Apologies for being so MIA over the past month or so- my summer job has surprisingly taken SUCH a crazy amount of my energy and time then I had initially believed :( I'll do my best to be more diligent, as I am adding little by little to the story and overall series.
Don't quote me, though... I clearly don't have the cleanest track record XD
- M
"There you are!" hissed Arabella, watching as an invisible force blew open the Charms classroom. Her sister appeared seconds later, looking extremely winded.
"Sorry!" Lyla huffed, throwing the cloak aside and locking the door behind her. "Been a bit busy! You won't believe what I just—"
But an odd pop sounded, and both sisters looked to find its source. Arabella jumped.
"S-Sirius?!"
Sirius's head was sitting in the fire. It would have scared them out of their wits if they hadn't seen Mr. Diggory do precisely this back in the Weasleys' kitchen. Instead, Arabella could feel her face breaking into the first smile she had worn for days.
"Sirius—" said Lyla in awe, "h-how're you doing?"
Sirius looked different from Arabella's memory of him. When they had said goodbye, Sirius's face had been gaunt and hollow, surrounded by a quantity of long, black, matted hair— but the hair was short and clean now, Sirius's face was fuller, and he looked younger.
"Never mind me. How are you two?"
Arabella looked at Lyla, who looked tongue-tied.
"We've been better," Arabella said eventually. And before they could stop herself, both Arabella and Lyla were talking— about how no one believed that Lyla hadn't entered the tournament of her own free will, how Rita Skeeter had lied about them in the Daily Prophet, how none of them could walk down a corridor without being sneered at— and about Ron, Ron not believing them, Ron's jealousy…
"— and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons!" exclaimed Lyla breathlessly.
"D-dragons?!" repeated Arabella with horror.
"Sirius, I'm an absolute goner," Lyla finished desperately.
Sirius looked at his goddaughters, eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them— that deadened, haunted look. He had let them talk into silence without interruption.
"Dragons we can deal with," he said after a moment's pause," but we'll get to that in a minute— I haven't got long here. . . I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."
"About what?" asked Lyla.
"Karkaroff," said Sirius. "Listen to me— he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"
"Yes, but— how did he—what?"
"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year— to keep an eye on him. You see, Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."
"Karkaroff got… released?" Arabella said slowly— her brain seemed to be struggling to absorb yet another piece of shocking information. "Why on earth— how come they released him?"
"He struck a deal with the Ministry of Magic," said Sirius bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names. . . he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place. . . . He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."
"Okay," said Lyla slowly. "But. . . are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he'd be an excellent actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."
"We know he's a good actor," said Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet.."
"— you and the rest of the world," said Arabella bitterly.
"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius said hastily, seeing Arabella about to speak, "but I don't think so… I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. Someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."
"So. . . what are you saying?" asked Arabella. "Karkaroff's trying to kill Lyla? But— why?"
Sirius hesitated.
"I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark… and then— did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"
"Bertha Jorkins?" asked Lyla.
"Exactly. . . she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last. . . and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"
"Yeah, but. . . it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?"
"I knew Bertha," said Sirius grimly. "She was at Hogwarts when I was a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination… I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."
"So. . . so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" said Lyla worriedly. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"
"I don't know," said Sirius slowly, "I just don't know… Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd return to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a perfect way to attack you and make it look like an accident."
"Looks like an excellent plan from where I'm standing," said Arabella bleakly.
"They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff…" sighed Lyla.
"Right— these dragons," said Sirius, speaking very quickly now. "There is a way, Lyla. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell— dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner. You need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—"
"Yeah, I know, I just saw," said Lyla.
"But you can do it alone," said Sirius. "There is a way, and a simple spell's all you need. Just—"
But they never got to hear what simple spell was needed. Sirius had abruptly stopped talking, his eyes wide.
"They've come back," he said quickly. "I need to go— I'll write when it's safe—"
And with another pop, Sirius's head was gone.
Lyla got up on Sunday morning and dressed so inattentively that it was a while before she realized she was trying to pull her hat onto her foot instead of her sock. When she'd finally got all her clothes on the right parts of his body, she and Daphne hurried off to find the rest of her Slytherin friends, locating them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, where they sat in deep conversation with Hermione and Ginny. Feeling too queasy to eat, Lyla waited until everyone had swallowed their last spoonful of porridge, then dragged them out onto the grounds. There, she told the group all about the dragons and everything Sirius had said while they took another long walk around the lake.
Alarmed as she was by Sirius's warnings about Karkaroff, Blaise still thought that the dragons were the more pressing problem.
"Let's just try and keep you alive until Tuesday evening," he said desperately, "and then we can worry about Karkaroff."
They walked three times around the lake, trying all the way to think of a simple spell that would subdue a dragon. Nothing whatsoever occurred to them, so they retired to the library instead. Here, Lyla pulled down every book she could find on dragons, and all of them set to work searching through the large pile.
"Talon-clipping by charms… treating scale-rot…" read Draco, frowning.
"This is no good. This is for nutters like Hagrid who want to keep them healthy," sighed Arabella in defeat.
"Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate…" read out Theo.
"That's not right," said Lyla. "Sirius said a simple one would do it…."
"Let's try some simple spellbooks, then," suggested Draco, throwing aside Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.
He returned to the table with a pile of spellbooks, set them down, and began to flick through each in turn. Lyla joined him, feeling dread slowly consume her from the inside out.
"Well, there are Switching Spells…" murmured Hermione, "but what's the point of Switching it? Unless you swapped its fangs for wine-gums or something that would make it less dangerous... The trouble is, as that book said, not much is going to get through a dragon's hide. . . . I'd say Transfigure it, but something that big, you really haven't got a hope, I doubt even Professor McGonagall. . . unless you're supposed to put a spell on yourself? Maybe to give yourself extra powers? But they're not simple spells, I mean, we haven't done any of those in class. I only know about them because I've been doing O.W.L. practice papers. . . ."
"Hermione," Lyla said, through gritted teeth, "will you please stop muttering? I'm trying to concentrate."
But all that happened when Hermione fell silent was that Lyla's brain filled with a blank buzzing, which didn't allow room for concentration. She stared hopelessly down the index of Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed.
Instant scalping. . . but dragons had no hair. . . pepper breath.. . that would probably increase a dragon's firepower. . . horn tongue. . . just what she needed, to give it an extra weapon…
"Oh no, he's back again. Why can't he read on his stupid ship?" said Hermione irritably as Viktor Krum slouched in, cast a surly look over at the pair of them, and settled himself in a distant corner with a pile of books. "His fan club'll be here in a moment, twittering away... ."
"Come on," said Draco. "Let's see if we can practice in an empty classroom or something…."
No sooner had the group left the library than a gang of girls tiptoed past them, one of them wearing a Bulgaria scarf tied around her waist.
Lyla barely slept that night. When she awoke on Monday morning, she seriously considered for the first time ever just running away from Hogwarts. But as she looked around the Great Hall at breakfast time and thought about what leaving the castle would mean, she knew she couldn't do it. She finished her bacon with difficulty (her throat wasn't working too well), and as she and Daphne got up, she saw Cedric leaving the Hufflepuff table.
Cedric still didn't know about the dragons. . . the only champion who didn't. If Lyla was right in thinking that Maxime and Karkaroff would have told Fleur and Krum...
"Daph, I'll see you in the greenhouses," she said, coming to a decision as she watched Cedric leaving the Hall. "Go on, I'll catch you up."
"Lyla, you'll be late. The bell's about to ring—"
"I'll catch you up, okay?"
By the time she reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends. Lyla didn't want to talk to him in front of them; they were among those who had been quoting Rita Skeeter's article at her every time she went near them. She followed Cedric at a distance and saw that he was heading toward the Charms corridor. This gave her an idea. Pausing at a distance from them, she pulled out his wand and took careful aim.
"Diffindo!"
Cedric's bag split. Parchment, quills, and books spilled out of it onto the floor. Several bottles of ink smashed.
"Don't bother," said Cedric in an exasperated voice as his friends bent down to help him. "Tell Flitwick I'm coming, go on…."
This was exactly what Lyla had been hoping for. She slipped her wand back into her robes, waited until Cedric's friends had disappeared into their classroom, and hurried up the corridor, which was now empty of everyone but herself and Cedric.
"Hello," said Cedric, picking up a copy of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration that was now splattered with ink. "My bag just split. . . brand-new and all. . ."
"Cedric," said Lyla without hesitation, "the first task is dragons."
"Wha— excuse me?" said Cedric, looking up.
"Dragons," repeated Lyla, speaking quickly, in case Flitwick came out to see where Cedric had got to. "They've got four, one for each of us, and we've got to get past them."
Cedric stared at her in disbelief. She saw some of the panic she'd been feeling since Saturday night flickering in Cedric's brown eyes.
"Are— are you sure?" he asked in a hushed voice.
"Dead sure," said Lyla. "I've seen them, too."
"But— but how did you find out? We're not supposed to know. . . ."
"Never mind that," said Lyla quickly— she knew Hagrid would be in trouble if she told the truth. "But I'm not the only one who knows. Fleur and Krum will know by now— Maxime and Karkaroff both saw the dragon."
Cedric straightened up, his arms full of inky quills, parchment, and books, his ripped bag dangling off one shoulder. He stared at Lyla with a puzzled, almost suspicious look in his eyes.
"Why are you telling me?" he finally asked.
Lyla looked at him in disbelief. She was sure Cedric wouldn't have asked that if he had seen the dragons himself. She wouldn't have let her worst enemy face those monsters unprepared.
"It's just . . . fair, isn't it?" she said lamely. "We all know now. . . we're on an even footing, aren't we?"
Cedric was still looking at her in a slightly suspicious way when Lyla heard a familiar clunking noise behind him. She turned around and saw Mad-Eye Moody emerging from a nearby classroom.
"Come with me, Potter," he growled. "Diggory, off you go."
Lyla stared apprehensively at Moody. Had he overheard them?
"Uh, Professor, I'm supposed to be in Herbology—"
"Never mind that, Potter. In my office, please."
Lyla followed him, wondering what was going to happen. What if Moody wanted to know how she'd learned about the dragons? Would he go to Dumbledore and tell on Hagrid or turn Lyla into a small furry creature, bouncing her around his office? Well, it might be easier to get past a dragon if she were a small animal, Lyla thought dully. She'd be smaller, much less easy to see from a height of fifty feet…
She followed Moody into his office. Moody closed the door behind them and turned to look at Lyla, his magical eye fixed upon her as well as the normal one.
"That was a very decent thing you just did, Potter," Moody said quietly. Lyla didn't know what to say; this wasn't the reaction she had expected at all. "Sit down," said Moody, and she promptly sat, looking around.
She had visited this office under two of its previous occupants. In Lockhart's day, the walls had been plastered with beaming, winking pictures of Lockhart himself. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating new Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that she supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.
On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top; she recognized it at once as a Sneakoscope because she owned one herself, though it was much smaller than Moody's. In the corner on a small table stood an object resembling an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite Harry on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.
"Like my Dark Detectors, do you?" asked Moody, who was watching the girl closely.
"What's that?" Lyla asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.
"Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies.. . no use here, of course, too much interference— students in every direction lying about why they haven't done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn't stop whistling. It's extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff," he added in a growl.
"And what's the mirror for?"
"Oh, that's my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I'm not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That's when I open my trunk."
He let out a short, harsh laugh and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row. Lyla wondered what was in there until Moody's next question brought her sharply back to earth.
"So. . . found out about the dragons, have you?"
She hesitated. She'd been afraid of this— but she hadn't told Cedric, and she certainly wasn't going to tell Moody.
"It's alright," said Moody, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. "Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been."
"I didn't cheat," said Lyla sharply. "It was— a sort of accident that I found out."
Moody grinned. "I wasn't accusing you, lassie. From the start, I've been telling Dumbledore that he can be as high-minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won't be. They'll have told their champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They'd like to prove he's only human."
Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swiveled around so fast it made Lyla feel queasy to watch it.
"So. . . got any ideas how you're going to get past your dragon yet?" said Moody.
"No," said Lyla miserably.
"Well, I'm not going to tell you," said Moody gruffly. "I don't show favoritism, me. I'm just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is— play to your strengths."
"What, brew a sleeping potion and hope it's enough to work?" snorted Lyla dully. She'd spent far too many sleepless nights wondering what on earth the simple charm Sirius had mentioned. At this point, it was driving her mad.
"Excuse me," growled Moody, "that's not a bad start. Think now. What's a logical skill you are quite strong at? It doesn't have to be one where you sit in a classroom and take notes in…."
Lyla tried to concentrate. Just what was the professor getting at?
"Uh— Quidditch," she said finally, "and a fat lot of help -"
"That's right," said Moody, staring at her very hard, his magical eye barely moving at all. "You're a damn good flier from what I've heard."
"Yeah, well.. ." Lyla stared at him. "I'm not allowed a broom. I've only got my wand..."
"My second piece of general advice," said Moody loudly, interrupting him, "is to use a nice, simple spell that will enable you to get what you need."
A nice simple charm? What did she need?
"Come on, girl. . ." whispered Moody. "Put them together... it's not that difficult..."
And it clicked. Besides Potions, she was undoubtedly best at flying. She needed to pass the dragon in the air. For that, she needed her Nimbus. And for that, she needed—"
"Arabella! Draco! I need your help!" Lyla said that afternoon, rushing at her friends as quickly as possible.
"What d'you think we've been trying to do, Lyla?" whispered Draco.
"I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon."
And so they practiced. The three didn't have lunch but headed for a free classroom, where Lyla tried with all her might to make various objects fly across the room toward her. She was still having problems. The books and quills kept losing heart halfway across the room and dropping hike stones to the floor.
"Concentrate, Lyla," said Draco evenly, "concentrate. . . ."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" snapped Lyla angrily. "A great big dragon keeps popping up in my head for some reason!"
"Okay, try again. . . ." encouraged her sister. As the bell rang, signaling afternoon classes, it was quite clear that Lyla wanted to skip out of Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Draco refused point-blank.
"We will not miss out on what Moody has to teach," he said firmly. "Who knows, maybe it'll help."
After bidding the Slytherin farewell, Arabella slowly made her way to Divination. She endured over an hour of Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars in relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.
"Well, that's good," said Arabella loudly, her temper getting the better of her, "if that's the case, I hope my death isn't drawn-out, god forbid."
Ron looked for a moment as though he was going to laugh; he certainly caught Arabella's eye for the first time in days, but she was still feeling too resentful toward Ron to care. She spent the rest of the lesson losing focus. She quickly managed to eat dinner and then returned to the empty classroom with Lyla and Draco. They kept practicing until past midnight. They would have stayed longer, but Peeves turned up and started chucking chairs across the room, pretending to think that the students wanted things thrown at them. They hurriedly left before the noise attracted Filch and headed back to their common rooms.
At two o'clock in the morning, Lyla stood near an emerald green fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects: books, quills, several upturned chairs, and an old set of Gobstones. Only in the last hour had she really got the hang of the Summoning Charm.
"That's better, that's loads better," Draco said, looking exhausted but very pleased.
"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell," Lyla said, throwing a rune dictionary back to her friend, so she could try again, "threaten me with a dragon. Right..." She raised her wand once more. "Accio Dictionary!"
The heavy book soared out of Draco's hand, flew across the room, and Lyla caught it.
"Lyla, I really think you've got it!" He said delightedly.
"Just as long as it works tomorrow," Lyla sighed. "The Nimbus is going to be much farther away than the stuff in here, it's going to be in the castle, and I'm going to be out there on the grounds. . . ."
"That doesn't matter," said Draco firmly." Just as long as you're concentrating really, really hard on it, it'll come. Lyla, we'd better get some sleep... You're going to need it."
Lyla had been focusing so hard on learning the Summoning Charm that evening that some of her blind panic had left her system. It returned in full measure, however, on the following morning. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure— though, of course, they didn't yet know what they would find there.
Lyla felt oddly separate from everyone around her, whether they were wishing her good luck or hissing, "We'll have a box of tissues ready, Potter," as she passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that she wondered whether she mightn't just lose her head when they tried to lead her out to the dragons and start trying to curse everyone in sight. Time was behaving in a more peculiar fashion than ever, rushing past in great dollops so that one moment she seemed to be sitting down in her first lesson, History of Magic, and the next, walking into lunch.. . and then (where had the morning gone? the last of the dragon-free hours?), Snape as hurrying over to her in the Great Hall. Lots of people were watching.
"Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... You have to get ready for your first task."
"Okay," said Lyla, standing up, her fork falling onto her plate with a clatter.
"Good luck!" whispered Daphne and Theo.
"You'll be fine," said Draco in a low voice, "all you need to do is—"
"Yeah," said Lyla in a voice that was most unlike her own. "Got it— concentrate, right."
She left the Great Hall with Snape, waving at Hermione and Arabella as she passed the scarlet and gold-clad table. Both looked extremely pale.
As Snape walked her down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, he carefully put one hand on her shoulder.
"Now, don't panic," he said, "just keep a cool head…"
Lyla smiled, pleased that Snape didn't appear to hold a grudge against her at that moment. Despite Arabella's many moans about the professor, Lyla greatly appreciated him and didn't see eye to eye with her sister's views whatsoever.
"We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand," he continued. "The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you. . . ."
"Thank you, professor," she said shakily, "yeah, I'll be fine…"
He was leading his student toward the place where the dragons were, around the forest's edge. Still, when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Lyla saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.
"You're to go in here with the other champions," said Snape, "and wait for your turn, Potter. Bagman is in there and will tell you what to do next."
"Thanks," said Lyla in a flat, distant voice. She left him at the entrance of the tent.
Fleur was sitting in a corner on a wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual but rather pale and clammy. Krum looked even surlier than expected, which Lyla supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When Lyla entered, he gave her a small smile, which she returned, feeling the muscles in her face working somewhat hard as though they had forgotten how to do it.
"Lyla! Good-o!" said Bagman happily, looking around at her. "Come in, come in, make yourself at home!"
Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again.
"Well, now we're all here— time to fill you in!" said Bagman brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag—" he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them "— from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different— er— varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too... Ah, yes... your task is to collect the golden egg!"
Lyla glanced around. Cedric nodded once to show that he understood Bagman's words, then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur and Krum hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how Lyla felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this.
And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. . . . Lyla felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then— it seemed like about a second later to Lyla— Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.
"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fleur.
She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon— the Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck, and Lyla knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that she had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.
Bagman then held out the bag to Lyla, who took a deep breath before reaching into the bag. Slowly, she pulled her hand back to reveal a miniature version of the Hungarian Horntail and the number four around its neck. It stretched its wings as she looked down at it. It bared its minuscule fangs. Dread had once more begun to fill Lyla's insides.
The same process was repeated for Krum, where he pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. The Durmstrang champion didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.
Lastly, Cedric put his hand into the bag and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck.
"Well, there you are!" said Bagman. "You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? I will have to leave you in a moment because I'm commentating. Mr. Diggory, you're first, go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, okay? No… Lyla… could I have a quick word? Outside?"
"Okay," said Lyla blankly, and she got up and went out of the tent with Bagman, who walked her a short distance away into the trees and then turned to face the girl with a fatherly expression on his face.
"Feeling alright, dear? Anything I can get you?"
"Huh?" said Lyla. "I— no, nothing."
"Got a plan?" said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Because I don't mind sharing a few pointers if you'd like them, you know. I mean," Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, "you're the underdog here. . . . Anything I can do to help. . ."
"No," said Lyla so quickly she knew she had sounded rude, "no— I— I know what I'm going to do, thank you."
"Nobody would know," said Bagman, winking at her.
"No, I'm fine, really," said Lyla, wondering why she kept telling people this and wondering whether she had ever been less fine. "I've got a plan worked out. I—-"
A whistle had blown somewhere.
"Good lord, I've got to run!" said Bagman in alarm, and he hurried off.
Lyla walked back to the tent and saw Cedric emerging from it, greener than ever. She tried to wish him luck as they passed one another, but all that came out of her mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt.
Lyla went back inside to Fleur and Krum. Seconds later, they heard the roar of the crowd, which meant Cedric had entered the enclosure and was now face-to-face with the living counterpart of his model.
P.S. If you could, if one has the time, please leave
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