In a couple of fine, black strokes, Harry wrote a brief letter. A comforting letter. A sympathetic letter. He told her of the awful night, as she had wished to know. Of Cedric's bravery and such. Then, too overcome with emotion, he signed his name and gave the scroll to Hedwig for her to send.
Then Harry collapsed on his bed, depressed. This, by far, was the absolute worst summer he had ever had. Not only had he had to stay with the Durselys, something that now seemed the easiest thing in the world; he had to face the facts that Cedric was dead, killed by Voldemort returned to power.
Dark thoughts...evil thoughts...Harry had to get them out of mind. Anything, anything to cheer himself up. He just had to escape this cruel reality he was trapped in.. He bent down to the loose floor board and pulled out some fresh cake from Mrs. Weasley. Cutting himself a generous slice, he felt a bit better. The rich and creamy chocolate taste lifted his spirits a bit and the world didn't seem so dark.
He climbed into bed with the chocolate taste still in his mouth and fell asleep peacefully that night with thoughts of Cho.
*************************************************************************************
That summer they corresponded often, Harry and Cho. To keep each other minds of "The Incident" - as they called it - they talked about anything else. If it was not related to death, Hufflepuff, Cedric, Voldemort, or the magical world's situation, they spoke of it. Harry told a few too many secrets he shouldn't have about Ron and Hermione; not to mention the embarrassing details about the Durselys' personal life. Cho replied about her own family and their Chinese customs; about practicing Quidditch without Muggles sighting her broom; about life as a Ravenclaw; and about her 5th year friends.
Receiving her letters gave Harry comfort - great comfort - and lightened his heart. He cheered up for each letter of hers he read. Many a night would he wake up to stare out the window waiting for the glossy black owl he now knew as Shadow to arrive. Hedwig grew weary after so many journeys, that Harry - after neglecting his friends for the most part - wrote as an excuse to use their owls to carry Cho's letters as well as their own.
Harry stayed locked in room as much as possible - writing or reading letters - and even the Dursleys suspected something. During meals, he appeared vacant and dreamy. This irritated his aunt and uncle.
"So, Harry, what have you been doing up there all summer?" Uncle Vernon asked one day, wanting to stop any magic that Harry might be plotting.
Harry didn't respond - with his head in his hand, he gazed out the kitchen window; yet not really focusing on anything in particular. He had a goofy smile on his lips and his starry eyes were distant.
"Harry!"
Still nothing.
Uncle Vernon, his face turning its usual beet purple, got up from his chair, stomped over, and shook the boy.
Harry, as if waking up from a dream - which, in a sense, he was - looked up innocently and asked, "What is it, Uncle Vernon?"
The furious man couldn't believe his nephew's impudence and just muttered, "Brain rotted by all this magic rubbish," before Harry fell back into hid daydreams.
"What is wrong with that boy?" Aunt Petunia said to her husband after Harry had dashed up the stairs.
"Told you that magic ruins them. The whole lot; they're all crazy. Mumbling and dreaming; it's no crowd to be associating with. I warned you from the beginning. We should never have taken him in."
Petunia, irritated that he was blaming HER; it wasn't her fault that her dratted sister turned out to be a witch and left her no-good son on their stairs, spat back,
"So what am I supposed to do now? Lock him in his room you like YOU did?"
She had hit a soft spot. A time when, after thinking he was finally in charge, Uncle Vernon had lost even that power.
"Oh, yes; you helped greatly, didn't you? Without your help Harry would have demolished the house!" He was bitingly sarcastic.
Mrs. Dursely was rarely this upset, but now all the supressed anger held back her entire life all spilled out, and Mr. Dursley was the unlucky victim.
"You think that you are the best at everything. That you can ssolve anything. With the letters - thought yourself so smart - barricading the house - driving us 10,000 kilometers away - very smart! Old Vernon can solve anything. But you can't. You can't solve anything. You didn't do anything then and you can't do anything now. You're a failure in life and wish I had never married you!"
"I'M the failure? Look at you - you're just a pathetic little housewife with nothing to her name. I'm the one bringing home the money....the one who feeds and clothes you...the one running a successful business.
"And if you want to insult me and wish things like that, maybe we SHOULD end this marriage, right now."
"Fine!" she spat back, eyes ablaze.
Dudley, hiding behind the stairs, burst into tears.
Then Harry collapsed on his bed, depressed. This, by far, was the absolute worst summer he had ever had. Not only had he had to stay with the Durselys, something that now seemed the easiest thing in the world; he had to face the facts that Cedric was dead, killed by Voldemort returned to power.
Dark thoughts...evil thoughts...Harry had to get them out of mind. Anything, anything to cheer himself up. He just had to escape this cruel reality he was trapped in.. He bent down to the loose floor board and pulled out some fresh cake from Mrs. Weasley. Cutting himself a generous slice, he felt a bit better. The rich and creamy chocolate taste lifted his spirits a bit and the world didn't seem so dark.
He climbed into bed with the chocolate taste still in his mouth and fell asleep peacefully that night with thoughts of Cho.
*************************************************************************************
That summer they corresponded often, Harry and Cho. To keep each other minds of "The Incident" - as they called it - they talked about anything else. If it was not related to death, Hufflepuff, Cedric, Voldemort, or the magical world's situation, they spoke of it. Harry told a few too many secrets he shouldn't have about Ron and Hermione; not to mention the embarrassing details about the Durselys' personal life. Cho replied about her own family and their Chinese customs; about practicing Quidditch without Muggles sighting her broom; about life as a Ravenclaw; and about her 5th year friends.
Receiving her letters gave Harry comfort - great comfort - and lightened his heart. He cheered up for each letter of hers he read. Many a night would he wake up to stare out the window waiting for the glossy black owl he now knew as Shadow to arrive. Hedwig grew weary after so many journeys, that Harry - after neglecting his friends for the most part - wrote as an excuse to use their owls to carry Cho's letters as well as their own.
Harry stayed locked in room as much as possible - writing or reading letters - and even the Dursleys suspected something. During meals, he appeared vacant and dreamy. This irritated his aunt and uncle.
"So, Harry, what have you been doing up there all summer?" Uncle Vernon asked one day, wanting to stop any magic that Harry might be plotting.
Harry didn't respond - with his head in his hand, he gazed out the kitchen window; yet not really focusing on anything in particular. He had a goofy smile on his lips and his starry eyes were distant.
"Harry!"
Still nothing.
Uncle Vernon, his face turning its usual beet purple, got up from his chair, stomped over, and shook the boy.
Harry, as if waking up from a dream - which, in a sense, he was - looked up innocently and asked, "What is it, Uncle Vernon?"
The furious man couldn't believe his nephew's impudence and just muttered, "Brain rotted by all this magic rubbish," before Harry fell back into hid daydreams.
"What is wrong with that boy?" Aunt Petunia said to her husband after Harry had dashed up the stairs.
"Told you that magic ruins them. The whole lot; they're all crazy. Mumbling and dreaming; it's no crowd to be associating with. I warned you from the beginning. We should never have taken him in."
Petunia, irritated that he was blaming HER; it wasn't her fault that her dratted sister turned out to be a witch and left her no-good son on their stairs, spat back,
"So what am I supposed to do now? Lock him in his room you like YOU did?"
She had hit a soft spot. A time when, after thinking he was finally in charge, Uncle Vernon had lost even that power.
"Oh, yes; you helped greatly, didn't you? Without your help Harry would have demolished the house!" He was bitingly sarcastic.
Mrs. Dursely was rarely this upset, but now all the supressed anger held back her entire life all spilled out, and Mr. Dursley was the unlucky victim.
"You think that you are the best at everything. That you can ssolve anything. With the letters - thought yourself so smart - barricading the house - driving us 10,000 kilometers away - very smart! Old Vernon can solve anything. But you can't. You can't solve anything. You didn't do anything then and you can't do anything now. You're a failure in life and wish I had never married you!"
"I'M the failure? Look at you - you're just a pathetic little housewife with nothing to her name. I'm the one bringing home the money....the one who feeds and clothes you...the one running a successful business.
"And if you want to insult me and wish things like that, maybe we SHOULD end this marriage, right now."
"Fine!" she spat back, eyes ablaze.
Dudley, hiding behind the stairs, burst into tears.