 Heavy, irresistible waves
of dreamless sleep broke over him; he fell back onto his pillows and thought no
more.
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - THE BEGINNING
When he looked back, even a month later, Harry found he had only scattered
memories of the next few days. It was as though he had been through too much to
take in any more. The recollections he did have were very painful. The worst,
perhaps, was the meeting with the Diggorys that took place the following morning.
They did not blame him for what had happened; on the contrary, both thanked him
for returning Cedric's body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the
interview. Mrs. Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears.
"He suffered very little then," she said, when Harry had told her how Cedric had
died. "And after all, Amos ... he died just when he'd won the tournament. He must
have been happy."
When they got to their feet, she looked down at Harry and said, "You look after
yourself, now."
Harry seized the sack of gold on the bedside table.
"You take this," he muttered to her. "It should've been Cedric's, he got there first,
you take it -"
But she backed away from him.
"Oh no, it's yours, dear, I couldn't. . . you keep it."
Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower the following evening. From what Hermione
and Ron told him, Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast.
He had merely requested that they leave Harry alone, that nobody ask him
questions or badger him to tell the story of what had happened in the maze. Most
people, he noticed, were skirting him in the corridors, avoiding his eyes. Some
whispered behind their hands as he passed. He guessed that many of them had
believed Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous he was.
Perhaps they were formulating their own theories about how Cedric had died. He
found he didn't care very much. He liked it best when he was with Ron and
Hermione and they were talking about other things, or else letting him sit in
silence while they played chess. He felt as though all three of them had reached an
understanding they 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 they knew anything for certain. The
only time they 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."
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"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 and Hermione that Harry felt able to talk to was
Hagrid. As there was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they had
those lessons free. They 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.
"Who's that?" called Hagrid, coming to the door. "Harry!"
He strode out to meet them, pulled Harry into a one-armed hug, ruffled his hair,
and said, "Good ter see yeh, mate. Good ter see yeh."
They saw two bucket-size cups and saucers on the wooden table in front of the
fireplace when they entered Hagrid's cabin.
"Bin havin' a cuppa with Olympe," Hagrid said. "She's jus' left."
"Who?" said Ron curiously.
"Madame Maxime, o' course!" said Hagrid.
"You two made up, have you?" said Ron.
"Dunno what yeh're talkin' about," said Hagrid airily, fetching more cups from the
dresser. When he had made tea and offered around a plate of doughy cookies, he
leaned back in his chair and surveyed Harry closely through his beetle-black eyes.
"You all righ'?" he said gruffly
"Yeah," said Harry.
"No, yeh're not," said Hagrid. "Course yeh're not. But yeh will be."
Harry said nothing.
"Knew he was goin' ter come back," said Hagrid, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione
looked up at him, shocked. "Known it fer years. Harry. Knew he was out there,
bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, now it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on
with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's
Dumbledores plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we've got him, I'm
not too worried."
Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows at the disbelieving expressions on their faces.
"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," he said. "What's comin' will come, an we'll
meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did. Harry."
Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry.
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"Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise
than that."
Harry smiled back at him. It was the first time he'd smiled in days. "What's
Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" he asked. "He sent Professor McGonagall
to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him - that night."
"Got a little job fer me over the summer," said Hagrid. "Secret, though. I'm not
s'pposed ter talk abou' it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe - Madame Maxime ter
you - might be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."
"Is it to do with Voldemort?"
Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name.
"Migh' be," he said evasively. "Now . . . who'd like ter come an' visit the las'
skrewt with me? I was jokin' - jokin'!" he added hastily, seeing the looks on their
faces.
It was with a heavy heart that Harry packed his trunk up in the dormitory on the
night before his return to Privet Drive. He was dreading the Leaving Feast, which
was usually a cause for celebration, when the winner of the Inter-House
Championship would be announced. He had avoided being in the Great Hall when
it was full ever since he had left the hospital wing, preferring to eat when it was
nearly empty to avoid the stares of his fellow students.
When he, Ron, and Hermione entered the Hall, they saw at once that the usual
decorations were missing. 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. Harry 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. Harry couldn't blame him; Moodys fear of attack was
bound to have been increased by his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk.
Professor Karkaroff s chair was empty. Harry wondered, as he sat down with the
other Gryffindors, where Karkaroff was now, and whether Voldemort had caught
up with him.
Madame Maxime was still there. She was sitting next to Hagrid. They were
talking quietly together. Further along the table, sitting next to Professor
McGonagall, was Snape. His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment as Harry
looked at him. His expression was difficult to read. He looked as sour and
unpleasant as ever. Harry continued to watch him, long after Snape had looked
away.
What was it that Snape had done on Dumbledores orders, the night that Voldemort
had returned? And why. . . why . . . was Dumbledore so convinced that Snape was
465
truly on their side? He had been their spy, Dumbledore had said so in the
Pensieve. Snape had turned spy against Voldemort, "at great personal risk." Was
that the job he had taken up again? Had he made contact with the Death Eaters,
perhaps? Pretended that he had never really gone over to Dumbledore, that he had
been, like Voldemort himself, biding his time?
Harry's musings were ended by Professor Dumbledore, who 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."
They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and
raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric
Diggory."
Harry caught a glimpse of Cho through the crowd. There were tears pouring
silently down her face. He looked down at the table as they 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."
Harry raised his head and stared at Dumbledore.
"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."
A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in
disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter
themselves into silence.
"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish me to tell you
this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so -
either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because
they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that
the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric
died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of