f. "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
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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
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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."
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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.
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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 d