Harry walked outside.
Harry stayed a few more minutes, then headed back. He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t feel ready.
But for the first time all week, he didn’t feel alone.
He sat up, pulled on his trainers, and crept out into the Champions’ enclosure. Harry Potter.4
“I’m thinking about dying,” Harry said flatly. “But running’s on the list.”
“No,” Harry said. “I didn’t.”
He didn’t go there. He went to the lake instead. Harry walked outside
“You didn’t put your name in,” Cedric added quietly.
He didn’t know which one yet. Didn’t matter. A dragon was a dragon. Fire, claws, teeth, and the kind of speed that made a Golden Snitch look like a polite invitation.
Cedric stood up, took his empty mug back, and said, “Tomorrow, when that dragon looks at you — don’t think about winning. Think about flying.” He didn’t feel ready
Harry hesitated, then took the mug. The tea was sweet and strong. It tasted like someone’s kitchen — not a castle’s, not a feast’s. Just a kitchen. A normal one.
Not because of the usual nightmares — though those had been worse lately, all flashing green light and high, cold laughter — but because of the dragon.
“You’re thinking about running.”
The water was black glass. The Durmstrang ship sat moored like a drowned bone. Harry sat on a flat rock and pulled his knees to his chest.
“Then you’ve already fought something worse than a dragon,” Cedric said. “You fought being thrown into something you didn’t choose. And you’re still here. That’s not luck, Potter. That’s spine.”