Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter, #4)

by J.K. Rowling

“Ah, Wormtail, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end . . . but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.”

She's straight up jorkin it

“Indeed, yes,” said the voice. “According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.”

He was used to bizarre accidents and injuries; they were unavoidable if you attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Each book acts like its the first book in the series

Harry had been a year old the night that Voldemort — the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, a wizard who had been gaining power steadily for eleven years — arrived at his house and killed his father and mother. Voldemort had then turned his wand on Harry; he had performed the curse that had disposed of many full-grown witches and wizards in his steady rise to power — and, incredibly, it had not worked. Instead of killing the small boy, the curse had rebounded upon Voldemort. Harry had survived with nothing but a lightning-shaped cut on his forehead, and Voldemort had been reduced to something barely alive. His powers gone, his life almost extinguished, Voldemort had fled; the terror in which the secret community of witches and wizards had lived for so long had lifted, Voldemort’s followers had disbanded, and Harry Potter had become famous.

P.S. I do hope we’ve put enough stamps on.

He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley’s letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys’ address in minute writing. “She did put enough stamps on, then,” said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley’s was a mistake anyone could make.

He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone “dumpy,” when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he’d been threatening to do since the age of three, and become wider than he was tall.

Thought I’d send this with Pig anyway. Harry stared at the word “Pig,” then looked up at the tiny owl now zooming around the light fixture on the ceiling. He had never seen anything that looked less like a pig. Maybe he couldn’t read Ron’s writing.

If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we’ll come and get you at five o’clock on Sunday anyway.

But Dudley didn’t seem able to speak. Hands still clamped over his buttocks, he waddled as fast as he could into the kitchen.

“They — they’ve tried to get here by Floo powder,” said Harry, fighting a mad desire to laugh. “They can travel by fire — only you’ve blocked the fireplace — hang on —”

“Mr. Weasley, it’s Harry . . . the fireplace has been blocked up. You won’t be able to get through there.” “Damn!” said Mr. Weasley’s voice. “What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?” “They’ve got an electric fire,” Harry explained. “Really?” said Mr. Weasley’s voice excitedly. “Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that. . . . Let’s think . . . ouch, Ron!”

“They run off eckeltricity, do they?” he said knowledgeably. “Ah yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs,” he added to Uncle Vernon. “And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I’m mad, but there you are.”

“That’ll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.”

Is the most famous bar in this universe not called The Leaky Cauldron

“Er — why are you calling that owl Pig?” Harry asked Ron. “Because he’s being stupid,” said Ginny. “Its proper name is Pigwidgeon.”

“Where’s Crookshanks?” Harry asked Hermione now. “Out in the garden, I expect,” she said. “He likes chasing gnomes. He’s never seen any before.”

A creamy sauce poured from the wand-tip as she stirred.

I dont like this sentence

You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”

Harry had a sudden vision of a pair of legs and an eyeball lying abandoned on the pavement of Privet Drive.

They’re objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time.

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy of around seventeen. He was Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team at Hogwarts.

They had never quite forgiven Cedric for beating their team, Gryffindor, in the first Quidditch match of the previous year.

They will get their revenge soon enough

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!”

Oh you haven't heard?

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,”

Luna's and Farrah's families, respectively

“You’re eating again, I notice,” said Ron, watching Hermione adding liberal amounts of jam to her toast too. “I’ve decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,” said Hermione haughtily. “Yeah . . . and you were hungry,” said Ron, grinning.

“But you’re behind — very behind — on dealing with curses,” said Moody. “So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —” “What, aren’t you staying?” Ron blurted out.

A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking.”

“Oh hello,” he said, his voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson, wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for dinner, I’m — I’m starving, aren’t you?” “Neville, are you all right?” said Hermione. “Oh yes, I’m fine,” Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner — I mean lesson — what’s for eating?”

“Apparently, Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I’m really good at Herbology,” Neville said. There was a faint note of pride in his voice that Harry had rarely heard there before. “He thought I’d like this.”

“Next Monday,” he said as he scribbled, “I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter.” He looked up at Harry. “You know her — just put in loads of misery, she’ll lap it up.” “Right,” said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. “Okay . . . on Monday, I will be in danger of — er — burns.” “Yeah, you will be,” said Ron darkly, “we’re seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I’ll . . . erm . . .” “Lose a treasured possession,” said Harry, who was flicking through Unfogging the Future for ideas. “Good one,” said Ron, copying it down. “Because of . . . erm . . . Mercury. Why don’t you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?” “Yeah . . . cool . . .” said Harry, scribbling it down, “because . . . Venus is in the twelfth house.” “And on Wednesday, I think I’ll come off worst in a fight.” “Aaah, I was going to have a fight. Okay, I’ll lose a bet.” “Yeah, you’ll be betting I’ll win my fight. . .

“You seem to be drowning twice,” said Hermione. “Oh am I?” said Ron, peering down at his predictions. “I’d better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging hippogriff.”

Harry laid down his quill too, having just finished predicting his own death by decapitation.

“Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!” said Hermione indignantly.

“It’s all in Hogwarts: A History. Though, of course, that book’s not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School.”

Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime.

“I’m telling you, that’s not a normal girl!” said Ron, leaning sideways so he could keep a clear view of her. “They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts!” “They make them okay at Hogwarts,” said Harry without thinking.

“Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr. Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment. . . . I’ve left young Weatherby in charge. . . . Very enthusiastic . . . a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told. . . .”

But someone else had considered it . . . someone else had wanted him in the tournament, and had made sure he was entered. Why? To give him a treat? He didn’t think so, somehow. . . . To see him make a fool of himself? Well, they were likely to get their wish. . . . But to get him killed? Was Moody just being his usual paranoid self? Couldn’t someone have put Harry’s name in the goblet as a trick, a practical joke? Did anyone really want him dead?

Ron’s eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair.

“The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody’s right, Harry . . . I don’t think any student could have done it . . . they’d never be able to fool the goblet, or get over Dumbledore’s —”

“Harry, I’ve been thinking — you know what we’ve got to do, don’t you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?” “Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the —” “Write to Sirius.

then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage: “Like them, Potter?” said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. “And this isn’t all they do — look!” He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:

Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, “I see no difference.”

Dude has beef with a bunch of 13 year olds smh

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . . however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . .”

It is a strange thing, but when you are dreading something, and would give anything to slow down time, it has a disobliging habit of speeding up.

“Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?” Harry said, very surprised.

So you can get it off your chest and get it off his desk

Neville’s aim was so poor that he kept accidentally sending much heavier things flying across the room — Professor Flitwick, for instance.

Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys’ affections.

Is this not a 17 year old and a 14 year old why is Hermoine the bad guy here