Harry - Potter.4

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

“Dried currants. Very flammable, apparently.” Cedric took a sip from his mug. “Want some tea? It’s from my mum’s thermos. Stays hot for a month.”

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 didn’t go there. He went to the lake instead. Harry Potter.4

“You’re thinking about running.”

“You didn’t put your name in,” Cedric added quietly.

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

Harry stayed a few more minutes, then headed back. He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t feel ready.

Here’s a short story set during Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire — filling in a moment the book doesn’t show. The night before the First Task, Harry couldn’t sleep.

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. “Want some tea

The water was black glass. The Durmstrang ship sat moored like a drowned bone. Harry sat on a flat rock and pulled his knees to his chest.

The night was cold and clear. The maze for the Third Task was just a low hedge of stakes and spells in the distance. But the dragon enclosure — invisible by day behind trees and enchantments — was marked by a faint orange glow on the horizon.

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

Harry stared at him. “A scone?”

It wasn’t a question.