ere moving around inside it, none of
them clearly in focus.
"Like my Dark Detectors, do you?" s aid 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 homework 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.
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"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 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..."
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"My second piece of general advice," said Moody loudly, interrupting him, "is to
use a nice, simple spell that 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 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 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 practiced. 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
toward him. He was still having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart
halfway across the room and dropping hike 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 pointblank
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 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
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kept practicing 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
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 heft 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.
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"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 heft 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
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, 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 how 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 