顿炉火边？ 我比谁都清楚你能照顾好自己。我想只要你呆在丹伯多和莫迪周围，就没有人伤害得了你。不过，看来有人想试上一试，要知道，在丹伯多眼皮底下，帮你报名参加那个比赛已经是非常危险的了。 哈利，要警惕。希望你继续告诉我发生的任何不寻常的事。尽快让我知道11月22号你行不行。 西里斯 |
Chapter 19 The Hungarian Horntail The prospect of talking face-to-face with Sirius was all that sustained Harry over the next fortnight, the only bright spot on a horizon that had never looked darker. The shock of finding himself school champion had worn off slightly now, and the fear of what was facing him had started to sink in. The first task was drawing steadily nearer; he felt as though it were crouching ahead of him hike some horrific monster, barring his path. He had never suffered nerves like these; they were way beyond anything he had experienced before a Quidditch match, not even his last one against Slytherin, which had decided who would win the Quidditch Cup. Harry was finding it hard to think about the future at all; he felt as though his whole life had been heading up to, and would finish with, the first task.… Admittedly, he didn't see how Sirius was going to make him feel any better about having to perform an unknown piece of difficult and dangerous magic in front of hundreds of people, but the mere sight of a friendly face would be something at the moment. Harry wrote back to Sirius saying that he would be beside the common room fire at the time Sirius had suggested; and he and Hermione spent a long time going over plans for forcing any stragglers out of the common room on the night in question. If the worst came to the worst, they were going to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but they hoped they wouldn't have to resort to that - Filch would skin them alive. In the meantime, life became even worse for Harry within the confines of the castle, for Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the tournament as a highly colored life story of Harry. Much of the front page had been given over to a picture of Harry; the article (continuing on pages two, six, and seven) had been all about Harry, the names of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang champions (misspelled) had been squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn't been mentioned at all. The article had appeared ten days ago, and Harry still got a sick, burning feeling of shame in his stomach every time he thought about it. Rita Skeeter had reported him saying an awful lot of things that he couldn't remember ever saying in his life, let alone in that broom cupboard. * * * * * * I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now….Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it.…I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me… But Rita Skeeter had gone even further than transforming his “er's” into long, sickly sentences: She had interviewed other people about him too. Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school. From the moment the article had appeared, Harry had had to endure people -Slytherins, mainly - quoting it at him as he passed and making sneering comments. “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” “Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?” “Hey - Harry!” “Yeah, that's right!” Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. “I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more…” “No - it was just - you dropped your quill.” It was Cho. Harry felt the color rising in his face. “Oh - right - sorry,” he muttered, taking the quill back. “Er…good luck on Tuesday,” she said. “I really hope you do well.” Which left Harry feeling extremely stupid. Hermione had come in for her fair share of unpleasantness too, but she hadn't yet started yelling at innocent bystanders; in fact, Harry was full of admiration for the way she was handling the situation. “Stunningly pretty? Her?” Pansy Parkinson had shrieked the first time she had come face-to-face with Hermione after Rita's article had appeared. “What was she judging against - a chipmunk?” “Ignore it,” Hermione said in a dignified voice, holding her head in the air and stalking past the sniggering Slytherin girls as though she couldn't hear them. “Just ignore it, Harry.” But Harry couldn't ignore it. Ron hadn't spoken to him at all since he had told him about Snape's detentions. Harry had half hoped they would make things up during the two hours they were forced to pickle rats’ brains in Snape's dungeon, but that had been the day Rita's article had appeared, which seemed to have confirmed Ron's belief that Harry was really enjoying all the attention. Hermione was furious with the pair of them; she went from one to the other, trying to force them to talk to each other, but Harry was adamant: He would talk to Ron again only if Ron admitted that Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire and apologized for calling him a liar. “I didn't start this,” Harry said stubbornly. “It's his problem.” “You miss him!” Hermione said impatiently. “And I know he misses you -” “Miss him?” said Harry. “I don't miss him…” But this was a downright lie. Harry liked Hermione very much, but she just wasn't the same as Ron. There was much hess laughter and a lot more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend. Harry still hadn't mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes. Viktor Krum was in the library an awful lot too, and Harry wondered what he was up to. Was he studying, or was he looking for things to help him through the first task? Hermione often complained about Krum being there - not that he ever bothered them - but because groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, and Hermione found the noise distracting. “He's not even good-looking!” she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. “They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing -” “Wronski Feint,” said Harry, through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch terms correct, it caused him another pang to imagine Ron's expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints. * * * * * * It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up. The days until the first task seemed to slip by as though someone had fixed the clocks to work at double speed. Harry's feeling of barely controlled panic was with him wherever he went, as everpresent as the snide comments about the Daily Prophet article. On the Saturday before the first task, all students in the third year and above were permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade. Hermione told Harry that it would do him good to get away from the castle for a bit, and Harry didn't need much persuasion. “What about Ron, though?” he said. “Don't you want to go with him?” “Oh…well…"Hermione went slightly pink. “I thought we might meet up with him in the Three Broomsticks.…” “No,” said Harry flatly. “Oh Harry, this is so stupid -” “I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron, and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak.” “Oh all right then…” Hermione snapped, “but I hate talking to you in that cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not.” So Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak in the dormitory, went back downstairs, and together he and Hermione set off for Hogsmeade. Harry felt wonderfully free under the cloak; he watched other students walking past them as they entered the village, most of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges, but no horrible remarks came his way for a change, and nobody was quoting that stupid article. “People keep looking at me now,” said Hermione grumpily as they came out of Honeydukes Sweetshop later, eating large cream-filled chocolates. “They think I'm talking to myself.” “Don't move your lips so much then.” “Come on, please just take off your cloak for a bit, no one's going to bother you here.” “Oh yeah?” said Harry. “Look behind you.” Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks pub. Talking in low voices, they passed right by Hermione without hooking at her. Harry backed into the wall of Honeydukes to stop Rita Skeeter from hitting him with her crocodile-skin handbag. When they were gone, Harry said, “She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to watch the first task.” As he said it, his stomach flooded with a wave of molten panic. He didn't mention this; he and Hermione hadn't discussed what was coming in the first task much; he had the feeling she didn't want to think about it. “She's gone,” said Hermione, looking right through Harry toward the end of the street. “Why don't we go and have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!” she added irritably, correctly interpreting his silence. The Three Broomsticks was packed, mainly with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. Harry supposed that as Hogsmeade was the only all-wizard village in Britain, it was a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who were not as adept as wizards at disguising themselves. It was very hard to move through crowds in the Invisibility Cloak, in case you accidentally trod on someone, which tended to lead to awkward questions. Harry edged slowly toward a spare table in the corner while Hermione went to buy drinks. On his way through the pub, Harry spotted Ron, who was sitting with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan. Resisting the urge to give Ron a good hard poke in the back of the head, he finally reached the table and sat down at it. Hermione joined him a moment later and slipped him a butterbeer under his cloak. “I look like such an idiot, sitting here on my own,” she muttered. “Lucky I brought something to do.” And she pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. Harry saw his and Ron's names at the top of the very short list. It seemed a long time ago that they had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed them secretary and treasurer. “You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.,” Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub. “Yeah, right,” said Harry. He took a swig of butterbeer under his cloak. “Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?” “When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!” she hissed back. “You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?” “No idea, ask Fred and George,” said Harry. Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence, while Harry drank his butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table; both of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door he saw Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She wasn't wearing a Cedric badge though.…This cheered up Harry very slightly.… What wouldn't he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn't come out of the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn't be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, for one thing. Ron would be sitting with him. The three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He'd have been really hooking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was…cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a seat at the back of the stands… He wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time he had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers and looking nervous but excited. Harry glimpsed Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books. Harry thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly. He would be speaking to him in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night they were meeting at the common room fire - assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately… “Look, it's Hagrid!” said Hermione. The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head - he had mercifully abandoned his bunches - emerged over the crowd. Harry wondered why he hadn't spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, he saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn't seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Harry knew better. Moody had told them all during their last Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup. As Harry watched, he saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. He waved, then remembered that Hagrid couldn't see him. Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the corner where Harry was standing. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub toward Harry and Hermione's table. “All right, Hermione?” said Hagrid loudly. “Hello,” said Hermione, smiling back. Moody limped around the table and bent down; Harry thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he muttered, “Nice cloak, Potter.” Harry stared at him in amazement. The large chunk missing from Moody's nose was particularly obvious at a few inches’ distance. Moody grinned. “Can your eye - I mean, can you -?” “Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks,” Moody said quietly. “And it's come in useful at times, I can tell you.” Hagrid was beaming down at Harry too. Harry knew Hagrid couldn't see him, but Moody had obviously told Hagrid he was there. Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well, and said in a whisper so low that only Harry could hear it, “Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that cloak.” Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, “Nice ter see yeh, Hermione,” winked, and departed. Moody followed him. “Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?” Harry said, very surprised. “Does he?” said Hermione, looking startled. “I wonder what he's up to? I don't know whether you should go, Harry.…” She looked nervously around and hissed, “It might make you late for Sirius.” It was true that going down to Hagrid's at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Hermione suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid's to tell him he couldn't go - always assuming she would consent to take the note, of course - Harry, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted him for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked Harry to visit him so late at night. At half past eleven that evening, Harry, who had pretended to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over himself and crept back downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. The Creevey brothers had managed to get hold of a stack of Support Cedric Diggory! badges and were trying to bewitch them to make them say Support Harry Potter! instead. So far, however, all they had managed to do was get the badges stuck on POTTER STINKS. Harry crept past them to the portrait hole and waited for a minute or so, keeping an eye on his watch. Then Hermione opened the Fat Lady for him from outside as they had planned. He slipped past her with a whispered “Thanks!” and set off through the castle. The grounds were very dark. Harry walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid's cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid's front door. “You there, Harry?” Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around. “Yeah,” said Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. “What's up?” “Got summat ter show yeh,” said Hagrid. There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair - Harry could see the comb's broken teeth tangled in it. “What're you showing me?” Harry said warily, wondering if the skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub. “Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak,” said Hagrid. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it…” “Listen, Hagrid, I can't stay long.…I've got to be back up at the castle by one o'clock -” But Hagrid wasn't listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry hurried to follow and found, to his great surprise, that Hagrid was leading him to the Beauxbatons carriage. “Hagrid, what -?” “Shhh!” said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed golden wands. Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. “Ah, ‘Agrid…it is time?” “Bong-sewer,” said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime's giant winged horses, with Harry, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show him Madame Maxime? He could see her any old time he wanted…she wasn't exactly hard to miss.… But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry, because after a while she said playfully, “Wair is it you are taking me, ‘Agrid?” “Yeh'll enjoy this,” said Hagrid gruffly, “worth seein', trust me. On'y - don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh're not s'posed ter know.” “Of course not,” said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes. And still they walked, Harry getting more and more irritated as he jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn't get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime.… But then - when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight - Harry heard something. Men were shouting up ahead…then came a deafening, earsplitting roar… Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them - for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them - and then his mouth fell open. Dragons. Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing onto their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting - torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air; and a gigantic black one, more lizard-hike than the others, which was nearest to them. At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerized, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat's, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn't tell which.…It was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream.… “Keep back there, Hagrid!” yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I've seen this Horntail do forty!” “Is'n’ it beautiful?” said Hagrid softly. “It's no good!” yelled another wizard. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!” Harry saw each of the dragon keepers pull out his wand. “Stupefy!” they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides - Harry watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking - then, very slowly, it fell. Several tons of sinewy, scaly-black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry could have sworn made the trees behind him quake. The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands. “Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Harry realized who it was: Charlie Weasley. “All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be okay now - we put them out with a Sleeping Draft on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet - but, like you saw, they weren't happy, not happy at all -” “What breeds you got here, Charlie?” said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon, the black one, with something chose to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid. “This is a Hungarian Horntail,” said Charlie. “There's a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one - a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue-gray - and a Chinese Fireball, that's the red.” Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the stunned dragons. “I didn't know you were bringing her, Hagrid,” Charlie said, frowning. “The champions aren't supposed to know what's coming - she's bound to tell her student, isn't she?” “Jus’ thought she'd like ter see ‘em,” shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons. “Really romantic date, Hagrid,” said Charlie, shaking his head. “Four…” said Hagrid, “so it's one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What've they gotta do - fight ‘em?” “Just get past them, I think,” said Charlie. “We'll be on hand if it gets nasty, Extinguishing Spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don't know why…but I tell you this, I don't envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end's as dangerous as its front, look.” Charlie pointed toward the Horntail's tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches. Five of Charlie's fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-gray eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail's side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing. “I've got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie sternly. Then he said, “How's Harry?” “Fine,” said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs. “Just hope he's still fine after he's faced this lot,” said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons’ enclosure. “I didn't dare tell Mum what he's got to do for the first task; she's already having kittens about him.…” Charlie imitated his mother's anxious voice. “'How could they let him enter that tournament, he's much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!’ She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. ‘He still cries about his parents! Oh bless him, I never knew!'” Harry had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn't miss him, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently and began to walk away, back to the castle. He didn't know whether he was glad he'd seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if he'd seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, he would have passed out cold in front of the whole school…but maybe he would anyway.…He was going to be armed with his wand - which, just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood - against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And he had to get past it. With everyone watching. How? Harry sped up, skirting the edge of the forest; he had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and he couldn't remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now - when, without warning, he ran into something very solid. Harry fell backward, his glasses askew, clutching the cloak around him. A voice nearby said, “Ouch! Who's there?” Harry hastily checked that the cloak was covering him and hay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognized the goatee…it was Karkaroff. “Who's there?” said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Harry remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forward toward the place where the dragons were. Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet and set off again as fast as he could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back toward Hogwarts. He had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the forest together - they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance…and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric. Harry reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors, and began to climb the marble stairs; he was very out of breath, but he didn't dare slow down.…He had less than five minutes to get up to the fire.… “Balderdash!” he gasped at the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole. “If you say so,” she muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forward to admit him. Harry climbed inside. The common room was deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smelled quite normal, Hermione had not needed to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that he and Sirius got privacy. Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire. The room was in semidarkness; the flames were the only source of light. Nearby, on a table, the Support Cedric Diggory! badges the Creeveys had been trying to improve were glinting in the firelight. They now read POTTER REALLY STINKS. Harry looked back into the flames, and jumped. Sirius's head was sitting in the fire. If Harry hadn't seen Mr. Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys’ kitchen, it would have scared him out of his wits. Instead, his face breaking into the first smile he had worn for days, he scrambled out of his chair, crouched down by the hearth, and said, “Sirius - how're you doing?” Sirius looked different from Harry's memory of him. When they had said good-bye, Sirius's face had been gaunt and sunken, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair - but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius's face was fuller, and he looked younger, much more like the only photograph Harry had of him, which had been taken at the Potters’ wedding. “Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius seriously. “I'm -” For a second, Harry tried to say “fine” - but he couldn't do it. Before he could stop himself, he was talking more than he'd talked in days - about how no one believed he hadn't entered the tournament of his own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he couldn't walk down a corridor without being sneered at - and about Ron, Ron not believing him, Ron's jealousy… “…and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner,” he finished desperately. Sirius looked at him, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them - that deadened, haunted look He had let Harry talk himself into silence without interruption, but now he said, “Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute - I haven't got long here…I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about.” “What?” said Harry, feeling his spirits slip a further few notches.…Surely there could be nothing worse than dragons coming? “Karkaroff,” said Sirius. “Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?” “Yes - he - what?” “He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year - to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.” “Karkaroff got released?” Harry said slowly - his brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. “Why did they release him?” “He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic,” said Sirius bitterly. “He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names…he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place.…He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well.” “Okay,” said Harry slowly. “But…are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.” “We know he's a good actor,” said Sirius, “because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry -” “- you and the rest of the world,” said Harry bitterly. “- and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm,” Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, “but I don't think so, somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had.” “So…what are you saying?” said Harry slowly. “Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But - why?” Sirius hesitated. “I've been nearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark…and then - did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?” “Bertha Jorkins?” said Harry. “Exactly…she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last…and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?” “Yeah, but…it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” said Harry. “Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” said Sirius grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap.” “So…so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” said Harry. “Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?” “I don't know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don't know…Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it hook like an accident.” “Looks hike a really good plan from where I'm standing,” said Harry grinning bleaky. “They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff.” “Right - these dragons,” said Sirius, speaking very quickly now. “There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell - dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon -” “Yeah, I know, I just saw,” said Harry. “But you can do it alone,” said Sirius. “There is away, and a simple spell's all you need. Just -” But Harry held up a hand to silence him, his heart suddenly pounding as though it would burst. He could hear footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind him. “Go!” he hissed at Sirius. ” Go! There's someone coming!” Harry scrambled to his feet, hiding the fire - if someone saw Sirius's face within the walls of Hogwarts, they would raise an almighty uproar - the Ministry would get dragged in - he, Harry, would be questioned about Sirius's whereabouts - Harry heard a tiny pop! in the fire behind him and knew Sirius had gone. He watched the bottom of the spiral staircase. Who had decided to go for a stroll at one o'clock in the morning, and stopped Sirius from telling him how to get past a dragon? It was Ron. Dressed in his maroon paisley pajamas, Ron stopped dead facing Harry across the room, and looked around. “Who were you talking to?” he said. “What's that got to do with you?” Harry snarled. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?” “I just wondered where you -” Ron broke off, shrugging. “Nothing. I'm going back to bed.” “Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?” Harry shouted. He knew that Ron had no idea what he'd walked in on, knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but he didn't care - at this moment he hated everything about Ron, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his pajama trousers. “Sorry about that,” said Ron, his face reddening with anger. “Should've realized you didn't want to be disturbed. I'll let you get on with practicing for your next interview in peace.” Harry seized one of the POTTER REALLY STINKS badges off the table and chucked it, as hard as he could, across the room. It hit Ron on the forehead and bounced off. “There you go,” Harry said. “Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if yon're lucky.…That's what you want, isn't it?” He strode across the room toward the stairs; he half expected Ron to stop him, he would even have liked Ron to throw a punch at him, but Ron just stood there in his too-small pajamas, and Harry, having stormed upstairs, lay awake in bed fuming for a long time afterward and didn't hear him come up to bed. 第十九章 匈牙利号怪角兽 哈利很想同西里斯面对面地谈一次，这个信念在接下来的两周中一直支持着他，如同地平线上一个永不黯淡的亮点。成为全校冠军的那种激动的心情已渐渐平复下来，随之而来的是一种隐隐的恐惧感。第一次任务已在渐渐逼近，好像是什么恐怖的怪物挡在他面前，让他前进不得半步。他从来没有这么紧张过，即使在快迪斯比赛前，或者是在同史林德林班争夺快迪斯杯的时候，他都没有这么局促不安。未来对于哈利来说，简直难以想象。他觉得他的整个生活都被卷入了“第一次任务”这个漩涡里面，也许会随之而中止…… 事实上，他也不知道西里斯有什么法宝能让他觉得好受一些，这个任务对他来说就像是在众目睽睽之下第一次表演一项极具难度和惊险度的魔法。但不管怎么说，在这个时候只要看看西里斯那张友善的脸，哈利也会觉得是种莫大的鼓舞。他回信给西里斯，说他会在约定的时间到休息室的壁炉边与其碰头。他和荷米恩花了很多时间讨论怎样把那天晚上呆在休息室里的人赶走。如果这些方法还不奏效的话，他们就要丢进一袋“粪弹”了。但他们希望不要采取这种手段，因为福利克会剥了他们的皮。 与此同时，哈利在城堡里的日子变得越来越糟，因为理特。史姬特把她那篇关于三巫师比赛的报道发表了出来。而且那篇文章对于比赛倒是着墨不多，反而是对哈利的个人生活大肆渲染了一番。哈利的照片占据了头版的大部分版面，整篇文章（刊登在第二、六、七页）都是有关哈利的，比斯贝顿和丹姆斯安冠军的名字被误拼而且挤在了最后一行，塞德里克也没有被提到。 文章是十天前登出来的，但哈利现在只要一想到它，还是觉得无地自容。在理特。史姬特报道中的那一大堆话，他都记不清自己长这么大曾经说过没有，更别提在那个扫帚橱里说过没有了。 “我想我的力量来源于我的父母，如果他们看到我现在这个样子，会很为我自豪的，有时候夜里我会大声叫着他们的名字，而且我并不急于承认这一点……我知道在比赛中没有什么能伤得了我，因为他们在注视着我……” 理特。史姬特除了把哈利的话翻译成又长又臭的版本之外，她还采访了其他人。 “哈利最后在霍格里彻那里寻找了爱。他的密友柯林说哈利成天跟一个叫荷米恩。格林佐的女孩形影不离。这个在马格出生的女孩除了拥有惊人的美貌之外，还和哈利一样是学校里最好的学生之一。” 从这篇文章登出那时起，哈利就不得不忍受人们的冷嘲热讽，而这些讽刺多半来自史林德林班。 “波特，在耶稣变容节你哭鼻子的时候，要不要给你一条手绢呀？” “波特，你什么时候成了学校里最棒的学生呀？难道这学校是你和格林芬顿一手创建的吗？” “嘿，等一等，哈利！” “对，就是这样！”哈利终于忍无可忍，在走廊上转过身来，大声喊道：“我为了我死去的老妈哭得眼珠子都快掉了，现在我还要去干更多——” “噢不，你刚才把笔给掉了。” 后面站着卓，哈利觉得脸上变得又红又烫。 “噢，是的。”他嗫嚅着嘴，拿回了笔。 “嗯，祝你星期二好运。”她说，“我真心希望你能干得出色。” 哈利觉得自己刚才的举动蠢到了极点。 荷米恩也被搅进了这一不愉快的事件当中，但她并没有冲着不明事理的旁观者发火，事实上，哈利很欣赏她处事的态度。 “惊人的美貌？她？”当班西。帕金森读了理特的文章之后，第一次与荷米恩打了个照面的时候，她尖声大笑：“理特拿什么来作比较的——一只金花鼠？” “不要理它。”荷米恩用一种自尊的口吻说，高昂着头大步流星地走过那些窃笑的女孩子面前，好像什么都没听见。“不要理它，哈利。” 但哈利不能不理。自从哈利把史纳皮关他监闭的决定告诉罗恩之后，罗恩就对他不理不睬的。哈利心里还存着一半的希望，希望他俩能在史纳皮的“地牢”中的两个小时里和好如初，但那天碰到理特登出了那篇文章，从而更使罗恩相信哈利喜欢这种出风头的日子。 荷米恩对他俩的行为感到很生气，她一个一个地劝说，试图使他们打破沉默，但哈利还是固执己见，如果罗恩不承认哈利没有将自己的名字写进燃烧的高脚杯，如果罗恩不向他道歉，他们之间就没有谈话的余地。 “这不是我先挑起的，”哈利固执地说，“这是他的问题。” “你误解他了！”荷米恩忍不住说，“我知道他也误解你了——” “误解他？”哈利说，“我没有误解他……” 但这完全是在撒谎。哈利很喜欢荷米恩，她和罗恩不同。不过当你成天和荷米恩在一起的时候，你会少掉一些欢笑，更多的时间是待在图书馆里。哈利仍然没有掌握召唤符咒，他好像遇到什么障碍了。荷米恩认为学习理论会有所帮助，因此午饭时间他们花了很多时间专心阅读书籍。 维特。克伦也经常长时间地待在图书馆里，哈利不知道他葫芦里卖的什么药。他是在学习呢，还是在寻找什么东西可以帮助他顺利完成第一次任务？荷米恩对克伦的出现很是不满，倒不是因为他妨碍了他们，而是因为成群的女孩子躲在书架后面探视着他，发出惊人的咯咯的笑声。 “他一点也不帅。”她生气地咕哝着，注视着克伦的侧影。“她们喜欢他只是因为他的名气！如果他没有做罗斯基。芬特那件事，她们就不会再朝他看第二眼！” “罗斯基。芬特！”哈利从牙缝里吐出这几个字。这说法和快迪斯的用语简直是谬之千里。一想到罗恩会对荷米恩的这种滑稽说法作何反应，哈利就觉得心里很不好受。 事情就是这样奇怪。当你害怕一件事情，而且愿意付出任何代价让时间变慢的时候，它反而毫不留情地加快速度。日子在飞逝，离第一次任务越来越近，就像有人故意调快了时钟一样。不管哈利走到哪里，他都无法摆脱那种慌乱的感觉，就好像那些由《先知日报》的文章引发的恶意讽刺一样无处不在。 第一次任务开始前的星期天，所有三年级以上的学生都可以参观霍斯马得村。荷米恩告诉哈利离开城堡一阵子会对他有好处，但哈利好像听不过去。 “可是，罗恩怎么办呢？”他说。“难道你不想和他一起去？” “噢……那……，”荷米恩脸上微微泛起了红晕。“我以为我们可以和他在三扫帚酒吧处会合……” “不会。”哈利面无表情地说。 “噢，哈利，这么做真愚蠢——” “我会来的，但我不想见到罗恩，而且我会穿着隐身袍。” “噢，好吧，那么……”荷米恩说到这儿停住了，“可我不喜欢和穿着袍子的你讲话，因为我根本看不见你是不是在我对面。” 于是哈利在宿舍里穿上他的隐身袍，下了楼，和荷米恩一起动身前往霍斯马得。 袍子掩护下的哈利分外轻松，他看着别的学生走过去，进入村庄，他们中的大部分佩戴印有“支持塞德利克。迪格瑞的徽章”字样，幸亏沿路上哈利没有听到什么恶毒的评论，也没见到有人引用那篇该死的文章。 “现在人们可都在看着我了。”荷米恩有点闹别扭地说。那时是晚些时候，他们正走出甜蜜杜克糖果店，手里拿着大号装奶油巧克力吃得津津有味，“他们以为我在跟自个儿说话呢。” “那么就少动些嘴皮子吧。” “好啦，就稍稍掀开一下你的抱子嘛，这儿没有人会找你麻烦的。” “哦，是吗？”哈利说，“看看你身后。” 理特。史姬特和她的摄影师刚从三扫帚酒吧里出来。她们低声讲着话，看也没看荷米恩一眼就经过了他们。哈利为了躲避理特。史姬特喝醉后在空中挥舞的鳄鱼皮手袋不得不退回甜蜜杜克糖果店内。 那两个酒鬼一走，哈利就说，“她在村里住下了，我打赌她会来看我们执行第一次任务。” 哈利这么说着的时候，腹中泛起一股难言的恐慌，仿佛翻江倒海一般，丝丝凉意传遍全身，可他没提这事，荷米恩和哈利还没怎么讨论过第一次任务里要怎么对付，哈利感觉到荷米恩连想都不去想它。 “她可走了。”荷米恩松了口气，目光好像穿过哈利一直望到高街的尽头。“我说干嘛不去酒吧里喝杯黄油啤酒呀，天气有点冷了不是嘛？就算碰见罗思你也用不着跟他说话！”她看出了哈利沉默不答的原因，就有点恼火地补充了一句。 三扫帚酒吧里可座无虚席，大部分人是霍格瓦彻学校里下午没课来这儿消遣的学生，可也还有一些哈利在别处极少见到的魔法师。 哈利推想霍斯马得是全英国唯—一个到处是巫师的村子，这儿对女巫来说更可谓是避难天堂，因为女巫们比不上男术士会乔装自己。 身着隐身袍在人群中移动可真不容易，因为万一意外踩到某人就会异致极为使人尴尬的情形。荷米恩去了买酒，哈利就缓缓地侧身挺进，目标是墙角的一张空桌子。中途哈利见到了罗恩，他正和弗来德、克威和李。乔丹坐在一起。哈利心中强忍着要在罗恩后脑勺狠狠地来一下的冲动，去到桌旁一屁股坐了下来。 荷米思随后就过来了，推了一杯黄酒啤酒到他袍下。 “我在这儿一个人坐着简直就像白痴。”荷米恩咕哝着，“幸亏我有备而来。” 她接着抽出一本有S。P。E。W成员记录的笔记本。哈利看到自己和罗恩的名字列在短短名单的上方。他们在一起坐着编造预言好像是很久以前的事了，后来荷米恩出现了，指派他俩做秘书和财政官。 “你说，我可能应该设法让一些村民加入S。P。E。W。”荷米恩环顾一下酒吧，若有所思地说。 “对，你应该，”哈利说，他大喝了一口酒。“荷米恩，你什么时候才打算放弃这么S。P。E。W劳什子事？” “到佣人小精灵们都有体面的收入和良好的工作待遇时我才会放弃！”她反击道，“你知道吗，我在想是时候采取些更直接的行动了。我搞不懂你是怎么进入学校厨房的？” “我也不懂，要问就问弗来德和乔治。”哈利回答。荷米恩又陷入沉思，哈利就边喝酒边看着酒吧里的人。大家看起来既轻松又快活。 玛克米尔和艾伯特尔在附近一张桌子交换着巧克力青蛙糖的卡片，两个人都戴了支持塞德里克。迪格瑞的徽章在袍上。就在门边上哈利看到卓和一大群她的黑爪子朋友。她可没有戴那徽章以这稍稍让哈利心里好过了一点点。 哈利多想象这里的人一样，坐着讲话啊说笑啊，除了作业什么别的东西也不用担心。如果能这样，要哈利付什么代价他都愿意。他设想着要是自己的名字没出现在燃烧的高脚杯上的话坐在这儿的感觉又会是怎样。起码他就用不着穿隐身袍了。罗恩也会坐在他旁边。还有荷米恩，他们三个人就可以开开心心地猜猜星期二学校的勇士们要面对些什么样艰难危险的任务了。他就会很期待那天来临，安安稳稳地坐在看台上的座椅里边，看那些勇士施展平生所学或者和别人一起为塞德里克加油。 他有点儿想知道别的勇士们有何感想。最近他每次看到塞德里克他都是在众多拥戴者的包围之下的，显得既紧张又兴奋，哈利在走廊进道上也不时瞥见芙璐。迪来高，保持她的一贯风格，高傲又冷静。 而克伦就只泡在图书馆里，熟读群书。 哈利想起了西里斯，他那又紧又硬的领结仿佛些微松动了点。 再过十二小时哈利就会和他说着话了，因为今晚可是他们约好在普通房里的火炉进见面的——如果没出什么岔子，正如最近清事顺利的话。 “看啊！是哈格力！”荷米思说。 哈格力后脑那无比蓬松的一头乱发——他必定是极为宽大地放过了难以完成使命的束发带——在众人中显现。哈利搞不懂自己居然刚才没一眼认出他，因为哈格力实在太显眼了，又小心翼翼地站着。哈利看到哈格力弯腰和莫迪教授说话。哈格力面前的是他平日惯常唱的超大杯啤酒，可莫迪只是喝自己带的温水瓶里的东西。罗斯玛特女士这位漂亮老板娘好像也不怎么介意，她只是在到附近桌子收玻璃杯子时有点不赞许地看着莫迪。可能她觉得莫迪这种做法是对她的加香料蜜酒是一种侮辱吧，可哈利明白点原委。莫迪在上次教授他们对抗黑暗界之法的课程时已经说过无论何时他都更倾向于用自备的饮食，因为对黑暗术士来说要在一杯没人留意的酒中下毒实在是太容易了。 哈利在一边看着，见到哈格力和莫迪起身要走。他挥了挥手，才想起哈格力根本看不见他。可是莫迪反倒稍为迟疑了一下，他的魔眼盯着哈利站着的角落。莫迪敲了敲哈格力的背下方（因为够不着哈格力的肩头），嘀咕了些什么，于是两个人就折回酒吧里面，向着哈利和荷米恩的桌子走来。 “还好吧？荷米恩？”哈格力大声说。 “你好！”荷米恩笑笑说。 莫迪拐着脚绕桌子走几走，然后弯下腰来，哈利还以为他要看S。P。E。W的记录，谁知他开口道，“袍子不错啊，波特。” 哈利大为吃惊地盯着他。莫迪鼻子上那显著的鼻管正在眼前几英尺处。莫迪笑了。 “你的魔法眼能——我是说，你能——？” “对，我的那眼睛可以看穿隐身袍，”莫迪平静地承认，“而且我告诉你，这点有时非常管用。” 哈格力也在向下朝着哈利笑。哈利知道他看不见自己，可莫迪显然已告诉了哈格力哈利在那儿了。 哈格力现在也俯身看S。P。E。W笔记本的扉页，他用低得只有哈利能听见的声音说，“哈利，今晚午夜到我的小屋来，穿那袍子来。” 哈格力站起身又大声说，“见到你很高兴，荷米恩。”眨眨眼，就走了，莫迪跟着他也走了。 “他干嘛约我半夜见面？”哈利惊讶地说。 “他有嘛？”荷米思也显得很吃惊，“我怀疑他的目的，不知道你该不该去，哈利。”她紧张地看看四周，小声说，“你可能会迟到见西里斯的。” 半夜去见哈格力的确会缩短他和西里斯会面的时间。荷米恩建议派海维去跟哈格力说哈利去不了——想当然认为海维会同意当这信差——然而哈利，却觉得最好还是去见哈格力，只要速战速决就行。哈利十分好奇哈格力找他去的目的，他可从没约过哈利这么晚会面。 那晚十一点半，哈利假装要早点上床就寝，实际上披上了隐身袍，小心翼翼穿过普通房爬下楼梯。还有好几个人没睡在房里，克利维兄弟弄大了一堆支持塞德里克。克格瑞的徽章，正努力要说服徽章们改为说支持哈利。波特。到目前为止，他们只能努力到让徽章同意不显示臭波特的字样。哈利爬过他们身边去到肖像洞前，看着表等了一分钟光景。然后如计划好的一样，荷米恩从外面为他打开了胖大婶画门。他闪身而过，低声道了句“多谢！”就动身走出城堡了。 操场一片漆黑。哈利走过草地，朝着哈格力小屋里的灯光前进。 庞大的比尔贝顿马车里面也亮着灯，哈利敲哈格力前门时可以听见玛西姆夫人在里面讲话。 “是你吗，哈利？”哈格力轻声问，开了门四下里望。 “是我，”哈利滑进屋内，脱去斗袍。“什么事呀？” “有些东西给你看，”哈格力说。 哈格力处于一种极大的兴奋之中。他衣服纽扣洞上插了一朵花，看起来就像是一个超大号的防窒息物。而且他也好像放弃了再用润滑油抹头，但肯定他有尝试过梳一下头，证据就是，哈利看到的还在他头上晃荡着的梳子碎齿。 “你要给我看什么？”哈利机警地问，心想是不是史库斯下了蛋，或是哈格力又在哪个酒吧里从陌生人手中买了头三头狗。 “跟着我，别出声，还有穿好那袍，”哈格力说，“我们不带上弗兰了，他不会喜欢看那东西的。” “听着，哈格力，我不可以待很久，我一点钟还得回城堡里去呢——” 可哈格力根本没在听，他开了门，踏入夜色之中。哈利赶忙跟上，出乎意外的是，哈格力正领着他去比尔贝顿马车。 “哈格力，这是怎么——？” “嘘！”哈格力小声说着，拿着他的金色十字杖在门上敲了三下。 玛西姆夫人开了门。她厚重的肩膀上围了一条丝巾。她见到哈格力时笑笑：“啊，哈格力，是时候了吗？” “你好！”哈格力对她笑着说，伸手扶她走下金色的台阶。 玛西姆夫人关上身后的门，绕着哈格力的手沿着围场边出发，那围场里有玛西姆夫人的巨器马。哈利小跑着跟上他们，完全给弄糊涂了。难道哈格力要让他见的是玛西姆夫人？任何时候哈利都可以见她呀，她又不是怎么难找。 然而玛西姆夫人原来也和哈利一样蒙在鼓里，过了一会儿她开玩笑似地说，“你这到底是要带我上哪儿呀，哈格力？” “你会喜欢那儿的，”哈格力大着嗓门说，“值得一看，相信我，嗯——不过可千万别告诉任何人我带你去，懂吗？你们是不该知道的。” “当然不会告诉别人。”玛西姆夫人扑闪着眼睛说，她的眼睫毛又黑又长。 他们继续走着，哈利不时看看表，小跑着赶上他们的脚步，心里越来越不耐烦。哈格力的计划太过草率了，可能会连累哈利错过和西里斯的约会。如果他们不赶快抵达目的地的话，他可要转身就走，回城堡去，让哈格力和玛西姆夫人好好享受俩人的月下漫步了。 可就在那时——他们已经沿着树林边走了那么远，直到看不到城堡和湖水时——哈利听到了一些声响。前方有人在大喊。然后是一阵把耳朵都能撕裂的巨响。 哈格力领着玛西姆夫人绕过一个树丛，便止住了脚步。哈利趋上前去，站在他们旁边——有那么一秒，他看到了火焰，还有四周狂奔的人——然后他吃惊得张大了嘴巴。 是龙！ 四只大吨量的成年大龙，正在一个用厚水围起来的围栏里直立起来、咆哮着、喷着粗气——它们大张的嘴里不仅有尖牙，更喷出阵阵火流，场地里它们伸长了脖子向五十尺高空喷出烈火。有一头银灰蓝色的龙有着长长尖尖的角，向地面上的术士们咆哮怒吼，另一只磷片光滑的绿龙，正用尽全力扭着身子重重地跺地；再有一条红龙，脸上长了一圈古怪的金色河子，正瞄准天上蘑茹状的云朵练喷火呢；再有最后一只，黑色巨龙，比其他任何一只都更像大蜥蜴，也离他们最近。 场面上起码有三十个术士，每七、八个人对付一头龙，尽量想控制它们，死命拉着系在大龙们颈上和腿上皮圈的铁链不松手。哈利完全给这景像镇住了，他抬起头，遥望高空那黑色巨龙的眼睛，那眼睛里有猫那样的圆圆的眼珠子，鼓很大大的，是因为害怕还是愤怒，哈利不清楚，它高声尖叫长号，声音恐惧难听至极。 “待在那儿别过来，哈格力，”一个临近围墙的术士叫道，死扯住手中的铁链。“那龙可以在二十英尺范围内喷火哪！我还见过那黑龙在四十英尺范围内喷火呢！” “这喷火岂不很美吗？”哈格力温柔地说。 “这可是玩命啊！”另一个术士大喊，“数三下，用昏迷术法。” 哈利看到每一个看龙士都拿出了魔杖。 “史达飞！”他们齐声高喊，于是昏迷咒语像喷火的火箭射入夜空，又化作流星雨洒落在大龙布满磁片似的兽皮上——哈利看着靠他们最近的那龙双腿开始站立不稳，危险地摆来摆去，嘴巴突然张开，发出一阵怒号，鼻中也熄了火，可烟还在冒——然后，极为缓慢地，倒了下来——几吨重的强壮之躯，还有那黑色的磷片，砰然倒下，声音大到哈利可以发誓说背后的树也被震得发抖。 养龙人放下手中的魔杖，奔向他们所看管的躺在地上如同座座小山的动物，他们赶忙束紧铁链，紧紧地缚住铁笼，这些铁链的一端深深埋在地底下。 “想近看一下吗？”哈格力兴奋地问玛西姆夫人，他们中的两人慢慢移向栅栏，哈利紧紧跟在后面，哈利终于认出那个先前警告哈格力不要走近的人是谁了，他就是查理。威斯里。 “好了吗？哈格力？”他气喘嘘嘘地说，“他们现在状态很好，我们将他们关在拉网里放在路上，虽然他们可能喜欢醒来时面对的是黑暗和宁静，但是，正如你所看到的，他们本来就不开心，一点都不开心。” “你有哪些种类的，查理？”哈格力问道，眼睛仍然盯着最近的那条黑色的龙，神情中带着一丝崇敬，那只龙的眼睛睁得又大又圆，哈利似乎在它眨巴眨巴的眼睛中看到了一线闪亮的金黄。 “这是匈牙利的号角尾龙，”查理说，“那边有一只威尔土的透身绿，小的那只就是；还有瑞士的短鼻龙，那只蓝灰色的；还有一只中国火球龙，红色的那只。” 查理环顾四周，玛西姆夫人正在铁笼子的四周转悠，凝视着吓怕的龙群。 “我不明白你为何带她来，哈格力，”查理皱着眉头说，“选手不应该知道即将面对的是什么东西，她肯定会告诉她的学生的，不是吗？” “只当作她喜欢看不就得了。”哈格力耸了耸肩，眼睛仍然盯着笼子里的龙群。 “真是很浪漫耶，哈格力。”查理边说边摇头。 “四只……那么就是每个选手对付一只，对吗？”哈格力问道。 “或许只是跨过他们，”查理说，“但是说实话，我并不羡慕碰上号尾龙的那位，那只看起来很可怕，它的尾部看起来和头部一样凶狠危险，你看。” 查理指着号尾龙的尾巴，哈利果真看到长长的钉状物密密麻麻地排列着。 这时，查理的五个同行也走向号尾龙，他们提着一大堆巨大的灰色蛋状物，放在号尾龙的身旁，号尾龙发出一声饥渴的吼叫。 “我已安排好了，哈格力，”查理严肃地说道，接着他又问哈格力，“哈利怎么样了？” “挺好的。”哈格力说着，眼睛仍然盯着鸡蛋。 “希望他看到这些东西时还能保持那个样子，”查理一本正经地说，很小心地不去靠近栅栏，“我不敢告诉妈妈他即将碰到的第一个难题是什么，她总是弄一大堆轻桃的女孩子在他身边……”查理摹仿着他妈妈焦急的神情：“他们怎么能让他参加那该死的比赛，他还年青着呢！我觉得要有个年龄的限制才行！她看了《先知日报》后大为光火，他竟向他的父母叫嚷！噢，老天保佑，我从来都不知道他的事。” 哈利已经受够了，他相信哈格力不会注意到他，因为有四只龙和玛西姆夫人占据他的视线，于是他静静地转身，默默地从城堡走开了。 预见到将要发生的事情，他不肯定自己以此是否高兴。也许这样更好。第一个震惊现在结束了。如果在星期二他是第一次见到那些龙，可能他会在全校面前放出寒气……但也可能会……他会佩上他的魔杖来对付一条五十英尺高，长满鳞片，被钉着的喷火龙，尽管魔杖刚才和一条细木锯并没什么两样。而他必须要通过这项考验。 在众目睽睽之下。该怎么做呢？ 哈利加快了速度，沿着森林的边缘前进，只有不到15分钟了，他要赶回炉边和西里斯商量，这么急切地要与某个人谈话的感觉地从来都没有过。突然，一点预兆都没有，他撞上了一个非常坚硬的物体。 哈利被撞了回来，眼镜歪在一边，他紧抓着身上的斗篷。旁边响起一声，“哎哟，谁在那儿啊？” 哈利急忙检查斗篷是否还包着自己，他静静地躺着，盯着那个他撞到的巫师的黑黑的轮廓。他认出了那山羊胡子……那是卡克罗夫。 “谁在那儿啊？”卡克罗夫又喊了一声，疑惑地在黑暗中张望。哈利还是静静地，一声不吭。大约过了一分钟，卡克罗夫似乎认为他是撞上了某种动物，他看着四周齐腰高的地方，好像在找一只狗一样。 然后他又爬回到树丛下，开始向龙所在的地方徐徐前进。 慢慢地，小心翼翼地，哈利站了起来，又开始出发。他压低声量，以最快速度，穿过黑暗，向霍格瓦彻走去。 卡克罗夫要做的事，他可是知道得一清二楚。他曾经偷偷溜下船探听到他的第一项任务是什么。他甚至可能见到哈格力和玛西姆夫人一起在林子周围——在一定距离内要看到他们并不难……而现在卡克罗夫要做的只是跟着声音走，这样，像玛西姆夫人一样，他就能知道等待着选手们的将是什么了。从表面上看，对于星期二的考验还一无所知的就只有塞德里克。 哈利来到了城堡，从前门溜了过去，开始爬大理石的楼梯，他气都快喘不过来了，但还是不敢有丝毫的松懈……他只有不到5分钟的时间去赶到火边…… “废话！”他气喘嘘嘘地对那个在肖像洞上画中打盹的胖女人说。 “你说是就是吧，”她睡眼惺松地咕哝道，连眼睛也不睁开，画像向前晃开让他进去。哈利向里爬去。公共房间里没有人。从气味十分正常这一点来判断，荷米恩不必撒粪弹也没有人会偷听到他和西里斯的谈话。 哈利脱下隐身斗篷，一屁股坐到火前的扶椅中。房间里一片昏暗，火焰是唯一的光源。旁边，在桌上，那个克威一直试图利用的写着“支持塞德里克。迪格瑞”的徽章在火光中闪闪发亮。上边现在写的还是“波特恶臭熏天”。哈利回头朝火焰里一看，跳了起来。 西里斯的头正坐在火里。如果哈利没有在威斯里的厨房里见到迪格瑞先生这样做的话，他早已吓得神志不清了。相反，他的脸上绽开了这些天来的第一个笑容，他从椅子里跃起，伏在炉边，说：“西里斯，你好吗？” 西里斯看起来和哈利印像中的他不一样。在他们告别的时候，西里斯的脸显得憔碎骨瘦如柴，被一大把又长又黑，蓬乱的毛发包着——但现在毛发短而干净，西里斯的脸丰满了，看起来更年轻，更像那张相片，那是哈利保存的唯—一张他的照片，是在西里斯的婚礼上拍的。 “别管我，你怎么样？”西里斯一脸严肃地问。 “我——”有一秒，哈利想说“很好”——但他不能。在他缓过神来之前，他已经说了几天以来最多的话语——关于没人相信他不愿参加“三巫大赛”，关于理特。史姬特在《先知日报》上的谎言，关于…… “如今，哈格力也已告诉我即将来临的第一个难题就是要对付龙，西里斯，现在我是在劫难逃了。”他绝望地说。 西里斯看着他，眼里满是关切，那双眼睛仍未失去阿兹克班赋予的那种神情，那种顽固的、挥之不去的神情，开始他任由哈利一个人说个不停，等到他沉静下来，他才说：“哈利，龙我们是能够应付的，但我们必须马上到达那里，我们不能在这儿呆太久……我先前闯进了一间施了魔法的房子去烤火，主人可能随时会回来，这里我想警告你几句。” “什么？”哈利问他，霎时感到自己的精神更加滑向了低谷，诚然，没有什么比龙的到来更加可怕了？ 西里斯接着说：“哈利，卡克罗夫简直是个食尸者，你知道什么是食尸者吧？” “啊，他……什么？” “他在阿兹克班和我一起被抓住了，但是现在他被释放了，我打赌丹伯多今年之所以需要沃罗在霍格瓦彻正是为了监视他，莫迪一抓到卡克罗夫，肯定首先把他送进阿兹克班。” “卡克罗夫获释了？”哈利喃喃道。他在脑海中努力挣扎着去接受又～则令人震惊的消息。“为什么他们释放他？” “他与魔力大臣打了一个赌，”西里斯痛苦地说：“他说他犯了一些错误，然后指出一大堆……最后他弄了一大雄人进阿兹克班去顶替他，在那儿他真是很不受欢迎，我可以告诉你这一点，并且，自从他出来后，他一直在对他那所混帐学校的每一位学生和教授充满仇恨，所以你也要当心选手。” “好的，”哈利慢慢应声答道，“但是……你刚才是说卡克罗夫将我的名字写在了高脚杯里面，对吗？这样一来，如果他做到了，就不愧为一名好演员，他会装作大为光火的样子，实际上只是想阻止我去参加比赛。” “我们知道他在玩把戏，”西里斯说，“因为他说服魔力大臣放了他，这还不够吗？如今，我一直关注着《先知日报》，你知道的罗，哈利——” “你总是很关注其他的事情，”哈利痛苦地说。 “况且，从那个叫史姬特的女人上个月所写的文章来看，莫迪和霍格瓦彻出发的前一天晚上遭到了攻击。当然，我知道她称那是一个错误的警告，”西里斯急促地说，生怕哈利插进话来，“但是我不这样认为，我觉得一定是有人试图阻止他到达霍格瓦彻，我认为一定是有人感到有他在，他们的困难就越大，所以才这么做。现在没人愿意去深入调查这件事，魔眼听到太多这样的事情了。但是那并非意味着他不能发现事情的真相，莫迪毕竟是大臣所拥有的最棒的勇士。 “那么，你是要说什么呢？”哈利慢慢地说，“卡克罗夫想杀我吗？但是……为什么呢？” 西里斯有点犹豫。 “我听到一些很奇怪的事情，”他喃喃道，“最近较以往活跃了许多，他们在快迪斯的世界杯发现了，不是吗？又有人放出了黑暗公爵的标记……到后来，你听说过魔法大臣那个秘书消失的事吗？” “珀茜。佐金斯吗？”哈利问。 “正是，她在阿尔巴尼亚突然消失了，而那里据传正是福尔得摩特最后出现的地方，她一定是听说三巫师比赛出现才出的，不是吗？” “对，但是她不可能直接去找福尔得摩特吧？”哈利自言自语道。 “听着，我了解珀茜。佐金斯，”西里斯一本正经地说。“那么，福尔得摩特本可以知道关于比赛的实情的，对吗？”哈利问，“你是这个意思吗？你认为卡克罗夫可能会照他的命令在这儿的吗？” “不知道，”西里斯慢慢地说，“就是不知道……除非卡克罗夫知道福尔得摩特有足够的威力保护他，他才胆敢像福尔得库特那样打我的，但无论是谁把你的名字写在高脚杯上，都有个原因，我总是想比赛是个攻击你的好办法，并且可以让它看上去像场意外。” “从我的观点看，看上去完全是早有预谋。”哈利郁郁地说，“他们只须往后站，让那些龙完成他们的任务。” “对了——这些龙，”西里斯说的很快了，“有办法了，哈利，别上当去试一个眩晕符咒——龙过于强大，过于神奇，不会让一个出色的人打倒的，你一次需要半打左右的法术才可制服一条龙。” “呀，我知道的，我明白了。”哈利说。 “但你自己可以胜任，”西里斯说。“有个法子，你只要一个咒语，只要——” 但哈利举起手不让他说，他的心跳得厉害，似乎要蹦出来了，他听到身后以螺旋梯上传下了脚步声。 “走！”他对西里斯沙沙说了声，“走！有人来了！” 哈利急忙站起来，藏了火——要是谁在霍格瓦彻墙内看到西里斯的脸，他们会发动一场浩劫——部里会卷入的——他自己会被拷问关于西里斯的行踪的——哈利听到身后火堆里“叭”的一声轻响，知道西里斯已经走了，他看着螺旋梯下边——谁在凌晨一点起来散步，拦住西里斯，不让他告诉打败龙的方法呢？ 是罗恩穿着香芹睡衣，直对着哈利，环顾一下问：“刚才你在和谁说话？” “关你什么事？”哈利吼道，“晚上这个时候你在这搞什么鬼？” “我不过想知道你在——”罗恩止住了，耸耸肩，“不干什么，我要回去睡觉。” “你想下来到处嗅嗅，对吗？”哈利大吼，他知道罗恩不明白他走进来干什么，知道罗恩并非有意这么做，但他不管——这时他对关于罗恩的一切东西，直到他睡裤下赤裸的脚踝下几寸的东西，都恨之入骨。 “对不起。”罗恩说，他的脸因怒气而胀红了，“没料到你不想被打扰，我会让你安静地为下一个面试继续练习的。” 哈利从桌上抓过一个写着“波特恶臭熏天”的徽章，狠狠地尽力把它扔过屋子，击中罗恩的前额，弹开了。 “去你的吧！”哈利说，“那是给你在周日戴的，你现在甚至可能有个疤了，如果走运的话……那正是你想要的，对吗？” 他大步穿过屋子，走向楼梯，他有点想让罗恩拉住他，甚至想让罗恩打他一拳，但罗恩穿着睡衣站在那里，哈利在楼上大发雷霆后，躺在床上，很久了他也没有睡着，他没听到罗恩回到床上。 |
