t 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.
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN - 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.
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"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
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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
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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