Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.
    ‘Canary Creams!’ Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. ‘George and I invented them – seven Sickles each, bargain!’
    It was nearly one in the morning when Harry finally went up to the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean. Before he pulled the curtains of his four-poster shut, Harry set his tiny model of the Hungarian Horntail on the table next to his bed, where it yawned, curled up and closed its eyes. Really, Harry thought, as he pulled the hangings on his four-poster closed, Hagrid had a point … they were all right, really, dragons …
    *
    The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Draughty though the castle always was in winter, Harry was glad of its fires and thick walls every time he passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. He thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly, too. Hagrid, he noticed, was keeping Madame Maxime’s horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whisky; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock were enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class light headed. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible Skrewts, and needed their wits about them.
    ‘I’m not sure whether they hibernate or not,’ Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. ‘Thought we’d jus’ try an’ see if they fancied a kip … We’ll jus’ settle ’em down in these boxes …’
    There were now only ten Skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill each other had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick grey armour, their powerful, scuttling legs, their fire-blasting ends, their stings and their suckers, combined to make the Skrewts the most repulsive things Harry had ever seen. The class looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.
    ‘We’ll jus’ lead ’em in here,’ Hagrid said, ‘an’ put the lids on, and we’ll see what happens.’
    But the Skrewts, it transpired, did not hibernate, and did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling ‘Don’ panic, now, don’ panic!’ while the Skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes. Most of the class – Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in the lead – had fled into Hagrid’s cabin through the back door and barricaded themselves in; Harry, Ron and Hermione, however, were among those who remained outside trying to help Hagrid. Together they managed to restrain and tie up nine of the Skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one Skrewt was left.
    ‘Don’ frighten him, now!’ Hagrid shouted, as Ron and Harry used their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the Skrewt, which was advancing menacingly on them, its sting arched, quivering, over its back. ‘Jus’ try an’ slip the rope round his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!’
    ‘Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!’ Ron shouted angrily, as he and Harry backed into the wall of Hagrid’s cabin, still holding the Skrewt off with their sparks.
    ‘Well, well, well … this does look like fun.’
    Rita Skeeter was leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.
    Hagrid launched himself forward on top of the Skrewt that was cornering Harry and Ron and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.
    ‘Who’re you?’ Hagrid asked Rita Skeeter, as he slipped a loop of rope around the Skrewt’s sting and tightened it.
    ‘Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,’ Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.
    ‘Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school any more?’ said Hagrid, frowning slightly as he got off the slightly squashed Skrewt and started tugging it over to its fellows.
    Rita acted as though she hadn’t heard what Hagrid had said.
    ‘What are these fascinating creatures called?’ she asked, beaming still more widely.
    ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts,’ grunted Hagrid.
    ‘Really?’ said Rita, apparently full of lively