The Goblet of Fire Read online

  ‘And what’s the mirror for?’

  ‘Oh, that’s my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I’m not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That’s when I open my trunk.’

  He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Harry wondered what was in there, until Moody’s next question brought him sharply back to earth.

  ‘So … found out about the dragons, have you?’

  Harry hesitated. He’d been afraid of this – but he hadn’t told Cedric, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Moody, that Hagrid had broken the rules.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. ‘Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.’

  ‘I didn’t cheat,’ said Harry sharply. ‘It was – a sort of accident that I found out.’

  Moody grinned. ‘I wasn’t accusing you, laddie. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start, he can be as high minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won’t be. They’ll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.’

  Moody gave a harsh laugh, and his magical eye swivelled around so fast it made Harry feel queasy to watch it.

  ‘So … got any ideas how you’re going to get past your dragon yet?’ said Moody.

  ‘No,’ said Harry.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to tell you,’ said Moody gruffly. ‘I don’t show favouritism, me. I’m just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is – play to your strengths.’

  ‘I haven’t got any,’ said Harry, before he could stop himself.

  ‘Excuse me,’ growled Moody, ‘you’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Think now. What are you best at?’

  Harry tried to concentrate. What was he best at? Well, that was easy, really –

  ‘Quidditch,’ he said dully, ‘and a fat lot of help –’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Moody, staring at him very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. ‘You’re a damn good flier, from what I’ve heard.’

  ‘Yeah, but …’ Harry stared at him. ‘I’m not allowed a broom, I’ve only got my wand –’

  ‘My second piece of general advice,’ said Moody loudly, interrupting him, ‘is to use a nice, simple spell which will enable you to get what you need.’

  Harry looked at him blankly. What did he need?

  ‘Come on, boy …’ whispered Moody. ‘Put them together … it’s not that difficult …’

  And it clicked. He was best at flying. He needed to pass the dragon in the air. For that, he needed his Firebolt. And for his Firebolt, he needed –

  ‘Hermione,’ Harry whispered, when he had sped into greenhouse three ten minutes later, uttering a hurried apology to Professor Sprout as he passed her, ‘Hermione – I need you to help me.’

  ‘What d’you think I’ve been trying to do, Harry?’ she whispered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quivering Flutterby Bush she was pruning.

  ‘Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon.’

  *

  And so they practised. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom, where Harry tried with all his might to make various objects fly across the room towards him. He was still having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping like stones to the floor.

  ‘Concentrate, Harry, concentrate …’

  ‘What d’you think I’m trying to do?’ said Harry angrily. ‘A filthy great dragon keeps popping up in my head, for some reason … OK, try again …’

  He wanted to skip Divination to keep practising, but Hermione refused point-blank to skive off Arithmancy, and there was no point staying without her. He therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars in relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ said Harry loudly, his temper getting the better of him, ‘just as long as it’s not drawn-out, I don’t want to suffer.’

  Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught Harry’s eye for the first time in days, but Harry was still feeling too resentful towards Ron to care. He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects towards him under the table with his wand. He managed to make a fly zoom straight into his hand, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was owing to his prowess at Summoning Charms – perhaps the fly was just stupid.

  He forced down some dinner after Divination, then returned to the empty classroom with Hermione, using the Invisibility Cloak to avoid the teachers. They kept practising until past midnight. They would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pretending to think that Harry wanted things thrown at him, started chucking chairs across the room. Harry and Hermione left in a hurry before the noise attracted Filch, and went back to the Gryffindor common room, which was now mercifully empty.

  At two o’clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects – books, quills, several upturned chairs, an old set of Gobstones and Neville’s toad, Trevor. Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm.

  ‘That’s better, Harry, that’s loads better,’ Hermione said, looking exhausted, but very pleased.

  ‘Well, now we know what to do next time I can’t manage a spell,’ Harry said, throwing a Rune Dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again, ‘threaten me with a dragon. Right …’ He raised his wand once more. ‘Accio Dictionary!’

  The heavy book soared out of Hermione’s hand, flew across the room, and Harry caught it.

  ‘Harry, I really think you’ve got it!’ said Hermione, delightedly.

  ‘Just as long as it works tomorrow,’ Harry said. ‘The Firebolt’s going to be much further away than the stuff in here, it’s going to be in the castle, and I’m going to be out there in the grounds …’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Hermione firmly. ‘Just as long as you’re concentrating really, really hard on it, it’ll come. Harry, we’d better get some sleep … you’re going to need it.’

  *

  Harry had been focusing so hard on learning the Summoning Charm that evening that some of his blind panic had left him. It returned in full measure, however, on the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure – though of course, they didn’t yet know what they would find there.

  Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing ‘We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter’ as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

  Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops, so that one moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch … and then (where had the morning gone? The last of the dragon-free hours?) Professor McGonagall was hurrying over to him in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching.

  ‘Potter, the champions have to come down into the grounds now … you have to get ready for your first task.’

  ‘OK,’ said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.

  ‘Good luck, Harry,’ Hermione whispered. ‘You’ll be fine!’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry, in a voice that was most unlike his own.

  He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn’t seem herself, either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione. As she walked him down the s
tone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Now, don’t panic,’ she said, ‘just keep a cool head … we’ve got wizards on hand to control the situation if it gets out of hand … the main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you … are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harry heard himself say. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’

  She was leading him towards the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the Forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

  ‘You’re to go in here with the other champions,’ said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, ‘and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr Bagman is in there … he’ll be telling you the – the procedure … good luck.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Harry, in a flat, distant voice. She left him at the entrance of the tent. Harry went inside.

  Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn’t look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When Harry entered, he gave him a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it.

  ‘Harry! Good-oh!’ said Bagman happily, looking around at him. ‘Come in, come in, make yourself at home!’

  Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.

  ‘Well, now we’re all here – time to fill you in!’ said Bagman brightly. ‘When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag’ – he held up a small sack of purple silk, and shook it at them – ‘from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different – er – varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too … ah, yes … your task is to collect the golden egg!’

  Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how Harry felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this …

  And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking … Harry felt as separate from the crowd as if they were a different species. And then – it felt about a second later to Harry – Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

  ‘Ladies first,’ he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

  She put a shaking hand inside the bag, and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon – a Welsh Green. It had the number ‘two’ around its neck. And Harry knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that he had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

  The same held true for Krum. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number ‘three’ around its neck. He didn’t even blink, just stared at the ground.

  Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-grey Swedish Short-Snout, the number ‘one’ tied around its neck. Knowing what was left, Harry put his hand into the silk bag, and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number ‘four’. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.

  ‘Well, there you are!’ said Bagman. ‘You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr Diggory, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now … Harry … could I have a quick word? Outside?’

  ‘Er … yes,’ said Harry blankly, and he got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked him a short way away, into the trees, and then turned to him with a fatherly expression on his face.

  ‘Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?’

  ‘What?’ said Harry. ‘I – no, nothing.’

  ‘Got a plan?’ said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘Because I don’t mind sharing a few pointers, if you’d like them, you know. I mean,’ Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, ‘you’re the underdog here, Harry … anything I can do to help …’

  ‘No,’ said Harry, so quickly he knew he had sounded rude, ‘no – I – I’ve decided what I’m going to do, thanks.’

  ‘Nobody would know, Harry,’ said Bagman, winking at him.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this, and wondering whether he had ever been less fine. ‘I’ve got a plan worked out, I –’

  A whistle had blown somewhere.

  ‘Good Lord, I’ve got to run!’ said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off.

  Harry walked back to the tent, and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever. Harry tried to wish him luck as he walked past, but all that came out of his mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt.

  Harry went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure, and was now face to face with the living counterpart of his model …

  It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed … yelled … gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was still staring at the ground. Fleur had now taken to retracing Cedric’s steps, round and round the tent. And Bagman’s commentary made everything much, much worse … horrible pictures formed in Harry’s mind, as he heard: ‘Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow’ … ‘He’s taking risks, this one!’ … ‘ Clever move – pity it didn’t work!’

  And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had got past his dragon, and seized the golden egg.

  ‘Very good indeed!’ Bagman was shouting. ‘And now the marks from the judges!’

  But he didn’t shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

  ‘One down, three to go!’ Bagman yelled, as the whistle blew again. ‘Miss Delacour, if you please!’

  Fleur was trembling from head to foot; Harry felt more warmly towards her than he had done so far, as she left the tent with her head held high, and her hand clutching her wand. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent, avoiding each other’s gaze.

  The same process started again … ‘Oh, I’m not sure that was wise!’ they could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. ‘Oh … nearly! Careful now … good Lord, I thought she’d had it then!’

  Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more … Fleur must have been successful, too. A pause, while Fleur’s marks were being shown … more clapping … then, for the third time, the whistle.

  ‘And here comes Mr Krum!’ cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving Harry quite alone.

  He felt much more aware of his body than usual; very aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, and his fingers tingling with fear … yet at the same time, he seemed to be outside himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away …

  ‘Very daring!’ Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. ‘That’s some nerve he’s showing – and – yes, he’s got the egg!’

  Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished – it would be Harry’s turn at any moment.

  He stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard th
e whistle blow. He walked out through the entrance of the tent, the panic rising into a crescendo inside him. And now he was walking past the trees, through a gap in the enclosure fence.

  He saw everything in front of him as though it was a very highly coloured dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands which had been magicked there since he’d last stood on this spot. And there was the Horntail, at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half furled, her evil, yellow eyes upon him, a monstrous, scaly black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Harry didn’t know or care. It was time to do what he had to do … to focus his mind, entirely and absolutely, upon the thing that was his only chance …

  He raised his wand.

  ‘Accio Firebolt!’ he shouted.

  He waited, every fibre of him hoping, praying … if it hadn’t worked … if it wasn’t coming … he seemed to be looking at everything around him through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him swim strangely …

  And then he heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling towards him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise … Bagman was shouting something … but Harry’s ears were not working properly any more … listening wasn’t important …

  He swung his leg over the broom, and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened …

  As he soared upwards, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd’s faces became mere flesh-coloured pinpricks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realised that he had left not only the ground behind, but also his fear … he was back where he belonged …

  This was just another Quidditch match, that was all … just another Quidditch match, and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team …