Early the next morning, in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Harry lay curled up in bed with his head buried deep in the soft covers. His physical injuries had healed, but he still felt miserable. And it wasn't entirely because of Voldemort...
The ward was warm, and students from Gryffindor and the other houses kept coming to visit. Among them were Cedric, who had recovered, and Cho Chang, who held his arm.
Harry reluctantly lifted a corner of his blanket and peered at Jerry across the ward, full of envy. Hermione, Fleur Delacour, and Catherine, whom he didn't know, had stayed by Jerry's bedside.
Luckily, Cedric's injuries hadn't been serious, and he'd recovered and left the Hospital Wing the night before. If he and Cho Chang had stayed like Jerry and the others...
Harry had spent the whole evening watching Cho Chang sit beside Cedric's bed. He hadn't wanted to listen, but he couldn't stop himself from eavesdropping on their whispered conversation. Forget a dreamless-sleep potion—even if Madam Pomfrey had given him the powerful sleeping draught, the Draught of Living Death, he still wouldn't have slept!
Dumbledore arrived at the ward early that morning. He first checked on Moody, who was still unconscious in a corner, then came over to Jerry and Harry and greeted them with a smile.
"Jerry, I just checked with Poppy. She says you can leave whenever you like," Dumbledore said gently. "Hermione, Miss Delacour, Fawley, why don't you three go down to the Great Hall for breakfast?"
"I'm fine now. You three go ahead. I'll meet you in the Great Hall once I'm out!" Jerry immediately understood that Dumbledore wanted to speak with him alone. Without needing to say another word, the two moved to the balcony outside the ward.
"Jerry, you're being a little too