ut Harry appreciated it all the same. A screech owl arrived for Hermione,
carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper,
glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.
"What?" said Harry and Ron together, staring at her. "Nothing," said Hermione
quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it. He stared at the
headline and said, "No way. Not today. That old cow."
"What?" said Harry. "Rita Skeeter again?"
"No," said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of
sight.
"It's about me, isn't it?" said Harry.
"No," said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone. But before Harry could demand
to see the paper. Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin
table.
"Hey, Potter! Potter! How's your head? You feeling all right? Sure you're not
going to go berserk on us?"
Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet too. Slytherins up and down the
table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see Harry's reaction.
"Let me see it," Harry said to Ron. "Give it here."
Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and found
himself staring at his own picture, beneath the banner headline:
"HARRY POTTER "DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS"
The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly
dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has
recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behavior, which casts doubts
upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard
Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School.
Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and
is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse
with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him). On Monday last, midway
through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter
storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue
studying.
It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and
Injuries, that Potters brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-
Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of
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his deep-seated confusion.
"He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for
attention."
The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the
wizarding public.
"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year.
"There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people
thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a dueling
club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made
friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of
power."
Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark
Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-
Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defense League, who wished to
remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak
Parseltongue "as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious
of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the
worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated with evildoers."
Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures as
werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence."
Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be
allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might
resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of
which takes place this evening.
"Gone off me a bit, hasn't she?" said Harry lightly, folding up the paper.
Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at him,
tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling
their tongues like snakes.
"How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?" Ron said. "There's no way she
was there, there's no way she could've heard -"
"The window was open," said Harry. "I opened it to breathe."
"You were at the top of North Tower!" Hermione said. "Your voice couldn't have
carried all the way down to the grounds!"
"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical methods of
bugging!" said Harry. "You tell me how she did it!"
"I've been trying!" said Hermione. "But I... but. . ."
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An odd, dreamy expression suddenly came over Hermione's face. She slowly
raised a hand and ran her fingers through her hair.
"Are you all right?" said Ron, frowning at her.
"Yes," said Hermione breathlessly. She ran her fingers through her hair again, and
then held her hand up to her mouth, as though speaking into an invisible walkietalkie.
Harry and Ron stared at each other.
"I've had an idea," Hermione said, gazing into space. "I think I know. . . because
then no one would be able to see ... even Moody. . . and she'd have been able to
get onto the window ledge . . . but she's not allowed . . . she's definitely not
allowed ... I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library - just to
make sure!"
With that, Hermione seized her school bag and dashed out of the Great Hall.
"Oi!" Ron called after her. "We've got our History of Magic exam in ten minutes!
Blimey," he said, turning back to Harry, "she must really hate that Skeeter woman
to risk missing the start of an exam. What're you going to do in Binns's class - read
again?"
Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been
sitting in the back of every exam class so far, looking up fresh hexes for the third
task.
"S'pose so," Harry said to Ron; but just then. Professor McGonagall came walking
alongside the Gryffindor table toward him.
"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after
breakfast," she said.
"But the task's not till tonight!" said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs
down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time.
"I'm aware of that, Potter," she said. "The champions' families are invited to watch
the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."
She moved away. Harry gaped after her.
"She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?" he asked Ron blankly.
"Dunno," said Ron. "Harry, I'd better hurry, I'm going to be late for Binns. See you
later."
Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. He saw Fleur Delacour
get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber
and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterward. Harry stayed where
he was. He really didn't want to go into the chamber. He had no family - no family
who would turn up to see him risk his life, anyway. But just as he was getting up,
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thinking that he might as well go up to the library and do a spot more hex research,
the door of the side chamber opened, and Cedric stuck his head out.
"Harry, come on, they're waiting for you!"
Utterly perplexed. Harry got up. The Dursleys couldn't possibly be here, could
they? He walked across the Hall and opened the door into the chamber.
Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a
corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He
had inherited his fathers hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was
jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur's little sister, Gabrielle, was holding
her mother's hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back, grinning. Then he saw
Mrs. Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him.
"Surprise!" Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as he smiled broadly and walked over to
them. "Thought we'd come and watch you. Harry!" She bent down and kissed him
on the cheek.
"You all right?" said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. "Charlie wanted
to come, but he couldn't get time off. He said you were incredible against the
Horntail."
Fleur Delacour, Harry noticed, was eyeing Bill with great interest over her
mother's shoulder. Harry could tell she had no objection whatsoever to long hair or
earrings with fangs on them.
"This is really nice of you," Harry muttered to Mrs. Weasley. "I thought for a
moment - the Dursleys -"
"Hmm," said Mrs. Weasley, pursing her lips. She had always refrained from
criticizing the Dursleys in front of Harry, but her eyes flashed every time they
were mentioned.
"It's great being back here," said Bill, looking around the chamber (Violet, the Fat
Lady's friend, winked at him from her frame). "Haven't seen this place for five
years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"
"Oh yeah," said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year.
"And the Fat Lady?" said Bill.
"She was here in my time," said Mrs. Weasley. "She gave me such a telling off
one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning -"
"What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?" said Bill,
surveying his mother with amazement.
Mrs. Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling.
"Your father and I had been for a nighttime stroll," she said. "He got caught by
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Apollyon Pringle - he was the caretaker in those days - your father's still got the
marks."
"Fancy giving us a tour, Harry?" said Bill.
"Yeah, okay," said Harry, and they made their way back toward the door into the
Great Hall. As they passed Amos Diggory, he looked around.
"There you are, are you?" he said, looking Harry up and down.
"Bet you're not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedrics caught you up on
points, are you?"
"What