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.
Here’s a short story set during Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire — filling in a moment the book doesn’t show. The night before the First Task, Harry couldn’t sleep.
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
Harry stayed a few more minutes, then headed back. He didn’t feel brave. He didn’t feel ready.
Ron was snoring in the next bed, still not talking to him. Hermione had sent him a message via a tiny, folded paper crane that morning: “Read about Swiveling Distraction Spells. Page 394.” But Harry had barely opened Magical Me without wanting to throw it across the tent. 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.
“Dried currants. Very flammable, apparently.” Cedric took a sip from his mug. “Want some tea? It’s from my mum’s thermos. Stays hot for a month.” Just a kitchen
He walked back toward the tent, leaving Harry alone under a scatter of cold stars.