TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT 21 страница

good, this is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy. . . . ”

“‘Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic

that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells

can penetrate. . . ’ But Sirius said a simple one would do it. . . . ”

“Let’s try some simple spellbooks, then, ” said Harry, throwing

aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.

He returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn, Hermione whis- pering nonstop at his elbow.

“Well, there are Switching Spells. . . but what’s the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or some- thing that would make it less dangerous. . . . The trouble is, like that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon’s hide. . . . I’d say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven’t got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall. . . unless

you’re supposed to put the spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself

extra powers? But they’re not simple spells, I mean, we haven’t done

any of those in class, I only know about them because I’ve been do- ing O. W. L. practice papers. . . . ”

“Hermione, ” Harry said, through gritted teeth, “will you shut up for a bit, please? I’m trying to concentrate. ”

But all that happened, when Hermione fell silent, was that

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Harry’s brain filled with a sort of blank buzzing, which didn’t seem to allow room for concentration. He stared hopelessly down the in-

dex of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. Instant scalping . . . but

dragons had no hair. . . pepper breath. . . that would probably in-

crease a dragon’s firepower. . . horn tongue. . . just what he

needed, to give it an extra weapon. . .

“Oh no, he’s back again, why can’t he read on his stupid ship? ”

said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the pair of them, and settled himself in a distant cor- ner with a pile of books. “Come on, Harry, we’ll go back to the common room. . . his fan club’ll be here in a moment, twittering away. . . . ”

And sure enough, as they left the library, a gang of girls tiptoed past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.

Harry barely slept that night. When he awoke on Monday morn- ing, he seriously considered for the first time ever just running away from Hogwarts. But as he looked around the Great Hall at breakfast time, and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, he knew he couldn’t do it. It was the only place he had ever been happy. . . well, he supposed he must have been happy with his parents too, but he couldn’t remember that.

Somehow, the knowledge that he would rather be here and fac- ing a dragon than back on Privet Drive with Dudley was good to know; it made him feel slightly calmer. He finished his bacon with difficulty (his throat wasn’t working too well), and as he and Hermione got up, he saw Cedric Diggory leaving the Hufflepuff table.

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Cedric still didn’t know about the dragons. . . the only cham- pion who didn’t, if Harry was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum. . . .

“Hermione, I’ll see you in the greenhouses, ” Harry said, coming to his decision as he watched Cedric leaving the Hall. “Go on, I’ll catch you up. ”

“Harry, you’ll be late, the bell’s about to ring —” “I’ll catch you up, okay? ”

By the time Harry reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Harry didn’t want to talk to Cedric in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter’s article at him every time he went near them. He followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor. This gave Harry an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, he pulled out his wand, and took careful aim.

“ Diffindo! ”

Cedric’s bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed.

“Don’t bother, ” said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. “Tell Flitwick I’m coming, go on. . . . ” This was exactly what Harry had been hoping for. He slipped his wand back into his robes, waited until Cedric’s friends had disap- peared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but himself and Cedric.

“Hi, ” said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced

Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. “My bag just

split. . . brand-new and all. . . ”

“Cedric, ” said Harry, “the first task is dragons. ”

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“What? ” said Cedric, looking up.

“Dragons, ” said Harry, speaking quickly, in case Professor Flit- wick came out to see where Cedric had got to. “They’ve got four, one for each of us, and we’ve got to get past them. ”

Cedric stared at him. Harry saw some of the panic he’d been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric’s gray eyes.

“Are you sure? ” Cedric said in a hushed voice.

“Dead sure, ” said Harry. “I’ve seen them. ”

“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know. . . . ” “Never mind, ” said Harry quickly — he knew Hagrid would be in trouble if he told the truth. “But I’m not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now — Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragons too. ”

Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Harry, and there was a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes. “Why are you telling me? ” he asked.

Harry looked at him in disbelief. He was sure Cedric wouldn’t have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself. Harry wouldn’t have let his worst enemy face those monsters unprepared — well, perhaps Malfoy or Snape. . .

“It’s just. . . fair, isn’t it? ” he said to Cedric. “We all know now. . . we’re on an even footing, aren’t we? ”

Cedric was still looking at him in a slightly suspicious way when Harry heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. He turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby class- room.

“Come with me, Potter, ” he growled. “Diggory, off you go. ” Harry stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them?

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“Er — Professor, I’m supposed to be in Herbology —” “Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please. . . . ” Harry followed him, wondering what was going to happen to him now. What if Moody wanted to know how he’d found out about the dragons? Would Moody go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid, or just turn Harry into a ferret? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if he were a ferret, Harry thought dully, he’d be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet. . .

He followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door be- hind them and turned to look at Harry, his magical eye fixed upon him as well as the normal one.

“That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter, ” Moody said quietly.

Harry didn’t know what to say; this wasn’t the reaction he had expected at all.

“Sit down, ” said Moody, and Harry sat, looking around. He had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Professor Lockhart’s day, the walls had been plastered with beam- ing, winking pictures of Professor Lockhart himself. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of ex- ceptionally odd objects that Harry supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.

On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spin- ning top; Harry recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope, because he owned one himself, though it was much smaller than Moody’s. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming

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slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Harry on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were mov- ing around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.

“Like my Dark Detectors, do you? ” said Moody, who was watching Harry closely.

“What’s that? ” Harry asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.

“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies. . . no use here, of course, too much interference — students in every direction lying about why they haven’t done their home- work. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn’t stop whistling. It’s extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff, ” he added in a growl.

“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 Tri- wizard Tournament and always has been. ”

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“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 another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled 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 favoritism, 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, inter- rupting him, “is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you to

get what you need. ”

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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 Fire- bolt, he needed —

“Hermione, ” Harry whispered, when he had sped into greenhouse three 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 whis- pered back, her eyes round with anxiety over the top of the quiver- ing Flutterby Bush she was pruning.

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

And so they practiced. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom, where Harry tried with all his might to make vari- ous objects fly across the room toward 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 great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason. . . . Okay, try again. . . . ”

He wanted to skip Divination to keep practicing, but Hermione refused point-blank to skive off Arithmancy, and there was no point in staying without her. He therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling

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everyone that the position of Mars with 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 toward Ron to care. He spent the rest of the lesson trying to attract small objects toward 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 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 practicing until past midnight. They would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and, pre- tending 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, look- ing exhausted but very pleased.

“Well, now we know what to do next time I can’t manage a

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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 farther away than the stuff in here, it’s going to be in the castle, and I’m going to be out there on 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 re- turned in full measure, however, on the following morning. The at- mosphere 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 tis-

sues ready, Potter ” as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so ad-

vanced 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 fash- ion 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

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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 onto the grounds now. . . . You have to get ready for your first task. ”

“Okay, ” 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 Her- mione. As she walked him down the stone 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 standing by 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 toward 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, screen- ing 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.

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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, Cedric 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-o! ” said Bagman happily, looking around at him. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home! ”

Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon fig- ure, 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 though they were a different species. And then — it seemed like

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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, per- fect 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 sat back down and stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Know- ing 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 distance 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. ”

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“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 fur- ther, “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 know 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 peo- ple 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 hur- ried 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 sin- gle 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, around and around the tent. And Bagman’s commentary made everything much, much worse. . . . Horrible pictures formed in Harry’s mind

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as he heard: “Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow”. . . “He’s tak-

ing risks, this one! ”. . . “ Clever move — pity it didn’t work! ”

And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafen- ing roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had gotten past his dragon and captured 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 toward 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, see- ing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though from far away. . . .

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“Very daring! ” Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chi- nese 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 any moment.

He stood up, noticing dimly that his legs seemed to be made of marshmallow. He waited. And then he heard the 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 colored dream. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at him from stands that 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.

Harry waited, every fiber 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, trans- parent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him swim strangely. . . .

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And then he heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was mak- ing even more noise. . . . Bagman was shouting something. . . but Harry’s ears were not working properly anymore. . . 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 upward, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd’s faces became mere flesh-colored pinpricks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realized 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 an- other Quidditch match, and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team. . . .

He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely be- tween the dragon’s front legs. “Okay, ” Harry told himself, “diver- sionary tactics. . . let’s go. . . . ”