Brighter Than the Sun

Chapter Eighty-Eight

The next few days were rough. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I mainly spent them hanging out somewhere nobody would bother us. I think Harry and I were terrified to let the other out of our sight — every waking moment the two of us tried to stick together. Ron and Hermione seemed to understand that neither of us wanted to talk about what had happened.

It was as though all four of us had reached an understanding we didn't need to put into words; that each was waiting for some sign, some word, of what was going on outside Hogwarts — and that it was useless to speculate about what might be coming until we knew anything for certain. The only time we touched on the subject was when Ron told us about a meeting Mrs. Weasley had had with Dumbledore before going home.

"She went to ask him if you could come straight to us this summer," he said. "But he wants you to go back to the Dursleys, at least at first."

"Why?" said Harry.

"She said Dumbledore's got his reasons," said Ron, shaking his head darkly. "I suppose we've got to trust him, haven't we?"

I frowned and looked down at the floor. I wasn't too sure about that. Trusting Dumbledore's judgement had only torn a rift between me and my friends. I didn't want something like that to happen again.

"I'm definitely going to visit you, then," I told Harry.

"The Dursleys would love that," Harry replied with a smirk.

"Oh, I bet they would."

Since we didn't have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher anymore, we had free periods where we had no class. When we visited Hagrid during one of those periods, he told us that he was going on some secret mission with Madame Maxime during the summer. However, he wouldn't disclose any particular details about it.

The Leaving Feast was a meal Harry had been dreading. Since leaving the hospital wing, he'd avoided eating there while the hall was full. I doubted this was too good for his nerves.

The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House's colors for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers' table. I knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect to Cedric.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. I couldn't blame him. Moody's fear of attack had probably increased thanks to his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk.

Professor Karkaroff's place had been taken by Chiron, who was in wheelchair mode. I wondered where Karkaroff was now, whether Voldemort had caught up with him. Madame Maxime was still there. She was sitting next to Hagrid. They were talking quietly together, probably about that secret mission they were going on in the summer.

Dumbledore, stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less noisy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet.

"The end," said Dumbledore, looking around at us all, "of another year." He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

"There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here," he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, "enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

We did it, all of us; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised our goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."