ppily, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Hagrid is providing a number of creatures . . . then there will be spells that must
be broken ... all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading
on points will get a head start into the maze." Bagman grinned at Harry and
Cedric. "Then Mr. Krum will enter . . . then Miss Delacour. But you'll all be in
with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be
fun, eh?"
Harry, who knew only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to
provide for an event like this, thought it was unlikely to be any fun at all.
However, he nodded politely like the other champions.
"Very well. . . if you haven't got any questions, we'll go back up to the castle, shall
we, it's a bit chilly. ..."
Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wend their way out of the
growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to
help him again, but just then, Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.
"Could I haff a vord?"
"Yeah, all right," said Harry, slightly surprised.
"Vill you valk vith me?"
"Okay," said Harry curiously.
Bagman looked slightly perturbed.
"I'll wait for you. Harry, shall I?"
"No, it's okay, Mr. Bagman," said Harry, suppressing a smile, "I think I can find
the castle on my own, thanks."
Harry and Krum left the stadium together, but Krum did not set a course for the
Durmstrang ship. Instead, he walked toward the forest.
"What're we going this way for?" said Harry as they passed Hagrid s cabin and the
illuminated Beauxbatons carriage.
"Don't vont to be overheard," said Krum shortly.
When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the
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Beauxbatons horses' paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to
face Harry.
"I vant to know," he said, glowering, "vot there is between you and Hermy-ownninny."
Harry, who from Krum's secretive manner had expected something much more
serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement.
"Nothing," he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew
by how tall Krum was, elaborated. "We're friends. She's not my girlfriend and she
never has been. It's just that Skeeter woman making things up."
"Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often," said Krum, looking suspiciously
at Harry.
"Yeah," said Harry, "because were friends."
He couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the
famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old
Krum thought he. Harry, was an equal - a real rival -
"You haff never . . . you haff not..."
"No," said Harry very firmly.
Krum looked slightly happier. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, then said,
"You fly very veil. I vos votching at the first task."
"Thanks," said Harry, grinning broadly and suddenly feeling much taller himself.
"I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint, you really -"
But something moved behind Krum in the trees, and Harry, who had some
experience of the sort of thing that lurked in the forest, instinctively grabbed
Krum's arm and pulled him around.
"Vot is it?"
Harry shook his head, staring at the place where he'd seen movement. He slipped
his hand inside his robes, reaching for his wand.
Suddenly a man staggered out from behind a tall oak. For a moment, Harry didn't
recognize him . . . then he realized it was Mr. Crouch.
He looked as though he had been traveling for days. The knees of his robes were
ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he was unshaven and gray with exhaustion.
His neat hair and mustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange
appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and
gesticulating, Mr. Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could
see. He reminded Harry vividly of an old tramp he had seen once when out
shopping with the Dursleys. That man too had been conversing wildly with thin
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air; Aunt Petunia had seized Dudley's hand and pulled him across the road to avoid
him; Uncle Vernon had then treated the family to a long rant about what he would
like to do with beggars and vagrants.
"Vosn't he a judge?" said Krum, staring at Mr. Crouch. "Isn't he vith your
Ministry?"
Harry nodded, hesitated for a moment, then walked slowly toward Mr. Crouch,
who did not look at him, but continued to talk to a nearby tree.
"... and when you've done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming
the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament,
Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve. . . ."
"Mr. Crouch?" said Harry cautiously.
"... and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up
the number of students she's bringing, now Karkaroff's made it a round dozen ...
do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will..."
Mr. Crouch's eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering
soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.
"Mr. Crouch?" Harry said loudly. "Are you all right?"
Crouch's eyes were rolling in his head. Harry looked around at Krum, who had
followed him into the trees, and was looking down at Crouch in alarm.
"Vot is wrong with him?"
"No idea," Harry muttered. "Listen, you'd better go and get someone -"
"Dumbledore!" gasped Mr. Crouch. He reached out and seized a handful of Harrys
robes, dragging him closer, though his eyes were staring over Harry's head. "I
need... see ... Dumbledore. ..."
"Okay," said Harry, "if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the-"
"I've done . . . stupid . . . thing . . ." Mr. Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad.
His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his
chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him a terrible effort. "Must. . . tell. . .
Dumbledore . . ."
"Get up, Mr. Crouch," said Harry loudly and clearly. "Get up, I'll take you to
Dumbledore!"
Mr, Crouch's eyes rolled forward onto Harry.
"Who ... you?" he whispered.
"I'm a student at the school," said Harry, looking around at Krum for some help,
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but Krum was hanging back, looking extremely nervous.
"You're not... his?" whispered Crouch, his mouth sagging.
"No," said Harry, without the faintest idea what Crouch was talking about.
"Dumbledore's?"
"That's right," said Harry.
Crouch was pulling him closer; Harry tried to loosen Crouch's grip on his robes,
but it was too powerful.
"Warn ... Dumbledore ..."
"I'll get Dumbledore if you let go of me," said Harry. "Just let go, Mr. Crouch, and
I'll get him.. . ."
"Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea.
My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with
Mr. and Mrs. Fudge."
Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completely unaware
that Harry was there, which surprised Harry so much he didn't notice that Crouch
had released him.
"Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.L.S, most satisfactory, yes, thank
you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the
Andorran Minister of Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response. ..."
"You stay here with him!" Harry said to Krum. "I'll get Dumbledore, I'll be
quicker, I know where his office is -"
"He is mad," said Krum doubtfully, staring down at Crouch, who was still
gabbling to the tree, apparently convinced it was Percy.
"Just stay with him," said Harry, starting to get up, but his movement seemed to
trigger another abrupt change in Mr. Crouch, who seized him hard around the
knees and pulled Harry back to the ground.
"Don't. . . leave .. . me!" he whispered, his eyes bulging again. "I... escaped .. .
must warn . . . must tell... see Dumbledore . . . my fault... all my fault. . . Bertha . .
. dead ... all my fault. .. my son ... my fault... tell Dumbledore ... Harry Potter ...
the Dark Lord . . . stronger . . . Harry Potter ..."
"I'll get Dumbledore if you let me go, Mr. Crouch!" said Harry. He looked
furiously around at Krum. "Help me, will you?"
Looking extremely apprehensive, Krum moved forward and squatted down next to
Mr. Crouch.
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"Just keep him here," said Harry, pulling himself free of Mr. Crouch. "I'll be back
with Dumbledore."
"Hurry, von't you?" Krum called after him as Harry sprinted away from the forest
and up through the dark grounds. They were deserted; Bagman, Cedric, and Fleur
had disappeared. Harry tore up the stone steps, through the oak front doors, and
off up the marble staircase, toward the second floor.
Five minutes later he was hurtling toward a stone gargoyle standing halfway along
an empty corridor.
"Sher - sherbet lemon!" he panted at it.
This was the password to the hidden staircase to Dumbledore's office - or at least,
it had been two years ago. The password had evidently changed, however, for the
stone gargoyle did not spring to life and jump aside, but stood frozen, glaring at
Harry malevolently.
"Move!" Harry shouted at it. "C'mon!"
But nothing at Hogwarts had ever moved just because he shouted at it; he knew it
was no good. He looked up and down the dark corridor. Perhaps Dumbledore was
in the staffroom? He started running as fast as he could toward the staircase -
"POTTER!"
Harry skidded to a halt and looked around. Snape had just emerged from the
hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him
even as he beckoned Harry back toward him.
"What are you doing here, Potter?"
"I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" said Harry, running back up the corridor
and skidding to a standstill in front of Snape instead. "It's Mr. Crouch . . . he's just
turned up ... he's in the forest... he's asking -"
"What is this rubbish?" said Snape, his black eyes glittering. "What are you talking
about?"
"Mr. Crouch!" Harry shouted. "From the Ministry! He's ill or something - he's in
the forest, he wants to see Dumbledore