Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of these characters. All of that belongs to the brilliant JK Rowling. Some parts of this fic may be taken directly from the book. I by no means intend to plagiarize. Some things are just too good to make any changes to
Chapter 3:
Frantic screaming filled the air. The Hogwarts quidditch pitch sank under the pressure from the hundreds of feet, all shapes and sizes, trampling to get closer to where the two boys lay. The entirety of the crowd expected one champion emerging from the maze with the Triwizard cup raised above their head, not two unconscious champions enveloped in a pool of blood.
By the time the ordeal that had just occurred come to pass, the half moon blared high in the dark sky reflecting light onto the dewy grass. Professor Dumbledore, whose eyes usually matched the twinkling dewy grass, rushed over with no such glitter in the baby blues. His true age showed when the line in the old face wrinkled in panic and worry.
"HARRY," he grabbed the bleeding boy, who was lying mostly face down, and turned him over so his back pressed against the ground. Harry still had his hand wrapped around Cedric's wrist. The gleaming Triwizard cup flew from his grasp when he hit the ground only moments before.
Floating. The only way to describe his current physical and emotional status would be that he felt absolutely nothing. Drifting along on perhaps a raft or cloud of some sort, maybe in the water or sky he had no clue; nor did he care to know. It was nice here… until it wasn't.
The sensation of a bowling ball making contact with his skull would be a fair representation of his physical and mental bearings. Cedric. Voldemort's back. Wormtail. The torture. Pain. All of it hit him at once like a sack of bricks. He needed someone to know.
As if on cue, Harry heard Dumbledore's calls. The elderly professor bent over the boy blocking the moon from view. It felt safe for Harry to open his eyes a millimeter; even that hurt. Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Moody created a small gathering blocking Cedric's body from the view of the crowd. "Harry, you need to let go," Dumbledore said quietly to Harry referring to his hand so tightly gripped about the deceased's arm.
"That's my son! THAT'S MY BOY," Amos Diggory erupted from the crowd with his wife at seeing his son's body.
"Harry, there is nothing you can do now. You must let go," Professor Dumbledore reached for Harry's fingers to physically pry them off. Certainly a boy this injured does not have a grip this strong, Albus thought as he failed to get the bony fingers off. With a thought of horror, he removed his wand from the pocket of his midnight blue robes and performed a spell. With a disturbing crack, and moan from the semi conscious Harry, the fingers were removed. Each of the five fingers must have broken around Cedric's wrist after the impact from the porkey.
With all his might, Harry tried to speak. Dumbledore needs to know. Stifling a moan he managed to say, "He's back," but it was so low that his plea most likely went unheard.
"Alastor," Dumbledore called to his old friend. "I need to console Mr. Diggory's parents. You need to get Madam Pomfrey here immediately because Harry is gravely injured. I do not want him moved until the crowd has dispersed." With those parting instructions, the headmaster turned to complete his duties. Harry meanwhile fell back into a comatose state.
A/N: This chapter is super short, I know. I feel that it has more of an impact that way. Chapter 4 will be here very quickly, I promise. Please favorite, follow, and review! I feel touched every time I see a new favorite and follow. More reviews would be amazing so I can improve my work, thus making a greater story for you all!