Encounter

As time silently slipped into late April, spring was drawing to a close before anyone realized it.

Whenever Hogwarts' young wizards frolicked across the lawns, they could increasingly clearly see the sunlight reflected off the Black Lake growing ever more dazzling. Bright weather had become the prevailing theme.

The second task of the Triwizard Tournament had ended in late February. Rather than being as exciting as people had expected, the match was scarcely discussed because of certain unknown reasons.

Even at Hogwarts, most young wizards were unwilling to talk about what had happened that day, because the story behind that abruptly interrupted competition was simply too heavy—so heavy that most people did not wish to face it.

The next Triwizard Tournament task had been scheduled for June, leaving a full four-month gap in between.

For the young wizards, four whole months without anything to set their blood racing was an unbearable torment. So Quidditch, that widely beloved sport, once again emerged. Having no official matches to watch was not much of a problem; the resourceful young wizards could organize amateur matches themselves.

From late March onward, nearly every weekend saw small groups arranging to compete on the Quidditch Pitch. The professors were also glad to see the children vent some of their pent-up feelings, so after merely reminding the students to be careful, they did not interfere further.

It was another warm, sunny weekend, and the glaring sunlight woke Harry, who had stayed up late the previous night catching up on homework.

The lanky boy lay sprawled across his four-poster bed, rubbed his bleary eyes, and groggily sat up.

Aside from Ron, who was still snoring away in his own bed, everyone else had vanished from the dormitory.

Harry yawned, kicked off the blanket tangled around his legs, and stumbled