The Legacy of Emily Potter

15.

Absent-minded I stared at the very (not really) interesting wall of the Great Hall. Hermione was talking nineteen to the dozen and Harry looked so stressed and annoyed that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd happy to face a dragon instead of sitting here for another minute.

I didn't get much sleep last night. In fact I didn't get any at all.

I already felt the usual dizziness start, one that normally came from the loss of sleep because of nightmares, one that I hadn't felt since I left to search for Harry, not that it had stopped completely back then. No, I just hadn't had the time to let myself into it too much.

I had left the library hastily after my encounter with Draco Malfoy and forgotten to borrow the books. This was a problem. If I couldn't sleep I could always calm myself down with a book– yes, go ahead, call me a geeky bookworm and I'll come after you in my Louboutin heels.

So no books, no calmness. But the truth was that even if there would've been a good read, I wasn't sure whether it would've helped. I was so confused about my membership to one of the houses and worried about Harry that I had stared at the ceiling motionless, made tons of sit-ups, stared at the ceiling, made tons of sit-ups, stared at the ceiling and, you guessed it, made tons of push-ups.

I was torn out of my thoughts forcefully by McGonagall. "Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now... You have to get ready for your first task. "

"Okay," said Harry, standing up, his fork falling onto his plate with a clatter.

"Good luck, Harry," Hermione whispered. "You'll be fine!" I added, trying to persuade myself.

"Yeah," said Harry in a voice that was most unlike his own.

He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. She didn't seem herself either; in fact, she looked nearly as anxious as Hermione and if it wouldn't have been for this situation I might have even smiled at the very McGonnagall-ish way to show her support to Harry.
In the past few months I had developed a bit of respect and affection towards her. She visibly was heeartbroken deep inside and had a stiff stone-cold facade but sometimes when she looked at students which she was about to scold her features would soften and fill with so much warmth that you could almost think that she was looking at her own children. I admired her Transfiguration abilities. And from time to time she reminded me of Granny.

"He will be fine, won't he?" Hermione's voice was shaky. "Dumbledore won't let anything happen to him, right?" I sighed. It wasn't that I didn't trust Dumbledore to be a good a man, he certainly was, I just didn't know what he was planning. If he really intended to make Harry do the thing his enemy, whoever it was who had put his name, wanted, well... even a genius could be wrong sometimes.

"Let's hope so."

—

Dear Diary,

I know I haven't been writing anything in here since my eleventh birthday when Granny gave this book to me, we get it I'm a horrible layabout.

It wasn't possible. That had been my first thought when Harry had grabbed the golden egg literally single-handed.

This son of a bitch. That one had been my first thought when Ronald came crawling back to Harry. I could not believe it! That traitor. Can you spell it? T-R-A-I-T-O-R. Well, I bet Ron can't. I tried to celebrate with my brother but I just couldn't get over the way Ron had behaved. Alright, we all get a little jealous sometimes, but I on the contrary to him stick to my friends when they need me the most and don't just come back to them once they're popular again.

Alright, bye bye, until next time which will probably be in like 2 centuries.

P. S. There are also good news without bad news behind them that include backstabbing cowards: Cedric did great :)
Alexa, remind me to congratulate him tomorrow once his fans get off him.

I slammed the little pastell-coloured booklet shut and threw it into a corner aggressively. I knew it! I knew writing about it wouldn't calm me down! Hermione glanced up from her homework at my very likely quite ruffled appearance with a rather blank and bored expression. "Gee, Em," she said, "don't hurt your books like that." Being the book lover I was I remorsefully and hurriedly lifted my diary from the floor, smoothed out the crumpled spots and placed it neatly on my bedside table.

Then, as I always did when I was upset, I turned on the sheets, crossed my legs and hung my back over the edge of the bed facing the girls. "Why?" I groaned not really knowing who I was talking about or who I was asking the question. Ginny took this decision for me. "Because my brother is a spineless mop with braincells of a nine-year-old which seem to be constantly under attack from rodents," she babbled fast as if it wasn't for the first time that she said this. "But don't worry about it," she added with a reassuring smile, "I still have hope that he'll grow out of it."