Harry: Potter.4

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.

Harry nearly fell in. Cedric Diggory emerged from behind a yew tree, looking annoyingly calm in his Hufflepuff pajamas, a steaming mug in his hand. Harry Potter.4

The tent was huge — silk panels embroidered with magical beasts, braziers burning low blue flames. But the other three Champions weren’t there. Fleur’s sleeping area was sealed with a shimmering charm; Krum’s side smelled of salt and iron; Cedric’s hammock swayed empty, probably off walking the edge of the Forbidden Forest again. Harry hesitated, then took the mug

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. Just a kitchen

Harry stayed a few more minutes, then headed back. He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t feel ready.

“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.”

And when he finally crawled into bed, he dreamed not of fire — but of wind, open sky, and a broom handle warm under his palms.