'Night,' said Harry.
Maybe next time . . . if there was a next time . . . she'd be a bit happier. He ought to have asked her out; she had probably been expecting it and was now really angry with him . . . or was she lying in bed, still crying about Cedric? He did not know what to think. Hermione's explanation had made it all seem more complicated rather than easier to understand.
That's what they should teach us here, he thought, turning over on to his side, how girls' brains work . . . it'd be more useful than Divination, anyway . . .
Neville snuffled in his sleep. An owl hooted somewhere out in the night.
Harry dreamed he was back in the DA room. Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretences; she said he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog Cards if she showed up. Harry protested . . . Cho shouted, 'Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate Frog Cards, look!' And she pulled out fistfuls of Cards from inside her robes and threw them into the air. Then she turned into Hermione, who said, 'You did promise her, you know, Harry . . . I think you'd better give her something else instead . . . how about your Firebolt?' And Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt, because Umbridge had it, and anyway the whole thing w;3s ridiculous, he'd only come to the DA room to put up some Christmas baubles shaped like Dobby's head . . .
The dream changed . . .
His body felt smooth, powerful and flexible. He was gliding between shining metal bars, across dark, cold stone . . . he was flat against the floor, sliding along on his belly . . . it was dark, yet he could see objects around him shimmering in strange, vibrant colours . . . he was turning his head . . . at first glance the corridor was empty . . . but no . . . a man was sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on to his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark . . .
Harry put out his tongue . . . he tasted the man's scent on the air . . . he was alive but drowsy . . . sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor ..
Harry longed to bite the man . . . but he must master the impulse . . . he had more important work to do . . .
But the man was stirring . . . a silver Cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt . . . he had no choice . . . he reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the mans flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood . . .