Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews. I am so glad you enjoyed Minerva McGonagall's perspective.

I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

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Harry sat dejectedly on his hospital bed, waiting for the Diggorys to arrive. He dreaded this meeting with all his being, but he knew he had to see them. He had to apologize, to let them know that he would have done anything, given up anything, to bring back Cedric safe and alive.

It had been a rough morning for Harry. When he'd awoken, there had been a few blissful seconds where he had remembered nothing from the night before. But as soon as he smelled the sterile scent and recognized the white ceiling of the hospital wing, the memories hit him like a sledgehammer. Lord Voldemort had returned, and he had ordered Peter Pettigrew to murder Cedric Diggory. Harry's blood had been used, against his will, to resurrect the most evil wizard in history. He had talked to his parents for the first time in his memory, and barely had time to learn their faces and voices. Cedric had told him to hold on, to escape, to take his body back to his parents and loved ones.

Most of the evening had been a blur for him, especially the moments after he returned to Hogwarts with Cedric's body. He remembered the screams and wails, remembered his own desperation as Dumbledore had tried to get him to release Cedric's body. He had trouble recalling what he'd said, what he'd done during those minutes of chaos.

But, he surmised, I must have said that Voldemort is back. He recalled the moments when Cornelius Fudge had not believed the truth, and Harry's dread mounted tenfold as he thought about that in the light of morning. If the Ministry didn't believe Voldemort was back, then who did they think had killed Cedric?

Harry was reminded of the events two years ago when the school had been gripped with the terrifying implications of the Chamber of Secrets. Because he had unknowingly shown the whole school that he could speak Parseltongue, suspicion ran rampant in the corridors and classrooms. Harry didn't want to even imagine what people were suspecting about him now; it was too much to bear.

But one thing that had floored Harry beyond anything was the fact that Sirius had stayed by his side the entire night, and had still been with him when he awoke this morning. The man had told him that before he awoke, the others who had stayed by his side the night before which included Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley had gone to the Great Hall to get breakfast. "They wanted to stay until you woke up, but I persuaded them to leave and come back later," Sirius had said. "They were reluctant, but I told them you wouldn't want to be overcrowded by people right now."

Harry had been incredibly grateful, because that was indeed how he felt. He loved his friends, Merlin knew he did, but he felt like miles separated them now. How could they ever understand what it had been like to witness what he had? He remembered the period where he and Ron had not spoken for weeks, and even though he had long forgiven his friend for that rift, remnants of bitterness still clung to him. Try being me now, Ron, and see how you like it, he thought, but then felt terrible for thinking such a thing. He couldn't expect Ron to truly understand, could he?

As he sat on the bed now with Sirius in a chair next to him, he was honestly amazed at the lengths the man was willing to go for him. Shame still flooded him when he remembered his breakdown in the middle of the night. He had tried to apologize this morning, but Sirius wouldn't let him. Harry had also been horrified when he realized that any of the others could have been awake last night to hear the entire thing, but Sirius had reassured him that he had put a Silencing Charm over his bed. The moment of vulnerability had been between just the two of them. To this, Harry had no words; he felt to overwhelmed to respond, and once again, Sirius seemed to understand.

The seconds stretched by as godfather and godson waited for McGonagall to arrive with the Diggorys. Harry knew how against this idea Sirius was, and in the last few minutes, he had kept trying to tell Harry not to go through with it. But the boy refused to budge; he knew this was the right thing to do.

"You're really going to do this, aren't you? I can't stop you," Sirius murmured, intense worry present in his stormy gray eyes.

"I have to, Sirius," Harry replied for what felt like the thousandth time. "I have to tell them I'm sorry."

"And I've told you, you have nothing to apologize for," Sirius reiterated, but as Harry looked at him, he saw his shoulders slump in defeat. "But I know I can't convince you. In that case, I'll just be with you the entire time."

"Sirius, you can't," Harry said as he felt fear flood his system. "What will the Diggorys think when they see you? Everyone knows what you look like," he said, with a truly apologetic look. He loathed reminding Sirius that he was an escaped convict on the run, but was terrified he would get caught. He knew that if that happened, the Ministry would show him no mercy, and Harry would never see him again.

A fleeting look of despair washed over Sirius's face, but then, he quickly pulled himself together. "I'll transform, then," he said firmly. "No one will know."

Harry sighed, exasperated. "You know that won't work either," he said. "Dogs are not on the list of animals you're allowed to own. It's not safe for you. You have to hide somewhere. Sirius, I don't want you getting locked up again. I don't want anything to happen to you." The image of Cedric's lifeless face flitted through his mind again, and horror strangled him anew when he thought of Sirius losing his soul to the Dementors all because of him. Harry had caused enough grief to last a lifetime, and he refused to see anyone else get hurt or killed on his behalf.

Instantly, Sirius's expression softened when he caught the look on Harry's face. Quickly, he got out of his chair and came very close to Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, pup," he said softly. "I will stay safe for you. You're right, I'm not thinking straight. But I am still going to be here for you. I will cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself." He raised his wand and did so, and he seemed to vanish out of sight. If Harry looked extremely carefully, he could just make him out, but he had to focus very hard. For anyone else, they would have to be incredibly alert, or know what they were looking for.

Harry recalled Hermione telling him about this charm; she, of course, had read about it. This was the first time Harry had seen it in action, and he was impressed despite himself. But the excruciating worry wriggled inside him all the same. "Sirius, please," he begged. "It'll be all right. Please don't put yourself in danger."

"Trust me, Harry," Sirius's voice was very near his ear. "This charm comes in very handy. I've been lucky to have had my wand replaced this past year."

Harry pondered on this. Sirius must have had his old wand snapped when he was sent to Azkaban. How did he get it replaced? The answer immediately presented itself; Dumbledore must have helped him gain a new one. It must have aided him in eluding capture by the Ministry.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, the doors to the hospital wing opened, and McGonagall strode back in, followed by two people who seemed to have aged a decade overnight. It was apparent that neither of them had slept at all, and marks of unbearable grief and loss radiated from their every pore. Cedric's parents had arrived.

And it was then that Harry's resolve to be brave and strong for them fled him. As they came over to his bed, he couldn't bring himself to keep looking at them. His gaze fell to the ground, studying the bedsheets like they were his anchor to the earth. How could he possibly endure a conversation with them?

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his face. It was a soft, tender touch, and it reminded him of Molly Weasley as it lifted his chin. Harry resisted, but eventually, he gave in. He had to face this, didn't he? Wasn't this the reason he had asked for them to see him?

Sirius had informed him that the Diggorys didn't blame him for what had happened to their son, but Harry had been sure that he was being untruthful to protect him. But as he looked into the stricken eyes of Mrs. Diggory as she forced him to look at her, he didn't see any hate or anger on her face. Instead, her expression was soft as she gazed upon him. "Harry," she whispered, "Professor Dumbledore has told Amos and I what happened. Honey, we are so sorry, and we want you to know that we don't blame you."

"Eileen is right," said Mr. Diggory, his voice raw. With a jolt, Harry remembered his horrific screams of "THAT'S MY SON! MY BOY! MY BOY! MY BOY!" That had torn their way out of his throat the night before. "We blame the scum who did this to him," the man continued. "But that person is not you."

"Don't waste away in guilt, Harry," Mrs. Diggory murmured to the shocked boy. "My son wouldn't want that. Never."

"He thought a lot of you," said Mr. Diggory as he placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "He was very adamant that he wanted to support you."

At this pronouncement, another bout of immense guilt seized Harry. Thinking back, there was no doubt that Cedric had been a far better champion. Over the months that passed, Harry had resented and been jealous of the older boy, and the regret Harry felt now would stay with him for the rest of his life. In the larger scheme of things, those feelings had been so petty, so insignificant. He had been so envious because Cedric had friends who seemed to like him for him, had parents who truly doted on him, and, to add insult to injury, seemed to radiate pure happiness when with Cho Chang, the first girl Harry had ever had a crush on. He remembered his old wish, that Cho would agree to ditch Cedric and go to the ball with him, and self-disgust rose up like bile. In the months after the ball, both Cho and Cedric had seemed to glow when they were together, and Harry had yearned for a happiness such as that. The truth was, he had no idea what being in love felt like; it wasn't something that had entered his mind before, young as he was. But all he knew was that he wanted to be that strong, that confident, to be liked because he was true to himself rather than being idolized for fame he had never wanted.

But now ... how was he supposed to look Cho or Cedric's friends in the face ever again? It was almost impossible to do it with his parents, and he knew he wouldn't have to face them every single day. But with the others, it would be constant. He might run into them in the corridors all the time, and see the agony of loss and sorrow on their faces. How could he ever come to terms with any of it?

"I'm sorry," Harry burst out, his emotions almost at the breaking point. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him. I ..."

"Harry, you don't owe us an apology," Mrs. Diggory said softly, cupping the boy's face in her hands. "We are so thankful you did what you did for him at the end. You brought him home, and we couldn't be more grateful."

"Agreed," said Mr. Diggory, and his hand remained on Harry's shoulder. "And we want to tell you that we will be here to support you in whatever's ahead. We know the Ministry are being fools right now," he said, and his face transformed for an instant into an expression of deep fury. "And we believe you."

"We remember the First War," said Mrs. Diggory, "and there have been signs all year that something was amiss. We have no doubt that You-Know-Who has returned, and we are going to do whatever needs to be done. We're going to fight, in memory of our Cedric, and for you." She held out her arms to embrace Harry. Harry, his mind so submerged in emotion he could hardly think, let himself sink into the embrace. After all the trauma she and her husband had been through, they were going to help Harry. They didn't blame him, they didn't hold him responsible. Harry felt tears press at his eyes again, and despite his best efforts, a few fell onto Mrs. Diggory's shoulder as she held him close.

By the time she pulled back, though, Harry had managed to pull himself together again. "Is Cedric still here?" He whispered, and the words seemed to come from a place he didn't know existed.

"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Diggory. "He is still in the room across the hall that's separated from the rest of the wing. In a few minutes, we are taking him to the funeral parlor near our home, and arrangements will need to be made." Her face spasmed with the pure sorrow she felt at having to make that statement.

At the word "funeral", Harry felt his heart clench as well. In a voice barely audible, he said, "Can I ... can I say goodbye?"

The Diggorys and McGonagall exchanged a glance. The older woman had been silent this entire time, simply watching the interaction between Harry and the Diggorys. All three seemed to communicate without words in that moment, and Harry wondered what they were thinking.

Finally, Mrs. Diggory's warm hand landed on Harry's shoulder again, and she said quietly, "Of course you can."

Harry's heart pounded as the little group walked out of the room, and he followed them to somewhere he had never seen before. It was a small room, whose very energy itself seemed to radiate grief. For a moment, Harry had second thoughts - how could he bring himself to say goodbye to someone whose fearful, frozen, lifeless face would never get out of his memories? But the thoughts left him as soon as they came; he needed to do this for Cedric, to promise him that despite what came, he would continue to fight. Cedric should have lived a long, happy life; he deserved so much more. Cedric had taught Harry to never take life for granted ever again.

When Harry entered the room, he immediately noticed the bed contained inside. Bracing himself for the inevitable, Harry bolstered his courage and approached with slow, measured steps.

There he was. Cedric lay on the bed, covered in a white sheet. His gray eyes, which had stared up at the sky without seeing it, were closed now, but his face still showed the look of profound fear he had worn in his last moments. Rooted to the spot, Harry forced himself to look into it. He needed to be staring directly at him to make his promise, and he hoped beyond anything that wherever Cedric was now, he was no longer afraid.

"I'm sorry, Cedric," Harry whispered, his heart pounding so hard and his eyes watering. "I-I'm sorry I never really got to know you. I'm sorry that this happened to you, and I wish ..." He choked back a sob. "I wish I could have saved you. I swear, I ... I will fight for you. I promise."

And with that, Harry had to look away. He knew it had been the right thing to do this, but seeing Cedric again had sapped all the strength from his body. He suddenly felt lightheaded, and saw spots dancing in front of his eyes.

"Harry! Harry! Oh, sweetie, can you hear me?" Mrs. Diggory's voice seemed to come from a great distance away. "Harry, honey, it's going to be all right."

"We should not have let you do this. It was too much for you," came the stricken voice of Mr. Diggory. "Merlin, I'm sorry."

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. The spots grew bigger and bigger in front of his eyes, and everything started to fade. The last thing he felt was a pair of strong arms catching him in their hold.

Then, Harry knew no more.