Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter, #4)

by J.K. Rowling

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.”

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.” “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?”

“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. “Yeh did as much as yer father would’ve done, an’ I can’ give yeh no higher praise than that.”

“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.”

Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”

Arry!” He looked around. Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, far across the grounds, Harry could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime to back two of the giant horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage was about to take off. “We will see each uzzer again, I ’ope,” said Fleur as she reached him, holding out her hand. “I am ’oping to get a job ’ere, to improve my Eenglish.” “It’s very good already,” said Ron in a strangled sort of voice. Fleur smiled at him; Hermione scowled. “Good-bye, ’Arry,” said Fleur, turning to go. “It ’az been a pleasure meeting you!” Harry’s spirits couldn’t help but lift slightly as he watched Fleur hurry back across the lawns to Madame Maxime, her silvery hair rippling in the sunlight.

“I liked Diggory,” said Krum abruptly to Harry. “He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang — with Karkaroff,” he added, scowling. “Have you got a new headmaster yet?” said Harry. Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry’s hand, and then Ron’s. Ron looked as though he was suffering some sort of painful internal struggle. Krum had already started walking away when Ron burst out, “Can I have your autograph?” Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.