 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!"
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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.
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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
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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.
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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.
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"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
