English Summer Rain

Hold your breath and count to ten
And fall apart and start again
Hold your breath and count to ten
Start again, start again...

Scrambling on your hands and knees trying to reach a gaudy cup in a creepy graveyard was not what you had picked in the "How Harry Potters' life ends" sweepstakes. You knew from the moment your name out of the be damned Goblet of Fire that someone has deemed it time to cook your goose.

Obviously that someone is a certain Lord Voldemort, seriously how did no one except you and Hermione Granger see this coming? You silently curse everyone else for being so. fucking. blind.

Inching your way towards the cup your mind goes back to an afternoon, just after the first task, Hermione and you spent whiling away time coming up with exaggerated plots based around your entry in the Tri Wizards Tournament. Almost all of them terminal and all of them clearly identifying who wanted to fill you in.

Looking back now, with spell fire raining down around you, you realise Hermione doesn't in fact have a very dark sense of humour, she lets you take care of that. She was being brutally honest with you and trying to prepare you for the worst.

"Harry, I hate to say something so important so crassly, but nothing else works. Harry, I think you're fucked."

You wonder how your best friend, yes best friend you confirm internally, Ron's lost that spot now, is taking your elopement from the ground of Hogwarts via unexpected portkey. Nobody expects an unexpected… no, focus Harry.

Broken pieces of masonry rains down around you while you've taken your very brief sojourn down memory lane, no rest for the wicked, eh?

Finally, you make it to a bit of cover, by way of a garish Mausoleum. Positioning yourself so that its between yourself and Lord Voldemort and his merry gang of friends, you see that you have at least 30 seconds before they catch up with you. It would be less if they were running, but pure bloods do not deign to run. It is beneath them.

Focus Potter, you need to reach the cup, you're panicking, outmatched numerically and seriously outmatched magically, you are indeed fucked. A soft rueful smile crosses as the realisation reminds you of Hermione again. Focus! Stop thinking about the past at a time like this and think about thinking of plan to get out of here.

"Sometimes Harry, you need to take a deep breath, and count to 10. It helps to settle your mind stops you acting rashly."

Ok, that bit of the past might actually be good advice. Granted the context it was meant in was to stop you from ramming your fist into Ron's face when you found out he'd known about the dragons used in the First Task for at least a week.

"I am not using that word Harry, I agree with the sentiment you're expressing behind that word, he should have told you himself about the ….no, or that one either it, means the same thing! I am using berk and you're not interrupting me again.

Sometimes Harry, you need to take a deep breath, and count to 10. It helps settle your mind and stops you acting rashly. You have a habit of running into things headfirst without thinking about the consequences and I'm scared one day it will get you killed."

To be fair to yourself, this 'situation' you're in isn't one you ran headfirst into, you want to chide imaginary past Hermione, you were dragged into it by a megalomanic and his groupies, but you're willing to listen to advice well given in lieu of any other ideas.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose you go over the instructions you were given by Hermione.

"Breathe in deeply through your nose, feel it filling your lungs to just before the point you can't breathe anymore and then hold it in. Tense your abdominal muscles… your tummy muscles, God Harry, I think it's a wonder you can read sometimes. Tense your …tummy muscles, feel your upper body being taut like a coiled spring and slowly count."

One

You are determined not to freak out, you've got time, they think they've got you cornered and are still making their way towards you, as if strolling through a graveyard at night is a typical past time of theirs. Nothing to see here folks, just a spot of night-time child murder, you know how it is.

Glancing around you try and orientate yourself, spotting where you and Cedric were deposited by the portkey you realise in your mad scramble away from Voldemort you managed to head in the right direction.

Fuck. Cedric's body is there too. Your first official, seen with your own eyes, dead body. All that goes through your mind is a conviction to try and take him back as well, like his disembody spirit asked of you. Bit weird but you've getting use to a lot of shit since re-joining the magical world.

Two

Now you need to come up with a plan, so far, you've identified these salient facts, the bad guys are behind you and getting closer, you're hiding behind a small stone building, they know where you are, and the portkey is roughly 100m in front and to the left of you.

Well, that helps doesn't it Potter? Charging 100 metres across uncovered space has never been a good idea, ask the poor fucks forced to fight in World War 1. Oh wait, you can't because they're dead, the dead can't talk, and you're about to join them in their silence. Fuck.

Three

No wait! There are rows of headstones heading in the direction of the portkey, if you could get to, you don't know, the third or fourth row from here they wouldn't be able to see you as easily. Go on, where you're aiming is only a short dash away. They won't react fast enough to your sudden bolt. You can make it. Go.

Four

The downside, you realise, of giving yourself time to think is, you have time to think. Images of yourself being cut down by a spell as you run to the graves flood your mind. You can feel yourself freezing up at the thought. No. This indecision shit is going to get you killed. You're doing it.

Five

But then what you ask yourself? I get to that row of graves and then what do I do? You keep moving Potter, that's what you do, use the cover to get to the portkey. Don't over think it. Your options are, stay here be found and die, suddenly become a magical savant and valiantly fight them all off, or make a break for it and you manage reach the portkey. Granted one of those options is nonsensical, one is certain death, so that leaves you making a break for it, as it's the only option with life in it. Albeit uncertain life. You're doing it Potter. Go. Go Now.

Six… Seven… Eight… Nine…

Fuck, Fuck, they've seen you make a break for it, holding your breath now while trying to break the World Record for the 100-yard dash doesn't seem like a good idea so you gratefully start breathing again, filling your lungs with cool fresh oxygen. Isn't it the 100 metres now?

The Deatheaters and their 'Lord' have realised where you're heading, they've increased their stroll to at least a brisk walk now and the spells they're sending in your direction have seemed to increase in frequency and intensity. Your cover is rapidly being removed. You need to keep moving.

You see the portkey gleaming and Cedric's still body roughly 10m in front of you now, for some reason you've started screaming, nothing coherent, just a primal outburst of rage, as low and as loud as your little teenage voice box can manage. Legs pistoning, you close the distance, spell fire missing its mark as you've managed to get far enough away to stop them from aiming properly.

Finally, you find yourself in front of Cedric, reaching down with one hand you grab a handful of the top Cedric was wearing for the Final Task, running purely on adrenaline and fear now, your other hand reaches down and latches onto the portkey.

Ten

Fuck. You made it. The sensation of being dragged by your navel kicks in and you feel yourself being pulled away to safety. Relief flood through you along with the realisation that it was Hermione's advice that saved your life.

You'd just managed to work in some time to wonder if you should tell her, you only really counted to five and so far, it's been 100% successful in dealing with your problems, when you're deposited, jarringly on the Quidditch pitch.

The crowd filling the stands are deafening, you start to wish you knew how to render yourself temporality deaf as you drag yourself to your feet. In the distance you see a group of people rushing towards you. People coming towards you so far today has not been a good thing and you start tensing up. Before you know it, your wand is in your hand, gripped tightly.

Then you see her, in the oncoming crowd and relax, it only takes her a few more seconds for to reach you and engulf you in a hug.

As much as you're enjoying the closeness of the hug, you're overcome by the usual teenage male realization that hugs should only be brief, by law, and gentle pull away. You manage to smile at her and say, "I managed to count to five", before the adrenaline runs out and you fall to a heap on the floor.

Any feedback would be appreciated. Cheers.