f one were to take a brief moment outside of the human perception of time, and evaluate the wizarding world's going-ons in the last fifteen years; they would notice that so far, there have been three major events that have shaken the current day.
The first two were obvious. The birth of the Boy Who Lived (alongside the adjacent 'death' of Tom Riddle) and this Boy's eleventh summer—the reignition of a history that never really was, history. The third event, however?
Contentious.
In the current climate, those who believed in Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory's tale would say that it'd be Voldemort's rebirth, the renewal of both the Death Eaters and it's counterpart, the Order of the Phoenix. For those who didn't believe in them, it would be the creation of the Boys Who Lied, the seeming conjuration of some false prophetic movement headed by fanatics of their own names.
In retrospect it'd still be safe to say that life changed for many after the events of the Triwizard Tournament, some more than others, and Cedric knew this well enough.
Waking up after nightmares, unable to discern between the morph of a dream and one's own sense of reality was terrible. It was the one thing leftover from last year that he resented. However it would be an entirely different thing comparably, to wake up one day and then realize—you are still dreaming.
It happened two days after he was downed by a fever, the encounter with Grimmauld's boggart taking more of a toll than anyone had anticipated.
First, he had opened his eyes to an inky darkness, no ground beneath his feet; no mountains against the horizon or any discernible hills lumped around him. Just an endless black that mimicked the night sky, stretching ways before him. As he spun around looking, searching for something distinguishable, strangely enough—he felt steady on his feet. For there was no ground and yet he simply stood, neither falling or floating, everything around him tranquil. It was so odd, so unlike all the other dreams that had scratched vivid into his usual morning gleanings. And as he stepped forward, walking among the stars—mere needle-pins of light, distances away—Cedric marveled as tiny globules of golden light, like fireflies, began to float lazy along his path.
They bobbed up and down, avoiding him. Moving as if pulled by an invisible current within the dark expanse. Cedric pivoted around, watching them pass through, before a soft and familiar voice chimed at the back of his head, a small caress;
"What did you see?"
Whipping forward, Cedric watched as the beads of light converged into a single mass, shaped very much like a person that stood a few feet in front of him. Undisturbed, the current kept going, but every now and then a light would stray and join the cluster; the figure's form fluctuating then, but still keeping a relatively person-sized shape.
"Did you feel anything?" the voice spoke again. Lilting, a different question. Cedric, so overcome by surprise, said nothing. He wasn't gripped by fear or other feelings of dread, but he could not find it in himself to answer either; it was almost like he knew exactly what the being asked for, and yet, he was still unable to fathom a satisfactory reply.
"Was it painful?" it asked.
No, Cedric tried to say. But when he opened his mouth a stream of bubbles burst out and he felt his feet lift off, weightless into the air. His eyes widened when he realized that his lungs were filling with water and that all around him thickened; the invisible floor, that was so steady before, giving way as slowly he sank downward.
Did it hurt?
Cedric began to kick, his body jerking into a series of panicked, defense mechanisms. Eyes straining, more and more of the lights that had streamed past poured into the form, it's mass growing larger and larger until it could pick up Cedric's whole body with two fingers.
"Did it hurt?" it asked again, voice no longer inside Cedric's head but clear and cutting through this ocean of black that he was drowning in. A colossal head of light loomed over him, faceless, and yet all Cedric could feel was his very core being scrutinized. It hovered closer and closer, the golden glow engulfing him, burning into his eyes until suddenly—Snap!
Cedric's eyes opened again and he looked up at an open sky, just near sunrise, the shroud of trees bordering around his peripheral vision. His clothes were well-seeped into and he felt like he was soaked to his bones, his shirt sticking to his waist and the skin chafed underneath the folds of his pants.
There was a muddle in his head and a bubble of water stuck at the back of his throat, but he couldn't seem to cough it out; his lips wouldn't open.
Odd. And as he tried to will himself to get up, a second realization began to creep in—
He wasn't breathing.
He could feel a patch of moss, damp, cradling the base of his skull; he could feel long tufts of grass tickling his ankles. But there was not a single thing he could do about it, unable to crane his head, or even lift himself upright.
There was earth beneath his skin, there was air that brushed over him, but not one finger let alone an arm or his own chest would move, rise or fall. His body just lay still, cold on the ground, while his eyes darted around—panicked.
Was he paralyzed?
Trapped? The discomfort of being wet settled in. The feeling of soil in between his toes, of leaves stuck under his wrist unsettled him.
Would he suffocate to death? Would he be stuck like this forever? And again, at the back of his head;
Did it hurt? the voice asked, incessantly, Was it painful?
Cedric suddenly felt something snake around his torso, coarse and thick. It wrapped around his legs then the top of his head before he realized; it was vine. A bush swallowed his right arm while his upper thigh disintegrated into a patch of wildflowers. More and more of the landscape began to claim him, tree roots, shrubbery, he felt himself being eaten by dirt and rock and vine,
Are you alive? the voice asked, an echo.
Cedric wanted to scream.
Are you alive? The voice grew distorted in each second, he felt himself burning inside, his body being swallowed, decaying as the wildlife took over his body. He looked at the sky with blurry eyes,
I ' N.
Snap!
Cedric leapt up with his eyes open.
For real this time.
The cooling cloth that had been placed on his forehead was thrown to the other side of the room, while his blanket sprawled across the floor. His deep breaths shuddered in and out of his body before he shivered, reaching over with all his strength to grab and huddle inside his duvet.
A few feet away from him Mrs Weasley sat in her armchair, fast asleep, her mouth open and hands clutching a pair of needles, mid-knit. Cedric's figure and the window's bars cast shadows against the moonlit floor, and a grandfather clock ticked in the background.
His heart pounded. His throat itched for water.
He could feel the sweat on his back and nausea, spike from temple to temple inside his head. Rubbing his face vigorously, the figure's question repeated, a feeble loop that ran just below his conscious.
On his arms and legs ghosted the feeling of fighting water and around his chest, the thrush of a bush, the press of thorny vines. Pulling the covers tighter, Cedric noticed how cold his skin had become.
It seemed his fever had passed.
Slowly he felt something inside himself break and he began to sob into his hands; muffled, so as to not disturb Mrs Weasley in her slumber.
The days that followed after the dream were uneventful; almost like it didn't happen at all.
Miraculously Cedric's fever had subsided in just two days—though Mrs Weasley confined him to his bed for a third, just to be sure—and when he joined the others, barely a conversation was exchanged about the Incident besides initial 'You alright?'s and 'Welcome back!'s.
There wasn't even one sly joke or jab uttered from the twins, though Cedric wouldn't have minded either way.
At times he could feel Harry watching, waiting, and Cedric knew that he'd have to say something soon. But with the start of the school term looming closer and closer, Mrs Weasley's ongoing campaign to sort and bag Grimmauld Place occupying most of their waking hours and; Cedric's eagerness to forget about the whole thing entirely… he assumed that maybe it was better to gloss over the Number One thing on everyone's mind. His own especially.
It was much easier to spring to action and dust and mop, stack and spray and wipe and polish and place when trying to distract yourself; besides he was being productive.
That was good.
But at the same time, he always was first to follow the others' lead. First to trail behind Harry if he was going downstairs and then Fred and George when they went to bed. He even let Ginny rope him into grooming the owls one afternoon, and willingly listened to Ron talk for hours on end about how the Chudley Cannons could still win the league.
In the end, Cedric would follow behind anyone, simply if it meant that he wouldn't be alone.
His nightmares, that fever-dream; they stayed this time. Manifesting into a strange sense of nervousness that even he knew was uncalled for. It was tense, walking around the house. A small fear poked at his side, whispering and cautioning that behind every corner could be Peter Pettigrew, waiting to ambush him, so whenever he'd stand, waiting for the kettle; whenever he'd look in the mirror or, walk down a hallway without looking back… All these intrusive thoughts, the 'memories' and unpleasant feelings would churn inside; seize his mind to the point where he absolutely had to look behind his shoulder, just in case.
It only ever went away when he was busy or with other people. By himself it was just too difficult to handle; too difficult to harbour a conscience that was ever so vigilant, even when he knew that he was never in danger in the first place.
Things became even more sour when they all got their letters from Hogwarts, the boys all clustered in Harry and Ron's room, groaning and mumbling, "Drat! Potions again with Snape again!" and "...Did you really expect anything different?", to their heart's content.
"What's up with you, Ron?" Fred asked, looking up. He had just finished a rather colorful round of complaints about the amount of textbooks on his list, when he realized no one had listened. Meanwhile Ron, not answering, stood very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.
"What's the matter?" repeated Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment. Fred's mouth fell open too.
"Prefect?" he said, staring incredulously at the letter.
"Prefect?" George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand, and turned it upside down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.
"No way," said George in a hushed voice.
"There's been a mistake," said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark.
"No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect…" The twins' heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.
"We thought you were a cert!" said Fred in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.
"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!" said George indignantly. They both looked at him like he had committed a heinous crime, to which Harry simply shrugged.
He didn't admit his pang of jealousy, which only intensified when Hermione burst in, a Prefect badge in her hand as well. The twins took one look at her and Ron before they began groaned.
"Oh, Mum is going to be disgusting!" said Fred, fake-gagging to the corner.
"Harry, did you get one too?!" asked Hermione excitedly, after she had hugged Ron in astonishment.
"Er, no, but congratulations you two—"
"—What's wrong with you, Cedric," asked George, "You didn't get Head Boy?"
Up until this point Cedric had been quietly reading his own letter with a rather blank and mildly confused expression.
"Eh? Oh, no, no… I didn't.. er—" Cedric said, distracted. He eyed his letter up and down with a furrowed brow.
"Is Perfect Prefect Cedric not perfect anymore?" Ron whispered to Ginny, who had come in as well. Hermione promptly smacked him in the back of his head, "Ow!"
Before they could spend another couple of minutes watching Cedric flip through his letters, Fred sauntered behind him and snatched a page out of his hands.
"From the desk of Pomona Sprout, Head of Herbology and House Hufflepuff at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—" he announced.
"Hey!" Cedric said chasing after him, but Fred had begun to apparate, blinking in and out at random spots of the room while he read the letter in a loud, pompous voice.
"Dear Mr Diggory, while I look forward to another fruitful and academic year of Herbology with you, I do hope that your holidays have proved to be full of rest and leisure—" Fred dodged as Cedric made a swipe for him, dancing away— "Merlin knows you deserve it. I only wish I had the power to give you a week longer if I could—You're close with Professor Sprout, Ceddy?"
"Er—"
Fred didn't wait for him to finish before he continued, "I am sorry to inform you this but unfortunately, some members of our staff concerned with current events have considered your presence, alongside Mr Potter, a point of contention."
Immediately, Cedric froze in the middle of reaching out for the letter, while Fred squinted at the page as if he read it wrong.
"The headmaster has made sure that neither of you are to be expelled but at the moment your position as Prefect and House Captain have been revoked until further notice and—oh, dragon dung—Professor McGonagall and I, amongst others, are negotiating on your behalf but our newest staff member is rather stubborn about this… I am so sorry Cedric, please do not let this ruin the rest of your days off. I'm sure all will be resolved before September 1st..." Fred eventually trailed away and turned, like everyone else in the room, to look at Cedric with wide eyes.
Cedric himself could only sigh; his face aflame, "I told you not to read it."
"I'm sorry mate, really, that was my bad—" Fred started but Cedric shook his head and waved his hands.
"You all would've found out eventually," he said, taking the letter back. The bedroom, which was full of excitement and loud chatter before had stapled into a general atmosphere of speechlessness. From the open door, they could hear someone clatter in the kitchen downstairs while Hedwig and Pigwidgeon crooned from the top of Ron's headboard.
"Well seems you're right; I'm not perfect anymore," said Cedric, trying to break the ice. He nodded at Ron and Ginny, meaning it as a jest, but could see that they were regretting the joke.
"Oh, don't! You don't have to feel bad on my behalf,"
"But you didn't do anything!" burst out Hermione, almost spitting into the floor. "You haven't broken any rules!"
"It might be the stuff with the Prophet," Ginny said, "That new staff member or whatever, maybe they're the Ministry's damage control-slash-spy or something,"
"That's barmy!" Ron scoffed.
"Wouldn't it be crazy if it was Percy?" George said to which Ginny made a disgruntled noise. As the others began to speculate behind Hogwarts decision—Ginny, especially provoked by George's Percy theory—Cedric felt Harry staring at him.
"You alright?" he asked. Cedric did not meet his gaze. He hesitated, staring into the letter a second too long before he gave a thin smile.
"It doesn't matter," he replied, shaking his head again. He put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "I'm okay."
Carefully, Cedric put the letter inside it's envelope.
"Mrs Weasley'll get grumpy if we stay here too long," he said aloud, "Let's go down."
And as he and everyone else left, Harry watched them walk through the door, feeling irritated.
Cedric had not looked him in the eye, not even once.
"How can you be a Boy Who Lied when you can't even lie?" Harry muttered, quietly.
That afternoon, while Cedric had begun to pack his clothes into his suitcase, he heard a knock on his door.
"Its unlocked," he called, standing up. Swinging open, Sirius stood in the doorway, sweating; his pinstripe suit-jacket tied around his waist.
"I've just come back from shopping!" he announced, out of breath and barging into the room. In his arms he held a brown paper bag that seemed to hold a numerous amount of things, all rattling together as he set it down on George's bed.
"I-I thought you weren't allowed outside," Cedric said, though he really wanted to ask why Sirius was in his room.
"Oh let me rephrase—" Sirius said, pausing momentarily as he sorted through the bags contents—"I've just come back from being Snuffles while Remus, kindly, bought items from the stalls I dragged him to."
"Oh I see—"
"—He means he's come back from date which I paid entirely for," said Lupin blankly as he passed by the open doorway, heading upstairs.
"A dog can't have a purse on him!" yelled Sirius, and Cedric heard someone snort from the hallway.
"Anyway, look! I got something for you," Sirius continued, unperturbed, and offered forward a thick, violet book. In Cedrics hands, he immediately noticed how worn it's cover was, the gold-lined spine and title flaking ever so slightly into his fingers as he traced over it.
"A Gentleman's Encyclopedic Guide to Protective Spells," Cedric read. He flipped through to see rather magnificent illustrations of fantastic beasts inked onto it's weathered pages, hand-drawn and enchanted to move slowly as though to bite at him. Written around the illustrations were dense and often tall paragraphs of tiny scrawlings, detailing both magic and alchemical knowledge. It seemed to be full of non-offensive spells that were meant to, in more powerful cases, completely banish creatures and people or at least distract them for a while, so that the reader could get away.
"Revertere cito, Videre alium… this is incredible Sirius!" Cedric exclaimed.
"Oh good! Moony didn't waste those galleons today then!" Sirius said clapping his hands together. Cedric gave him a bit of an astonished laugh.
"Er, I don't think this is on my Defence Against the Dark Arts readings at all though,"
"Don't fret now. Perhaps you could think of it as further reading? I didn't really get it for school."
Still slightly bewildered, Cedric looked up to see Sirius observing him, a very careful look in his eyes.
"I.. I appreciate it but, then why are you giving it to me?" he asked nervously.
"A farewell present," Sirius said, "And also… an apology; for what it's worth, I truly am sorry,"
Cedric didn't think he heard right, "Pardon?"
"Your encounter with the boggart was a mistake on my part. Firstly, I shouldn't have let you go at it alone and well…" Sirius sucked in a breath. "I suppose he would be ashamed, you see, the Peter I knew."
Cedric's spine snapped straight.
"You know Peter Pettigrew?!" he exclaimed. Alarmed, Sirius stepped forward and pressed a finger to his lips.
"Knew," he stressed, "I knew Peter. I do not, however, know the person that he is now nor the person that he became that night."
"Right! Right," Cedric said, dropping to a whisper.
"I am sorry." Sirius said solemnly. Cedric couldn't help but laugh in response.
"You sound like Harry," he said before he was suddenly struck with the thought, "Did he tell you to come up here and check on me?"
"He didn't. I wanted to come here myself to apologise on an old friend's behalf," he said, slipping his jacket on.
"No harm—... Well I guess I can't really say that, eh?" said Cedric, with a weak smile. He felt Sirius pause, watching him carefully again.
"You know... My boggart is Peter Pettigrew as well," he said, voice lowering just above a whisper, "Albeit when he manifests, he typically has a couple more of bodies around him."
Cedric's face dropped and he stood very, very still; not because he willed himself to particularly, but more so because he was, quite simply dumbstruck and unable to figure out how to respond in an either coherent or polite way. Sirius, still staring, still observing, bent down a little and made sure to catch Cedric's eye.
"May I tell you a secret?" he asked. Cedric nodded.
"Rarely does the boggart ever display itself as a person. You were probably taught that the creature takes the form of our worst fear, correct?" said Sirius. Cedric nodded again. "Technically, that's wrong. The boggart can take the form of our worst fears; creatures or things that we are scared of on reflex. And for the unlucky; things, creatures, people that remind or represent some horrendous memories."
Cedric winced and gripped his arm uneasily.
"But, what the boggart most favours is taking the shape of our worst, irrational fears. Ones that we sometimes tell ourselves cannot hurt us, and because of this very reasoning, these are the fears that we cannot fathom of ever confronting or overcoming."
"The Riddikulus spell itself is a spell based on distraction. It doesn't make the fear go away and it doesn't solve it. It just distracts both wizard and the boggart long enough to butter you up by making a fool of it; a lovely sentiment I'm sure, but not a practical one," Sirius turned around.
"Did you manage to see Harry defeat the boggart?" he asked. Cedric immediately went pink.
"I—No, not really." he said with a dry mouth, "I passed out."
Sirius nodded sympathetically, "Well, do you know what his boggart is?"
Cedric shook his head.
"It's a Dementor."
"A dementor?" repeated Cedric, incredulously.
"Yes," Sirius folded his arms, "As Remus put it, Harry is afraid of fear itself. Irrational right? Except, it's not. It's manifested into a rather rational being."
Cedric blinked for a moment, still not quite able to grasp it, "What are you… What are you trying to say then?" he asked.
"Harry cannot defeat the boggart in the way everyone else can, he cannot use Riddikulus. But instead, he uses the force of his own power and casts the Patronus charm!" Sirius gave a vaguely amused smile. ''Funny isn't it, he can't use the third-year spell but instead uses the one that most wizards struggle with as adults."
"That's—"
"Incredible?"
Cedric nodded fervently, "Yeah!"
Sirius smiled faintly before his expression turned firm.
"What I am trying to say is that he, you and I… we are slightly different from everyone else. Slightly. Our deepest fears manifest as creatures and people that we cannot simply distract ourselves away from. You may fear something that Peter represents or maybe you even fear Peter himself, either way; Riddikulus doesn't work for you anymore so you must find a spell that can replace it," Sirius pointed at the book that Cedric clutched in his hand.
"But, I don't—I'm not like you both, I think, I—"
"This will not best you," Sirius interrupted, placing his hands on Cedric's shoulders. "You are much stronger than you know. You do not need to be like me or Harry, to be what you simply are."
Startled, Cedric slowly nodded with wide eyes. He felt some of the tension that built inside his body melt away, just a tiny bit. And as he relaxed, for a second, something flickered in his expression. A little more color and light returned to his eyes. Sirius couldn't help but smile as he watched.
"You look much better than when I first came in," he said patting Cedric's shoulders, "I shall leave you to your packing."
He grabbed the paper bag and turned to leave the room, trinkets and things still clunking together as the bag shook in each footstep.
"Sirius," Cedric called, just before he could walk out the door, "What do you cast at your boggart?"
There was a slow turn before Sirius met his gaze; he smiled but his eyes were hard. The two didn't quite meet. Without a word he put a finger to his lips again, and then he walked away.
It wasn't long before the day came—partially dreaded, partially excited for—the first of September arrived as a crisp morning, knots of cloud gliding in a clear sky while London, busy as ever; began to wake up, winding like a clock or toy that would sing, the roads filled with cars and people streaming busy in it's streets.
Harry stood at the bottom of Grimmauld's stairs, Hedwig's cage and his suitcase bundled beside him, while the racket of the twins and Ginny's last minute packing—alongside Mrs Weasley's frantic shouts—raged above. While he waited, his stomach pumped with something like nervousness but also a certain electricity; Harry jumped when he heard the wood creak at the top of the steps where Cedric appeared, caught off-guard by his presence.
It had been a while since they talked, Cedric brushing him off at every attempt Harry made to get him to open up. But this time before Harry could even say hello, Cedric was the first to open his mouth.
"I lied to you last time!" he blurted out.
"What?" said Harry, moving up a step. CRACK!
Cedric apparated right next to him, suitcase and all.
"I said that I was okay about the entire Prefect and House Captain thing… but it turns out, I'm really not okay with it."
"R-Right, well—"
"Also I lied about the things I wrote about over the holidays," Cedric admitted, but Harry could only shake his head, blanking out.
"I did go to the sea and all those places but—" Cedric gestured wildly, "Every morning I had nightmares and I just-.. I couldn't enjoy it. I stayed indoors as much as I could and only went out when my parents asked me to—"
"Cedric! It's fine! You don't need to—look I do appreciate your honesty but it's fine, there's nothing wrong with—"
"Also, I've been having nightmares again,"
"What?"
"Nightmares,"
"You're telling me now?!" Harry said, exasperated.
"Sorry," Cedric said sincerely. He grabbed at the sides of his hair. "I thought I was fine but—! I don't—... I don't think I am anymore."
It was strange how such energy and flurry could fall away with a single sentence. The conversation slowed and Cedric cast his gaze to the floor. Harry could see how his jaw set in that tense, harsh line and how his face creased when he stuttered. Without thinking too much about it, he closed the gap between them and grasped Cedric's hand, holding tightly while stepping into his line of view.
"I'm sorry," he said. And it was frustrating, it was cruel, but he couldn't say anything else.
"What are you apologizing for? It's not your fault, you saved me, I'm just—" Cedric let go of very deep sigh— "I'm dealing with the aftermath."
"...I'm still sorry."
Moments passed between them as the Weasley's thundered upstairs. A sudden thought came to Cedric, "You know Sirius came to see me the other day,"
"Yeah?"
"He gave me a book, told me that… I'm stronger than I would ever know,"
"He's right," Harry said immediately, and Cedric smiled at him; a pleasant smile. A real one.
Realer than all the ones he had been showing until now.
"Well I guess I'm not the only person that died and lived again," he chuckled.
"Yeah. Unfortunately we're pretty similar, you and I," Harry said, but Cedric shook his head.
"It's not unfortunate," he said, squeezing Harry's hand, "Not at all."
Harry smiled and the conversation drifted off, quiet again.
"Will it always feel like this?" asked Cedric asked suddenly, "Like you don't have any control?"
Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Both of their gazes shifted from focusing on their hands and the floor, to each other's face; their first, real, proper look at other since the Incident occurred. Harry, for one, could not bear with what he saw.
In front of him, there were slight bags and evidence that every so often Cedric would skip dinner, but most importantly of all, there was this dulled steel in his eyes—something that Harry found more obvious and striking in the cold morning light.
"Yeah… Yeah, you'll always feel a little helpless," Harry said sadly. And he couldn't sugarcoat it, he couldn't try to play both sides.
It was what it was for him and while he knew that, he hated that there was another person with the same eyes, hated that someone else was going through every single second of it.
"Does it get any better?" asked Cedric, still holding out for hope in the bend of his brow.
Harry could taste blood as he clenched deeper into his gum.
"I haven't found out yet," he said quietly, "So, I'd have to say 'no', so far."
He gave a little bit of a laugh afterwards, meaning to lighten the mood, but instead it came out bitter and hollow. It made Cedric's chest constrict and then ache, for naught but Harry's own sake.
Idiot, he called himself. Why was he so worried about worrying other people? Why did he decide to have this conversation now, rather than a week ago?
This was hard and Cedric wasn't making it any easier for the both of them. Already he was bursting at the seams, muddled and stumbling along these emotions, pulled by conjectures but triggered into reality—there were parts of him that broke and splintered into disrepair. There were parts of him that he desperately tried to hold onto, despite his arms being cut, despite the pieces falling to shatter onto the floor. He couldn't imagine doing it alone, so why was he?
He couldn't imagine braving and wearing against the world—
how many years did Harry's soul age?
During the time between his eleventh and his fourteenth summer, how many eyes misconstrued him? How many lips broke him apart into a two-bit story?
You were supposed to help him.
We were supposed to help each other.
But it seemed so hard to take someone else's hand now, it seemed so hard to cling and grab when all of this could sift like sand through his fingers.
Pathetic, Cedric could tell himself this all day. He was pathetic.
And yet, here was Harry, looking at him like he wasn't. Here was Harry taking his hand and Cedric unable to help holding on, the both of them feeling all the knuckles and the grooves made by Quidditch brooms and wand-handles; trying to fashion some kind of haven inside the other's heart, trying to forge some kind of bond on sea-brittle rock.
Cedric could feel a nail bitten to a finger stub, he could feel a warmth so awkward that it was sweating.
It was the same. They were the same.
He never needed to be embarrassed. They're both just teenagers dressing up like adults together.
"I'm sorry," Harry said again, nervous at Cedric's silence.
No, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
"It goes away when I'm with you," Cedric admitted quickly, desperate.
"What goes away?" asked Harry.
"This—" Cedric gestured to his entirety, "The dreams, the stress. I can—.. I can breathe when I'm with you."
So please don't look like that Harry.
Don't hurt for me.
Cedric watched as Harry lips formed a little "o", and he flushed. Unexpected.
"Ah," he faltered, the sudden feeling of weight from Cedric's hand on his own causing an intense inability to know where exactly to look.
"That—that was cheesy," Cedric mumbled, red as well.
"Yeah," Harry laughed, but it was fuller, brighter, this time.
"I feel the same," he said, "I like being with you."
Cedric broke into a wide grin. The tension, the fatigue left his face.
"I suppose we'll have to find a way to make it easier," said Harry.
"Together?" Cedric asked.
"Together."
Cedric gave him another smile before he grasped Harry's hand in between both of his own, "You know, usually the prefects patrol the train on the way to school, but since I'm free this year… Do you mind listening to me ramble on for a bit?"
"Anytime, look—" Harry opened a paper bag that sat on his suitcase— "Lupin made me pancakes."
Cedric beamed.
"Oh look you lot! Harry and Cedric are already downstairs!" Mrs Weasley yelled from above. Harry and Cedric held hands for a second longer before they finally let go, Mrs Weasley shuffling past them and squinting her way down the steps like she had little sleep.
"Don't compare us to the champions!" moaned Ginny, lugging her luggage behind her. From the top Harry saw Fred and George's heads nodding from the banister. Before long everyone had gathered in the hallway, suitcases packed, pets in cages; and shining with a restless energy. Sirius was struggling to let Harry go from a hug while Mr Weasley and Lupin made sure that everyone hadn't forgotten any textbooks or cauldrons underneath their beds.
"Come back for the holidays, alright?" Sirius said, as he crushed Harry with his arms.
"I will, I will!" Harry replied, laughing.
"Ready to go, Cedric?" Mrs Weasley asked after she had put on her knitted beret. Cedric picked up his suitcase and stuffed his new book underneath his left arm.
"We shouldn't be late," he said, gaze meeting with Harry.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, an eager grin. "I've really missed Hogwarts."