Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves.
“What’re you two doing here?” Ron asked.
“Looking for you,” said George. “McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione.”
“Why?” said Hermione, looking surprised.
“Dunno… she was looking a bit grim, though,” said Fred.
“We’re supposed to take you down to her office,” said George.
Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, who felt his stomach drop. Was Professor McGonagall about to tell Ron and Hermione off? Perhaps she’d noticed how much they were helping him, when he ought to be working out how to do the task alone?
“We’ll meet you back in the common room,” Hermione told Harry as she got up to go with Ron—both of them looked very anxious. “Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?”
“Right,” said Harry uneasily.
By eight o’clock Madam Pince had extinguished all the lamps and came to chivvy Harry out of the library. Staggering under the weight of as many books as he could carry, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, pulled a table into a corner, and continued to search. There was nothing in Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks… nothing in A Guide to Medieval Sorcery… not one mention of underwater exploits in An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms, or in Dreadful Denizens of the Deep, or Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do with Them Now You’ve Wised Up.
Crookshanks crawled into Harry’s lap and curled up, purring deeply. The common room emptied slowly around Harry. People kept wishing him luck for the next morning in cheery, confident voices like Hagrid’s, all of them apparently convinced that he was about to pull off another stunning performance like the one he had managed in the first task. Harry couldn’t answer them, he just nodded, feeling as though there were a golfball stuck in his throat. By ten to midnight, he was alone in the room with Crookshanks. He had searched all the remaining books, and Ron and Hermione had not come back.
It’s over, he told himself. You can’t do it. You’ll just have to go down to the lake in the morning and tell the judges…
He imagined himself explaining that he couldn’t do the task. He pictured Bagman’s look of round eyed surprise, Karkaroff’s satisfied, yellow toothed smile. He could almost hear Fleur Delacour saying “I knew it… ’e is too young, ’e is only a little boy.” He saw Malfoy flashing his POTTER STINKS badge at the front of the crowd, saw Hagrid’s crestfallen, disbelieving face…
Forgetting that Crookshanks was on his lap, Harry stood up very suddenly; Crookshanks hissed angrily as he landed on the floor, gave Harry a disgusted look, and stalked away with his bottlebrush tail in the air, but Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory… He would grab the Invisibility Cloak and go back to the library, he’d stay there all night if he had to…
“Lumos,” Harry whispered fifteen minutes later as he opened the library door.
Wand tip alight, he crept along the bookshelves, pulling down more books—books of hexes and charms, books on merpeople and water monsters, books on famous witches and wizards, on magical inventions, on anything at all that might include one passing reference to underwater survival. He carried them over to a table, then set to work, searching them by the narrow beam of his wand, occasionally checking his watch…
One in the morning… two in the morning… the only way he could keep going was to tell himself, over and over again, next book… in the next one… the next one…
The mermaid in the painting in the prefects’ bathroom was laughing. Harry was bobbing like a cork in bubbly water next to her rock, while she held his Firebolt over his head.
“Come and get it!” she giggled maliciously. “Come on, jump!”
“I can’t,” Harry panted, snatching at the Firebolt, and struggling not to sink. “Give it to me!”
But she just poked him painfully in the side with the end of the broomstick, laughing at him.
“That hurts—get off—ouch—”
“Harry Potter must wake up, sir!”
“Stop poking me—”
“Dobby must poke Harry Potter, sir, he must wake up!”
Harry opened his eyes. He was still in the library; the Invisibility Cloak had slipped off his head as he’d slept, and the side of his face was stuck to the pages of Where There’s a Wand, There’s a Way. He sat up, straightening his glasses, blinking in the bright daylight.
“Harry Potter needs to hurry!” squeaked Dobby. “The second task starts in ten minutes, and Harry Potter—”
“Ten minutes?” Harry croaked. “Ten—ten minutes?”
He looked down at his watch. Dobby was right. It was twenty past nine. A large, dead weight seemed to fall through Harry’s chest into his stomach.
“Hurry, Harry Potter!” squeaked Dobby, plucking at Harry’s sleeve. “You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!”
“It’s too late, Dobby,” Harry said hopelessly. “I’m not doing the task, I don’t know how—”
“Harry Potter will do the task!” squeaked the elf. “Dobby knew Harry had not found the right book, so Dobby did it for him!”
“What?” said Harry. “But you don’t know what the second task is—”
“Dobby knows, sir! Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy—”
“Find my what?”
“and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!”
“What’s a Wheezy?”
“Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy—Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!”
Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts.
“What?” Harry gasped. “They’ve got… they’ve got Ron?”
“The thing Harry Potter will miss most, sir!” squeaked Dobby. “‘But past an hour—’”
“—‘the prospect’s black,’” Harry recited, staring, horror struck, at the elf. “‘Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.’ Dobby—what’ve I got to do?”
“You has to eat this, sir!” squeaked the elf, and he put his hand in the pocket of his shorts and drew out a ball of what looked like slimy, grayish green rat tails. “Right before you go into the lake, sir—gillyweed!”
“What’s it do?” said Harry, staring at the gillyweed.
“It will make Harry Potter breathe underwater, sir!”
“Dobby,” said Harry frantically, “listen—are you sure about this?”
He couldn’t quite forget that the last time Dobby had tried to “help” him, he had ended up with no bones in his right arm.
“Dobby is quite sure, sir!” said the elf earnestly. “Dobby hears things, sir, he is a house-elf, he goes all over the castle as he lights the fires and mops the floors. Dobby heard Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody in the staffroom, talking about the next task… Dobby cannot let Harry Potter lose his Wheezy!”
Harry’s doubts vanished. Jumping to his feet he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it into his bag, grabbed the gillyweed, and put it into his pocket, then tore out of the library with Dobby at his heels.
“Dobby is supposed to be in the kitchens, sir!” Dobby squealed as they burst into the corridor. “Dobby will be missed—good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!”
“See you later, Dobby!” Harry shouted, and he sprinted along the corridor and down the stairs, three at a time.
The entrance hall contained a few last minute stragglers, all leaving the Great Hall after breakfast and heading through the double oak doors to watch the second task. They stared as Harry flashed past, sending Colin and Dennis Creevey flying as he leapt down the stone steps and out onto the bright, chilly grounds.
As he pounded down the lawn he saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons’ enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that were packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below. The excited babble of the crowd echoed strangely across the water as Harry ran flat out around the other side of the lake toward the judges, who were sitting at another gold draped table at the water’s edge. Cedric, Fleur, and Krum were beside the judges’ table, watching Harry sprint toward them.