Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

maze.
    Harry kept looking behind him. The old feeling that he was being watched was upon him. The maze was growing darker with every passing minute as the sky overhead deepened to navy. He reached a second fork.
    ‘Point me,’ he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm.
    The wand spun around once, and pointed towards his right, into solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go north-west for the centre of the maze. The best he could do was to take the left fork, and go right again as soon as possible.
    The path ahead was empty, too, and when Harry reached a right turn and took it, he again found his way unblocked. Harry didn’t know why, but the lack of obstacles was unnerving him. Surely he should have met something by now? It felt as though the maze was luring him into a false sense of security. Then he heard movement right behind him. He held out his wand, ready to attack, but its beam fell only upon Cedric, who had just hurried out of a path on the right-hand side. Cedric looked severely shaken. The sleeve of his robes was smoking.
    ‘Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts!’ he hissed. ‘They’re enormous – I only just got away!’
    He shook his head, and dived out of sight, along another path. Keen to put plenty of distance between himself and the Skrewts, Harry hurried off again. Then, as he turned a corner, he saw –
    A Dementor was gliding towards him. Twelve feet tall, its face hidden by its hood, its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing its way blindly towards him. Harry could hear its rattling breath; he felt clammy coldness stealing over him, but knew what he had to do …
    He summoned the happiest thought he could, concentrated with all his might on the thought of getting out of the maze and celebrating with Ron and Hermione, raised his wand and cried, ‘Expecto Patronum!’
    A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry’s wand and galloped towards the Dementor, which fell back, and tripped over the hem of its robes … Harry had never seen a Dementor stumble.
    ‘Hang on!’ he shouted, advancing in the wake of his silver Patronus, ‘you’re a Boggart! Riddikulus! ’
    There was a loud crack, and the shape-shifter exploded in a wisp of smoke. The silver stag faded from sight. Harry wished it could have stayed, he could have used some company … but he moved on as quickly and quietly as possible, listening hard, his wand held high once more.
    Left … right … left again … twice he found himself facing dead ends. He did the Four-Point Spell again, and found that he was going too far east. He turned back, took a right turn, and saw an odd golden mist floating ahead of him.
    Harry approached it cautiously, pointing the wand’s beam at it. This looked like some kind of enchantment. He wondered whether he might be able to blast it out of the way.
    ‘Reducto!’ he said.
    The spell shot straight through the mist, leaving it intact. He supposed he should have known better; the Reductor curse was for solid objects. What would happen if he walked through the mist? Was it worth chancing it, or should he double back?
    He was still hesitating, when a scream shattered the silence.
    ‘Fleur?’ Harry yelled.
    There was silence. He stared all around him. What had happened to her? Her scream seemed to have come from somewhere ahead. He took a deep breath, and ran through the enchanted mist.
    The world turned upside-down. Harry was hanging from the ground, with his hair on end, his glasses dangling off his nose, threatening to fall into the bottomless sky. He clutched them to the end of his nose and hung there, terrified. It felt as though his feet were glued to the grass, which had now become the ceiling. Below him the dark, star-spangled heavens stretched endlessly. He felt as though if he tried to move one of his feet, he would fall away from the earth completely.
    Think, he told himself, as all the blood rushed to his head, think …
    But not one of the spells he had practised had been designed to combat a sudden reversal of ground and sky. Did he dare move his foot? He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He had two choices – try and move, or send up red sparks, and get rescued and disqualified from the task.
    He shut his eyes, so he wouldn’t be able to see the view of endless space below him, and pulled his right foot as hard as he could, away from the grassy ceiling.
    Immediately, the world righted itself. Harry fell forwards onto his