Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

their predictions, commending them for their unflinching acceptance of the horrors in store for them – but they were less amused when she asked them to do the same thing for the month after next; both of them were running out of ideas for catastrophes.
    Meanwhile Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the Goblin Rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms.
    Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace, given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted and, as part of their ‘project’, suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behaviour.
    ‘I will not,’ said Draco Malfoy flatly, when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra large toy out of his sack. ‘I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks.’
    Hagrid’s smile faded from his face.
    ‘Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,’ he growled, ‘or I’ll be takin’ a leaf outta Professor Moody’s book … I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.’
    The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody’s punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him retorting. Harry, Ron and Hermione returned to the castle at the end of the lesson in high spirits; seeing Hagrid put down Malfoy was particularly satisfying, especially because Malfoy had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year.
    When they arrived in the Entrance Hall, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign which had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two.
     
    TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
    The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early –
     
    ‘Brilliant!’ said Harry. ‘It’s Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won’t have time to poison us all!’
     
    Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.
     
    ‘Only a week away!’ said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. ‘I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I’ll go and tell him …’
    ‘Cedric?’ said Ron blankly, as Ernie hurried off.
    ‘Diggory,’ said Harry. ‘He must be entering the Tournament.’
    ‘That idiot, Hogwarts champion?’ said Ron, as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd towards the staircase.
    ‘He’s not an idiot, you just don’t like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch,’ said Hermione. ‘I’ve heard he’s a really good student – and he’s a Prefect.’
    She spoke as though this settled the matter.
    ‘You only like him because he’s handsome ,’ said Ron scathingly.
    ‘Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!’ said Hermione indignantly.
    Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like ‘Lockhart!’.
    The appearance of the sign in the Entrance Hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumours were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the Tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.
    Harry noticed, too, that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armour were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any student who forgot to wipe their shoes that he