Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

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.
    ‘Potter, the champions have to come down into the grounds now … you have to get ready for your first task.’
    ‘OK,’ 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 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 on hand 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 towards 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 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, he 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-oh!’ said Bagman happily, looking around at him. ‘Come in, come in, make yourself at home!’
    Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, 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 if they were a different species. And then – it felt 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, perfect model of a dragon – a Welsh Green. It had the number