Harry and I returned to Gryffindor Tower the following evening. From what Hermione and Ron told us, Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast. He had merely requested that everyone leave Harry and me alone, that nobody asks us questions or badger us to tell the story of what had happened in the maze. Most people, I noticed, were skirting us in the corridors, avoiding our eyes. Some whispered behind their hands as we passed. I guessed that many of them had believed Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous we were. Perhaps they were formulating their own theories about how Cedric had died. I found I didn't care very much. I liked it best when I was with Harry, Ron, and Hermione and we were talking about other things, or else letting us sit in silence while they played chess. I felt as though all four of us had reached an understanding we 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 we knew anything for certain. The only time we touched upon the subject was when Ron told Harry and me 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. But Maisey can come with us."
"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 Harry, Ron, and Hermione that I felt able to talk to was Hagrid. As there was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, we had those lessons free. We 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.
Hagrid told us all about his and Madame Maxime's (Olympe) mission Dumbledore gave him; all vague details. It didn't last long as we needed to head off to the end-of-term feast.
When Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered the Hall, we 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. I knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect to Cedric.
Professor Dumbledore 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."
We did it, all of us; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."
I caught a glimpse of Cho through the crowd. There were tears pouring silently down her face. I looked down at the table as we 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." I raised my head and stared at Dumbledore after giving Harry a frightened glance.
"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 his own, is an insult to his memory."
Stunned and frightened, every face in the Hall was turned toward Dumbledore now... or almost every face. Over at the Slytherin table, I saw Draco Malfoy muttering something to Crabbe and Goyle. I felt a hot, sick swoop of anger and hatred in my stomach. I forced myself to look back at Dumbledore.
"There are two other people who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore went on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry and Maisey Potter."
A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall as a few heads turned in our direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore.
"Harry and Maisey Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "They risked their own lives to return Cedric's body to Hogwarts. They showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor them."
Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and me and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. They murmured 'the Potters', as they had murmured Cedric's, and drank to us. But through a gap in the standing figures, I saw that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and many of the other Slytherins had remained defiantly in their seats, their goblets untouched. I didn't care. And Dumbledore, who after all possessed no magical eye, did not see them.
When everyone had once again resumed their seats, Dumbledore continued, "The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened— of Lord Voldemort's return— such ties are more important than ever before."
Dumbledore looked from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs at the Slytherin table. Krum looked wary, almost frightened, as though he expected Dumbledore to say something harsh.
"Every guest in this Hall," said Dumbledore, and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, "will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again— in the light of Lord Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.
"It is my belief— and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken— that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst.
"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."
The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King's Cross than it had been on their way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had managed to get a compartment to ourselves. Pigwidgeon was once again hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him from hooting continually; Hedwig was dozing, her head under her wing, Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion, and Gydion sat at my feet. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I talked more fully and freely than we had all week as the train sped us southward. I felt as though Dumbledore's speech at the Leaving Feast had unblocked me, somehow. It was less painful to discuss what had happened now. We broke off our conversation about what action Dumbledore might be taking, even now, to stop Voldemort only when the lunch trolley arrived.
When Hermione returned from the trolley and put her money back into her schoolbag, she dislodged a copy of the Daily Prophet that she had been carrying in there. I looked at it, unsure whether I really wanted to know what it might say, but Hermione, seeing me looking at it, said calmly, "There's nothing in there. You two can look for yourselves, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task saying you two won the tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."
"He'll never keep Rita quiet," I said. "Not on a story like this."
"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," said Hermione in an oddly constrained voice. "As a matter of fact," she added, her voice now trembling slightly, "Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."
"What are you talking about?" said Ron.
"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming onto the grounds," said Hermione in a rush.
I had the impression that Hermione had been dying to tell us this for days, but that she had restrained herself in light of everything else that had happened.
"How was she doing it?" said Harry at once.
"How did you find out?" said Ron, staring at her.
"What could she have possibly done to get all the information?" I said.
"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry," she said.
"Did I?" said Harry, perplexed. "How?"
"Bugging," said Hermione happily.
"But you said they didn't work—"
"Oh not electronic bugs," said Hermione.
"No, you see‚ Rita Skeeter" — Hermione's voice trembled with quiet triumph — "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —" Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. "— into a beetle."
"You're kidding," I breathed. "You haven't— she's not..."
"Oh yes she is," said Hermione happily, brandishing the jar at them.
Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle.
"That's never — you're kidding —" Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes.
"No, I'm not," said Hermione, beaming. "I caught her on the windowsill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."
I looked and saw that she was quite right.
"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!"
"Exactly," said Hermione. "And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."
"When we saw Malfoy under that tree..." said Ron slowly.
"He was talking to her, in his hand," said Hermione. "He knew, of course. That's how she's been getting all those nice little interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid."
Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass.
"I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London," said Hermione. "I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."
Smiling serenely, Hermione placed the beetle back inside her schoolbag. The door of the compartment slid open.
"Very clever, Granger," said Draco Malfoy.
Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him. All three of them looked more pleased with themselves, more arrogant and more menacing, than I had ever seen them.
"So," said Malfoy slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips. "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potters' Dumbledore's favorites again. Big deal."
"Shut the fuck up, Malfoy," I said dangerously low.
His smirk widened. Crabbe and Goyle leered.
"Trying not to think about it, are we?" said Malfoy softly, looking around at all four of us. "Trying to pretend it hasn't happened?"
"Get out," I seethed. "Draco Malfoy, get out of this compartment! Stay away from us!"
I had not been this close to Malfoy since I had watched him muttering to Crabbe and Goyle during Dumbledore's speech about Cedric. I could feel a kind of ringing in my ears. I put my hand over my wrist, getting ready to pull out my wand.
"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!" He jerked his head at me, Ron, and Hermione. "Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well— second— Diggory was the f—"
It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, I blinked and looked down at the floor.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. I, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on our feet, all four of us having used a different hex. Nor were we the only ones to have done so.
"Thought we'd see what those three were up to," said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside.
"Interesting effect," said George, looking down at Crabbe. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"
"Me," said Harry.
"Odd," said George lightly. "I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn't be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let's not leave them here, they don't add much to the decor."
Ron, Harry, and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle— each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit— out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.
"Exploding Snap, anyone?" said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards.
We were halfway through our fifth game when I remembered something.
"You going to tell us, then?" I said to Fred. "Who you were blackmailing?"
"Oh," said George darkly. "That."
"It doesn't matter," said Fred, shaking his head impatiently. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."
"We've given up," said George, shrugging.
But Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I kept on asking and finally weaseled it out of them. They had been blackmailing Bagman because he gave them leprechaun gold on their bet from the Quidditch World Cup last summer.
"Hasn't got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?" Fred said.
"How?" said Harry.
"He put a bet on you, mate," said Fred. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins."
"So that's why he kept trying to help me win!" said Harry. "Well— I did win, didn't I? So he can pay you your gold!"
"Nope," said George, shaking his head. "The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory and Mousey, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task."
George sighed deeply and started dealing out the cards again.
The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, carrying their trunks. Harry and I, however, stayed put as we silently agreed on something.
"Fred— George— wait a moment."
The twins turned as Harry and I open our trunks and pulled out our Triwizard winnings.
"Take it," he said, and he thrust his sack into George's hands while I gave Fred mine.
"What?" said Fred, looking flabbergasted.
"Take it," I said firmly. "We don't want it."
"You're both mental," said George, trying to push them back at us.
"No, we're not," I said. "You take it, and get inventing. It's for the joke shop."
"Listen," said Harry firmly. "If you don't take it, I'm throwing it down the drain. I don't want it and I don't need it. But we could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I've got a feeling we're going to need them more than usual before long."
"Harry, Maisey," said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, "there's got to be a thousand Galleons in here."
"Yeah," said Harry, grinning. "Think how many Canary Creams that is."
The twins stared at us.
"Just don't tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry anymore, come to think of it..."
"Maisey," Fred began, but I pulled out m wand.
"Look," I said flatly, "take it, or I'll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me one favor, okay? Buy Ron some different dress robes and say they're from you."
Harry and I left the compartment before they could say another word, stepping over Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were still lying on the floor, covered in hex marks.
Uncle Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier for Harry. Mrs. Weasley was close by him, waiting for me and the Weasleys. She hugged Harry very tightly when she saw him and whispered something in his ear.
"See you, Harry," said Ron, clapping him on the back.
" 'Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek. " 'Bye, Maise!"
"See you later this summer, yeah?" I said to Hermione, who nodded. " 'Bye, Harry," I sighed sadly and gave him one last hug before going over to Mrs. Weasley.
"Harry— thanks," George muttered, while Fred nodded fervently at his side.
Harry winked at them, turned to Uncle Vernon, and followed him silently from the station.
"Mousey, are you sure—"
"I'm telling you, I throw a mean hex," I whispered warningly to Fred.
"Alright you three," Mrs. Weasley said to me, Fred, and George. "Let's get a move on, we have loads to do this summer."
And with that, we left.