Poisoned Youth | ✓

19- Mourning

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower the following evening. Dumbledore had spoken to the school the next morning at breakfast. He had merely requested that everyone leave Harry alone, that nobody asks him questions or badger him to tell the story of what had happened in the maze. Most people took that literally and avoided Harry in the halls for the last few days of term. Some whispered behind their hands as he passed. Many of them seemed to believe Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous Harry was.

Ron, Hermione, and I were the only ones that were seemingly normal. We spoke about other things and most of the time let Harry sit in silence while we played chess. It's as if the four of us had reached an understanding we didn't need to put into words; each of us 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 any of us touched upon the subject was when Ron told Harry 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?"

The only person apart from Ron, Hermione, and me that Harry seemed to able to talk to was Hagrid. As there was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, we had those lessons free. We used the one on Thursday afternoon to go down and visit Hagrid in his cabin. It was a bright and sunny day; Fang bounded out of the open door as they approached, barking and wagging his tail madly.

Hagrid told us about his and Madame Maxime's (Olympe) mission Dumbledore gave him; all vague details. It didn't last long as we needed to head off to the end-of-term feast.

When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered the Hall, we saw at once that the usual decorations were missing. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House's colours 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.

Professor 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 them 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 their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."

I caught a glimpse of Cho through the crowd. There were tears pouring silently down her face. I looked down at the table as we all sat down again.

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore continued. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about." I raised my head and stared at Dumbledore after giving Harry a frightened glance.