𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝟒.𝟐𝟏 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐰𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐩

'So ... on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!' said Bagman. 'Three – two – one –'

He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forwards into the maze.

The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path, and, whether because they were so tall and thick, or because they had been enchanted, the sound of the surrounding crowd was silenced the moment they entered the 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.

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, Y/n, 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 met nothing for ten minutes, except dead ends. Twice he took the same wrong turning. Finally he found a new route, and started to jog along it, his wand-light waving, making his shadow flicker and distort on the hedge walls. Then he rounded another corner, and found himself facing a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Cedric was right – it was enormous. Ten feet long, it looked more like a giant scorpion than anything. Its long sting was curled over its back. Its thick armour glinted in the light from Harry's wand, which he pointed at it.

'Stupefy!'

The spell hit the Skrewt's armour, and rebounded; Harry ducked just in time, but could smell burning hair; it had singed the top of his head. The Skrewt issued a blast of fire from its end, and flew forwards towards him.

'Impedimenta!' Harry yelled. The spell hit the Skrewt's armour again and ricocheted off; Harry staggered back a few paces and fell over. 'IMPEDIMENTA!'

The Skrewt was inches from him when it froze – he had managed to hit it on its fleshy, shell-less underside. Panting, Harry pushed himself away from it and ran, hard, in the opposite direction – the Impediment Jinx was not permanent, the Skrewt would be regaining the use of its legs at any moment.