Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

very end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.
    The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. He stopped moving and listened intently, for a man’s voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful.
    ‘There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry.’
    ‘Later,’ said a second voice. This, too, belonged to a man – but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank’s neck stand up. ‘Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.’
    Frank turned his right ear towards the door, the better to hear. There came the chink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he disappeared from sight again.
    ‘Where is Nagini?’ said the cold voice.
    ‘I – I don’t know, my Lord,’ said the first voice nervously. ‘She set out to explore the house, I think …’
    ‘You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,’ said the second voice. ‘I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.’
    Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.
    ‘My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?’
    ‘A week,’ said the cold voice. ‘Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.’
    Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a build-up of earwax, he had heard the word ‘Quidditch’, which was not a word at all.
    ‘The – the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?’ said Wormtail. (Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear.) ‘Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?’
    ‘Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.’
    Frank stopped trying to clear his ear out. He had distinctly heard the words ‘Ministry of Magic’, ‘wizards’ and ‘Muggles’. Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code – spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still.
    ‘Your Lordship is still determined, then?’ Wormtail said quietly.
    ‘Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.’ There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.
    A slight pause followed – and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.
    ‘It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord.’
    Another pause, more protracted, and then –
    ‘Without Harry Potter?’ breathed the second voice softly. ‘I see …’
    ‘My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!’ said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. ‘The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard – any wizard – the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while – you know that I can disguise myself most effectively – I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person –’
    ‘I could use another wizard,’ said the second voice softly, ‘that is true …’
    ‘My Lord, it makes sense,’ said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now, ‘laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected –’
    ‘And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder … perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion