One year later

The Headmaster's office is darkened, the portraits snoring against their frames, when Cedric slips soundlessly through the door. A few mysterious devices spark and jitter as the heavy door shuts behind him with a soft click.

Cedric's only been here a few times, mostly last year, due to his being a prefect. It hasn't changed much in the year he's been away. However, the room that was so inviting in the friendly, warm glow of the torches, is now an eerily lit, haunted darkness in which the snores of headmasters past and the soft whirring of magical instruments sound uncomfortably like the slow breathing of something large, dangerous, and infinitely patient, wondering why such a tasty morsel has willingly wandered into its lair.

Cedric finds that, now that he's back, he feels awkward, out of place. And not just because he snuck onto school grounds while the gate was open to admit the last few stragglers from the Hogwarts Express. The protection on the school is surprisingly strong, security tighter even than during his fifth year, when Dementors patrolled the grounds. If the gate hadn't been open, Cedric knows he'd never have made it in undetected. He's not sure how he'll get out again, either.

The uneasy feeling of being out of place doesn't come solely from the fact that he's in the Headmaster's office without permission or the presence of Dumbledore himself, either, although it does compound the problem. It's one thing to be given the password to a place he isn't technically supposed to be, and quite another to pluck that password from someone's brain. The feeling also isn't due to the muggle clothes Cedric is wearing – he's dressed like this around the castle on weekends and holidays, although never while he was actually in the Headmaster's office.

No. It isn't any of these things. It's simply that he doesn't belong here anymore. Not here, in Dumbledore's office, while the Headmaster is giving a speech at the Welcoming Feast; not here, in the castle, where he no longer has classes; not here, in this world, where he no longer has a life.

As if on cue, the door swings wide, and Dumbledore enters, carrying with him an almost overpowering stench of decay. Wordlessly, he walks as though every step is costing him to the tall desk at the back of the room and sits – no, slumps – heavily down in the high-backed chair. Cedric is shocked. The Head of Hogwarts has always seemed indestructible, a pillar of strength ready and able to defeat whatever threat may face the school and its students. But here, in the darkness of the office, in the privacy of his inner sanctum, Cedric cannot believe how human Dumbledore seems. Never before has he looked truly old, but the way his lined face now sinks into his gnarled hands makes Cedric wonder just how long Dumbledore has been here, protecting Hogwarts and her students from threats they may not even realize are there.

"Longer than you can imagine, although it's only half as long as I've had on this benighted, wonderful planet," Dumbledore says unexpectedly. "I know you're there, Mister Diggory. If you desire to talk with me, please do so now, before my patience with these silly games comes to an end."

Cedric doesn't bother to ask why, or how. He just steps forward, toward the desk. Dumbledore straightens perceptibly; where before, he was a bowed, almost defeated old man, he now becomes again the wizard whom Cedric knows and respects, although a good deal wearier.

Dumbledore sighs, and waves a hand. Around the office, torches flicker to life. A blaze springs up from the embers in the fireplace, its crackling rivaling the snores of the portraits lining the walls. Vague shapes resolve themselves, menacing shadows retreat, and the office is again full of the reassuring warmth Cedric remembers. For a moment, Cedric is speechless with jealousy and loss. When he finds his voice again, everything he'd intended to tell the Headmaster, all of his carefully rehearsed explanations, evaporate into irrelevancy. "You knew."

Dumbledore smiles sadly. "I suspected. The Killing Curse does not usually obliterate its victim's body. And when you did not return, I was forced to assume that you couldn't. Likely because you were dead, but there was always the slim chance."

he'd wanted to share that faint hope with the Diggorys, toss Amos a lifeline – but he hadn't. The look on Demeter's face – he never wanted to see it again, and if he told them that Cedric might still be alive, and then the opposite proved to be true –

Of course, now that the Dark Lord had returned, Demeter would not be the only mother left without her child, her face not the only picture of utter, complete grief and despair. And it was there and then that he made a promise to himself. There would be no 'defeating' this dark wizard, no imprisonment, no mercy. There would be no more despairing faces. He would not pause, would not rest, until the thing that had once been a man named Tom Riddle was destroyed.

"I would advise you to cease attempting to probe my mind," Dumbledore says conversationally, as Cedric pinches the bridge of his nose and winces at the sudden stabbing pains shooting through his sinuses. "You may have an immense amount of raw talent, but I've had much more practice at keeping you out than you have at getting in, and it will only end in headaches for both of us. Not to mention that you might not like some of what you find among those memories."

Cedric nods, and his head throbs. "I'm…sorry," he manages. "It's… I seem to do it without really noticing, sir."

"Hmm." Dumbledore stands, with a swish of his robes, and the smell of decay hits Cedric again. "If I'm not mistaken, this may have contributed to your timely departure. Based on Mr. Potter's account, I've been trying to puzzle out how you might have disappeared. If you had not anticipated the curse, it was highly unlikely that you would have had any time to even consider escaping, let alone Apparate away. Harry has said that Lord Voldemort -" Cedric can't suppress a flinch; he isn't used to hearing that name being spoken aloud – "gave instructions to his servant to kill you, and that the curse followed almost instantaneously. According to him, there wasn't time to move, to think, just a flash and you had disappeared. But this may provide the final piece of the puzzle."

"You think I read…You-Know-Who's mind?" Cedric can't keep a note of disbelief from his voice.

"He has worked very hard to become as accomplished a Legilimens as he is, but this doesn't mean he's invulnerable. Weakened as he was, and with his mind so completely on the task at hand…and if you were even a fraction as powerful then as you are now…well, perhaps you can enlighten me as to what, exactly, happened?" Dumbledore clears his throat, reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small tin. "Lemon drop?" he asks, even as he pops one of the proffered sweets into his own mouth. The sickly-sweet scent of them mingled with the decay clinging to the Headmaster makes Cedric want to retch. He settles for politely declining.

Dumbledore looks mildly surprised. "They're one of my favourites," he says mildly, before tucking the tin away in his flowing robes. "So. I'm very curious. What kept you from returning for a full year? And why, flattering though it may be, have you come here instead of going to your parents?"

"I -" Cedric finds that, despite the thousands of times he's run through this very scenario in his mind, he's unsure of where or how to start. "You may be the only person I know in the wizarding world who would understand my…predicament." He takes a deep breath, more out of habit than need. "I don't remember much of what actually happened in the graveyard…"

just the fear, almost overpowering, thick as the fog swirling around his ankles, and the strong sense of unease, growing by the second, something wasn't right and he was glad Harry'd made him take the Cup as well, he wouldn't want to be here alone and it's then that he remembers Harry and if Harry thinks this is part of the task Harry could be in very serious danger and

"Wands out, d'you reckon?"

and a high, cold voice, a voice he would very much like to never hear again, a voice that seemed to lance through Cedric and leave him exposed and pinned like a butterfly on corkboard, a voice that would kill merely because you were in its way, a voice that Cedric would have given anything to just get away from and that seemed to burrow right into his very thoughts

"If I Apparated, I don't remember doing it, though I must have, I guess. I wasn't thinking about it, though, because I didn't decide to do it or where I wanted to go. I just wanted to get away." Cedric pauses, and Dumbledore motions for him to continue. "When I regained consciousness, I was in another country. On another continent. I don't think I've ever done a spell quite so powerful."

Dumbledore nods assent. "It was quite impressive, and powerful enough that a few of my friends were able to trace the residual magic all the way to the Olympic Peninsula. In North America. They found you had emerged a few miles from a small town with a most unusual name. However, the trail went cold there. We were forced to assume the worst." His blue eyes seem to bore into Cedric.

"Your…friends…went into Forks to look for me?" And this, right here, is the hard part. Cedric would rather avoid it, if it had been at all possible, but instead he grits his teeth and plunges forward. "Did they, by any chance, mention meeting a family of vampires?"

There's no sign of surprise from Dumbledore, and some sixth sense prods Cedric. He knew. The lemon drops were a test. Nothing gets past the Headmaster.

"I had considered the possibility," Dumbledore finally admits, turning his back to Cedric to stare into the flames. "But I had hoped to be proven wrong."

The fire hisses and pops in the grate. One of the portraits snuffles loudly and turns over in his sleep.

"There was a time when you would have been dismembered, burnt, and your ashes scattered over a river," Dumbledore says, finally turning to face Cedric again. "Nowadays, the Ministry will merely require you to register yourself, and to follow a certain set of guidelines…" And there's definitely a twinkle of mischief in the Headmaster's eye as he adds, "Although by the time you've been worked through the system, you might wish they'd been merciful and just burnt you."

Cedric can't help but smile. His father's complained about the bureaucratic machinations of the Ministry of Magic often enough. But his tone is serious when he says, 'I don't intend to register."

"Then why, may I ask, do you need my help?"

Cedric nervously fiddles with the bottom button of his charcoal-grey peacoat. It's just for show – the cold doesn't bother him, not anymore – but he's come to like it. Especially at times like this, when it gives him something to turn over and over mindlessly when he doesn't want to think about what he's going to have to say. It's a miracle his voice doesn't catch when he answers, "I need to die."

The look on Dumbledore's face leaves Cedric with no doubt that this is the only man the Dark Lord has ever fears. "If you've come here to ask for me to destroy you -"

"No." Cedric shoves both hands into his pockets. "I think you've misunderstood me. I can't go back to my life. Not like it was before. And for my parents to know I'm…alive…but to be unable to have their son back would be far worse than to give them false hope and then dash it. I just – I just want them to be able to live again. I want to be able to live again." He takes another breath, remembers to blink. "And for that to happen, Cedric Diggory has to die."

Nothing moves but the fire.

From his pocket, Cedric takes the thing that's been practically a part of him for six long years, six long, agonizing, wonderful years. His wand clicks quietly as he sets it down on the Headmaster's desk.

"You're the only person I could have told this to," Cedric mutters, glad that there's no physical way he could be blushing at the awkwardness of this situation. "You're the only one I could trust to do this for me. Please -"

well, it worked for Peter Pettigrew

"I did advise you not to do that," Dumbledore says as Cedric clutches his temples. "So. The death of Cedric Diggory is officially confirmed?"

Cedric nods.

"It will be a great relief to his parents to finally have an answer after over a year of wondering. It's a pity that the remains could not be found, but his wand will be returned to his parents when they are informed of the death." Dumbledore sits back down, lending a sort of finality to his words. "And rest assured that I will deliver the news myself."

Cedric breathes out. "Thank you." Oh, Merlin, thank you. Thank you.

"Hrm." Dumbledore toys with his wand, idly, causing a small shower of blue sparks. "How did you get into the castle?"

"The gates were still open. There were a few students who were late getting off the train. And I'm very fast. No one saw me come here."

"And perhaps it would be better if no one saw you leave." The Headmaster stands again. "Would I be correct in assuming you no longer have any magical ability?"

It stings, even though Cedric was half-expecting it. "Just the Legilimency, sir."

"Then I will ask you to take my arm. I should still be able to take you with me through Side-Along Apparation -" Cedric realizes the face he must be making when Dumbledore says, softly, "You would have passed your test on the first try. It's truly a pity that you didn't have a chance to take it. Braggart though he is, your father was at least correct – you were an exceptional wizard."

Cedric turns the full force of his glower on his feet. He doesn't need to be reminded.

"But not, I suspect, quite so exceptional as the person you were – and still are, if I'm any judge."

Cedric looks up, surprised. "Sir – I ran away. I left Harry Potter -"

"And if you plan to define yourself by that one event, I can assure you that your new life will be a miserable one." Rather than thunderous, Dumbledore seems…saddened. "You are not a coward. If you fail to see that, you will be wasting so much potential, so many opportunities."

"I gave up. Just when it mattered most, I -" Cedric stops when he sees the look the Headmaster is giving him. "I just don't know if I can trust myself," he mumbles lamely to his feet.

"Oh, I don't know. If not, then who can you trust?" Dumbledore smiles crookedly as he offers Cedric his arm. Just before he feels the all-too-familiar sensation of being jammed down a very small tube, Cedric is sure he hears Dumbledore say, "However, you are going to have to call yourself something other than Cedric Diggory."

Cedric has to admit that he hadn't actually considered that. But it's all right. He'll think of something.

After all, he does have forever.


AN: Yes, yes, Hermione, stop hitting me with Hogwarts: A History. I know. But the movieverse! The movieverse!

So I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this because I have actually enjoyed writing it. Possibly a little overmuch. If sparkly drabblings pop up on my account hereafter do not be surprised.

And yes, that is the ending. Lame? I'm not sure anymore, I've been staring at it for too long. Epilogue? Maybe. Stay tuned? Only if you feel like it.

Thank you guys, though. I do appreciate that you put the time and effort into finishing this with me. I'm gonna miss your comments like you don't even KNOW. I hope you liked it, and that you're not going to go crash your motorbikes and jump off cliffs just in case it'll coerce me to write more (and yes, yes, I know, lame bad joke, but I already made a Potter one so I figured I'd make it even).

I'm signing off now because if I don't I'll make more terrible jokes. Liz ouuuuuut.