DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. He [and everyone else in the Potterverse] belongs to J.K. Rowling. Rawrr~ Now I'm sad.

Anyway! This chapter is officially the start off on the main plot. Hmmmm. Hermhmmmm...

Snape love, anyone? He kinds of needs it since I haven't been giving him any...yet...

Bright light flooded behind his lids and it took all of Harry's strength to wrench them open. The wind blew hard at his face and the scent of rosemary, wet grass and moss hit his nose. This alarmed him. His forehead prickled, something that never happened since the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the infliction alerted him even more to rise up into a sitting position faster than he wanted to. His head spun. Blurred images of deformed trees and some kind of dark shape loomed close above him came in his vision.

Shit, my glasses!

He groped around the grass, the dew tickling against his hands and fingers. The smell seemed familiar, too familiar as it bore a warning sign. Then came a voice that made him freeze as he sat up, heart leaping into his throat.

"Ow. Damn, where are we? You all right, Potter?" the low voice of one who was supposed to be dead grumbled.

Harry whipped around, lungs feeling about to explode from the over-active breaths he was now taking. His body began to shake, hands fisting into the grass under him. He swallowed, voice coming in a form of a coarse whisper.

"C-Cedric?"

There, just within reach, stood a blurred image of a tall boy facing him. Even without his glasses he could notice that form anywhere. After all, that same form held Cho Chang at the Yule Ball. Harry felt about to collapse right back into that nice, cool grass. "Harry! Are you all right? What's wrong?" Cedric fell to his knees and grabbed Harry's arms, blue eyes probing about the younger male's body for any physical injuries. The Boy-Who-Lived could only gape, both heartbroken and heart relived. The dead boy was holding him, glaring at his preposterous action of near-to-fainting. Nothing was getting past his need to analyze the situation at hand: Cedric Diggory was alive. The older boy's breath blew against his face, warm, live breath.

"Harry!" the Hufflepuff exclaimed, grabbing hold of the small form before it fell to the ground.

He wobbled in the other's grasp, doing his damn best to steady himself against the taller boy's build. Good God, he felt weak. He stood up shakily, Cedric following suit still keeping a firm grip. What Harry heard next weakened him almost to the point of falling unconscious.

"He's not alone," the irritable voice of none other than Peter Pettigrew himself spoke through the darkness. Harry couldn't see anything in front of them, though the dark shape that he had seen looming above taking a recognizable form. It was the grave site of Tom Riddle's father: a statue of a hooded figure holding a scythe. A shadow manifested itself from behind the statue, Harry could only guess was the piece-of-shit traitor to his parents. Anger burned within him. If it weren't for Cedric's presence, he would've cursed the bloody oaf to no end!

An almost inaudible whisper, filled with nothing but evil intent ripped through Harry's soul.

"Kill the other."

No. This can't be happening. This…

Searing pain shot through his forehead making him scream in anguish.

Harry shook his head to rid of the sudden clouds in his head, reaching out and yanking Cedric to him. "P-Portkey. Get it…" His eyes rolled to the back of his head, the pain in his forehead becoming increasingly stronger. There was a crunching sound of footsteps behind them and the awful gurgling sound of what Harry knew as the Dark Lord. He could almost feel the wand from the rat's hand rise, pointing towards the one deemed unimportant. The words were going to come across those wretched, pipsqueak lips.

But not this time!

"GRAB ON TO ME!" Harry bellowed with a strong force, not waiting for a reply, pointing his wand at the Triwizard cup. "ACCIO!" He was crying now, body racking with fear and anxiety. What if this didn't work? What if this was all a hoax or some dream?

Then I'll save him even in my dreams.

The cup soared through the air in slow motion for the young boy turned teen, the idea of some kind of counter curse to interrupt its flight weighing heavy on his shoulders when he heard Wormtail's distant shout of surprise and a menacing angry drawl lashing into his mind. But soon, the cup was in his hand, arms tightly weaving themselves around Cedric's neck, squeezing.

Please let this work!

The familiar nose-whipping sensation coursed through his skin, the unbearable flight spinning them in circles. During the time that they traveled, the older boy's arms had gripped around Harry's waist, securing him close to his body. For a mini-second, Harry wanted to free himself and let go of the portkey instead. The touch and closeness made him uneasy. He shut his eyes, closing all thoughts from his mind before ground hit his feet, knees, then hands as they freed themselves from the terrible grip on the Hufflepuff Champion to steady himself from the fall. He coughed and sputtered into the grass much different than where he had been on just moments ago. There were similar sounds to his right. Obviously, the hold they had on each other took most of their breath.

Harry lifted his head and flushed. In his blurred vision the stands of the audience came in clear view. The faces may have been ruptured due to his unperfected sight, but they were there nonetheless.

Silence. Then a huge roar erupted. Harry quickened his pace in breathing, lungs over-expanding and deflating.

No. Way.

Shouts and cheers rocketed the arena, a whole symphony of applause greeting his ears. Booms and crackles exploded overhead as fireworks burst their delight in the sky shooting streams of color changing between gold and scarlet, black with yellow sprinkles in the background so that the obstinate color didn't get mixed with the already darkened sky. What made Harry move the most, though, was Dumbledore. The slouched figure of a tall wizard with a beard leaning against the pedestal he had spoke at during the introduction to the last task couldn't be mistaken. The young boy all but rose to his feet and ran the fastest his wobbly legs would carry him, tears coming down in waterfall droplets. He didn't care if he looked stupid or dramatic. Dumbledore was alive!

IS ALIVE! Harry corrected himself, launching into the old geezer's arms, grey eyes widening in the most surprise it had ever seen. The Boy-Who-Lived wept, clinging to the hope that this, all of this, wasn't just some useless dream. But he had just saved Cedric Diggory, who was now being hustled about by his class and father, from an uncalled for death. And Dumbledore, he wasn't dead. His bright eyes were twinkling as they normally did behind those half-moon glasses, peering down on him like usual with that questioning brow lifted into whitened locks.

The slim and age-worn arms reached around the young Gryffindor to embrace him, not knowing why such an act was taking place with the boy spilling his guts over the field. Was it perhaps the fact he made it through? The boy shook uncontrollably, gazing up at him with a wide grin and tears overflowing those emerald orbs. The Headmaster caught himself. He could read fear, apprehension, uncertainty, need, loss all in the desperate look from the kid. Harry gripped onto Dumbledore harder, burying his face into the Headmaster's robes murmuring a single phrase over and over. Albus had to lean in to hear it.

"This is not a dream. This is not a dream. He's alive. He's alive."

Before Dumbledore could question, there was a shove on his right shoulder and a very explicit and moody, well, Mad-Eye Moody coming into focus. He bowed his head to examine the DADA professor over his spectacles, brow resuming its quizzical place. The man growled ferociously at the boy in his arms, his one eye glaring at the form while the other simply whizzed in its socket observing its surroundings.

Harry turned abruptly, pressing his back against Dumbledore's, arms stretched across. "You! Get away, you imposter!" he shouted through the still on-going roars of celebration. Glancing to the left, the Headmaster saw Snape stop in his tracks at the boy's outrageous actions. Moody just gawked at Potter, brows drawing in. The stubborn Gryffindor didn't stop there, even as his friends made their way through the crowd and stopped as well, the same distance Snape gave the three.

"You're not Moody!" he accusingly pointed at the professor. "Professor Dumbledore!" Harry whipped around, grabbing the elderly man's wrists in a despaired need. He wasn't going to back down now. He was on a roll! "He's Barty Crouch's son! He's been drinking Polyjuice Potion and locked up the real Mad-Eye Moody in some kind of chest thing and Voldemort's on the rise to get my blood so that he can come back in full-body form and I just saved Cedric Diggory from getting cursed to death and…" Harry's shouts were interrupted by an abrupt pull from behind him, big arms going around his neck and bringing him rough against something hard. Before he could register what was going on a bright flash whisked past his hear and a groan made close to his ear fell away.

Looking up, Harry saw a figure drenched in black which also billowed behind it. His heart clenched maddeningly at the thought. Dare he hoped?

"Potter," came the sarcastic drawl that Harry had been wanting to hear since the shape came into his sight. His clenched organ now did flipflops in his stomach. "Care to explain yourself?" A pause. "And whatever idiotic situation you seemed to have landed yourself in?"

Harry didn't hear the Headmaster's orders to bring the conversation indoors, nor did he realize the crowd had become fixated at the scene taking place on the grounds, neither did he turn to the ginger-haired girl that now made her way closer towards the group along with a red-haired companion who stared at him, worry apparent on both their faces. He made a slow step forward, eyes squinting, never removing from that all-too ghostly outline of black. Another step as he might as well have left his lungs on the ground. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe with each movement forward. The crowd's noise dimmed in Harry's ears, chest clenching on the only organ that seemed to make any exploit he was still alive.

Snape glared, though he was sure the Potter boy wouldn't be able to see the act since he was without glasses. The stubborn brat didn't even care that Snape had probably just saved his life, staring at him with those god-forsaken Lily-like eyes. Whatever nonsense the brat was speaking, they indeed needed to take this inside. They were already getting unnecessary stares. The Minister of Magic was already making his way over to them, no doubt from what he had just done: hitting Alastor Moody square in the chest with a stupefy.

He almost turned, almost being the keyword, before arms trapped him around the waist, his own arms locked at his sides and a mass of unkept hair ramming into his chest. It took him a moment to realize who it was by the voice following right after.

"Professor!" The Gryffindor's voice came out hoarse and used, bordering along the lines of…sadness? Snape's brow furrowed, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming more prominent. What the hell was going on here? Then came a case of racking sobs from the body squeezing the very air from him, hands fisting into his black robes. It was most probably that the brat had mistaken him for someone else what with his bad eyesight. If only that were the case as Harry managed to elude him further with that coarse whispering of his.

"I've missed you so much, Professor Snape. You've no idea how much."

Snape immediately pushed the boy off, black eyes boring hard into emerald greens. Harry stood dumbfounded, but an understanding passed over his glazed look and he merely smirked.

He's…happy?

"Severus." The commanding tone of the Headmaster jarred him back to his senses, eyes still casting furtive glances at the brat. Why was he bloody smiling at him for? What did the Dark Lord do? Or more like… didn't do… he gathered, eyes scrutinizing over the teen's body, not finding a single mark or blood anywhere. Had that meant the Dark Lord failed? How?

"Severus." Snape nodded at once, throwing one last look before charming the unconscious body of Mad-Eye Moody and stalking off the grounds, making his way to the Defense Against the Dark Art's classroom. Minerva, who had been watching along the sidelines taking in the course of events, strode along after Snape, eyes linking momentarily with Albus'. The Headmaster merely nodded.

Harry watched the Potions Master disappear amongst the now baffled crowd, evidently wondering why their DADA professor was being escorted in such a way. He should follow. Out of the corner of his eyes, Cornelius Fudge had stopped in front of Dumbledore wearing a very hard expression. At Harry's glance, Dumbledore turned to him, nodded in the direction his Head of House and Head of Slytherin went, before pulling the Minister of Magic to the side, hand gently steering the man away from the scene.

He was just about to oblige when once again he was interrupted, this time by people he didn't mind being interrupted by.

"Harry! You did it!" exclaimed his ginger-haired friend who bounded into his arms. Seeing her so young and innocent again made him cringe at the fact he was no longer Harry Potter, one who defeated the Dark Lord a second, who was both father and husband. Harry stopped. Gently, he pried himself from his best friend's hug and swiveled his eyes to the stands.

There. Her red-hair stood out, shining exquisitely against the still on-going fireworks display. Thin lips curled into a smile and her brown eyes lit up with excitement. She waved at him, thoroughly delighted he made it through the maze, and alive. Cho Chang was standing right beside her, but Harry no longer felt his fourteen year old self mesmerized by her. No. It was the woman of his dreams, and nightmares, the mother of his soon-to-be children. He ran up the stairs, ignoring Ron's bursts of "Mate! Where you going? Oye!"

"Harry! Where's your glasses?"

Harry stopped in front of Ginny, his body now completely taking control as his hands ran through the silky strands of his future love and pulled her close, lips pressing harshly against the other's. There was a sound of protest and hands coming up to his shoulders to push him away, but they didn't. Her mouth opened and he delved in, relishing in the taste of his lost love, the bitterness making his hands shake and throat run dry.

It was after a long session of snogging did Harry finally pull away, but not too far from his near-sightedness. Ginny stared into his eyes, and he did the same. The light giving off from her brown orbs mimicked his own: love. He embraced her then, crushing her small body into his, melting in her presence. The tears wouldn't come now, not when she was alive and breathing. In slow hesitation, her arms snaked around him and at long last held him back, his head resting on hers, hers on his chest. Harry's heart calmed at the small gesture, fingers tangling themselves into red strands.

I'm not going to lose you. Or anyone else.

** Yes, yes, I know. It's got love on all [the wrong] sides. "Patience is a virtue," so the saying goes. After all, I did warn that this was going to be a long run.