Harry waited, every fiber of him hoping, praying . . . If it hadn’t worked . . . if it wasn’t coming . . . He seemed to be looking at everything around him through some sort of shimmering, transparent barrier, like a heat haze, which made the enclosure and the hundreds of faces around him swim strangely . . .

And then he heard it, speeding through the air behind him; he turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling toward him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in midair beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise . . . Bagman was shouting something . . . but Harry’s ears were not working properly anymore . . . listening wasn’t important . . .

He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened . . .

As he soared upward, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd’s faces became mere flesh-colored pinpricks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realized that he had left not only the ground behind, but also his fear . . . He was back where he belonged . . .

This was just another Quidditch match, that was all . . . just another Quidditch match, and that Horntail was just another ugly opposing team . . .

He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-colored fellows, residing safely between the dragon’s front legs. “Okay,” Harry told himself, “diversionary tactics . . . let’s go . . . ”

He dived. The Horntail’s head followed him; he knew what it was going to do and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where he would have been had he not swerved away . . . but Harry didn’t care . . . that was no more than dodging a Bludger . . .

“Great Scott, he can fly!” yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. “Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?”

Harry soared higher in a circle; the Horntail was still following his progress; its head revolving on its long neck—if he kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy—but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again—

Harry plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time he was less lucky—he missed the flames, but the tail came whipping up to meet him instead, and as he swerved to the left, one of the long spikes grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes—

He could feel it stinging, he could hear screaming and groans from the crowd, but the cut didn’t seem to be deep . . . Now he zoomed around the back of the Horntail, and a possibility occurred to him . . .