Harry Potter.4 Direct

And when he finally crawled into bed, he dreamed not of fire — but of wind, open sky, and a broom handle warm under his palms.

Harry hesitated, then took the mug. The tea was sweet and strong. It tasted like someone’s kitchen — not a castle’s, not a feast’s. Just a kitchen. A normal one.

But for the first time all week, he didn’t feel alone.

Cedric stood up, took his empty mug back, and said, “Tomorrow, when that dragon looks at you — don’t think about winning. Think about flying.” Harry Potter.4

Ron was snoring in the next bed, still not talking to him. Hermione had sent him a message via a tiny, folded paper crane that morning: “Read about Swiveling Distraction Spells. Page 394.” But Harry had barely opened Magical Me without wanting to throw it across the tent.

He sat up, pulled on his trainers, and crept out into the Champions’ enclosure.

Harry walked outside.

Harry nearly fell in. Cedric Diggory emerged from behind a yew tree, looking annoyingly calm in his Hufflepuff pajamas, a steaming mug in his hand.

Cedric sat down a few feet away. He didn’t offer false cheer. He just said, “I watched my mum burn a scone once. Whole kitchen went up. Dad used a Hose Charm for an hour. After that, dragons seemed slightly less terrifying.”

The tent was huge — silk panels embroidered with magical beasts, braziers burning low blue flames. But the other three Champions weren’t there. Fleur’s sleeping area was sealed with a shimmering charm; Krum’s side smelled of salt and iron; Cedric’s hammock swayed empty, probably off walking the edge of the Forbidden Forest again. And when he finally crawled into bed, he

“I’m thinking about dying,” Harry said flatly. “But running’s on the list.”

He walked back toward the tent, leaving Harry alone under a scatter of cold stars.

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t go there. He went to the lake instead.