The Goblet of Fire Read online

  Exempt from the end-of-term tests as a Triwizard champion, Harry had been sitting at the back of every exam class so far, looking up fresh hexes for the third task.

  ‘S’pose so,’ Harry said to Ron; but just then, Professor McGonagall came walking along the Gryffindor table towards him.

  ‘Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast,’ she said.

  ‘But the task’s not ’til tonight!’ said Harry, accidentally spilling scrambled eggs down his front, afraid he had mistaken the time.

  ‘I’m aware of that, Potter,’ she said. ‘The champions’ families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them.’

  She moved away. Harry gaped after her.

  ‘She doesn’t expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?’ he asked Ron blankly.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Ron. ‘Harry, I’d better hurry, I’m going to be late for Binns. See you later.’

  Harry finished his breakfast in the emptying Great Hall. He saw Fleur Delacour get up from the Ravenclaw table and join Cedric as he crossed to the side chamber and entered. Krum slouched off to join them shortly afterwards. Harry stayed where he was. He really didn’t want to go into the chamber. He had no family – no family who would turn up to see him risk his life, anyway. But just as he was getting up, thinking that he might as well go up to the library and do a spot more hex revision, the door of the side chamber opened, and Cedric stuck his head out.

  ‘Harry, come on, they’re waiting for you!’

  Utterly perplexed, Harry got up. The Dursleys couldn’t possibly be here, could they? He walked across the Hall and opened the door into the chamber.

  Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor Krum was over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and father in rapid Bulgarian. He had inherited his father’s hooked nose. On the other side of the room, Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother’s hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back. Then he saw Mrs Weasley and Bill standing in front of the fireplace, beaming at him.

  ‘Surprise!’ Mrs Weasley said excitedly, as Harry smiled broadly, and walked over to them. ‘Thought we’d come and watch you, Harry!’ She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘You all right?’ said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. ‘Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn’t get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail.’

  Fleur Delacour, Harry noticed, was eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother’s shoulder. Harry could tell she had no objection whatsoever to long hair or earrings with fangs on them.

  ‘This is really nice of you,’ Harry muttered to Mrs Weasley. ‘I thought for a moment – the Dursleys –’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Mrs Weasley, pursing her lips. She had always refrained from criticising the Dursleys in front of Harry, but her eyes flashed every time they were mentioned.

  ‘It’s great being back here,’ said Bill, looking around the chamber (Violet, the Fat Lady’s friend, winked at him from her frame). ‘Haven’t seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Harry, who had met Sir Cadogan the previous year.

  ‘And the Fat Lady?’ said Bill.

  ‘She was here in my time,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘She gave me such a telling-off one night when I got back to the dormitory at four in the morning –’

  ‘What were you doing out of your dormitory at four in the morning?’ said Bill, surveying Mrs Weasley with amazement.

  Mrs Weasley grinned, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Your father and I had been for a night-time stroll,’ she said. ‘He got caught by Apollyon Pringle – he was the caretaker in those days – your father’s still got the marks.’

  ‘Fancy giving us a tour, Harry?’ said Bill.

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ said Harry, and they made their way back towards the door into the Great Hall.

  As they passed Amos Diggory, he looked around. ‘There you are, are you?’ he said, looking Harry up and down. ‘Bet you’re not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric’s caught you up on points, are you?’

  ‘What?’ said Harry.

  ‘Ignore him,’ said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. ‘He’s been angry ever since Rita Skeeter’s article about the Triwizard Tournament – you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion.’

  ‘Didn’t bother to correct her, though, did he?’ said Amos Diggory, loudly enough for Harry to hear as he made to walk out of the door with Mrs Weasley and Bill. ‘Still … you’ll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Rita Skeeter goes out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!’ Mrs Weasley said angrily. ‘I would have thought you’d know that, working at the Ministry!’

  Mr Diggory looked as though he was going to say something angry, but his wife laid a hand on his arm, and he merely shrugged and turned away.

  Harry had a very enjoyable morning walking over the sunny grounds with Bill and Mrs Weasley, showing them the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship. Mrs Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she had left school, and reminisced at length about the gamekeeper before Hagrid, a man called Ogg.

  ‘How’s Percy?’ Harry asked, as they walked around the greenhouses.

  ‘Not good,’ said Bill.

  ‘He’s very upset,’ said Mrs Weasley, lowering her voice and glancing around. ‘The Ministry want to keep Mr Crouch’s disappearance quiet, but Percy’s been hauled in for questioning about the instructions Mr Crouch has been sending in. They seem to think there’s a chance they weren’t genuinely written by him. Percy’s been under a lot of strain. They’re not letting him fill in for Mr Crouch as the fifth judge tonight. Cornelius Fudge is going to be doing it.’

  They returned to the castle for lunch.

  ‘Mum – Bill!’ said Ron, looking stunned, as he joined the Gryffindor table. ‘What’re you doing here?’

  ‘Come to watch Harry in the last task!’ said Mrs Weasley brightly. ‘I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to cook. How was your exam?’

  ‘Oh … OK,’ said Ron. ‘Couldn’t remember all the goblin rebels’ names, so I invented a few. It’s all right,’ he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty, while Mrs Weasley looked stern, ‘they’re all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean, it wasn’t hard.’

  Fred, George and Ginny came to sit next to them, too, and Harry was having such a good time he felt almost as though he was back at The Burrow; he had forgotten to worry about that evening’s task, and it wasn’t until Hermione turned up, halfway through lunch, did he remember that she had had a brainwave about Rita Skeeter.

  ‘Are you going to tell us –?’

  Hermione shook her head warningly, and glanced at Mrs Weasley.

  ‘Hello, Hermione,’ said Mrs Weasley, much more stiffly than usual.

  ‘Hello,’ said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs Weasley’s face.

  Harry looked between them, then said, ‘Mrs Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘No – of course I didn’t!’

  But she became considerably warmer towards Hermione after that.

  Harry, Bill and Mrs Weasley whiled away the afternoon with a long walk around the castle, and then returned to the Great Hall for the evening feast. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Harry thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her.

  There were more courses than usual, but Harry, who was starting to feel really nervous now, didn’t eat muc
h. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch pitch for the third and last task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the stadium now.’

  Harry got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding him; the Weasleys and Hermione all wished him good luck, and he headed off out of the Great Hall, with Cedric, Fleur and Krum.

  ‘Feeling all right, Harry?’ Bagman asked, as they went down the stone steps into the grounds. ‘Confident?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ said Harry. It was sort of true; he was nervous, but he kept running over all the hexes and spells he had been practising in his mind as they walked, and the knowledge that he could remember them all made him feel better.

  They walked onto the Quidditch pitch, which was now completely unrecognisable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of them; the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond it looked dark and creepy.

  Five minutes later, the stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin waistcoat.

  ‘We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze,’ said Professor McGonagall to the champions. ‘If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?’

  The champions nodded.

  ‘Off you go, then!’ said Bagman brightly to the four patrollers.

  ‘Good luck, Harry,’ Hagrid whispered, and the four of them walked away in different directions, to station themselves around the maze. Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered ‘Sonorus’, and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, on eighty-five points each – Mr Cedric Diggory and Mr Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!’ The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. ‘In second place, on eighty points – Mr Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!’ More applause. ‘And in third place – Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!’

  Harry could just make out Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione applauding Fleur politely, halfway up the stands. He waved up at them, and they waved back, beaming at him.

  ‘So … on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!’ said Bagman. ‘Three – two – one –’

  He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forwards into the maze.

  The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, whether because they were so tall and thick, or because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment they entered the maze. Harry felt almost as though he was underwater again. He pulled out his wand, muttered ‘Lumos’, and heard Cedric do the same just behind him.

  After about fifty yards, they reached a fork. They looked at each other.

  ‘See you,’ Harry said, and he took the left one, while Cedric took the right.

  Harry heard Bagman’s whistle for the second time. Krum had entered the maze. Harry sped up. His chosen path seemed completely deserted. He turned right, and hurried on, holding his wand high over his head, trying to see as far ahead as possible. Still, there was nothing in sight.

  Bagman’s whistle blew in the distance for the third time. All of the champions were now inside the maze.

  Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him. The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork.

  ‘Point me,’ he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm.

  The wand spun around once, and pointed towards his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go north-west for the centre of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork, and go right again as soon as possible.

  The path ahead was empty, too, and when Harry reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked. Harry didn’t know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. Surely he should have met something by now? It felt as though the maze was luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but its beam fell only upon Cedric, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side. Cedric looked severely shaken. The sleeve of his robes was smoking.

  ‘Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts!’ he hissed. ‘They’re enormous – I only just got away!’

  He shook his head, and dived out of sight, along another path. Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the Skrewts, Harry hurried off again. Then, as he turned a corner, he saw –

  A Dementor was gliding towards him. Twelve feet tall, its face hidden by its hood, its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing its way blindly towards him. Harry could hear its rattling breath; he felt clammy coldness stealing over him, but knew what he had to do …

  He summoned the happiest thought he could, concentrated with all his might on the thought of getting out of the maze and celebrating with Ron and Hermione, raised his wand and cried, ‘Expecto Patronum!’

  A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry’s wand and galloped towards the Dementor, which fell back, and tripped over the hem of its robes … Harry had never seen a Dementor stumble.

  ‘Hang on!’ he shouted, advancing in the wake of his silver Patronus, ‘you’re a Boggart! Riddikulus!’

  There was a loud crack, and the shape-shifter exploded in a wisp of smoke. The silver stag faded from sight. Harry wished it could have stayed, he could have used some company … but he moved on as quickly and quietly as possible, listening hard, his wand held high once more.

  Left … right … left again … twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Four-Point Spell again, and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him.

  Harry approached it cautiously, pointing the wand’s beam at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way.

  ‘Reducto!’ he said.

  The spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. He supposed he should have known better; the Reductor curse was for solid objects. What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back?

  He was still hesitating, when a scream shattered the silence.

  ‘Fleur?’ Harry yelled.

  There was silence. He stared all around him. What had happened to her? Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead. He took a deep breath, and ran through the enchanted mist.

  The world turned upside-down. Harry was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, his glasses dangling off his nose, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. He clutched them to the end of his nose and hung there, terrified. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely.

  Think, he told himself, as all the blood rushed to his head, think …

  But not one of the spells he had practised had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Did he dare move his foot? He could hear the blood pounding in his ears
. He had two choices – try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task.

  He shut his eyes, so he wouldn’t be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could, away from the grassy ceiling.

  Immediately, the world righted itself. Harry fell forwards onto his knees on the wonderfully solid ground. He felt temporarily limp with shock. He took a deep, steadying breath, then got up again, and hurried forwards, looking back over his shoulder as he ran out of the golden mist, which twinkled innocently at him in the moonlight.

  He paused at a junction of two paths and looked around for some sign of Fleur. He was sure it had been she who had screamed. What had she met? Was she all right? There was no sign of red sparks – did that mean she had got herself out of trouble, or was she in such trouble that she couldn’t reach her wand? Harry took the right fork with a feeling of increasing unease … but at the same time, he couldn’t help thinking, one champion down …

  The Cup was somewhere close by, and it sounded as though Fleur was no longer in the running. He’d got this far, hadn’t he? What if he actually managed to win? Fleetingly, and for the first time since he’d found himself champion, he saw again that image of himself, raising the Triwizard Cup in front of the rest of the school …

  He met nothing for ten minutes, except dead ends. Twice he took the same wrong turning. Finally he found a new route, and started to jog along it, his wand-light waving, making his shadow flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner, and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

  Cedric was right – it was enormous. Ten feet long, it looked more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over its back. Its thick armour glinted in the light from Harry’s wand, which he pointed at it.

  ‘Stupefy!’

  The spell hit the Skrewt’s armour, and rebounded; Harry ducked just in time, but could smell burning hair; it had singed the top of his head. The Skrewt issued a blast of fire from its end, and flew forwards towards him.