Dark

Chapter 38

Eleanor
“The end,” Dumlbedore said, looking around the Great Hall, “of another year.”
We were all here. All the students, teachers, and staff of Hogwarts, everyone from both Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. We were all here, sitting in the Great Hall and that was what made this the one place I absolutely didn’t want to be.
“There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight,” Dumbledore continued, “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.
“Cedric Diggory was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguished Hufflepuff House. 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.”
My breath hitched in my throat. Not once did I look up toward Dumbledore, not even now. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to look at anyone. I didn’t want anyone to look at me. So I sat here, staring straight ahead. I didn’t need to look around me to know that the Hufflepurrs had been crying. I didn’t need to look around me to see that each and every person here looked defeated. I didn’t need to look. I could feel it, I could sense it. I could feel it so acutely that it tore at my insides, twisted my guts, and set my brain on fire.
“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”
A panicked whisper swept over the Hall.
“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore said, “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.”
I tried to tune out the words, to keep myself from listening. But it was impossible. Every syllable reminded me of that night, every word reminded me of the pain and the loss, and every sentence reminded me that it was my fault. I pushed Harry and Cedric to that cup, I made the two of them take it, and Cedric died because of that.
The guilt is unbearable. It was like a constantly tightening band around my chest, making every breath I took harder to find than the next. It was a shakiness that made my legs weak and my muscles ache. It was a cloud that fogged my mind and separated me from everyone else. It was overwhelming, and all consuming.
Suddenly I felt a warmth on my hand, a pressure that seemed to comfort me, even in the smallest possible way. I looked down, turning my eyes from the spot I had been focusing on since the moment I had sat down. My hand, which moments ago had simply been sitting alone on my leg, was now covered. The hand atop mind belonged to the person siting to my right, and that person was Draco Malfoy.
I couldn’t explain why his presence now provided me with comfort. I couldn’t tell you why him being there when I woke up in the hospital wing helped me to calm down. I couldn’t tell you why I reached out for his hand as I slipped back into sleep. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t mind his hand being against my own now. It didn’t make sense. Never before had the presence of another person made me feel stronger, but in this moment, it did.
“There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric’s death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter.”
And with one sentence, that comfort was gone again. What Harry faced in that graveyard…that was my fault too.
“Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him.
“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. Every guest in this Hal 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.”
There was a pause, and I could hear the heartbreak and the fear in the sniffles and sharp breaths that sounded throughout the Hall.
“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.
“Now I ask that the other champions stand.”
Beside me, Viktor stood. I wanted more than anything to just leave the Hall, to get away from everyone around me. Yet here I was, stuck and surrounded. And Dumbledore wanted me to stand, to be a part of the center of attention again. Viktor placed a hand on my shoulder, and I reluctantly stood beside him.
“Let our champions be a reminder that even when we lose someone, and even when we suffer greatly, we can still recover, we can still stand together. No matter where we’re from, no matter our pasts, we can stand strong together.
“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.”
That was it. That was the end. The end of a horrid year.
Without waiting for Malfoy, without a glance at Viktor, without a moment spared to look for Harry among the hundreds of heads in the hall, I left. I just couldn’t be surrounded by them all any longer.

Draco
Silence. That was how we walked down the train, in silence.
I’ve hardly heard more than three words from Eleanor since she woke up in the hospital wing. She doesn’t speak to me, she doesn’t speak to Astoria, she doesn’t speak to anyone. I’ve tried to talk to her, tried to make sense of what was going on in her head. But it was impossible.
I found the compartment that was occupied by the other fourth year boys from Slytherin. I opened the door and stepped aside, letting Eleanor enter first. There were quiet hellos from Zabini and Nott, small nods from Crabbe and Goyle. Eleanor still said nothing. She took a seat next to the window and as I took my own seat across from her, I watched her lay her head against the window’s frame.
By the time the train was rolling out of Hogsmeade station, Eleanor’s eyes were closed and her breathing was steady. She was asleep, her head propped against the window pane, her legs pulled up into the seat with her.
“Has she said anything yet?”
I turned away from Eleanor to find everyone watching me.
“No, not really…”
“Do you think she believes Potter?” Nott asked.
“I have no idea.” I said.
Eventually the conversation turned away from Eleanor and Potter, away from the rumors that were circulating about the Dark Lord’s return. We spent the journey to King’s Cross talking about Quidditch, our families, plans for the holidays. It was normal, and somehow that felt strange.

Harry
The door of our train compartment slid open and Ron, Hermione, and I looked up to see Fred and George stepping in.
“Exploding Snap, anyone?” Fred asked, pulling a pack of cards from his pocket.
The journey passed pleasantly enough, though I wished it could have gone on all summer. Knowing that I would have to return to the Dusrsley’s once we reached the station was a discouraging thought. Another summer spent in solitude, wishing I could leave for the Burrow.
It was all too soon that the train began to slow. We all stood and grabbed our bags from the luggage racks overhead. It wasn’t until Ron and Hermione had left the compartment that the thought hit me.
“Fred – George – wait a moment.”
The twins turned back toward me, halfway out the compartment door. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bag that Fudge had given me. I had tried to give it to Mrs. Weasley, and I had tried to give it to Eleanor, but they wouldn’t take it. Even the Diggory’s refused it.
“Take it,” I said, holding the bag out to the twins.
“What?” Fred asked, looking flabbergasted.
“Take it,” I said. “I don’t want it.”
“You’re mental,” George said. “What about Eleanor? Doesn’t she want it?”
“She wouldn’t take, she just handed it back to me.” I said. “Just take it, it’s for your joke shop.”
“He is mental.” Fred concluded.
“Listen,” I said 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 I 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,” George said weakly, taking the bag in hand and feeling the weight of it, “there’s got to be a thousand Galleons in here.”
“Yeah. Think how many Canary Creams that is.”
The twins just stood there, staring at me in disbelief.
“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…”
I made my way past the Weasley twins, determined to not give them an opportunity to give the money back. I couldn’t keep it, it was a weight I didn’t want to carry. The weight of a prize that never belonged to me.
When I made my way through the enchanted barrier between the Hogwarts platform and the rest of King’s Cross, I immediately spotted the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley pulled me into a tight hug as she whispered in my ear, “I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry.”
As she pulled away, I spotted the Dursleys standing farther off, watching us all apprehensively. Then I saw her. Eleanor was visible just beyond them, her long black hair swaying over the bump of the backpack that she had slung over one shoulder.
I couldn’t help but watch as she walked toward the doors of the station and left. There was no one there to meet her, no one there to pick her up. She was alone.