The Goblet of Fire Page 28

  ‘I look such an idiot, sitting here on my own,’ she muttered. ‘Lucky I brought something to do.’

  And she pulled out a notebook in which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members. Harry saw his and Ron’s names at the top of the very short list. It seemed a very long time ago that they had sat making up those predictions together, and Hermione had turned up and appointed them secretary and treasurer.

  ‘You know, maybe I should try and get some of the villagers involved in S.P.E.W.,’ Hermione said thoughtfully, looking around the pub.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Harry. He took a swig of Butterbeer under his Cloak. ‘Hermione, when are you going to give up on this S.P.E.W. stuff?’

  ‘When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions!’ she hissed back. ‘You know, I’m starting to think it’s time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?’

  ‘No idea, ask Fred and George,’ said Harry.

  Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence, while Harry drank his Butterbeer, watching the people in the pub. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table, both of them sporting Support CEDRIC DIGGORY badges on their cloaks. Right over by the door he saw Cho and a large group of her Ravenclaw friends. She wasn’t wearing a CEDRIC badge, though … this cheered Harry up very slightly …

  What wouldn’t he have given to be one of these people, sitting around laughing and talking, with nothing to worry about but homework? He imagined how it would have felt to be here if his name hadn’t come out of the Goblet of Fire. He wouldn’t be wearing the Invisibility Cloak, for one thing. Ron would be sitting with him. The three of them would probably be happily imagining what deadly dangerous task the school champions would be facing on Tuesday. He’d have been really looking forward to it, watching them do whatever it was … cheering on Cedric with everyone else, safe in a seat at the back of the stands …

  He wondered how the other champions were feeling. Every time he had seen Cedric lately, he had been surrounded by admirers, and looking nervous but excited. Harry glimpsed Fleur Delacour from time to time in the corridors; she looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. And Krum just sat in the library, poring over books.

  Harry thought of Sirius, and the tight, tense knot in his chest seemed to ease slightly. He would be speaking to him in just over twelve hours, for tonight was the night they were meeting at the common-room fire – assuming nothing went wrong, as everything else had done lately …

  ‘Look, it’s Hagrid!’ said Hermione.

  The back of Hagrid’s enormous shaggy head – he had mercifully abandoned his bunches – emerged over the crowd. Harry wondered why he hadn’t spotted him at once, as Hagrid was so large, but standing up carefully, he saw that Hagrid had been leaning low, talking to Professor Moody. Hagrid had his usual enormous tankard in front of him, but Moody was drinking from his hip-flask. Madam Rosmerta, the pretty landlady, didn’t seem to think much of this; she was looking askance at Moody as she collected glasses from tables around them. Perhaps she thought it was an insult to her mulled mead, but Harry knew better. Moody had told them all during their last Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that he preferred to prepare his own food and drink at all times, as it was so easy for Dark wizards to poison an unattended cup.

  As Harry watched, he saw Hagrid and Moody get up to leave. He waved, then remembered that Hagrid couldn’t see him. Moody, however, paused, his magical eye on the corner where Harry was standing. He tapped Hagrid in the small of the back (being unable to reach his shoulder), muttered something to him, and then the pair of them made their way back across the pub towards Harry and Hermione’s table.

  ‘All right, Hermione?’ said Hagrid loudly.

  ‘Hello,’ said Hermione, smiling back.

  Moody limped around the table and bent down; Harry thought he was reading the S.P.E.W. notebook, until he muttered, ‘Nice Cloak, Potter.’

  Harry stared at him in amazement. The large chunk missing from Moody’s nose was particularly obvious at a few inches’ distance. Moody grinned.

  ‘Can your eye – I mean, can you –?’

  ‘Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks,’ Moody said quietly. ‘And it’s come in useful at times, I can tell you.’

  Hagrid was beaming down at Harry, too. Harry knew Hagrid couldn’t see him, but Moody had obviously told Hagrid he was there.

  Hagrid now bent down on the pretext of reading the S.P.E.W. notebook as well, and said in a whisper so low that only Harry could hear it, ‘Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear that Cloak.’

  Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, ‘Nice ter see yeh, Hermione,’ winked, and departed. Moody followed him.

  ‘Why does he want me to meet him at midnight?’ Harry said, very surprised.

  ‘Does he?’ said Hermione, looking startled. ‘I wonder what he’s up to? I don’t know whether you should go, Harry …’ She looked nervously around, and hissed, ‘It might make you late for Sirius.’

  It was true that going down to Hagrid’s at midnight would mean cutting his meeting with Sirius very fine indeed; Hermione suggested sending Hedwig down to Hagrid’s to tell him he couldn’t go – always assuming she would consent to take the note, of course – Harry, however, thought it better just to be quick at whatever Hagrid wanted him for. He was very curious to know what this might be; Hagrid had never asked Harry to visit him so late at night.

  *

  At half past eleven that evening, Harry, who had pretended to go up to bed early, pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over himself and crept back downstairs through the common room. Quite a few people were still in there. The Creevey brothers had managed to get hold of a stack of Support CEDRIC DIGGORY badges, and were trying to bewitch them to make them say Support HARRY POTTER instead. So far, however, all they had managed to do was get the badges stuck on POTTER STINKS. Harry crept past them to the portrait hole and waited for a minute or so, keeping an eye on his watch. Then Hermione opened the Fat Lady for him from outside as they had planned. He slipped past her with a whispered ‘Thanks!’ and set off through the castle.

  The grounds were very dark. Harry walked down the lawn towards the lights shining in Hagrid’s cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid’s front door.

  ‘You there, Harry?’ Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the Cloak down off his head. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Got summat ter show yeh,’ said Hagrid.

  There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair – Harry could see the comb’s broken teeth tangled in it.

  ‘What’re you showing me?’ Harry said warily, wondering if the Skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off a stranger in a pub.

  ‘Come with me, keep quiet an’ keep yerself covered with that Cloak,’ said Hagrid. ‘We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it …’

  ‘Listen, Hagrid, I can’t stay long … I’ve got to be back up at the castle for one o’clock –’

  But Hagrid wasn’t listening; he was opening the cabin door and striding off into the night. Harry hurried to follow and found, to his great surprise, that Hagrid was leading him to the Beauxbatons carriage.

  ‘Hagrid, what –?’

  ‘Shhh!’ said Hagrid, and he knocked three times on the door bearing the crossed, golden wands.

  Madame Maxime opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. ‘Ah, ’Agrid … it is time?’

  ‘Bong-sewer,’ said Hagrid, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her
down the golden steps.

  Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime’s giant winged horses, with Harry, totally bewildered, running to keep up with them. Had Hagrid wanted to show him Madame Maxime? He could see her any old time he wanted … she wasn’t exactly hard to miss …

  But it seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as Harry, because after a while she said playfully, ‘Wair is it you are taking me, ’Agrid?’

  ‘Yeh’ll enjoy this,’ said Hagrid gruffly. ‘Worth seein’, trust me. On’y – don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh’re not s’posed ter know.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes.

  And still they walked, Harry getting more and more irritable as he jogged along in their wake, checking his watch every now and then. Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn’t get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxime …

  But then – when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the Forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight – Harry heard something. Men were shouting up ahead … then came a deafening, ear-splitting roar …

  Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees, and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them – for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them – and then his mouth fell open.

  Dragons.

  Four fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing on their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting – torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air, and a gigantic black one, more lizard-like than the others, which was nearest to them.

  At least thirty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerised, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat’s, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn’t tell which … it was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream …

  ‘Keep back there, Hagrid!’ yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. ‘They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I’ve seen this Horntail do forty!’

  ‘Isn’ it beautiful?’ said Hagrid softly.

  ‘It’s no good!’ yelled another wizard. ‘Stunning Spells, on the count of three!’

  Harry saw each of the dragon-keepers pull out his wand.

  ‘Stupefy!’ they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides –

  Harry watched the dragon nearest to them teeter dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a suddenly silent howl; its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking – then, very slowly, it fell – several tons of sinewy, scaly black dragon hit the ground with a thud that Harry could have sworn had made the trees behind him quake.

  The dragon-keepers lowered their wands and walked forwards to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

  ‘Wan’ a closer look?’ Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and Harry followed. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and Harry realised who it was – Charlie Weasley.

  ‘All right, Hagrid?’ he panted, coming over to talk. ‘They should be OK now – we put them out with a Sleeping Draught on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet – but, like you saw, they weren’t happy, not happy at all –’

  ‘What breeds you got here, Charlie?’ said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon – the black one – with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

  ‘This is a Hungarian Horntail,’ said Charlie. ‘There’s a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one – a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue grey – and a Chinese Fireball, that’s the red.’

  Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the Stunned dragons.

  ‘I didn’t know you were bringing her, Hagrid,’ Charlie said, frowning. ‘The champions aren’t supposed to know what’s coming – she’s bound to tell her student, isn’t she?’

  ‘Jus’ thought she’d like ter see ’em,’ shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

  ‘Really romantic date, Hagrid,’ said Charlie, shaking his head.

  ‘Four …’ said Hagrid, ‘so it’s one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What’ve they gotta do – fight ’em?’

  ‘Just get past them, I think,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ll be on hand if it gets nasty, extinguishing spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don’t know why … but I tell you this, I don’t envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end’s as dangerous as its front, look.’

  Charlie pointed towards the Horntail’s tail, and Harry saw long, bronze-coloured spikes protruding along it every few inches.

  Five of Charlie’s fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-grey eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail’s side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.

  ‘I’ve got them counted, Hagrid,’ said Charlie, sternly. Then he said, ‘How’s Harry?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Hagrid. He was still gazing at the eggs.

  ‘Just hope he’s still fine after he’s faced this lot,’ said Charlie grimly, looking out over the dragons’ enclosure. ‘I didn’t dare tell Mum what he’s got to do for the first task, she’s already having kittens about him …’ Charlie imitated his mother’s anxious voice. ‘“How could they let him enter that Tournament, he’s much too young! I thought they were all safe, I thought there was going to be an age limit!” She was in floods after that Daily Prophet article about him. “He still cries about his parents! Oh, bless him, I never knew!”’

  Harry had had enough. Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn’t miss him, with the attractions of four dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, he turned silently, and began to walk away, back to the castle.

  He didn’t know whether he was glad he’d seen what was coming or not. Perhaps this way was better. The first shock was over now. Maybe if he’d seen the dragons for the first time on Tuesday, he would have passed out cold in front of the whole school … but maybe he would anyway … he was going to be armed with his wand – which just now, felt like nothing more than a narrow strip of wood – against a fifty-foot-high, scaly, spike-ridden, fire-breathing dragon. And he had to get past it. With everyone watching. How?

  Harry sped up, skirting the edge of the Forest; he had just under fifteen minutes to get back to the fireside and talk to Sirius, and he couldn’t remember, ever, wanting to talk to someone more than he did right now – when, without warning, he ran into something very solid.

  Harry fell backwards, his glasses askew, clutching the Cloak around him. A voice nearby said, ‘Ouch! Who’s there?’

  Harry hastily checked that the Cloak was covering him and lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognised the goatee … it was Karkaroff.

  ‘Who’s there?’
said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. Harry remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees, and started to edge forwards towards the place where the dragons were.

  Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet and set off again, as fast as he could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back towards Hogwarts.

  He had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the Forest together – they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance … and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions. By the looks of it, the only champion who would be facing the unknown on Tuesday was Cedric.

  Harry reached the castle, slipped in through the front doors and began to climb the marble stairs; he was very out of breath, but he didn’t dare slow down … he had less than five minutes to get up to the fire …

  ‘Balderdash!’ he gasped at the Fat Lady, who was snoozing in her frame in front of the portrait hole.

  ‘If you say so,’ she muttered sleepily, without opening her eyes, and the picture swung forwards to admit him. Harry climbed inside. The common room was deserted, and, judging by the fact that it smelled quite normal, Hermione had not needed to set off any Dungbombs to ensure that he and Sirius got privacy.

  Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and threw himself into an armchair in front of the fire. The room was in semi-darkness; the flames were the only source of light. Nearby, on a table, the Support CEDRIC DIGGORY badges the Creeveys had been trying to improve were glinting in the firelight. They now read POTTER REALLY STINKS. Harry looked back into the flames, and jumped.

  Sirius’ head was sitting in the fire. If Harry hadn’t seen Mr Diggory do exactly this back in the Weasleys’ kitchen, it would have scared him out of his wits. Instead, his face breaking into the first smile he had worn for days, he scrambled out of his chair, crouched down by the hearth and said, ‘Sirius – how’re you doing?’