A/N: Hey guys… look that last review made me realize that it truly has been 6 months since I've updated. It is safe to say that for now, this story just won't be updated. Maybe someday… but I don't know, I'm just not feeling it anymore. I'm sorry, really. I could make a million excuses about graduating/starting college, etc… but really I have no excuse.

Again, sorry…

Love's Labour Lost

ScarletSerpent

Disclaimer: Although this story follows the plot of the book/movie Goblet of Fire, the plot is my own. Everything belongs to Rowling and the producers of the movies. I am not selling it, or reproducing it for profit, I swear. I am not quite genius enough to work that out.

Summary: Harry Potter is fourteen and in a lot of trouble. When confusion and dark forces combine to make a daunting fourth year, who can Harry turn to as it all falls to pieces? The story behind the story, of a love that defeats evil, but even love cannot cheat death.

Okay, a huge thank you to everyone who reviewed, I plan on writing you each back in the near future, however I've been told that writing reviewer responses is now illegal, which is crap of course, but I suppose people find it deters from the story. So THANK YOU to everyone! (Especially Snape's Slayer who finally pushed me to write this chapter with that last review. Thank you very much.)

A/N: I deserve every single angry comment that I will get over the slight (cough four month cough) delay on this chapter. Truly I have no excuse, other than that its my senior year and I am taking 4 AP classes. I swear they are intent on murdering me before the end of the year. So, again, apologies. Also, I know it isn't Sunday, but I figured after four months an update now would probably be prudent. So, here it goes!

Italics are a flashback

Chapter Five: Of Headaches and Late Nights

Harry woke up with a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was definitely not right. He cracked an eye, peeking around his dorm, from what he could make out of the blurred mess he was in his bed. Blindly, he groped around on his bedside table, his fingers finally curling around his old wire rimmed glasses. Yes, everything was the same. It was around ten am, judging by the near emptiness of the dorm. Ron, however, was still snoring, his form sprawled halfway off the bed his red hair sticking out, clashing with the burgundy sheets. Harry chuckled to himself, Ron found himself on the floor nearly every morning. Frowning to himself he sat up fully, taking stock of his body. Suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to run post haste for the bathrooms. After worshiping the porcelain god for several minutes, he tried to think, only to feel the pressure in his head building. Having never had a hangover before it took him a few moments to realize what was going on. He let his head fall into his hands and tried to will the headache away.

This was how Dean found him a half an hour later. The boy walked across the room, kneeling next to Harry and asked, "Harry, mate?"

Harry's head shot up and he covered his ears. His eyes were slightly wide and definitely bloodshot, and the telltale popped veins were beginning to dot his eyelids. Dean hid a smile, he tried again, whispering, "Hung-over, eh?" The other boy nodded miserably, his head pounding ferociously. "I'll be right back."

Harry heard Dean's footsteps echoing out of the boy's toilets. How utterly embarrassing. Even worse, he couldn't seem to piece together the events of the night before. What had he done? Hopefully Hermione could clear that up, perhaps after he'd gone back to bed and slept for another ten hours. He couldn't possibly face Hermione in this state.

Dean had returned, a small blue glass bottle in his hands. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, whispering, "Hang-over potion. Gets rid of the nasty headache and the spinning room."

Harry downed the bottle in one gulp, and relaxed as the potion began evaporating the tension in his head. He rubbed his eyes, tiredly and smiled, "Thanks Dean, I really needed that."

"No trouble Harry, we had some left over from that party a week back," he reached down and helped Harry to his feet. "Do you want to tell me why you were so hung-over you couldn't see straight, or should I guess?"

Harry felt the tips of his ears burning, and decided the truth was his best option, or better than making something up at any rate, "Honestly, I haven't a clue."

To his surprise, he heard Dean chuckling beside him, "Hate it when that happens. Would you like me to fill in what I know from last night?"

Harry winced, he hoped he hadn't done anything too stupid. He had heard the stories from the Weasley twins, something about purple flobberworms. He shuddered briefly, "I guess so."

"No need to look as though you've just been issued a death sentence, I don't know what happened last night. What I do know is that you had detention with Snape around seven, and you didn't stumble back into the dorm until around three. Seamus and I were the only ones awake, so don't worry. You were smashed, utterly and completely smashed."

How mortifying. Harry had never been "smashed" in his entire life. Detention, detention. Yes, he'd had detention with Snape. A few rapid images returned to him, Cedric leaning over him, Snape's raised eyebrow, Cedric nearly kissing him, desire, running down the halls... Wait, Cedric, almost kissing him? He flushed scarlet. Oh dear. Kissing. Cedric. A boy. He had wanted that. That much he knew. He had wanted it more than anything in the world.

"Harry?" Dean was standing in front of him, waving a hand in front of his face. "Anyone inthere?"

"Er, no," Not exactly. "Just thinking of what on earth could have happened," he lied smoothly. He had to talk to someone. Hermione. Glancing down at himself, he sighed. He was desperately in need of a shower, and a change of clothing. It would just have to wait. "Ugh, I stink to high heaven. Thanks for the potion, Dean. I owe you one."

Dean gave him a look. Harry was lying and now he was avoiding him. "Sure, Harry. Anytime." He hesitated before adding, "You know I'd almost forgotten, Hermione walked in a few minutes after you looking quite... er... indisposed herself. Just thought you might want to know."

Now Harry needed to see Hermione. Now. "Thanks a million, Dean." Trying to look casual he wandered back to his bed, he pulled out his robes and a pair of muggle jeans and a t-shirt to wear underneath. His shower was quick, just long enough to rid himself of any lingering smell. After performing a couple of routine morning spells (i.e. brushing his teeth) he dressed and headed towards the Common Room.

Cedric woke up with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He groaned, wondering what was wrong. Didn't feel like indigestion, not the flu, not a hangover. Thank God. Sitting up, he cocked his head slightly, running his hand through his thoroughly mussed hair. No, something wasn't right. He thought for a second. Where had he been the night before? The dungeons. With Harry. Oh dear. He had almost kissed Harry Potter. That was it. Moaning he flopped back onto his pillows. This was not part of the plan. His last year of Hogwarts and he had to find some imperfection that he hadn't already conquered. Was this it, his last challenge to overcome? Did one overcome homosexuality? Now where had that thought come from? His head spun slightly. This was not a good situation, not at all. To make matters worse, his father was coming to visit today. Joy.

He steeled himself to get out of bed and face the music. This was going to be one of those days. Regardless of what situation he was, he had to put his face on for his father. So, he climbed out of bed, noting the clock that read 10:02 am, and walked to his shower. When he reached the showers, he looked at his face in the mirror. He had a bit of a shadow on his face, and his eyes had bags under them. After Harry had run off he had finished his detention for him, and then spent half the night staring at his ceiling and seeing nothing but Harry's face. How did he get into these situations? His father would never believe Cedric unless he did a few minor spells. He rid himself of the bags and neatly combed his hair. Preparing for his father was never easy. The man was exacting to a fault.

By the time he left his dorm, dressed appropriately in his house colors, vest and slacks, it was 11:25. Five minutes to reach Dumbledore's office. Plenty of time... if you had wings maybe. Consequently he found himself outside of the headmaster's office panting slightly and red-faced. He composed himself, taking a moment to brush the wrinkles out of his vest and catch his breath before enunciating calmly, "Cockroach Clusters". The gargoyle swung and he climbed the stairs to his monthly check-up.

His father greeted him with a smile and a handshake, analyzing his son's every move. If he hadn't been through it every month since his fifth birthday it would be intimidating. However, Cedric was used to the man's examinations and paid it no heed. "Hello there, Dad," he said. "Hello, Headmaster," he nodded at Dumbledore, whose slight frown betrayed his generically complacent face.

"Hello, Mr. Diggory. I trust you and your father will excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to." The silver-haired wizard smiled slightly at him, and turned to Amos Diggory, "Amos, I suppose I shall see you this time next month." His smile tightened slightly and he glided out of the room and down the stairs.

Amos's eyes watched the Headmaster's back until his head had disappeared completely. And he transformed into the man that only one person in the world ever saw these days. Cedric shut his eyes briefly. His father's eyes had turned to steel and his posture had straightened significantly. He glared down his nose at his son.

"So, Cedric," his father's interrogation began. "I have of course, conferenced with each of your teachers. They all say you're doing brilliantly, of course. However," here he paused, hoping to catch his son off guard, but failed. "Your transfigurations mistress has said that you did not complete your animagus transformation correctly until your third try."

Cedric fought from rolling his eyes. Everyone knew that animagus transformations were among the most difficult transfigurations in the wizarding world. Getting it on the third try was indeed an accomplishment that less than 10 of all animagi had completed. "Yes, sir. I didn't fully comprehend the process before attempting it," he lied. It was the thought of changing himself into an animal that had given him pause the first time, and halted his transformation. He had lost his concentration. However, this was not an acceptable excuse, it was a weakness. Fear.

Amos sighed patronizingly, "For a boy of such intelligence you certainly are lazy, Cedric... Lets see the transformation then," His eyes glinted. "It had better be perfected by now."

And so the interrogation continued for close to an hour. His father questioned him and drilled him on every fact, charm, transfiguration, potion, ancient rune, etc. he had ever learned. Cedric completed every test with flying colors even as his father attempted to trip him up every step of the way. After all, he had been bred to perfection. He would attain it. For one hour every month he would be perfect. It was all that kept him in Hogwarts all these years, away from his father's cold gaze and harsh punishments. This had been his father's only condition: submit to an examination every month. And so he had. He hadn't failed yet.

Finally, the hour was over, and his father dismissed him with a handshake and a pat on the back, transforming into the man he knew as Dad as they stepped from the Headmaster's office. "I'll see you next month then, my boy." his father called after him cheerily, "Don't forget to work on that egg." Cedric paused. His father hadn't mentioned the egg. That was most unlike him. Ahh, Dumbledore had saved him this time. He understood. Amos was highly suspicious of the man, and knew his son would be disqualified for discussing the egg where the Headmaster probably had listening spells scattered around the room. Cedric waved back at his father, watching him walk through the doors. He then allowed his shoulders to droop, letting his exhaustion show, a cold sweat breaking over the back of his neck. Quite frankly, his father gave him the creeps.

Harry didn't find Hermione in the common room. Nor was the girl in the Great Hall or at the quidditch pitch. Well, Harry hadn't really expected her to be there, but he really needed to think. Which was why he had grabbed his broom. He sighed. Flying helped him to clear his head a bit, he could forget Cedric while he was soaring through the clouds. He circled the pitch and then went over the Forbidden Forest for a bit of a jaunt. A half an hour later he found himself hovering over the pitch, the figure of a bushy haired girl becoming clearer by the second. He ground to a halt a mere foot from Hermione. Needless to say, she was rather unimpressed with his antics. In fact, Hermione was the image of female indignation, with her arms crossed and her brow in a perpetual frown. Harry wasn't certain but he was fairly certain that...

"Harry Potter, you and I need to talk," Hermione turned on her heel and stalked away. After a moment she glanced back at him, "Now, Harry."

He half ran after her back to the dorm. After telling the Fat Lady the password (Horntail Hero), Hermione pulled him through the portrait hole. She looked around, making absolutely certain they were alone. She then turned on him, eyes wide and slightly frightened, "Last night, Harry..."Ahh, so she knew what had happened. "Look, I don't remember what happened." Harry's look of disappointment told everything. "Damn, I was hoping you'd remember. I didn't want to resort to this, but we really need to know what happened I think. All I know is I woke up completely hung-over and dirty and all I remember is something about you and a bottle of Firewhisky." This was admittedly more than Harry remembered. She held out her wand and muttered under her breath, aiming the wand at Harry. He was too wrapped up in remembering that he did not notice as she did the same to herself.

He was running down the hallways, running for his sanity, for his life. Suddenly, the breath was knocked out of him as he collided head on with another person. They ended up a tangle of limbs, robes, books, hair and tears. When he recognized Hermione's face he smiled. His smile faded when he realized she was the source of the tears. Come to think of it, he wasn't certain if he was crying as well. He touched his cheek. It was wet. He stood up, holding his hand out for his best friend and helping her off the floor. "Hey, Hermione, what's wrong?"

She sniffled, turning her red-rimmed eyes toward him, "I could ask you the same, Harry."

Harry averted his eyes, looking at the ground by her feet. "I won't ask you if you won't ask me."

"Deal," she replied. "God, look at the two of us, we're such a mess."

He looked down at her fondly, and held out his hand again. They locked fingers and Harry said, "I'm hungry, are you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Doesn't your stomach ever stop? But now that you mention it, I could use a bite to eat. I suppose we could break the rules just this once."

So, they found themselves down in the kitchens, surrounded by a veritable flock of house elves. Hermione refused to hear their protests as she began fixing herself and Harry something to eat. They talked of stupid things like quidditch and the weather as she made the sandwiches, and grabbed a bottle of pumpkin juice. The elves protested, but to no avail, she wrapped up the sandwiches and juice and thanked the elves for letting them in.

Harry shook his head and followed her to an abandoned classroom, where they could talk in peace, free of the raucous laughter and boisterousness of the common room. And so it began, they unwrapped the sandwiches and poured the juice, and began munching. Hermione was the first to attempt a sip of the juice. She spat it out glaring at the goblet in her hand. "This," she declared, holding up the bottle to the light "is not pumpkin juice." The label read quite clearly, "Pumpkin Juice" but whatever was in that bottle was not juice. She'd stake her life on it.Harry held his hand out for the bottle, and took a sniff. He recoiled a bit, then sniffed again. "Firewhisky," he stated. "I've smelled it on Seamus before."

Hermione looked slightly indignant, "Why on earth would they have firewhisky in the kitchens? That is ridiculous." She looked over to find Harry sipping cautiously. "Harold James Potter!" He looked up guiltily. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry decided to throw caution into the wind, this was turning out to be a seriously bad night. He threw back a shot's worth. Spluttering a bit, he got it all down and looked Hermione in the eye, daring her.

"Harry! We can't drink... it's... it's... wrong!" she watched him swallow another mouthful of the burning fluid. He smiled at her and offered her the bottle. She regarded it with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. Her mother had always said she'd end up as the cat who was killed by curiosity.

Hours later the two had downed three quarters of the bottle, and they were lying on their backs, looking at the ceiling. "'Mione," Harry slurred. "Y'know what happened to me tonight?"

Hermione hiccuped and turned her head, "'F you tell me, I'll tell you."

Harry turned towards her and whispered as dramatically as a drunk can, "Shedric... y'know, Shedric," Hermione nodded, watching the room spin around her. "He n... nearly kisshed me."

Hermione gasped. "Really?" She looked at him. "Are you," she hiccuped again. "Gay?"

He regarded her in a drunken stupor, as though he hadn't really thought about it that way. "I don't know," he replied. "I shpose so..." he giggled a bit. "Your turn."

Hermione faced the ceiling again. "I..." she paused. "I got a dentenshion."

Harry laughed, "You? 'Mione? Detenshion? Naw..."

She looked at him in perfect drunken seriousness, "Yesh, I did. From..." she paused to try and recall what had happened. The cat. "Oh yesh. Filsh."

"Filsh. He'sh a... a..." His drunken vocabulary had shrunken significantly after the last shot.

"I know." Hermione closed her eyes. "Maybe we should go to bed now, I'm shleepy."

They helped eachother up and stumbled into their common room, gaining a disapproving glare from the Fat Lady as they slurred the password. Harry went in first, waving at Dean and Seamus who were whispering on the couch. Hermione followed two minutes later.

Harry came to, Hermione following seconds behind him. She looked at him with new eyes, "Cedric?"

A voice came from the portrait hole, "What about Cedric?" Ron was standing there, his hair not completely flattened from his eventful slumber, but fully dressed.

"Nothing, Ron, just talking about the Tournament," Hermione lied, giving Harry a look. A look that said quite clearly 'this isn't over.'

In fact, it was just beginning...

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Sorry again about the delays. I would appreciate any comments/constructive criticisms. Reviews are good, they make me feel tingly inside. Thank you all again!