‘What d’you mean, I’m not brave when I’m in bed?’ said Harry, completely nonplussed. ‘What am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?’
‘I heard you last night,’ said Dudley breathlessly. ‘Talking in your sleep. Moaning.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Harry said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in his stomach. He had revisited the graveyard last night in his dreams.
Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.
‘“Don’t kill Cedric! Don’t kill Cedric!” Who’s Cedric – your boyfriend?’
‘I – you’re lying,’ said Harry automatically. But his mouth had gone dry. He knew Dudley wasn’t lying – how else would he know about Cedric?
‘“Dad! Help me, Dad! He’s going to kill me, Dad! Boo hoo!”’
‘Shut up,’ said Harry quietly. ‘Shut up, Dudley, I’m warning you!’
‘“Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He’s killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He’s going to –” Don’t you point that thing at me!’
Dudley backed into the alley wall. Harry was pointing the wand directly at Dudley’s heart. Harry could feel fourteen years’ hatred of Dudley pounding in his veins – what wouldn’t he give to strike now, to jinx Dudley so thoroughly he’d have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers …
