Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Point Me,
” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. 
The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into 
solid hedge. That way was north, and he knew that he needed to go 
northwest for the center 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 were 
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 robe was smoking. 
“Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts!” he hissed. “They’re enor-
mous — 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 gliding toward him. Twelve feet tall, its face hidden by its

---

THE THIRD TASK 
‘
623 
‘
hood, its rotting, scabbed hands outstretched, it advanced, sensing 
its way blindly toward 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 
toward 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, 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

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 
‘
624 
‘
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 hap-
pened 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.