It was subtle. Barely noticed by anyone really.

For Ginny, she only just caught the way Harry and Cedric had started to stick closer to each other. Their seats were inches apart when they sat at the dinner table. Their bodies and feet angled just that tiny bit toward each other even when they weren't the ones locked in conversation. As Ginny looked at them from time to time, she wondered how they had managed to get so close so fast.

For Fred and George, they noticed how much less, they jolted awake in the middle of the night; Cedric's gibberish sleep-talk either quietening down or no longer happening as the days went on. Sometimes when they woke up, they'd find Cedric fast asleep, his lavender incense still lit but their bedroom window also cracked open, letting air in. They figured that it was all due to some potion Cedric kept—a cup of something sweet that would often sit on his bedside table each night and always emptied by the next morning; but they had yet to figure out that the 'potion' was actually chamomile tea.
They also had yet to notice that it was Harry, who always at the stove, boiling the kettle in late evenings.

In a similar fashion, Hermione would catch a whiff of lavender whenever Cedric passed, and would wonder to herself why the name of the flower came so quickly to her head—it was so fresh on her mind, like she had used it recently… But she couldn't recall ever reading a single herbology book this summer. It began to trouble her so much that in the time she spent thinking about it, she didn't even remember all the self-care advice that she had given to Harry weeks ago while on the other hand, Ron could not forget the list of things that he and Hermione came up with for Harry. Just in case. It was also the most the reading he'd ever done out of school after all, and how could he overlook such information after hours spent scouring his mum's blimmin' Wizards Weekly magazines!

Ron knew that Harry would make two cups of tea, one for himself and then for Cedric each night, but he brushed it off. Of course they're close. They had gone through a lot together.

They're just trying to deal with it now.
But then again, Cedric did spend a lot of his time in their bedroom, the three of them playing cards or both Harry and Cedric teaming up to try and beat Ron at chess (Cedric somehow did it once, but hadn't been able to do it since). It was a little odd and for some reason, something twitched in Ron's head, like a cog that didn't have the rest of the machine to spin. And so he wouldn't quite connect the dots until much later, coming to find Harry's new habit of playing around with his hair before they went downstairs for breakfast each morning; a little different but nothing else indicative. (Though in all fairness, nobody would figure out fully, not even Harry.)

It was just too subtle. Rarely noticed by any of Harry's friends, but..

It was different for the adults.

For Mrs Weasley, she was surprised to come down to the kitchen and see Harry and Cedric already up, a large breakfast of pancakes made and kept warm in the oven while they stood at the counter and—oh.

She watched as Cedric enveloped Harry into a hug, his body leaning into Harry's arms while he wrapped his own like a cross against Harry's back. Mrs Weasley couldn't see Harry's expression, but Cedric's was in plain and unfiltered view; his eyes screwed tight as he talked, mouth hesitant, stuttering. Arms constricting around Harry but careful not to wrap too tightly.

Fred, George, Ron and even Hermione and Ginny had always talked about how perfect Cedric was, gushing or groaning about how princely he acted. But that was not the boy in front of her, he clung to Harry, desperate, tired; a normal child. And it hurt Mrs Weasley in a way she thought she'd gotten used to, so much that she wanted to leap from the door and hug Cedric herself; but she just couldn't get it in her to leave the shadows.

There was just something about the air around them, like it was politely asking that no one interrupt. The sight of Harry and Cedric holding onto each other with all their might… she couldn't interfere with that. And so she kept quiet and kept watching, and she was glad she did because soon and very suddenly, Harry laughed—

A real laugh that made him turn and bend, a little, towards the floor; bubbling and high-pitched like he couldn't quite get it out or hold it in. Mrs Weasley wondered how long it had been since Grimmauld had heard such genuine laughter, the kind that brightened your face and made him look younger than the hills—the kind that made Cedric flush with pleasure; obviously he made the joke.
She didn't wonder how they got from emotional hugging to laughter, it distilled the room and like a charm she felt her spirit raise and a smile on her face and in all honesty—

Ah.

Mrs Weasley could only sigh, turning and giving them a few minutes more. She wondered how long it had been since she had heard Harry laugh, so much and as soft and as beautiful as this.

For Sirius, he was hit by a sense of deja vu as he watched Cedric during cleaning days. At first it was out of caution, but then it morphed into a strange intrigue, not because of any peculiar methods that Cedric used to clear the walls of cobwebs and spiders—no, Sirius was more interested in how Cedric seemed to gravitate towards Harry, the both of them always somehow meeting and eventually standing side by side even when they had put into opposite corners of the room. Like a loop, they'd always become too occupied in their own conversations and so frequently caught in their own distraction that Harry would consistently mop only one spot of the floor, while Cedric feathered the same already clean wall, half a dozen times.

It was so strange.

Like watching some sort of magnet, slowly, being drawn towards another. A dance that pulled, the music tucked underneath their subconscious, but—

Ah.

Sirius realized what the deja vu was. His eyes widened and he didn't know what to think, instead turning around and leaving the room as quietly he could; his heart going thud thud thud.

Oh. It was still there. A dated choreo that he knew better than his own name, Harry and Cedric's dance beating to the rhythm of an old song Sirius kept thrummed in his heart.

It was the same one that he and Remus had danced to, long ago.