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. Mesmerized, 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!”
“Is’n’ 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 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 made the trees behind him quake.
The dragon keepers lowered their wands and walked forward 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 realized who it was: Charlie Weasley.
“All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be okay now—we put them out with a Sleeping Draft 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 chose 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 gray—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 toward the Horntail’s tail, and Harry saw long, bronze colored 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 gray 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 backward, 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 hay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard he had hit. He recognized 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 forward toward 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 toward 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 forward 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.