It was warm where he was, warm and golden. He could feel the heat on his face and something soft, pressing lightly against his forehead. His eyelids fluttered until he saw a familiar face in front of him. Cedric Diggory held a warm washcloth against Harry's forehead, and a blanket had been laid across his lap. Cedric had that familiar smirk on his face, pulling the cloth away and patting Harry on the knee from the opposite end of the couch. This was when Harry realized something: his dream had caused… excitement. He felt nauseous from the embarrassment and quickly thanked the good lord for the blanket's thickness.
"Not quite sure what you did, Potter, but you hit your head pretty hard." Cedric got up and took a poker to the fireplace, clicking his tongue as he did so. Harry sat up, clutching the blanket closely with one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other, and scanned the room. He realized first that he was back in the prefect's common room in which he had previously met Cedric, and second that he and Cedric weren't the only ones in the room. Across from the couch, in a cornflower blue chair, sat the blonde girl Harry had seen associating with Cedric earlier that day. Harry breathed an annoyed sigh and glared at the back of Cedric's head.
"I see you couldn't save me the embarrassment of losing the girlfriend for half an hour." As he spoke, he could feel his arousal from previous dreams subsiding, and tried to hide the relief. Harry watched as the two exchanged horrified glances, and suddenly burst into loud, hysterical laughter.
The blonde pointed her thumb in Cedric's direction and raised an eyebrow. "Please," she said through giggles. "This fag?" Cedric then flipped her the bird and with a smile, locked eyes with Harry. He seemed to wait a moment, holding his gaze. "Honestly, Harry." He paused again. "Even if I was straight, I could do better than… that." He turned to face the fire again, but not before being hit in the face with a cheap corduroy pillow. The two wiped tears from their eyes, and finished their fits of giggles, and the girl picked up her book and opened to a page marked with a blood pop wrapper.
Meanwhile, Harry stood, looking frantically back and forth. "Wait a minute," Harry stuttered. "Are… Cedric… are you…" He put one hand through his black hair. "Are you saying you're… you're um…" Cedric turned and stood to take a few steps toward Harry, smirking and laughing ever so quietly through his nose. He lifted one arm to place a hand on the top of Harry's head. "Oh," he said, hand moving softly back and forth. "Oh, little Potter," he said while leaning forward, stopping just an inch in front of his face. "As if you couldn't tell," he whispered teasingly.
"You know what they say," he heard the blonde girl chime. "It takes one to know one."
This was when Harry violently slapped Cedric's hand away and fell backward, knocking over the pieces on the chess table. Cedric rolled his eyes and turned to punch the girl on the shoulder. "Honestly, Cassie." He took one slow step toward Harry. "Don't worry, Harry, no one's here to taint your innocent little mind."
Harry searched frantically around, not quite sure what he was looking for, fighting the urge to stutter out something stupid. "So that's why…" he said in one breath. Cedric raised an eyebrow and leaned his head forward, straining to hear. "That's why…" Harry dropped his head to look at the ground, blinking heavily, his hand pressed once again to his sore forehead. Cedric, a sincere look of concern painted on his beautiful face, said softly, "That's why… what? Harry, what is it?"
The fourth year looked back and forth between the two people before him. He looked at one and felt a sense of extreme shame, confusion, and humiliation. He looked at the other and felt sick, but warm, anxious… longing. He wanted to drop to his knees and cry, and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Suddenly he felt two hands on his shoulders. He looked up and Cedric was in front of him, face calm, body welcoming.
"I'm sorry, Harry," he said slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about how… this can affect someone. It was… it wasn't handled right. The situation…" He turned to look at Cassie. "Sometimes things slip, you know? I understand this can be difficult news to just take in, you know? Especially for someone your age—"
"—Someone my age?!" Harry pushed Cedric away. "God, what am I, like a freaking ten year old to you people?"
"Harry, that's not what I was—"
"—No, stop! Ever since I've met you all you've done is look at me like I'm some kind of child, talk to me like I'm some kind of baby, treat me like this little… pet to be taken care of. I'm not an idiot! I get it, you were 'hired' to take care of me; I'm a job. But… just… leave me alone! Stay out of my life!"
Cedric reached forward to grab Harry, but the boy pushed away and ran toward the heavy door, his whole body pressing against it to open. Once outside, he felt his eyes watering, but didn't dare let them fall in case someone was around. Harry took off running again, but this time to his dorm, and this time remembering to breathe. His head was still throbbing, but he knew he'd be able to make it to his bed without injury. He stopped in front of his door, and opened his mouth to utter the password, but was cut short as the door swung open and his best friend, Ron, emerged.
Ron's eyes widened as he saw his friend. "Wow, Harry, you look like…" Harry had only then realized that he must have looked terrible, having had fallen in the dirt, with red, teary eyes, and his arm held up, sore from pushing Cedric away so hard. Harry shoved past Ron, muttered a "Thanks, Ron," and stormed up the stairs, teeth clenched, trying not to hear his name whispered as he passed.
All the lights off, the room empty with everyone being at dinner, Harry lay in the darkness, panting, waiting for whatever it was he was feeling to pass. He felt sick, humiliated, miserable. Cedric's eyes were all around him, the warmth of his hands still on his shoulders, his forehead. He held his hand to his chest, which felt cold, while the rest of him was tingling, aroused, anxious. He glanced at the alarm clock beside him constantly, every two minutes, until finally he walked over to the window to the right of his bed.
He thought about the following day. He would face Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor in the first stage of the Triwizard Tournament. Half of the crowd would be rooting for his survival, half for his death, because it would most likely be more entertaining. He had been, once again, cheated into fighting for his life, and wanted nothing more than to just lie in bed and give up. He hated being the boy who lived. Everyone was always watching out for him, eyeing him, talking about him, waiting for the next thing that would happen to him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
And now he feared there was something else that was different about him, something that was wrong. He stood before the window, and saw his own eyes in his reflection, and lifted to hands to pushed against his face, hide it, and cry. It was his fourth year at Hogwarts, and it had been three years since the one man he ever trusted had betrayed him completely: Albus Dumbledore.
"Harry, how do you feel?"
Harry sat up in his hospital bed, every part of his body aching from who knows what. It could have been the giant chess pieces attacking him from every angle. It could have been the vines that tightened around his fragile body and nearly cracked his very bones. It could have been the keys that sliced at his pale skin. It could have been something deeper, from the spirit of Lord Voldemort passing swiftly through his body, knocking him to the ground, knocking him into darkness. He looked up at the old man before him, and gave his very best smile. He received a similar smile in return.
"Are you in any pain?" Professor Dumbledore placed his hands on Harry's small legs and began massaging the weak muscles, looking the boy in the eyes, awaiting an answer. Harry watched his hands, distracted, before stuttering an answer. "Well, yes sir. I suppose you could say that, but… it doesn't seem like much but a few hundred bruises." The Professor chuckled and continued to massage the muscles, moving up slowly, causing a fair amount of chills to run through Harry.
"Um, sir…" The Professor shushed him, and lifted one hand to rub Harry's scarred forehead. "Just relax, my boy. I'll make the pain go away." Harry felt his heart thumping faster, and a sickness in the pit of his stomach. His Headmaster's hand was running up his leg bit by bit, and the other began to move down his neck, his chest, his stomach…
Harry gasped, and wiped the tears away, his face buried in his arm pushed up against the wall. He felt himself sliding to the cold cement floor below him. The feelings coursing through him, the shame, the disgust, everything he couldn't stop… everything he never had control over… Cedric was bringing everything back. Harry didn't want to remember, he didn't want another man… he didn't…
The door swung open and Harry heard laughter behind him. Wiping his face, he got up and pulled himself under the blankets just before the lights switched on and Ron said his name. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and deepened his breathing, body rising up and down.
"Stupid ass has got a big day ahead of him, let's not wake the princess." Seamus laughed and walked back toward the door, Ron's fake chuckles following after him. Before the lights switched off, however, he seemed to stop in the doorway, and whisper to the sleeping boy, "I'm sorry, Harry." And then it was dark, and Harry felt the warm saltwater sliding down his face.