12:00 pm, the High Hour
It's been a day – one day – since the disastrous end of the tournament, and his eyes are still bloodshot and damp. Cedric's lifeless body is the only thing in his mind, and he sees a flash of green every time his eyelids slide close. He wonders dully what it feels like to be hit by Avada Kedavra. It probably hurt. Hot or cold? Probably cold – the grass was wet with dewdrops where Cedric's body fell.
Harry was excused from class – the entire school was. There had to be a time of mourning. Mourning for Cedric.
Mourning. How could they know what mourning is?
It took him hours to escape the press. They were hounding after him. Dumbledore expelling them from the grounds was quite a sight. They still managed to get pictures of him on Cedric's body, though. Crying. He's seen all of them; every newspaper he could find was stacked around him; his own face, and Cedric's face, and Cedric's parent's faces, and Barty Crouch Junior's face all blinking up at him.
He wants to sleep. He rolls over on his bed, but there's nothing there to comfort him. The entire school has orders to leave him alone – he has the entire dorm room to himself. Well, himself and Cedric.
Cedric's picture. Not Cedric.
He's lonely. And tired. He grabs the closest newspaper and stares at the front page. The sight of his own image crying over Cedric's body in black and white. He holds it close and wonders what it's like to die by Avada Kedavra.
It's probably really cold.
---
1:00 pm, the First Hour
He's memorized the headlines of every newspaper by now. He can match them with each picture (every picture is different because of the different camera angles), but he hasn't found the heart to read the articles yet.
'Death of a Champion. Resurrection of You-Know-Who?' reads one, and it's probably Harry's favorite. It has a picture of Cedric, a not dead Cedric, smiling for the camera. He waves and smiles. Unfortunately, below it is Barty Crouch Junior, and he looks just as happy.
Harry took a quill and scribbled out his face hard enough to tear through the paper.
'Unfortunate Accident and Death. Harry Potter Slightly Disturbed.' That one made him laugh when he first saw it. It came from the Daily Prophet, and of course made no mention of Voldemort or how Cedric died. Idiots. The picture is terrible too – it is a blurry picture of Cedric and himself side-by-side, with another picture of Mr. and Mrs. Diggory sobbing in each other's arms in the bottom right.
Cedric doesn't look much like his father or mother. Definitely not like his father. He has (had) his mother's eyes, he thinks, though it's hard to tell with a black and white picture.
'Rampaging Beasts Kill Triwizard Champion.' This one came from an odd little magazine called The Quibbler, and it's the dumbest headline, but has the best pictures. The first has Cedric with his hand on Harry's shoulder, a photo from the beginning of the tournament. The second has them at the start of the maze-race, looking determined. The last has Harry tossing the Triwizard Cup aside to able him to grip Cedric's body tighter – which he doesn't recall doing.
He carefully cuts out that photograph and sets it aside.
---
2:00 pm, the Second Hour
"It's not healthy! He needs to come out of there!"
He wonders if they know that he can hear them whisper from the other side of the door. Well, he answers himself dully; they wouldn't keep going on like that if they did know.
"Maybe he needs to just let it all out, Hermione. He's been through a lot…"
"Locking himself inside a room is not the best solution. He needs to see sunlight, he needs to –"
"What do you know what he needs? He saw someone die, Hermione, he says he saw You-Know-Who rise again…"
There's silence. Harry snickers to himself.
"I'm sorry Hermione…"
"No, you're right, Ron. He just needs some time. But if he doesn't come out of there in a few hours… He needs to talk to us – someone."
"Don't worry, Hermione. He'll be fine. He'll pull through – he always does."
Right. He snorts as he hears their footsteps make their way away from the door. He'll pull through. Like always. His false sarcasm dies in himself and he curls up. He wants to cry some more, but it makes his eyes sting too much.
It wasn't healthy. But he wasn't going to move for a while. A long while.
---
3:00 pm, the Quarter Hour
He thinks he's hungry. But he doesn't really want to move.
He turns and smiles at Cedric. Cedric smiles back.
---
4:00 pm, the Fourth Hour
He's read all the articles now. They vary in specific, correct, and made-up information. The Daily Prophet is the spottiest with details – they're not acknowledging Voldemort's return, and they claim Cedric died in an unfortunate accident (though they fail to even tell what this so-called 'accident' was).
In a fit of rage, he crumpled the paper and through it down, almost screaming at it. After a few moments of thought however, he plucked it from the floor and smoothed out it's crumpled surface. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory glared at him between sobs.
"Sorry," he had said. They just cried.
Now the Daily Prophet is as far away from him as possible while still on the bed. Stupid article. "Accident"…
Death is not accidental. Ever. It always happens for some reason. There are never any "accidents".
He wonders if they would call his own death an "accident" if he killed himself.
That's stupid, he decides.
---
5:00 pm, the Fifth Hour
"Harry?"
He hears Hermione's voice through the door, but doesn't answer. He doesn't see the point. She'll come in soon enough anyway.
Sure enough, the dormitory door creaks open and the brunette is staring at him, eyes wide. She sees the scattered newspapers and his messy hair, but he doesn't really care. Harry glances at her once before shifting on the bed to face the other way. He doesn't want to talk.
"Harry… I… we… we've been worried about you Harry," Hermione whisperes. "I think you should come out of here."
Harry doesn't answer.
"Harry, please, talk to me."
Silence.
"Oh, Harry! Why won't you talk? We all know how much it must hurt…"
That catches Harry's attention. He spins around and glares at Hermione fiercely. Somewhere, a vase exploded. Know? Know! What the fuck do you know about it? What? He screams inside his head, glowering at one of his best friends. Or maybe not inside his head. Tears filled Hermione's eyes and she runs out of the room, a pathetic "I'm so sorry!" escaping her lips as she passes.
He stares at the closed door and shrugs, lying back down.
---
6:00 pm, The Half Hour
No one had come back up to his room, and that was fine by him. He contented himself by talking to Cedric.
"You're a really good Seeker, you know?" he said, playing with the curtains around his bed. "That's the only reason Hufflepuff doesn't do horribly at Quidditch anymore – no offense," he added quickly. "I'm just saying you're really good. We should practice together more often, like we did that Sunday after the Second Task. That was a good idea, keeping our skills sharp for next year. Stupid tournament." He leaned his head back and sighed, eyes sliding close. "Yeah, that was a good day…
"I'm a bit hungry, but I don't want to go downstairs. They'll all stare at me," he giggled. "Has anyone told you what a good listener you are, Cedric? I don't think any of my friends would let me go on for this long. Then again, you are special, aren't you Cedric?" He gripped the curtain so tightly it strained against its fastenings. With a definite SNAP, the curtain came down on Harry, draping him in scarlet velvet.
"You think I look good in scarlet? You looked better."
---
7:00 pm, The Seventh Hour
He went into a bout of nervous twitching the moment the hand reached seven. He shivered and twitched, rocking back and forth on the sheets. In between shaky breaths, he whispered: "Not – dead – not – alive – Ohgodohgod – Voldemort – alive – Cedric – dead." His eyes went wider, a bright green moon in an empty sky. "I lost – you won – should've lost – missed the cup." He smiled. "Shining – your eyes – so pale – silver veil." He looked down sadly, and a few tears dripped down his cheeks. "It was pretty, even though you were cold."
---
8:00 pm, The Eight Hour
Little tears ran down his cheeks, little streams of heartache.
They're warm and small, barely dampening his cheeks. They're like butterfly caresses, straight from the cocoon. Strange. Rare. Delicate. Unusual.
His wings wouldn't flap so soon, fresh from a rainstorm.
---
9:00 pm, The Second Quarter Hour
Little streams gave way to rivers of sobbing. An endless amount of sobbing. The pillow turned cold and damp with each passing tear. Huge gulps of air pass between trembling lips. It's hard to breathe while crying so hard.
"Cedric, Cedric, Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!" is the only thing he can manage to say, and it hurts to say it. His chest is heaving, and he's not quite sure if he's even alive anymore.
"Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!" he hiccups out. He's mourning through his eyes and he remembers why he stopped crying earlier – it stung like hell.
"Cedric…"
---
10:00 pm, The Tenth Hour
Silence.
Nothing in the room is moving. His chest is barely moving up and down, but he is having no trouble breathing, though it doesn't seem like breathing. It's like…
Existing.
His eyes didn't flicker back and forth to follow the moth that had somehow trapped itself in the room. He just stares at the figure (not) sitting across from him.
Neither blinks. Neither breathes. Not even as the moth rests on the tip of his hair.
Neither speaks. It comforts him in this room of silence.
Room of emptiness.
His mouth slowly moves to mouth the word Cedric, moving his lips to articulate each syllable. No sound comes his mouth. The figure mouths back:
Hush.
---
11:00 pm, The Eleventh Hour
Silence became loudness.
He screams and screams and screams until his throat is raw and bleeding. He trashes and kickes, scattering the newspapers to the floor. He bangs his fists on the pillow and mattress, but when they didn't give a satisfying feeling of really hitting something, he hits the headboard and wall, bruising his fists, screaming the entire time.
The people in his dorm were sleeping in the common room, he knows. But he wouldn't let them sleep, not until he came out of his waking dream.
Trunks and parchment and other items rose from the floor. Dean's soccer poster tears itself to shreds. Quills spin madly in the air before embedding themselves into the wall. Books and trunks slam themselves against the floor again and again, tuning into Harry's screaming. The room becomes an insane symphony of noise, the screaming its melody.
Cedric is conducting.
---
12:00 am, The Low Hour
Harry has heard of different types of sleeping before, or something of the sort. He thinks he's awake, but his eyes are closed, and he can feel the bed, but nothing else. It's a hazy sort of fog, and he likes it. He's content and empty. There's nothing there except himself and the bed. It's warm, but it would get colder later.
The night slipped away.
---
1:00 am, The First Hour
Dark. Dark. No awareness. Aware of only the dark.Innocent questions. Fantasies of memories.
"Do you like me?"
Memory.
"Because I like you."
Fantasy.
"We could be together, if you wanted."
Dark.
"We wouldn't have to tell anyone, not if didn't want to."
Darker.
"Kiss me?"
Dreaming.
---
2:00 am, The Second Hour
"Go fish."
Harry's startled. He glances at his hand. Three Aces. He's missing the Ace of Hearts. He looks around at the table. Dumbledore. Sirius. Draco Malfoy. Tom Riddle. Cedric. He delicately draws a card. Cedric's to his left. Dumbledore to his right. It's Dumbledore's turn. The table rocks unsteadily. It's resting on a sea of vines in the middle of the hedge maze.
"Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you give me that Two you're holding."
Malfoy scowls and throws a Two of Clubs across the table. "Cheater," he mumbles.
"Baby," Sirius interrupts.
"Your Jack then, Sirius."
"Man!" Sirius gives Dumbledore his Jack of Diamonds.
Tom smirks. "Try me."
Dumbledore stares Tom down through his spectacles. "Five."
Tom's grin widens. "Go fish," he announces triumphantly. Dumbledore looks strangely upset – but draws his card anyhow. It's Malfoy's turn.
"Seven, Potter." Harry shakes his head.
"Go fish."
Malfoy draws a card but looks happy. On to Sirius. "King, Harry." He reluctantly slides over his King of Hearts, the Suicide King.
"Promise me you won't keep it for long," he demands suddenly of Sirius. Sirius' grin falters.
"I promise. Give me a Ten, Riddle." Riddle sneers.
"Go fish." Sirius pouts and draws a card.
Tom's eyes meet Harry's. He smiles. "Do you have a Nine, little Cedric?" Harry glares. Cedric looks down sadly, but hands it over – a Nine of Spades. "How about an Ace?" Harry's eyes get wide. Cedric hands over the Ace of Hearts. Tom Riddle examines the card once before ripping it in half. Cedric disappears from the table.
"Your turn, Harry," Tom says sweetly.
---
3:00 am, The Quarter Hour
"Something wrong, Harry?"
He looks over at Cedric. Cedric's pretty eyes look worried. They're in the Prefect's Bathroom. There's no sign of Myrtle, and the mermaid is gone from her picture. The enormous tub is filled to the brim with bubbles and water. The air smells like ivy.
"No," Harry says. "Just a little sad."
"Tell me about it," Cedric folds his arms on the brim of the tub and rests his head there.
"Well," Harry begins. "You're dead."
"That's silly. I'm right here." Both boys are naked. He can feel Cedric kicking his legs below the surface. Cedric always has to move some part of his body.
"But you're not," says Harry with a frown. "I was there. I saw Tom kill you."
"Who's Tom?"
"Voldemort. He killed you," Harry clarifies. Cedric just starts to laugh. He moves his head away from its resting place and moves closer to Harry. They're a breath's length apart. Cedric's hand rises from the water to press against Harry's cheek.
"You shouldn't be sad about that. I'm right here." Cedric's hand moves from Harry's cheek to his shoulder and a second hand joins the first on the opposite shoulder. Both hands move lower still until they're locked around Harry's waist. Cedric pulls their bodies together. Harry wraps his legs around Cedric's waist so that only the water and Cedric are supporting him. His arms wind around Cedric's chest.
"No you're not," Harry repeats sadly. "You're gone. I watched you die. You told me to bring your body back." He leans his head against Cedric's shoulder.
"Harry, I'm sorry."
"For what? I killed you," Harry's watching the bubbles make shapes in the water. One looks like a Snitch. "Not the other way around."
"But you're so sad."
"That's okay. More things will come to make me sad." He frees one arm and pops the Snitch-Bubble.
"That doesn't seem fair, Harry."
"What doesn't seem fair?"
"That you should kill me and then be left alone. You should be happy."
"I am happy."
"Then why are you crying?"
Harry jerks his head away from Cedric's shoulder and looks at the other boy in shock. Sure enough, tears are free flowing down his cheeks. "I… I…" Cedric releases Harry. Harry's feet slowly come to rest at the bottom of the pool. A finger presses to his lips.
"Kiss me, Harry." The finger moves away. Harry glances up at Cedric's face. He's smiling. Harry leans foreword, gently pressing a kiss against Cedric's lips. Cedric doesn't deepen the kiss, but responds. They stay there only for a few moments until something's quietly whispering in Harry's ear.
"Kill him."
The kiss breaks. Cedric's still smiling. "Something wrong, Harry?"
"Kill him."
"No," Harry says. "Just a little sad."
"Tell me about it."
"Well," Harry begins. "I have to kill you."
Cedric laughs. "That's silly."
"Kill him."
"How long can you hold your breath?" Harry says suddenly. Cedric's grin is mischievous.
"A long time."
"Prove it."
Without another word, Cedric ducks under the water. The bubbles clear away and Harry can see Cedric below the surface, smiling at him. Cedric holds up a finger. Then another. And another. He's counting.
Harry looks on silently.
"Kill him."
Harry's hands reach below the surface to grip Cedric's throat. Cedric just smiles and keeps counting. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Harry tightens his grip. Eight. Nine. Ten.
"Why did you have to die?" he whispers, voice full of hatred, pain, sorrow, longing.
Eleven. Twelve.
Cedric stops counting. But he's still smiling.
"Let go."
Harry lets go.
---
4:00 am, The Fourth Hour
Dark. Warm. No awareness. Floating. Falling. Flying.
"You fly well."
Warm.
"I never got to apologize about that game last year."
Floating.
"You should have won."
"I did win."
Falling.
"Let's do this again sometime, okay?"
Flying.
"Because I'd like to know you better, Harry."
Dark.
"Let's make sure we always win, alright?"
Waking.
---
5:00 am, The Fifth Hour
He might be awake, but he can't tell. All he can feel is the bed, but he can see or register anything else. It's comfy. He doesn't want to move.
Maybe he shouldn't.
No, he's been sleeping long enough.
---
6:00 am, The Half Hour
He yawns and stretches, blinking his eyes open. Everything shakily comes into focus – he slept with his glasses on. He sits up, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. The sheets are twisted around him, and it's a struggle to get completely untangled. He runs his fingers through his hair. It's more messy than usual.
There's a knock at the door.
"Come in," he calls, facing the door. It's Ron and Hermione. Hermione is standing behind Ron, her hands tightly clasped together.
"Harry, are you okay now?" Ron says firmly.
Harry thinks about his answer. Was he fine? No, he wasn't. But he was better. Yes. He was definitely better.
"Yes," he says finally. "I'm okay."
The three friends quietly observed each other for a moment. Suddenly, the silence is broken.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione rushes foreword and wraps her arms around his neck. Harry falls backwards in surprise. "I was so worried for you! When you said those things to me, I thought you'd gone crazy!" she sobs. Ron strides foreword, pulling Hermione off of his friend.
"C'mon Hermione, you'll strangle him…" Hermione scuttls off Harry, wiping her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry says. "I guess… I guess I wasn't in my right mind then."
"Right you weren't in your right mind! What happened to the room?" Ron responds.
"Ron!" Hermione hisses. But Harry could see the origin Ron's distress. The dorm looks as though it had been torn apart by a tornado.
"Sorry." Harry offers up a grin. "I'll fake your divination homework for you next year."
Ron rolls his eyes. "Only after you give me back a few hours sleep. What the hell were you doing at eleven o'clock at night? You could hear it through the entire tower!"
Harry grins again. "We could clean up and then go to breakfast. How does that sound?"
Ron's mouth opens and closes several times. "Harry Potter," he gasps out. "You're absolutely insane. Loony. Nuts."
"What he means, Harry," whispers Hermione. "is we're happy to have you back."
---
7:00 am, The Seventh Hour
It took an hour to clean up the dorm and give Harry time to change into to something not so wrinkled and tear-stained. He feels refreshed. Reborn.
Everyone did stare at him in the Great Hall. Harry just ignored them and chatted animatedly with his two best friends. He was sure he still looked like a mess – circles under his eyes and incredibly messy hair. Some of the other Gryffindors shared his look and half-heartedly glared at him.
Harry just smiled.
---
8:00 am, The Eighth Hour
"You called me, Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore's elbows are resting on his desk, fingers laced together under his chin. Bright eyes watch him through half-moon spectacles.
"Indeed I did Harry. After your episode in the dormitory, I'd just like to be one of the many people to ask you this question – are you sure you are alright?"
Harry blinks at the Headmaster. "Sir?"
Dumbledore leans back in his chair. "You've been through a very traumatic experience. It would not be unusual if you had more episodes like yesterday's. And with Voldemort's return…" He sighs. "I fear you may have many more similar ordeals ahead."
"Professor Dumbledore," he says slowly. "I think I learned something during this time."
"What's that Harry?" Dumbledore's gaze reveals nothing.
"A lot of bad things are going to happen to me. But I've just got to let go and accept it, and know they love me anyway."
Harry didn't mean to say that last part, but Dumbledore smiles. "Very good Harry. Very good."
---
9:00 am, The Second Quarter Hour
The trio are lying out on the grass on the bank of the lake, watching the giant squid wave its tentacles in the air. The squid likes to show off sometimes.
"It's a nice day," Hermione comments.
"Mmmhmm," Harry responds.
"It doesn't seem like it should be. Someone's died, the Dark Lord has returned…" Hermione glances over to watch Harry's reaction.
"No, he'd like it better this way. Sun shining. Birds singing. Goofing off because of the lack of class." Harry plucks at the grass. "I like it better this way too."
"Harry," Ron says hesitantly. "What happened yesterday?"
He's quiet. "It was really dark in the dorm room." By dorm room, he means his mind. "I like it better with the sun."
Ron and Hermione exchange looks.
---
10:00 am, The Tenth Hour
"Let's go raid the kitchens."
"Ron, we're not going to force those poor house elves to make us food just because you need a snack."
"Don't start with that Spew stuff again…"
"It's S.P.E.W!"
Harry grins, watching the two bicker. He glances towards the Quidditch Pitch. The maze is gone.
---
11:00 am, The Eleventh Hour
Harry kicks off from the center of the Quidditch Pitch riding his Firebolt. He does a few laps around the pitch to warm up before attempting some dives and loops. The place is quiet and empty. No one wants to come near the pitch. That's fine by him.
The wind is brushing his cheeks in an almost erotic manner. It was just like that day.
"Do you want to practice? I was impressed with your moves at the First Task – we should keep up with our skills, so we can have a rematch next year." A pause. "That is, you know, if you want to."
"I still think you should have won that game. I mean, if it wasn't for those Dementors…" A laugh. "Don't be silly. You definitely would have caught up with me."
"I think I like you."
---
12:00 pm, The High Hour
Harry smiles.