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Harry's ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too - for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room.
Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E .W.
"Skrewts," Ron muttered to Harry, grinning.
"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . ."
"Good idea," said Harry gratefully.
"I think so," said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr. Crouch with mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?"
Crouch, Percy's boss, was next to Madame Maxime.
"But evidently zair 'as been a mistake," she said contemptuously to Bagman. "E cannot compete. 'E is too young."
The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody's punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting.
"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" said Harry, watching her.
"Come off it," said Harry, looking around to check that they couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament -"
And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: Jump onto the desk. . . jump onto the desk. . .
"First Ron, then you," Harry said angrily. "This isn't my fault."
"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - THE FOUR CHAMPIONS