The following day, Harry woke up with a slight headache. The feeling subsided by the time he was sitting in the divination classroom. He didn't like this class at all, to be honest, especially that they had cartomancy now.

"My dears," Harry grimaced upon hearing Professor Trelawney's voice. She and Firenze were teaching different classes and, unluckily, the sixth years had the subject with the witch. He looked up as Trelawney continued. "For today's lesson, you will be working in pairs." Harry groaned under his nose. He didn't know much people in this class, apart from Lavender and Parvati, some Hufflepuff bloke he recognized from Quidditch games and Zabini. He didn't really fancy being paired up with any of them, so he propped his head on the desk and ignored his surroundings. Eventually, he heard the chair next to his being pushed and when he looked up, there was a Ravenclaw boy sitting next to him.

Harry watched him for a moment. He had short, brown hair, that seemed rather soft and shiny, with a loose strand falling on his forehead. His cheeks were high and his jaw pretty sharp, but not in a harsh way; it looked rather nice. Manly. He was rather tanned, too.

The boy must have sensed that he was being watched, because he looked to the side and caught Harry's eye. Strangely embarrassed, Harry looked back to the front of the class, but he could tell the Ravenclaw was still watching him.

"Hello," he said suddenly. Harry turned to look back at him once more.

"Er, hi."

"Not your favourite class, huh?" the boy asked, smiling brightly.

"Uh, no. Not really," Harry said, returning the smile. "How about you?"

The Ravenclaw shrugged his shoulders. "Could be worse, I guess. Though I'd rather have it with Professor Firenze."

"Yeah, me too," Harry agreed, sighing quietly. He wondered what Hermione and Ron were doing and if they were as miserable at the moment as he felt.

"I'm Will, by the way."

"Oh, sorry. I'm Harry," Harry smiled politely.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Will answered, nodding at him with a friendly grin on his face.

Will turned out to be not so bad. He was quite good at divination, at least much better than Harry was, so working with him was easier. He also liked Quidditch, although he didn't play it on the school team. Thanks to chatting with the boy the class went by sooner than Harry had hoped for and shortly he found himself in the Great Hall, reunited with his friends.

They spent the rest of the day in classes, finishing with Transfiguration. While leaving the class, Harry was discreetly approached by Malfoy, who slipped him a note, saying to come to his dorm after the curfew.

And so, hours later, Harry ended up in the Slytherin's bed once again, making out with his childhood rival with such passion as if his life depended on it.

All this time Harry hadn't realized how much he didn't mind their weird relation. He was perfectly content with Malfoy sucking a deep red spot on his neck, marking him as his, while Harry continued to shamelessly hump the blond's thigh that lay between his legs.

"Fuck," he panted as Malfoy crushed their hips together, catching his lips with his in a fierce kiss. Seconds later they both came, still fully clothed, bar their robes.

Gods, Harry thought, we didn't even manage to get naked.

He lay on the soft sheets, catching his breath, while Malfoy reached for his wand and cast a cleaning spell. Harry huffed in relieve as the uncomfortable stickiness disappeared from his pants. He was in a pleasant state of daze, warm and spent, satisfied and cozy.

He felt his eyes heaving and, after a couple of seconds of trying to fight the sleepiness off, he closed them and drifted off.

When he opened them, he was back at the cemetery. He was dressed in the Triwizard Tournament jumper. When he looked down, he noticed he was clenching his fingers on the cup. He looked around, but there was no one there. He was alone.

It was quiet and cold; he shivered with every stronger blow of night air. He could feel the earth under his feet, and only then did he realize he was barefoot.

Then, there was a sudden crash, a loud noise, and Harry turned his head abruptly to the source. A couple of meters away from him was Cedric. He lay on the ground, face down, his eyes wide open.

"Harry…" a weak voice came from his throat.

"Cedric!" Harry shouted back. He tried to run in the direction of the other boy, but he couldn't make a step. He looked down. With horror he realized he was stuck. He looked back at Cedric, but the Hufflepuff wasn't alone anymore.

It was him. Harry's heart started to beat faster; he could feel his pulse in his ears and his scar began to hurt.

Voldemort. Harry could see him. He was standing right in front of Cedric, leaning over him with that disgusting smile of a madman.

"Crucio," Harry heard him saying.

"No!" he yelled, once again trying to move. He could see how Cedric's face twisted in pain and his body convulsed.

He fumbled desperately and tried yank his legs out of the mud he was stuck in, but the earth was swallowing him, inch by inch, whenever he moved. He looked back up and grabbed for his wand, but it wasn't there. It was gone. He must have lost it in the maze.

He could hear Cedric screaming.

"Stop! Stop it!" Harry yelled at Voldemort, struggling more and more.

Voldemort's terrifying smirk widened and he raised his wand one more time.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"NO!" Harry cried out as Cedric was hit with the curse. His eyes went wide for a moment and then became completely empty. His body lay lifelessly in the dirt. He was dead.

"I'll kill you!" Harry yelled, his voice horse and filled with anger. "I swear, I will kill you, bastard!"

At his words, the wizard turned in his direction. Slowly, he walked towards Harry, raising his wand.

"Crucio," he spoke quietly.

Harry screamed as blinding pain pierced his whole body. He fell to the ground, his legs burrowed in it up to his knees, and writhed uncontrollably, desperately wanting the feeling to stop.

Voldemort stood above him, laughing maniacally, casting the curse again and again.

"Potter!" Harry heard his name. At first he thought it was Voldemort, but then he realized it was someone else. He wondered if someone came to save him. He would survive. He would live.

But Cedric would not. He would have to take his body back. Tell Dumbledore Voldemort was back.

"Potter!" the voice called out again.

Harry wanted to respond, but the excruciating torture sent him to the ground again.

"Harry!"

Before Harry managed to turn around and see who it was, Voldemort yelled "Crucio" one more time and pain ripped through him again, blinding his eyesight. The only thing he could do was open his mouth and scream, and scream, and scream.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes wide and sat up abruptly.

He was in the Slytherin dorms. In Malfoy's bed, he added in his mind, looking around.

Panting heavily, he fell back on the soft pillows. His clothes were soaked with sweat, his hair damp and stuck to his forehead; his throat was sore from screaming and every muscle in his body was tensed up and aching.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, he noticed that the hand on his arm was still there.

He slowly opened his eyes again. Malfoy was sitting next to him, hovering over him, but not too close, giving him enough space to feel comfortable. His brows were furrowed slightly, as if he was thinking about something very intensely. He was watching Harry carefully, chewing his bottom lip. He looked confused. And maybe even a bit worried.

"You…" Malfoy hesitated. He took his hand back. "Are you alright?"

Harry watched him for a moment before he nodded barely noticeably.

"Sorry if I woke you," Harry said, clearing his throat as his voice was hoarse.

The Slytherin didn't say anything, just nodded back at him. He lay back down, next to Harry. None of them closed their eyes; they both stared at the ceiling. After a couple of minutes, Harry started to wonder if Malfoy fell asleep again; he was sure he himself wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

"Was it…" Malfoy began, his voice low and quiet, "It was Him, wasn't it?"

Harry closed his eyes again. He clenched his hands into fists and took one more deep breath before answering.

"Yeah." He didn't look up to see Malfoy's reaction, nor did he hear any sigh from the blond; he remained still, but couldn't help wondering what Malfoy was thinking about.

He tried to stop thinking about the dream, so instead he focused on the soaked shirt sticking to his chest. He was getting uncomfortable and cold, being all sweaty.

"Can I, uh, take a shower?" He felt extremely stupid asking about it, but he couldn't stand just lying there. He sat up slowly.

Malfoy looked at him and nodded. "Yeah. Sure," he muttered quietly, his look still uncertain.

Harry slipped out of the bed and, without even caring about being seen by Malfoy's dorm mates, he entered the bathroom.

"Fuck," he murmured to himself, wiping the sweat off his face with his hands. He looked into the mirror hanging above the sink and sighed. He was pale, his eyes unfocused, hair completely damp from all the sweat.

Shuffling his feet, he made his way to the shower, where he pulled the sticky T-shirt over his head and slowly slipped his trousers and underwear down his legs, throwing it to the side, creating a small pile of dirty clothing.

He stepped under the shower, quickly turning the tap on.

A sigh of relief escaped his throat as the hot stream hit his tensed muscles. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool wall, feeling his breathing beginning to shudder. He clenched his right hand into a fist and hit the wall with it, trying to tame the anger that was rousing inside.

He hated those dreams. They made him feel useless and vulnerable; they reminded him over and over again that Cedric was dead because of him.

He knew he should have done something. He should have saved Cedric. Yet all he had done was watch how Voldemort killed an innocent boy, who would have probably become one of the wittiest, powerful wizards of their generation.

He remembered the empty stare on Cedric's face when the green light shot through him. He remembered the screams of his father when they were brought back to school. They haunted him ever since that day.

Harry didn't realize he was crying until he tasted salty water on his lips. He clenched his eyes tightly to make it stop, but eventually gave up, letting the tears fall as the hot water kept washing over his body. His breath became uneven, but he fought to gain control over it. He breathed in and out, slowly, hitting the wall once again.

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and soft, giving support and comfort that Harry hadn't realized he needed.

Taking his time, he turned around, standing face to face with Malfoy. The blond must have undressed and slipped under the shower extremely quietly, unless Harry had been so busy with drowning in despair that he hadn't heard him.

He looked into the grey eyes with an empty stare. Malfoy searched his gaze, but said nothing – no cutting comments or snarky remarks about what a crybaby The Boy Who Lived was. He just stood there, his hand still on Harry's arm, which began to shake lightly.

More tears welled up in Harry's dazed eyes and he felt another shudder rock him. Without a word, he leaned forward and let his forehead rest against Malfoy's collarbone as teardrops began to stream his face again.

Without really realizing it, Malfoy brought both his arms around the Gryffindor and placed his palms on his trembling back.

Before he could stop himself or at least think it through, he turned his head to the side and leaned in an inch.

"It's just a dream," he whispered into Harry's ear, his warm breath taking instant effect on Harry, the familiarity of it calming him down. "Just a dream," he repeated quietly after a moment, although both of them knew well it wasn't.

Harry continued to cry.

And Malfoy let him.