Harry sighed as he gazed out his window. He had been at the Dursleys' house
only five days, but it seemed like five months. He couldn't stand being out
of the wizard world. How had he ever survived living there for ten long
years?
He was torn out of his thoughts as he spotted something coming toward him. What was it? Could it be an owl? But Sirius had just sent him a message that morning, and he had just sent Ron and Hermione's owls back from recent deliveries. He hadn't broken any rules, had he? He was quite sure that he hadn't. It couldn't be the Ministry of Magic, then.
As he wondered, the creature flew closer. Now he was sure it was an owl. But this owl was a creature he had never seen before. In the lilac sky of twilight, the bird's feathers looked very dark. He never had seen such an owl. It neared the house, and swooped through the window, giving Harry a cool breeze from the sticky July heat. The glossy black bird fluttered and landed on Harry's desk amid a pile of old parchment.
"Watch it; that's my homework!" Harry cautioned, before stepping toward this strange bird. The latter hooted as she took off and soared past him. The papers floated off the desk and fluttered to the floor as she whooshed out the window. The sky was now dark and the owl blended in. Harry wondered whether this was magical creature with invisible powers or just good at camouflage.
Even after the mysterious creature was gone, Harry was still captivated by her appearance. Who was she? What did she want? Why had she appeared? Harry shook his head slowly and set to cleaning up his desk. He picked up the fallen scrolls and lay the back on the table. What was this? He stopped. Amongst the scrolls, one he had never seen before. It was small scroll, dyed a pale, white blue. He stepped back to sit on his bed to read it. As he unrolled it, a sweet, familiar scent came into the room. What was it? He couldn't place it, but breathing in the smell, his memory gave him a quick of some happy dream. Confused, he opened the scroll and read the slim, curving writing:
Dear Harry,
How are you? I cannot say that I am fine because I don't think I will ever "get over" that tragic event of Cedric's death. But it must be so much worse for you - you, who witnessed it happening. The memory of him is less painful now, and it helps to write to one who must have the same horrors of this happening.
Please write back to me, Harry. Tell me of his last moments of life. Together we will remember Cedric Diggory. Yes, he WILL be remembered...by Harry and
Cho
Harry put the letter down. Cho? Why was Cho Chang writing to him? She HAD asked for a response, so he hurried to his desk. Then he stopped. No. She only wanted grief counseling from him. She wasn't in love with him. He would just be chasing the moon if he tried to woo her romantically. She was recovering from a great sorrow. Not that Harry wasn't. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, remembering that terrible night at the graveyard. When he had met Voldemort for the fourth time...when Voldemort's powers had come back... During the day, he was always alert, turning around at any movement. Even in hot July, he felt cold, ice cold, inside. Once Uncle Vernon had ventured to ask, "What is the matter with you?"
Yes, he decided. Of course he would write to her. Despite not seeing the event, no doubt she was horribly depressed and in trauma over it. Cedric, he told himself, HAD been her boyfriend. A quick wave of bitter jealousy washed over him before he pushed it away. How could he feel jealous of Cedric? Cedric was dead! He was alive. Poor Cedric would never play another Quidditch game, never receive his prize for the Triwizard Tournament. Harry dropped his head into his hands. And to think that he had been so close to such an end! He picked up a clean, new scroll and his finest quill.
Grief counseling, perhaps, but thinking of her still made his stomach flutter and spirits lift. And her paper and handwriting were so pretty! He had to impress her, too.
He was torn out of his thoughts as he spotted something coming toward him. What was it? Could it be an owl? But Sirius had just sent him a message that morning, and he had just sent Ron and Hermione's owls back from recent deliveries. He hadn't broken any rules, had he? He was quite sure that he hadn't. It couldn't be the Ministry of Magic, then.
As he wondered, the creature flew closer. Now he was sure it was an owl. But this owl was a creature he had never seen before. In the lilac sky of twilight, the bird's feathers looked very dark. He never had seen such an owl. It neared the house, and swooped through the window, giving Harry a cool breeze from the sticky July heat. The glossy black bird fluttered and landed on Harry's desk amid a pile of old parchment.
"Watch it; that's my homework!" Harry cautioned, before stepping toward this strange bird. The latter hooted as she took off and soared past him. The papers floated off the desk and fluttered to the floor as she whooshed out the window. The sky was now dark and the owl blended in. Harry wondered whether this was magical creature with invisible powers or just good at camouflage.
Even after the mysterious creature was gone, Harry was still captivated by her appearance. Who was she? What did she want? Why had she appeared? Harry shook his head slowly and set to cleaning up his desk. He picked up the fallen scrolls and lay the back on the table. What was this? He stopped. Amongst the scrolls, one he had never seen before. It was small scroll, dyed a pale, white blue. He stepped back to sit on his bed to read it. As he unrolled it, a sweet, familiar scent came into the room. What was it? He couldn't place it, but breathing in the smell, his memory gave him a quick of some happy dream. Confused, he opened the scroll and read the slim, curving writing:
Dear Harry,
How are you? I cannot say that I am fine because I don't think I will ever "get over" that tragic event of Cedric's death. But it must be so much worse for you - you, who witnessed it happening. The memory of him is less painful now, and it helps to write to one who must have the same horrors of this happening.
Please write back to me, Harry. Tell me of his last moments of life. Together we will remember Cedric Diggory. Yes, he WILL be remembered...by Harry and
Cho
Harry put the letter down. Cho? Why was Cho Chang writing to him? She HAD asked for a response, so he hurried to his desk. Then he stopped. No. She only wanted grief counseling from him. She wasn't in love with him. He would just be chasing the moon if he tried to woo her romantically. She was recovering from a great sorrow. Not that Harry wasn't. Every night he woke up in a cold sweat, remembering that terrible night at the graveyard. When he had met Voldemort for the fourth time...when Voldemort's powers had come back... During the day, he was always alert, turning around at any movement. Even in hot July, he felt cold, ice cold, inside. Once Uncle Vernon had ventured to ask, "What is the matter with you?"
Yes, he decided. Of course he would write to her. Despite not seeing the event, no doubt she was horribly depressed and in trauma over it. Cedric, he told himself, HAD been her boyfriend. A quick wave of bitter jealousy washed over him before he pushed it away. How could he feel jealous of Cedric? Cedric was dead! He was alive. Poor Cedric would never play another Quidditch game, never receive his prize for the Triwizard Tournament. Harry dropped his head into his hands. And to think that he had been so close to such an end! He picked up a clean, new scroll and his finest quill.
Grief counseling, perhaps, but thinking of her still made his stomach flutter and spirits lift. And her paper and handwriting were so pretty! He had to impress her, too.