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Chapter Text

The silence was the first thing that struck Cedric Diggory. Not the quiet hum of a library or the hushed reverence of the Great Hall during an exam, but an absolute, profound lack of sound. He wasn't sure where he was, only that the last thing he remembered was… well, he couldn’t quite remember. The memory felt like smoke, just out of reach.

He opened his eyes. All around him, a wall of brilliant, blinding white stretched into an unseen distance. It wasn't the kind of white that came from paint; this was somehow smokey, ethereal, yet when he reached out, he could feel its cool, wispy touch. It was like living inside a cloud, but a solid one.

As his eyes adjusted, faint details began to emerge from the pervasive whiteness. A familiar archway, a towering window frame, the distinct curve of a broomstick display case. He was in Hogwarts. But it wasn't the Hogwarts he knew. The stone walls, usually rich with history and colour, were now rendered in the same stark, smokey white. Statues of bygone Headmasters and mythical creatures stood frozen, ghostly white against their equally white backdrops. Even the dust motes dancing in shafts of unseen light were just pinpricks of pure white.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice a frail whisper swallowed immediately by the vast quiet. "Is anyone here?"

No reply. Only the suffocating, silent expanse of white. A cold dread seeped into him. He felt utterly, terrifyingly alone. Panic began to claw at his throat, and he started to run, his footsteps echoing softly in the strange, muted space. He ran aimlessly through the endless white corridors, past unrecognisable yet eerily familiar landmarks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Then, he heard it. A whisper. Faint, almost imperceptible, but clear enough to make him stop dead in his tracks. Someone was talking. A lady’s voice, soft and melodious, like the distant ringing of bells.

"Hello?" he called again, turning towards the sound. "Is anyone there?"

The whisper seemed to hover, then fade, leaving the corridor empty once more. Still, he pressed on, drawn by the lingering echo. He walked cautiously around a bend, and there, standing across the hall, was a lady. She was tall, with a kind face and gentle warmth eyes. Her hair was a shade of deep, fiery red, a startling splash of colour in this monochrome world, her clothes were the same shifting white as everything else. Cedric was certain he had never met her before.

"Do I know you?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

The woman smiled faintly and shook her head. "You are new here," she said, her voice soft, like the whisper he'd heard.

Cedric frowned. "New? I've been at Hogwarts for six years. I'm a Hufflepuff."

She shook her head again, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "I mean here," she gestured around them, the white swirling and shifting with her movement.

"Who are you?" he pressed, his confusion deepening. "And what is this place? Where am I?"

The woman's gentle expression turned to one of concern. "You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice laced with a quiet urgency. "It's too soon—"

"What's too soon?" Cedric interrupted, completely bewildered. "This is Hogwarts."

She replied after a moment, a wistful look in her eyes. "Yes, it is." Then, her gaze softened, and a genuine, fragile smile touched her lips. "Thank you for letting me visit Hogwarts one last time."

Cedric blinked. "I... I did it?"

"Yes," she confirmed, her smile widening almost imperceptibly. "It's your thoughts." She took a step closer, and the white around them seemed to shimmer in response. "You can ask for help here, you know. Professor Dumbledore always says that help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

Cedric's mind raced, trying to make sense of her words, of this place. "Is—is this all real?" he asked, the question feeling foolish even as he spoke it. "Can I go back?" He wasn't sure where he wanted to go back. Only that he didn't want to stay here in this beautiful and terrifying white void.

"Yes, yes you can," she said, her voice soothing now. "It's not time for you to be here." She glanced sideways, her eyes seeming to focus on something beyond Cedric's perception. "Someone calling me," she murmured.

"Excuse me," Cedric blurted out, a sudden urgency seizing him. "Who are you?" He had to know. This woman, this place, this impossible conversation—it felt vital.

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a profound peace, yet a deep, enduring affection. "Lily Potter," she said.

"Harry's mother," he whispered. The woman glanced at him with curiosity.

"You know him?" She asked. There's a sadness in her eyes but she smiled. "I'm glad to meet someone who knows my little boy,"

Cedric swallowed. "He- he is a great friend."

"I've to go, someone is calling me," Lily Potter said, and then as swiftly and silently as the whispers he'd heard, she vanished into the ethereal white, leaving only the profound silence behind.

Cedric stood alone again, the name echoing in the vast, empty space. Lily Potter. But how… why was she here? And why was he here? The "too soon" chilled him more than the pervasive white. He looked around, the endless white corridors stretching out, suddenly feeling like a trap.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a desperate plea forming in his mind. "I want to go back."

Cedric woke up with a start. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move. His eyes were unfocused, swimming in a blurry world of muted colors. He wanted to move, to escape this ground where he was bound, but his limbs felt like lead. Voices, a lot of voices surrounded him. A disorienting wave crashing over his consciousness. Someone was screaming, a raw, guttural sound filled with agony, with pain. Who was it? The weight in his chest was crushing, suffocating.
"Cedric! No! No!"
The anguished cry pierced through the fog in his mind.

"He is back! Voldemort is back. I couldn't leave him there," Cedric listened to the words, fragmented and distorted. He is back… the weight in his chest constricted further. Cedric wanted to reach out, to comfort the voice, but he remained imprisoned within his own body.

"Harry, it's okay," someone else said, a calmer, more soothing tone.

Harry? Is that Harry who’s crying? Why? We were about to win the cup, together. He was expecting triumphant roar of the crowd. Laughter. Then… the air around us swallowed us whole and we were in a graveyard! Cold, damp, foreboding.

Everything came flooding back in a torrent of terrifying memories. He realised with chilling clarity what had happened. There was another man in the graveyard, a robed figure. And Harry. Harry begging him to go back to the portkey. Him, stupidly, foolishly, trying to help Harry. And then, there was a bundle in the man’s arm, a gurgling, grotesque mockery of a baby. He remembered the flash of green light as the robed figure raised his wand. Avada Kedavra. The killing curse. Everything went… white?!

Cedric gasped, a ragged, desperate sound. Air filled his chest, searing like fire as it fought its way into his lungs. He coughed, spluttering, his vision slowly beginning to clear. Shapes resolved themselves into faces, faces filled with relief and disbelief.

"He is alive! My boy is alive!" He heard his dad's voice, thick with emotion that shook him to his core. It was a sound he hadn't realized he'd been yearning for, a grounding force in the swirling chaos of his mind.

But the effort of breathing, of remembering, of simply being alive, was too much. The world swam again, the faces blurred, and the weight in his chest returned, but this time it wasn't crushing, it was…soft. Darkness pulled him back in. This time, everything went black.

Chapter Text

Cedric Diggory had always relished summer.
It was a time for Quidditch in the orchard with his friends, exploring the winding paths of his garden, and the easy laughter of his parents. But this summer was different. This summer, Cedric Diggory scarcely left his room.

He’d narrowly escaped death. The Killing Curse, a flash of green and pure malice had grazed him, not quite taking him, but ripping a piece of the core of his soul in the process. St. Mungo’s had been his home for two agonizing weeks, a sterile world of healing spells and hushed whispers.

The kind Healers prodded and poked. He watched his parents, their faces etched with a mixture of relief and concern.

He lay propped on his pillows, a wilting lily in a white bed, observing the hushed conversation between Healer Anya and his parents.

"…a truly remarkable recovery, Mr Diggory," Healer Anya’s voice was soft, compassionate. "Two more weeks is all that your son is going to need. It's remarkable to survive a direct hit…"

His mother, clutched his father hand, her knuckles white. Relief warred with a deeper, gnawing anxiety in her eyes as she glanced at Cedric. "Thank Merlin, Healer. We—we were so terrified."

Amos merely nodded, his jaw tight. He hadn't left Cedric's side for more than an hour in two weeks.

Healer Anya sighed, her kindly face clouding slightly. "He is stable physically. All bone and tissue regeneration complete, the magical burns have healed beautifully." She paused, her gaze flicking to Cedric, then back to his parents, lowering her voice further. "However… the nature of the curse was… complex."

Cedric felt a cold chill despite the warmth of the healing charms coursing through the air. He knew this part. He felt it every waking moment.

"As we explained before," Anya continued, "the Killing Curse, while cast with intent, wasn't fully formed. It was as if the caster’s will faltered, or perhaps their skill wasn't quite potent enough for complete obliteration. It grazed him, rather than struck true. But in doing so…" Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "It ripped. A piece of his very essence, his magical core, his one third of his soul… it was torn apart."

Cedric's mother gasped, a small, choked sound. "A piece of his… his soul? Healer, what does that mean? Will he..." Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

Amos gripped her hand tighter. "What are the implications, Healer? Is there… a spell? A potion? Anything that can restore the injury?"

Healer Anya shook her head slowly, her expression grim. "That’s the unprecedented part, Mr Diggory. We’ve done everything in our capacity to heal his core magic. However, his soul is healing rather slowly. He will recover but... This was a loss, a physical void left by an attack. There is no precedent for healing such a wound." She looked directly at Cedric's parents, her voice resonating with a quiet gravity. "Think of it as a missing limb, but one you cannot see. Or a vital organ, but one that is metaphysical. There is a scarred wound in his very essence."

Cedric felt a strange detachment, as if the conversation wasn’t about him at all. He knew what she was talking about. It wasn't pain, not exactly. It was scar. A quiet, chilling void within him, a place where warmth and light used to reside, now scarred painted on that part. It was profound and terrifying, a constant reminder of how close he’d come, and what he’d paid for his survival.

"He may experience periods of profound fatigue," Healer Anya was saying, oblivious to cedric's internal turmoil, "emotional shifts, a sense of… emptiness. We will continue to monitor him, and we have several senior Healers collaborating on a long-term care plan, but there are no guarantees."

Now, back at home the world felt off-kilter. He was weak, reliant on a gnarled walking stick carved from oak. His parents were overjoyed, of course, but their relief was tinged with anxiety. They fused over him, ensuring he ate, slept, and took his potions regularly. They treated him like a delicate porcelain doll, afraid he might shatter if handled too roughly.

His father, Amos, was there but at distance. He barely spoke to Cedric about what had happened, his anger directed, seemingly at Harry Potter. Cedric didn’t understand it. He hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been quick enough. Surely, that was no one’s fault but his own?

Amos was always tired. He left for work before Cedric was even properly awake, and returned late, his face etched with worry lines that seemed to deepen with each passing day. The few times Cedric managed to steal a few minutes with him, his father would offer a strained smile and a pat on the shoulder before retreating into a world of hushed conversations and hurried departures.

The Daily Prophet reached out to him once but when Cedric told him his encounter with lord voldemort in a unknown graveyard, they stopped asking questions. His father was really angry with him that night. Cedric never seen his father looked at him with so much disappointment. It was his mother that stopped Amos from saying more than necessary.

The headline of the Daily Prophet wasn't what Amos Diggory expected that day, the paper crinkling under his furious grip as he returned from work. "You were unconscious the whole time! I told you to say that!" he bellowed, his face a blotchy red as he stormed into the living room.

Cedric, draped in a knitted shawl his mother insisted upon despite the mild chill, was settled in the armchair by the fireplace. He looked up, the calm in his gaze a stark contrast to his father's rage. "I wasn't."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You need to rest before doing any interview with the Daily Prophet," Amos spat, waving the newspaper like a weapon. It was unfamiliar, this anger from his father. Amos Diggory was always bursting with pride for his son, a proud dad through and through.

"So, you're saying I'm not in my right mind? That I'm going mad?" Cedric asked, his voice weak. He couldn't raise it, the effort of speaking for long stretches still exhausting. He glanced at his mother, who stood frozen by the entryway, her face etched with anxiety.

"I'm saying you should stay quiet. He isn't back. No one saw him back--" Amos started, his voice thick with denial.
"I saw him back." The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"No, you didn't. You were unconscious the whole time. You were injured in the maze and--"

"And how did I end up being injured, Dad?" Cedric's question, delivered with a quiet intensity, seemed to momentarily pierce through the fog of denial that clung to his father. He hoped for a spark of recognition in Amos's eyes.

"You were injured in the maze, and that Harry Potter took your glory," Amos retorted, the spark dying as quickly as it had appeared.

"That Harry Potter saved your son's life," Cedric corrected, his voice weary. "Wake up, Dad. Please open your eyes and see properly. I was hit by the Killing Curse! The healers said that, my body confirmed it. How do you think I ended up harming one third of my soul?"

"You are not going to talk to me like that, young man!" he roared, his face now a deep purple. "You live in this house, under my shelter!"

"So, you're asking me to leave?" Cedric asked, his voice calm in the face of his father's fury. He knew he was pushing, but he couldn't let the denial stand. Not when the truth was so brutally etched into his very being.

"No! Stop it. Both of you!" Her mother cried, finally breaking her silence. She rushed to Amos, clutching his arm. "He is weak, Amos. Let him rest. You can talk to him later." Her eyes, pleading, darted between her husband and son.

"I'm not changing my mind," Cedric said flatly, his gaze fixed on both of them. "I love you, Mom and Dad. But I can't avoid the fact that he is back, and you are being ignorant."

His father left and he sat there until his mother return and helped him go back to his room. His mother was a constant presence, a silent guardian hovering in the hallway outside his room, or perched on the edge of his bed. Her kindness was a balm, but also a weight. He knew he was the reason for the dark circles under her eyes, the reason her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was afraid that if she ventured too far, he would simply… disappear.

Cedric spent his days in a haze of recovery. He practiced simple wand movements, his arm aching with the effort.

He read, finding solace in the familiar worlds held within the pages, though his attention often wandered, drawn back to the memory of green light and cold fear. Once he asked his mother why there's no Daily Prophet in the house, but his mother dismissed him with a kind smile and fussing over his health instead.

Cedric longed to know what was happening outside the walls of his house, but his parents were reluctant to share news, shielding him from the world's anxieties. Cedric once wrote to his friends. Emily, Ashton and Bethy replied with short notes of 'we will talk later' and Cho told him that he needed to recover first but Franklin and Archie didn't reply. It was clear, though, that something had changed. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, a sense of foreboding that seeped into every corner of his existence.

He tried to piece together the events. He remembered the Portkey, the graveyard, Voldemort. He remembered the curse aimed at Harry, and then the sickening green flash directed at him. But the memories were fractured, like shards of glass, reflecting a distorted and incomplete picture.

His summer was a stark contrast to the vibrant months he had always known. It was a prison of good intentions, a slow, agonizing journey back from the brink. He was alive, yes, but a part of him was still lying in that graveyard, a raw, bleeding wound that refused to heal quickly.

Cedric Diggory’s summer was not one of sun-drenched adventures and carefree laughter. It was a summer of shadows, of whispered worries and the dull ache of a soul slowly painstakingly piecing itself back together.

The second week after clawing his way back to something resembling normal, Cedric found himself perched on the edge of his desk, quill trembling in his weak hand.

Sunlight streamed through the open window of his room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air but failing to warm the icy knot in his stomach. He was about to do something profoundly strange, something that felt both necessary and utterly ridiculous.

He was writing to Harry Potter.

"Hello," he started, then crumpled the parchment. Too formal. Too stilted. He started again. "Harry," he wrote, then hesitated. Too casual? He discarded that one too.

He must have written and rewritten the opening line a dozen times. Each attempt sounded either painfully awkward or overly familiar. He, Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect and all-around agreeable bloke, was suddenly tongue-tied when faced with putting pen to parchment for the boy who had, in a way saved his life.

Finally, after what felt like hours of agonizing, he settled on something that felt halfway decent.

Harry,
I’m sure you’re going to be surprised to receive a letter from me. To be honest, I’m a little surprised myself. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to phrase this, so I don’t sound completely mad.

He paused, chewed on the end of his quill, and continued.
I was whisked away to St. Mungo’s almost immediately after the tournament, so we didn’t really get a chance to talk. I’d like to know how you are. How are you holding up?

He hesitated again. He knew the bare facts. He knew about Voldemort's return, the shock and horror rippling through his parents when he told them hushed whispers and his mother's fearful glances that now followed him like a shadow. What he didn't know was Harry. He didn't know the weight of the burden Harry was carrying, the fear that must be clawing at the edges of his mind.

He shifted uncomfortably. He was treading on dangerous ground. They weren’t friends, not really. They were… competitors. Briefly, allies. But the connection they forged in that graveyard, the shared terror felt significant.

He pressed on.
I learned that the Ministry, after some… debate, decided to award you and me both the tournament prize money, split down middle. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my share. What are you thinking of doing with yours? I’d be interested to hear your ideas.

That felt safe. Neutral. A good way to bridge the gap. He knew it wasn't the real reason he was writing.

It’s been a pretty quiet summer for me. Very quiet, in fact. I haven’t heard much from my friends, which is a bit odd. I suspect they’re just giving me space, letting me recover at my own pace. The lack of contact, from the outside world in general, is probably part of the reason I’m reaching out to you. It gets a bit… isolating.

There. He’d admitted it. Not the whole truth, but a piece of it. He was lonely. He was adrift. He was desperately seeking connection.
But the real reason, the burning ember that had been slowly kindling within him since he woke up in that sterile hospital room, was this:

But honestly, Harry, the real reason I'm writing is because I want to know how you're really doing. I want to know how you're feeling. I keep thinking about that night, about what happened. I know it must be a hundred times worse for you.

He hesitated again, then, with a surge of almost reckless honesty, he poured out his no-contact summer. He wrote about the polite inquiries from his parents, their strained smiles and averted gazes. He wrote about the well-meaning but ultimately suffocating presence of the Healers in the St. Mungo, their constant questions and cautious optimism in his weekly visit. He wrote about the nightmares that still plagued him, the cold despair that lingered in his waking hours.

He didn't mention Voldemort by name. He didn't want to taint the parchment with the Dark Lord's power. But he wrote around it, hinting at the darkness, the fear, the all-consuming dread.

Finally, when his hand ached and the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, he finished.

I hope you don’t mind me writing all this. I know it’s a lot to unload. But I just… I needed to reach out. Maybe it’s selfish, but knowing that someone else – you – understands, even a little, feels… helpful. Anyway, I hope to hear from you. No pressure, of course.
Sincerely,
Cedric Diggory.

He read the letter over one last time, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He had revealed far too much. He had made himself vulnerable. He had opened himself up to rejection.

But as he folded the parchment and sealed it with his family crest, he felt relieved. He didn't know what Harry would say, or even if he would reply at all. But he had done it. He had reached out. And in that small act of defiance against the silence, he felt, for the first time in weeks, a glimmer of something like peace.

He sent it with his owl, a large, dignified bird named Gonzo. As he watched Gonzo disappear into the sky, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a terrible mistake, or if this hopeful letter might just be the thing that saved him.

Chapter Text

The first letter from Harry had been a lifeline Cedric hadn’t known he needed.

Cedric's eye adjusted to the morning light. He felt confused. He remembered closing the blinds tightly the night before. Yet, sunrays filtered through the window, warming his face. He groaned and tried to pull the covers over his head to get more sleep. But then he heard a hoot from his desk.

Startled, Cedric sat up. Gonzo, his owl was back. He was perched on the desk, eyeing Cedric disapprovingly. “I’m still recovering,” Cedric told his feathered friend, fighting a yawn. Slowly, he got out of bed and made his way to the desk where Gonzo was waiting.

Gonzo held one leg up with a piece of parchment attached to it. Cedric leaned closer, noticing an unknown swirling handwriting. His heart raced with curiosity. He gently took the letter from Gonzo, who then picked affectionately at his finger before flying out for his morning flight.

Cedric stared at the letter, still feeling sleepy but now wide awake with intrigue. He turned the parchment over. It was from Harry Potter. Cedric’s mind raced. Harry had replied so soon?

He’d read it perched on his bed, the morning sun now fully streaming through his window, illuminating the words that spoke of shared terrors and an unexpected concern.

Dear Cedric,
It's such a relief to hear from you. I was really anxious to know about your recovery and honestly, too worried to put it into words. There was no way to contact you directly, and I wasn’t sure if your father would appreciate me writing to him, so I didn’t.
I’m doing fine, though a bit bored to be honest. There’s not much going on in the Muggle world, and my friends have been avoiding writing to me lately. I hope you’re recovering well. I understand about the nightmares—I’m having them too. Seeing that madman isn’t something we can just forget, is it?
Please take care of your health and get plenty of rest. I heard about what happened to your soul. Is it still injured? I asked Madam Pomfrey, and she said your soul will recover from the Killing Curse, but it will take time. She said, It's a deep shock to your magical core and to your very being. It will heal, but it will take time, and rest, and patience. I’m so glad you’re alive. I’m glad you’re here.
About the Triwizard Tournament prize—I gave it away to some of my friends who needed it more than I did.
Cedric, please take care of yourself and rest. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m here… if you want that, that is.
Take care,
Harry.

Cedric reread the last line, “Take care, Harry,” his thumb tracing the slightly smudged ink. He lowered the parchment slowly, a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. Surprise, certainly. He hadn't expected to hear from Harry at all, let alone so soon, or with such raw honesty. But beneath the surprise, there was a profound, quiet relief. He wasn't alone.

Harry's words about the nightmares hit close to home. Seeing that madman wasn’t something either of them could just forget. Cedric shifted on the bed, his back aching with a dull throb that had become a constant companion since that night. He thought of his own waking terrors, the suffocating blackness, the green flash, the high, cold laugh. It wasn’t just a memory; it was a physical imprint, a phantom limb of fear that sometimes seized him mid-step.
And the white void. Cedric didn't say anything about it to Harry in his letter. He was afraid, Harry would think him going mad.

Then there was the mention of his soul. Madam Pomfrey had been vague to Harry. "A deep shock to your magical core And to your very being. It will heal, but it will take time, and rest, and patience." But Harry's letter put a name to it. Cedric hadn't dared to voice it before, even to himself, the idea that something so fundamental, so intrinsically him could be damaged.

This was the first time Cedric felt someone understood him. A warmth spread through Cedric’s chest, unexpected but welcome. Harry, who'd witnessed the horror beside him, was worried about him. Cedric felt an almost immediate urge to write back, to tell Harry that he wasn't alone either, that someone finally understood the particular brand of horror they’d both endured.

He swung his legs off the bed, the familiar weakness making him brace himself against the mattress. He needed to find a parchment and a quill. Gonzo brought his mail earlier than he expected, and he hadn’t thought to prepare a reply.

Cedric chewed on the end of his quill, ink smearing on his chin. How much did he tell Harry? How much was too much? He decided on honesty, tempered with the usual Diggory stoicism. He thanked Harry for his concern, confirmed that recovery was indeed slow, and admitted that the nightmares were persistent. He tried to sound strong, but even as he wrote it, he knew Harry would see through it.

He sealed the letter and attached it to Gonzo's leg later that afternoon, watching the owl vanish into the summer sky. It felt like sending a lifeline.

And so, they began to write.

Gonzo became a familiar sight, winging his way between Ottery St Catchpole and Privet Drive, a bridge between two boys bound by an unspeakable trauma. Harry’s letters was hesitant at first. Then grew longer and more detailed.

He wrote about his life with the Dursleys: the endless chores, the spiteful taunts of his cousin Dudley, the suffocating boredom of a home devoid of magic. Cedric found himself grimacing at the descriptions of Harry being locked in his room whole day or staying outside the house in this hot summer weather.
Cedric was shocked to found out that Harry's aunt and uncle treat him not just as a burden but as something fundamentally wrong.

“Ron and Hermione haven’t written in weeks, and Dumbledore’s gone silent too,” Harry confided in one letter, his words practically radiating a desperate loneliness. Cedric tried to offer what comfort he could.

"And Dumbledore is silent too," Cedric tried to understand the Dumbledore part. However, it was a foreign idea for him. The Headmaster was a remote, towering figure in the Hogwarts hierarchy for most students, not a confidante. But the silence from Harry’s closest friends stung him on Harry’s behalf. What kind of friends they both got? Some of Cedric's friends also abandon him when he needed them most, at least they replied. He tried to phrase his concern gently, suggesting perhaps they were just busy, or that Dumbledore had his reasons, knowing full well it probably sounded weak.

Cedric, found himself sharing things he hadn't told anyone else. The daily fading weakness, for instance, that left him breathless after a short walk and often confined him to his room. He’d tried to hide it from his father, who already looked at him with a mix of relief and barely concealed disappointment for not being "back to normal." And the nightmares...

Harry, despite his own suffering, listened. His letters became a mirror reflecting Cedric's own fears and anxieties. "I get it, Cedric," Harry wrote back after hearing about the nightmares. "The nightmares... it’s like watching something you can’t turn off. And you're not weak for needing help. You faced him, Cedric. We both did. That takes more strength than anyone knows."

“My dad and I had another row last week,” Cedric wrote one day, tracing the words carefully. “He just doesn’t understand. He keeps saying I need to ‘snap out of it.’ He doesn’t get that it’s not just… in my head.” Harry’s response was immediate and empathetic, filled with quiet understanding that Cedric’s father might simply be scared, and that it wasn't Cedric's fault.

The nightmares were a constant topic. They didn’t describe the glory details, not explicitly, but the shared understanding of the feeling was enough. The terror, the helplessness, the persistent image of the gravestone, the cauldron, the figures emerging from the dark. Harry admitted he often woke up screaming cedric's name, and Cedric confessed to the clammy sweat and racing heart that often left him drained for the entire morning.

Then came the admission about the walking stick. Cedric had dreaded writing that particular sentence. It felt like a public declaration of his infirmity, a stark reminder of how far he was from the Quidditch star, the Triwizard champion. He remembered the mortified flush that had crept up his neck as he’d scrawled the words.

“I… I’ve had to start using a walking stick, Harry. Even for short distances. But it helps. I’m almost certainly going to need it when we go back to Hogwarts.” He’d imagined Harry’s reaction – pity, perhaps, or shock.

But Harry's reply had been pure, unadulterated concern, devoid of judgment. "No shame in it, Cedric. Just focus on getting stronger. And if anyone says anything, then can talk to me."

That last sentence, simple as it was, had resonated deeply. Harry, isolated and struggling himself, was offering something that he wasn't expecting from the boy.

A lightness had settled within him these past few weeks, a warmth that had slowly thawed the icy grip of fear and grief. He was recovering, truly. The nightmares were fewer, the waking hours less haunted. It helped, immensely to have a new routine, a connection that stretched beyond the walls of his house. Sometimes, Gonzo would be dispatched in the dead of night, bearing a scribbled query for Harry – a sudden thought, a remembered detail, a question about a spell. It had become a habit, a comfortable rhythm.

Another morning with hope, a rare and welcome sensation that had become more frequent these past few days. The morning sun, already high, streamed through his window, dusting the room in gold. He stretched, listening to the quiet hum of the house, and then remembered the letter he'd sent through Hedwig last night. A fresh wave of anticipation washed over him.

Harry's letters were different from his other friends. His blunt honesty and peculiar way of cutting straight to the chase had been an unexpected requirement that Cedric didn't realise he needed. Harry didn't offer pity, which Cedric had come to detest these days, but instead presented problems and potential solutions, forcing Cedric to engage his mind rather than wallow in his emotions.

He never offered empty platitudes or murmured sympathetic noises when Cedric mentioned the nightmares or the unsettling blanks in his memory; instead, he’d suggest a new Sleep Potion or recommend a forgotten Charms textbook that might offer a distraction. And he shared details, small nuggets of information that filtered through his own world.

His mother had noticed the change. The sight of him curled in the worn armchair by the fireplace, a book open on his lap, brought a soft smile to her face. He ate dinner with them now. And attended the meals when his father returned late from the Ministry. His father, however, remained a distant presence. Their interactions were still stilted, punctuated by silences but it was a progress. Cedric knew it, even if his father refused to acknowledge it.

He’d try, sometimes to make eye contact at dinner, to offer a polite comment. But his father would simply nod, or grunt, and retreat behind the wall of his paperwork. It hurt to see his father being so distance but Cedric was learning to compartmentalize it, focusing instead on the small victories.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, as usual. His mother fussed over his plate, urging him to eat more. "You're looking better, dear," she said, her smile gentle. "You even seem to have a bit of colour back."

Cedric managed a small smile in return. "Thank you, Mum." He glanced at his father, who was already halfway through his usual morning perusal of the Daily Prophet, a frown etched onto his brow.

Just as Cedric was finishing his toast, a flurry of feathers announced Hedwig’s arrival. She swooped in through the open kitchen window, landing gracefully on the back of his chair, extending her leg with a small, expectant hoot. His heart quickened.

"Oh, your friends are writing to you frequently, dear?" his mother chimed, but her voice held no real disapproval.

Cedric quickly untied the letter, offering Hedwig a piece of bacon, which she accepted with a dignified gulp. He excused himself, eager to read Harry’s reply in the privacy of his room.

The parchment was slightly smudged, a clear sign of Harry’s characteristic haste.
"The Prophet's been strangely quiet lately," Harry had written in his letter as a answer to cedric's wonder. "Barely a whisper about You-Know-Who. No details, no big exposes. Just… silence."

Cedric had frowned, rereading that line several times. Silence? He had been expecting screams, headlines, a nationwide panic. He had been expecting the truth to be splashed across every pages, every magical household reeling from the knowledge that the you-know-who had indeed returned. But nothing. Which was odd. Extremely odd. If the Prophet was silent, then why was his father always so late from work? Why the exhaustion etched around his eyes?

That evening when the table was set. Cedric's mother sat across from him waiting for his father to return. Cedric was determined to found out what was going on in the world outside. His father returned home, tired and distant, loosening his tie. He nodded curtly to them.

"Amos, you’re late again, dear. We almost started without you. The stew is getting cold." His mother said.

His father looked like a mess as he muttered, "Ministry business. It never ends." already serving himself.

Cedric watched his father, a determined glint in his eye. Carefully, trying to sound casual he said, "Sounds like you've all been rather busy lately, dad. Anything... particularly interesting happening at work? Keeping you so late?"

Amos glanced up, surprised by the direct question. "Just the usual bureaucratic mess. Fudge is... preoccupied."

"Preoccupied with what, exactly?" Cedric pressed and hope that his father would reply.

Amos hesitated, forks a piece of potato.
"Fudge is busy... controlling the Ministry. After Dumbledore's... pronouncements. There's a lot of... damage control to be done. Best not to worry your head about it, Cedric. It's adult matters."
His dad resumed eating, the conversation clearly closed.

Cedric wanted to point out that legally he was an adult now. He exchanged a quick look with his mother. She gives a small, helpless shrug.

Later that night, Cedric sat at his desk, quill scratching furiously on parchment. Gonzo was perched patiently on his bedpost, watching him.

"Dear Harry," he started to write then paused, thinking.
"It's all very strange, isn't it? My father came home late again tonight. I tried to ask him about work like normal people do and he was even more evasive than usual. You know how he is, still not quite himself with me yet. But he finally said something about Fudge being 'busy controlling the Ministry' after Dumbledore's speech. Controlling it, Harry! Not 'dealing with the aftermath' or 'investigating' or even 'handling the public outcry'. Just 'controlling'."

He dipped his quill, eyes narrowing. "Combined with what you said about the Daily Prophet being completely silent... it makes no sense. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named truly returned, wouldn't they be talking about it? Or at least working on the protection of wizarding world. But silence? And my father’s constant lateness, the way he looks so haggard… something isn't adding up. It almost feels like they're trying to bury it. I think Something big is happening. And they don't want us to know."
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"What do you make of it? Is it possible they're... suppressing the truth? And why? What could be the purpose of that?"

He finished the letter, folds it, and ties it to Gonzo's leg. "Take this to Harry, Gonzo,"

The owl gave a soft hoot and took flight through the open window disappearing into the dark night. Cedric watched him go, then slowly get into bed. He pulled the covers up, but sleep didn't come immediately. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of information.

Chapter Text

The soft thud of a landing, lighter than Gonzo's usual landing pulled Cedric from the cusp of sleep. He blinked, pushing aside the last tendrils of a dream featuring a particularly white void of cloud, and saw a pair of intelligent eyes regarding him from his desk. Hedwig, Harry’s snowy owl was perched regally beside a forgotten Quidditch textbook, a small, rolled scroll tied neatly to her leg. A smile, easy and genuine touched Cedric’s lips:

Dear Cedric,
Got your letter. Sounds like the Ministry is really digging their heels in, doesn't it? Fudge is a stubborn idiot when he visited me in the hospital wing. If Dumbledore gave his speech and all Fudge wants to do is pretend it never happened and that Voldemort (yeah, I’m saying his name, someone has to) isn’t back. It’s infuriating.
You’re right about the Prophet. It’s basically Fudge’s personal newsletter now. Dumbledore’s gone silent. Everyone was behaving like Nothing happened. Fudge already says that I’m a deluded liar. And Ministry is doing a fantastic job keeping everyone safe. It’s pathetic. They’re trying to control the narrative, to keep everyone calm and compliant. My guess is your dad being late is because Fudge is probably holding endless, useless meetings trying to figure out how to spin this, or maybe cracking down on anyone who does believe Dumbledore.
It’s not just the Ministry being ‘busy controlling’ things, Cedric. It’s a full-blown cover-up. They don’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is back and they missed it, or that Dumbledore was right all along.
Keep your ears open, especially with your dad. No matter what they say, Voldemort is back. We both know it.
Stay safe. Harry.

Cedric sat there in the bed longer than usual, the morning light painting a pale rectangle on the opposite wall. His mind raced through all the possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. What was going on? Why did no one else see it? The air itself felt thick with an impending dread that only he seemed to taste.

He wanted to write to his friends. God, he yearned to scream into the parchment, to pound on their doors until their indifferent cracked. But the last time he reached out, they all shut him up with "get well wishes."

That was a polite dismissal of his agony. Get well. The words tasted like ash. He couldn't get well fully. Not really. Not ever maybe. Not when he had to carry that proof of payment for survival his whole life. It wasn't a scar on his skin; it was a brand on his very essence, a constant reminder in his magical core, the price for his continued existence.

The scares that painted in his soul would remain. He could feel the wound with his every breath, a phantom ache in his every part of being, a constant thrumming beneath his ribs that reminded him of what he’d endured, what he’d witnessed, and what he now knew. It was a truth too terrible to articulate, too unbelievable for anyone else to grasp.

All Cedric could do now was try to move on, to face a world that was now being pathetic and idiot. The blindness, the willful ignorance was a second deeper wound. How could they not see the signs, the shadows lengthening the chill in the air? Didn't they remember? Didn't they feel the subtle shift in the world's gears, the ominous hum returning?

You-know-who was back.

The name was unspoken even in his mind. Its mere concept brought back a visceral fear, a primal terror that made his skin crawl. He knew what that meant, what their return heralded.

And if they – the people blissfully going about their lives, sipping their tea and strolling through their work – didn't understand that fast enough, everything would be gone. Not just his peace, not just his sanity, but everything. The fragile peace, the rebuilding, the very idea of a future. All of it would collapse.

Cedric swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor grounding him momentarily. He had to make them see. He had to break through the polite indifference, the "get well" platitudes, the idiotic blindness. Because if he didn't, if no one did, the payment for survival would soon be exacted from everyone. And this time, there might be no one left to carry the proof.

He drew a shaky breath, the cool morning air a sharp contrast to the familiar warmth of his bedroom. “Get ready for the day,” he murmured to himself, a mantra that had once been a simple command but was now a quiet victory. Fortunately now, he didn't need assistance for the task, it's a small but monumental step forward. His fingers, still a little stiff, fumbled with the buttons of his undershirt. He took his time, the process slow and deliberate but Cedric was happy that he finally could get ready without his mother hovering over his side worried eyes tracking his every movement.

He stood there in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. He looked different, so much different from last year. He had grown two inches, making him six ft two inches tall, but that was it. He was no longer well-built, and burly as others described him. His dark hair, once a vibrant, windswept mess, felt flat and lifeless. His bright grey eyes were dull, shadowed by a quiet weariness. He looked worse a few weeks ago, gaunt and pale, like a ghost of himself.

At least now, he was growing back to his usual self, or as much as he could. Maybe no one would call him handsome, considered a heartthrob anymore.

He pulled on a warm jumper and woolen trousers, finding comfort in their weight and softness against his still-tender skin. Then with a practiced grip, he reached for his walking stick, its polished wood warm beneath his palm.

He went downstairs, the familiar scent of breakfast – bacon and toast – reaching him from the kitchen. His father was still home today, which was a surprise. Usually, Cedric didn't see him in the morning; his father left for the Ministry before dawn.

Since the incident in the Triwizard Tournament, Amos Diggory seemed unsure of what to do. His son was no longer going to be a Quidditch player, his athleticism diminished, or a potential candidate for the Ministry of Magic. Cedric’s magical core was still healing, an invisible scar that limited his potential; it wouldn't be able to cope with the level of complex magic required for training in the Ministry office.

Cedric greeted his parents with a soft “Morning,” and went to sit down at the table, placing his walking stick carefully by the chair.

His mother mostly talked about the weather and Cedric’s recovery – the latest good word from the healers, the improvement in his appetite. And then, she transitioned to the town gossips, who was marrying whom, what new magical trinket Mrs. Davies had bought. Cedric listened, nodding occasionally, and eyed his father from time to time. Was it a good time? he thought, buttering a piece of toast. He had to bring up the topic.

“I’m going to visit a friend,” he said suddenly, the words cutting through his mother’s chatter about latest dress robes.

His father glanced up from his newspaper, his eyebrows raised. “You aren’t well yet,” he said with a clear dismissal.

“But I’m going,” Cedric replied, his voice firm.

Amos Diggory sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to pull the air out of the room before closing the newspaper. There was a headline about the latest cauldron in the market and Ministry’s work. Cedric frowned at that. Ministry was busy with making cauldrons? It seemed trivial, almost ridiculous.

His father, however, seemed to settle into a familiar disappointment. “You are behaving differently these last few weeks after—” He didn’t finish, the unspoken rule in the house to avoid Cedric’s near-death experience hanging heavy between them.

“I’m not—” Cedric said, placing his fork down on the plate with a quiet clatter. “I’m simply want to visit my friend. Is that too much for a seventeen-year-old boy?”

“Yes,” his father replied, his voice rising. “Yes, it’s too much when that seventeen-year-old boy is injured and can’t even cast a proper spell!”

“Amos!” his mother glared at his father. “Cedric has recovered quite well, and the healers said he is quick to recover from a deathly spell. You can’t—”

“Is he going to be able to complete his education with all the perfect N.E.W.T.s? Is he going to join any Quidditch team? Or the Ministry?” His father glanced from his enraged wife to his son, as if pleading for understanding.

“So what?” his mother asked, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m glad that he is here! Don’t you? Your son is alive, Amos!”

“Mum, Dad!” Cedric watched them glaring at each other for a moment, the tension thick and suffocating then he spoke, his voice quiet but steady. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m really sorry for not being able to stand up to your expectations. But I’m trying—”

“You don’t have to.” His mother reached out and grasped his hand with her cool and reassuring touch. “You are only seventeen. You can take your time to think what you want to do with your life. There’s no rush.”

“You two are behaving like I don’t love my son,” his father said, his voice laced with frustration and a hint of desperation. He stood up, pacing a few steps from the table. “I’m worried about him! I’m worried about his future! Is it a crime to worry about your son’s life? The world isn’t kind. They don’t welcome someone without potential. And now he is brainwashed by a liar, who do you think accept him as a employee?”

“So what? I don't care if he doesn't get any job after graduation. He is still going to be here. With us, alive!” his mother stood up too, her eyes blazing, “you are thinking about the world? You aren’t being kind to your son because of the outside world?!” Without another word, she turned and left the room. The sound of her footsteps fading as she ascended the stairs.

Cedric sat there listening to the silence, until his father let out another defeated sigh, ran a hand through his hair and followed his mother.

This didn’t go as he planned, not at all, and now he had to wait until his father returned home.

However, Cedric didn't realise that he hadn't had to come up with another idea to visit Harry. He was going to meet him sooner than he thought.

As he was sitting by the window reading a quidditch book. Hedwig arrived suddenly. She was holding her legs up and there's four letters. Cedric eyed all the letters until he found the one addressed to him. The other three were to Ron, Hermione and Padfoot. What was it so urgent that Harry had write four separate letters? As he took his letter, Hedwig didn't wait and disappeared in the sky. Cedric opened the letter and his breathing increased. His hands clutched the parchment tightly as his blood left his face.

"I’ve just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. ~ Harry."
The letter said. What? How? Why there's dementors in Harry's place? What's happening? Was he going to be expelled?

Cedric's mind reeled, the words blurring and sharpening on the page simultaneously. "Dementors… attacked… expelled…" Each word was a hammer blow to his gut.

He scrambled off the window seat, the forgotten Quidditch book sliding to the floor with a soft thud. His heart hammered against his ribs. Dementors. In Privet Drive? It was unthinkable. Dementors belonged in Azkaban, guarding the worst of criminals. For them to be in a Muggle area, let alone attacking a minor wizard… it screamed of an unprecedented breach, a catastrophic failure of the Ministry of Magic.

"Is he going to be Expelled?" he gasped aloud, the word catching in his throat.
Harry wasn't just any wizard. He was Harry Potter. He couldn't be expelled for defending himself against Dementors. What possible logic could dictate such a thing?

He looked at the letter again, as if the parchment itself held the answers, or perhaps would change the horrifying message upon a second glance. It didn't. The writing was Harry's, the urgency could be feel in every stroke.

Then, his eyes darted to the empty sky where Hedwig had vanished. Four letters. To Ron, Hermione, and Padfoot. Ron and Hermione, obviously. They were Harry's closest friends. But Padfoot… that could only mean Sirius Black. Harry had mentioned that before in his previous letters.

He snatched up the letter again, reading the chilling lines one more time. "I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts." No pleas for help, just stark facts. But the lack of embellishment only made it more terrifying.

Cedric knew he couldn't just sit there. He couldn't wait for his father to come home from the Ministry, however late he usually was. This wasn't a matter for casual discussion over supper. This was an emergency. Harry was in danger, potentially facing expulsion from the only place he considered home, for an act of self-preservation against creatures that should never have been near him.

He stuffed the letter into his jeans pocket, his hands trembling slightly. Apparating was out, he wasn't strong enough for that now. Floo powder? He could likely reach someone at the Ministry, but who? And would they even listen to a seventeen-year-old?

His father never listen to him anymore. And Amos worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. But he had connections and he knew people. More importantly, he was a wizarding parent who understood the stakes.

He heard voices downstairs. Was his father back early today? He tried to listen but the voices were muffled.

He went to his doorway and listen. The air in the upstairs hallway was thick with a silence that only amplified the voices thrumming from below. Cedric gripped the polished banister, knuckles white, as he began his slow, arduous descent.

"Dad!" Cedric bellowed, his voice cracking slightly and speed down the stairs as quickly as he could. "Dad, where are you?"
Every muscle in his right leg screamed a protes. The walking stick took the brunt of his weight, clattering faintly on each step.

"...he is not a child!" The voice was sharp, insistent, cutting through the muffled rumble.

Cedric paused, wincing as a sharp stab shot through his knee. The voices downstairs seemed to be arguing in earnest.

His father’s voice, low and dangerous now, returned, "He is my son! I'll decide what to do with-"

"You are being unreasonable." The first voice cut in again, calmer but no less firm.

"Am I? Am I being unreasonable, Arthur?"

Cedric froze, midway down the stairs. Arthur? Arthur Weasley? What in Merlin’s name was Arthur Weasley doing in their living room, arguing with his father?

"He can decide what he wants," Arthur continued, his voice resonating with a quiet conviction that made Cedric strain to hear more.

"No, he is not. My son was nearly dead! Can you understand what you are asking?" His father’s words full of rage.

The words "nearly dead" hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the graveyard, the flash of green light, the impossible journey back.

He reached the bottom step, his breathing a little ragged. The living room door was ajar, and a sliver of light spilled out onto the Persian rug in the hall. He could just see the edge of the sofa. Taking a deep breath, he leaned heavily on the stick and pushed the door open the rest of the way, limping into the room.

His mother was there, too, perched on the edge of her armchair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn. She looked up as he entered, her eyes widening in surprise. His father stood rigidly by the fireplace facing Arthur Weasley, who stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, looking uncharacteristically serious.

All three pairs of eyes snapped to him. The argument died.

"What's going on?" Cedric asked, his voice a little hoarse, the question cutting through the stifling tension like a knife.

A heavy suffocating quiet hung in the air of the Diggory living room. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked with an almost accusatory slowness.

Arthur Weasley stood opposite Amos Diggory, whose features were a mask of rigid denial. Their gazes were locked, each man seemingly willing the other to break the silence, to utter the difficult truth.

Cedric stood in the middle of it all, his walking stick clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

"What are you two talking about?" Cedric asked. He glanced between Mr. Weasley and his dad, his eyes narrowed, searching for answers.

"You aren't supposed to be here," his father replied not meeting Cedric’s gaze. "Go back to your room."

"No." Cedric’s grip tightened on his stick. His gaze was firm as he looked directly at his father. "I am actually here to tell you that I'm leaving."

His mother gasped from the doorway, her hand flying to her mouth, her face pale. She hurried to him, her eyes wide and brimming. "What? Where? Why are you leaving?" she asked, her voice a reedy whisper of fear.

Cedric didn't want to hurt her. He saw the terror in her eyes, the sudden crumpling of her composure. He took a breath. "Harry was attacked by Dementors earlier this evening," he told them, leaving no room for doubt.

"Harry? Harry who?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion Mr. Weasley glanced at his father, a significant look passing between them, a silent urging to explain. Cedric realised they knew.

"Harry Potter," Cedric clarified to his mother.

The name seemed to ignite a fuse in Amos. "You aren't going anywhere!" His father roared.

"Calm down, Amos." Arthur Weasley tried to interject, stepping forward slightly, his hands raised. But his father ignored him, his furious gaze fixed on Cedric instead.

"You aren't leaving this house. And you are not going to meet that boy!" Amos spat the last words like a curse.

"Dad, Harry was attacked by Dementors and probably going to be expelled—" Cedric explained, his own frustration rising.

"Good. He should be!" his father cut him off. "He was supposed to be expelled when he hurt you in the maze and said all those lies to everyone!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that, Harry never hurt me!" Cedric yelled. It was the first time in his life he had ever truly yelled at his father, the shock of it echoing in the sudden silence. "You-Know-Who is back! He was the one who attacked me!"

"Shut up! Shut up and go back to your room." His father's voice was low and dangerous now. His mother was crying openly in the back, her face buried in her hands.

"Amos, your boy is telling the truth. Please listen to him—" Arthur Weasley said, his voice earnest. But Amos turned on him, his glare fierce.

"You get out of my house and stop obsessing over recruiting my son to your crazy team. He isn't going anywhere," he snarled.

Cedric wasn't sure he was ready to leave his parents, his mother. The thought of her distraught face, twisted something in his gut. But what else could he do? His father's denial was impenetrable and terrifying.

"You have to believe that he is back, Dad," Cedric pleaded, his voice ragged with emotion. "Don't pretend. It's not the time to pretend that everything is alright. It's not. We have to unite—"

His father's glare intensified, cutting him off more effectively than any shouted word. "Then go! Leave my house and never come back!"

"Amos! You don't know what you are talking about!" His mother's plea was a choked sob.

Cedric froze up in the middle of the room, his world seeming to tilt on its axis. His eyes pricked with tears, his throat tight. He looked at his father, truly looked, and saw not anger, but a profound overwhelming fear.

"Dad, I'm not being delusional to support something that will lead to stopping that madman," Cedric said, trying to be more rational part of his father.

"There's no madman, is there?" His father asked, a terrifying blankness in his eyes. "You are trying to be brave and loyal to your friends and want to support someone whose mind is not working properly—"

"Harry isn’t telling lies, Amos," Arthur Weasley interjected, breaking through the eerie calm. "Your boy was there. You have to be brave and acknowledge that he is back."

The silence that followed was different now, heavier with the weight of an unspoken ultimatum. Cedric took a deep breath, the decision solidifying within him. It was clear his father wasn't going to agree. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"I'm going to help Harry, Dad," Cedric said, his voice clear despite the tremor in his hands. He looked at his mother, his heart aching then back to his father with a silent promise in his eyes. "But I'll come back if you want me to. Whenever you want me to come back, I'll be here,"

With that, he turned and walked out of the living room, leaving the stunned silence behind him. He went to his room, his movements quick and decisive. He pulled out his old, battered trunk from under the bed. A few changes of clothes, his wand, his all books and parchments.

And then with a moment's hesitation he reached for the Triwizard Tournament prize, the small heavy bag of Galleons. It wasn't much, but it was something to hold him for a while until he left Hogwarts and found a suitable job.

When he returned to the main hall, his trunk shrunk and tucked into his pocket, Arthur Weasley was standing at the doorway waiting.

He glanced back towards the living room where the silence had finally broken into his mother's muffled sobs. He looked at his father, who remained a statue in the doorway of the living room refusing to turn back.

"I'll take care of him like my own son, Amos," Arthur said, his voice quiet but resolute.

Cedric didn't look back again. He stepped out into the cool evening air, the walking stick a steadying presence in his hand, and with Arthur Weasley by his side, he released Gonzo to the night sky before he left.

Chapter Text

"The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

"I thought we were going to Harry's place," Cedric said, staring at the piece of paper and glancing up at Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the grimy fronts of the surrounding houses, some with broken windows glimmering dully in the light from the streetlamps. Paint was peeling from many of the doors, and heaps of rubbish lay outside several sets of front steps. "Not now. We will go to Harry's place when Dumbledore gives us the order. Now, remember the address on the paper and destroy it."

Cedric glanced down at the paper, read the address, then destroyed it as instructed, a bit confused. What was happening? They were supposed to be rescuing Harry. But as he looked ahead, a battered door emerged out of nowhere between numbers eleven and thirteen, followed swiftly by dirty walls and grimy windows. It was as though an extra house had inflated, pushing those on either side out of its way. He gasped.

Mr. Weasley smiled at him and urged him forward. "The meeting was supposed to start two hours ago, but that incident—" He sighed, then knocked on the door.

A few minutes later, footsteps approached, and Mrs. Weasley opened the door. "Oh, Cedric, dear. Come on in."

Cedric stepped inside, taking in the house. He could smell damp, dust, and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building. That's odd.

Before he could walk forward, Professor Dumbledore emerged from a doorway. "Good evening, Mr. Diggory."

"Good evening, sir," Cedric replied.

"Before you enter this room, I want to have a few words with you," Dumbledore said, gesturing to a different room. Mrs. Weasley, for some reason, grimaced beside him. Mr. Weasley quietly went into the room Dumbledore had just emerged from.

"Sure, sir," Cedric said.

"Excellent! Now if you follow me." Dumbledore didn't wait and turned into the other room. Cedric followed, his walking stick making a noise he wished it didn't.

Cedric stepped into the room Dumbledore indicated, the stale air thick with the scent of old paper, mothballs, and something metallic. It was a study room perhaps. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with volumes that looked as though they hadn’t been touched in decades, their spines cracked and faded. A thick layer of dust coated every surface, swirling faintly in the dim light filtering through grimy windows that overlooked a narrow alleyway. A heavy, dark tapestry depicting a family tree hung crookedly on one wall, its colours muted and threadbare.

Dumbledore moved with surprising agility for his age, gesturing to a worn armchair upholstered in what might once have been velvet, now threadbare and stained.

Cedric took a seat, the springs groaning faintly under his weight. His own walking stick knocked against the armrest, the sound echoing too loudly in the quiet room. He winced inwardly.

Dumbledore settled opposite him on a similar chair, his long silver beard gleaming even in the gloom, his eyes held a profound sadness Cedric hadn't noticed before at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore began, his voice calm. "I apologize for the abruptness of your arrival, and for the… less than ideal surroundings. This house, I assure you, serves a most vital purpose." He paused, his gaze resting briefly on Cedric’s walking stick. "I understand your recovery has been a difficult one."

Cedric shifted, a flush rising to his cheeks. "It's fine, sir. I’m getting there." He didn't want pity. He wanted answers. "Professor, Mr. Weasley was there in my house and my father mentioned about ‘Recruiting’."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his expression growing more somber. "Indeed. What you have stumbled upon, Mr. Diggory, is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. A group of individuals dedicated to fighting Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters." His eyes held Cedric’s, unwavering. "You are here because you are one of the very few who can bear witness to the truth of his return. You faced him. You survived."

"Along with Harry," Cedric mumbled.
The memory of the graveyard, the flashes of green light, the cold, triumphant voice, surged back. Cedric swallowed hard, his stomach clenching. He had tried to tell people, to explain, but the Ministry… they’d dismissed him, along with Harry.

"Yes, of course. As for the dementors attack. I believe Mr. Potter already informed you," Dumbledore and Cedric nodded. Dumbledore's voice dropping slightly, "it's occurred mere hours ago. Harry was attacked by Dementors in Little Whinging while he was walking back to his house along with his cousin, and cast a Patronus Charm. An egregious breach of magical law designed, I believe, to provoke him, or worse."

Cedric didn't think this like that, the ministry's propaganda? "Is he alright?"

"He is as well as can be expected," Dumbledore assured him, though his expression remained troubled. "He is safe, for now. We were delayed bringing him here due to the need for certain arrangements, and the need to ensure his safety. But your arrival here is important. Harry trust you as much as I do, Cedric. Our numbers are few, and the truth of Voldemort’s return must be widely known."

Cedric felt a strange mix of fear and a burgeoning sense of purpose. This was bigger than the Ministry’s denials, bigger than school work or pending school duties. This was the war he knew was coming, now laid bare before him.

"You are seventeen and a brilliant wizard, Cedric. I want you to decide if you want to take this side or remain neutral," Dumbledore went on, his eyes twinkling again.

"I don't think you-know-who will respect a neutral side, professor," Cedric said.

A faint smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "You are correct. Now, I believe you are wondering about this place? This house, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, is protected by the Fidelius Charm. I am its Secret-Keeper." He leaned forward slightly. "However, the responsibility of a Secret-Keeper is immense, and should I… become incapacitated, the secret could be lost."

Cedric frowned, confused. "But you just said you’re the Secret-Keeper. If you told me the address, don't I know it now? Am I…?"

"You know an address, Mr. Diggory," Dumbledore corrected gently, his eyes glinting. "But the true secret is held by the Secret-Keeper alone, and it requires a deeper understanding than merely hearing the words. When you entered this house, the charm allowed you to see it, and to comprehend its existence. But the fundamental understanding, the core of the charm, resides with me. My apologies for the necessary obfuscation, but secrecy is our shield."

Dumbledore rose, his gaze sweeping over the dusty room. "What I wish to ask of you, Cedric, is not merely to bear witness, but to lend us your courage, your intelligence and your intimate knowledge of what we face. You have already demonstrated immense bravery in the Triwizard Tournament. We need that bravery now more than ever."

Cedric gripped his walking stick, a new weight settling onto his shoulders. He was injured, yes, but he was alive. He had seen the darkness. And now, Dumbledore was asking him to fight it. The confusion that had clouded his mind began to clear, replaced by a grim resolve.

"What do you need me to do, sir?" he asked, his voice firm, the slight tremor in his hand barely noticeable.

"I want you to join the Order of the Phoenix," the words hung between them as Dumbledore and Cedric stared at each other.

Cedric’s breath hitched. The air in the room seemed to thicken. Cedric, still dressed in his hastily put on robes felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cool air seeping through the high windows.

"You are seventeen and capable of taking your own decisions," Dumbledore continued, his blue eyes held a profound gravity. "I want you to think about it and let me know your decision."

Cedric swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Join the Order? Can he do that? He was a student, a seeker, a Hufflepuff… not a soldier. But then, the graveyard came roaring back, the chill of Voldemort's return, the searing pain of the feeling of his magic flickering and dying there.

"And in the meantime," Dumbledore added, leaning forward slightly, "I want to ask you for a favour."

Cedric never thought that Professor Dumbledore would ask him for anything, let alone a favour. He straightened, curiosity replacing the initial shock. "Anything, Professor."

"I want you to stay quiet and not to let Harry know about anything, specially through owl mails. We don't know who's monitoring those," Dumbledore said, his gaze unwavering.

Cedric recoiled slightly. This was unexpected. Harry… Harry, who had stood by him, who had dragged his lifeless body back to the cup. Harry, who believed him. And listened to him last two weeks.

"But he is my friend," Cedric pointed out, his voice laced with indignation. "I can't lie to him. Harry trusts me, you can't ask me to lie to his trust–"

But Dumbledore stopped him, raising a hand. "I'm not telling you to lie. Just stay quiet for now until he reaches this place safely, can you do that?"

The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air. Harry was not safe. Dumbledore needed him here, away from whatever dangers he was currently enduring. A knot of unease tightened in Cedric’s stomach. Keeping secrets from Harry felt like a betrayal, but the image of Harry flashed in his mind. If silence kept him safe…

Cedric thought about it, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. The world felt like it had been turned on its head since that night. He was alive, yes, but broken, and the world refused to acknowledge the truth of his brokenness. Protecting Harry felt like the one concrete thing he could do.

"Okay," he nodded, the word a quiet commitment. Then, before he could second-guess himself, before the fear or the uncertainty could take root, he added, "And I want to join the Order."

Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon glasses, his expression unreadable. "Don't make decisions heartily, Diggory," he cautioned. "That's a big decision to make."

Cedric shrugged, a bitter, self-deprecating gesture. "Well, I'm not much use for the next whole year anyways. I'm sure you've learned that my core magic was injured in the graveyard, Professor," he said, the words coming out in a rush.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes softening fractionally. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

Cedric continued, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "He did it. Or at least his loyal servant did this on his order and now all wizarding world is pretending that I'm delusional. My dad thinks that I've gone mad. He keeps looking at me like I've got a fever, asking me to lie to others, pretending it's never happened. He doesn't believe me about you-know-who, not really." The weight of the wizarding world's denial pressed in on him, heavier than any physical pain. "They all think I just had a breakdown from the stress of the tournament, that I imagined it all." He clenched his fists. "At least joining the Order I can help you all stopping that madman doing the same to someone else. Maybe my parents would be safe," he finished, the last words barely a whisper, revealing the raw fear beneath his anger.

At his words, Dumbledore looked at him sadly, a profound sorrow in his eyes. "Don't think of yourself any less than other wizards, Diggory," he said softly, his voice imbued with a rare, quiet power. "You are a brave man and I know very few people who I call as brave."

The air in the large and slightly cluttered kitchen felt thick with anticipation. Cedric entered the room behind Albus Dumbledore. His eyes took in the sight of the assembled witches and wizards wearily. They weren’t waiting for him, he knew but the sudden hush that fell as the headmaster strode in made it feel as though their arrival was the signal.

He recognized a few faces immediately. Professor Lupin, looking a little more drawn than Cedric remembered, offered a small warm smile. Professor Snape sat by the mantelpiece with his arms crossed, his usual expression of disdain barely softening to a grimace as Dumbledore nodded to him. Cedric, despite the tension in the room found himself nodding greetings to them both.

Hs gaze drifted to a broad-shouldered man slumped in an armchair, whose one eye, a startling electric blue, swiveled wildly in its socket. “Professor Moody,” Cedric started, a polite greeting on his lips but it was cut short by a guttural grunt from the man himself.

At the large kitchen table, a man with a shock of dark hair and striking grey eyes sat, his features too familiar from newspaper clippings – Sirius Black. Harry’s godfather. He looked up, his expression unreadable before returning his attention to the table. Surrounding him were other members of what Cedric now understood must be the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Dumbledore wasted no time. “Cedric has been briefed on the immediate circumstances. He will remain for the duration of this meeting.”

One by one, the others introduced themselves, their voices a mix of gruffness, quiet formality, and casual warmth. “Kingsley Shacklebolt,” a tall, imposing wizard with a deep voice rumbled, offering a firm handshake. “Elphias Doge,” a frail-looking wizard with spectacles offered a weak smile. “Dedalus Diggle,” with a purple top hat gave a nervous bow. “Emmeline Vance,” a stately witch with a serene expression, inclined her head. “Hestia Jones,” a practical-looking woman with kind eyes, nodded briefly. Cedric realized, that some of them were ministry Aurors.

“Nymphadora Tonks, but you must call me Tonks,” said a witch who was seemingly in mid-conversation. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale, heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short, spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. Her voice was bright, a stark contrast to the somber tones of the others. “And of course, there’s Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” she gestured to the familiar red-headed couple, who gave Cedric friendly nods. “Along with their oldest son, Bill Weasley, you know them already?” a tall, charismatic man with a ponytail offered a polite smile.

"Yeah, they are my neighbours," Cedric told her.

After the whirlwind of introductions, Cedric hesitated, unsure where to sit. Tonks, catching his eye, grinned and pointed with her wand to the empty chair beside her and spilled a goblet of water in the table accidentally. “Over here, Diggory,”

Bill sighed and cleaned the table with swing of his wand before the water could reached the parchments on the table.

Cedric made his way over. He tried not to blush as he navigated the chairs, pulling out the one Tonks had indicated. He settled down, placing his walking stick carefully against the table leg.

The conversation resumed as though his arrival had been no more than a momentary interruption. A low furious murmur filled the room. “—Mundungus Fletcher, I tell you!” Mrs. Weasley was saying, her usually placid face flushed with anger. “Left his post! Can you believe it? Harry could have been… it doesn’t bear thinking about!”

“The fool was supposed to be keeping an eye on him this afternoon,” Sirius growled, his voice a low rumble. “And he just left before the… before the shit ended.”

Cedric listened intently, piecing together the fragments he’d already known. Mundungus had apparently been on guard duty for Harry and had abandoned his post. This abandonment had directly led to the Dementor attack in Little Whinging that Harry had faced, alone. The outrage in the room was evitable. The shared fury directed at the absent Mundungus and the very real danger Harry had been in.

The discussion quickly shifted from outrage to strategy: how to rescue Harry from the Ministry’s impending hearing, what arguments to use, who to call as a witness.

Cedric eyed everyone as they spoke, observing the varied expressions: Snape’s cool cynicism, Lupin’s quiet concern, Tonks’s vibrant animation, Moody’s constant vigilance. Sirius Black, however, seemed to glance at Cedric time to time during the heated exchange, a thoughtful, almost studying look in his grey eyes.

Cedric’s gaze drifted to the clutter on the kitchen table – maps, parchment, a blueprint of a building, empty teacups, and a copy of the Daily Prophet. Curious, he reached for the newspaper as the others continued to talk over each other, their voices rising with indignation at the Ministry’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge You-Know-Who’s return.

He unfolded the paper. There was no front-page headline about You-Know-Who or Harry, only some bland story about Quidditch cup winners. As he read more, flipping past the first few pages, he found an article tucked away on page seven, almost an afterthought:
"Diggory Duped by Potter's Propaganda"
SUBHEADLINE:* "Hogwarts Hero Swallows Whole Potter's Tales of Dark Lord's Return"
The Daily Prophet has learned that Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts student and Triwizard Champion, has been spreading unsubstantiated claims about the return of you-know-who. Sources close to the Diggory family confirm that Cedric has been associating with Harry Potter, the boy who has been warning about the Dark Lord's return for months.
While Potter's claims have been widely dismissed by the wizarding community, it appears that Diggory has been taken in by Potter's tales of danger and doom. "Cedric's always been a sensible lad," said a family friend, "but Harry Potter's got him convinced that the Dark Lord's back. It's quite sad, really."
The Prophet has repeatedly debunked Potter's claims, and it's surprising that Diggory would lend credence to such baseless rumors. "We're concerned about Cedric's well-being," said a close friend of Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory's father. "He's a talented student, and we wouldn't want him to get caught up in Potter's fantasies."
The Prophet will continue to monitor the situation and provide updates as more information becomes available. In the meantime, we urge Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter to focus on their studies and leave the speculation about the Dark Lord to the experts.

Cedric felt a chill. It wasn’t just a lie; it was a deliberate cynical dismissal. A public denial of the very truth that had nearly cost him his life, and that had now endangered Harry. He looked up from the paper, his eyes finding Sirius Black’s and saw in them a shared understanding, a quiet fury that mirrored his own.

Chapter Text

The last chair scraped loudly as Hestia Jones shuffled out the door and then Kingsley Shacklebolt, his heavy footsteps echoing slightly. One by one, the others filed out; Mad-Eye Moody’s distinctive limp audible, then the rustle of robes as Professor Snape departed. Cedric found himself still seated, the warmth of the roaring fire doing little to dispel the chill that had settled in the large, dim room.

Finally, only a small cluster of people remained: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, their eldest son, Bill, Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black, and Professor Lupin. The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

Then, Mrs. Weasley turned, her eyes fixing on Cedric with an expression of deep concern that quickly morphed into a frown.
“You shouldn’t be here, dear,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “You are far too young for this.”

Cedric wasn't quite sure how to respond. His own mother would have said the exact same thing, perhaps with more tears. He shifted slightly in his seat, choosing his words carefully.
“I’ve faced him already, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied gently. “Without joining any secret society. I don't think you-know-who cares about such things.” He could genuinely understand her worries, the genuine fear in her eyes.

Mrs. Weasley’s frown deepened, and she let out a soft huff. “You have to take care of yourself, Cedric dear. You just went through… so much.” Her gaze was almost pleading.

“Let him rest for now, Molly,” Professor Lupin interjected smoothly, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on Mrs. Weasley’s arm before she could add more. “I’m sure Cedric needs to process all of the information.”

Cedric glanced at the professor, grateful for the timely rescue.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Mrs. Weasley conceded, though her brow was still furrowed. She gestured towards a dark, winding staircase that disappeared into the gloom above. “Come along, dear. There’s not much space here. All the rooms are dust and dirt. I don't know what that old house-elf was doing last twelve years. Only a few have been cleared up to living standards for us.”

She started to ascend the stairs, her pace slow to match his and Cedric tried not to dwell on it. Instead he took the opportunity to look around the strange, oppressive house. Cobwebs draped from the high ceilings, and portraits, covered with cloths, seemed to bulge menacingly. A faint unpleasant smell lingered in the air, a mixture of damp and something else… something ancient and slightly malevolent.

“What is this place?” Cedric asked, turning his head to survey the unsettling drawing-room one last time. “I mean, this house seems… to belong to dark magic.”

A voice low and laced with dry amusement came from directly behind him. “This is my family house. The Black house.”

Cedric’s walking stick wobbled, clattering against the old floorboards with a sharp sound as he startled. Sirius Black chuckled and walked past him up the first few steps until they were standing in the second-floor corridor.

“Yes, Grimmauld Place, formerly the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” Sirius explained, a sardonic twist to his lips. “I inherited it. Last of the line, you see. Well, last of the living line, anyway.”

Cedric tried his best not to show his shocked face, but he must have done a terrible job, because Professor Lupin came up behind Sirius, giving him a mild shove.

“Stop terrorizing kids, Padfoot,” Lupin scoffed good-naturedly. “We’ll meet you all in the kitchen for dinner.”

Sirius merely grinned, giving Cedric a wink before he and Lupin walked off down the corridor, their voices fading as they continued their conversation.

Mrs. Weasley sighed, giving Sirius’s retreating back a disapproving look. “Honestly. Come along, dear.” She led Cedric down a different corridor. “Here, you’ll have to share a room with Fred and George, dear. There’s not much room left, I’m afraid.” She sounded apologetic, as if she were sentencing him to a particularly harsh detention.

Cedric had never really spent much time with the Weasley twins during school hours. They were popular, certainly, but more as troublemakers than academic companions. Still, he smiled reassuringly. “That’s not a problem at all, Mrs. Weasley.”

She offered a small grateful smile and pushed open a door. Cedric stepped inside to find something that vaguely resembled his Hogwarts dorm room, although a bit more haphazard. There were four beds, in various states of disarray. One of them, pushed into a corner looked like a permanent repository for fresh laundry that had never quite made it into a drawer. The other three, however, seemed relatively clean. One of them, closest to the door, was newly made, the duvet smoothed out – likely for his arrival as Gonzo was sitting there as if he owned it.

Before Cedric could even properly take in the room, two voices, uncannily synchronized, spoke from a shadowy corner where two figures had been mostly hidden.
“We hear you’re the new best friend of Harry.”

Cedric glanced over. Two identical redheads, their grins wide and mischievous.

“Our little brother isn’t going to be happy if you steal his best friend,” Fred, or perhaps George, said, his eyes twinkling, as a rather unique welcoming gesture.

Cedric managed a weak smile. “I… I wouldn’t say best friend. We just…” He trailed off, the memory of the graveyard was too much put in words. He cleared his throat. “We went through something together.”

The twins exchanged a look. “Right. ‘Something’,” Fred (or George) drawled, pushing off the wall. “Bit of an understatement, that. Most people just get a nice pat on the back for winning the Triwizard Tournament. You got… a souvenir.” He gestured vaguely at Cedric’s walking stick.

“And a new life goal: defeat the Dark Lord without getting a single scratch,” George added, stepping forward. “Ambitious, that. But since you’re already halfway there, fighting him without even meaning to, you’re practically an expert.”

Cedric felt a blush creep up his neck. He was used to being respected, but this irreverent, almost flippant teasing was new. “I assure you, I have no desire to be an expert in that particular field.”

Fred clapped him on the shoulder, surprisingly gently. “Good man. But since you’re here, and Harry’s not, someone’s got to fill the void of ‘champions who miraculously survived a certain Dark Lord’. And who better than a handsome Hufflepuff with a dramatic backstory, eh?”

“Don’t worry,” George (or Fred) winked, “we’ll make sure Harry knows you’re just keeping his seat warm. And maybe giving us some insight into what it’s like to be part of the Order.”

Cedric swallowed. He wasn't sure if they were joking entirely, or trying to lighten the mood in their own unique, slightly unsettling way. “Right,” he managed, stepping fully into the room.

“That one’s yours,” Fred (or George) confirmed, pointing to the tidy bed. “Mum insisted on making it up proper. Said you’d need your beauty sleep after your ordeal.”

“She’s worried about you, mate,” George (or Fred) added, his tone softening slightly. “She’s got a thing about protecting all of us, even the ones who aren’t technically hers. More so, actually, if you just faced You-Know-Who.”

Cedric nodded, grateful for the sudden shift in their demeanor. “I appreciate it. And I understand her worries. She’s been very kind.”

“That’s Mum for you,” they said in unison, then grinned. "So, settling in? Need anything? We’ve got a spare Extendable Ear under that pile of socks if you want to listen in on the grown-ups. But as you already part of the grown up, can we get an idea what's going on there?”

Cedric chuckled, a genuine laugh escaping him for the first time in days. “I'd love to but there's a certain man with silver hair and half-moon glasses who asked me not to.”

“Fair enough,” Fred said, nudging George. "Let's go see my little brother,"

"I've to write to someone first, I'll be there in a minute," Cedric told them, the twins nodded and went outside to give him some privacy.
Cedric enlarged his trunk by the bed and pulled out a fresh parchment. Gonzo was already perched on his bed, eyeing him.

Cedric thought about how to write to Harry without telling him much. He knew from his previous conversation with Harry that if he write something along the line with ‘Stay low or I can't tell you anything because Dumbledore forbid me’ he would be furious. So, Cedric wrote:

Hey Harry,
Hope you’re doing well! It’s been a while since I last reached out. Last night felt really long, and I hope everything’s good on your end. I’m currently visiting a friend, which was a bit of a last-minute decision that didn’t sit well with my dad. But my friend’s dad came to pick me up and take me to Padfoot's, which is such a lovely spot filled with lights. I can see the half moon shining through the dark curtains tonight; it’s so bright! I think you’d really enjoy it here. Take care and make sure to get some rest.
Cedric

There, he wrote as much information as he could have to Harry and hope that he would read between the lines.

Then he wrote another letter to someone else:
Mum, I’m really sorry you’re having to deal with this situation. Please remember to take care of yourself and try not to overthink things. I believe Dad will come to understand my choice in time, so please don’t be upset with him. This decision was mine alone, and he didn’t force me to leave.
Love you, Cedric.

He gave the letters to Gonzo and instruct him to fly hiddenly before going out of the room, a strange mix of apprehension and a nascent sense of belonging swirling within him.

Hermione and Ron was in a different room talking to Hedwig. The bird was avoiding looking at either of them directly and sat there stubbornly. At Cedric and the twins arrival they glanced up.

The air in the small room was thick with a peculiar tension, as if the very molecules were holding their breath.

Hermione Granger sat on the edge of one of the two narrow beds, a quill poised over a half-finished scroll of parchment. Ron Weasley was sprawled on the other, arms crossed, glaring at the stubborn white owl perched atop the squat wardrobe. Hedwig, usually was a fluffy ball of defiant feathers, her eyes fixed on a point just beyond their heads. She refused to acknowledge them, let alone their half-hearted attempts at a letter.

He’d seen them countless times, of course, usually a blur of red and brown hair flanking Harry Potter, always a step or two behind, or a few paces ahead. But never quite like this, so close, so… real. He noticed the fine dusting of freckles on Ron’s nose, the intense, almost luminous brown of Hermione’s eyes as she glanced up.

“Hi, I- I am… Cedric as - you all know already,” he said, and instantly cringed. The words tumbled out before he could catch them, a clumsy self-evident statement that made him want to melt into the threadbare rug. Why did he say that? Of course, they knew! He was the other Hogwarts champion!

Ron gave a curt nod. “Ron Weasley.”
Hermione, however, offered a warm, polite smile. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. Please, take a seat.” She gestured to the foot of her bed, the only clear spot in the cramped space.

Cedric moved into the room, the twins filling the already small space. He noticed the two owls sitting on the wardrobe. One was tiny and very enthusiastic as the owl fly round and round the ceiling, witnessing Hedwig’s rebellion.

With a soft hoot, Hedwig did something unexpected. She launched herself from the wardrobe and flew directly to Cedric, landing lightly on his shoulder, her talons gently gripping his robes.

"Hi, Hedwig," he murmured, stroking his feathers. Ron huffed and looked away.
“She is being so stubborn lately,” Hermione pointed out, a hint of exasperation in her voice, though she looked slightly relieved by the owl’s sudden shift of focus. “We tried to write back to Harry but she refused until we write more. She is even biting on our fingers,”

Fred smirked, nudging George. “Harry must have told her to stay strong until you two write a long answer.”

“We can’t do that,” Ron grumbled, his voice low and tight from his still distant position on the other bed. He finally looked at Cedric, almost accusing glance before his eyes darted away.

The twins turned their attention to Cedric. “So, you are joining the Order?” George asked, a glint in his eye. “We heard that you and Harry talking to each other last few weeks?”

Cedric nodded, feeling a little less awkward now that the conversation was shifting to something he felt more confident about. “Yeah, I’ve been writing to Harry pretty frequently. It’s been… good to have that connection, especially since I don’t have much else going on outside of Hogwarts. And yes, I joined the Order. Dumbledore asked me and I said yes.”

“Wicked!” Fred and George exclaimed in unison, their eyes widening. And then came the inevitable barrage of questions, just as Cedric had anticipated. “What are they talking about? Who are in the meeting? What’s the topic? Spill, mate!”

Hermione frowned at them. “I don’t think Cedric is allowed to say that much. It’s supposed to be secret.”

Ron was still silent, sitting a bit further away from them all looking at the floor. There was a grimace on his face, a tight clenching of his jaw that Cedric couldn't quite decipher.

"There's not much in today's discussion. I can only tell you that Mundungus was supposed to keep an eye on Harry but he left before his shift ended." He told them. Hermione's scowl deepened.

"Someone guarding Harry all the time? Is that what they were talking about in that room?" Fred asked or maybe it was George.

"I can't - I mean-" Cedric hesitated. There's a talk about guarding another place but Cedric wasn't sure he was supposed to tell them that.

"He can't tell us," Hermione said firmly. "Dumbledore must have forbid him, Fred." She told them and Cedric looked closely to Fred so that he could differentiate him from the other twin.

"Or he will," mumbled Ron not to quietly and Hermione glared at him.

Cedric shifted uncomfortably, a cold knot forming in his stomach. The twins joked about him ‘stealing’ Harry. He’d laughed it off earlier, assuming Ron did too. But seeing that genuine grimace, the way Ron averted his eyes when Cedric glanced his way… was it a joke? Or did Ron genuinely resent this burgeoning connection he had with Harry.

“Dinner soon. Mum’s probably making her famous cottage pie or something equally comforting. Don’t want to miss that. It’s the closest thing to happiness you’ll find in this gloomy old place.”

As if on cue, a booming, disembodied voice from downstairs called, “Dinner! Everyone to the table!”

“That’ll be Mum,” George said, already heading for the door. “Come on, Cedric. Time to face the next challenge: Mrs. Weasley’s concerned questioning over mashed potatoes.”

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place was not what Cedric Diggory had imagined a secret wizarding headquarters to be. Three days in, and he was still struggling to understand that place. He’d arrived and joined the Order on the very first day, and now all he was doing was attending the meetings and listening to the elders as they talk.

In three days, Cedric understood the true meaning of politics. It wasn't just about votes or laws. It was about narrative. The Ministry of Magic, under Cornelius Fudge wasn't merely denying You-Know-Who's return; they were meticulously erasing it. The silence was a confirmation of a shared dangerous secret. Fudge wasn't just controlling official channels; he was strangling the unofficial ones too.

Cedric didn't have to atten all the meetings so far. Some of the Auror told him that he was still in school to learn all of the information, and surprisingly Dumbledore agreed.

Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, was full of maternal concern. She fussed over Cedric, insisting he needed to "Rest up to get well soon for his Hogwarts year," which effectively meant he was barred from any meaningful chores. "You need to recover fully, dear, and you've been through enough!" she'd clucked, shooing him away from the overflowing dust in another room.

So, most of the time, Cedric found himself drawn to the quieter, cleaner corner of the bookshelves in the drawing-room. Unlike the rest of the house, which seemed to resist organisation, this section appeared almost intentionally curated, though by whom he couldn't guess.

Most of the books were old, leather-bound, and full of dark magic – treatises on hexes, ancient curses, defensive charms against obscure creatures, even musings on the nature of revive. It was morbidly fascinating, a deep dive into the very forces that had nearly claimed his life. It felt less like reading and more like intellectual reconnaissance.

So, For Cedric, three days here had been an education prospect. He sat curled in his now-familiar corner of the library, a thick leather-bound volume – Ancient Runes and Their Darker Applications – resting open on his lap.

Hermione Granger was practically glued to a towering stack of legal tomes beside him, her brow furrowed in concentration. She muttered to herself, sometimes casting silent Revelio charms on paragraphs, searching for any obscure loophole, any forgotten precedent that could exonerate Harry at his upcoming hearing.

"Anything new?" Cedric asked and she shook her head.

Ron peered over the back of a tattered armchair, his gaze falling directly on Cedric's book one evening.
"Still buried in those, are you?" Ron grunted, his voice a low rumble.

Cedric looked up, offering a polite smile. "Just trying to make sense of the past. Some of this history is quite… illuminating, actually." He gestured vaguely at the Ministry's propaganda currently dominating the Daily Prophet, which lay discarded on a nearby table. "Especially when you compare it to what's going on now."

"You are interested in Dark arts?" Ron asked, eyes narrowed. Hermione glanced up from her reading and frowned at Ron.
"I wasn't studying to practise, but to understand the enemy." Cedric pointed out.

"Some of those books are really fascinating," Hermione said before Ron could say more.

"Yeah, have you seen those defence books?" Cedric asked, pulling out the book from the shelves.
Hermione peered at it and her eyes seemed to sparkled. "You know, Harry would love to read those. He loves defence against the dark arts."

Cedric didn't know that, he looked down at the book with more interest. "This is a bit dark and advanced. But learning these spell can help to understand how dark magic works and how to counter them," Cedric put the book back to the shelves carefully and didn't break the organization of it by alphabet.

Ron’s eyes narrowed slightly, that familiar, unnerving look creeping in. "You know," he mused, leaning back fully into the armchair, "you're a bit unnatural sometimes, people can't be that perfect." He walked away before Cedric could say anything.

One night, the air in the Order's meeting room was thick with the scent of old parchments as Cedric sat amongst the familiar faces, as a relatively new addition he was still grasping the informations. It was the second day of their focused discussions on guarding the Ministry, and the mood was grim.

Emmeline Vance stood at the head of the long battered table pointing with a long, thin wand at a complex series of diagrams unrolled across the surface.

"Right, so as you all know we are talking about department of Mysteries," she began, her voice crisp and professional. "If you'll direct your attention to the revised diagrams of the Ministry's lower levels. Our current strategy for perimeter defence relies heavily on access points around Level Seven."

Lupin brow furrowed, leaning forward he interjected, "Emmeline, these are excellent, but you know our primary concern. The Department of Mysteries blueprint. How confident are we that these blueprints reflect its current layout, given their… unique modifications over the years?"

Cedric realised, the page Emmeline was pointing at detailing the labyrinthine corridors around the Department of Mysteries, was the very one he'd seen on his first day here. He’d barely understood its significance then, only that it represented something vital and related to Harry.

Snape, who had been murmuring quietly with Dumbledore near the fireplace, scoffed, "As if mere diagrams could penetrate that labyrinth of secrets, Remus. They're designed to be impenetrable, even to their own staff."

Dumbledore merely stroked his long beard, his eyes twinkling subtly at Snape before returning to the map.

Emmeline sighed. "That's precisely the sticking point, Severus. Their internal structure is a complete void, even to most Ministry personnel. They operate under such strict secrecy, it's almost pathological."

"We need someone on the inside," Sirius Black muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. "Someone with the highest clearance."

Tonks, who had been chewing on the end of a quill suddenly perked up. "Perhaps we need to go higher up the chain for their material assets. What about Mr. Wickliff? He's in charge of their 'Possessions, Goods, and Services' isn't he? If anyone knows what's coming in and out, where the new wards are… it would be him."
Cedric's head snapped up. Wickliff? It couldn't be...

"Mr. Wickliff," he said, his voice cutting through the general murmur, drawing all eyes to him. "As in… Ashton Wickliff's father?"

Dumbledore's gaze, which had been fixed on the blueprints, slowly turned to Cedric, piercing and assessing. "Yes, Mr. Diggory. I believe he is in your year?"

"Yes, Professor. Ashton is my best friend, actually. I've spent countless weekends at their home, particularly during the holidays. Mr. Wickliff— his father, that is—he's a good man. And Ashton… Ashton knows everything about his father's work, or at least, as much as Mr Wickliff told him."

Snape raised an eyebrow, a sneer playing on his lips. "What that information is going to be needed here?"

"That Mr Wickliff's elder brother died in the first war?" Lupin asked at the same time Cedric said; "I'm confident he will help."

Sirius chimed in, more concerned than disparaging. "It's a huge risk, Dumbledore. We don't know this Wickliff."

Dumbledore, however ignored them, his gaze still on Cedric. "And do you trust Ashton enough to broach a matter of this sensitivity with him? To ask him peruse for information from his father to help the Order?"

Cedric thought for a moment, picturing Ashton's earnest face, their shared adventures, the unbreakable bond they had formed. Loyalty. Trustworthiness. Those were Ashton's hallmarks. He had never once known Ashton to betray a confidence, or to back down from doing what was right.

"Yes, Professor," Cedric said, his voice firm and clear. "Without a doubt. Ashton is one of the most loyal and trustworthy person I know. If he can help, he will. I could ask him for anything, and he would help. And I don't have to brought up the name of the Order either,"

Dumbledore considered this, then a faint smile gracing his lips, he nodded slowly. "A calculated risk perhaps, but one with considerable potential. Cedric, I believe your connection here could be invaluable. Write to Mr. Ashton Wickliff first thing tomorrow morning. Explain the urgency, but be discreet."

Cedric felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. His first real mission of seeking information, relying on his own connections.

Mrs. Weasley wasn't happy with all that. Later, when the meeting ended, he heard her talking, "He is still in school! What was Dumbledore thinking? He shouldn't be involve in this!" She said and Cedric saw from a far as Mr. Weasley tried to calm her down.

Cedric, the next morning helped Mrs Weasley in the kitchen.

"You're too perfect, like Percy," Ron had grumbled watching Cedric neatly fold a discarded kitchen clothes. Cedric, naturally, had taken it as a compliment. Percy Weasley had been Head Boy, with perfect grades and He’d admired Percy's unwavering dedication.

It wasn't until Ginny, perched on the banister had casually mentioned that Percy had left home, disowned his family for loyalty to the Ministry, that Cedric realised Ron's word. He was reading another old book from the library when Ginny found him there in the staircase and decided to be his company.

Cedric’s smile didn’t falter, though a flicker of curiosity sparked in his chest. He’d initially taken Ron's comment as a compliment when he had first made it. "Is that so? I always thought Percy was quite... admirable. Very dedicated." He asked casually.

Ginny snorted. "He's not here anymore, is he?"

The words hung in the air, weighted with a peculiar sadness. Cedric’s brow furrowed. "No, I suppose not. You mentioned he... left."

"He didn't just 'leave'," Fred corrected, his voice sharper as he sat down beside Cedric. "He walked out. Said Dumbledore was senile, lies about You-Know-Who, said Mum and Dad were traitors for believing Harry. He thinks Fudge is a genius. Thinks he's right and we're all wrong." Fred shook his head, running a hand through his red hair. "Proper arse, he is. Too perfect for his own good."

Cedric felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. Too perfect like Percy. He sat straighter, the old book forgotten.

He had left home, hadn’t he? Left his parents who believed the Ministry’s line, to stand with Dumbledore and Harry. His parents, who would undoubtedly disapprove deeply of him being here, fighting a battle they denied existed. And he did like things orderly. He did like to be punctual. He did make sure his robes were impeccable before he came downstairs, even if he had to sneak a quick spell for that.
Was he like Percy? Was he so sure of his own convictions that he'd alienate his family? The thought was unsettling. He wasn’t doing it for power, or for a promotion, but for something far bigger, something he knew was true. But Percy, presumably, felt the same about his own path.

Fred seemed to understand that something was off, so he dragged Cedric to upstairs and started to explain their business work.

Apparently, they were going to open a joke Shop and had various ideas to form short term tricks and spells. Cedric was fascinated with their works and volunteer as their practice partner. Ginny joined them later, laughing and joking about it the whole time. It was a great evening.

Fred and George were, surprisingly, excellent room-mates. Although, they used magic for everything – summoning biscuits from the pantry, levitating dirty dishes to the sink, Accio to anything they needed at any time of the day, they even stopped walking to any small distance.

It was annoying sometimes, and Cedric felt a pang of envy. His magic was still in the process of healing making him stop using it everytime, even though he was now allowed. He permitted himself to use it to iron his robes into crisp, perfect lines before descending for meals, or to tidy his small corner of the shared room, banishing dust motes with a quiet Scourgify. Small, practical applications that offered a semblance of control in a world spiralling into chaos.

****

Cedric heard Harry's arrival through the muffled shouted voice from upstairs, that evening. Tonks and others arched an eyebrow at that. And Remus Lupin shook his head, there's a small smile on his face. Sirius was chuckling and said, "I told you so."

Dumbledore wasn't present in the meeting that day, so Cedric couldn't see his reaction. But it was clear Harry was furious that no one told him anything.

After their meeting ended and one by one everyone left, Cedric stood up and collected all the papers that remained scattered on the table, helping Mr. Weasley to clean up the table.

Lupin asked him, when it was clear that he wasn't leaving the room. "Aren't you going see Harry now?"

Cedric nodded "I'll in a minute. I'm cleaning up the table." And smiled politely, but deep down he was nervous to face Harry. To see his reaction when Harry learnt that Cedric had joined the Order of the Phoenix and didn't tell him. He was sure Hermione must have already told him, or Ron did.

Oh, Ron would love that, to see Cedric finally face something that's not so ‘perfect’, as he said earlier.

Sirius seemed to understand his hesitation and cornered Lupin before he could ask more.

Cedric waited; he waited until he could not anymore, and Mrs. Weasley was looking at him with pity.

“The meeting’s over; you can come down and have dinner now. Everyone’s dying to see you, Harry. And who’s left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?” Mrs Weasley called out in the hallway.

“Crookshanks,” said Ginny from upstairs. “He loves playing with them.”

Cedric wanted to scoffed but resist. He was sure it was Fred or George.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Weasley, “I thought it might have been Kreacher; he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don’t forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy; what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please . . .” she said as one by one everyone came into view.

Tonks tried to help or leave the room; Cedric wasn't sure what, but she tripped on that same umbrella stand that she tripped on twice a day, regularly. Making a huge commotion in the hall.

She turned to apologise, but the damage was done. The old portrait of Sirius's mother started to shout at all of them at once.

Lupin and Sirius tackled it to shut it down again. And Cedric saw from where he stood, leaning heavily on his walking stick, that Harry climbed down from the stairs along with others to see what was happening.

Panting slightly and sweeping his long dark hair out of his eyes, Sirius turned to face him.“Hello, Harry,” he said grimly. “I see you’ve met my mother.”

It was clear from his frowned face that Harry wasn't aware that this house was the Black family house, so Sirius explained that to him.

Then everyone greeted Harry. “Harry!” Mr. Weasley said, hurrying forward to greet him and shaking his hand vigorously. “Good to see you!”

Over his shoulder Harry saw Bill, who still wore his long hair in a ponytail, hastily rolling up the lengths of parchment left on the table.

“Journey all right, Harry?” Bill called, trying to gather up twelve scrolls at once. “Mad-Eye didn’t make you come via Greenland, then?”

“He tried,” said Tonks, striding over to help Bill and immediately sending a candle toppling onto the last piece of parchment. “Oh no—sorry—”

“Here, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, and she repaired the parchment with a wave of her wand.

Until Harry's eyes fell on the corner. Cedric stood there with so much going through his head. It was one thing to write to someone nonstop and a totally different thing when that person was standing right in front of you. He was worried that Harry would be angry; he would be furious that Cedric was here joining the Order while he was away. So, he stood there waiting to see Harry's reaction. What Cedric didn't predict was Harry's next move.

Cedric found himself instead engulfed in a desperate, bone-crushing hug. His walking stick dug into the floor as he fought for balance, his free arm instinctively wrapping around Harry, pulling him close. The slender weight of him, the sudden, overwhelming relief in the embrace – it was nothing like the furious confrontation he’d steeled himself for.
"Cedric!"

"Hi, Harry," Cedric managed, a genuine smile breaking through his surprise, a wave of relief washing over him. "It's good to see you." He held Harry for a moment longer than strictly necessary, feeling a knot of tension he hadn't realised was there slowly unravel.

Harry pulled back, his green eyes still wide, a mixture of exhaustion and immense relief churning within them. "You're here! You're really here!" He glanced around the chaotic hall, at the faces watching them – Mrs. Weasley beamed, Sirius looked smugly satisfied, Tonks stifled a giggle, and Lupin offered a gentle, understanding smile. "Ron said that you joined the Order or something? Why didn't you mentioned that in your letter? Why didn't you write after that letter?"

"We thought..." Cedric started, glancing at Lupin, feeling a fresh wave of awkwardness. "It was... complicated. There were Dumbledore's orders, and with you not knowing anything... I - can we talk later? I mean..." He trailed off, knowing he couldn't put the blame entirely on others. He hadn't written about joining the Order himself.

Sirius stepped forward, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Well, now we've established that the two of you are, after all, still friends, perhaps we can move on to the more pressing matter of dinner?" He gave Harry a sympathetic squeeze, then winked at Cedric. "Though I must say, Harry, you handled that rather more calmly than I expected."

"Right then, everyone!" Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands, breaking the moment, though her smile remained warm. "Dinner's getting cold! Harry, dear, why don't you help Cedric to the table? And then we can all properly catch up."

Cedric frowned, because Mrs. Weasley never told anyone to help him to the table before. He was about to excuse himself when he saw Harry's face. Harry nodded eagerly, taking Cedric’s arm, not just leaning on it, but holding it as if to confirm he was real, he was there.

****

The aroma of Mrs. Weasley’s stew usually brought a comforting warmth to the kitchen, but tonight, it was thick with tension.

Harry's eyes wide and fixed on Sirius across table, was practically vibrating with anticipation. Cedric, seated beside him, found himself holding his breath.

"...and so, the latest intel confirms they've recruited a few more of death eaters while laying low for now," Sirius was saying, his voice low but cutting through the clatter of cutlery like a knife. He wasn't whispering, wasn't softening the edges. "Kingsley had a close shave with a trio of them near Dover last week – nasty business. Moody thinks they're expanding their recruitment drive, trying to scoop up any available dark wizards before the Ministry cottons on. Dumbledore's got us working on convincing people that he in deed returned, but it's slow going with all the secrecy."

Cedric’s brow was furrowed. He glanced instinctively towards Professor Lupin but he also seemed to staring at Sirius with a frown. Others were also silent.

So, Cedric glanced at Mrs. Weasley. Any second now, he thought. She usually didn't like whenever someone talk about Voldemort too much in front of Cedric, let alone actual Order operations. The sheer amount of detail Sirius was sharing was astonishing.

Meanwhile, Harry had taken a giant leap. "So what you're saying is... you're fighting him though Ministry don't believe that he is here," he blurted out, leaning so far forward he almost tipped his chair. "You're actually fighting Voldemort now? And he is after 'something important' that he didn't have earlier, right? And you need more people, don't you? I can help! I want in, Sirius. I can fight him better than anyone, I've done it four times already!"

The spoon in Mrs. Weasley's hand clattered into the pot with a splash. "Harry James Potter! Are you mad?" she exploded, whirling around, her face flushed crimson. "This is not some game! This isn't a schoolyard duel! This is war, and you are not joining the front lines!"

"But why not?!" Harry shot back, adrenaline pumping. "I'm the one he wants! I know his tactics! I've already survived him! Don't you see? It's my fight too!"

"And that's precisely why you need to be kept away!" Mrs. Weasley retorted, her voice rising. "We're doing this for you, not with you! We don't need any more children involved!" She said the last part glaring at Cedric.

Sirius, though he looked a little proud of Harry's fire, held up a placating hand. "Molly's right. You have been through more than most Aurors. But Molly, Harry need to understand what's going on." He added.

"He's still a boy!" Molly insisted, turning her glare on Sirius now. "Barely fifteen! We are not putting him in harm's way again! He's just had a traumatic year!"

The kitchen erupted. Arguments about Harry's age, his previous encounters with Voldemort, the inherent dangers of the Order's work, the need to protect and Harry's growing frustration filled the air.

The sheer exhaustion etched on the adult's faces, all swirled around Cedric. He found himself shrinking in his seat, the cheerful atmosphere of dinner entirely gone.

The casual way Sirius had delivered the grim news, the fierce, almost desperate protectiveness in Mrs. Weasley's voice – it was all too much.

Was his mother thinking the same? Was she also worried? Was Cedric the cause of her worriness now? He felt a cold knot of dread tightening in his stomach. He tried to stay seated, to appear unconcerned, but the overwhelming sense of discomfort was palpable. He didn't want to show weakness, didn't want to seem unbrave, but the sheer weight of their discussion, the raw, brutal reality of it, was making him feel sick.

"Excuse me," Cedric mumbled, pushing his chair back abruptly, the scrape echoing in the momentarily quieted kitchen as everyone paused, mid-argument, to look at him.

He didn't meet anyone's eyes, just got up as quickly as he could and walked out, trying to keep his stride even and his weight balance in the walking stick.

He walked towards the stairs, needing space, needing air that wasn't heavy with the scent of fear and impending war.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry's furious voice cut through the air behind him. "Even Cedric understands! He's allowed to help! He's already joined, hasn't he?! Why he is allowed and not me?!"

A cold wave of realization washed over Cedric, making his stomach clench tighter. He leaned against the cool banister, listening to Professor Lupin's weary reply: "Cedric is seventeen, Harry! He made his choice as an adult! And he's not the target of You-Know-Who's obsession! It's different!"

He closed his eyes. Harry was right. He was allowed. He had been quietly approached by Dumbledore.

Harry should be in the Order, he was the one who fought you-know-who, he was the one who survived time and again, while Cedric, who’d merely had a horrifying brush with death was included in the Order. This was going to be a problem. A very big problem. The argument they just had was just the beginning.

He could picture Harry's face a mix of hurt, indignation, and fury. He suddenly felt a profound sense of foreboding. He hoped, with a sinking heart, that this wouldn't shatter their new friendship. He never wanted to be a wedge between Harry and the Order. He just wanted to help, to not be useless again.

Chapter Text

Cedric’s eyelids fluttered open, not to the familiar muted light of dawn filtering through the window, but to an oppressive blinding white. It was everywhere. A thick, swirling smoke of pure alabaster, so dense it seemed to press in on him from all sides. He blinked and tried to clear his vision, but there was nothing to focus on, no edge, no horizon, just an endless, featureless expanse.
He knew this place. Or rather, he knew a version of it. The void of white. He'd been here before, a strange, liminal space where visions sometimes coalesced, where a figure had emerged from the mist to offer cryptic guidance.
But this was different.
Terribly different. Usually, there were shapes, hints of structures. This time, there was nothing. No shape, no structure. Just whiteness. Absolute, terrifying whiteness, a silence so profound it roared in his ears.

Panic began to coil in his gut. He'd been in his room a moments ago. He distinctly remembered pulling his duvet up, the lingering chill of the stone walls. How had he ended up here, in this formless, suffocating expanse?

"Mrs. Potter?" he tried to call out the only person he last met in the void. His mind conjured her gentle face, her kind, guiding presence from a previous encounter in this very void. He needed her. He needed her gentle presence, her quiet assurance to follow the right path.

But no sound emerged. His throat worked, his jaw clenched, but nothing. Not a whisper, not a rasp. His voice was gone.

A fresh wave of terror washed over him. What was happening? Why couldn't he speak? He tried again, a silent scream clawing at the inside of his skull. His chest tightened, a terrifying pressure building. The white seemed to thicken, pressing in, closer and closer, like a physical entity. It wasn’t just around him; it felt like it was inside him, trying to fill every empty space, to consume him entirely.

He screamed, desperate bellow that ripped through his being, and began to walk, blindly stumbling through the endless cloud, hoping to find an edge, a barrier, anything to push against. Each step was a plunge deeper into the suffocating essence. There was no air. His lungs burned, screaming for oxygen that simply wasn't there. He gasped, a dry, rattling sound that only he could feel, a futile attempt to draw breath into an environment devoid of it. The whiteness surged, washing over his face, creeping into his mouth, his nose. He choked, gagged, his body convulsing in a desperate battle against an unseen, omnipresent foe. His vision swam, the white dissolving into flickering darkness at the edges.
Just as the last spark of consciousness threatened to extinguish, just as the void truly began to consume him, he gasped out, a guttural, desperate sound that was undeniably real.

His dream ended.

He was in his bed. The rough wool of his blanket was tangled around his legs, and the cool night air raised goosebumps on his sweat-dampened skin. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his lungs burned as if he'd run a mile. He could hear Fred snoring in the next bed, a rhythmic, comforting rumble that was the antithesis of the terrifying silence he'd just endured.

Cedric lay there, drenched in sweat, trembling, and gasping for air, the phantom sensation of the suffocating whiteness still clinging to his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the lingering image, but the blinding white was behind his eyelids.

The darkness of the room pressed in on Cedric, heavy and suffocating. He tossed and turned, the worn sheets tangling around his legs like a shroud. Sleep turned quickly into a gauntlet of fragmented images, a slideshow of terror that left him panting, heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn't lie there anymore; the bed felt like a coffin.

Carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, wincing as the old springs creaked. He paused, listening. The rhythmic, almost comically loud snores of Fred and George hummed from their respective beds, a familiar, oddly comforting lullaby that assured him they were still deep in their slumber. Good. He didn't want to explain this. He never wanted to explain this.

He eased open the door and slipped into the silent hallway of Grimmauld Place. The air was still heavy with the dust of generations after Mrs Weasley's non-stop cleaning missions.

He needed to clear his head, breathe air that didn't feel like it was still clinging to the edges of a nightmare. His initial thought was the kitchen, a glass of water, maybe a bite of stale toast to ground him.

He was halfway down the main staircase, the floor cool beneath his bare feet, when something stopped him. Not a sound, not a specific thought, just an abrupt cessation of forward momentum. He looked down at the dark, polished wood of the steps, then up at the looming shadow of the chandelier, distorted and spectral in the gloom. He didn't need water right now. He needed to just be.

With a soft sigh, he sank down onto the third step from the bottom, leaning his elbows on his knees. His breathing was still ragged. This wasn't the first time the dream had haunted him, not by a long shot. Usually, it was a chaotic kaleidoscope of the graveyard, Wormtail's horrifying grin, the chilling image of Voldemort. But tonight… tonight had been different. Tonight, it had been a stark, terrifying white void, an echoing emptiness that was somehow more unsettling than the most grotesque monster.

Cedric sat there, focusing on the slow, deliberate rhythm of his own breath, willing his heart to calm. The house was still, save for the distant, faint snores above.

Just as he felt the panic begin to recede, A soft, almost imperceptible crack from the floor above made him flinch. He glanced over his shoulder.

Standing just inside the archway leading into the hallway, tousled hair silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering through a distant window, was Harry Potter. He looked small, dishevelled, his dark hair even messier than usual. Harry offered a sheepish, lopsided grin.

"Oh," Harry mumbled, looking a bit caught out. "Sorry. Wasn't trying to sneak up on you, honest. Just... heard footsteps. Wanted to see who was up at, like, three in the morning."

Cedric managed a weak, tired smile in return. "No worries."

He shifted slightly, making room. Harry, without another word, padded over and sank down onto the step beside him, pulling his knees up to his chest. The silence settled between them, not awkward, but heavy with unspoken things. He settled down leaving a comfortable space between them, but close enough for quiet conversation. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant tick of a grandfather clock downstairs.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry finally said, staring straight ahead at the dark wall.

Cedric nodded, a small, involuntary shiver running through him. "Me neither," he managed, his voice rougher than he expected, betraying the recent distress. "Had a… a bad dream."

Another stretch of quiet. Harry sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world. He finally turned his head, his green eyes meeting Cedric's.

"I was… angry at you," Harry confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

Cedric blinked, surprised. "And you aren't now?"

Harry looked away again, picking at a loose thread on his pyjama bottoms. He chewed on his lip. "Well, I'm still processing all the news. The Order of the Phoenix and all." He sighed again, a familiar frustration evident in the sound. "It's just… I keep hearing about these meetings from Ron and Hermione, and the plans that Sirius mentioned, and I was stuck at Privet Drive the whole time, and now here, and everyone's talking around me. You get to be part of it, and I… I'm just here." The unspoken 'and I'm the one he wants to kill' hung in the air, but Harry didn't voice it.

Cedric chuckled softly, a sound that surprisingly came out. Before his brain could quite register the action, his hand reached out, finding Harry’s and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Harry," he said, his voice softer now, "I'm not allowed in everything that's going on in the meetings. I'm there because, for some reason, Dumbledore just… wanted me there. He hasn't even told me why." He squeezed Harry's hand gently, a silent reassurance. "You're not missing out on anything important, believe me." Cedric said, his thumb stroking the back of Harry's hand, a comforting gesture that felt instinctively right.

Harry stared at him, then slowly, his gaze dropped to their joined hands. Cedric suddenly realized what he was doing, a flush creeping up his neck. He quickly released Harry's hand, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Right."

Harry didn't seem to notice the abrupt withdrawal. He looked away, his gaze distant, but he didn't pull back physically. "I'm feeling so much these last couple of days," he confessed, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I'm angry at everyone! Or feel lonely all the time. And – and I was jealous of you even if I don't have any reason for that!" His frustration finally spilled out, a quiet desperate whisper.

Cedric chuckled again, the sound warmer this time. "Well, Harry, that's what teenagers do. My mum's been complaining about it for the last five years straight."

Harry glanced at him, a frown creasing his brow. "Don't laugh at me," he mumbled, looking down at his knees.

"I'm not laughing at you, Harry," Cedric corrected gently. He leaned back. "I'm happy for you. Happy that you're still free to feel like a human teenager after all this."

The silence had stretched, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable, before Harry spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet.

"I understood your last letter's words," Harry said, out of nowhere.

Cedric, who had been staring absently into the gloom, blinked and turned to him, a puzzled frown on his face. "My letter? What about it?"

"About the half-moon night light and all," Harry gestured to his glasses and continued, a faint smile playing on his lips even in the near-darkness. "I got that bit. And I understood that wherever you are, you're near Dumbledore." He paused, a slight crease appearing between his brows. "But I couldn't figure out the Black curtains."

Cedric let out a soft groan, the sound barely audible. He shook his head, a flush creeping up his neck that Harry could just feel radiating in the close confines. "Well," he mumbled, a hand coming up to nervously rub the back of his neck, "that was my way to tell you that it's the Black family house? I know that's a stupid way to put it," he added quickly, avoiding Harry's gaze.

Harry didn't respond immediately. A choked sound escaped him, then another, before he dissolved into a fit of silent, shaking giggles. He pressed a hand on cedric's shoulder before trembling with laughter.

"You do realise," Harry managed to gasp out, between his silent laughter, "that there's a reason the Sorting Hat didn't put me in Ravenclaw house?" He punctuated the question with another wave of silent mirth.

"Shut up," Cedric mumbled, more firmly this time, though the heat in his cheeks intensified. He did look away, staring intently at a shadowy patch on the wall. But as Harry's quiet laughter continued, a strange, warm flutter began in Cedric's stomach. He risked a quick glance back at Harry, whose shoulders were still trembling with suppressed amusement, a boyish grin just visible in the gloom.

And then it hit him: the tight knot of uneven breathing since his nightmare was gone. Completely gone. Replaced by this... lightness, this unfamiliar warmth. He'd forgotten all about the chilling images that had woken him earlier. He just wanted to hear Harry laugh again.

The next day, late morning sun streamed through the tall, arched windows of Grimmauld Place, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air of the drawing-room. Cedric nestled deep in a worn but comfortable armchair, found himself back in his usual reading spot. The quiet hum of the ancient house was occasionally punctuated by distant shouts and the rhythmic thwack of something being scrubbed.

Out in the hall, he could hear Harry Potter and his friends engaged in the monumental task of de-doxyfying the Order’s headquarters.

Mrs. Weasley’s firm instructions were interspersed with bursts of laughter. A moment later, Harry’s voice, bright and full of mirth, drifted in. “Fred, no! Not on the portrait! That’s ancestral grime!” Then, a hiss of aerosol, followed by more laughter, specifically from Fred and George. Harry was clearly having a grand time, spraying what sounded like anti-doxy sprey onto some unfortunate curtains, chatting animatedly with the twins.

It was then Cedric noticed it. He hadn't heard Ron’s voice. And Harry was talking exclusively to his brothers. His gaze drifted to Ron, who was rigorously scrubbing a banister, his back to the trio, he was unconscious of couldn't care what the three of them talking about. An odd thought pricked Cedric: why did Ron seem so uncomfortable whenever Harry talked to him then?

“I think Ron is insecure,” a voice rumbled beside him. Cedric startled, looking up to find Sirius Black settling into the armchair opposite him, a half-eaten piece of toast in hand. Cedric blinked, confused. Sirius merely chewed, then swallowed, adding, “I think he’s afraid you’re going to steal his friend.”

Cedric turned to look at Ron again. He was now vigorously cleaning a section of curtains which, to Cedric, seemed de-doxying enough already. “Why does he think that?” Cedric asked, genuinely puzzled. He and Harry had only recently become friends, really, after the Triwizard Tournament.

Sirius shrugged, reaching out to pick up the book Cedric had been reading – a thick, leather-bound volume on ancient runic magic. “He’s friends with Harry since his first day of Hogwarts.” Sirius flipped through the pages. “You can borrow those books if you want,” he offered, gesturing vaguely to the towering, dust-laden bookshelves that lined the room.

“No, you don’t have to,” Cedric tried to refuse politely. The books looked incredibly old and valuable.

Sirius dismissed it with a flick of his wrist. “Those are going to collect dust anyways.”

Cedric glanced at the collection, his eyes widening slightly at the sheer number of first editions and rare manuscripts. “Thank you, Mr. Black.”

“Merlin! Don’t call me that. That’s my father.” Sirius chuckled, a deep, easy sound. “Sirius is just fine with me.”

Cedric nodded, feeling a faint blush creep up his neck.

Just then, Professor Lupin arrived, stepping quietly into the room, holding a steaming mug of tea. He sat down in the armchair next to Sirius, sighing contentedly. “Late morning, Professor?” Cedric asked, politely.

Lupin grunted and took a long sip before answering. “Couldn’t sleep soundly with this idiot snoring so loud, the whole room was rattling,”

“You were here last night?” Harry’s voice announced his arrival, suddenly much closer. He beelined for Cedric, dropping onto the floor beside his armchair with a relieved sigh and a wide smile. He reached out to see what Cedric was reading, missing the quick exchange of glances between Sirius and Lupin.

“Yeah, it was too late to go back,” Lupin replied anyway, though Harry seemed already too absorbed in looking at the collection of books on the shelf behind Cedric.

“How’s the cleaning going on?” Cedric asked, passing the book he was reading to Harry so he didn’t have to lean quite so much to read the title of the chapter.

“Don’t ask me,” Harry mumbled, already deeply engrossed in the book, turning pages.

“So, Cedric, what’s your plan after Hogwarts?” Sirius asked, his eyes twinkling as he watched Harry.

Cedric thought about it. The events of the past year had irrevocably altered his future. “Well, I was interested in Quidditch, but that’s out of the question now,” he told him truthfully, a shadow passing over his features for a moment.

Lupin nodded, understanding. “You can continue your higher studies after Hogwarts,” he suggested. “France or USA? There are various programs there you can look into.”

Cedric could feel Harry’s eyes on him from the side, a soft, curious gaze. “I’m thinking about taking a break,” he confessed. “I’m actually interested in Healers courses that St. Mungo’s offers, but as the situation now…” he trailed off, hinting at the escalating wizarding war.

Sirius seemed satisfied with his answer. “You should do that. Wait sometimes for this situation to be settled.”

“You want to be a Healer?” Harry asked, looking up from the book, his green eyes wide with genuine interest. “That’s so impressive.”

Cedric blushed unnecessarily at that. Why was he blushing? All Harry had done was say the word ‘impressive’.

“What are you going to do?” Cedric asked him when his face cool down.

“Well, a Death Eater told me that I’ll make a good Auror, so…” Harry said with a mischievous smile, and Sirius let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the room.

“Thanks, Sirius. I’ll take that as approval,” Harry grinned.

Lupin scoffed good-naturedly. “Sirius will approve even if you announced to join the Quibblers.” He said, pushing himself up from his chair.

“You are going to be a great Auror, Harry. You already have more experience than most of them.” Cedric told him. Harry beamed at him.

Sirius remained seated, an amused smile plastered across his face as he watched Harry and Cedric.

“Padfoot?” Lupin called from the doorway, but Sirius was still looking at them, a distant look in his eyes.

Cedric shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realizing just how close Harry was, pressed up to his side in his absorption with the book.

“Sirius?!” Lupin called again, louder this time. “Let’s go to the kitchen?” he suggested, making it a question this time.

Sirius sighed, a dramatic, put-upon sound, and finally stood up, looking as if Lupin had just asked him to stop reading his favourite novel rather than accompany him for a cup of tea.

"What just happened?" Harry asked looking at their back as they left.

"I don't know," Cedric shrugged.

Half an hour had vanished, swallowed by the intricate diagrams and cryptic annotations that filled its pages. It was a Defence Against the Dark Arts book, far more advanced than anything Harry had encountered at Hogwarts, but Regulus’s notes – scrawled in the margins, sometimes even across the printed text – were the real treasure. They offered glimpses into a brilliant, cynical mind, often questioning the very spells he was learning, suggesting more potent or unorthodox applications.

Ron found them settled comfortably in the room, Cedric on the armchair and Harry on the floor, a thick leather-bound book open between them. Harry and Cedric were hunched close, heads almost touching, murmuring excitedly to each other. Too absorbed to notice him standing in the doorway.

Even Sirius and Lupin had been impressed, when Harry had excitedly brought the book to the kitchen table earlier, leaning over to trace the faded ink with curious fingers. Sirius told them that his brother's mind was brilliant, too bad he died as a Death eater though.

Now, back in the quiet sitting room, Harry and Cedric were deep in discussion, dissecting a particularly complex counter-curse. Their heads were bent close together, fingers occasionally touching as they were pointing at the same line, murmuring theories about Regulus’s intentions. Laughing and talking about applying it further use...

It was Cedric who finally looked up, his face still lit with animation, but the smile faltered, replaced by a subtle apprehension as he saw Ron. Harry, however, remained utterly oblivious.

"Ron! You've got to see this!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. He gestured wildly at the pages covered in elegant, looping script – Regulus Black’s personal notes. "It’s Regulus Black’s! Sirius's brother. Look at the notes Ron, they’re incredible! Even Sirius was impressed when I showed it to him and Profesor Lupin earlier. We've been dissecting them for ages!"

Ron walked further into the room, his hands shoved into his pockets. His voice was flat, devoid of his usual cheerful energy. "What are you two talking about?" He asked, his gaze fixed solely on Harry. Cedric’s frown deepened, a subtle shift in his brow. What was his problem?

Harry was already holding the book out. "Look! He's got a whole section on counter-charms for specific Dark Arts categories, not just individual curses. And this bit on how to identify a possessed object before it..."

Ron cut him off, his voice sharper now. "Harry, Hermione always shows you books. You never seem this interested before. Now, all of a sudden you love reading?"

Harry paused, his finger still tracing a complex diagram. He glanced up, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "What are you trying to say, Ron?"

Cedric could feel the tension in the room, a palpable shift in the air.

"I'm just saying... why are you so suddenly fascinated by a book?" Ron’s gaze darted from Harry’s face to Cedric’s, lingering a fraction too long.

Harry, who had been practically glued to Cedric’s side, leaned back slightly, pulling away from the shared space. He sat straight, his smile gone. He stared at Ron, his green eyes narrowing. "What is your problem?"

Ron’s jaw worked for a moment, then he spun on his heel and walked out, not a single word passing his lips.

Harry glanced at Cedric, then at the empty doorway. "I’ll be right back," he mumbled, barely looking at Cedric before he was on his feet and out the door.

Cedric didn’t have to strain to hear. In fact, most of Grimmauld Place probably could, given how quickly the volume escalated.

"...Why is he all of a sudden so important to you, Harry?!" Ron’s voice was shockingly loud, thick with a raw, unfamiliar anger.

"Because he’s my friend, Ron! Can’t I make another friend?!" Harry countered, his own voice rising.

"Did I say that?!" Ron roared, his voice cracking. "Cedric Diggory wasn’t your friend until now! He was our neighbour all this time, but he behaved like he was too superior to mingle with someone like us – and now that he’s not ...so perfect anymore... now he’s here? Playing hero?!"

It was at that exact moment that Mrs. Weasley’s booming voice cut through the air from the hallway below. "Ronald Weasley! That is enough! Go to your room, this instant!"

"Oh, now you’re here to shut me up?! Great, fine!" The hallway vibrated with the force of Ron’s stomping, each heavy footfall echoing until the ancient painting began to groan. A high, keening shriek pierced the air from the portrait of Sirius's mother.

The rest of the week went by with that tension in the air, a silent alarm whenever Cedric entered a room and found Ron already there. More often than not, Ron would instantly make a beeline for the nearest exit, a frantic scramble before Cedric could even register his presence, let alone speak. A mumbled excuse – "Forgot my book,"

"Just remembered I need to check on Pig" – and he was gone, leaving behind a palpable wave of discomfort.

Cedric felt it like a physical weight, every encounter a fresh reminder, an unspoken accusation that he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

Fred and George, of course, found the whole situation hilarious. They were loud, accompanied by exaggerated coughs and poorly stifled snickers whenever Ron made his swift panicked exits.

"Looks like someone's got a new sport, eh, Ronnie?" Fred would bellow, earning a sharp look from Mrs. Weasley.

"Chasing the fastest retreat!" George would add, before Mrs. Weasley’s stern gaze landed on them, followed by a low grumble about 'manners' and 'guests' that quickly silenced their theatrical amusement.

"Oh, there he goes!" Fred stage-whispered one afternoon, watching Ron practically trip over a rug to escape the kitchen a second after Cedric stepped through the door.

George snickered. "New record, Ronnie! That's gotta be under three seconds!"

Cedric, who had just been reaching for the marmalade, sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm really sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he murmured, feeling the weight of the situation. "I don't mean to make him uncomfortable."

"Nonsense, dear!" Mrs. Weasley bustled over, giving him a comforting pat on the arm before whirling on her sons. "FRED WEASLEY! GEORGE WEASLEY! That is quite enough! It is not a laughing matter! Cedric is our guest, and a very brave young man, and it's a horrible situation he's been put in!" Her voice, usually booming, softened as she looked at Cedric. "Don't you mind them, dear. Ron's just... processing things in his own way."

Cedric just wanted the ground to swallow him whole. It was a horrible situation, and he felt utterly helpless in the face of Ron’s clear aversion.

He usually retreated to the quietest corners of the house, seeking solace in old, dusty books or the chill of the staircase.

It was there, late one night after everyone else had gone to bed, that Harry found him again. Harry simply sat down on the step below him, a familiar, comforting presence in the quiet darkness.

"Still up?" Harry murmured, scooting closer until their shoulders brushed.
Cedric just sighed, leaning his head back against the cool banister. "Couldn't sleep. Too much... thinking."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, understanding in his voice. "Me too."

Talk turned to the coming school year, a nervous excitement about lessons and new challenges. They discussed their favourite subjects, their least favourite professors, and then, inevitably, Quidditch. Harry, his voice soft in the quiet house, confessed that, "I really want to be Captain once, you know? Just once would do, before I leave Hogwarts. Imagine wearing that badge." He laughed, a little shyly.

Cedric listened, a small smile on his face, picturing Harry leading the Gryffindor team onto the pitch. He looked handsome in this picture.
Cedric turned to him, his eyes softening. "You'd be a great captain, Harry. You're already a natural leader on the pitch. You inspire people."
Harry felt a blush creep up his neck. "Thanks. It's just... a dream, I guess."

"Not a bad one to have." He said and stared at Harry's blushing face.
Cedric cleared his throat and change the subject. He spoke of his own friends, the ones he'd had at Hogwarts. There was a faint wistfulness in his voice as he admitted, "They just... stopped writing. After everything." He shrugged, trying to make it sound casual, but Harry caught the slight dip in his tone. "I suppose it's hard to know what to say."

"What about Cho?" Harry asked.

Cedric didn't hesitate. "We broke up before the Third Task, actually. It just... wasn't quite right. We're still good friends, though. She's great, Cho. Just not for me." He paused. "She actually helped me figuring myself out." Cedric told him. "And there's Ashton. He is a great help too last year."

"Ashton?" Harry prompted, remembering the name.

"My friend. Or I can say my best friend," Cedric explained. "His father is influential in the Ministry. Dumbledore's been trying to get him to see reason, to side with us. And I... I'm trying to help persuade him to listen. It's hard. His father is very set in his ways." Cedric ran a hand through his hair, looking tired. "It feels like... everything and everyone is depending on something I say or do."

The conversation lulled for a moment, the comfortable silence punctuated only by the distant hoot of an owl. Harry shifted, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his trouser leg. He took a deep breath, his voice barely a whisper when he spoke again.

"I... I keep seeing it," he confessed, not looking at Cedric. "Every time I close my eyes. The graveyard. And I see you... you die. And I always... I always scream your name." His face flushed crimson, shame and embarrassment washing over him. "It's stupid, I know. But it's hard to admit that, out loud."

Cedric was silent for a long moment, his gaze soft, fixed on Harry's averted face. Then, without a word, he shifted, uncurling his long legs and turning fully towards Harry. He reached out, not to touch his face or take his hand, but to simply pull Harry into a tender, firm hug.

Harry froze up for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, then he melted into it, his arms coming up to cling to Cedric’s back.

The warmth of Cedric's body, the scent of old magic and pine that clung to him, was a tangible comfort. The tension in Harry's shoulders, that he hadn't even realised he was carrying, eased away. No words were needed. They simply held each other, two young men scarred by the same event, finding solace in the quiet embrace.

"Harry," Cedric murmured, his voice rumbling softly against Harry's ear. "It's not stupid. Not at all." He tightened his arms slightly. "It's not just a dream. It's... a memory. A terrible one. And you went through it." He pulled back just enough to look at Harry, his eyes filled with a profound understanding. "I'm here, Harry. I'm okay. You're safe. And you don't have to carry that alone."

"Cedric," Harry's word was a choked cry, thick with a year of unspoken grief, isolated frustration, and the sheer relief of a familiar, comforting touch.

Harry pulled back slightly, but still clung to Cedric’s arms, his green eyes, usually so fierce, now shimmering with unshed tears. "It was so horrible when I saw you lying there in the graveyard that night. I thought you -" His gaze dropped to Cedric’s walking stick beside them.

Cedric offered a small, reassuring smile. "I'm alright, Harry. Mostly. The leg's taking its time, but I'm getting there."

Chapter Text

Cedric was standing infront of the gate of that graveyard again. He knew this was a dream. He was sleeping and any minute now he would woke up back to his room. So, Cedric waited. He waited patiently when Wormtail walk towards him, he waited when he saw Voldemort's small body in Wormtail's arm. He waited even when Voldemort order him to k*ll Cedric.

But his stupid breathing intensified and he woke up with a concern looking George staring at him from his own bed.

"Stupid dream," Cedric mumbled and tried to sleep again.

But George scoffed. "Are you okay?" He asked and Cedric nodded.
"Let's go downstairs," he suggested. After a moment of thought Cedric agreed and they went to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Cedric gulped down water as George search for anything edible in there. After a long search he found some leftover sandwich with warming charm casted upon it and a piece of pastry. He was delighted with the discovery and handed Cedric some. At first, Cedric refused but George insisted that food in the belly could vanish bad dreams. So Cedric humored him.

Cedric chewed slowly, the ham and cheese sandwich tasting surprisingly good, even with the slight tingling that hadn't quite been banished by the charm. He swallowed, the bread feeling like a dry lump in his throat despite the water he’d gulped down.

George, meanwhile, devoured his half of the sandwich and the pastry with an enthusiasm that Cedric couldn't muster.

"See?" George said, crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. "Food, the ultimate cure for… whatever that was." He gestured vaguely at Cedric's still-pale face.

Cedric just grunted, taking another small bite. He could feel George’s eyes on him, a rare seriousness in their usual mischievous twinkle.

"Still twitchy, are we?" George murmured, leaning back against the counter.

Cedric sighed, pushing the last bite of sandwich around his plate with a finger. "It's just… it's always the same."

George's eyebrows rose slightly. "Always?"

Cedric nodded, finally looking up. "The graveyard. The gate. Wormtail. You-know-who. Always the same." He didn't elaborate, didn't need to. The names hung in the air between them, It was absurd.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed George's face – not fear, exactly, but a deep-seated concern that was more unsettling than any fright. George wasn't usually serious. This was new territory.

"That's... not great, Cedric," George said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He hopped off the counter and came to stand beside Cedric, placing a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything before? Has it been... a while?"

Cedric just shrugged, staring into his half-empty glass of water. "Off and on. More on, lately. Feels real. Too real sometimes." He shivered, despite the warmth of George’s hand.

That's when Gonzo, his owl arrived. It was several days later that he was here. Cedric was relief to see him. He was worried about his owl.
"Where have you been?!" Cedric asked as he approached.

Gonzo seemed unbothered to that fact and hold his leg up to unite the letter. It was from his mother but it was really small. He open the letter and froze. George was automatically beside him and asked him what happened so Cedric handed him the letter.

Dear Ced,
I can't talk much here. But I found out that the time and place of the hearing has changed. Take care. I'll send all of your books, uniforms and all other school supplies directly to Hogwarts, you don't have to buy anything. Don't write me back.
Love you, Mum.

"What should we do now?" George asked. There's no time left. It's already five in the morning and Harry was supposed to attend the hearing today.

"Dad told me he will take Harry along with him to work today," George told him. "And ministry office doesn't open until nine in the morning, so they would be good."

"But others don't know about it," Cedric pointed out. Harry would be alone in the hearing. "We have to do something,"

Professor Lupin was out tonight, being it's a full moon and Sirius was nowhere since dinner.

"Dumbledore!" George said at once. "We can tell him!"

Right, Cedric forgot about it. He quickly started to write a letter from the discarded parchment paper in the kitchen table. But George stopped him. "Cedric! Think with your brain, mate! Your owl can't deliver that massage so quickly,"

"Oh," Cedric stopped. His brain had stopped working when he saw that letter. The ministry was after Harry, they wanted to harm him! Badly! Why they were so determined to harm him?

"We can send a Patronus Charm!" Suddenly Cedric remembered. He pulled out his wand and cast a Patronus Charm. Or tried to cast at least, the spell that he could cast last year so easily, and felt so proud when he was the only one in his classroom who was able to complete the charm before anyone else, now he couldn't even form it. He tried again but nothing.

"I think you are still - healing... to cast that strong spell, mate," George said hesitantly.

A pain squeezed his heart at the realisation. But Cedric nodded anyway and said, "You should do that, Send the message to Dumbledore,"

"I can't. I never tried it before," George told him.

Harry. Cedric had to save him no matter what came.

There's not much time to think what to do next so Cedric concentrated all his magic power and his will to get his Patronus back. He thought about a happy memory. Tried to concentrate on the thought, The day he got his Hogwarts letter. The day his mum gifted him, his first broomstick. They day he met Harry Potter, his smiling face came to his mind out of nowhere and Cedric concentrated on it. He remembered the face of Harry as he giggled about that silly letter. And a Patronus form out the tip of his wand, taking shape. It was his familiar horse. He instructed it to go to Dumbledore and told him about the news.

Moment later, a wave of dizziness washed over Cedric, the kitchen floor rushing up to meet him. He felt a sharp jolt as his knees hit the cool flagstones, the last reserves of his magic screaming in exhaustion.

The familiar horse of his Patronus had vanished only a second before, leaving behind a lingering chill and an overwhelming void in his chest.

“Cedric!” George’s voice was sharp with alarm as he rushed instantly at his side. Cedric felt strong hands on his shoulders, helping him to sit up, then gently guiding him to lean against the kitchen cabinets. George’s face was pale, his eyes wide with concern. “Bloody hell, mate, are you alright? You look like you’ve been kissed by a Dementor!”

Cedric could only manage a weak groan, pressing a hand to his throbbing temple. “I'm Fine,” he rasped, though every fibre of his being protested the lie.

The effort of the Patronus Charm, a spell he’d once wielded with ease, had utterly drained him. It was a stark, painful reminder of how much the past year had taken from him, how fragile he still was. George’s earlier comment about him still ‘healing’ echoed in his ears, chilling him more than the memory of the graveyard.

George knelt beside him, his gaze running over Cedric’s face, assessing. “You’re not fine, Cedric. You’re shaking like a leaf. That was… a lot. I told you, you’re still not quite yourself.” He paused, then softened his tone. “But you did it, mate. You got the message to Dumbledore. He’ll know what to do.”

"Don't tell anyone about this," Cedric said as clearly as he could. He didn't want anyone to know how helpless he was right now.

George frowned, running a hand through his messy red hair. “Okay, I won't. But you need to rest now. Your silver horse will reach Dumbledore in no time. Don't worry about it.” He looked at the window, where the first hint of grey dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky. “It’s still early. Let's go back to our room and you are going to sleep until I'm satisfied with the time.”

George stood up and rummaged in a nearby cupboard, pulling out a dusty bottle of something that smelled faintly of lemon and ginger. “Here,” he said, pouring a small amount into a glass. “Pepper-Up Potion. Mum keeps it for… emergencies. And this definitely feels like one.”

Cedric took the glass with a trembling hand, the liquid burning a warm path down his throat, instantly bringing a little colour back to his face and chasing away some of the chill. He still felt weak, but the sharp edges of his exhaustion had dulled.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, leaning back with a sigh.

The next time Cedric opened his eyes, the world was a fuzzy, shifting watercolour. Cedric’s head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that made every flicker of light or distant sound a fresh assault. His body felt less like his own and more like a sack of leaden bricks, each limb anchored to the mattress with an invisible crushing weight. He managed to crack open his eyes, but the effort sent a fresh wave of nausea washing over him.

He barely registered George’s hushed voice from what felt like a lifetime ago, a gentle hand ruffling his hair. "Just a bit under the weather, mum. Stayed up too late reading. Needs his beauty sleep." Cedric had felt a surge of gratitude even then. He was immensely grateful George hadn’t elaborated on the cause of his sudden, incapacitating weakness.

The day dissolved into a series of dreamlike impressions. He registered the distant clatter of pots and pans from downstairs, the muffled murmur of voices that sometimes grew louder, sometimes faded into nothing. He was vaguely aware of Mrs. Weasley’s presence, a cool hand on his forehead, the faint scent of something herbal and calming. He thought he heard her sigh before she left him again to the embrace of sleep.

Later a gruffer voice cut through the haze. Sirius Black, he thought. He felt the bed dip slightly, a shadow falling over him. He wanted to open his eyes, to acknowledge the concern he could almost feel radiating from the man, but his eyelids felt like they were weighted with rocks. He heard a soft sigh, then the sound of footsteps retreating. Mostly, though, there was just the insistent pull of exhaustion, dragging him deeper into unconsciousness.

He’d missed Harry. Harry’s Hearing was today. He’d wanted to wish him luck, to see him off to his hearing. But his body simply refused to cooperate. Every muscle screamed in protest at the mere idea of movement. He was too weak to even consider leaving his bed.

When his eyes finally fluttered open again, it was a slow, gradual surfacing from a deep, viscous treacle. The world wasn't quite as fuzzy, but it was profoundly quiet. Grimmauld Place was utterly still. No distant voices, no clatter. He heard, occasionally, the soft creak of floorboards from somewhere far away, or the gentle click of a door, but that was all.

He finally managed to pry his eyelids open. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, casting everything in a muted grey light. He felt… better. Still weak, but the nauseating spin in his head had subsided.

Just then, the door creaked open slightly. A sliver of brighter light cut into the room, and a head poked in cautiously. It was Professor Lupin, looking exhausted himself.

"Cedric? are you awake?" Prof. Lupin's voice was gentle, full of concern. He stepped fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He walked over to the bed slowly, his brow furrowed. "How are you feeling? You've been out of it for a while."

Cedric tried to push himself up, the wave of dizziness wasn't there now, but he sinked back into the pillows. "Better, Professor," he managed, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "Just… tired."

"Molly’s been worried sick about you. You’ve been out cold pretty much all day." He paused, then his brow furrowed. "Are you sure you don’t need a visit to St. Mungo’s? You look quite… peaked."

Cedric swallowed, his throat dry. Even speaking felt like an immense effort. "No… no, Professor. Truly." His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "Just… drained. I think I just need to sleep it off." He managed a weak, reassuring smile. "I’ll be fine."

Professor Lupin studied him for another moment, clearly unconvinced, but he merely patted Cedric’s shoulder. "Alright, But if you’re not feeling better by morning, we’re visiting St. Mungo for a healer. Promise me?"

"Promise," Cedric managed, and Lupin nodded and slipping out of the room, leaving Cedric once again to the quiet darkness.

A wave of relief, potent and deeply felt, washed over him. He owed George, big time. He didn’t know how George had spun his stories, but the simple fact that no one had come bursting into his room with questions or prodding wands was a testament to his quick thinking.

He closed his eyes again. He just needed to sleep. And hope, vaguely, that he wouldn’t wake up feeling quite so hollow.

The soft light filtering through the window curtains was the first thing Cedric registered, a gentle glow that seemed to press against his eyelids. He felt heavy, as if he’d been submerged in deep water, every limb a leaden weight. The faint scent of a calming draught and something vaguely herbal hung in the air, familiar companions of his long recovery.

By the time he opened his eyes, there was someone sitting beside him.

Cedric blinked, his vision slowly clearing and focused on the familiar messy black hair and bright green eyes. Harry Potter sat there, leaning forward slightly, his face etched with concern.

“Hi-” Harry said, his voice soft, as soon as he saw Cedric’s eyes were open.

A weak smile touched Cedric’s lips. It was good to see Harry, even if his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. “Hi, Harry,” he managed, his voice raspy.

“I heard that you are feeling low today,” Harry said, but there was a question in his words.

Cedric sighed and tried to push himself up. Immediately, a warm hand was on his back, guiding him rest upright against the pillows. It was an effort, but the slight elevation made him feel a little more human.

“I’m good, Harry,” Cedric told him, forcing a reassuring note into his voice that he didn’t quite feel.

Harry shook his head, before shifting to sit properly on the edge of the bed beside him. “No, you are not,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “You missed to see me off today, and you aren’t asking what is the result of the hearing.” There was a hint of an accusation, but mostly, it was just raw worry.

Cedric blinked, a wave of shame washing over him. Harry was right. He hadn’t even thought to ask. The hearing. It had filled Harry’s life, and by extension, his own, for weeks. And he forgot to ask.

“What is the result?” Cedric asked, his voice suddenly clearer, a flicker of genuine anxiety overriding his fatigue.

Harry’s face, which had been clouded with concern, split into a huge blinding smile. “Clear from all charges.”

The words were a immense relief, a weight lifting from Cedric’s chest that he hadn’t even realized was there. A shaky breath escaped him, and he leaned forward, reaching out. Harry came willingly, tumbling into his embrace. Cedric wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder, the familiar scent of something sweet and broom polish enveloped him.

“It was good thing that I went there early or I’d have missed my Hearing,” Harry said, still clinging to Cedric’s side, his voice muffled against Cedric’s shirt. He was obviously still buzzing with adrenaline. “The ministry members were really tried to expel me, Cedric.”

Cedric remained silent, just holding Harry, listening to his words. His mind however, was already drifting back to the question that gnawed at him. Why did the Ministry so much determined to harm Harry? It went beyond politics, beyond discrediting Dumbledore. It felt personal, almost desperate.

Harry pulled back slightly, looking up from where he was leaning into him, his brow furrowed. “Cedric?" He asked, his voice quieter now, the concern returning. “I’m concerned.”

“No, I’m fine,” Cedric assured him quickly, though the lie felt hollow. “I’m just thinking,” he said, pulling Harry back against him. But Harry resisted, pulling back again, his green eyes sharp and insistent.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

Cedric hesitated, the truth was a cold, hard knot in his stomach. “Earlier this morning,” he began slowly, “my mother sent me an urgent letter about a change of time and place for the hearing today.” He took a breath, remembering the frantic scramble. “I had to send a quick Patronus to Dumbledore because there was no time left.” He closed his eyes for a moment, the memory of the immense magical drain still fresh, like phantom pain. “So, I was still processing… what is ministry’s intention.”

Silence fell, thick and heavy. When Cedric opened his eyes, Harry was staring at him, frozen in the middle of the bed, eyes wide, disbelieving.

“Don’t tell me,” Harry asked very, very slowly, each word deliberate, “you are in bed whole day because you sent that Patronus charm to Dumbledore?”

Cedric gulped, his gaze darting away. The shame returned, hotter this time, burning behind his eyelids. He was supposed to be stronger. He was supposed to be recovered. Instead, a single, powerful spell had felled him, leaving him drained and useless, barely able to lift his head.

“I’m not that strong anymore to cast that spell,” Cedric admitted, his voice barely a whisper. The words tasted like ash. After the tournament, after everything, he realised his magic had never truly bounced back. He was a shadow of his former self. Was he ever going to be the same?

Harry growled. It was a low, furious sound that rumbled in his chest. He grabbed Cedric’s shoulders, his grip firm, until Cedric looked back at him, forced to meet his furious gaze.

“Cedric Diggory!” Harry’s voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of self-pity. “You aren’t weak! Do you understand?” He shook Cedric gently, his eyes blazing. “You saved my Hearing! You probably saved my entire year, maybe my entire future, while still in the process of healing! That took immense strength!”

Tears, hot and stinging, filled Cedric’s eyes. Damn it, now he really looked weak. He tried to look away, to hide his humiliating display, but Harry was determined.

“Cedric, look at me. Please look at me,” Harry said, his voice softened, the fury replaced by a profound tenderness that brought fresh tears to Cedric’s eyes.

When Cedric finally met his gaze, Harry did the unexpected, again. He didn't say another word. He just leaned forward and hugged Cedric tightly, burying his face in Cedric’s shoulder once more, holding on as if Cedric were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. He stayed like that, unmoving, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against Cedric’s side.

And no one pointed out if they heard a sniff.

Harry and Cedric stayed like that a long time, an eternity perhaps, or just mere minutes. The room was quiet, save for the muffled sounds from the corridor outside — the distant murmur of voices, the occasional clink of something being moved.

Harry didn't let go of him, his grip firm on Cedric’s shoulder, his other hand resting on Cedric’s back. And Cedric didn't either, his arms still wrapped around Harry’s waist, burying his face deeper into Harry's shoulder. He was grateful, profoundly and achingly grateful, that Harry was here a comforting presence.

After what felt like forever, or just a half-minute, the door of Cedric's room opened suddenly. The sharp click of the handle, the scrape of the door against the floor, jolted them apart immediately. Harry, though he pulled back, didn't let go of Cedric's arm, his fingers still wrapped around his bicep.

There, standing in the doorway, was Ron. His mouth was open, a tray of biscuits clutched in one hand. He stood there as though he didn't know what to do next, his eyes wide and fixed on them. He looked back in the hallway, as though a solution for this utterly awkward situation might be found there, then quickly back at them, a flush creeping up his neck.

Cedric’s face warmed, a deep, mortified red, and he quickly looked away, trying to hide his still-teared face from Ron's astonished gaze. Harry’s face also looked red as he sat there, still half-leaning over Cedric on the bed.

"I’ll come back later," Ron mumbled, his voice a little strained, and he started to back away.

"You don't have to!" Harry quickly stopped him, his voice a little too loud. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "We were talking about my hearing."

Ron looked between them, his gaze lingering on Harry’s hand still holding Cedric’s arm, then slowly nodded. The biscuits tray seemed to shrink in his hand. "Right. Yeah. I was just wondering if Cedric’s alright," Ron said after a moment, glancing at Cedric, who was still avoiding his eyes.

Cedric didn’t know what to say, still reeling from being caught in such a vulnerable moment, but he managed a nod. "I’m good now," he replied, his voice a bit hoarse.

Ron nodded again, hesitating then put the tray on the nearby table. "I – um, Mum said she’s making a soup for you. She said… you’ll be alright after eating it." He offered a small, awkward smile, then turned and practically fled the room.

Harry stared at the closed door for a moment, listening to Ron's retreating footsteps then at the biscuits, before glancing back at Cedric. Cedric slowly turned his head, his eyes still a little red-rimmed, but a faint embarrassed smile touched his lips.

"That’s his way of saying sorry, you know for his earlier behaviour," Harry told Cedric, a small, wry smile playing on his own lips.

"Really?" Cedric asked, surprised.

Harry nodded, adjusting himself in the bed so that he was more comfortable, leaning back against the pillows, still hold his hand. Cedric sat up too, though he still kept a comfortable distance, no longer clinging but still close.

"Last year, when my name came out of the Goblet of Fire," Harry explained, "he thought I’d found a way to put my name in it. So he stopped talking to me for weeks."

Cedric remembered that. The whole school had been against Harry, muttering about cheats and glory-seeking. He’d seen the ugly looks, heard the whispers. But he hadn't realized the extent of it, hadn't known that Harry’s best friend hadn't been talking to him. A wave of guilt washed over him. He had his friends around him, supporting him, while Harry…

"You were all alone?" Cedric asked, the guilt evident in his voice. "When everyone was against you?"

Harry shrugged. "No, Hermione was there." He paused, a fond look on his face. "She stuck by me the whole time. And Ron… Ron realised his mistake eventually. He was the one who told me about the dragons, too. Though not directly, not at first. He told Hagrid to tell me that," Harry revealed.

"Even then," Cedric mumbled, shaking his head slightly. "That’s not enough."

Harry shrugged again, a familiar gesture that spoke of long-suffering patience. "Ron may sometimes act too quickly without thinking properly, and he can be a right prat when he’s jealous or scared, but his heart is in the right place. Always."

"But you were hurt. His actions hurt you,"

Harry considered this, his gaze thoughtful, he conceded softly, "Yeah, it hurt. A lot. Worse than anything Dumbledore or the Ministry put me through, knowing my best mate thought I'd betray him for glory. But… Ron felt left out. And when Ron gets scared or left out, he acts like an idiot. He's loyal, though. Fiercely loyal, once he's over his initial panic. He’d do anything for us, you know? He just… doesn't always think past his own nose at first." He chuckled, a low, fond sound. "Takes him a while to catch up."

Cedric watched him, a soft expression on his face. He saw the deep affection Harry held for his friend, despite the obvious flaws. "You're very forgiving, Harry," he observed quietly.

Harry shrugged, slightly embarrassed by the compliment. "I don't know," he said, looking down at their still-connected hands. He hadn't let go of Cedric's arm; his fingers were now lightly resting over Cedric's wrist, his thumb occasionally tracing small circles. "We've been through a lot. All of us. And you learn who's really there for you, even if they mess up sometimes." He paused, then looked up at Cedric, his green eyes earnest. "Like you, earlier. You were there, even when… things were bad."

Cedric's breath hitched slightly at the shift in topic. He squeezed Harry's arm gently. "And I'll do it again if I have to," he whispered, the words thick with emotion.

The scent of Mrs. Weasley's soup was beginning to drift faintly under the door.

Cedric leaned his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. The physical contact with Harry, the steady warmth of his hand. He felt a fragile peace settling over him. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry didn't reply verbally, but just shifted closer, leaning his head against the headboard beside Cedric's. His hand remained on Cedric's arm.

It took two days for Cedric to fully recover from that sudden illness, aftermath of a spell casting that had pushed his already mending magical core beyond its limits.

Now, the colour was back in his cheeks, the faint shimmer of residual fatigue finally gone from his eyes. He was back to his usual routine, curled in the worn armchair in the corner of the drawing room, a thick volume of Transfiguration theory open on his lap, a sense of quiet normalcy restoring itself.

Around him, the ongoing battle against the dust of Grimmauld Place raged – the clatter of buckets, the swish of charmed mops, the distant shouts of Mrs. Weasley directing a flurry of cleaning charms.

No-one knew about the true cause of his sudden collapse so far, which was relief. Harry and George had remained silent, exchanging only guilty, knowing glances. They understood the gravity of the situation, and the immense strain it had put on Cedric, who was still quietly recovering from the injuries sustained during the Triwizard Tournament.

The truth, however, had a way of revealing itself in the most unexpected places. It was during the next meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, gathered around the long, scarred table in the Grimmauld Place dining room, that the first crack appeared in their carefully maintained silence.

Dumbledore, with his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles, cleared his throat. “Before we delve into the more pressing matters of the Ministry’s increasingly erratic behaviour,” he began, his gaze sweeping the assembled witches and wizards, “I would like to extend my sincere gratitude to young Mr. Diggory, whose quick thinking and remarkable foresight allowed us to alert the last-minute change in the time and location of his hearing. Without his immediate contact with Patronus, I daresay the outcome might have been… significantly less favourable.”

Cedric had been listening with polite attention, felt a blush creep up his neck. He offered an awkward nod. "It was my mother, who sent me that information,"

Across the table, Remus Lupin, who had been studying a map of the Ministry’s labyrinthian corridors, froze. His eyes sharpened, turning to fix on Cedric with an intensity that made the young man squirm.

The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity: Cedric’s sudden "illness," the timing of the hearing, Dumbledore’s mention of "immediate contact with Patronus," Remus knew, perhaps better than anyone present, the immense strain of a Patronus Charm. And he knew, with a sinking heart, that Cedric’s magic was still healing, painstakingly knitting itself back together after the ordeal of the Tournament. Casting such a powerful spell under those circumstances would be akin to tearing open a half-healed wound. His jaw tightened, a silent fury brewing.

Sirius Black, slumped in his chair near the head of the table, had also gone still. His eyes were fixed on Cedric, filled now with a raw, undeniable shame and guilt.

Cedric kept his gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop, willing to be invisible.

The meeting continued, but the undercurrent of tension, the silent glances exchanged between Remus, Sirius, and even Molly, never truly dissipated. It wasn’t until the meeting finally ended, and the members began to disperse, one by one, that Dumbledore finally made his move.

As Cedric gathered the files and folders, Dumbledore’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “A word, Mr Diggory, if you please.”

Cedric turned, heart thudding. Had he done something wrong?

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled. “Hogwarts needs strong, compassionate leadership, particularly in these uncertain times. After reviewing your academic record, your exemplary character and indeed your recent actions which demonstrate remarkable courage and commitment, I have decided that you will be the next Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Cedric was stunned. Head Boy? The news was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. It was a tremendous honour, a testament to his hard work and resilience.

Cedric blinked. "Head Boy? Professor, are you—"

Dumbledore smiled at him, "Quite certain. Think it over, of course, but I believe it is a role you would excel at. Also, you have a duty to follow while you are in Hogwarts,"

"What is it, Sir?" Cedric asked.

"I want you to guard Harry through out the year and make sure of his safety while he was in Hogwarts. This year is going to be challenging for him, more than ever, so, I want you to be there with him. And now," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "I rather suspect there are some individuals waiting for you in the kitchen. I imagine they have a few questions."

Cedric's stomach clenched. Head Boy and guarding Harry was one thing. Facing the kitchen table, however, was an entirely different, and far more daunting, prospect. He nodded, a weary sigh escaping him before he could stop it, and headed towards the kitchen.

By the time Cedric entered, the kitchen was buzzing with low voices but they instantly died. Harry, George, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all seated around the long wooden table. Molly was bustling by the stove, but she stopped, turning slowly as Cedric walked in. Remus stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed, his expression grave. Sirius was leaning against the counter, still looking down, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Mr Weasley spoke up, her voice surprisingly soft, "Cedric, dear. Come sit." She gestured to a free chair.

Cedric sat down, feeling the weight of their combined gazes.

"Cedric... I, uh..." Sirius pushed off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward. "I'm so sorry. I didn't... I had no idea your illness was from— that you cast a complicated sprl while-" He gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence. "It’s my fault. You wouldn't have had to do that if I'd been there that night, if I hadn’t left Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night—"

Cedric quickly stopped him, shaking his head, "No, Sirius, no. It wasn't your fault. Harry needed help, and the message had to get through. A Patronus was the only way Dumbledore would know it was urgent and real."

Remus stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, "Cedric, George said you tried to send the message several times and failed. But why didn't you tell us your sudden weakness was because of your forced spell casting. Why keep it a secret?"

Cedric looked at Harry, then George who looked guilty that he told everyone, then back at Remus, "My magic was a... after the graveyard, my magic isn't the same. I don't think you all know it, but my soul was sliced open by the killing curse."

Mrs. Weasley gasped and other fell silent.

Cedric sighed and thought he had to say them the full truth after all. "Wormtail's killing curse wasn't intended even if you-know-who ordered him. The healer saud one third of my soul was hurt by that but I'm recovering. My core magic was still there but injured. I knew casting a full Patronus would drain me, but I didn't think it would be that bad. And I didn't want to worry anyone unnecessarily. Harry had enough to deal with, the trial, everything... And that night was a full moon, Prof. Lupin. You weren't there. And I don't want you to feel guilty."

Mrs. Weasley moved swiftly to Cedric, pulling him into a tight embrace, "Oh, such a brave, foolish boy! You could have been seriously hurt! Your magic was still healing, dear, you could have done permanent damage!"

"She's right, Cedric. Casting such a powerful spell when your core is depleted and still recovering is incredibly dangerous. It can have long-lasting effects. You were lucky to recover as quickly as you did." Lupin said.

"I know. I just... I didn't think there was another choice." Cedric said truthfully.

Sirius finally walked over, placing a hand on Cedric's shoulder, his expression raw with remorse. "Thank you, Cedric. For everything. Truly."

***

The sun streaming through the window suggested it was going to be another warm day. The soft thump of an owl landing heavily against the window pane broke the morning quiet. Cedric was meticulously folding some freshly laundered shirts, sitting in the floor.

Harry, sprawled on Cedric's bed, a well-worn copy of ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ balanced on his chest.

A few minutes later, the door to the room creaked open and Fred entered, clutching a handful of envelopes, followed closely by George.

"Official Hogwarts mail!" Fred announced, tossing Harry's letter onto his stomach before handing Cedric his thicker, heavier envelope.

Harry tore open his, scanning it quickly for the supply list, while Cedric calmly slit open his with a fingernail. He pulled out the usual parchment, then something else – a gleaming silver and scarlet badge. He held it up, a small, unsurprised smile touching his lips. "Head Boy, then."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Perfectly Punctual, Mr. Prefect's Progress, Mr. Headboy," Fred announced, dramatically sweeping an arm towards Cedric.

"Did you ever doubt it, Freddie?" George added, nudging his twin. "Our Cedric, the shining example to us all."

Harry, who had been idly flipping pages, snorted. He pushed himself higher on his elbows, a grin spreading across his face. "Did you actually expect anything else?"

Cedric just sighed, though a corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "It's just a badge."

"Just a badge?" Fred gasped, clutching his chest. "This, Cedric dear, is the weight of expectation! The burden of being the best student Hogwarts has ever seen!"

Harry laughed, a genuine, booming sound that echoed through the small room. He found the twins' dramatic teasing utterly hilarious.

Cedric just rolled his eyes good-naturedly, continuing to fold a t-shirt. "Oh, do shut up, you two."

"Shut up?" Fred gasped dramatically. "Never! Not when we're in the presence of greatness! Behold, the future Minister of Magic!"

"More like the future Headmaster," George corrected, nudging Fred. "Imagine him, ten years from now. 'Five points from Gryffindor, Potter, for laughing too loudly!'"

"Oh, the discipline! The quiet dignity!" Fred continued, now clutching the imaginary lapels of a school uniform. He straightened up, his face a perfect mimicry of Cedric’s polite, earnest expression. "Now, class," he intoned, his voice slightly deeper and more measured, "If you could all just endeavour to complete your essays on time, and perhaps refrain from setting fire to the Transfiguration classroom, that would be simply splendid." He even did a dainty little hand gesture.

Harry, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, laughing. "You guys are relentless."

Harry yelped, pulling the shirt off, and then burst out laughing, harder than before, shaking his head. "Hey!"

Fred, seizing the opportunity, struck a pose, miming holding a quill and looking stern. "Ahem! Good morning, class. I trust you've all completed your remedial potion essays? And I do hope you haven't been engaging in any… unauthorised duelling practice in the corridors. Remember, rules are the very fabric of our society!" He jabbed an imaginary finger in the air, his face comically serious.

George clapped him on the back. "Brilliant, Fred! Though I think he'd add a polite 'please' in there," He then sauntered over to Cedric, plucked the Head Boy badge from his hand, and, with a swift, decisive move, clipped it onto Cedric’s still-half-folded shirt. "There. Don't you dare take it off, Head Boy. Wouldn't want anyone to miss seeing it."

Cedric groaned theatrically, but a faint smile played on his lips. "You two are impossible."

As Fred and George dissolved into laughter, high-fiving each other, Harry, still chuckling, tossed the t-shirt back to Cedric.

It was at that precise moment that the door creaked open. A pale-looking Ron shuffled in, clutching something tightly in his hands.

The laughter died on Harry’s lips, his smile evaporating instantly. His eyes, fixed on Ron’s ashen face, narrowed with immediate concern. Cedric, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy glanced up, his eyes following Harry's gaze to the new arrival. Harry was off his bed in a flash, crossing the room in two strides.

"Ron? What happened? Are you alright?" Harry asked, reaching for his friend’s arm.

Ron didn't speak, his eyes wide and unfocused. He just silently extended his hand, offering the crumpled piece of parchment he clutched. Harry took it, his brow furrowed, and Cedric, curiosity piqued, moved closer to peer over Harry’s shoulder.

It was a Hogwarts letter, thicker than usual. As Harry unfolded it, a gleaming scarlet and gold badge tumbled out. Harry picked it up, a small, intricate 'P' in gold on its surface. Below, Professor McGonagall’s familiar, precise script filled the page:

Dear Mr. Weasley,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to serve as a Prefect for Gryffindor House for the upcoming academic year. Your good conduct and dedication to your studies have been noted. We believe you possess the qualities necessary to be an exemplary role model for your fellow students.
Congratulations on this appointment. I look forward to discussing your duties further upon your return to Hogwarts.
Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

Fred and George, who had been reading in stunned silence from behind Harry too, gawked at Ron, then at the letter, then back at Ron, their mouths agape.

"Prefect?" Fred managed, his voice a strangled squeak. George snatched the letter from Harry, reading and re-reading the words as if they expected them to change. "Ron? Our Ron?" he muttered, sounding genuinely bewildered.

Cedric recovered first and let out a soft sigh, a small smile touching his lips. He reached out and thumped Ron warmly on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Ron! That's brilliant news."

Ron nodded, still speechless, his face a sudden, vibrant scarlet that seemed to compete with the badge's colour. He could only stare at the floor.

Harry, meanwhile, had returned to Cedric’s bed, the crimson Prefect badge still clutched in his hand. He sat down, staring at it. There's an emotion in his eyes that Cedric realised was not there ever. Cedric understood that look. Ron, a Prefect. It was a deserved recognition, certainly, but maybe it felt… unexpected to Harry.

Just as the silence settled into a slightly bemused comfort, the door burst open again. Hermione entered the room like a human cannonball. She was clutching her own letter triumphantly and practically launched herself at Harry, wrapping him in a fierce hug.

"I knew it!" she shrieked, her voice bubbling with joy. She pulled back, her face beaming from ear to ear, and in her outstretched hand was an identical scarlet and gold badge. "I knew you would get one too, Harry!" She hugged him again, squeezing him tightly.

Cedric’s eyes widened, darting back and forth between Harry, who was still holding Ron's badge, and Hermione, who was obliviously celebrating. The room suddenly felt very, very quiet.

Harry jolted back to reality and quickly pulled away from Hermione. He thrust the badge he was holding into Ron’s hand. "That's not mine!" he blurted out, the words echoing loudly in the sudden stillness. "That's Ron's!"

"Oh," Hermione slowly released Harry, her smile faltering, then completely vanishing.
"Um I-" Her mouth opened to say something, but no words came out. Her eyes darted from Ron, clutching his badge, to Fred, then to George. The air crackled with the awkwardness. She looked as though she desperately wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

Fred shrugged dramatically. He picked up his own letter and pretending to read it with intense concentration, as if the news of his own Prefectship might be hidden within.

George coughed loudly, looking pointedly away, anywhere but at the mortified Hermione or the scarlet-faced Ron.

"Um, Congratulations… again, Ron." Cedric offered with his voice a little strained.

Chapter Text

Grimmauld Place thrummed with joyous energy. Mrs. Weasley was beaming and slightly flushed from the heat of the stove, had outdone herself.

A magnificent roast chicken sat centrepiece, flanked by mountains of roasted potatoes, glazed carrots, and steaming broccoli, all prepared for a very special celebration: two new Prefects and a Headboy in the house.

Cedric found himself comfortably ensconced between George and Ginny. He hadn't expected such a celebration, let alone a grand dinner thrown in his honour alongside Ron and Hermione.

Harry sat a little further down the long, overflowing table, deep in quiet conversation with Lupin, their heads close together, murmuring about something.

Ron and Hermione, seated opposite each other, were still undeniably awkward, passing dishes with an almost exaggerated politeness, their eyes meeting only for fleeting, uncertain moments. Yet, a subtle shift was perceptible; the acute tension that had hung between them seemed to be gradually mending, replaced by a fragile peace.

In the corner, where the shadows deepened, Sirius Black leaned back, a wide grin splitting his face. He watched the lively chaos with amusement, occasionally interjecting a comment.

It was Ginny, who finally turned to him, her mouth full of potato. "Sirius," she mumbled around her food, "were you ever a Prefect?"

Sirius let out a booming laugh that echoed off the low ceiling. He shook his head, a mischievous glint in his grey eyes. "Me? A Prefect?" He scoffed good-naturedly. "No chance, Ginny. James and I were far too troublesome to get that badge. We spent most of our time earning detentions." He paused, his gaze softening as it flickered towards Remus. "It was Remus here who achieved it. And not just Prefect, mind you. Remus was a Headboy too, in our final year, along with Harry's mother, Lily. The perfect students."

Harry seemed to relax a little bit after that. A comfortable silence fell, filled with the clinking of cutlery and the gentle murmur of conversation, as everyone absorbed this piece of Hogwarts history.

Fred still glanced at his younger brother from time to time, a flicker of something unreadable – pride? disbelief? – in his eyes, but no teasing words passed his lips.

Cedric, for his part, simply sat among them, eating. He chewed slowly, savouring Mrs. Weasley's cooking, a strange mix of contentment and wistfulness swirling within him. He was the Headboy, a monumental achievement, a testament to years of hard work and good conduct. He ought to be bursting with pride, and he was. Yet, as he watched the Weasley family, so tightly knit, so openly celebratory, a pang of sadness struck him. He couldn’t write to his mother about this news. He couldn't share this joy, recount the details of the dinner. He wanted to tell her, so badly.

***

The golden gleam of the late summer sun filtered through the kitchen window at Grimmauld Place, painting dust motes in the air like tiny, suspended stars. A peculiar hush had fallen over the house, broken only by the occasional clatter from the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was already bustling. The day had come. The day they were all to return to Hogwarts.

Excitement was a hum in the air, a buzzing current that vibrated through every floorboard and every nervous, hopeful heart. For most, it was pure joy. For Cedric, it was a practical matter that had been meticulously planned. His trunk already sat by the door, packed and ready. His side of the room was spotless, cleaned within an inch of its life.

“You’re mad, mate,” Fred Weasley drawled, leaning against the doorframe of the room, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. “There’s still two days to pack!”

George chimed in, “Two days until we have to leave, you mean. Plenty of time for proper, last-minute panic.”

Cedric merely raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips as he flicked a stray piece of lint from his clean trousers. “Only two days to pack,” he corrected, his voice calm. “Which means it’s two days until departure. Best to be prepared.” He shook his head, knowing full well their trunks would be thrown together in a chaotic frenzy an hour before they had to leave.

Harry, meanwhile, was a quieter presence last few days. He was excited, yes, a spark of the old anticipation returning with the idea of Hogwarts’ familiar halls. But sometimes, especially when he thought no one was looking, his gaze would drift, becoming distant, absent-minded. A shadow would fall over his face, a weariness beyond his years, as if the prospect of facing the world again, even the world within Hogwarts, was a heavy burden.

Cedric asked him once but Harry just shook his head and started to talk about quidditch.

Sirius too was a picture of misery. The house would feel too quiet, too big without the constant chatter and frantic energy of the youngsters. On the morning of the Hogwarts Express departure, amidst the usual pre-departure chaos, Sirius managed to corner Cedric as he was retrieving his trunk.

“Cedric,” Sirius said, his voice unusually serious, his eyes pleading. “Look after Harry for me, will you? He… he needs someone. He pretends he’s fine, but he’s not.”

Cedric was taken aback. He knew Sirius cared deeply for Harry, but for him to voice such a fundamental responsibility, to entrust it to Cedric, was an honour that settled in his chest, warm and heavy. “Of course, Sirius,” Cedric replied, his voice firm. “I will.”

Before Sirius could say anything more, Mrs. Weasley’s earsplitting gasp sliced through the house. “Merlin, the time! Everyone! Now! We’ll miss the train!”

The house erupted into a flurry of activity. Trunks were dragged, cloaks were donned, last-minute hugs were exchanged. In a whirlwind of shouts and laughter, they tumbled out of Grimmauld Place and into the waiting Knight Bus, arriving at King’s Cross Station in a breathless rush.

Platform 9 ¾ was a vibrant symphony of noise and colours. Steam billowed from the magnificent scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express, cloaking the platform in a soft magical haze. Students in various robes darted through the crowd, reunited friends embracing, families saying their goodbyes.

Cedric’s heart swelled with anticipation. He scanned the crowd, a particular hope thrumming beneath his excitement. He hadn't heard from Ashton since his last letter, a frustrating silence he couldn't quite decipher. But then, a delighted squeal broke through the din.

“Cedric!”

Emily and Bethy pushed through the crowd, their faces beaming. They launched themselves at him, wrapping him in warm, bone-crushing hugs. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! How are you?” Emily exclaimed, her dark curls bouncing.

"I'm good now," Cedric replied and tried not to hide his walking stick so much.

“We thought you’d never arrive!” Bethy added, her arm still linked through his.

They launched into an excited torrent of chatter, asking about his summer, recounting their own and Cedric sighed in relief.

Harry and Hermione stood a little awkwardly beside them, unsure how to interject into the sudden loud reunion. Bethy glanced at them and smiled. "And Harry, Hermione! Good to see you both too!"

"That's Bethy and Emily," Cedric pointed out.

"And we know you two," Emily replied.

Nearby, Ron and Fred were engaged in the arduous task of wrestling Ginny’s rather overstuffed trunk onto the train, grumbling good-naturedly. George had spotted his best mate, Lee Jordan, and they were deep in conversation, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Cedric’s eyes continued to scan the platform, and then he spotted them – Archie and Franklin, his dorm-mates, already halfway down the platform, laughing loudly. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Archie! Franklin!” he called out, but they didn’t seem to hear him.

Meanwhile, Emily had gravitated towards Hermione. “So, Prefect duties, eh?” she was saying, a teasing note in her voice. “Our boy here snatched the Head boy position. I knew he'd be. If you need anything ask him, he is great,”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Thank you, Well, I have talked to Cedric and made a few notes,” she admitted.

The mention of Prefect duties, and Head Boy, reminded Cedric of his own. He turned to Harry, pulling him slightly aside from the enthusiastic chatter of Emily and Bethy.

“Harry,” Cedric began, “I need to head to the Prefect’s compartment. I have to instruct the others on their duties for the first day.”

Harry nodded, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of something that made Cedric pause. He pulled Harry closer, his voice dropping to a concerned murmur. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze searching Harry’s face.

Harry shook his head, not meeting Cedric’s eyes. Cedric noticed the dark circles under Harry’s eyes now, more pronounced in the bright platform lights, and the slight hollowness in his cheeks. He looked utterly exhausted.

“You didn’t sleep well last night?” Cedric pressed gently.

Harry looked away, a sigh escaping him. “No, it’s… I’m fine, Cedric. Really,” he mumbled, forcing a small smile. “I was just looking forward to travelling together, that’s all.”

Cedric knew it was a lie, a flimsy veil over something deeper, but he didn’t push. Not now, not amidst the chaos of the station. “Alright,” he said, his voice soft. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done. I promise.”

Just then, a long whistle echoed across the platform, signalling the train’s imminent departure. The final calls of “All aboard!” rose above the general din.

“Go on,” Harry urged, giving him a slight push. “Don’t be late for your Head Boy duties.”

Cedric gave Harry a quick, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “I’ll find you. Don’t go anywhere without me.” He turned, waving quickly to Emily and Bethy, and then plunged into the stream of students boarding the train, leaving Harry standing on the platform, watching him go, the tired look still lingering in his eyes.

Cedric reached the Prefects’ compartment on the Hogwarts Express slowly, his walking stick tapping a steady rhythm against the carpeted floor. He kept a wary eye on the stream of excited first-years, their trunks bumping, their voices shrill with anticipation, doing his best not to collide with any of them. It was a slow process but he reached the compartment door before any of the other Prefects had arrived.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Flora Wolpert, a Ravenclaw girl with intelligent eyes and a calm demeanor, already seated. She was the Head Girl this year. She looked up from a piece of parchment she was reading as Cedric entered. Her gaze briefly flickered to his walking stick propped beside his leg as he eased himself into the seat opposite her, but she offered no comment.

"Good morning, Cedric," she greeted, her voice Mellow. "Good, you're here. We can start going over the initial assignments McGonagall gave us."

They fell into conversation easily, discussing the shared duties laid out by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall. Flora Wolpert was surprisingly easy to talk to. She was efficient, clear, and never once mentioned Cedric's "incident" from last year, nor did her eyes linger on his walking stick. It was a relief, a quiet acknowledgement from her that he was simply Cedric, the Head Boy, capable and present.

Just as they were settling into the finer points of train patrolling schedules, the compartment door slid open again. Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil, both Ravenclaw Prefects, entered first.

“Morning, Head Boy, Head Girl,” Anthony said, a little stiffly.

“Flora! Good to see you,” Padma chirped, giving Flora a quick, friendly smile.

“Padma, Anthony. Come in,” Flora gestured.

Padma started chatting animatedly with Flora, a comfortable camaraderie evident between them. Anthony turned to Cedric.

"Cedric Diggory, good to see you. How was your summer? And your… health?" he asked

Cedric managed a small, practiced smile. "Better, thank you, Anthony. And I'm ready for the new term. As for my health, I expect I’m recovering well," he replied. He had prepared himself for endless variations of that question from well-meaning, curious, and sometimes pitying students.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor again, and Ron and Hermione, Gryffindor Prefects, ducked into the compartment. Ron grumbled, "Sorry for being late, Couldn't find an empty compartment anywhere. Place is packed!" He flopped down beside Cedric, looking disgruntled. Hermione, however, offered a warm smile to everyone gathered before settling beside Ron.

Next came Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott, the Hufflepuff Prefects.
“Morning, everyone! Cedric, Flora,” Ernie greeted cheerily.

“Hello! Bit of a crush out there, isn’t it?” Hannah added, offering a warm smile. They exchanged pleasantries as they settled.

They exchanged friendly small talk with Cedric and Flora, asking about their holidays and expressing excitement for the new year, before taking their seats. The compartment was almost full, a mix of house colours and personalities.

Then came the last pair, and the atmosphere in the compartment shifted palpably. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin Prefects, an air of disdain radiating from Draco.

Ron and Hermione stiffened in their seats, their earlier ease vanishing. Cedric and Flora exchanged a quick glance, acknowledging of the tension that had just entered the room. This wasn't going to be good. Prefects should be united.

Draco wasted no time. His eyes, cold and sharp, raked over the assembled group. "So, this is the esteemed cohort of Prefects this year," he drawled, his gaze lingering on Ron and Hermione. "Not exactly what I’d call an ideal choice for the Gryffindor house, are they?"

Anthony Goldstein, surprisingly, spoke up. "I must admit, I thought it would be Harry Potter, considering Dumbledore seems to have a particular fondness for that boy."

Hannah Abbott frowned, her usually cheerful face clouding. "Harry deserves any favouritism he gets. He needs someone to guide him, especially after... everything."

Ernie Macmillan nodded in agreement, adding, "I heard he was brought up by Muggles, you know," he said, as if that were some terrible curse. Hermione glared at him.

Flora's eyes darted to Cedric, a silent plea for help. She seemed to have lost her voice against the sudden onset of inter-house bickering.

Cedric took a deep breath. He cleared his throat, making sure his voice carried clearly, cutting through the rising murmur. "Alright, everyone. Let's pull the conversation back to the matter at hand: your duties and responsibilities as Prefects." His voice was firm, resonant with the authority of the Head Boy. "We are here to maintain order, help the younger students, and ensure the smooth running of the school. We are not here to debate past events or Dumbledore's choices."

“As Head Boy, along with Flora, our Head Girl, we’ve been tasked by Professor McGonagall to ensure the smooth running of the Prefect system this year. Your duties are straightforward: maintain order, enforce school rules, and assist younger students. But more importantly, you are representatives of your houses, and as prefects, you are expected to be united in upholding the standards of Hogwarts.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “This means no house rivalries interfering with your duties. No misusing your authority.” His eyes met Malfoy’s directly. “And let me make this perfectly clear: Flora and I have the authority to report any serious infractions, or repeated failures, directly to Professor McGonagall. And yes, that includes recommending replacements.”

Flora, regaining her composure, quickly unrolled two sets of neatly printed parchments. “We’ve prepared the train patrolling schedule and general guidelines. Please review these carefully. Our first official meeting will be next Saturday, details are on the last page. Any questions before we dismiss you?”

There were a few murmurs of "No," and the prefects quickly rose, eager to collect their papers and leave. Draco Malfoy, however, lingered as everyone else started to file out. Ernie and Hannah offered polite goodbyes. Ron and Hermione gave Cedric a quick nod of thanks and a glare at Malfoy before exiting. Anthony and Padma followed.

Flora and Cedric began gathering the stray parchments and quills on the table. Cedric looked up, meeting Draco's gaze.

"Is there something else, Malfoy?" Cedric asked, his tone even.

Draco stepped closer, his voice dropping, though the usual sneer was still present. "Just a concern, Diggory. Hogwarts appointing a… disabled student as their Head Boy. Seems rather irresponsible, doesn't it?" His eyes flickered to Cedric's walking stick. "You should be resting, not attending school at all this year, let alone taking on such a demanding role."

Flora gasped, her face flushing with indignation. “Malfoy! How dare you—”

But Cedric subtly raised a hand, stopping her before she could retort. He met Draco's gaze, his own expression calm, almost pitying.

"I appreciate your 'concern,' Malfoy," Cedric said, a faint emphasis on the word. "But I assure you, I am quite alright. And I am quite capable of handling the school year, and my duties as Head Boy. Furthermore," he added, his voice dropping to a low, confident tone, "I don't need my full strength to put someone in their place if needed. Prefect or not."

Draco Malfoy's face contorted in a mixture of fury and frustration. He merely spun on his heel and stalked out of the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

"That went well," Cedric said to Flora, smiling then turned to leave too, "See you in the school, Flora,"

***

Cedric pushed open another compartment door, his heart sinking further with each empty or occupied space that didn’t contain the familiar mess of black hair.

He’d been through three carriages now, peering into every nook and cranny of the Hogwarts Express, a growing knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. Harry was nowhere.

The train rumbled beneath his feet, a rhythmic pulse that usually soothed, but today only amplified his unease. He closed the door softly, sighing, and ran a hand through his slightly dishevelled hair.

He was just about to turn and try the next carriage when a voice erupted behind him, followed by a gravitational pull that nearly knocked him off his feet. "Cedric! Hey mate!"

A huge smile filled his vision, followed by a bone-crushing hug that momentarily squeezed the air from his lungs. Ashton.

Cedric gasped, then laughed. He hugged Ashton back.
"Ashton, you big oaf!" Cedric managed, pulling away, a wide smile mirroring Ashton's. He looked at Cedric, really looked at him, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, not a hint of judgment or apprehension. It was a stark contrast to the rest of his journey.

Other students, as Cedric had walked past their compartments, had been less kind. Their eyes had followed him, whispers and uneasiness. Some pointed their fingers like accusatory darts. Glances turned into glares, cold and sharp. And then there were those who simply ignored him, a silence that felt heavier than any shout. It was worse, in a way, because Cedric Diggory had always been seen. People had loved him, admired him, clamored to talk to him. He was the golden boy, the beloved Hufflepuff, a champion. Now, he was... different.

But Ashton. Ashton was just Ashton. He was gushing, his voice a low rumble of excitement, about seeing Cedric, about Cedric being here, about him smiling. He wasn't eyeing him like he was some kind of peculiar, contagious species. Ashton seemed to understand, the invisible barrier that had formed around Cedric. He just thumped him on the shoulder and launched into a breathless recount of his summer holidays: a disastrous camping trip, a new kitten, and an accidental charm that turned his little sister’s hair bright green.

They began walking down the corridor together, the rhythmic sway of the train a familiar comfort with Ashton by his side. "We're right at the back," Ashton explained, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "Me, Emily, and Bethy finally snagged a good compartment. Took us ages."

"Good," Cedric murmured, feeling a lightness he hadn't experienced in days. Then added. "I'm looking for Harry."

Ashton, mid-sentence stopped dead looked around uncomfortably. His smile faltered, just for a moment, before a sigh escaped him. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the rear of the train, his eyes scanning the corridor. "He is there,"

He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Then leaning in close, his voice dropped to a hushed whisper, barely audible above the train's rumble. "Cedric... we need to talk."

Cedric's heart gave a lurch. "Alright," he whispered back, understanding the urgency in Ashton's eyes. "Meet me in the washroom. The one by the third carriage, in an hour."

Ashton nodded, his expression grim. He squeezed Cedric's arm quickly, then turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Cedric standing alone again.

As Cedric slid open the door, the scene inside immediately brightened his mood.

Harry Potter, perched on the plush seat, looked up, and his face instantly lightened up. "Cedric! I thought you would take more time in the meeting," he said with a wide, smile spreading across his face.

"Not much to do other than guiding the other prefects now," Cedric replied, stepping inside and easily sliding onto the seat beside Harry. His body was drowned to him faster then his mind could think. He inhaled the delicious scent of pumpkin and cinnamon and that familiar fragrance that he now called ‘Harry’.

Harry immediately offered a pumpkin pastry from a small paper bag, "Where's the others?"

"I'm sure Ron and Hermione will be here in no time."

Across from them, Ginny Weasley was leaning back, a book resting in her lap, but her eyes were curious as she glanced at them time to time. Beside her, a Gryffindor student Cedric didn't immediately recognize was hunched over, clutching a particularly peculiar-looking plant that seemed to shimmer faintly, shedding tiny green specks onto his robes. And next to him was Luna Lovegood. The Ravenclaw girl, known for her dreamy disposition and unique outlook. She looked up from the latest issue of The Quibbler. Her wide and pale eyes, now settled on Cedric, completely unblinking.

The boy beside her, noticing Luna's intense focus, subtly scooted an inch or two closer to Ginny, as if hoping to blend into the background. Cedric wasn't entirely sure what to do with his hands, so he busied himself by taking a bite of the pastry and looked at Harry in question.

"That's Neville Longbottom," Harry said, sensing Cedric's unspoken question about the shy boy. Neville offered a small, awkward nod, his grip on the strange plant tightening.

"Who's the new Head Girl?" Ginny asked, looking up from her book.

"Flora, she's from Ravenclaw," Cedric mumbled between bites, the pastry was surprisingly good. Harry also handed over a chocolate frog, which Cedric gratefully accepted. As he was eating, he noticed something green and glittery caught in Harry's messy fringe.

"What's that?" Cedric reached out, his fingers brushing Harry's hair.

Harry groaned good-naturedly, shaking his head slightly. "That's from the plant, it explode before you arrived. I tried to clean it up," he said, pointing a thumb towards Neville and his botanical companion. "Is it still in my hair?"

"Yeah, some of it... Here, let me help you," Cedric leaned closer, his brow furrowed in concentration. The green flecks were tiny, almost like pollen but sticky, and seemed to cling to Harry's dark hair. He started to meticulously pick them out with his fingers. When it became clear he couldn't get them all by hand, he pulled out his wand. "Let's try this." A quiet, precise "Tergeo!" left Harry's hair perfectly clean and glossy.

From the side, Neville Longbottom seemed to shrink further into his seat, apologizing again and again in a hushed voice, "I'm so sorry, Harry,"

Harry, however, just waved him off with a dismissive chuckle. "Don't worry about it, Neville. Happens all the time."

As Cedric finished, he still lingered, running a hand through Harry's hair once more, through the soft black messy hair.

Just to inspect if any of the troublesome specks remained— he told himself.

Harry, for his part, leaned into the touch, a comfortable ease between them. Cedric was too absorbed in his task to fully register that Luna was still staring, her eyes unwavering, her expression unreadable.

The silence, broken only by the train's rumble, grew uncomfortable and intensified by Luna's lack of blinking. Then, suddenly, she spoke, her voice clear and unnervingly calm.

"You are supposed to die that day."

The words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected. Harry, who had been leaning into Cedric's touch, recoiled slightly, glancing at Luna with a mixture of confusion and shock. Cedric froze, his hand still poised near Harry's hair. "Excuse me?" he managed, his voice a little hoarse with disbelief.

Luna continued, as if discussing the weather. "My father said that you are supposed to die that day, but a Gloomwing stopped you."

"A what?" Harry asked, his brows furrowed in utter bewilderment.

"A Gloomwing," Luna repeated patiently, as if everyone should know. "It stays on shadows but is attracted to Beauty. It's very rare, but beautiful people attract them. My father wants to visit Greece so that we can see them there."

Cedric opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, utterly speechless. He glanced around the compartment. Neville had now practically merged with Ginny, who was trying to stifle a giggle behind her hand, her shoulders shaking.

"It's a good thing you're a 'beautiful' person, Cedric!" Ginny managed to gasp out between her laughing fits. Luna nodded in agreement.

Harry still seemed to be processing Luna's explanation, his expression a mix of awe and deep confusion. Cedric, finally finding his voice, let out a nervous chuckle. "Well, thank Merlin, a Gloomwing found me, eh? Finally being a handsome man worked well!"

At that, Harry's face broke into a wide, unrestrained grin, and he started to shake with laughter, a joyful sound that filled the compartment, quickly joined by Ginny. Even Neville offered a small, relieved smile. Luna, meanwhile, simply returned to her Quibbler, her pale eyes scanning the pages as if she had just shared the most mundane piece of information.

"Well, that’s certainly… a unique take on things,” Harry managed to gasp, wiping a tear from his eye. Cedric, feeling a strange mix of flattery and utter bewilderment, joined in. "Can't help being handsome,"

"So you think you are a handsome man?" Harry asked.

Cedric’s grin widened. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Why?" he asked, the question light and teasing. "Don't you find me handsome?"

The blood seemed to rushed in Harry's face in a scarlet wave. His cheeks burned, from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck. He practically choked on air, his eyes darting wildly around them, as if desperate for an escape route. Ginny was back to reading her book while Neville was inspecting his plant. And Luna was back to reading her magazine.

He clamped his mouth shut and looked away, focusing intensely on the scenery passing by.

The silence stretched, and Cedric’s casual confidence seemed to falter slightly. A blush began to creep up his own neck, subtly warming his cheeks as the full implication of his flippant question hit him. He’d meant it as a joke, a playful parry.

Harry finally managed to speak, his voice a barely audible murmur, directed more at the window than at Cedric. "You are always handsome," he mumbled, so low it was a wonder Cedric heard it over the general hum of the train.

Now it was Cedric’s turn to visibly redden. His eyes, wide with sudden realization, fixed on Harry. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laden with a new, hesitant understanding. "So, you think... Gloomwing find in time because I am handsome?"

"I don't think Glooming exist, Cedric," Harry whispered to him, eyeing Luna. Cedric shook with laughter.

"Let's just say Glooming exist. Then, do you think they will find me?" Cedric asked.

Harry’s head snapped up, "You are enjoying this conversation too much," He mumbled and glanced quickly at Ginny, who was still lost in her book, then at Neville, who was now misting his sapling with a small spray bottle, and finally at Luna, whose eyes were fixed on the magazine. No one was paying them any mind.

"I was just wondering something," Cedric was having fun, so he continued.

Harry finally risked a glance at him, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh?"

Cedric leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Be honest, Potter." He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you... find me attractive?"

For a solid three seconds, Harry was silent. A bright, furious blush spread across his face again, from his neck to the roots of his messy hair. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"Yes," Harry blurted out.

Cedric's smirk froze. His eyes, which had been so full of playful, widened comically. His head tilted back ever so slightly, as if he hadn't quite processed what he'd heard.

Harry, meanwhile, was rapidly replaced by mortification. "I mean!" he stammered, pulling his gaze away from Cedric's stunned face and frantically looking around the compartment, as if seeking a portal to another dimension. "I mean, objectively! It's just... a fact. You're... you're objectively a good-looking person, Cedric. Like, the sky is blue. Or... or Snape hates me. It's just undeniable. Not... Not personally or anything, just, you know, an observation of... general consensus!" He fumbled with word as he whispered furiously. "Like, you'd be rated highly on, uh, 'attractive' polls. If there were, uh, polls for that. Which there aren't. Probably."

Cedric, who had gone from surprised to a slow, dawning flush of his own, let out a choked sound that was half-laugh, half-gasp. He looked around to see if anyone paying attention to them and find Ginny looking at them with confusion. Cedric smiled to assured that everything was good, Ginny looked away.

"Right," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Objective. Of course. Just... general consensus." As he said, Harry looked, there was a hint of something else, a very faint, almost shy smile trying to break through.

Cedric smiled back, "Good to know I'm... objectively pleasing to the eye, Harry."

Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands for a second. "Oh, Merlin."

"Well," Cedric's smirked. "Thank you, Objectively."

"Shut up-" Harry hissed, but it was light, affectionate, and he gave Cedric a playful shove that caught him by surprise.

The shove, instead of pushing Cedric away, actually made him lean closer, a soft huff of laughter escaping him. He reached into his robes, pulling out that slightly squashed Chocolate Frog. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he tore open the foil, broke the chocolate in half, and before Harry could protest, gently nudged the larger piece directly towards Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s eyes widened. "That was for you-" he protested, but his mouth opened anyways, accepting the chocolate. Cedric’s fingers brushed his lips as he withdrew, and Harry felt a jolt that had nothing to do with the sugar.

Cedric just smiled, a soft look in his eyes, as he casually popped the other half of the frog into his own mouth. Cedric didn't look away, a silent moment stretching between them.

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

Cedric leaned back, a faint amused smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Harry. "Well, I also find you Objectively charming along with your messy hair,"

"Only if they're particularly sensitive to raw, untamed charisma," Harry retorted, leaning back and trying to make himself look as unkempt as possible.

"Well, some of them are," Cedric replied.

Harry instinctively ran a hand through his perpetually messy black hair, making it worse. He grinned back. "What can I say, Diggory? Some of us aren't born with the kind of perfect hair that makes the girls swoon." He gestured vaguely at Cedric's neatly styled, dark blonde locks. "Or the kind of symmetrical cheekbones that could launch a thousand Galleons."

Cedric chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Ah, now my cheekbones are symmetrical, are they?"

"Objectively," Harry said with a smirked. Cedric just shook his head, still smiling.

"Are you two ever going to notice us?" A loud, rumbling groan cut through their concentration. Ron Weasley stood by the door, looking positively famished. "I'm so hungry my stomach's eating itself!"

Hermione Granger sighed, following him in. "Honestly, Ron, sit down for a bit. Harry, Cedric, you're practically look like tomatoes, what are you two talking about?"

"Luna thinks Cedric is a beautiful person," Ginny replied and Luna put down her magazine.

Ron scoffed and Hermione shook her head, "Everyone thinks Cedric is beautiful person, because he is,"

Cedric's eyebrows raised at that, Hermione then turned, her expression turning stormy. "Anyway, you will not believe the injustice! Guess who's been made a Slytherin prefect?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me..."

"Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Can you imagine? He'll be unbearable!"

Harry groaned, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Ugh. Of course. Perfect. Just what I needed. He'll be insufferable. Absolutely insufferable. 'Oh, look at me, I'm a prefect! Glorified git!'"

Cedric reached over to Harry on the shoulder. "Hey, hey. Don't let him get to you, Harry. He's not worth the energy. Besides," he added with a wink, "I'm the Head boy,"

"Still," Ron grumbled, already picturing scenarios. "If I get the chance, I'll have Crabbe and Goyle on detention every single night. I'll make them write lines: 'I must not look like a troll' And Goyle would sit there, all 'Uhh... how do you spell troll?'" Ron tried to mimic Goyle's slow, confused drawl, making a remarkably accurate expression. Everyone laughed.

Cedric chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I've not heard you say that Ron."

"No, you are not. You aren't even here, Head boy," Ron replied eating a pumpkin pastry. Hermione seemed disappointed at that.

"It's a rule break, Cedric," she told him and Cedric shrugged.

"Do you think Malfoy won't do that? I've to find his friends faster than he finds mine, and I'll make sure his friends regret it," Ron said and proceed to make Goyle's expression again.

Luna Lovegood, who had seemingly listening to their conversation, joined them, her eyes wide and dreamy. "Oh, that's such a lovely image!"

Ginny chimed in. "You're not wrong about Goyle being thick. Last year, I saw him trying to bully a first-year by shoving him into a broom cupboard. I just casually 'tripped' him right in front of Professor Flitwick. He looked like a beached whale."

Hermione, however, had gone quiet, her gaze drifting to Harry. "It's just... Goyle and Crabbe are bad enough, but with Malfoy in charge of them, it makes things worse," she said quietly, a flicker of genuine concern in her eyes. "Especially now."

Cedric caught Hermione's worried glance at Harry, and a subtle understanding seemed to pass between them, a quiet acknowledgement of something heavier than mere school rivalry.

Harry, noticing Cedric looking at him, forced a laugh, running a hand through his hair again. "It's fine. We'll deal with it. Malfoy's always been a pain. Nothing new." But the carefree spark that had been there just moments ago had dimmed, replaced by a lingering grumpiness that his laugh couldn't quite hide.

***

The compartment buzzed with the usual back-to-school energy. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were now huddled together, deep in a whispered discussion about their new prefect duties and the upcoming Quidditch tryouts.

They looked impossibly young, vibrant, and blissfully content for a moment. The outside world was far away.

"Right," Cedric announced, forcing a casual air into his voice. "Think I'll, uh, stretch my legs. And, well, use the facilities." It was a flimsy excuse, even to his own ears, but the trio barely registered it.

Ron was mid-sentence, gesturing wildly about the merits of his new broom that Mrs Weasley bought for him as a gift, and Harry and Hermione were nodding in agreement, their faces animated. Perfectly distracted.

Cedric slipped out of the compartment, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft click.

The corridor was livelier than his rythmic sound of walking stick, filled with other students laughing, chatting, and occasionally stumbling as the train swayed. He went through the excited students, his hurried pace at odds with the carefree atmosphere.

His destination wasn't just any washroom; it was the washroom, three carriages down, the one he and Ashton had discreetly chosen for their meeting earlier.

He pushed open the door to the third carriage, the cacophony of voices fading slightly as he stepped inside. The corridor here was unexpectedly empty, a lucky break. No need to loiter, no risk of being overheard. He found the washroom door ajar, a sliver of light escaping. Ashton was already inside, his back to the door, fiddling with something.

Cedric slipped in, closing the door softly behind him. The small, enclosed space instantly felt claustrophobic, charged with a nervous energy. "What is it?" Cedric asked, his voice low, matching the hushed atmosphere.

Ashton spun around, his face pale, eyes darting around the tiny room as if searching for hidden listeners. Without another word, he raised his wand. "Muffliato," he muttered, and a strange, buzzing silence descended, muffling the distant sounds of the train to a faint, indistinct thrum.

"People are talking," Ashton told him, his voice now clear and sharp in the spell-bound quiet.

Cedric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Which isn't new, Ashton. I'm aware that after the Triwizard Tournament and You-know-who's return, people are talking. Daily Prophet was writting nonsense," The Ministry's insistent denial, the Daily Prophet's smear campaigns against Harry and Dumbledore – it was all now part of his life.

But Ashton shook his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You don't understand, Ced. People are saying things on the Hogwarts Express. They don't talk about you before, never did, they loved you but now.... They're saying that you lost your mind – and that you're now doing everything Harry Potter asks you to." His voice was tight with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Cedric leaned against the cold ceramic sink, the anger a familiar burn. "People will talk, Ashton. But that doesn't mean that he's not back. You-Know-Who is back, and those people are the ones who've lost their minds."

Ashton looked at him, his expression unreadable, as though he was evaluating Cedric, wondering if he was one of them. For a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed Cedric's face. "Don't you believe me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Ashton's jaw tightened. "I do. I'll believe anything you ask me to believe, Ced," he said, the words heavy with a lifetime of friendship and unspoken loyalty. "I told Dad to help you with that task... Dad will support you and Dumbledore because I 'believe' you. But that doesn't change the fact that no one else does. No-one saw him back. Only Harry saw him." The last part was spoken with a hint of quiet desperation.

Cedric shook his head, pushing off the sink. "And suddenly all the wizarding world is against Harry? Don't you see the pattern here, Ashton? When the Chamber of Secrets opened, the Ministry accused Harry, all the students were against him because they were in fear. They didn't want to believe that their easy and simple life was about to end." He stepped closer to Ashton, his voice gaining a quiet intensity. "And this is happening again. He is back, and the Ministry is in fear. Fudge doesn't want to lose his position. This isn't just a school rumour, Ashton. Something much bigger is going on."

Ashton’s eyes widened slightly, a dawning comprehension in them. "So you want to join this 'much bigger situation'? You're going to involve yourself in this, aren't you?"

Cedric didn't flinch. He had known this conversation was coming, had known he couldn't keep Ashton in the dark entirely, not with the stakes so high. "I'm part of this. I've already got involved." He confessed. He wouldn’t reveal that he had joined the Order of the Phoenix – that secret was too dangerous to share, even with Ashton – but he told him as much as he could, the truth hovering unspoken between them.

Ashton seemed to understand, a grim resignation settling over his features. "We can't talk about this in our dorm room," he said, his practical mind already working. "Archie and Franklin... they weren't very friendly earlier when I mentioned you were on the train."

"We need to choose sides, Ashton, sooner than later," Cedric told him, his gaze firm, unwavering. He wasn't asking; he was stating a fact, a harsh reality. "The war has already begun, and it's only a matter of time until others realize they can't afford to wait to choose by then."

The muffled silence in the washroom felt heavier than ever, laden with the weight of their shared understanding, the unspoken dangers. After a few more quiet words about how they would communicate going forward, Ashton lifted the muffling spell.

The rhythmic clatter of the train rushed back in, a sudden, jarring reminder of the world outside. They exchanged a look, a silent vow passing between them, before Ashton opened the door.

They rejoined the stream of students, returning to their respective compartments, carrying the heavy burden of a truth few were willing to face.

Chapter Text

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth. Hogwarts, as always, blazed with welcoming light, its many windows like golden eyes from a far. The familiar pebble path crunched underfoot as students streamed towards the waiting carriages.

Cedric walked alongside Harry. Behind them, Luna Lovegood floated along, already engrossed in something only she could see, while Ginny and Neville tried to keep pace, their voices carrying easily in the brisk air.
Cedric and the others waited for a free carriage when Harry was looking around with some anticipation, but that booming familiar voice wasn't there. Instead, a female voice guiding the first years this year to the castle.

Harry spotted Professor Grubbly-Plank ushering a cluster of wide-eyed first-years towards a different path, where a stern-looking witch with tightly scraped-back hair was already introducing herself. "Hellow first years! Welcome to Hogwarts, I will be your interim Care of Magical Creatures instructor for the term," she announced crisply. "As our ground keeper Hagrid is... away on a special assignment."

Harry hurried over. "Professor, excuse me, but Hagrid's not here? Is everything alright?"

Professor Grubbly-Plank gave him a quick, severe look. "Important matters. He's unable to return just yet. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a thousand things to see to before the feast." She swept off, leaving Harry feeling thoroughly vague and unsatisfied.

"What is it?" Neville asked when Harry returned.

"Hagrid isn't here," Harry mumbled. Cedric frowned, this was the very first time in his school year that Hagrid missed the first terms.

"Do you think it's something to do with... You know?" Cedric said when others were talking to themselves. Harry glanced at him with understanding.

"Maybe," he replied. "But he should be here, he wasn't there in the ... You know?" He asked. Cedric shook his head. Hagrid wasn't there in any of the Order's meeting.

"Let's go before all the carriage become full," Cedric told him.

"Still can't believe Hagrid's not here," Harry muttered, adjusting the grip on Hedwig's cage with one hand and Pigwidgeon's with the other. "And she isn't saying anything, I asked and she just gave me this look like I'd asked her for the secret to eternal youth."

"It is strange," Cedric agreed, his brow slightly furrowed. "He's always here for the start-of-term. Though, at least Ron and Hermione are off doing their prefect duties. Less bickering for us to listen to, I suppose." He gave Ginny a playful nudge.

"Hey!" Ginny protested, though a small smile played on her lips. "They seemed rather pleased with themselves, didn't they, Neville?"

Neville nodded earnestly. "Very. They looked quite important in their badges."

They rounded the last bend of the pebble path, and the carriages came into full view. Harry was still wrestling with his two cages when Cedric paused, his eyes widening slightly. He looked around, a flicker of surprise in his gaze, as if expecting someone else to share his reaction.

"Whoa," Cedric murmured, his voice barely audible. "What – what are those things pulling the carriages?"

Harry, still struggling, hadn't quite registered Cedric's tone. "Merlin, these beasts are getting heavier every year," he grunted, nearly dropping Pig's cage.

"Here, let me take that one," Cedric offered, reaching for Pigwidgeon's cage. As he took it, Harry finally lifted his head and followed Cedric's gaze.

And then Harry saw them.

Skeletal, black, horse-like creatures with leathery wings, their empty eyes gazing ahead. They were pulling the carriages, their bony forms stark against the fading light. Harry blinked, then blinked again.

Cedric glanced at Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Ginny was laughing at something Luna had just said, completely oblivious. Neville was peering into one of the carriages, looking for a good spot. They were talking and laughing as if there wasn't a troop of unknown, rather terrifying creatures carrying them.

"What are those things?" Cedric asked.

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed again. He turned slowly to look at Cedric, his voice hushed with a mixture of awe and unease. "You can see them?"

Cedric nodded, his own expression a mixture of confusion and a faint recognition of something disturbing. "Clearly. But what on earth... there's so much magical creatures in this world and truthfully speaking, Harry, I'm not very good with them. I'm more of a Charms man, honestly."

He glanced back at the bony flank of the creature pulling their chosen carriage, a strange mix of fascination and unease swirling within him. Why could they see them, and no one else?

"Harry! Cedric! Hurry up! We've got a carriage!" Ginny's voice cut through their quiet wonder from the open door of a carriage.

Neville hurried towards them. "Wait for me!"

Harry glanced back at the creature closest to them, a morbid fascination drawing his eyes to its gaunt features. He was about to say something more about it when a voice from a different carriage cut through the air.

"Cedric! Over here!"

Harry and Cedric both looked over. Cho Chang, radiant even in her school robes, was waving from a carriage a few feet away, surrounded by her friends. Cedric offered a polite wave back, a small, unreadable smile on his face.

"Why aren't you going to sit with your girlfriend, Cedric?" Luna asked innocently as they reached the carriage, tilting her head.

Ginny, grabbing the seat opposite Luna, looked up expectantly, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. Neville, who was now carefully arranging his bag, also looked up, clearly interested in the answer.

Harry, however, looked away, suddenly too interested in staring out of the carriage window, pretending to examine the landscape as the strange creature gave a slight twitch, preparing to move.

Cedric sighed, a light, almost imperceptible exhalation. "Cho and I broke up last year."

There was a moment of surprised silence.
"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly. "Really? I didn't know! I'm sorry, Cedric."

"Pity," Luna mused, completely unperturbed. "You seemed to have a rather healthy number of wrackspurts between you."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that, Cedric," Neville added kindly.

Cedric offered a small smile. "Thanks, Neville." He glanced at Harry, who still hadn't turned around, his attention seemingly fixed on the creature pulling their carriage. "So, you can see them too, then, Harry?" he mused quietly.

Harry finally turned, his eyes meeting Cedric's. "Yeah," Harry whispered, the word heavy with underline meaning. "I do."

The carriage swayed gently, the familiar scent of damp earth and autumn leaves filling the air. Cedric leaned forward, peering out the window. "What are those things," he began, his brow furrowed in confusion, "I've never seen them before."

Before Harry could fully articulate his answer, a soft, dreamy voice drifted from the opposite seat. "Oh, you can see them too?" Luna Lovegood smiled serenely. "They're Thestrals. Quite beautiful, aren't they? And only people who've seen death can see them."

Silence descended on the carriage, thick and sudden. Cedric and Harry exchanged a bewildered glance. Cedric's mind raced. He remembered the blinding green light, the pain, the strange, ethereal place where he hadn't quite died, but hadn't quite lived either, that white clouds.

He remembered waking up, Harry’s frantic shouts, the healers at Hogwarts. He hadn't died. Harry had seen him wake up, had seen him alive since then. So, technically, no one had died that day. Then why?

Cedric's face went paler and paler as the implications settled in. His breathing hitched, shallow and quick. He must have looked truly sick, because Harry reached out, his hand finding Cedric’s without a moment's hesitation. Harry was still looking outside the window, but he grasped Cedric's hand tightly, as though he needed to assure himself that Cedric was truly here, solid and alive, right beside him. The warm hand in his was like a lifeline, as he breathed evenly, his heart thudding a little too fast.

Neville, sitting next to Luna, eyed them both, but didn't say a word.

After what felt like an eternity, the rhythmic creak of the carriage wheels slowed to a halt. One by one, the students began to shuffle out. Harry and Cedric were the last. Harry finally turned from the window, his gaze settling on Cedric's still-pale face. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

Cedric nodded, a shuddering sigh escaping him. Their hands were still intertwined, a silent, comforting tether.

"You didn't die that day, Cedric" Harry reminded him, his voice low and firm. "I saw you waking up, I feel your heartbeats. You were severely injured, that it. The healer said so. You told me the reason for your injury and what happened to your magical core, but you were alive. You ARE alive. Me seeing those creatures has nothing to do with me assuming you died that day, I saw wrong."

"Then why are we seeing that thing?" Cedric asked, his voice a strained whisper as he gestured vaguely towards the front of the carriage. "I didn't see anyone dying or dead—" He stopped abruptly. An image flashed through his mind: the luminous, shimmering figure of a woman, radiating comfort and love. Harry's mother. He had seen her dead, in the afterlife. But Harry didn't know that, and Cedric definitely didn't want to tell him, not yet, not with Harry looking so fragile.

Harry looked at him, his emerald eyes searching Cedric's. "Let's go outside," Harry said, his grip tightening protectively. "We'll talk about it later."

They both stepped out of the carriage, into the cool autumn air. The others were waiting, a small knot of students near the path to the castle. Ron and Hermione had also arrived by then, emerging from another carriage. Ron caught sight of Harry and Cedric walking out together, and rolled his eyes dramatically. Cedric frowned then realised they were still holding hands.

Harry and Cedric pulled apert quickly and Cedric pretended that nothing happened. Ron seemed to control himself from rolling his eyes again.

***

The high ceiling of the Great Hall stretched above them, glittering with hundreds of enchanted candles. The air hummed with the excited chatter of hundreds of students, but as Cedric, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the others stepped inside, a different kind of murmur started to ripple through the crowd.

"There he is..." a whisper slithered past Cedric's ear. "Potter," another voice hissed, heavy with malice. Fingers pointed from the Ravenclaw table, a few students at the Slytherin table openly glared, and even some gryffindor were turning their heads, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and judgment. Cedric felt a cold clench in his stomach. He saw a few students mouth the words 'liar' or 'mad'.

Cedric's gaze instinctively flickered to Harry. His stomach twisted. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, pull Harry behind him, shield him from every hostile stare, every whispered accusation. Never let Harry have to face this kind of environment again. It was unfair, it was cruel. But Harry, walking beside him, seemed utterly unfazed. His green eyes scanned the hall, a faint, almost imperceptible weariness in them, but no surprise, no fear.

"You alright, Harry?" Cedric muttered, keeping his voice low.

Harry glanced at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it, Cedric. I'm used to it. Go on, your table's this way." He gestured towards the Hufflepuff table, already veering off with Hermione and Ron, who looked equally accustomed to the scrutiny, if a little more defiant.

Cedric watched them go, his brow furrowed with concern, even as he turned towards the Hufflepuff table. He was so absorbed in watching out for Harry that he almost missed the strange dynamic at his own house table.

Emily and Bethy, waved enthusiastically from their usual spot. Ashton was already settled opposite them, a book propped in front of him, but looking up as Cedric approached. But as Cedric drew closer, he saw it – a palpable, undeniable gap at the table. A wide, empty space around Emily, Bethy, and Ashton, as if no one dared to sit too close. Further down, near the end of the table, he spotted Archie and Franklin, sitting with their backs mostly turned, completely separate from the trio.

Cedric's shoulders slumped as he went through the crowded hall, his eyes downcast, trying to avoid the lingering stares of his own housemates who were now looking at him differently. He slid onto the bench next to Emily, the silence from the surrounding Hufflepuffs almost louder than the general hum of the hall.

"Hey, Ced!" Emily said, a little too brightly, clearly trying to cut through the tension. Bethy offered a shy smile and a small wave.

"Hey, guys," Cedric replied, managing a tired smile. "Why Archie And Franklin sitting far?"

Emily snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Oh, they were being idiots," she nodded towards the two isolated figures. "Had a huge row with Archie on the train. He's being an absolute git. Believes every single word that rubbish Daily Prophet is writing." She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, though not by much. "He actually said... he said you'd lost your mind, Cedric. Can you believe it?"

Ashton didn't add anything, but his eyes held a quiet, worried question as they met Cedric's. He reached out and briefly squeezed Cedric's forearm before going back to reading his book.

Cedric managed a weak laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I'm perfectly fine, honestly. Fit as a fiddle. St. Mungo's healers were miracle workers, and I've been taking it easy." He straightened his posture, trying to project confidence. "I'll be staying here for my NEWTs, of course. Still Head Boy, too, if anyone was wondering." He directed the last part subtly towards the hushed students around them. "Recovering fast. Just a few more weeks of potions, and I'll be good as new."

"So you don't believe anything that Harry Potter said?" Bethy asked.

"I believe everything Harry Potter said." Cedric replied. Ashton coughed.

"That's our boy!" Bethy thumped him on his shoulder.

Emily visibly relaxed, beaming. "Don't you worry about Archie, Ced. He'll come round. Anyway," she changed the subject, her tone brightening further, "have you started reading for Transfiguration yet? Professor McGonagall's already dropped hints about how tricky it'll be this year when I met her earlier."

"Oh, Merlin, don't start now. We just arrived. And what the hell are you reading, Ash?" Bethy groaned, burying her face dramatically in her hands.

Ashton closed his book, his worried expression softening into his usual thoughtful one. "I found a rather good text on Advanced Human Transfiguration in our home library. We should all compare notes."

Cedric felt a small relief. Normalcy, at least with his true friends. "Yeah, definitely. Sounds good. I'm focusing on Defence first. I've found some interesting books during the summer, it will arrive by tomorrow though. Got a feeling that defence might be... challenging."

The Great Hall buzzed with a familiar, joyous cacophony. First-years gaped at the enchanted ceiling, older students reconnected with friends, and the air hummed with the promise of another year.

Then, as if on cue, the last murmur died down, and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, his long silver beard gleaming.

"Welcome!" his voice boomed, amplified just enough to carry above the remaining whispers. "Welcome, new students and welcome back our old students, for another year at Hogwarts!" A ripple of applause, mostly from the younger years, swept through the hall. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he surveyed the sea of faces. "Before we feast, a few customary announcements. Firstly, a reminder of the basic rules: the Forbidden Forest is, as its name suggests, forbidden. Secondly, no magic in the corridors between classes unless absolutely necessary." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the Gryffindor table for a moment, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, before continuing. "This year, we have a new addition to our esteemed faculty. I am pleased to announce that Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank will be taking over Care of Magical Creatures for the foreseeable future, as Hagrid will, unfortunately, be away for the remaining terms."

A murmur of surprise went through the hall at the mention of Hagrid's absence. Cedric frowned slightly. Why Dumbledore was being vague. Before Cedric could ponder that further, Dumbledore's voice cut through. "And our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge."

No sooner had Dumbledore uttered the name than a figure at the staff table stood up. It was clear she wanted to say something, even before Dumbledore could fully wrap up his welcome speech.

Cedric and Ashton, sitting across from him, exchanged a quick, knowing glance. Bethy, next to Cedric, let out a low groan. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'm starving. More speech?" she grumbled, her stomach rumbling audibly. Emily, on Cedric's other side, remained silent, a deep frown etched on her face.

Cedric’s eyes landed on the new DADA professor. She was wearing robes of a shockingly bright, almost luminous pink, complete with a frilly lace collar. Her face, framed by a neat bob, seemed to be set in a permanent, tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was a face that immediately made Cedric dislike her.

"I don't like her," Cedric muttered to Emily, barely moving his lips.
Emily scoffed, a tiny, humourless sound. "Welcome to the club. My dad isn't very fond of her either."

Cedric blinked, turning his head sharply to look at her. "You know her?"

Emily nodded, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper so low only Cedric could hear. "She's a Ministry employee. I don't know much, but Dad said she's a right hand to Fudge."

Ashton, who must have caught the last few words, leaned forward, his expression grave. "That's bad," he muttered. "That's really bad."

Cedric's gaze drifted across the hall, past the Hufflepuff table, past the long Ravenclaw table, to the Gryffindors. He spotted Ron and Hermione deep in conversation, but Harry's eyes were fixed on Cedric. Their gazes met, and Harry offered a half-smile, though it was more a grimace than anything else. An unspoken understanding passed between them. If Emily knew this woman, and didn't like her, it was likely for very serious reasons. Harry mouthed "hearing" to Cedric or he thought that's what Harry said before looking away. That's bad, very bad indeed.

Meanwhile, Professor Dolores Umbridge had begun to speak, her voice surprisingly high-pitched and sugary, like she was talking to a group of toddlers. "Good evening, children," she chirped, her smile never wavering. "It is such a delight to be here at Hogwarts, a venerable institution. I adore teaching, and I particularly adore learning more about children."

Bethy snorted beside Cedric, almost choking on air. "We can see that love for children from your frowning face," she whispered, mimicking Umbridge's sickly sweet tone with surprising accuracy.

Dolores Umbridge continued, filled with flowery phrases about rules, regulations, and the importance of proper order. But Cedric wasn't entirely sure what she was saying anymore. His mind had already wandered to a more important, more troubling question: what, precisely, was the Ministry's intention in sending her here?

Cedric was on his feet the moment the Head Table dismissed them. Aston, Emily, and Bethy rose too, ready to head for the Hufflepuff common room. But Cedric didn't follow the usual stream of yellow-and-black robes. His gaze was fixed across the bustling hall.

"Cedric?" Aston called, a hint of confusion in his voice.

He barely spared them a glance, already weaving through the emptying tables. "You guys go on ahead. I'll catch up." There was an urgency in his stride that surprised them. Aston, Emily, and Bethy exchanged looks but waited by the giant oak doors, watching him.

Over by the Gryffindor table, a cluster of red and gold was slowly disentangling itself from the benches. Harry was hunched with Ron and Hermione, their voices a low murmur, probably dissecting Umbridge’s speech. They too were lining up to leave, part of the slow-moving river of students.

Ron saw him first and nudged Harry, his eyes flicking towards the approaching Cedric. Harry, looking utterly drained, blinked slowly, then a faint smile touched his lips as he saw Cedric. He pushed off the bench and went forward, meeting Cedric roughly in the middle of the crowded central aisle.

The students flowed around them, drawing some curious glances. Cedric pulled Harry towards the exit as they walked slowly alongside the current of exiting pupils, the noise of the Great Hall gradually diminishing behind them.

"What is it?" Harry asked as soon as Cedric reached him.

Cedric didn’t waste a moment. He reached out, his hand closing gently around Harry’s wrist, then sliding down to cup both of Harry’s hands in his own. He leveled his gaze and said very slowly, the words barely audible above the surrounding chatter, "You are not going to talk to Umbridge."

Harry’s brow furrowed, his green eyes still heavy-lidded. "Why would I do that?" he asked in confusion.

Cedric didn’t release his grip, his gaze unwavering, intense. "Harry, please listen carefully. Whatever happens, even if Umbridge provokes you. You have to stay calm. And don't talk back."

"I'll do my best to ignore the toad-like woman since she is the reason for my hearing." Harry told him and Cedric realised the gravity of that woman's arrival in Hogwarts.

"Promise me, Harry," he insisted.

Harry scanned the thinning crowd around them, understanding dawning. Cedric wasn’t saying more because of the many curious ears undoubtedly straining to catch their words. He nodded, a weary acquiescence. "I'll try my best."

"No, not try," Cedric said, his grip tightening imperceptibly. "Please, can you do that?"

A weary sigh escaped Harry. "Okay. I told you that Umbridge was in my hearing, Cedric. She tried her best to expel me. Hermione was saying that it's a way for Fudge to start entering Hogwarts himself, to get more control."

Cedric nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Hermione's right. And I've a feeling her first target will be you. So, don't let her provoke you. Don’t give her an excuse."

Harry’s eyes hardened, a spark of defiance igniting in their depths. "I'm not a child, Cedric." He tugged his hands free, the casual intimacy of Cedric’s grip abruptly broken. "Can you stop behaving like I'm a spoiled boy?"

Cedric was taken aback by Harry's sudden change of words, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "I— Harry. I know you aren't a child. Calm down. I'm not behaving like anything, I’m just trying to…"

Harry glared at him, his gaze flickering, a momentary blankness in his eyes that was almost unsettling before he sharply averted them, staring into the middle distance. "I'm tired," he muttered, the words more an explanation than an apology.

"Please, don't do anything rash," Cedric insisted again, his voice softer now, tinged with a plea.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep shuddering breath. Then, without another word, he turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Cedric standing alone.

By the time, Cedric return, his friends were waiting by the Great hall. Emily and Bethy looked shocked and asked, "When did that happen?"

Cedric frowned. "When did what happen? Did I miss something?" He looked back at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"That!" Bethy gestured wildly, pointing towards that rapidly retreating figure whose messy black hair was just disappearing around a corner near the staff table.

Emily's voice dropping to a stage whisper. "You and Harry!"

Cedric blinked. "Oh, we met during the summer holidays." He shifted his weight on the walking stick, suddenly feeling a little awkward under their intense stares. "You two saw me in the platform with him earlier," he pointed out, a slight note of exasperation in his voice. What was all the fuss about?

But Emily shook her head vigorously. "Yeah, but I didn't know you two are that close!" She emphasized the word 'that' as though it held some unfathomable depth.

Cedric shrugged. "Well, we became close during summer holidays. You all were avoiding my letters so I wrote to him." He hadn't expected the reply, let alone the string of increasingly interesting letters that followed.

"And you two became close?" Bethy asked.

Ashton, who had been listening silently so far, pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I don't think his saying 'close' and you two's 'close' are the same here."

All three of them – Cedric, Emily, and Bethy – stared at Ashton in confusion.

"What are you trying to say?" Cedric asked. This was becoming unnecessarily complicated.

Ashton sighed, a long-suffering sound. "You and Harry's friends, right?" He asked, looking directly at Cedric.

"Yes?" Cedric said, his brow furrowed in even more confusion.

"See?" Ashton looked at Bethy and Emily, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, and gestured as though that settled the whole baffling affair.

Bethy snorted, a sound that was half-laughter, half-exasperation. Emily merely nodded, a small, knowing smile now replacing her earlier shock.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Cedric asked again, looking between their suddenly amused faces. But none of them replied.

"Let's go to our common room. I'm really tired," Bethy said and Emily and Ashton agreed. Cedric followed them silently.

The truth, whatever it was, remained stubbornly out of Cedric's reach, leaving him to ponder the vast, confusing differences between his 'close' and everyone else's.

***

The dim light of the common room flickered as Cedric and Ashton trudged up the last flight of stairs to their dorm. The corridor was hushed, most students already settled for the night. Cedric fumbled with the polished brass doorknob of their room pushing it open with a soft click.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old parchment and a faint hint of peppermint – Franklin’s signature mints. Two figures lay motionless in their beds, that Franklin and Archie, their other two dorm-mates, were already deep in sleep. A soft, rhythmic snore emanated from Franklin’s direction.

But perched regally on Cedric's four-poster bed, amidst the clean covers, were two owls. One was his own Gonzo. The other, a smaller, sleek barn owl he recognized as his mother's owl, was perched alertly beside Gonzo. And nestled between them, occupying a good portion of the mattress, was a large, neatly wrapped package, tied with a simple twine.

Ashton, who had followed Cedric in, spotted the tableau and raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, what's all that, Ced?" he whispered, gesturing towards the bed.

Cedric sighed. "That is my school supplies," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't get the time for buying my books and clothes for the arrival at Hogwarts this year, so Mum sent me all of that."

He didn't elaborate on why he hadn't managed the shopping, the full truth involving a rather chaotic summer filled with secrets. Ashton simply nodded, not pressing the issue.

Carefully, Cedric approached his bed, trying not to disturb the sleeping forms of Franklin and Archie. He gently lifted the hefty package, depositing it with a soft thud onto his trunk at the foot of the bed. He then pulled out a small roll of parchment and a quill from his bedside table. He scribbled a quick, heartfelt thank-you letter to his mum, tying it securely to the leg of the family owl.

"There you go, girl," he whispered, giving her a gentle stroke. The barn owl hooted softly, nudged Gonzo with its beak, and then, with a silent flutter of wings, slipped out through the open window and disappeared into the night.

Gonzo, meanwhile, hopped off the bed and onto the floor, looking expectantly at Cedric. Cedric reached under his bed and pulled out a small bowl, filling it from the water pitcher on his nightstand. Gonzo drank deeply, then let out a satisfied hoot before launching himself into the air and vanishing out the window.

With the owl business concluded, Cedric finally felt the day's fatigue settle in his bones. He shucked off his robes, discarding them carelessly over his desk chair, and pulled on a comfortable pair of pajama pants. From a small, locked wooden box, he retrieved two vials of potion – one a sky-blue liquid, the other a murky green – the concoctions the Healers at St. Mungo's had prescribed him post-incident.

He uncorked them, grimaced slightly at the smell, and downed them in quick succession, chasing them with a gulp of water. The familiar warmth spread through his chest, a subtle hum of magic working its gentle mending. He then climbed into his bed, pulling the duvet up to his chin, and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow properly.

The next thing Cedric knew, a sliver of bright sunlight cut through the gap in the dorm curtains. He blinked, stretching, and glanced around the room. Archie and Franklin’s beds were neatly made, their trunks stacked beside them – they were already gone. A whoosh of water from the shared bathroom indicated that someone was up, however.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Ashton emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, water beading on his dark hair. He grinned at Cedric. "Morning, sleepyhead. Thought you were going to sleep through breakfast."

Cedric yawned, pushing himself up. "Almost did. Morning, Ash." He swung his legs out of bed. "Right, I better get a quick shower. Don't want to be late for our first class of final year."

The thought of transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, on his very last year's first day at Hogwarts spurred him on. He grabbed his own towel and headed for the spray of the shower. Cedric was ready to face anything his final year would undoubtedly bring.

The comforting clatter of cutlery against china and the murmur of hundreds of conversations filled the Great Hall, a familiarity that usually soothed Cedric.

But this morning, his attention was splintered, a persistent worry about Harry nagging at the edges of his mind. He’d been trying to catch Harry’s eye all through breakfast, a silent apology hovering, but the younger boy seemed to be deliberately avoiding him. Cedric sighed, pushing a piece of toast around his plate. He was so preoccupied looking out for Harry, so lost in the unresolved tension between them, that the far more immediate threat of Dolores Umbridge slipped completely from his thoughts. He hadn't even given a moment's consideration to what his first class of his final year might be.

“Honestly, Ced, you should be eating more,” Ashton commented, nudging him with an elbow. Ashton was already halfway through a mountain of scrambled eggs.

“Just thinking,” Cedric mumbled, trying to muster a smile.

“Thinking about NEWTs already?” Emily asked. She and Bethy slid onto the bench opposite them. Bethy was already piling her plate high with sausages.

“More like thinking about how little sleep well will get in our near future,” Cedric admitted, earning a sympathetic glance from Bethy.

Just then, Professor Sprout began moving through the tables, distributing parchment scrolls. “Seventh years! Your schedules for the year!” she announced cheerfully, handing Cedric his schedule.

Cedric unrolled the scroll, his eyes scanning the elegant script. Advanced Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology. Then, further down: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes.

Ashton leaned over his shoulder, his brow furrowing. “You dropped off from two subjects?” he asked, seeing the shorter list compared to his last year's.

Cedric nodded, folding his schedule meticulously. “Yeah, I won’t be able to cope up with all the subjects this year with my health.” He sighed, the memory of last year’s exhausting Triwizard Tournament and its lingering effects still fresh. “Mum told me not to take any elective subjects this year but I can’t leave Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. So I dropped off Alchemy and Divination.”

Ashton shook his head. “You got ten ‘O’ last year in OWLs, after the Triwizard Tournament, no less. You’re a nutcase, mate.”

Cedric sighed again. It was sad, actually. He had tried his best last year, along with the tournament, and still managed ten Outstanding OWLs. But now, with a special request to Headmaster Dumbledore, he’d been allowed to lessen his subjects to eight. It felt like a defeat, yet a necessary one.

“I take ten subjects this year,” Emily informed them, her own schedule spread out before her. “But I don’t know whether I’ll continue with Divination. It’s getting complex and complex day by day.”

Bethy was too busy looking at her schedule, a massive bread and cheese sandwich already appearing in her hand, to say anything immediately.

“I’m comfortable with my seven subjects, my talented friend,” Ashton said, gesturing dismissively at Emily.

“Oh, you all extra brilliant students! I took five subjects and I’m happy with those,” Bethy said suddenly, taking a huge bite of her sandwich.

“You are happy because you are too good in Potions to think about anything else,” Emily said, rolling her eyes.

Cedric chuckled. “And I’m good with my eight subjects,” he added, feeling a genuine sense of relief. This was good. He didn’t have to be perfect all the time. He could take only eight subjects and his friends wouldn’t care less. In fact, they seemed to understand. He was smiling at them when a voice said from directly behind him, “Why did you take eight subjects?”

Cedric turned to see Harry standing there awkwardly, clutching his own schedule. “Aren’t we able to drop off subjects when we reach NEWTs?” he asked, looking confused.

“We can,” Emily replied, looking up.

Harry shook his head. “Then why do you take eight subjects?” he glanced at Cedric.

“Because these people are crazy genius, Harry,” Bethy replied, gesturing to Cedric, Emily, and Ashton with her sandwich.

Harry shook his head again. “I thought there’s only Hermione who’s crazy enough to take thirteen subjects.”

“Thirteen!” Bethy exclaimed, nearly dropping her sandwich.

“She dropped off two later, but still,” Harry mumbled, now shifting his foot, finally meeting Cedric’s gaze for a second before looking away.

“How many subjects do you have this year?” Ashton asked, before Cedric could say anything.

“I – uh, seven, but I’ll drop off two next year,” Harry replied. “I don’t need all those subjects with Auror course.”

Emily’s eyebrows raised at that. “That’s a great choice, Harry. Good for you to know what you are going to be,”

“Eh, yeah,” Harry said, glancing at Cedric again, a nervous flick in his eyes. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.

Cedric’s heart skipped a beat. He stood up, excusing himself from his friends, and followed Harry out of the Great Hall. They walked a short distance down the corridor before Harry stopped, leaning against a stone pillar.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Harry said as soon as they were alone, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking right. And I was tired, um, I’m sorry.”

Cedric wasn’t sure what to expect, but he wasn’t expecting Harry to apologise. The tightness in his chest eased immediately. “Harry, it’s okay. I forgot about it the moment after that. And truthfully speaking, it’s my fault too. I was too scared with Umbridge being here and all ministry business and - and I insisted again and again to follow my request when you were already agreeing. I was wrong.”

“No, you were right,” Harry said, his voice low and raspy, the slight tremor in it betraying his exhaustion. “I was just… it’s been a lot. And I know what she’s like in the Hearing, I just don’t want to play her game here in Hogwarts. But you didn’t deserve me snapping at you like that, especially when you were just trying to help me keep my head down.”

Cedric exhaled slowly. “It’s fine, Harry, really. We’re all on edge” He looked at Harry, truly seeing the shadows under his eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. It wasn't just defiance; it was deep weariness.

“Still. Sorry,” Harry insisted, extending a hand. Cedric took it, a surprising warmth spreading through him as their palms met. Cedric had any instinct to pulled him closer and feel warmth. Cedric coughed to hide his sudden thought and smiled at Harry.

Harry looked him in the eye, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “So… we’re good?”

Cedric smiled back, a genuine, relieved smile. “We’re good.” The tension between them dissipated like smoke. He felt lighter, free.

When they re-entered the bustling hall, it felt a little brighter, the noise a little less overwhelming. They rejoined Ashton, Emily, and Bethy, who were still poring over their schedules.

“So, DADA is first for all of us,” Emily said, looking up with a grimace. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

Ashton groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I was hoping for something less... Pink. Or less toad-like.”

"She does look like a toad, right?" Harry asked.

“Now I can't unsee it,” Bethy muttered, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

Cedric glanced at Harry, who was now picking at a piece of toast, a determined glint in his eye. However, Cedric knew that Harry would not keep his head down. And Cedric, for all his careful planning and reduced subject load, knew he couldn’t stand by and watch Harry get into trouble. His own health might be fragile, but his loyalty wasn’t.

The bell for first period rang, a loud, piercing sound that cut through the Great Hall’s chatter. Students began to shuffle out, a mixture of anticipation and resignation on their faces. Cedric, Ashton, Emily, Bethy, along with a stream of other seventh-years made their way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Harry went to join his friends before leaving the Great hall.

The air in the corridor grew heavier with each step. The usual cheerful chaos of students was replaced by a subdued murmur. When they finally reached the classroom door, it was already open. The pungent smell of sickly sweet floral perfume hit them first, followed by the sight of the room itself. It was no longer the dusty, dark, or eclectic space they were used to. The walls were adorned with decorative pinkish wall hangings, the desks were neatly arranged in rows. At the front, behind a desk covered in frills, sat Dolores Umbridge, radiating an aura of menace in a shocking pink cardigan.

Her smile was wide and unblinking, revealing surprisingly large teeth. “Good morning, students,” she purred, her voice like honeyed. “Welcome to your final year of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Umbridge, and I am delighted to be your teacher.”

Cedric felt a shiver run down his spine, a premonition of the long, difficult year ahead. He found a seat next to Ashton.

She held up a slim, dull-grey textbook. “This, I am delighted to inform you, is your prescribed text for your final year of Defence Against the Dark Arts: ‘Basic Defence for Beginners’.”

A collective, bewildered murmur rippled through the class. Final year, and a beginner's book? Cedric felt his eyebrows rise. He wasn't sure what he'd expected – perhaps more complex spell-work, advanced theory, a deeper dive into countering dark curses – but certainly not this.

Umbridge’s gaze, surprisingly cold despite the saccharine smile, swept over them. “Now, I expect complete order, and a quiet, diligent approach to our studies. There will be no wand-waving, nor any fanciful notions of independent thought. Everything you need to know is in this book.”

A nervous cough from the front row. It was Bethy, usually so graceful on the Quidditch pitch, but notoriously clumsy in a classroom setting. She fumbled with her quill, sending it skittering across her desk.

Umbridge’s smile tightened, her eyes narrowing. “Miss Thompson, perhaps you should attempt to master the art of holding a quill before attempting to master anything more complex. Clumsiness is a most unsightly trait.” Bethy’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she shrank in her seat.

A Ravenclaw girl tentatively raised her hand. “Professor, surely for our N.E.W.T. year, we’ll be covering more advanced practical spells? This book seems to focus heavily on…”

Umbridge's gaze sweeping past the girl as if she were a ghost. “As I said, everything you need is here. Trust in the Ministry. Trust in your curriculum. There will be no further questions on the matter.”

Cedric, who had been about to raise his own hand, let it drop. He felt frustrated, but also a growing unease. This wasn't just strict; it was deliberately dismissive. Umbridge’s eyes, as they continued their survey of the class, landed on him for a split second, then slid away, almost as if he wasn't there at all.

He was about to open the useless textbook when Umbridge’s voice, now laced with an almost imperceptible edge, sliced through the air.

“Now, on a slightly less academic note,” she purred, drawing out the words, "it has come to my attention that there may be… certain… unstable elements within the student body, I meant some particular member. Students, perhaps, who have been afforded far too much favouritism by the Headmaster himself.”

Cedric’s blood ran cold. He frowned, his brow furrowing deeply. Him? Favouritism from Dumbledore? He honestly couldn’t think of a single instance where Dumbledore had shown him any particular favour, beyond the duty of Prefect his previous year and now Head Boy responsibilities. It was a bizarre accusation.

But Umbridge wasn't done. She paused, letting her words hang in the air, before continuing, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room. “Indeed, it seems some aspects of the student union body are not entirely… suitable. They are in dire need of shaping. Of proper guidance. A proper Head Boy, for instance, should embody stability, clear-headedness, and an unswerving loyalty to the Ministry.”

Cedric’s hands tightened into fists beneath the desk, his knuckles white. He ground his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He knew that she was talking about him. The deliberate slight, the veiled accusations – it was all leading somewhere.

Beside him, Ashton had gone rigid, his face rapidly turning a shade of angry scarlet. He looked like he was about to explode.

Across the room, Flora Wolpert, the Head Girl, stiffened. Her eyes flashed with anger. “Professor,” she said, her voice clear and cutting through the suffocating silence, "are you suggesting that our current Head Boy is not suitable? What exactly makes you think Cedric isn't right for the position?”

Umbridge’s smile widened, a truly chilling sight. She had clearly wanted that question. Her eyes fixed on Flora, seemed to gleam with triumph. “I am merely stating facts, Miss Wolpert. It is regrettable, of course, but there are certain students who, through… unfortunate circumstances, have become somewhat compromised. Disturbed, perhaps. It is widely known, for example, that Mr Diggory has previously aligned himself with an individual – who is quite clearly unstable himself. An individual who, I daresay, exerted an undue and unhealthy influence, perhaps even… controlled Mr Diggory’s mind.”

A stunned silence descended upon the classroom, broken only by the sharp intake of breath from various students. Ashton let out a low growl, gripping the edge of his desk.

“Indeed,” Umbridge continued, her voice gaining a venomous edge. “It is a tragedy to see a promising young wizard like Mr Diggory lose his capacity for independent thought. To be so easily swayed, so thoroughly… unhinged by another student's dangerous rhetoric. It truly is a shame. Perhaps, for his own good, for his own mental well-being, Mr Diggory should be away at home, recovering. Away from such… influences.”

Throughout the entire scathing, public humiliation, Cedric remained silent, his face a carefully constructed mask of impassivity. But inside, a cold, hard knot had formed in his stomach, and a silent, furious storm raged.

Chapter Text

The bell rang, signalling the end of class, but the humiliation lingered. As Cedric stepped into the crowded corridor, it was like walking into a wave of whispers. It's not the kind of whispers that he was used to.

The incidence in the 7th year DADA class spread faster than Cedric could have ever imagined. By the time he reached the second-floor landing, the whispers had coalesced into audible fragments. "Did you hear what Umbridge said about Diggory?" "Apparently he’s completely lost his mind…" "Needs to rest more, poor thing."

The looks he received were a brutal spectrum. Some students, particularly those with a keen eye for authority or a pre-existing dislike for his popularity, agreed with Professor Umbridge, their gazes critical, almost accusatory. They seemed to suggest he should be in hospital, that he was indeed failing in his duty as Head boy even though it was the first day. Others looked at him with pity, their eyes wide with concern, a few even offering hesitant and sympathetic smiles that felt like hot needles.

A Ravenclaw Student was whispering loudly as he went for his next class, "Heard Umbridge thinks he's making it up for attention."

“Diggory? Are you alright?” a third-year asked, clutching a stack of books. “You look a bit… frustrated,” she wanted to help him, but Cedric gently refused.

“Heard you’ve been recovering slowly, mate,” another, a fellow Hufflepuff said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. “You really need to rest more. I'm here, if you need anything, okay?” The words, meant kindly, twisted the knife deeper.

The journey to his next class, Ancient Runes, became a gauntlet. It was then that Emily materialized at his side. “Come on, Cedric,” she muttered, her hand subtly guiding him.

When a group of giggling Slytherin girls blocked their path, their whispers followed by snide glances in his direction, Emily didn’t hesitate. She bodily pushed one of them aside, a surprising amount of force behind her slight frame. "Excuse us," she snapped, her voice low and dangerous.

"Look at Diggory. Lost his nerve and his mind, seems like. Seeing things, are we, pretty boy?" Pansy Parkinson said loudly.

"Maybe he needs to visit St. Mungo's! They have wards for people who see things that aren't there."

"I don't know how I'll survive under his leadership, such a weak choice for Head boy," Parkinson continued.

Behind her, Bethy joined them, her wand already half-drawn. “Move it, Parkinson,” she growled, her eyes narrowed. “Unless you fancy a permanent sticking charm to your teeth.” The Slytherin girls, shocked by the sudden aggression from Hufflepuff, scampered away but their snickers echoed behind them.

Slytherins were the worst. They seemed to thrive on his discomfort, encouraging the situation more and more with pointed remarks and exaggerated yawns as he passed. “Looks like the golden boy's finally cracking!” one sneered from a classroom doorway. “Maybe you does need a lie-down, Diggory!” another added, making a show of pretending to faint.

By the end of the day, Cedric’s usual composure had shattered. The thought of facing the Great Hall, of enduring another hour of pitying stares, smug smirks, and whispered diagnoses was unbearable. He couldn't do it.

Instead, he found a helpful house-elf near the kitchens. "Excuse me," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, "would it be possible to have my dinner brought up to my room tonight? I'm... not feeling entirely well." The elf looked concerned but bobbed its head furiously, promising a delicious supper.

He locked his dorm room door and sank onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. The humiliation was a raw throbbing ache. He felt exposed, vulnerable and utterly ridiculous.

It was much later, after his untouched dinner tray had been spirited away that Ashton finally returned. "Ced, you in here?" he called out, pushing the door open. "Harry was looking for you. Said he heard about... well, you know. He seemed pretty worried."

Cedric felt a fresh wave of mortification wash over him. Harry. Of course, Harry had heard everything.

A groan escaped Cedric's lips, muffled by his pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, burrowing deeper into his covers, and lay perfectly still, pretending to be asleep. He heard Ashton sigh, then the soft click of the door as he left the room. Cedric didn't move until long after the sounds of the common room had faded into sleep. He just lay there, wishing he could disappear.

***

The first inkling Cedric had that he wasn't alone was a prickling sensation on his skin, a subtle shift in the air of the dorm room. He kept his eyes closed, hoping it was just a remnant of a dream, a lingering unease that would dissipate. But the feeling solidified, sharpened as though a pair of unseen eyes boring into him. He opened his eyes.

Harry Potter, cross-legged at the foot of his bed, was watching him.

Harry offered a small, hesitant smile that did nothing to soothe Cedric's agitated nerves, only intensifying the urge to disappear.

The memory of yesterday's debacle crashed over him, fresh and scalding. 'Cedric Diggory' —The name had always carried a certain weight, a quiet respect. He was the golden boy of Hufflepuff, effortlessly charming, excelling without arrogance, kind to all. Now, he felt like a caricature, a whispered joke. The admiring glances had been replaced by something far worse than disdain: pity.

He wanted to burrow under the covers, to become one with the mattress, to simply cease to exist until the shame had bled out of the very air. But before he could execute his escape, a hand rested on his arm.

Softly, Harry said, "Why are you avoiding me, Cedric?"

Cedric flinched, pulling his arm back slightly, though Harry didn't release it entirely. He had no answer ready, no shield against the directness of Harry’s gaze. He stared at the far wall, at the faint light struggling through the window, anywhere but at Harry.

The familiar sound of his dorm-mates' sleep filled the silence. Ashton's rhythmic snoring, a low rumble from the bed beside him. Franklin’s steady, quiet breathing. Archie’s barely perceptible sighs from across the room. All oblivious, all safe in their slumber, while Cedric felt utterly exposed.

"How did you get in here?" Cedric finally managed, his voice a hoarse whisper. "It's still... the middle of the night."

"Bethy let me in," Harry replied simply. His green eyes were steady. "Why are you avoiding me? You weren't in the Great hall either," he asked again, his tone softer this time, but no less insistent.

Cedric sighed, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. He tried the easy lie. "I'm tired, Harry. I just... I want to be alone."

Harry's eyes seemed to search his face with unsettling understanding. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, the unspoken words hanging heavy between them.

"I stayed silent in DADA," Harry finally said, his voice low. "Just like you asked." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "Umbridge tried everything, Cedric. She called me a liar, a delusional fool. She said Dumbledore wasn't suitable for Headmaster. She also said that you are naive for believing me. She even tried to goad me into using magic, into losing my temper. But I didn't. I just sat there. And I thought of you, your words and that help me stay calm,"

Cedric pushed himself up, leaning against the headboard, pulling the duvet higher, as if the thin fabric could offer some form of protection.

"I stayed silent too," Cedric confessed, his voice barely audible. "During all of it. Every insult, every sneer she threw at me, in front of everyone. I didn't fight back, and I felt like loosing." He closed his eyes for a moment, the humiliation still a bitter taste on his tongue. "But it's not just that, Harry. It's... the air has changed here. Hogwarts..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "It doesn't feel safe anymore. I don't feel secure in my own life. Not iny home, Not even here."

Harry scooted closer. The small space at the foot of the bed felt impossibly small. They sat there, side by side, bodies inches apart, two boys weighted by the shadow of a school, and a world, that was slowly losing its light.

Cedric leaned his head gently against Harry's shoulder, surrendering to the comforting warmth that enveloped them in the stillness of the night. As Harry's fingers began to weave through his hair, the soft rhythmic strokes sent waves of peacefulness coursing through Cedric's body, easing the tension that had built up over the day.

The darkness around them was a cocoon, wrapping them in a sense of safety and allowing Cedric to let go of his worries. With each tender caress, his eyelids grew heavier, and he found himself drifting into a peaceful slumber, the world around them fading away as he succumbed to the soothing embrace of sleep.

The lingering familiar fragrance of Harry was the only thing that convinced Cedric he hadn't merely dreamt it all. He'd woken up to an empty dormitory, the warmth from the other side of his bed long gone. The faint, familiar scent of woodsmoke and something indefinably ‘Harry’ was the first thing Cedric registered as he slowly drifted back to consciousness.

He lay there for a moment, the heavy silence of the Hufflepuff dorm punctuated only by the soft breathing of his sleeping roommates. A knot of worry tightened in his stomach. The previous night’s conversation replayed in his mind. He pushed back the sheets to get ready for the day.

Gonzo was sitting in the end of the bed, three large package resting on the table. Cedric read the address and who sent him those. It was Sirius's letter. He sent him some of the books that Cedric was reading during the summer holidays. He quickly wrote a thank you note and sent Gonzo back.

The familiar rush of students filled the corridors as Cedric made his way to the Great Hall slowly. His Head Boy badge felt unusually heavy on his robes and his walking stick felt like a burden. He scanned the Hufflepuff table first, spotting Ashton and Emily already halfway through their eggs and toast. Ashton gave him a reassuring nod, Emily offered a small, sympathetic smile. Cedric waved back.

His gaze drifted to the Gryffindor table. No sign of Harry yet, but Hermione was there, her nose buried in a book, a piece of toast hovering forgotten near her mouth. She was the most likely source of information he needed right now. Cedric started towards her, weaving through the crowded tables.

He was only a few steps towards the Gryffindor table when two familiar figures in scarlet robes materialized beside him, practically in sync.

"Morning, Diggory! Looking chipper for a man the Ministry thinks is off his rocker," George Weasley greeted.

"Yes, quite the compliment, isn't it?" Fred chimed in amused. "Being declared a raving lunatic by a ministry toad is something,"

Cedric managed a small, tired smile. “Is that so?”

“Rumour has it,” George added, lowering his voice mock-seriously, “that our dearest Professor Umbridge is already convinced you’ve gone utterly round the bend,”

Cedric couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so Umbridge's assessment got around Gryffindor, did it?"

"Only to everyone who matters," Fred declared.

"Frankly, we think it's a stroke of genius," George said leaning in conspiratorially. "You could accidentally hex her, blame it on your 'madness', and get off scot-free."

Cedric laughed, the absurd suggestion chasing away some of the morning's gloom. "I like the sound of that. Might have to remember it."

"See? Told you it was a good thing," Fred said, nudging George.

"Anyway, what brings the Hufflepuff Golden Boy to our humble den of lions this fine morning?" George asked theatrically, ushering Cedric towards their table.

"Just, uh, looking for a certain troubled friend. And some breakfast while I wait here," Cedric admitted, feeling some of the tension ease under their easygoing banter. The twins were an excellent distraction from his new confusing life.

"Ah, Harry," Fred said with an sigh. "Yes, he's been quite the ray of sunshine lately."

"Come on, we'll escort you," George offered. "Can't have our resident 'lunatic' wandering unsupervised."

They walked the rest of the way together, exchanging jokes about Umbridge's ridiculousness and the latest prank ideas from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. By the time they reached the Gryffindor table, Cedric felt lighter.

Hermione looked up from her enormous textbook, a faint smile touching her lips when she saw him. "Morning, Cedric. Fred, George."

"Morning, Hermione," Cedric replied, glancing around again. "Harry not down yet?"

Hermione's smile faltered slightly. "No, he's sleeping in."

Cedric nodded, choosing the seat opposite her. Other Gryffindors were eyeing him, a mixture of curiosity and something that looked like sympathy, but they politely looked away when he met their gaze. The twins flopped onto the benches on either side of him.

"So," Cedric began, lowering his voice slightly as he picked up a piece of toast. "How is he doing? Is there any... incidents in the Gryffindor house yet?"

Hermione sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke volumes. Even Fred and George's expressions turned grim.

"He's... not good, Cedric," Hermione started, pushing a piece of toast around her plate. "He had a huge row with Seamus and Dean yesterday. And he's just... angry all the time now. Snapped at Ron."

"We tried to cheer him up with some new products," Fred added, his voice unusually subdued. "But he just ignored us, said he was busy. He is isolating himself,"

"Yes, even we couldn't get a rise out of him, which is frankly worrying," George agreed, shaking his head.

"He snapped at me too," Cedric admitted, recalling the abrupt dismissal. "Just out of nowhere, when I was trying to warn him about Umbridge." He looked at Hermione, a shared understanding passing between them. "It's like he's looking for a fight, isn't it?"

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, running a hand through her bushy hair. "And then he just shuts down. It's exhausting. Why is he doing that?"

"Hard to watch, frankly," Fred murmured and they exchanged a dark look. “He’s been like that since he got back from the Wizengamot hearing,” George murmured.

They continued to talk, picking at their food, the conversation a heavy cloud around them, when a small timid first-year Hufflepuff approached the Gryffindor table.

"Um, excuse me... are you Cedric Diggory, the Head Boy?" the first-year squeaked, holding out a folded piece of parchment.

"That's me," Cedric confirmed, taking the letter.

"This is for you. From Professor Dumbledore."

"Oh, thank you," Cedric said, as the first-year scurried away. He unfolded it, his eyes quickly scanning the elegant, familiar script. '...After lunch break... Head Boy discussion...'

"Everything alright?" Hermione asked, noticing his expression.

"Yeah, just Dumbledore wants to see me after lunch. Head Boy stuff," Cedric replied, refolding the letter.

"Ah, the glamorous life of student leadership," Fred quipped.

"Don't worry," George added, "we won't tell Umbridge you're still sane enough for official duties."

The bell for first classes was about to ring, and they quickly finished the last of their breakfast.

"Well, we should get going," Hermione said, gathering her books. "I don't want to be late for Transfiguration."

"Right. See you all later," Cedric agreed, standing up with them.

After lunch break, Cedric made his way towards the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. He said the password – a ridiculously sweet-sounding one, as Dumbledore’s always were – and ascended the spiraling staircase.

The Headmaster's room was precisely as he remembered it from last year, ancient tomes, and the faint scent of old books. Being a prefect had led him here a couple of times, but today felt different. More significant.

Headmaster Dumbledore was seated in the middle of the room, behind his expansive, cluttered desk. He looked up as Cedric stood in the entrance, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the light filtering through the tall windows. A warm smile touched his lips.

"Diggory, do come in," Dumbledore greeted. He gestured towards the comfortable armchair opposite his desk. "Take a seat."

Cedric sat down, feeling the plush velvet beneath him and Dumbledore began with his customary polite small talk.

He inquired about Cedric's classes, the workload, and his progressing health. Then with a twinkle in his eye, asked about his new significant role as Head Boy of Hogwarts. Cedric replied as politely, describing the initial adjustments and the satisfaction of helping younger students, until they reached the particular topic that had been the actual reason for this summons.

"And how have you found Professor Umbridge's classes, Cedric?" Dumbledore's tone remained mild, but his gaze was unusually keen.

Cedric’s face immediately flushed a deep crimson with embarrassment, the memory of the incident still stinging. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, Headmaster," he began, trying to keep his voice steady, "they're… certainly unique. Quite different from what we're used to."

He hesitated, then decided a partial truth was better than a complete evasion. "Professor Umbridge rather… she made it clear in class that she felt I wasn't suitable for Head Boy duty. She questioned my judgment, my understanding of order, and suggested I was too 'unstable' for such a role." He left out the more cutting remarks, the dismissive wave of her hand, the way other students had stared at him now.

Dumbledore's expression remained calm, yet a subtle shift in his eyes suggested a deep understanding. "Ah, yes," he murmured, almost to himself. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. "Diggory, I want you to understand something about Professor Umbridge. Her criticisms, particularly those directed at you, stem not from genuine concern for your capabilities, but from a profound insecurity regarding her own position. You understand that she is here on behalf of the Ministry, right?" He asked.

Cedric nodded. "I understand that, Sir,"

"You were in the graveyard that night, Diggory. You are the sole witness of what happened there and whether Harry is telling the truth or not. You have that power over her," Dumbledore told him. When Cedric remained silent, he continued,

"You, being in the school, especially after that incident in the triwizard tornament is a hazard to her plan. You are not only here but in a position of such influence as Head Boy of Hogwarts, represent a particular kind of threat to her perception of order and control."

Cedric blinked, surprised. A threat? He hadn't thought of it like that.

"She wishes to eliminate this perceived threat by forceful means – by undermining your authority and confidence," Dumbledore continued, his voice softer now, almost a murmur of reassurance. "The fact that you were strong enough not to lash out at her words, that you remained calm and composed and your magical core didn't strike to her, speaks volumes. It shows that your core magic, your very being is stable enough to absorb such an insult without fracturing. It is a rare and admirable quality, Diggory."

He then looked Cedric directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "My decision to make you Head Boy was never wrong. There is no one better suited for this position, no one with a stronger moral compass or a more steadfast spirit. You embody the very best of Hogwarts."

Cedric’s mood lifted immediately, the weight of Umbridge’s acidic words dissolving under Dumbledore’s unwavering faith. He felt a profound sense of relief, a warmth spreading through his chest. "Thank you, Headmaster," he said, heartfelt. "I… I understand. And I will do my best."

Dumbledore smiled, a genuine and warm expression. "I know you will. Now, on a somewhat different note, I wished to discuss your potential help concerning the Order of the Phoenix. Specifically, your help in finding a safe way into the Ministry of Magic Mystery department."

Cedric felt a jolt of anticipation. This was it. This was the real reason he was here. Dumbledore seemed to grow subtly worried as he discussed the logistics, the high security, the vital importance of discretion.

"Is the 'weapon' hidden there, Headmaster?" Cedric asked, the question escaping him before he could properly censor it. The other Order members didn't want him to know about it but being a member also benefited Cedric to hear stuffs here and there.

Dumbledore's smiled though it was a touch more weary. He nodded slowly. "Indeed, Diggory. But rest assured," he added, his eyes regaining their twinkle, "it is heavily guarded by members of the Order. It is not something that can be easily accessed or removed."

"Tea?" Dumbledore offered, a steaming cup appearing as if by magic. Cedric took a cup politely.

Dumbledore took a slow sip of his own, his eyes, studying Cedric over the rim of his cup. "Hogwarts, Cedric, is more than just stone and mortar. It is a living entity, its spirit forged from generations of learning, laughter, and... defiance. Of late, however, I fear its very essence is being... stifled."

Cedric nodded, understanding. The atmosphere under Professor Umbridge was suffocating. Lessons were rote, creativity was frowned upon, individuality was crushed.

"My hands are bound, Diggory," Dumbledore said, "Ministry hold a power over Hogwarts,"

"Can't you do anything?" Cedric asked. Dumbledore shook his head.

"I don't. But you, As Head Boy," Dumbledore continued, "you bear a unique opportunity, a responsibility not merely to uphold the rules, but to foster the true spirit of this institution. You have a keen sense of fairness, a natural ability to inspire trust amongst your peers, and a quiet strength that often goes unnoticed until it is most needed."

Cedric felt a blush creep up his neck. He wasn't used to such praise, especially not from Dumbledore.

"When certain... educational decrees seek to prune rather than cultivate, to divide rather than unite," Dumbledore mused, his gaze drifting to a particularly ornate telescope, "what is a school to do? What are its students, its members, to do?"

He paused, turning back to Cedric. "True strength, Diggory, does not lie in individual talent alone, formidable though it may be. It lies in the symphony of talents, in a cohesive structure where each part understands its purpose and contributes to the whole."

Cedric listened, his brow furrowed initially in polite concentration, then in growing confusion. Dumbledore always spoke in riddles, but this felt particularly opaque.

"Imagine, if you will," Dumbledore continued, He picked up a small, intricately carved wooden bird. "This little fellow, on its own is a charming trinket. But a flock of them, flying in formation, moving with a single purpose... that is a force to be reckoned with. A collective will, a shared understanding of principles that are being... eroded."

Cedric's mind raced. Cohesive structure... unison... collective will... The words, precise and innocuous on their own, began to electrifying implication. Dumbledore wasn't talking about school spirit. He wasn't talking about house unity.
His eyes, widening incrementally with each veiled phrase, finally locked onto Dumbledore’s with a sudden, profound understanding.

The surprise quickly morphed into a complex knot of emotions: trepidation at the danger, a surge of adrenaline at the sheer audacity, and a reluctant, yet compelling, sense of purpose. He was Head Boy. His duty was order. But wasn't defending the true spirit of Hogwarts, its very soul, the most profound order of all?

"Diggory, my boy," Dumbledore finally said, his voice soft but resonant, "sometimes, the greatest order is born from a necessary disorder. Think on it."

He merely nodded, a silent acceptance of the extraordinary task Dumbledore had just, without ever truly asking, laid at his feet. Cedric felt a wave of relief, followed by a sudden, intense apprehension.

"Is there's anything else you want to know about, Diggory?" Dumbledore's smile returned.

He hesitated, fiddling with the hem of his robe, before finally steeling himself. "Headmaster," he began, his voice a little softer than he intended, "there's something… personal. Something I haven't told anyone."

Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow, an invitation to continue.

"I've seen the Thestrals when I arrived at Hogwarts," Cedric confessed, the words tumbling out. "Which is… odd, isn't it? Because I didn't actually see anyone die that night. I mean, not in the way people does believe. Not consciously." He took a breath, then plunged into the memory that still haunted his quiet moments. "That night… when the curse hit me… I was in a white void. A blinding, silent place. And I saw Lily Potter. She was there, just for a moment, we talked and she said I shouldn't be there, that it's not my time yet and then… then I was back. Back in my body, back in the graveyard."

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment, his blue eyes distant, as if sifting through invisible threads of magic and memory.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "Diggory, the Killing Curse, when it truly connects, is an act of absolute finality. It severs the soul from the body. Your soul, in that terrible moment, was indeed slashed by the curse. But because of… unique circumstances or we may say because of Wormtail's unintentional curse, it was not fully severed. Instead, it was sent to a different place. A place where it should not have been."

Cedric leaned forward, captivated. "Where?"

"A realm that borders on what we understand as death. A liminal space. The reason you saw Lily Potter was not a delusion; it was a glimpse into a profound connection, perhaps even an intervention, that allowed your return. And the reason you now see Thestrals," Dumbledore concluded, his gaze softening, "is because of that momentary, fractured journey. You have experienced death, in a way few still living ever truly do."

Cedric felt a chill, then a strange sense of validation. It explained so much. But then another thought struck him. "Then… why does Harry see Thestrals, Headmaster? He saw me fall, he saw HIM return, but he didn't… he didn't go seeing death."

Dumbledore nodded again, a faint sadness in his eyes. "Even with you being alive, Cedric, Harry might still be haunted by the raw memory of the graveyard. By Voldemort's return, by the sight of you falling to the ground, seemingly lifeless. For Harry, the Thestrals could serve as a constant, visible reminder of that horrific event, potentially intensifying his feelings of responsibility and isolation."

Cedric’s eyes widened in surprise. "You know Harry's… he's trying to isolate himself?" Cedric was concerned now, Harry's behaviour wasn't normal as he thought. "But why, Headmaster? Is Harry in danger?" A sudden, cold dread clenched his heart.

Dumbledore's expression, which had been serene and understanding just moments before, now clouded with a profound worry. His gaze became distant, fixed on something unseen beyond Cedric's shoulder. He didn't reply immediately, and the silence stretched, heavy and ominous. Cedric's heart seemed to stop, waiting for an answer. Was Harry in more danger than he knew?

Finally, Dumbledore sighed. He met Cedric's anxious gaze again, and his blue eyes were filled with a regretful concern. "Harry," he said, his voice quiet, "will be safe, Cedric. As long as he has his friends. As long as he has his family, whether by blood or by bond, surrounding him. That, more than anything, is his true protection."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air, a thinly veiled warning suggesting that this fragile safety was contingent on Harry accepting the love and support around him.

Cedric left the Headmaster's office that day feeling both reassured and deeply worried.

The History of Magic classroom hummed with Professor Binns's drone, but Cedric barely registered it as he slipped through the door. His heart sank. Every bench was full, students crammed in, save for one tiny sliver of space. It was next to Franklin and Archie.

He sighed, making his way over, trying to be discreet. Franklin, noticing him, subtly scooted further into Archie, who was already pressed against the wall. Archie’s face, already a little pink, began to deepen to an alarming shade of crimson.

Cedric squeezed onto the end of the bench, feeling the awkward tension radiating from both of them. Five minutes ticked by, punctuated only by the drone of Professor Binns and the scratch of quills. No one spoke.

Finally, Archie cleared his throat, his voice barely a whisper. "Um, Cedric? Would you mind... sitting somewhere else?"

Cedric blinked, surprise washing over him. "Excuse me?" He looked from Archie's flushed face to Franklin's rigid profile. "What's going on? You two have been avoiding me since we got back to Hogwarts. Why?"

Franklin remained mute, staring fixedly at his textbook. Archie gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. "Just... please. Could you just find another seat?"

Frustration bubbled up inside Cedric. He leaned forward, his voice low and tight. "I'm not mad!" He glared at them both, demanding an explanation.

Finally, Franklin, without looking up, mumbled, "Our parents... they're very strict about who we associate with."

Cedric felt a cold shock. "What? You're seventeen! You're still doing whatever your parents say without using your own brains? We were friends!"

Archie flinched at the sharpness in Cedric's tone. "Yes. We were," he said, his voice flat. "That's a past tense here. We aren't friends anymore."

"Why?" Cedric demanded, bewildered.

Franklin finally lifted his gaze, meeting Cedric's for a fleeting second. "As long as you're friends with Harry and support his crazy ideas," he said, his voice barely audible, "we can't talk to you."

Cedric stared, speechless for a moment, then let out a slow sigh. He pushed himself up from the bench. It made no sense. He shook his head and moved away, scanning the room for another spot.

He spotted Ashton, Emily, and Bethy squashed together on a bench near the back. It was clearly already too crowded, but he had no choice.

"Mind if I cram in?" he asked, already sliding onto the end, elbow to elbow with Ashton. They shifted, making just enough room. It was tight, but at least these faces weren't frozen in fear or awkwardness.

Bethy, who was closest to him, patted his arm gently. "Hey, Cedric. Have you met Harry?" she whispered, her eyes twinkling.

Cedric glanced at her, a small, tired smile touching his lips. "Today or last night?" he asked, half-joking.

Bethy giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Oh, so you two met. Harry was looking for you at dinner last night. So I told him to meet me at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. Guess what? The lunatic actually showed up at midnight! Crazy enough to be there in the middle of the night." She shook her head in fond disbelief. "So, I let him in."

Cedric's eyebrows shot up. "And no one saw him in the Hufflepuff common room?"

Bethy shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "He had an invisibility cloak."

Cedric's eyes widened. He hadn't known that. "An invisibility cloak, huh?"

"That boy is crazy," Bethy reiterated, her lips twitching with amusement.

Cedric chuckled, the tension from the earlier encounter finally easing a little. "Apparently, we both are, and ministry is fed-up with us," he agreed, picturing Harry, cloak and all, sneaking into Hufflepuff.

After the classes ended, Franklin and Archie left the room before anyone could leave their seat. Cedric packed his books slowly as Ashton went to Flora for a discussion. Slowly Cedric stood up and followed the other students out of the classroom.

“Does he think he’ll turn into a nutter if he stays in a room with me too long?!” Harry asked, his voice a little too loudly in the bustling corridor as he called after one of his fellow classmates. Neville shook his head and stopped him before Harry could say more.

A third-year Gryffindor practically trip over his own feet as he sped away from the furious gaze.

Emily and Bethy was already halfway down the hall when Cedric emerged from the classroom and waved hurried goodbyes, clearly not wanting to be caught in Harry’s storm.

Ashton was deep in conversation with Flora, presumably discussing charm notes and told Cedric to go ahead.

Cedric looked at Harry. Harry’s eyes were blazing with emerald fire, fixed on the retreating form of the Gryffindor who seemed intent on putting as much distance as possible between himself and Harry.

Cedric flung his arm around Harry’s shoulders with effortlessly. "Terrorizing fellow Gryffindor, are we?" he asked, his voice a low and amused.

Harry, who had been bracing for a lecture or perhaps just ignoring the world, looked up. The hard lines around his mouth softened and the anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by a genuine, blinding smile that made light dance in his eyes. Cedric’s heart skipped a beat, a sudden, unexpected flutter in his chest.

"Cedric!" Harry exclaimed, the tension melting away from his shoulders.

Cedric smiled back. "What are you doing here, Harry? Don't you have classes?"

Harry shrugged, leaning slightly into Cedric's comforting weight. "Nah, I’m headed for the library, or Hermione will hex me into oblivion for not finishing my Transfiguration essay."

"Oh, perfect! Let's go together, then. I have a free period," Cedric said, his arm remaining firmly around Harry’s shoulder as they began to walk at a slow, unhurried pace, moving against the flow of students toward the library.

"So, you were yelling at your friend?" Cedric prompted gently, his voice devoid of judgment.

"Seamus, he is avoiding me," Harry told him. "I don't know what happened but he was determined not to talk to me,"

"Yelling isn't the solution," Cedric pointed out.

"Well, he deserved that," Harry grumbled, though the heat had left his tone. "We have this bloody Transfiguration essay, and Charms, and a mountain of Potions notes that Snape assigned just to spite me, I'm sure. And then there's Umbridge, she was saying something awful about Neville earlier. I stayed quiet but then Seamus goes and says something ridiculous about how I should just stop lying!"

Cedric sighed, but didn't press the issue further. He simply listened, letting Harry vent about the growing workload that felt like an Everest of parchment and the ever-present shadow of Snape’s sneering disapproval. He listened patiently, offering a quiet murmur of understanding here and there.

"If you want," Cedric offered, once Harry had wound down a little, "I could give you a hand with those Potions assignments. I’ve always found Snape’s methods... Unique, but solvable."

Harry looked up at him, surprised and a little touched. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course," Cedric said easily. "What are friends for?" He tightened his arm around Harry's shoulder briefly.

"Well, thanks, I might take you up on that," Harry said, a genuine smile returning. He then shifted topics, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "What about your housemates? Are they all… you know, super cheerful and welcoming?"

Cedric shrugged, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. "They're tolerable. I don't really care what they think or do, to be honest."

Harry glanced at him sharply, as though he couldn't believe Cedric – the golden Hufflepuff, the school champion – could say such a thing. "Really?"

Cedric nodded. "Really. There are greater things for us to do than worry about what some idiots think or say. I've already wasted a whole day on the toad Umbridge's venomous insults. I'm not going to do that again," He chuckled, a low, warm sound.

"Wow, they changed our golden boy into a political figure!" Harry looked surprised.

"Harry, I was never a traditional golden boy, not really. People just assume it because I try not to set things on fire. But I know what’s good for me, what’s right and wrong for me, and what I need to do to make my point understood."

"So, what are you going to do?" Harry asked, intrigued.

Cedric leaned closer, his breath warm against Harry’s ear and felt Harry shivered. "For now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, "we stay low. We feel the water before we pull the gun."

Harry blinked, then a genuine peal of laughter burst from him, echoing softly in the quiet hall. "That's a Muggle word, Cedric!"

"Is it?" Cedric feigned surprise, though his eyes twinkled. "Well, there you go. Told you I was never a traditional golden boy in the first place."

Harry’s mood seemed to soar at that, the last vestiges of his frustration and anger dissolving into a lightness that settled comfortably around him. He leaned into Cedric’s side. Cedric felt a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the sun streaming through the arched windows.

***

In a far corner, tucked away amongst dusty tomes on various magics and forgotten charms, Cedric and Harry found their sanctuary. They spent most of their free time in this corner last few days.

Harry slumped onto a worn armchair, the low light from a nearby window painting streaks across his face, as parchments of potion essay layed out in the table. They were doing their homework as last few days but today their topic of discussion diverted to something else. Cedric sat opposite him, his posture more relaxed, but his gaze sharp with concern.

“I just… I don’t understand, Cedric,” Harry was saying, his voice barely a whisper. “Seamus… he’s always been alright. I always liked him. And now he’s looking at me like I'm the wrong one here, like I’m lying.” He ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, “How many more people are going to suggest that I’m lying or unhinged? That I’ve cracked?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes unfocused. “I’ve been thinking…you know, Dumbledore must have felt like this all summer. First the Wizengamot, then the International Confederation of Wizards… thrown him from their ranks. Just like that. Because he told the truth.”

Cedric nodded slowly, his expression serious. “It’s difficult, Harry. It really is. But we have to understand that this is a war. And sometimes, you have to sacrifice some things to gain others.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You have to understand that, people aren’t always right or wrong. There’s a big part of grey areas. Look at our Ministry of Magic, Fudge, for example. That man wasn’t bad, not truly, but he wasn’t a good one either.”

Harry looked at him then, his eyes heavy-lidded, as if he wanted to simply close them and rest for a bit. He was tired, Cedric understood. Tired of the whispers, tired of the doubt, tired of the very word ‘war’ that had defined his entire existence.

Cedric reached out, his hand gently covering Harry’s where it rested on his knee. He squeezed it lightly. Harry was just a child when this all started, Cedric thought, a mere infant. His whole life, surrounded by war, by death, by the fight.

Cedric’s heart ached for him. Without a word, he moved, leaning closer and reached out, pulling Harry into a tight hug. Harry melted into the embrace, the rigid tension in his shoulders easing. He brought his own arms around Cedric, holding on tightly and burying his face against Cedric’s shoulder.

“I’m just so… tired, I feel exhausted with my life, with all this politics that wanted to ruin my life. Hermione and Ron wanted to help but I don't know how to reach out to them. They have a life, a family and loved ones. I- I don't know to whom I should go,” Harry mumbled, the word muffled against Cedric’s robes.

Cedric tightened his hold, rubbing Harry’s back gently. “You’re just a fifteen-year-old boy, Harry,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve gone through more than most wizards twice your age.”

They stayed like that, Cedric stroking his hair, as Harry rested his head on his shoulder. "You have me, if you want to talk. You have Sirius, you have Remus. And I know for certain that you definitely have Hermione and Ron by your side,"

"Hogwarts was my home, it always felt like one but now-" Harry mumbled, "Now I'm not feeling that warmth here, Dumbledore is avoiding me, Umbridge was making sure I don't live peacefully, she even disbanded me to play quidditch,"

Harry pulled back a bit, enough to look up, his eyes now fixed on Cedric’s. A new thought, a flicker of doubt, entered his gaze. “Was it anger at me, perhaps, that had stopped Dumbledore getting in touch with me for months?” he asked, the question fragile. “Dumbledore had believed me at first, announced my version of events to the whole school and then to the wider Wizarding community. And now, anyone who thought I was a liar had to think that Dumbledore was too,”

He trailed off and then buried his face in Cedric’s arm once more, seeking the familiar comfort. His voice, muffled against the fabric, was thick with a new kind of anguish. “Are you angry too?” he asked, the question barely audible. “Your life… your life changed because of me.”

Cedric shook his head, looking away for a brief moment, a private thought crossing his features before he met Harry’s eyes again. He tightened his arm around Harry. “No, Harry. Not at all. Never.” He assured him, his voice unwavering. “I’m glad I'm here. Glad you’re here along with me.” He was about to tell more, to explain why, to articulate the depth of his understanding, but he stopped. He wasn’t sure Harry would understand. Not yet.

Instead, he held Harry for another long moment, letting the quiet strength of his presence speak volumes. Then, he pulled back just enough to look Harry in the eye, offering a small, reassuring smile.

“They’ll know we’re right in the end, Harry,” Cedric told him, his voice filled with a quiet certainty.

Chapter Text

It felt a lifetime ago that first letter had arrived, tearing Harry Potter from the cupboard under the stairs and into a world he never knew existed. In his eleventh birthday, Hagrid arrived with the revelation he was a wizard. It had been glorious, making friends like Ron and Hermione, learning spells, discovering he wasn’t alone in the world. He'd even liked it enough to forgive his Headmaster for leaving him with those beasts.

Second year had been… complicated. The whispers had started then, too, doubts questioning his very existence, accusing him of being the Heir of Slytherin. He'd cleared his name, rescued Ron's little sister from the monstrous Basilisk in the hidden Chamber of Secrets. He was a hero then, wasn't he?

Third year brought Sirius, his godfather, the only magical family left. He found a hope, a connection to the world he truly belonged in. For a brief moment, there had been the promise of a home, of family beyond the Dursleys. A promise shattered, of course, like so many others.

But it was fourth year that truly broke him. The Triwizard Tournament. His name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. Another year of unwanted attention, of being singled out. There had been Cho Chang, a beautiful Ravenclaw, whom he'd had a clumsy fumbling crush on for months. He’d wanted to ask her to the Yule Ball, but he’d been too late, too awkward, too focused on the tasks, too… distracted.

Fifth year. It was supposed to be easier, or at least less terrifying, than last year. But the nightmares were relentless, a nightly replay of the Triwizard Cup, the graveyard, the green flash—always the green flash and Cedric's body falling lifeless—and then that empty corridor where he’d walk and look for help that never came.

Daylight offered no true escape. Every breakfast in the Great Hall felt like an interrogation. Heads turned. Whispers followed him like malignant shadows. He saw the pity, the fear, the outright disbelief in their eyes. They thought he was mad, a liar, a attention-seeker. He couldn't eat. Food turned to ash in his mouth under the weight of their judgemental stares.

And then there was Umbridge. Her sickly sweet smile was a torture device, her voice like treacle-coated razor blades. Defence Against the Dark Arts, once one of his favourite subjects, was now just another subject. Quidditch, his one true escape, his one place of unadulterated joy, was gone. Disbanded. Forbidden. The fire in his belly, once fueled by the thrill of the chase, had dwindled to a cold cinder.

Hagrid was gone, Dumbledore, the man who was supposed to be his protector, his mentor, wasn't talking to him. Everything he loved, everything that grounded him, was shattering, fragment by agonizing fragment. He was adrift in a sea of despair.

And then there was Cedric.

Cedric Diggory. That seventh-year student, a beacon of unexpected light in the suffocating gloom. He’d catch Harry’s eye across the Great Hall, or in a crowded corridor, and offer a slow, kind smile that seemed to melt some of the ice around Harry’s heart.

Harry found himself watching him, his gaze snagging on the small, endearing quirks: the frown line that appeared between Cedric’s brows when he wrestled with an ancient runes book, the way he’d absentmindedly rub his close-cropped hair when deep in thought, or chew on the end of his quill, eyes narrowed in concentration as he arranged his assignments. Simple things, mundane things, yet to Harry, they were moments of profound, unexpected beauty.

And Harry Potter was having an existential crisis.

He knew he had a crush on Cho Chang – she was pretty, popular, and… well, she was Cho. He liked Angelina Johnson more than just a Quidditch teammate; her fiery spirit and fierce loyalty had always drawn him in. And Ginny… Ginny had grown into a strikingly attractive witch, her red hair and bright eyes a familiar comfort. He knew all this. He knew these feelings. They were normal, expected.

But then there was Cedric.

And how Harry liked it when Cedric rolled up his robes’ sleeves, revealing his strong, lean forearms dusted with fine, golden hair. Harry found himself wanting to touch Cedric’s hair, to trace the line of his jaw. He loved whenever Cedric, in a moment of casual, reached out to stroke his arm, a brief, warm pressure, or when he’d run his fingers through Harry’s perpetually messy hair in a comforting gesture after a particularly difficult DADA lesson.

It wasn't the fleeting, butterfly-in-the-stomach feeling he got with Cho, or the admiring warmth for Angelina, or the comfortable affection for Ginny. This was… different. Deeper. More visceral.

Why was he feeling so much for Cedric? It made no sense. He was a boy. A boy.

He tried to look at other boys of his year, to see if this was some new, baffling phase. Ron, his best friend, felt like looking at his brother; the very thought was absurd. Dean Thomas seemed attractive enough, in an objective way, but there was no spark. Neville Longbottom had glowed up drastically over the summer, shedding his awkwardness to reveal a quiet, handsome confidence. But again, Harry found him brotherly handsome, a comfort, not a craving.

Then, a cold jolt of realization hit him, washing over him like a wave. Oliver Wood. His former Quidditch Captain. Harry had always admired him. Adored him, even. His fierce determination, his passion for the game, the way he commanded the team…

Harry had always chalked it up to hero-worship, a younger student looking up to an older, talented athlete. But now, with this fresh, terrifying lens of self-discovery, Harry realised that what he thought was admiration, actually, had been something else entirely. A flush crept up his neck.

And it scared him. Terrified him. He was already losing everything. His reputation, his friends' trust, his sanity, his passion. This, his understanding of himself, his own desires, his own heart – this was his only remaining normality. To question that, to fundamentally change that, felt like the final blow. He was scared to change the last, fragile piece of himself that felt whole.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, wished more than anything that he could simply… un-feel.

The rich red and gold of his four-poster bed curtains seemed to glow in the dim light of the dormitory.

Harry lay sprawled on his back, staring up at the intricate patterns woven into the fabric. It was Sunday morning, and technically, he didn't have to wake up so soon, but Cedric had insisted on meeting him in the library after breakfast to help with his Potions essay. It was sweet of him, profoundly so, but Harry really just wanted to sink deeper into the warmth of his duvet.

He could hear the rhythmic breathing of Ron and Seamus from their beds, deep in sleep. But there was another sound, a soft rustle, a faint scratching, and the occasional clink of a jar. Someone was already up. Someone had woken up early. Curiosity overriding his desire for more sleep, Harry eagerly pulled back the heavy velvet curtains.

Dean was already up, meticulously arranging a swirl of vibrant paints and crumpled parchments on his trunk, which he’d clearly pulled out to serve as a makeshift desk. He looked up at the sound of Harry's curtains, a smile instantly brightening his face. "Morning, Harry," he whispered, before going back to his latest art project.

"Morning, Dean," Harry mumbled back, a small smile forming on his own lips.

He stretched, then swung his legs out of bed. He pulled on a t-shirt that Hermione had given him last birthday – it was a simple green, but the faint scent of lavender clinging to the fabric always made him think of fresh air. Adjusting his round glasses on his nose, he decided he still had time before needing to meet Cedric.

Reaching under his pillow, he pulled out the unfinished letter to Sirius. He read it through, his lips twisting slightly as he remembered Umbridge's latest pronouncements. Picking up his quill, he dipped it in ink and added a furious paragraph about the latest unfair judgments Umbridge was dishing out to his friends, simply for talking to him, for daring to believe him. Sealing the parchment with a dab of wax, he slipped it into his pocket.

Time to find Hedwig before breakfast.

The castle was still, hushed in the early morning quiet. Footsteps echoed faintly on the stone floors as he made his way through the deserted corridors. The cool morning air, crisp with the promise of sunrise, drifted in through the high windows. Harry was absent-mindedly looking around, enjoying the unusual peace, when he rounded the corner to the owlery corridor.
She was there.

Cho Chang, looking effortlessly radiant even in the soft morning light, was tying a small letter to the leg of a sleepy Barn Owl.

Harry's heart did a strange little skip-stutter. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. "Erm... hi, Cho," he stammered, feeling his cheeks warm.

Cho turned, her dark eyes sparkling as she saw him. A gentle smile touched her lips. "Oh, hi, Harry!" she greeted back, her voice soft. "Just sending a letter to my mum. She's been a bit under the weather the last few days."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said. "Is she alright?"

They talked for a few moments, about Cho's mother, about the quiet morning, about the impending Quidditch trials. Cho's fingers fiddled with a stray lock of her dark hair, tucking it behind her ear with a shy, almost nervous gesture. Her smile was frequent, shy, and sweet. Harry found himself smiling back, feeling the tentative stirrings of something pleasant in his chest.

As she prepared to leave, a final hesitant wave from Cho led to her foot catching on an uneven flagstone. She stumbled forward, a small gasp escaping her lips. Instinctively, Harry reached out, his hand closing gently around her arm, steadying her before she could fall.

Cho righted herself, and a flush crept up her neck, making her cheeks a delicate rose. "Oh! Thanks, Harry," she whispered, her eyes meeting his for a brief, flustered moment before she quickly pulled away. "Well... see you around!" And then she was gone, disappearing around the bend in the corridor.

Harry watched her go, his hand still lingering in the air where he'd held her. He was supposed to feel happy, giddy even. Cho Chang had just smiled at him, they'd talked, and he'd even saved her from a tumble. He found Cho very attractive, undeniably so.

But as he thought about it, that rush, that unique, familiar warmth, like sunshine on his skin, wasn't there. It was… pleasant. A nice feeling. But not that feeling.

All of a sudden, Cho wasn't quite as attractive as… Cedric

Harry stumbled to a stop, the realization hitting him with the force of a Bludger to the gut. He gulped, his stomach plummeting. He just thought that Cho wasn't as much attractive to him as Cedric!

Harry was aware that he was having a mix feelings about Cedric but to compare it with Cho!

Cedric Diggory, his friend! How had that happened? What was happening? Why was he feeling all that?

He tried to focus on Cho's smiling face, her pretty blush, the faint, sweet scent of her perfume that he'd smelled when he helped her steady. They were pleasant, yes.

But they utterly paled in comparison to the resonant depth of Cedric's voice when he laughed, the knowing quirk of his lips when he caught Harry by surprise, or that distinct, warm fragrance that always reminded Harry of sun-baked earth and fresh pine. A fragrance that was uniquely Cedric’s, a scent Harry had unconsciously started comparing to sunrays themselves.

The morning air, once crisp and new, suddenly felt heavy with an unspoken truth. He wasn't thinking about Cho Chang anymore. He was thinking about Cedric. He felt a weird mix of panic and a strange, quiet thrill.

Two hours later, Harry found himself walking across the polished library floor, his stomach fluttering with an unfamiliar blend of anticipation and nerves.

The heavy oak door of the library creaked shut behind Harry as he stepped inside, his eyes immediately scanning the familiar rows of books. He found Cedric in their usual corner, bathed in a sliver of sunlight from the high window.

Harry’s breath hitched. Cedric was already there, hunched over a scroll of parchment, but he wasn't wearing his usual robes. He was wearing a deep navy Kashmiri woolen sweater that seemed to cling to his broad shoulders, paired with simple dark trousers. The soft wool somehow accentuated the strong line of his throat and the sharp angle of his jaw, making his features seem more defined, more… Muggle. And impossibly handsome. Harry felt a sudden, inexplicable tightening in his chest.

Cedric looked up, a warm smile blossoming on his face as he spotted Harry. "There you are, Potter! Thought you'd gotten lost in your way here."

Harry, caught utterly off guard by the sheer warmth of that smile and the brightness in Cedric's eyes, fumbled with the parchment and quills he was carrying, busying himself with clattering them onto the polished wooden table, as if the precise alignment of his inkpot was a matter of life or death. He avoided eye contact, his ears feeling hot. "Just… preparing. Lot to get through today."

Cedric chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "Right. Well, let's see what horrors Snape has inflicted upon you this week." He leaned over, reaching for Harry's Potions essay. The scent of parchment and something subtly masculine – maybe Cedric’s soap, or just him – wafted over, making Harry's concentration even harder to grasp.

"It's the essay on lunar cycles and potion efficacy," Harry mumbled, trying to focus on the words on his page. "I think I've confused a few of the phases."

"You've confused the entire solar system, Harry," Cedric said, his voice a playful murmur as he read. "And no, a full moon doesn't make a Potion of Forgetfulness more effective, it makes it poisonous. Merlin, Harry, were you even listening last class?"

Harry darted a quick glance at Cedric, who was now tracing a line on the parchment with his finger, his brow furrowed in mock seriousness. "I was… preoccupied."

Cedric sighed dramatically. "Alright, let's go line by line. You need to rewrite this entire paragraph about the Waning Gibbous." As Cedric talked, his hand absently rose and pushed a stray hair that reached his eyes.

Harry had a hard time concentrating. His gaze kept drifting, not to the offending words on the parchment, but to Cedric. He was intently focused, a slight frown creasing his brow as he pointed out Harry's numerous mistakes.

They settled into a comfortable silence, the familiar scent of old books and dust motes dancing in the sunlight filtering through the windows. Soon, the rhythmic scratching of quills filled the air.

Then, as Harry attempted to correct a particularly egregious error, Cedric went back to his self-study. Pulling out his wand, He began to practice a fluid, graceful wand movement, his wrist flicking with precision.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, intrigued despite himself.

Cedric glanced up, stopping his silent practice. "Oh, just trying to get the wand movement right for the Extension Charm."

Harry's eyes widened. "The Extension Charm? Is that the one that makes things bigger on the inside?"

"Exactly," Cedric said, picking up a small, empty matchbox from the table. "Useful for, say, a bottomless satchel, or fitting an entire library into your trunk. Watch." He closed his eyes for a moment, then flicked his wrist with a sharp, controlled motion. " Expando! " He held out the matchbox. "Here, drop your quill in."

Harry hesitated, then carefully let his quill go. It vanished inside the tiny box with a faint clink. He peered in, amazed. "Whoa! It just disappeared! That's brilliant!"

Cedric grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Took me ages to get the concentration right. It's all in the wrist, you see." He demonstrated the movement again.

They spent the next hour alternating between Harry trying (and mostly failing) to grasp the nuance of his Potions essay, and Cedric patiently correcting him, occasionally demonstrating another complex wand movement.

Cedric's teasing, however, knew no bounds. It turned out, he was merciless when it came to teasing Harry. He was brutal, finding Harry's most minor flusters and lampooning them with an almost professional glee. "Did you just try to use a levitation charm on your quill, Harry? It's already on the table, you know." Or, "Your face is almost as red as Professor Snape’s temper. Did you forget to breathe, or are you just thinking that hard?"

"Honestly, Harry, sometimes I think your brain is full of nothing but how to avoid studying," Cedric said laughing as Harry started to play with Cedric's quill collection. He nudged Harry as he teased.

Harry shoved him back, laughing. "I study plenty! You're just as merciless as Hermione!"

"And you're easily flustered," Cedric retorted, leaning closer to whisper, "It's adorable, really." Harry's cheeks burned, and he pushed Cedric harder this time, but Cedric just laughed louder, "See? Flustered!"

Their laughter echoed a little too loudly in the quiet library. Suddenly, a stern cough cut through the air. Madam Pince, the librarian, stood over them, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed like a hawk's.

"Messrs. Potter and Diggory!" her voice was a low, dangerous growl. "This is a place of study, not a common room! Your incessant braying is disrupting everyone!"

Cedric straightened up, trying to look innocent. "Apologies, Madam Pince. We were just... discussing advanced magical theory."

"Advanced magical theory that sounds suspiciously like a cackling hyena, Mr. Diggory!" she snapped. "Out! Both of you! You've disturbed the peace quite enough for one morning."

With a shared exasperated sigh and a final, suppressed giggle, Harry and Cedric gathered their things. As they walked out, Harry glanced at Cedric, who was still chuckling softly, his eyes sparkling with mirth. The Kashmiri sweater looked even better in the brighter hallway light, and Harry found himself wondering what it would feel like to touch.

Cedric caught his eye and grinned, bumping his shoulder playfully. "She really hates us, doesn't she?"

Harry just shook his head, a strange warmth spreading through his chest, a feeling he was becoming increasingly familiar with whenever Cedric was near. He might be in serious trouble for his Potions essay, but he was pretty sure he was in enchantment.

The portrait hole swung open and Harry clambered through, depositing his bag with a thud beside the worn armchair where Ron and Hermione were already settled, piles of textbooks and parchment spread across the low table in front of them.

"Oh, Harry! You're back," Hermione said, looking up, her quill still poised over a roll of parchment. "Where have you been? We were just about to start on the Charms essay."

Harry sank onto the floor beside them, pushing his own books and a slightly damp scroll of parchment onto the already crowded table. "Oh, hey guys. I was with Cedric, actually. Working on Potions essay."

Hermione's eyes widened, and a proud smile spread across her face. "With Cedric? Oh, that's brilliant, Harry! He's really excellent at Potions, isn't he? It's a good thing he's helping you." She peered at the parchment. "And on a Sunday morning, too! I'm so glad you're willing to put in the extra work."

Ron muttered something under his breath, too low for either of them to catch clearly, but it sounded a bit like, "He'd do anything Cedric asked him to…"

Hermione, completely oblivious, took the scroll from Harry and began scanning it, a wide beam on her face. "This looks incredibly thorough, Harry! The section on the proper application of powdered moonstone is particularly well-explained."

Harry watched her, then glanced at Ron. To his surprise, Ron was also smiling at him, a genuine, if slightly strained, grin. Harry felt a strange pang of confusion. Ron was nodding. This wasn't how he'd expected this conversation to go. He’d practically yelled at Harry when he'd first found out that Cedric was now "also his friend." So why the sudden welcoming attitude about Cedric and him spending time together?

They spent the next hour or so hunched over their History of Magic books, Hermione occasionally correcting Ron's pronunciation of ancient goblin names. Afterwards, Ron and Harry set up their Wizard's Chess board, the pieces clattering and arguing as usual.

"Right, well, I'm off," Hermione announced after Ron's Queen had spectacularly checkmated Harry's King. "Crookshanks gets grumpy if he doesn't get his meals on time." She gathered her books and vanished up the girls' dormitory stairs.

Harry turned to face Ron fully. Ron was busy replaying his last brilliant move, making the white knight preen proudly on the board. Harry merely arched an eyebrow.

Ron looked up, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly so… chill about Cedric and me being friends?" Harry asked, his voice low.

Ron sighed, looking around the common room as if checking for eavesdroppers, even though it was mostly empty. "Look, Harry… I was just worried, alright? Worried you’d… you’d prefer his company over mine. That you’d find a new best mate and just… leave me behind." He scuffed his shoe against the carpet. "It's just… a bit of jealousy, I suppose. I'm sorry I yelled at you,"

"Oh," Harry said, surprised by the honesty.

"But now that I know… where you and Cedric stand," Ron continued, his voice softer, "I'm not going to oppose it."

Harry blinked. "Where we stand? What do you mean, 'where we stand'?"

Ron's face went bright red. He gestured vaguely around them, his ears turning scarlet. "You know… just… you know."

"No, Ron, I really don't know," Harry insisted, leaning forward. "What are you talking about?"

Ron mumbled something, his gaze darting away. "I just… don't want to press it. If you're not ready to…"

Harry frowned, waiting. "Not ready to what?"

Ron actually paled. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, Merlin, he really doesn't know!"

Ron took a deep breath, his expression suddenly very serious. "Look, Harry… I'm going to support you. No matter what." His eyes met Harry's, earnest and unwavering. "You're my best friend, alright? That's not going to change. Ever."

Harry nodded slowly, still utterly baffled. "Okay…"

"And… you can take your time, okay? Take as much time as you need to… to figure things out for yourself."

Harry frowned. "Figure what out?"

Ron shook his head, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks. "It doesn't matter. Just know I'm here. And I'm going to support every decision you make."

It was much, much later, deep in the silent hours of the night, that Harry lay in his bed and the pieces finally clicked. The only sound was in the room was the rhythmic breathing of his dorm-mates, but Harry’s mind was wide awake. Ron’s words, the remark tossed his way earlier that day, suddenly made perfect sense.

He’d been chewing on them for hours, an insistent, nagging thought at the back of his mind. After that talk, he’d barely heard Hermione's words during lunch, his gaze drifting to Cedric, who sat with his friends in the Hufflepuff table. Harry’d poked at his food, wondering what exactly Ron had meant when he’d muttered something about "Cedric and your friendship stands."

But it was during dinner that the unease had truly set in. The Great Hall buzzed with conversation and the clatter of cutlery. But for Harry, the world narrowed to his immediate vicinity. Cedric, instead of heading towards the Hufflepuff table, had veered off, a easy smile on his face, and slid onto the bench beside Harry. He hadn’t even looked at his own house friends.

"You look absolutely knackered, Harry. Your eyes looked tired," Cedric had said, his voice a low rumble just for him, leaning in close enough for Harry to catch the faint scent of sunrays and something woodsy. "Are you getting any sleep?"

Harry was tired. Bone-weary, in fact. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that endless, echoing corridor, or staring into a pair of searing, red eyes that undoubtedly belonged to Voldemort. He never told anyone about it, not even Ron or Hermione. It felt too real, too dangerous to voice.

So he’d lied. "Just Umbridge," Harry mumbled, pushing a potato around his plate. "She is being unfair with rules, banning me from Quidditch… it’s all just really stressing me out." It felt like a cheap excuse to hide the truth of his nightmares, but Cedric seemed to believe him.

Cedric’s hand found his back, warm and firm, his thumb stroking small circles just beneath his shoulder blade. "Don't worry," he murmured, his eyes concern. "Don’t let that old toad get to you too much. We'll figure something out, alright?"

Harry’s face heated instantly, a blush creeping up his neck. A strange tingle spread from where Cedric’s hand rested, making him want to lean into the touch, even as he fought a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air of the hall. He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from Cedric and the quiet comfort of his touch.

Ron, sitting opposite, seemed to develop an intense fascination with his mashed potatoes. He studiously avoided looking at Harry, at Cedric, or at the space between them.

And now, here in the dark, the puzzle was complete. The pieces suddenly reassembled into a clear picture.

The dormitory was silent, save for the soft snores of Seamus and Neville. Harry had cast a quick silent Muffliato charm around Ron's four-poster bed before he even thought about speaking. Slipping out from under his duvet, careful not to wake any of his dorm-mates, Harry crept on bare feet to Ron’s four-poster bed.

"Ron," Harry whispered, leaning close. "Psst. Ron. Wake up."

A grumble. "Mmmph… Hermione, leave it. Five more minutes…" A hint of red hair poked out from under the covers.

"It's not Hermione, it's me, you git!" Harry hissed, prodding him harder. "Wake up!"

Another groan, this one more annoyed. "Harry? What in Merlin's beard...? It's the middle of the night!"

As though realising the time, Ron’s eyes flickered open, adjusting to the gloom. For a moment, he just stared blankly, then his eyes darted around the shadowy dormitory, suddenly alert, as though Voldemort himself might jump out from under Neville’s bed.

Harry shushed him, a hand on his shoulder. "No, no, it’s fine. Nothing's wrong. Just… I need to talk to you." He sat on the edge of Ron's bed, the mattress sinking slightly with his weight.

Ron, still half-asleep and half-terrified, lowered his head from its scanning motion and frowned at Harry. "What? What is it? You nearly gave me a heart attack, mate!"

"I need to talk," Harry whispered.

Ron rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Talk? What could possibly be so urgent that it couldn't wait till morning? What is it,"

Harry lowered his voice further, "I… I understood what you meant earlier," Harry said, the words feeling huge and heavy in the quiet.

Ron's brow furrowed, trying to recall. "I… I said a lot of things. What specific thing are we on about?"

Harry paused, looking at a loose thread on Ron's duvet. "When you said… about where Cedric and my friendship stands."

Ron blinked at him, confusion clouding his features. "And... what did I mean by that?"

Harry swallowed. "You meant... you meant... do I like him? More than just a friend?" He plunged on, the words tumbling out. "And the thing is, Ron... I think I do. I really do."

Harry swallowed hard, the words tasting strange on his tongue, yet strangely liberating. "I… I think I like Cedric, Ron. More than just a friend." He hesitated, then blurted out the rest of his confusion. "And I don’t know what to do. This is… new. And bewildering."

Ron stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slumped back onto his pillow. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Took you long enough."

"Don't sound so blasé!" Harry hissed, feeling a fresh wave of confusion wash over him. "But… I don't know what to do. I've always liked girls, you know? Cho, and… well others. And now it's him. And I'm just… completely confused. What is this?"

Ron ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Harry, mate, calm down. You don't have to understand everything right this second. It's alright. You just… you like him. That’s it. You can take your time with the rest."

"I never felt something like that but with Cedric... it's just different. You saw him earlier, he was being so nice at dinner, fusing over me being tired, and then he rubbed my back. He is always like that, and I just... I don't know what's happening to me, Ron. I'm really confused,"

"You just… you just admitted you like him. That's a huge step. And it's a good thing, really."

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over Harry. "But what if he doesn’t like me back?" he mumbled, suddenly feeling foolish, "What if I've just… completely misread everything?"

Ron just stared, his eyes wide-set and disbelieving. Then he scoffed, shaking his head slowly. "Are you..? Harry! are you serious? Did you see him tonight? He practically sat on your lap. And the way he was going on about your eyes… 'Oh, Harry, you look so tired. Your beautiful emerald eyes just don't have their usual sparkle.'"

"Cedric didn't say that!" Harry smacked his arm and Ron laughed.

"You looked tired tonight, Harry and Cedric was gone, blah blah blah. He's completely head over heels for you, you git!" Ron shook his head slowly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to believe him, but he nodded weakly. The doubt hitting him hard again. "He was just being friendly, maybe, because he's like that. He's nice to everyone."

Ron leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Harry Potter, you are the most observant wizard in existence when it comes to you-know-who, and the most utterly blind where people fancy you."

"What do you mean?" Harry whispered, a flicker of hope warring with his confusion.

"What do I mean?" Ron repeated, exasperated. "Harry, anyone with eyes can see that Cedric Diggory likes you, he adores you. He practically glows when you're around him. He ditched his own friends to sit with you at dinner just now! And he spends half his time looking at you like you've hung the moon. Seriously, Harry. Get a clue."

"I- yeah, if you say so," Harry mumbled.

"Honestly. Anyone with eyes can see it." Ron scoffed, turning to get back to sleep. "Now, go back to your own bed, I want to sleep now."

The morning light filtered through the high windows of Hogwarts the next day, cast long dusty golden shafts across the deserted corridor.

Harry hurrying past a corridor and stopped dead. Leaning against a cold stone wall was Cedric. He was reading something attentively, a scroll of parchment held open in his hands, his head bowed slightly, a lock of his hair falling across his forehead.

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, a familiar dizzying lurch in his chest. For Harry, Cedric was a piece of art. The way he stood, the elegant line of his spine against the rough stone; the gentle curve of his neck as he looked down at the paper, his brow faintly furrowed in concentration; the way his long, graceful fingers traced the lines of text as if caressing the words themselves. Every detail was etched into Harry’s mesmerized gaze.

To break the spell and perhaps just to feel Cedric’s presence close, Harry walked towards him. He aimed for a friendly bump, a casual jolt to get his attention. He was expecting an annoyed huff, perhaps a playful shove back, but what he got instead was visible cringing from Cedric. A sharp flinch, like he’d been struck, before his eyes snapped up, then softened instantly as they recognized Harry.

“Oh, Harry,” Cedric exhaled, a faint smile spreading across his face melting the tension from his shoulders. “Didn’t see you there.”

Harry frowned. Cedric's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “Why did you flinch like that when I bumped you?” Harry asked.

Cedric shook his head. “I was just absentminded, Harry. Thought you were someone else.”

Harry looked at him, “So, someone else was bumping into you deliberately?” he pressed, a cold dread beginning to coil in his stomach.

Cedric shook his head again, a little more emphatically this time. “It’s nothing, Harry, really,” he tried to assure him, but Harry was suddenly, stubbornly determined.

“Are you being bullied?” Harry asked, the words a disbelief-laced accusation. "You are a Head Boy, Cedric!"

"I'm not," Cedric assured him, "I'm just surprised, I didn't see you sooner, but leave it, I've to show you something,"

"What is it?"

Cedric didn't reply directly. Instead, he reached out, taking Harry’s hand in his, his fingers warm and reassuring. Without a word, he slowly began to lead Harry away from the main corridor, towards a quieter, more secluded part of the castle, eventually stopping outside the door of an empty classroom.

Once they were both inside, Cedric closed the door softly, the click echoing in the sudden silence. Harry watched, as Cedric leaned his familiar polished oak walking stick against the wall, then turned and walked towards Harry without it.

Harry’s eyes widened, a gasp catching in his throat. Cedric smiled, a joyful smile that lit up his entire face. “I don’t need the stick anymore!” he whispered, a triumphant glint in his eyes.

Overwhelmed with a rush of relief and happiness, Harry flung himself into Cedric’s arms, a choked laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Oh, Ced!” he choked out, burying his face in Cedric’s shoulder, wanting to stay there for a moment, just breathing in the scent of parchment and something subtly earthy that was uniquely Cedric. “I’m so incredibly happy for you!”

Cedric laughed, his arm tightening around Harry as he hugged him back just as fiercely. “I’m happy too, Harry,” he murmured into Harry’s hair.

When they finally broke apart, Harry pulled back just enough to look at Cedric, a proud, watery smile on his face. “I’m proud of you, Cedric,” he said, meaning every word.

Cedric leaned back against a nearby desk, a slight tremor in his legs. “I don’t need the stick so frequently now,” he explained, a shade of the previous exhilaration leaving his voice, “but standing too long may still be difficult.”

Harry nodded, his mind already spinning back to his earlier concern. “I’m happy that you don’t need the stick anymore,” he said, his voice firm, “but don’t change the subject, Cedric. You are being bullied.”

Cedric sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not. Really, I'm not. Not so frequently, or not so brutally. I can handle those small bumps here and there.” His hands gravitated towards Harry, and Harry met him in the middle, their fingers intertwining.

“I hate that you have to go through all that,” Harry told him, his voice thick with unexpressed anger and worry.

Cedric’s thumb stroked the back of Harry’s hand. “I’m not,” he countered softly. “It makes me see things clearly. I am now aware of who’s my true friends and who’s just been around me for the last few years for reputation. I’m glad I can distinguish between them now.” There was a quiet strength in his voice, a resilience Harry admired immensely.

Harry looked away, a sigh escaping him. “What are you going to do?” he asked, thinking of the bullies, whoever they might be.

“Well, I’m planning something. I realised that I can be kind and loving along with looking out for what is good for me,” Cedric said, a faint, almost mischievous glint in his eyes. “And I’ll tell you when my plan is ready. But for now, I’m letting this go on.”

Harry managed a small hopeful smile. “It’s a good thing your health is progressing so smoothly. In no time, you will be the same old Cedric.”

Harry smiled at him, expecting to see a mirrored cheerfulness. Cedric didn't. His smile faltered, a shadow passing over his eyes. He looked away before saying, his voice a low and rough murmur, “I’m never going to be the same old Cedric, Harry.”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to protest, to say that wasn't possible, that he’d recover fully, that he would be the same. But Cedric was already opening the front of his robes, his fingers fumbling slightly with the buttons.

“What is it?” Harry asked, confused. “What are you doing?”

Cedric didn’t reply at first. He undid a few more buttons, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his chest, just beneath his collarbone. Harry stared at it, then looked up at Cedric’s face, a question in his eyes.

“I’m showing you something that no one else has seen or is aware of,” Cedric said, his voice barely a whisper. “Only the healers saw this, and my mum.”

Harry’s gaze fell back to Cedric’s chest. The smooth and beautiful skin interrupted by jagged landscape of raised, angry-white tissue, laced across his chest like a map that gone wrong. Scars. Not just small ones, but long, thick, prominent scars, some twisted, evidence of an ordeal far more severe than Harry had ever imagined.

Harry stopped. He wanted to reach out with one hesitant hand. He wanted to touch, to confirm the reality of it, but he feared hurting Cedric, physically or emotionally.

Cedric sensed his hesitation and gently took Harry’s hand, placing it flat against his chest, right over the scars. His eyes were closed as he breathed heavily.

Harry could feel the warmth of Cedric’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his palm, and the uneven, stark texture of those white tissues. “Those are the proof of your fight, Cedric,” Harry whispered, “You are a warrior that survived.”

Cedric shook his head, opening his eyes. Harry’s hand was still spread across his chest, feeling the living warmth beneath the cold scars. “Harry, these scars are deeper than just some white tissues,” Cedric told him, his voice raw. “These scars reach my soul. It’s there too and it'd be there, always. I’m never going to be the same old Cedric, never.”

Harry’s eyes prickled with unshed tears, but he wasn’t going to cry now, not when Cedric was being so vulnerable and so utterly exposed. He took a step closer, placing both of his hands on Cedric’s chest, one over the other, before slowly, carefully, resting his head there too, listening to the strong, steady beat of Cedric's heart.

Cedric gasped, freezing for a long moment, a statue of surprise and vulnerability. Then slowly, tentatively he rested his head gently on top of Harry’s, his arms coming up to wrap around Harry, embracing him tightly.

They stood there in the quiet classroom, Harry listening to Cedric’s heartbeat, feeling the uneven landscape beneath his hands. After a long, shared moment, Harry finally spoke, his voice muffled against Cedric’s chest. “You are perfect, Cedric. You are whole. And I like this new Cedric as much as the old one.”

Cedric’s arm tightened around him, a silent answer, but he remained silent.

Few days later, the familiar rustle of Hedwig's wings was the first thing Harry heard as he sat slumped on his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. It was a letter from Sirius.

He tore open the envelope, a wide grin spreading across his face. Sirius’s familiar scrawl filled the parchment. Harry skimmed the first few paragraphs, chuckling at a sarcastic remark about Kreacher and a cryptic comment about taking the dog for a walk, which he knew meant Sirius had managed to get out of the house. He was eager to read what Sirius was doing nowadays, how he was coping, if he was truly safe.

Then his eyes stumbled on a paragraph that made his breath catch.

Speaking of staying safe, Dumbledore mentioned something rather important at the last meeting. He’s asked Cedric to keep an eye on you, Harry. Said he’d look out for you, make sure you’re not caught unawares. We all thought it was a brilliant idea. He was so readily agreeable to the task, too. Shows what a matured and kind-hearted lad he is. I told Dumbledore he’s a good friend for you, Harry, and you should always stick close to him and listen to what he says. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.

Harry’s breath stopped for a moment before he gasped. The world blurred around the edges of the parchment. Dumbledore told Cedric to look out for you. Readily agreeable to the task. A good friend for you and you should listen to him.

But all Harry could truly read, truly feel, was the searing, ice-cold truth: Dumbledore had ordered Cedric to guard Harry Potter. It wasn't a suggestion, it wasn't a friendly request, it was a task. A mission discussed in an Order of the Phoenix meeting, with Sirius, with Snape, with Molly Weasley, with Moody – all of them present, all of them privy to the secret, all of them agreeing that Harry needed a babysitter.

The parchment crumpled in his fist, the edges digging into his palm. His vision swam with a furious red. Guard me? He wasn't a toddler. He wasn't a helpless child. He was Harry, he had faced Voldemort more times than he could count, he escaped a graveyard duel, he was supposed to be preparing for another confrontation!

A cold dread settled heavily in his stomach, quickly followed by an anger. Dumbledore, Always Dumbledore, pulling the strings, making decisions about Harry's life, his safety, without a word of consultation. And Cedric… Cedric knew. Cedric had been told to look out for him, to guard him, and he’d agreed. All that time, all those conversations, all those shared moments – had it all been filtered through the lens of a secret assignment? Was any of it genuine?

The betrayal stung worst from Sirius. Sirius. The one person who understood what it was like to be trapped, to have his life dictated by others. And he’d not only agreed to this, he’d praised Cedric for it. Praised him for taking on the task of watching over Harry. Listen to him? Had Cedric been subtly directing him all this time, following Dumbledore's orders?

Harry felt a sudden, desperate urge to throw something, to scream until his throat was raw. He imagined Cedric looking at him, that kind, earnest smile, knowing he was under orders. The thought made him feel sick. Every interaction they’d had since the summer now felt tainted, observed, manipulated.

The dormitory door creaked open, and Ron and Hermione walked in, chatting.

"Blimey, Harry, you look like you've seen a ghost," Ron said, noticing his flushed face and crumpled hand.

Harry quickly shoved the letter under his pillow, trying to compose himself. He couldn't tell them. Not yet. How could he? It was Dumbledore, it was the Order, it was Sirius. It was Cedric. The weight of the secret, the shattering of trust, settled heavily on his chest. He looked at Ron, then at Hermione, and wondered, if Dumbledore had given them orders too.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall hummed with the usual lunchtime cacophony, a jumble of clattering cutlery, distant laughter, and the rustle of parchment. Cedric and Ashton were hunched over their respective books, forks occasionally lifting to speared potatoes and roast beef, but their minds were clearly elsewhere. NEWTs were always brutal, and this year, for Cedric, the pressure felt twice as heavy. Being Head Boy was a constant demand on his time and patience, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing ache in his chest.

“Another chapter down,” Ashton mumbled, rubbing his temples. “This Charms theory is making my brain feel like troll just sat on it.”

Cedric nodded absently, his eyes, however, were not on his Advanced Charms book. They were fixed on the Gryffindor table. Being Head Boy meant endless responsibilities, endless NEWT prep, and a constant, gnawing misery that had a name: Harry Potter.

He was sitting alone, pushing food around his plate, his usually lively hair looking a little flatter, his shoulders a little hunched. A few feet away, Ron and Hermione were huddled together, their gazes flicking towards Harry every so often, a mix of concern and… something else. Annoyance? Sadness?

Did he also have a fight with Hermione and Ron? Cedric wondered, a fresh wave of misery washing over him. Cedric had heard the rumour about Harry shouting at Professor Umbridge two weeks ago resulting in a four week long detention with that toad. The thought that Harry might be as lonely as Cedric felt only twisted the knife deeper. A fresh wave of guilt washing over him. Gods, he looks so… alone.

Ashton, after a moment closed his book and held a crisply folded copy of the Daily Prophet instead.

"Why are you reading that trash?" Bethy asked.

"We need to know what's going on in the world," Ashton replied.

"Through that newspaper, you will only get rubbish," Bethy was practically draped over the table, propping up her chin with a fist as she listened.

"Alright, listen to this," Ashton announced, clearing his throat. "Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two: Gave the Ministry the power to appoint professors if the Headmaster was unable to find anyone suitable."

A collective scoff rippled from Cedric, Emily, and Bethy. Cedric didn't even bother looking up. "Unbelievable," Emily muttered, pushing her plate away.

"Everyone's aware of that woman's rules," Bethy added, her voice laced with venom.

Ashton shook his head, a grimace on his face. He turned the page of the Daily Prophet, its ink still fresh. "If this continues, then we are going to be in much worse conditions."

Bethy snorted. "Worst than now?" she asked, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Educational Decree Number One," she recited, holding up a finger, "punished students found in possession of a spell-check quill." She held up a second finger. "Educational Decree Number Nine," she continued with growing indignation, "expelled students found in possession of sweets from 'unauthorised suppliers'." She dropped her hand to the table with a thud. "My cousin can't even send me homemade sweets! That's unfair."

"The situation will get worse," Cedric interjected, finally closing his book with a snap, his eyes meeting theirs. "This is just a start."

Emily glanced at him, halting her writing of Transfiguration notes. "We can't survive like this. We have to do something."

Ashton shook his head, his shoulders slumping. "We can't. The authorities' hands are bound." He looked back down at the newspaper, his voice dropping. "Educational Decree Number Twenty-Three created the post of High Inquisitor and nominated Dolores Umbridge for the post." He read the words as if they were a death knell.

"I heard Harry shouted at her two weeks ago," Bethy said in a hushed whisper, "and now he's in a month of detention." She yawned and close her eyes. "I'm so tired, this NEWT is going to end me,"

Cedric’s gaze drifted across the Great Hall, landing on the Gryffindor table again. He felt like failing again, every small act of defiance crushed under the relentless march of decrees.

Just then, a light shadow fell over their table. "Mind if I join you?" a cheerful voice asked.

Cedric looked up to see Cho Chang smiling down at them, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders. "Of course, Cho," Ashton said, scooting over slightly to make room. Emily, who had been quietly engrossed in her Transfiguration notes beside Ashton, offered a small, polite smile. They all changed the topic as though they weren't talking about resisting Umbridge's unfair rules.

“Hi guys! How were your classes this morning? Mine were a nightmare – Professor Binns just droned on about Goblin Rebellions for two hours straight.”

Cedric managed a polite smile. "They're… progressing. And I've got potion this afternoon, thankfully." His voice was distant even to his own ears. He picked at his food, feigning interest, but his eyes were already drawn back to Harry, who hadn't moved and still looked utterly desolate.

Cho was saying something about the difficulty of Newt-level coursework, perhaps commiserating about the sheer volume of material, but her words were just a muffled buzz in Cedric's ears. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the scene that had shattered his world.

Cedric had been laughing and talking to his fellow classmates when Harry found him. Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him to another corridor, at first Cedric thought something urgent had happened. But then he saw Harry's face.

Harry’s face had been contorted with a furious, wounded expression Cedric had never seen before. As they stopped in an empty corridor, tucked away behind a tapestry, Cedric felt his heart stop.

"Is it true?" Harry had demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Did he order you to… to guard me?"

Cedric had felt a cold dread seize him. “Harry, listen, it’s not what you think. He just… Dumbledore was worried, after everything last year, after the Tournament, and…”

“Worried?” Harry had scoffed, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. “Or did he think I was a child who needed a babysitter? And that’s what you were, wasn’t it, Cedric? Just… just doing your duty?”

"Harry..."

“Was any of it real, Cedric? Any of it? Or was it all just an act? Following Dumbledore’s orders?” Harry had whispered, his voice cracking, the pain etched on his face so clearly it had punched the air from Cedric’s lungs. There were tears glistening in Harry’s eyes, bright and accusing.

Cedric had reached out, desperate to close the distance between them, to explain. “Harry, no! Of course it was real! Every moment, every laugh, every… everything. I care about you, Harry, more than you know. This was… it was just an overprotective precaution, I swear! It didn’t change anything between us!” His voice had been choked with a sudden, overwhelming emotion, a desperate need for Harry to understand. He had reached out, but Harry had flinched away as if burned.

"I- please Don't, Cedric," Harry had choked out, his eyes wide with betrayal. "Just… don't. I need to be alone right now. I- I'll talk to you later," And then, before Cedric could say another word, before he could make Harry understand, Harry had turned and fled, leaving Cedric with a crushing weight of unspoken words and a heart that felt like it had been ripped in two.

“—and then Professor Flitwick just levitated it right out of my hand!” Cho chuckled, bringing Cedric back to the present with a jolt. “Honestly, I thought it was going to hit someone. Cedric? Are you alright? You seem a million miles away.”

Cedric blinked, forcing himself to focus on Cho, on her concerned smile. “Sorry, Cho. Just… NEWTs. And Head Boy duties. It’s a lot.” He managed a weak, dismissive wave of his hand, avoiding her gaze, his eyes instinctively darting back to the Gryffindor table. Ashton and Emily exchanged a look between them.

The clatter of forks and the hum of conversation in the Great Hall were a distant drone as Cedric tried to focus on Cho, who was now deep into her plans for the next Hogsmeade visit.

"...and I was thinking," Cho chirped, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger, "for the next trip, instead of just the usual, maybe I could go to Honeydukes first, then the Three Broomsticks, and then I was actually thinking of inviting Harry along."

Cedric's fork clattered softly against his plate. He looked up, a faint frown creasing his brow. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Cho rolled her eyes, but a flicker of a smile played on her lips. "Yes, Harry Potter. Who else? Remember last year? He asked me to the Yule Ball, and I said no that time."

A slow nod. Cedric did remember. He remembered Cho saying that disappointment on Harry's face when she'd politely declined. "Oh. Right."

"I wanted to say 'yes', But I'd already promised you, bless your heart," Cho continued, oblivious to the ripple her words were causing. "Now that we're... well, not exactly exclusive anymore, I thought it would be nice to finally take him up on that, in a way."

A strangely hollow feeling began to bloom in Cedric's chest. He concentrated on stirring his stew, though his appetite had suddenly vanished.

"I mean, I did quite fancy him last year," Cho went on, sounding breezy. "Before, you know, you realised your... true preferences." She winked playfully. "A bit late for me, wasn't it? Had to go with you instead!" She chuckled lightly.

The joke didn’t land. All Cedric felt was a sudden, dizzying sense of loss. His gaze drifted across the Great Hall, finding Harry's messy black hair at the Gryffindor table. Harry looked so easy, so open. Of course, he'd go with Cho. Or someone like her. Harry never said anything but Cedric believe, Harry liked girls. Harry liked Cho, he liked her enough to ask her to the Ball. A bitter knot formed in his stomach. He felt utterly alone.

Beside him, Ashton let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

Emily, who had been listening intently, leaned slightly forward, her voice gentle as she turned to Cho. "Oh, Cho dear, can't you see how miserable Cedric's getting by your words?"

Cedric's head snapped away from Harry so fast he almost got whiplash. He looked at Emily, then Cho, his cheeks feeling warm. "Wha—?"

Cho's brow furrowed in confusion for a beat, then her eyes widened as she glanced between Cedric, then Harry, then back to Emily, a dawning realization on her face. "Oh. Oh! Oh!"

Still utterly lost, Cedric looked at her. "What? What is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Cho demanded, looking at Ashton and Emily.

Ashton shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "He still hasn't figured it out, Cho. Neither of them have."

Emily nodded slowly, a knowing look in her eyes. "Both of them, honestly. Completely oblivious."

Cedric's confusion deepened. He looked from Ashton to Emily, then back to Cho. "Figured what out? What are you talking about? There's nothing!"

Ashton made a 'see?' gesture towards Cho, indicating Cedric's continued cluelessness.

Cho rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then reached over and gave Cedric a firm, yet gentle, pat on the shoulder. "Honestly, Ced. You're hopeless." She stood up. "Well, I'm off. Think I'll go bother Padma about Charms homework." With a final amused glance, she walked away from the Hufflepuff table.

“What are you two talking about?” Cedric asked as soon as Cho left, a slight frown creasing his brow. “There’s nothing between me and Harry. We’re just friends.” He felt a warmth creep up his neck, a mix of mild annoyance and something unidentifiable.

Ashton merely shook his head, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. “Cedric, you and Harry aren’t ‘friends’.” The way he said it, with air quotes around the word, made Cedric’s irritation prickle.

Bethy, who was tired and sleeping last few minutes, suddenly jolted up and eyed Emily and Ashton, then Cedric, her sharp gaze taking in the tense energy. “What is going on? What did I miss?” she demanded, reaching for a treacle tart.

Emily leaned forward with a mischievous smile. “Oh, nothing much, Bethy. Just Cedric still being utterly oblivious that Harry and him aren't more than friends.”

Cedric glared at Emily, his face flushing deeper. “Emily, that’s ridiculous! Harry and I are friends. Best friends maybe! There’s nothing more between us, and I wish you’d stop implying things!”

Ashton sighed again, a long-suffering sound. “Alright, Cedric. Let’s clarify. What do you mean by ‘friends’?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. “Did I, Ashton, ever cuddle with you in your bed? Or stroke your hair when you were falling asleep? Or touch your face and stare into your eyes like there’s no one else in the world?”

Emily giggled, that grated on Cedric’s nerves.

Cedric spluttered, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. “No! Of course not! And Harry and I never did such things either!” His protest was weak even to his own ears. Cedric loved to reached out to Harry or tugged him towards his side, but that's nothing.

Ashton raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because I distinctly remember waking up that night to go to the bathroom, and I poked my head into your bed to see if you are alright, and there you were, Cedric. You and Harry. Sleeping in your bed, all curled up together, looking really cozy.”

Cedric’s jaw dropped. He recalled the night – a late night talk or reassurance, Harry had fallen asleep on his bed, and somehow… somehow he’d ended up tucked against Harry, warm and comfortable. He’d just assumed Harry had been cold, and he, Cedric, had been half-asleep. He opened his mouth, then closed it. The memory, suddenly vivid, made his stomach clench.

Emily jumped in, seizing the opportunity. “And you, Cedric, you always look for Harry whenever you walk into the Great Hall. You literally beeline to him the moment you see him. And you’re so protective of him, it’s honestly adorable sometimes.” She watched him with a wide, knowing grin.

Cedric said nothing. He looked away, fiddling with the crust of his pie. A strange, fluttering warmth bloomed in his chest at Emily’s words, quickly followed by a cold dread. He did look for Harry. He did feel a fierce need to protect him. But that didn’t mean…

He swallowed hard. “But that doesn’t mean Harry feels the same way,” he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. The thought, voiced aloud, felt like a heavy stone dropping into his heart.

Bethy scoffed, louder than necessary, making a few nearby students glance over. “Are you serious, Cedric? Harry was devastated that night you didn’t show up for dinner! He reached out to me, practically begging for help figuring out where you were. I had to help that poor boy! And then he showed up in the middle of the night, just to check on you, to make sure you were alright! And I'm sure you've heard about the shouting match he had two weeks ago with Professor Umbridge, it was because he was defending you,” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Of course, Harry feels the same way, you absolute dummy.”

Cedric remained silent, the revelations washing over him. The cuddling. The searching. The protectiveness. Harry’s distress. Harry showing up in the middle of the night. It all formed a picture, clear and undeniable, yet terrifying. He didn’t want to hope. Not now, when the situation felt so incredibly fragile.

He finally looked at his friends, his voice strained. “Harry and I… we had a fight a few days ago. He… he stopped talking to me.”

Sunlight, stained amber by the high windows, spilled across the long tables. Ashton, leaning forward on his elbows fixed Cedric with an intense gaze.

"Why?" Ashton asked, his voice low. "I have been seeing you two not to interact last few weeks."

Cedric sighed and looked away, tracing an invisible pattern on the polished tabletop. "Well," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "Dumbledore told me to look out for Harry, that was an order. And Harry finds out in the wrong way, he believes I was talking with him out of my duty and not friendship."

He finally met Ashton’s eyes. Across the table, Emily and Bethy exchanged a look, their expressions a mix of understanding and concern.

"Oh, Cedric," Emily said softly, her brow furrowed. "That's awful."

"Then tell him," Bethy interjected, her tone more practical. "Harry is a kind boy, he will understand. Just go to him and say whatever’s in your mind. Explain the situation,"

Cedric wanted to believe them. He desperately wanted to. But the problem was, he didn’t know how to approach Harry. Harry had avoided his gaze for days, quickening his pace whenever Cedric was near, a silent wall built between them. The thought of confronting that wall, of trying to bridge the gap with words, made his stomach clench.

"It's not that simple," Cedric mumbled, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "What do I even say? 'Hey, I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about Dumbledore's order, let's be friends again,'" He winced, even though he knew it wasn't a pretense, not really. Not on his side.

"You say what's true," Emily insisted gently. "You say you cared, you still care. That the friendship was real for you."

Cedric swallowed hard, the idea still a knot of dread in his chest. But hearing it out loud, framed by his friends’ earnest faces, made it seem slightly less impossible. He took a deep, shaky breath. "I'll talk to him," he announced, the words feeling heavier than they should.

Ashton nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And also," he added, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "ask him out for a date before anyone else."

Cedric’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut, his face flushing crimson. "I don't think that's a good idea," he spluttered, looking wildly between Ashton and the girls.

"I think that's a great idea," Bethy declared, much to Cedric's horror. She gave Ashton a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between them. Emily offered Cedric a small encouraging smile.

He could try- It was terrifying, yes, but also… liberating in its sheer boldness. What did he really have to lose? Harry already thought he was a fake.

He glanced towards the Gryffindor table, where Harry was just gathering his books, his back to them, seemingly oblivious. This was his chance. If he didn't do it now, he might never find the courage again.
His heart pounded hard against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in his ears. It felt like a drumbeat urging him forward. Cedric took a deep breath, pushing down the fear, drawing on a well of determination he didn't know he possessed.

With a final, resolute glance at his friends, who gave him silent nods of encouragement, Cedric straightened his robes and, his legs feeling strangely heavy yet light, followed Harry out of the Great Hall. The corridor outside was quieter, the low light from the distant windows casting long shadows. This was it.

Cedric followed Harry silently but as he was about to call out, he stopped. Harry was standing there. As though he was waiting for him.

He turned to look at Cedric. His shoulders hunched, his usually bright green eyes shadowed with an exhaustion.

There was no hatred in his gaze, no spark of betrayal, just a profound, weary emptiness that chilled Cedric more than any anger could have.

As Cedric took a hesitant step closer. Harry tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his robes immediately, his posture subtly stiffening as if to ward off any physical contact. He seemed to shrink into himself, his eyes darting around the empty corridor, anywhere but at Cedric.

Cedric swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. The apology, the explanations he’d prepared, felt utterly inadequate in the face of Harry’s deliberate withdrawal. "Harry," he whispered, his voice rough with concern, "I… I need to talk to you."

Harry’s gaze skimmed over the distant archway, before briefly touching Cedric’s anxious face. He looked as though he didn’t want to be here, didn't want to be anywhere near this conversation. After a moment, he replied, his voice flat, devoid of its usual teenage inflection, "I don’t want to talk to anyone right now." He shifted his weight, his eyes still flickering around. "And I have a detention with Umbridge in a few minutes, so I’m in a hurry."

Cedric couldn't let Harry walk away like this. He took another step closer, his hand instinctively reaching out, only for Harry to take an immediate step back, cementing the invisible barrier between them.

"Harry, please," Cedric pleaded, his voice gaining a desperate edge, "I’m sorry that you had to find out the news that way, about… everything. But I really care about you. It’s not for the duty Dumbledore gave me. It’s not. Believe me." His voice cracked slightly on the last words.

Harry finally looked up, his eyes meeting Cedric’s, and for a fleeting second a flicker of something crossed his face. "I’m not angry about it anymore, Cedric," he said, his voice still low, almost a murmur. "I’ve long forgotten about it. It’s just… I don’t want to talk to anyone."

"Why?" Cedric pressed, frustration and worry warring within him. "Why are you isolating yourself, Harry? We are friends. We—we are a team," he insisted, casting his memory back to their shared moments, the brief, intense friendship that had blossomed against all odds.

Harry shook his head slowly, his gaze drifting once more to the distant, dust-filled light. "I’ve done enough to cause you trouble. I don’t want to—"

"Harry, you didn’t do anything!" Cedric interrupted, cutting through Harry’s self-recrimination. "Whatever happened was because of You-Know-Who. And the consequences are inevitable. We have to face that. It has nothing to do with you."

But Harry seemed unable to truly hear him, or perhaps unwilling to believe him. His eyes scanned the corridor again, a hunted look in them. "I’m sorry, Cedric," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, almost apologetic. "I snapped at you earlier, before… you already have so much on your plate and on top of that you’re looking out for me. Thank you for that."

The sudden gratitude stunned Cedric. It was a crack in Harry’s carefully constructed wall, a glimpse of the vulnerable boy beneath. Cedric reached out, but Harry was already turning, a blur of black robes and retreating shoulders. He moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, almost running down the corridor before Cedric could even fully extend his hand.

"Harry!" Cedric called out, his voice echoing, but Harry didn't look back. He was gone, leaving Cedric alone.

Cedric stood by the archway leading to the Clock Tower, utterly still. As Ashton reached the front of Great hall. His gaze swept the deserted courtyard, searching and then landed on Cedric.

His back was to Ashton, his eyes were fixed on a point far in the distance, a point that Ashton knew, without looking, was where Harry Potter’s slight frame had vanished moments ago.

“Is he still mad?” Ashton asked. He walked closer, his footsteps echoing softly.

Cedric didn't flinch, didn't turn. His head gave a slow, minute shake. “No. He’s not mad,” he said, his voice a low, rough murmur. “He’s… he’s making himself lonely day by day.”

Ashton’s brow furrowed, concern. He glanced at Cedric, who was etched with a grim determination Ashton hadn't seen before. “What are you going to do?” he pressed. He didn't want his friend to do something drastic.

Cedric finally turned, his gaze locking onto Ashton’s. “Do you trust me?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Ashton’s face immediately changed. A flicker of alarm, crossed his features. He knew that tone. He’d heard it before, usually right before Cedric launched them into some daring, if well-intentioned, escapade. But this felt different. This felt heavier.

“What are you going to do?” he repeated, the question now less about curiosity and more about a desperate need to understand the magnitude of Cedric’s intent.

Cedric didn’t reply, just held Ashton’s gaze. The tension between them stretched, until Ashton, who had known Cedric since they were little boys, felt the familiar pull of unwavering trust. He gave in with a sigh escaping his lips. “What am I going to do?” he asked, his voice resigned.

“Gather all the students whom you can trust with your life,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “and meet me one hour later in the library, Ancient magic section.”

Without another word, Cedric turned and was gone, a blur of Hufflepuff yellow disappearing down the corridor.

Ashton stood there for a moment. Ancient magic section? He’d barely known it existed, let alone been in it. It was a place for dusty tomes and forgotten lore, and perfect for secret meetings.

Meanwhile, Cedric was already halfway across the grounds, his mind racing. He went to the back of the castle, an area often overlooked by students and teachers alike, tucked away behind the greenhouses and the Quidditch pitch. It was the perfect spot for illicit activities, minor rule-breaking. And he suspected to find two particular students there.

Sure enough, a cacophony of small bangs and the distinct smell of burnt sugar and something vaguely sulfurous led him to a clearing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There, amidst discarded wrappers and half-assembled contraptions, were Fred and George Weasley, their heads bent together over a bubbling cauldron, clearly working on a new product for their burgeoning joke shop.

As Cedric approached, Fred looked up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face even as a small puff of purple smoke billowed from the cauldron. He waved a spoon covered in sticky, shimmering goo. “Hey! Is it our golden boy!”

Cedric managed a small smile at their antics, but he had no time for pleasantries. His mission was too urgent. “I need your help,” he told them, his voice cutting through the cheerful chaos.

George immediately straightened up, his eyes narrowing. He exchanged a quick glance with Fred. “What’s going on?” he asked, the usual jest gone from his tone.

Cedric took a deep breath. “I need your help,” he repeated, looking from one twin to the other. “But you have to be absolutely sure that you want to help me. Because there’s no other way.” The implication hung heavy in the air – this wasn’t just about a prank, or a game. This was something significant, something potentially dangerous.

Fred was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “What kind of help?” His gaze was surprisingly steady.

Cedric shook his head, glancing around the secluded spot, even though he knew they were unlikely to be overheard. “We can’t talk here,” he said, pitching his voice low. “But if you both trust me enough then you have to meet me in the library, one hour later, in the Ancient magic section.”

Fred’s eyebrows shot up. “The Ancient… do we have that section in the library?" He asked.

"Yes, it's behind the potion books section, there's a turn between charm and astronomy section, you will find it there. Noone goes there actually," Cedric replied.

"I’ve never even been to that section,” he admitted, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone.

George scoffed softly, though his expression remained serious. “No one ever goes to that section. I once heard Hermione talking about it, maybe, she’s feeling particularly bored with the modern stuff so she went there.”

He looked at Fred, a silent conversation passing between them. Whatever it was, it ended in a nod. “But we’ll be there,” George affirmed, his voice firm.

Cedric nodded, a flicker of relief easing the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you, and you can bring anyone you can trust with your life,” he said, his voice earnest. With that, he turned and left them, walking back towards the castle with a renewed sense of purpose. The clock was ticking. He had one hour to set something in motion that might just save Harry Potter from himself, no matter the cost.

One hour later, the hushed sanctity of the Hogwarts library’s Ancient Magic section felt charged with an unusual energy. Ten students had gathered, their faces a mixture of curiosity, apprehension and nascent defiance.

Cedric stood amidst them, his hand instinctively reaching for the pocket of his robes before remembering he had nothing to fiddle with. From Ravenclaw, Flora Wolpert, the Head Girl herself stood there, her brow furrowed slightly as she surveyed the diverse group. Ashton, Emily, and Bethy stood near Cedric. From Gryffindor, their Quidditch Captain, Angelina Johnson, leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed. Beside her, Lee Jordan, known for his commentary and his loyalty to the Weasley twins, offered a quiet nod. Alicia Spinnet, her expression serious, stood close by her side. And, of course, Fred and George.

Cedric hadn’t expected this many, not in such a short order. His eyes darted around, meeting theirs, each pair brimming with unspoken questions. He cleared his throat.

“Welcome,” he began, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He gestured vaguely to a few empty, dusty tables and cushions that had been pulled vaguely into a circle. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

They settled, a rustle of robes and a few soft thuds as they took seats on cushions or perched on the edges of tables. Cedric took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

“Right, so we are the only choice to trust with eachother's life,” he started again, finding a bit more resolve. “I imagine you all know why we’re here. Or, at least, you have an idea.” He paused, letting his gaze sweep over them. “Professor Umbridge. Her decrees, her… policies. The way she’s turning Hogwarts into something it’s never been. Something it shouldn’t be.”

An agreement with a few quiet murmurs passed through the group. He saw Angelina’s jaw tighten, Fred and George exchange a knowing look.

“What I’m about to propose,” Cedric continued, his voice dropping slightly, “is not sanctioned. It’s… highly unsanctioned. Any of you who stay here, who participate, will be engaging in what is, by Umbridge’s standards, an illegal cult within the school. There will be consequences if we’re caught. Serious ones.”

He let the words hang in the air, allowing each student to weigh them. The silence was thick, broken only by the gentle rustle of turning pages from a student in another part of the library.

Alicia and Angelina exchanged a look, a swift. Then, Alicia turned back to Cedric, her voice low but clear. “Diggory, I’m aware of the consequences if I stay. Believe me when Fred reached out I was relieved that there's something to do about it. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t ready.” Her gaze hardened. “Umbridge’s educational decrees’ aren’t just about stopping us from learning practical Defence Against the Dark Arts. She’s started digging into family histories, making unfair judgments based on who your parents are, or what your grandparents did. My family… she made a particularly nasty comment about my grandmother’s Muggle-born status the other day. I’m here to change that.”

Angelina nodded curtly. “And I’m here because she’s just banned our Seeker for life over a trumped-up charge. Quidditch is about to be ruined, and it’s one of the few things that still makes this school feel like home. She’s not just attacking our education; she’s attacking everything that makes Hogwarts Hogwarts .”

One by one, the others voiced their discomfort, their anger, their shared sense of injustice. Fred and George spoke of their dwindling supplies for pranks, stifled creativity, and the joyless atmosphere. Lee spoke of the sheer monotony of Umbridge’s lessons. Emily decried the new dress code. Even Flora, the Head Girl, spoke of the constant burden of reporting infractions, of watching students grow fearful and subdued. They were here because they were tired of it. They were here because they wanted to fight back.

Cedric felt a surge of quiet determination. He wasn’t alone. “Good,” he said, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time. “Then we’ve got work to do. We need to work on resistance techniques. Practical ones. But not in plain sight,”

He led them away from the Ancient Magic section, deeper into the less-frequented parts of the library. They rounded a forgotten corner, past shelves filled with dusty, obscure Muggle studies texts, until they reached a nondescript 'broom cupboard' tucked away in a shadowed alcove. It looked exactly like any other broom cupboard: narrow, dark, and utterly unremarkable.

"A broom cupboard in the library? Since when?" Ashton asked. Cedric smiled at them.

"We are going in there," Cedric told them.

The students exchanged confused glances. “A broom cupboard, Cedric?” Fred asked, a hint of his usual humour returning.

“This broom cupboard,” Cedric said, his eyes alight with pride and a touch of mischief, “is what I’ve been working on for the last month.” He reached out, pushed the plain wooden door open, and stepped aside.

The students peered in, expecting to see mops and buckets. Instead, the small opening seemed to stretch inwards, revealing not a cramped cupboard, but a surprisingly spacious, albeit still small room. It was roughly circular, with soft worn cushions scattered on the floor and a few low, magically conjured tables. The walls were plain, but the air felt warm and secure, as if it existed outside the normal confines of the castle.

“An Extension Charm,” Flora murmured, her Ravenclaw mind already dissecting the magic. "But Hogwarts always resist extension charm, it's in the history book,"

"Well, Hogwarts didn't resist," Cedric shrugged. "I think Hogwarts wants to help us. And I've heard that helps are given to Hogwarts who asks for it," Cedric quoted the words that Lily Potter told him few months ago.

“Impressive, Cedric. Very impressive.” Emily peered inside the room.

One by one, they filed in. The room wasn’t grand, but it was easily large enough to comfortably seat all ten of them. As the last student squeezed inside, Cedric gave the door a gentle push, and it swung shut with a soft click, plunging them into a momentary semi-darkness before the luminous, moss-like growths on the ceiling began to glow softly.

“Okay,” Cedric said, his voice now confident, imbued with the authority of the secret-bearer. “This room has a few… added protections.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “First, an Intruder Charm. If anyone tries to come near this cupboard with ill intent, I’ll know immediately. It’s linked to my internal magic. Second, a Cantis Charm, The Singing Charm. Anyone who so much as tries to open this door without me present will find themselves uncontrollably belting out a show tune. Loudly. Very, very loudly.”

A few stifled chuckles broke the tension. "But you are not fully heal yet. How can you do such strong magic?" Flora asked.

"I'm injured not incapable," Cedric replied. Even Fred and George looked impressed.

“And finally,” Cedric continued, his gaze sweeping over their faces, illuminated by the gentle glow, “I am the secret bearer. No one else can find this room, or access it, without my explicit permission or presence. This is our space. Our safe haven. And our starting point.”

They nodded, a silent agreement passing among them. The shared discomfort and grievances had solidified into a collective resolve. In the heart of an unassuming broom cupboard, shielded by ingenuity and powerful charms, the first meeting of what would soon become a formidable resistance had officially begun.

Alicia clapped her hands, cutting through the low hum of chatter. "Alright, people! We need two things: a name for this… endeavour, and a solid schedule. Then we can actually get to work."

Fred and George practically fell over themselves, blurting out ideas. "The Anti-Pus-Face!" Fred declared.

"The Dolores Discombobulators!" George added, barely suppressing a cackle. "Umbridge's Undoing United!" they chorused together.

Cedric rubbed a hand over his face. They were good for a laugh, but hardly professional.

Then, Flora cleared her throat. Her voice, though soft, cut through the remaining suggestions like a bell chime. "The Unbreakable Circle."

A silence descended. It wasn't flashy, or humorous, or aggressive. It was simply… perfect. It spoke of unity, strength, and resilience. Alicia nodded slowly, a small smile forming. Emily, Ashton, Bethy, Angelina, and even Fred and George, still grinning but now with genuine approval, turned to look at Cedric for approval. Cedric thought about it before nodding and all nodded in agreement. The name was settled.

"Excellent," Flora continued, her gaze sweeping over their faces. "And to truly cement our purpose, to bind us, I believe we should all take an oath to serve our society. To protect its members, and its mission."

Emily’s eyes flickered to Cedric, watching him with a hope that he would agree. But Cedric hesitated, a frown deepening on his brow. "We need to trust each other," he stated, his voice quiet but firm. "Implicitly. Truly."

Ashton shook his head. "We can't rely solely on the basis of trust, Cedric. It’s bigger than that, so much bigger. We need protection, and the comfort of knowing that these ten members are our absolute best service to each other, fully committed, fully secured."

Fred and George both nodded vigorously, their earlier jests replaced by sober expressions. "Aye," Fred chimed in, "better to be safe and secure, especially in a meeting like this."

"We could take an Unbreakable Vow!" Bethy piped up, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Absolutely not!" Angelina retorted instantly, her voice firm. "That's far too risky, Bethy. We need another way. Something that binds us without such… dire consequences."

A thoughtful silence descended again. Everyone looked at Cedric. He took a slow breath, his mind working through the problem. An oath, yes, but not one that could literally kill them if broken. He had considered this before, the need for a deeper bond. "Sealing Charms," he finally suggested, his voice low but firm. "We could apply a series of interlocking Charms to a shared item – a symbol of our group. Not a vow, but a form of magical signature, showing our commitment. If any of us were to betray the Circle, the Charms would alert the others, not punish the individual."

It was ingenious, practical, and perfectly aligned with their need for security without suicidal risk. Everyone agreed.

"We can start now!" Bethy said excitedly, already reaching for her wand.

But Cedric hesitated. He hadn't told them but he was hoping for Harry to be here– a desperate hope that Harry would eventually join them. "Let's… let's work on the Sealing Charms at our next meeting," he suggested, "For now, we need to set the schedule and, more importantly, share our expertise on how to tackle her."

Flora immediately took charge. "I can gather significant information from my nightly patrolling as Head Girl and from teaching staff," she offered, her tone leaving no room for doubt about her commitment.

Cedric nodded, "And I'll participate in that too, Flora. We can coordinate."

Fred and George exchanged excited glances. "And we," Fred declared, "can facilitate any necessary… disruptions. Whenever needed, consider it done. We know every excess of Hogwarts and it's hidden routes and turns,"

Ashton and Emily spoke almost simultaneously. "We have access to Ministry goings-on, through our parents," Ashton said. "We can gather valuable intelligence from that end," Emily finished.

Bethy, still a little disappointed about the delayed Charms, perked up. "I'm very friendly with the school house-elves!" she announced proudly. "I can make a chain of a network to get information from all over the castle – even the kitchens!"

A wave of satisfaction went through the group. This was a good start. This was very good. They had a name, a plan for security, and a solid strategy for gathering intelligence and initiating disruption.

The meeting ended with a renewed sense of purpose, a promise to meet again in the same place, same time next week. The Unbreakable Circle.

Cedric didn't wait, as soon as the meeting ended he went to search for Harry.

A wave of relief washing over him at the sight of Harry surrounded by Ron and Hermione on the third week. For weeks, Harry had been a ghost, eyes haunted, shoulders hunched, often alone. To see him engaged in conversation, even if it sounded like an argument, was a welcome change. Cedric had been about to call out. He’d slowed his pace, intending to catch up, but then the words reached him, sharp and clear.

"—So, you and your dorm-mates are talking about my madness now? Thanks Hermione," Harry’s voice was laced with a bitterness that made Cedric wince.

“No,” Hermione replied, her tone surprisingly calm, “I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down Ron’s and my throats, Harry, because if you haven’t noticed, we’re on your side.”

A short, uncomfortable pause descended. Cedric froze, his footsteps faltering. He shouldn't be hearing this. This was a private conversation. It was wrong to keep following them, to listen in on such a vulnerable moment.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, the bitterness replaced by a low, almost ashamed tone.

“That’s quite all right,” Hermione said, her voice softening. Then she shook her head. “Don’t you remember what Dumbledore said at the end-of-term feast last year?” Harry and Ron both looked at her blankly. Cedric, too, found himself wondering. The end-of-term feast… that had been the night after everything. The night he had been at St. Mungo's, being poked and prodded, trying to make sense of a world that had suddenly tilted on its axis. He’d missed it all.

“—About You-Know-Who. He said, ‘His gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust —’”

“How do you remember stuff like that?” Ron asked, a note of admiration in his voice.

“I listen, Ron,” Hermione replied with a sigh.

“So do I, but I still couldn’t tell you exactly what —”
“The point,” Hermione pressed on loudly, cutting him off, “is that this sort of thing is exactly what Dumbledore was talking about. You-Know-Who’s only been back few months, and we’ve started fighting among ourselves. And the Sorting Hat’s warning was the same — stand together, be united —”

“And Harry said it last night,” retorted Ron, “if that means we’re supposed to get matey with the Slytherins, fat chance.”

“Well, I think it’s a pity we’re not trying for a bit of inter-House unity, but we can count on some of our friends from other houses,” Hermione said crossly.

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase now, and Cedric pressed against a tapestry, felt a pang of relief that they hadn't looked his way. A line of fourth-year Ravenclaws was crossing the entrance hall, their laughter dying on their lips as they caught sight of Harry. They hurried to form a tighter group as they shrinking away as though frightened he might attack stragglers.

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of how isolated Harry truly was. “Yeah, we really ought to be trying to make friends with people like that,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he watched them go.

“What about Cedric?” Hermione asked, the sudden mention of his name making Cedric flinch, his heart giving a startled lurch. Harry looked away, a subtle shift in his posture.

“He is your friend, Harry. What he did wasn't his fault. He cares about you,”

“I know that, Hermione. You don’t have to say that every time we talk,” Harry replied, brusquely, almost defensively.

Cedric pulled himself back, forcing his feet to move. He had to get away, disappear before they noticed him. With a quiet step, he walked away, turning down a quiet corridor that led to the library.

He thought of the Ravenclaws cowering, of the broader school's dismissal of Harry's claims. If he, Cedric a fellow champion and a direct witness, was still struggling to piece his own mind back together, how could anyone expect the rest of the school to understand Harry's trauma? Harry wore his on his sleeve, raw and unhealed.

He ran a hand through his hair. Harry had called him a friend, however grudgingly. And Hermione had insisted on it. It meant something.

The thought resolve within him. Cedric wouldn't push, not yet. Harry clearly needed his space. But Cedric wouldn't shy away either. There was a profound loneliness in Harry's sarcasm towards the Ravenclaws, a desperate isolation that Cedric recognised.

Perhaps, Cedric thought, as he rounded a corner and found himself facing a deserted stretch of corridor, true friendship didn't always need to be loud or overtly acknowledged.

Sometimes, it was just knowing you were there, a steady presence, even if you were just a silent witness for now. He’d find a way to let Harry know. He just had to figure out how, without adding to the immense weight Harry was already carrying.

Chapter Text

The flickering lights of the Hogwarts corridor cast long, dancing shadows as Cedric strode, his Head boy badge glinting on his robes and his walking stick making a rhythmic sound on the floor.

His nightly patrol was usually a solitary affair, a brief respite from the day’s demands. But tonight was different. This wasn't just a routine patrol; it was the first night of their new clandestine operation.

Flora Wolpert, the Head Girl, glided beside him, her movements as graceful and silent as a trained dancer. Her presence alone marked a departure from the usual routine, but it was the nature of their duty that truly set this night apart. They weren’t merely patrolling; they were collecting evidence.

“...and so, for the duration of this week, we’ll be implementing a slightly adjusted patrol schedule to ensure every area of the castle receives adequate attention,” Flora explained. She was truly exceptional at this – weaving an elaborate tapestry of innocent-sounding duties that subtly nudged everyone into their pre-assigned roles, without revealing the true purpose.

They found the prefects gathered, a small huddle of sleepy teenagers in various states of alertness. Flora took charge. She was truly great with talk. She spun a plausible tale about an "unusual routine for the week," a necessary recalibration of patrol schedules due to some vague, but undoubtedly official, directive. The new assignments involved the DADA corridor a lot. But she explained that was necessary after two first year's students were found there in the midnight, specifically scheduling it to be watched over by either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff prefects.

Draco Malfoy stood a little apart from the group, Pansy Parkinson glued to his side, both of them sneering faintly. Their presence alone was enough to keep any sensitive discussion to a minimum. Cedric caught Hermione Granger’s eye across the small gathering. Her brow was furrowed in thought, her gaze sharp as she took in every word Flora uttered.

He watched in fascination as her expression shifted, from concentration to dawning suspicion, then to a quiet and grim understanding, minute by minute, as Flora continued.

At some point, Draco interrupted with a snide remark of this pathetic patrolling duty. Flora didn't miss a beat. She kept her tone light, her smiles brief but convincing, managing to sound both authoritative and reassuring without revealing the true stakes. Cedric watched, silently impressed.

“...specifically, the DADA corridor will require a little extra vigilance, given the recent incidents with the first year's students… and Peeves occurrences of activities there,” Flora concluded smoothly, nodding towards a particularly eager Ernie Macmillan.

By the time Flora had finished, Hermione’s lips were pressed into a thin line, her gaze fixed on Cedric with an intensity that promised a reckoning.

Ernie Macmillan, ever eager to embrace the perceived power of his prefect badge, puffed out his chest and readily agreed to pay extra attention to the DADA corridor. “I’d be happy to take point on the DADA corridor, Flora! I’m excellent at noticing details, and I can assure you, no unusual occurrence will escape my eye.”

Flora smiled, a picture of polite appreciation. “Excellent, Ernie. Hannah, would you be available to assist him on alternating nights?” Hannah Abbott, looking a little less thrilled but responsible, nodded.

The meeting dispersed, Prefects peeling off into the night to begin their patrols. Cedric was about to follow suit when a voice firm and quiet, stopped him.
“Cedric.”

He turned to find Hermione standing before him, and Ron eyeing them as he followed others for the night's patrolling.

“What was that about?” she asked, her voice low and direct. “And don’t give me that ‘unusual routine’ rubbish. I’ve seen Fred and George in the library reading mountains of books along with Ashton and Emily. They don't read, not Fred and George, until it's absolute necessity. I saw their face this week. Something’s happening, isn’t it?”

Cedric wanted to tell her, to confide in Hermione’s in unwavering loyalty. But the words were stuck, trapped behind the impenetrable barrier of the Sealing Charms he was bound by.

He could feel the familiar thrum of the Charms around his core. He couldn’t tell her. He truly couldn’t. “Hermione, I can’t tell you the details.”

Her eyes flashed with frustration. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he clarified, meeting her gaze directly. He knew she would understand the nuance in his tone. “But it’s important. More important than I can say.”

Hermione studied him for a long moment, her gaze piercing. Cedric braced himself for her usual barrage of logical questions, her demand for details. Instead, she slowly nodded. “Alright,” she said, surprising him. “I don’t understand, but I can see you’re serious. And I trust you, Cedric. Whatever this is, I support your decision. And,” she added, “I’m going to help you without asking anything.”

A relief washed over him. He managed a grateful smile. “Thank you, Hermione. For understanding.” He started to turn, about to leave, when she spoke again.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a different kind of worry.

“I am,” Cedric affirmed, his voice resolute.

Hermione glanced around the empty corridor, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “You can reach out to Harry, you know. He needs you. More now than ever.”

Cedric’s heart tightened at the mention of Harry. He did know. He’d seen it, felt it, the invisible wall that had grown around Harry in the last few weeks. He yearned to reach out, to bridge that chasm. He’d wanted to reach out. He’d seen the light in Harry’s eyes dim over the last few weeks, the easy smile vanish, replaced by a haunted, distant look. He longed to see that smile again.

“Is he sleeping okay?” Cedric asked, the question escaping him before he could stop it. “He was… having nightmares before, during summer holidays. He told me that its not that frequent anymore but- recently he seems withdrawn.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, a flicker of alarm crossing her face. “Harry didn’t tell me that,” she confessed, a note of hurt in her voice. “But I… I’ve seen him flinch away from everyone, More so in the last few weeks, but it started months ago, after… after everything. It's like he was afraid of any human touch.” Her voice trailed off, a profound sadness in her eyes.

Cedric’s chest ached. He wanted to ask more, so much more. What kind of nightmares Harry was seeing? How often? What did she mean, afraid of touch? The implications were chilling, worse than anything he’d imagined.

He wanted to pry every detail from her, to understand the depth of Harry’s pain, to know what exactly was happening to the boy he cared for so deeply. But before he could formulate another question, a booming voice echoed down the corridor.

“Cedric! I was just wondering about your future plans as Head Boy. I have some rather brilliant ideas you might consider for next month’s initiatives, perhaps some new reward systems for House Points…?” Ernie Macmillan, was striding towards them, waving an arm expansively. He launched into an enthusiastic monologue, clearly eager to offer his ‘tips’ on leadership.

Cedric forced a polite smile, his mind still reeling from Hermione’s words. “Ernie, thank you, but I really must be going. Just finished up with Flora.” He offered a quick curt nod to Hermione, a silent apology for the abrupt departure, and retreated, leaving Ernie to babble to himself.

He could feel Hermione’s eyes on his back as he walked away, a silent question, a shared worry.

Every instinct screamed at him to go back. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back and ask her everything about Harry, to hear every detail of his suffering, to understand how deeply he was hurting.

He wanted to see Harry again, to talk to him like before, to bridge the distance, to touch his face and assure himself that Harry was alright, truly alright. But the corridor ahead was long and empty, and the secrets he carried ensured he had to walk it alone, at least for now.

Two days later, Cedric realised his mistake.

The first slivers of dawn were just beginning to filter through the tall, leaded windows of the Hufflepuff dormitory when Cedric was roughly jolted from sleep. A shadow loomed over his bed. His hand instinctively went for his wand, tucked beneath his pillow, before his bleary eyes focused on the frantic face of Bethy.

She was a mess. Her hair was wild and tangled around her face, plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her breathing was ragged, harsh gasps tearing from her throat as if she’d run a marathon. Her wide eyes were dilated with an intense, raw fear that instantly set Cedric’s own heart hammering.

“Bethy? What… what are you doing here?” he croaked, pushing himself up on his elbows.

She could only shake her head, clutching her ribs as she bent over, struggling to inhale. Her chest heaved. Seeing her desperate state, Cedric didn't press. He swung his legs out of bed, grabbing his discarded dressing gown and throwing it around his shoulders. "Take a breath, Bethy. Just breathe." He poured a glass of water from the carafe on his bedside table and offered it to her.

She snatched it, downing it in one gulp. The water seemed to help, slowly bringing her breathing under control. When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were still wide, but a semblance of her usual self returned.

"Cedric," she began, her voice a strained whisper, "I was… I was out for a morning walk. In the fields. Near the edge of the Forest. And… and a house-elf found me."

Cedric’s brow furrowed. He remembered instructing her, just two nights ago after their intense hushed meeting in the library. “Get as much as you can, Bethy. Anything about Umbridge. Her habits, her moods, even her letters… everything. Speak to the house-elves if you have to. They see everything in Hogwarts.” Bethy had clearly taken his words to heart. Now, the sheer terror radiating off her told him she had found more than just idle gossip.

"A house-elf?" Cedric prompted gently, his own heart rate picking up with a chilling premonition. "What did they tell you?"

Bethy swallowed hard, her gaze darting around the room as if Umbridge herself might be lurking in the shadows. "I… I contacted them last night. Just a quick word with one of the kitchen elves. She promised to look around.” She swallowed hard. “She found me this morning. She said… she said Harry’s detention isn’t what everyone thinks it is.”

Harry’s detention. He knew about it, of course. Everyone did. Harry had shouted at Umbridge in DADA, and the pink toad had slapped him with a month of detention, which ended this week. Cedric had even made a point of discreetly asking around – Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, even a couple of Ravenclaws – and they’d all confirmed it was just lines. Over and over. Annoying, but not dangerous.

“What do you mean, ‘not what everyone thinks’?” Cedric demanded, his voice sharper than he intended. He stepped closer to her, his heart beginning to beat heavily. “He’s just writing lines, Bethy. It’s tedious, but it’s not…”

But now, looking at Bethy’s ashen face, the way her hands trembled as she clutched the empty water glass, it was horrifyingly clear that “writing lines” was a gross understatement.

"It's true, Cedric, he is writing lines," Bethy whispered, her voice barely audible. "But… but not with a normal quill. Not with ink."

Cedric stared at her, a cold dread seeping into his bones. His mind raced, trying to grasp what she meant. Not with a normal quill? Not with ink?

Bethy took another shaky breath, her eyes brimming with concern. "The house-elf said… he’s writing with his own blood. With a Black Quill. It scars him. As he writes, the words cut into his hand. Over and over again. Every single word. And he was in a month of detention!"

The world tilted. Cedric felt the blood drain from his own face, leaving him colder than the dawn outside. His own blood. It scars him.

He stood there, frozen, the words echoing in his mind, over and over, until the room began to spin. Harry, alone in that office, day after day, week after week, carving the words into his own flesh. The casual dismissal of his friends, the blind acceptance of the school, his own complacent assumption that it was just a tedious detention.

All this time. He remembered seeing Harry in the Great Hall, looking tired, but he’d put it down to the stress of OWL’s, of Sirius Black, of everything. Lines. He’d dismissed it as merely an unpleasant chore.

A wave of nausea washed over him, a gut-wrenching realization that made it hard to breathe. His chest tightened, a vice clamping down on his lungs. He could feel his breath quicken, short, ragged gasps like Bethy's had been just moments ago.

"Cedric?!" Bethy’s voice was laced with concern now, pulling him from the terrifying abyss of his thoughts. She reached out, her cool hand gripping his arm. "Cedric, you're not breathing properly. Are you alright?"

She was talking, her words blurring into a meaningless hum. He couldn't hear her. All he could hear was the metallic scraping of a quill, the soft tearing of skin...

Harry. Alone. He was hurt. He was being tortured by Umbridge, systematically, cruelly, whole time Cedric was here. Complacent. Ignorant. Safe.

A searing pain, sharper than any wound, twisted in Cedric’s gut. He had failed. He had failed again. He had failed Harry. And now, the only thing that mattered, the only thought burning through the fog of his despair, was that he had to find Harry. Now. Immediately.

"Cedric, sit down," another voice said, Ashton. Cedric realised Ashton had woke up in between Bethy and his talk. Ashton was here, he was helping Cedric to lie down in the bed. But he couldn't stay here now. Cedric had to find Harry.

“Harry,” he gasped in a broken sound. He pulled his arm away from Ashton, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I have to… Harry. He’s alone. He’s hurt. And I… I just… I failed him, Ashton. I failed him.”

"You are going to him as soon as your breathing become even," Ashton replied rubbing his back then turned to Bethy for explanation.

Cedric vaguely heard her talking but all his thoughts were on Harry. He needed to see him. Right now.

Why? Why Harry hid his pain from Cedric? He questioned all their free talk and their growing bonds. Wasn't that enough for Harry to came to him and tell him what Umbridge was doing?

Cedric sat there in the his bed as his two friends talk to each other, as his breathing slowly became even. Bethy and Ashton was still concerned that Cedric's won't be able to walk to the gryffindor tower.

Cedric sat stiff between Bethy and Ashton, the four-poster’s curtains drawn tight against the pale dawn. Ashton’s wool-clad knee bumped his. Bethy whispered urgently.

“You can’t go alone, Ced. You’re still shaking.”

Cedric swallowed. “I’m fine. Really.”

Ashton sat up, rubbing his eyes. “That’s not why we’re worried.”

Bethy’s voice cracked. “He’s asleep right now—”

Cedric cut in, voice trembling. “I just need to see him. I need to know he’s all right.”

Ashton’s brows knit. “You barely got back from your night patrolling. You need rest.”

Cedric stared at the ceiling. The room felt too small. He stood abruptly. “I’ll be rational. I won’t do anything stupid. Promise.”

Bethy reached for his sleeve. “Promise us you’ll come right back and you aren't going to Umbridge's office.”

"I won't do any such things, promise," He squeezed her hand and said, "Get others for an emergency meeting, I'll be there in two hours,"

After assuring them multiple time, Cedric went to the gryffindor tower. The portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower loomed dark. The Fat Lady peered down at him.

“Password, Diggory?” she said, concern shading her tone.

He shook his head. Heart pounding. “I— I don’t have it.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. No password, no entry.”

He nodded once, withdrew to sit on the stone step. The corridors were empty, the castle silent. Half an hour passed and the fat lady was watching him with concern.

After waiting there for a half an hour. The portrait door swung open. Ginny Weasley blinked at him, broomstick strapped to her back. “Cedric? What are you—”

“Ginny, I can't explain this right now,” he exhaled. “Password, please?”

Her eyes widened. “Right. The password. Honestly—‘Fairy Light’.” She stepped aside. “Be careful.”

“Thanks,” he whispered, slipping through.

He crept into the fifth-year dormitory. Five beds lined the room; two curtains drawn back. Ron’s and Neville’s sheets lay rumpled. A muffled snore came from each. Cedric paused, listening.

A pale moonbeam outlined the middle bed’s curtains. No sound. He drew in a breath and slipped between the posts.

Cedric pulled back the curtains of the bed besides Ron's and caught sight of Harry's sleeping face, his brows furrowed as though he was sleeping restlessly, trapped in a nightmare. The covers were twisted around his legs.

Harry was twisting, fists clenched beneath tangled blankets. His voice hitched in a ragged whisper: “No… no, please—” beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

Cedric's gaze lingered on Harry before it fell to his hands, revealing angry scars etched into the skin.

Gently, he took Harry's hand in his, settling beside him on the bed. The sight of the wounds brought tears to his eyes, blurring his vision as he read, "I mustn't tell lies." As he pulled the covers up, Harry seemed to calm, and Cedric placed his hand reassuringly on top of his.

A sudden choking sound broke the silence, prompting Cedric to quickly cast a muffling charm around the bed to avoid waking anyone else. When he turned back to Harry, he found Harry's eyes wide open, filled with a mix of confusion and recognition.

Harry’s eyes blinked slowly, focusing on Cedric’s face. Confusion flickered across them, then alarm, then a gut-wrenching dread as his gaze dropped to his own hand, still held gently in Cedric’s. The angry red letters, glowing faintly in the dim morning light, were an open wound.

Cedric’s chest hitched again, a silent choked sob escaping past his composure. He didn't let go of Harry's hand. His thumb traced the raw, inflamed skin, each angry ridge of tissue screaming its silent accusation. “Why?” he whispered, the question ragged, barely audible even beneath the charm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry flinched, pulling his hand back as if burned, but Cedric held firm. A tremor ran through Harry’s body. He sat up abruptly, bumping his head on the headboard of the four-poster bed, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were dull with a profound weariness Cedric hadn’t ever seen there before.

“Cedric, what are you doing here?” Harry’s voice was hoarse and desperate whisper. He tried to pull his hand away again, to hide the evidence, to make it disappear, but Cedric’s grip was strong.

“What am I doing here?” Cedric’s voice rose, cracking with the effort to keep it low and contained. “What are you doing, Harry? How long has this been happening?” His gaze swept over Harry’s face, searching for answers, seeing only the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin.

Harry finally managed to yank his hand free, tucking it under the covers as if to bury the shame. He hunched his shoulders, pulling his knees up to his chest, making himself small. “It’s… it’s nothing, Cedric. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Nothing?!” Cedric’s voice was sharper now, laced with betrayal. “Harry, look at your hand! ‘I must not tell lies’? Umbridge did this to you. That toad-faced hag, what is she doing to you?” The anger, hot and fierce, surged through him.

Harry remained silent, his gaze fixed on the rumpled duvet.
"I know you are angry at me for not telling you about Dumbledore's order. But- but Harry, I thought you trust me," Cedric looked at Harry, but he looked away.

The silence stretched, thick and painful, only broken by the soft sounds of Cedric’s ragged breathing.

“We talk, Harry,” Cedric pressed, his voice softening, the anger giving way to a more profound sorrow. “We talk about everything. Or so I thought. We spend evenings together in the library, in the common room, sometimes just walking the grounds. I thought… I thought we were friends. More than friends, Harry. I thought you trusted me.” he repeated the last line to himself.

Harry finally looked up, his eyes meeting Cedric’s, and the raw vulnerability there was devastating. “I do trust you, Cedric,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Because I do trust you. Because… because I knew you’d react like this.”

Cedric stared at him, bewildered. “React like what? Like I care about you? that someone is torturing you, and you are enduring it silently? Like I’m angry that you’re being hurt?”

“Like you’d try to do something stupid,” Harry clarified, a flicker of his usual stubbornness returning. “Like you’d get involved. Like you’d try to stop her and get yourself in trouble. Or worse, get yourself hurt.” His voice was laced with a fear that Cedric hadn’t anticipated. “She’s the High Inquisitor, Cedric. She’s got the Ministry’s backing. There’s nothing anyone can do. If I told you, you’d just put yourself at risk for no reason. I… I couldn’t let that happen.”

Cedric felt a cold wave wash over him. Was that truly it? Harry was trying to protect him? The thought was both humbling and infuriating. “So you’d rather suffer alone?” he asked, the words edged with a deep, aching pain. “You’d rather let her carve her cruelty into your hand because you think I’m too foolish to look after myself?”

Harry’s eyes welled up, matching Cedric’s own. “No! It’s not that. It’s… it’s just the way it has to be. Nobody can help. Dumbledore won’t – can’t – interfere. Hermione and Ron don't know, but what can they do? They’re just as helpless. And I didn’t want you to carry this, too. I didn’t want you to feel that same helplessness.” His voice broke. “I just… I just wanted to keep you out of it. To keep you safe.”

The Muffliato charm hummed around them, a small, private bubble in the heart of the sleeping dormitory. Cedric felt his anger slowly ebb, replaced by a crushing sadness.

He reached out, tentatively this time, and took Harry’s unscarred hand, lacing their fingers together. “Harry, we faced something significant together, and that changes our life, we faced that together and survived.” he said, his voice soft, “we’re supposed to face things together and solve it together. Not just the good stuff. Not just the laughs and the quiet moments in the library. The bad stuff too. The scary stuff. Especially the stuff that hurts you.”

Harry squeezed his hand, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. A tear finally escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. “I just – I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he confessed, the words barely audible. “Weak. Helpless. It’s humiliating.”

“You are not weak, Harry,” Cedric stated firmly, his thumb stroking Harry’s knuckles. “And there’s no shame in needing help.” He pulled Harry’s other hand from beneath the covers, turning it gently, his gaze lingering on the angry scar. “We’ll figure something out,” he vowed. “I don’t know what yet. But you’re not going through this alone anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Harry looked at him then, truly looked at him, and for the first time since Cedric had entered the room, a flicker of something other than pain or fear crossed his face: a fragile, hesitant hope and with that, the acceptance.

He hit Cedric's chest with a muffled thud, a sob tearing from his throat, and buried his face against the older boy's shoulder.

Cedric never saw him cry like that, not even after the nightmares that still haunted them both. This was different. This was beyond grief; it was the raw, guttural sound of a soul fracturing under immense pressure.

Harry looked broken and alone, his small frame wracked with shuddering sobs as he clung to Cedric as if he was a lifeline. His grip was desperate, his fingers clutching at the fabric of Cedric's shirt as if he feared he might simply disintegrate if he let go.

Cedric tightened his arms around Harry, pulling him impossibly closer. He didn’t know how much damage had happened, but the sheer desolation radiating from Harry was a physical blow.

Cedric's eyes also filled with tears. A slow, burning rage ignited in his gut. He was angry at Umbridge, that simpering, sadistic toad, for the fresh hell she had inflicted upon Harry. He pictured her sickly sweet smile, her quacking voice, her cruel pronouncements, and felt a surge of violent protectiveness towards Harry.

He was angry at Hermione and Ron, Harry's supposed best friends, for letting him suffer alone, for not seeing the cracks forming in his brave façade, for not being the bulwark Harry deserved. Where were they when Harry was clearly drowning?

He was angry at Dumbledore, who kept Harry at arm's length, burdened him with duty and secrets, and then acted surprised when the boy crumbled under the weight.

He was angry at the world, at their expectations, their demand for a hero, for wanting such a huge, impossible responsibility from a fifteen-year-old boy who had already seen too much, lost too much.

But more importantly, he was angry at himself. Angry for not noticing sooner, for not seeing the signs, for not being there the moment Harry needed him most. He’d been so caught up in his own studies, his own attempt to rebuild a semblance of normalcy after the graveyard, that he had overlooked the silent battle raging within Harry. He should have seen it. He should have been there.

Cedric sat there on the edge of Harry's bed, holding the boy in his arms as Harry cried, deep wrung-out sobs that soaked Cedric’s shirt.

Harry needed this. He needed to shed the impossible burden of being everyone's saviour, of being "The Boy Who Lived," and simply be a boy. He needed to be held without question, without judgment, without advice, just held.

"I'm here," Cedric whispered, his voice rough with unshed tears and fierce resolve, his chin resting on the crown of Harry's head. He squeezed Harry tighter. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you earlier. But I'm now. And I will never leave you alone again."

Harry shook his head against Cedric's chest, a muffled sound of protest escaping him, trying to stop Cedric from taking on blame that wasn't his. But Cedric couldn't bear the thought of Harry thinking he was ever truly alone again.

Harry gazed up at Cedric, his eyes red with tears, filled with an overwhelming sense of trust and affection that captivated Cedric completely. In that moment, Harry appeared fragile and isolated, stirring a deep desire within Cedric to change that reality.

Then, before he fully registered the thought, before he could analyze or doubt or second-guess— Cedric placed his lips gently on Harry’s.

It was soft at first, tentative, tasting of salt and desperation. Harry froze for a moment, his breathe hitching, his body tensing in surprise. The world seemed to stop spinning, the only sound the frantic beat of both their hearts.

Then, with an almost violent urgency, Harry pulled Cedric tightly to him, his hands fisting in Cedric’s hair at the nape of his neck, and deepened the kiss. It wasn't gentle anymore; it was hungry, desperate, a silent plea for connection, for understanding, for a profound release of everything he had been holding in. It was a promise, a confession, and a desperate answer all rolled into one. In that kiss, amidst the tears and the anger, something new and utterly vital began to bloom between them.

The low light of the dormitory seemed to fade into non-existence as Harry clung to Cedric. His one hand fisted in Cedric's shirt, and the other had somehow found their way into the soft strands of Cedric's hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss that had already begun to consume them both.

Cedric, for his part, responded with an instinctual hunger that surprised him, his arms tightening around Harry's waist, one hand stroking an absentminded, rhythmic path up and down Harry's back.

The world around them dissolved. The quiet creaks of the castle, the Sunday morning outside, even the very concept of a fifth-year boys' dormitory, vanished. All Cedric knew was the soft press of Harry's lips, the faint scent of something uniquely Harry, the desperate feel of Harry's body pressed against his.

He didn't register the moment they lost their balance, or perhaps simply ceased caring about it, falling back onto Harry's bed with a soft thud of springs. All he knew was Harry. Harry in his arms, Harry kissing him back.

An eternity passed, or perhaps only a handful of stolen seconds. It was impossible to tell. Then, from the next bed over, a sound ripped through the fragile bubble they’d created: a violent, guttural snore that rattled the very bedframe.

The sudden jarring noise was like an icy splash of reality. Cedric stiffened, his eyes flying open. Harry was equally startled. He pulled back immediately and untangling himself from Cedric's embrace as if he’d been burned. His face, already flushed from the kiss, deepened to a startling shade of scarlet - ears included.

Cedric scrambled into a sitting position, feeling a rush of heat creep up his neck. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, oxygen-deprived. He glanced at Harry, whose eyes were wide and darting, refusing to meet his own for more than a fraction of a second.

Harry tried to say something, a choked sound escaping his throat, but he just shook his head and looked away again, fixing his gaze on the ancient stone wall.

Cedric cleared his throat, the sound rough and out of place in the sudden silence. "I… I should have asked first," he managed, his voice a little hoarse.

Harry’s head snapped back towards him, those bright green eyes, still a little damp from earlier tears, finally finding his. "No!" he blurted out, the word escaping him with surprising force. He looked away again, his cheeks growing even darker. "No, I… I didn't mind. At all. I was… I was glad."

He clamped his mouth shut, as though horrified by what he’d just admitted. A nervous silence descended again, but this time, it was different.

A soft chuckle escaped Cedric’s lips, a warm sound that chase away the last vestiges of their awkwardness. He scooted closer to Harry on the bed, reaching out and gently taking Harry’s face in his hands. Harry gasped slightly at first, then leaned into the touch, his gaze still shyly averted.

Cedric’s thumbs brushed over Harry’s cheekbones, finding the dampness there. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to one of Harry’s eyelids, then the other. "Your eyes are still red from crying," he murmured. He pulled back just enough to see Harry’s face, a small, tender smile playing on his lips. "And you can't see a thing without these, can you?"

He reached over to the bedside table, his fingers closing around the wire frames of Harry's glasses. He gently brought them to Harry, offering them. "Here. Put these on."

Harry took them with a quiet "Thanks" escaping him, and pushed them onto his nose. The world immediately snapped into focus, though he still avoided looking directly at Cedric’s intense gaze.

"Get ready," Cedric said, his voice dropping to a softer, more conspiratorial tone. "And if you want, you can ask Ron and Hermione to come along. We're going somewhere."

Harry finally met his eyes, a flicker of surprise and curiosity replacing the embarrassment. "Where?"

Cedric just shook his head, that confident, warm smile returning in full force. "Can't tell you where. But I can show you."

Chapter Text

Harry’s heart hammered against his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could rewind time, or better yet, simply melt into his mattress and disappear.

He kissed Cedric. Cedric Diggory!

The thought was so utterly unexpected, that it felt like a dream. But the lingering warmth on his lips, the familiar scent of Cedric, told him it was real, Terrifyingly real.

His face was still burning, a blush that felt permanently ingrained from the kiss, the closeness. He was clutching Cedric's shirt with his hands... Crying on his chest!

He'd been crying, a messy-undignified sob-fest after… well, after everything. Cedric had held him, had been so incredibly kind and understanding. And then, when their eyes met, and Cedric had leaned in.

Harry remembered the soft brush of lips, gentle and reassuring, a moment of pure comfort. And then Harry had taken over. He had deepened it, attacked it with a hunger he didn't even know he possessed, a desperate need for… what? Comfort? Affection? Something more?

Oh, Merlin. What had he done?

The image of Cedric’s surprised expression flashed in his mind. Had he taken advantage of Cedric’s kindness? Was Cedric just being a good friend, offering solace, and Harry, in his emotional mess, had completely misinterpreted the situation?

The shame washed over him, hot and suffocating. He, Harry Potter, had just pulled a stunt that could only be described as a full-on gay panic attack in the making.

“Why did I do that?” he whispered into his pillow, the words feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.

He liked girls! He did! He knew what girls looked like, and he appreciated it. But now he liked a boy. A very particular boy who was tall and kind and impossibly handsome, and had soft kissable lips. Harry liked that too.

He liked Cedric Diggory! He liked the way Cedric looked at him, smiled at him and the way his lips felt… and the way Harry had responded.

Bisexual? Was that what this was? He’d never even considered it before. His life had been about fighting dark wizards, not deciphering his own confusing heart.

But there was no time for an existential crisis. Not now. Cedric was waiting. Cedric was waiting for him in the common room. He told Harry that he was going to take him somewhere, and also told Harry to bring Ron and Hermione. That detail, more than anything, screamed “not a date.” Which was a relief, in one way, and a crushing disappointment in another that Harry immediately clamped down on. Stop it, Harry!

He sat up slowly, his blanket pooling around his waist. The other boys were still deep in sleep, their soft snores a stark contrast to the hurricane raging inside him.

Ron was a lumpy mound under his scarlet duvet, Seamus was muttering something about a Quidditch match, and Neville… well, Neville was probably dreaming of Mimbulus mimbletonia. How could they sleep so peacefully when Harry’s entire world had just been upended?

He had to get up. He had to wake Ron. And Hermione. And then he had to face Cedric. What was he supposed to tell them? "Hey guys, so I just cried in Cedric Diggory's arms, then when he kissed me and I more or less attack him, and devoured him with a surprisingly passionate kiss, and now he wants us all to come hang out and show us something. Totally normal, right?" He could practically hear Hermione’s exasperated sigh and Ron’s spluttering confusion.

Taking a deep breath, Harry swung his legs out of bed. He tiptoed across the room, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards he knew so well. He reached Ron’s bed first, a knot of dread tightening in his stomach.

“Ron,” he whispered, nudging his friend’s shoulder. Ron only grunted, pulling his pillow over his head. “Ron, wake up. It’s important.”

"Not again," Ron mumbled. "Go back to sleep Harry,"

"Ron!"

Another grunt. Harry sighed, then tried a slightly stronger approach. “Ron! Quidditch tryouts are cancelled!”

Ron bolted upright, eyes wide with alarm. “What?!” He blinked rapidly, then squinted at Harry in the dim light. “Harry? What are you on about? And why are you up? It’s still early.”

“Never mind.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his blush returning with renewed vengeance. “Look, something… something happened. I need to tell you and Hermione. And Cedric’s waiting for us in the common room.”

Ron’s brow furrowed. “Cedric? Diggory? What for?” He looked at Harry’s flushed face, his disheveled hair, and the tell-tale glint of recent tears in his eyes. “Harry, you look like you’ve just fought a dragon. Are you alright?”

“It’s complicated,” Harry mumbled. “Just… get dressed. And then we need to go get Hermione.” He avoided Ron’s gaze, knowing full well he couldn’t meet it without giving away the complete and utter chaos that was currently his life. This was going to be a long day.

Half an hour later, they were in the library. Every rustle of parchment, every distant murmur from another aisle, seemed amplified the silence that pressed down on Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Cedric.

Hermione's eyes were still puffy and red-rimmed, her face blotchy, but the violent sobbing had finally subsided into shuddering breaths.

Ron had lost some of the furious crimson from his cheeks, but his jaw remained clenched, a muscle working furiously.

Harry just slumped further in his seat, feeling raw, exposed, and utterly exhausted. The morning, a Sunday morning that should have been peaceful, had felt like weeks compressed into hours. He kept his hand tucked under the table, though he'd shown them the angry, raised scars of "I must not tell lies", for it to be burned into their memories.

Hermione had burst into tears. A soundless shudder had rippled through her, followed by a choked sob. Tears had streamed down her face and she had cried until her eyes raw.

Now, in the library, the aftermath clung to them like cold air. Harry sat between Ron and Cedric, feeling the weight of their gaze, the tremor of their barely suppressed emotions. He kept turning his hand over, flexing his fingers, as if by doing so he could make the words disappear, could erase not just the scars, but the pain they had caused his friends.

"I can't believe... I honestly cannot believe she used a blood quill on you, Harry!" Hermione's voice was a ragged whisper. "It's barbaric! It's cruel! How... how could she get away with this?"

“Honestly, Hermione,” he mumbled, his own voice hoarse, “it doesn’t hurt anymore. Not really. Just a bit… itchy sometimes.” He offered a weak, reassuring smile, a pathetic attempt really.

Because, It was the wrong thing to say. Hermione’s already red eyes welled up again, a fresh wave of tears springing forth. A small, broken sound escaped her lips as she buried her face in her hands. “Harry,” she whispered, “how can you say that? How could she? It’s… it’s wrong!”

"It's really fine now, Hermione. See? It's faded a bit even," Harry mumbled, trying to wave off her distress. Cedric shook his head and looked away.

"That's not the point, Harry!" she retorted, a fresh wave of tears welling. "The point is, she did it! She hurt you, and she's probably going to do that to others! And we can't do anything!" Her gaze flickered to Ron, then back to Harry.

Ron sat stiffly, his jaw clenched so tight Harry could see the muscle twitching. His anger simmered beneath the surface, a barely controlled heat. He kept glancing at Harry’s hand, then away, as if unable to meet the accusation he imagined there.

“I should’ve noticed,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone. “We should have been there, Harry, we should’ve known.” The guilt was a heavy.

"Ron,"

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell us?" His voice was rough, full of an angry guilt that made the corners of Harry's mouth tighten.

"What was I supposed to say?" Harry mumbled, looking down. "That I was being tortured? Dumbledore knows she's here. He can't do anything. You all can't do anything,"

Cedric, who had been by Harry's side since they'd left the common room, now sat down, his arm brushing Harry's, but not close enough for anyone to notice. And wasn't quite close enough for Harry to feel the warmth of his body, but the proximity was a constant, solid presence, a quiet reassurance that Harry wasn't alone.

Harry shot a glance at him, silently urging him to speak. However, his gaze was drawn to the corner of Cedric's lips. There was a red mark there. A bite mark! Did he do that?! Was it from their kiss earlier? Harry's ears flushed crimson at the realization, and he swiftly averted his eyes.

Cedric seemed not to care that there's a red bite mark in the corner of his lips. He had been the one to fill in the horrifying details and explaining Umbridge's detentions to Ron and Hermione.

Cedric leaned forward slightly. “Umbridge needs to be stopped,” he said, his gaze sweeping over Ron and Hermione, then settling briefly on Harry. There was no anger in his tone, but determination. “This isn’t just about unfair rules now. This is… this is wrong. It’s what she’s doing to the school, to everyone. But what she did to you, Harry… that crosses a line.”

Cedric looked at Harry that seemed to see past the bravado and the weariness, right into the core of Harry’s ordeal. Then took his hand, that Harry hiding under the table, before turning back to Hermione. "We need more than just Harry's word, or his scares," he said. "She's cunning. She's got the Ministry behind her. We need to catch her with proof."

"Proof?" Hermione repeated. "But how do we get that? She's so careful."

"We figure it out," Ron growled, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, but his anger palpable. "She won't get away with this. Not after what she did to Harry." He looked at Harry then, his expression a mix of fierce loyalty and lingering guilt.

Harry closed his eyes, the morning's weight pressing down on him, the scars on his hand a dull ache that resonated through more than just his skin. Cedric shifted slightly again, his shirt brushing Harry's, enough to ground him. The heavy silence fell once more in the corner of the library.

Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from a this sudden visit to the library that Cedric insisted to go with Ron and Hermione, but it certainly wasn't this.

One by one some students gathered near the Ancient Runes section, and stood a line-up of ten familiar, yet utterly out-of-place, faces.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, his eyes wide as he nudged Harry and Hermione.
Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Is that...?"

Cedric nodded slowly. There was Flora Wolpert, the Head Girl from Ravenclaw, adjusting her spectacles with an air of mild exasperation. Ashton Wickliff, the Hufflepuff, leaned casually against a bookshelf along with Emily and Bethy. And from Gryffindor: Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet.

Harry had seen them on his map, gathering in the library from time to time, and wondered about it, but he wasn't about to confess to spying.

Just then, the last two members of the Gryffindor arrived, Fred and George Weasley. They were complaining about this early morning meeting until they saw Cedric.

Their eyes swept over to Harry and his friends.Then their grins widening from ear to ear as their eyes landed on Cedric.
George coughed theatrically as he addressed Cedric. "Morning, Diggory! Had a nice night patrolling yesterday, did we?"

Fred's eyes widened before a huge, wolfish smile broke out on his face. He leaned closer to Cedric, whispering loudly, "Who was the lucky girl, eh?" Harry’s cheeks instantly warm.

Ashton glanced at Cedric, then Harry was sure that his eyes flickered to Harry for a brief before looking away. Harry tried his best not to blush, but he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.

Cedric, on the other hand, was clearly not in the mood. He cleared his throat, pointedly ignoring Fred and George's snickers. "Alright, everyone. Let's not dawdle. We have business to attend to. Hermione, Ron, Harry are going to join us today."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look of pure confusion, then turned to Harry, who only offered a helpless shrug. They fell in behind the group as Cedric led them deeper into the library, past shelves filled with dusty books, heading towards the Ancient History section.

Cedric stopped at a seemingly ordinary, blank wall, tucked between a shelf on "Medieval Magical Rituals" and another on "The Rise and Fall of Goblin Revolution." He muttered something under his breath – a low – and Harry watched in mesmerized, as a faint shimmer appeared on the wall, then slowly faded away to reveal a small, unassuming door. It looked exactly like a broom cupboard.

Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding, but before she could voice it, Flora, Ashton, and the others began to step inside, one by one, disappearing into the small opening.
Hermione, still looking utterly bewildered, took a deep breath and followed. Ron and Harry looked at each other, mirroring each other's befuddlement.

"A broom cupboard?" Ron whispered.

Harry just shook his head. "Come on."
They followed, ducking through the low doorway.

Inside, the room was anything but a broom cupboard. It wasn't huge, but it was comfortably spacious, easily accommodating them all. The floor was covered with a thick, fluffy rug, scattered with plush cushions. The air was warm and smelled fresh with something sweet, like cinnamon.

Cedric closed the door behind Ron and Harry, and the soft click was the only sound for a moment as everyone settled onto the cushions. Cedric took a seat beside Harry, his knee brushing Harry's.

Hermione broke the silence. "How did you do this? I mean, Hogwarts never allows any alterations to the palace. It's simply not possible!"

Cedric smiled, "Hogwarts didn't protest when I did."

Ron and Harry exchanged another look. And Harry was glad to see that Ron seemed just as clueless as he felt. The others, however, seemed to be in understanding, nodding sagely.

Cedric caught Harry's confusion. "I used an extension charm on this corner here."

And then it clicked for Harry. "An extension charm! Like when you showed me how you hid that quill?"

Cedric nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Exactly. A slightly more advanced application, perhaps."

"Slightly more?" Harry asked, gesturing around the comfortable, expanded space. "How did you manage to make this room this huge?"

Before Cedric could reply, Ashton piped up from across the room, a playful glint in his eye. "Oh, Harry, didn't you know? Cedric's always been excellent with charm." He winked conspiratorially at Harry.

Harry's ears turned scarlet, and he instinctively ducked his head, feeling the heat spread across his face.

Cedric shot Ashton a look that promised a long, painful discussion later. Ashton, however, merely chuckled and completely unbothered as if it was a daily ritual.

“Alright, Ashton, focus,” Cedric said, his voice a little gruffer than usual. He shifted, pulling a cushion closer to Harry, subtly closing the small gap between them. “Everyone’s here now. Harry, Ron, Hermione… welcome to The Unbreakable Circle.”

Hermione, ever the pragmatist, immediately seized the opportunity. “The Unbreakable Circle? What is this, Cedric? And why are we only just hearing about it? This room… how often do you all meet? What’s the purpose?” Her questions, rapid-fire and precise.

Fred and George exchanged a conspiratorial glance. “Careful, Hermione,” Fred warned, his eyes twinkling. “Too many questions at once. Let Cedric breathe a bit,”

“Or explain his last night patrolling,” George added, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Ron was still trying to process the sheer audacity of carving a secret lounge out of the library. “A secret club? In the library? Why?”

Flora Wolpert offered a small smile. “It’s not so much a club as… a gathering. For those who see things a little differently.”

“Differently than most of the student body, anyway,” Ashton clarified, his gaze flicking back to Cedric. “Or than the Ministry, for that matter.”

Cedric sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. He looked at Harry, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – concern, perhaps, or a silent apology. “It started a few weeks ago. The things… feel off after our fight," he told Harry.

Harry wanted to point out that it was more like Harry accusing Cedric, while Cedric remained silent.

"The news from the Ministry getting weird and weird, the way Umbridge's been acting, all the whispers about You-Know-Who gaining power again.” Emily said.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged uncertain glances.

“We all agreed,” Angelina Johnson spoke up, her voice firm and practical, “that just sitting back and waiting for the next catastrophe wasn’t an option. Especially not with the Ministry downplaying everything.”

Lee Jordan nodded vigorously. “It’s like they’re burying their heads in the sand! So we thought, if they won’t face facts, we will. We need to be prepared. To know what’s really happening beyond the Daily Prophet headlines.”

Cedric picked up a worn leather-bound book from a small stack beside him. “We’ve been doing our own research. Pooling information. Umbridge's rules is one of them. But our main focus is to protect Hogwarts students from ministry power. It could prove… useful. Discussing theories about what’s really going on out there.”

“Basically,” Alicia Spinnet chimed in, “we’re a support group for people who think the world’s about to go to hell in a handbasket, and want to do something about it.”

Hermione’s eyes had gone wide, a mix of shock and burgeoning intellectual excitement. “You’re… investigating? Independently? But that’s incredibly dangerous! And what about Dumbledore? Surely he’d be the one to–”

“Dumbledore’s got his hands full, Hermione,” Bethy interjected softly. “And besides, sometimes it feels like he’s… he isn't holding us back. He is our headmaster, I don't think we can hide anything from him. We need to understand things for ourselves. To make our own choices, when the time comes.”

Harry felt a strange warmth spread through him. He often felt alone in his anxieties, his premonitions. To find a group of older students, courageous and intelligent, who not only shared his concerns but were actively trying to prepare… it was a revelation. He glanced at Cedric, who was watching him expectantly.

Fred tapped his foot, his impatience a physical hum in the tense silence of the room. “Alright, again,” he announced. “Why are we here? For this ‘urgent meeting’ that’s been so urgent we’ve been staring at each other for ten minutes?”

Cedric glanced at Harry, a silent question passing between them. Should I tell them? About the detentions? And… its outcomes?

Harry met Cedric’s gaze for a fleeting moment, then gave a small nod. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't want this, but he knew Cedric was right.

Taking a deep breath, Cedric turned his attention to the expectant faces around the room. Ashton and Bethy sat opposite, their expressions already grim.

“It’s about Harry’s detentions with Umbridge,” Cedric began, his voice low. He paused, gathering his thoughts, then continued slowly, as if each word weighed heavily on his tongue. “They’re not… normal detentions. She’s using something different. A quill. And it doesn’t just make you write lines.”

Harry’s head bowed, his dark hair falling forward, a curtain against the world. He wished the floor would swallow him whole. He could feel their eyes, a hundred pinpricks on his skin, even through the fabric of his robes.

“It’s the quill,” Cedric's voice now laced with a quiet fury that was uncharacteristic of him. “It writes the lines… in your own blood. Carves the words into your hand. Over and over again. And she makes him do it until…” He trailed off, unable to voice the full extent of the cruelty.

Stunned silence washed over the room. Fred's earlier impatience now completely forgotten and he slowly straightened up. His face paled, then flushed a dangerous crimson. George, choked a strangled gasp of pure horror. They were more than mortified; they were incandescent with rage.

Lee’s jaw had literally dropped open, his eyes wide and unblinking. Angelina had clapped a hand over her mouth. Alicia's gaze fixed on the bowed head of her youngest teammate. They were all too shocked to speak.

Under their sudden overwhelming weight of their collective shock and horror, Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The attention was suffocating. He hated being the center of pity.

Harry felt a phantom throb in his right hand, and he instinctively tucked it under the plush cushion between him and Cedric, trying to hide it, to make it disappear from their horrified scrutiny.

After a moment that stretched into an eternity, he felt a gentle, searching touch on his hidden hand. He glanced up, his eyes meeting Cedric's. Cedric was eyeing him with concern, a silent understanding passing between them. He gave a slight, reassuring nod, then with a protective gesture, took Harry's hand fully into his own, enclosing it, and keeping it hidden beneath the pillow.

“So,” Cedric said, his gaze lingering on Harry’s, “when I found out about Harry... and knowing what you three have already faced, it seemed only right to invite you. I figured, if anyone understood the need for something like this, it would be you.”

"But-" Fred stared at Harry with anxious. George was about to say something but Ron stopped them.

"Not now, Fred," Ron said, looking down.

"But what Umbridge is doing is wrong!" Flora almost yelled. "That's unfair. We students have the rights to creat a line to any punishments! And that's just cross that line!"

"Cross?! She violated Hogwarts's rules! There's no mention of such detentions in the rules!" Hermione said, "and there's a reason a Rule book exist!"

Ron cleared his throat rather loudly, effectively cutting off Hermione mid-sentence about the intricate details of Harry's hand injury and the sheer injustice of Umbridge's detention. "Right, so… we know about this unfair incident but we're not here to just discuss that, right? And I'm really curious to know more about what is this place?" he blurted out, trying to sound casual even as his ears turned a faint shade of red.

Harry shot him a grateful glance, a silent 'thank you' for the change of topic. "Me too. Can anyone explain how you all collecting data?"

However, Cedric cleared his throat. "As much as I appreciate the diversion, Ron," he said, his gaze firm on Harry, "we can't ignore what happened. Harry, we need to expose Umbridge to the other staff members."

Emily wrung her hands. "But how? She's so slick, and Dumbledore just let her in."

Bethy nodded. "Maybe we could write a really strongly-worded letter to the Ministry?"

“Or gather testimonies from everyone she’s given detention to? There must be more than Harry.” Angelina said.

“Maybe we could write anonymous letters to Dumbledore?” Alicia suggested.

They were all just ‘ideas,’ though, floating in the air like dust motes, lacking substance. They needed something more profound, something that would cut through Umbridge’s sickly-sweet facade.

Hermione scoffed. "A letter? That's not enough. We need to make her confess. To the Hogwarts teachers. In front of them all."

Harry frowned, looking around at the earnest faces. "Make her confess? Why would she do that, 'mione? She's hardly going to admit she's been… carving words into students' hands." He shook his head, a knot forming in his stomach. "Look, I appreciate you all, really. But I don't want anyone getting into trouble because of me. The detention's over, and I'll be more careful not to fall into her tactics again, I promise."

Ashton spoke with a surprising edge. "Careful isn't enough, Harry. She's doing real damage. If we don't stop her now, who knows what she'll do next. She needs to be exposed before she hurts someone else."

Fred and George exchanged a look, twin grins spreading across their faces. "Well, if we wanted to make someone confess," Fred began, his eyes twinkling, "we might have a little something for that."

"A little something to loosen the old tongue," George finished.

"Truth serum in her dinner, perhaps?" Fred suggested, as if offering a simple snack.

Cedric’s eyes lit up. “That… that’s actually a brilliant idea.” He sat up straighter, a newfound determination in his posture. “The plan can begin.” He turned to Flora, the Ravenclaw Head Girl. “Flora and I, as Head Boy and Girl, have to attend meetings in the Hogwarts teachers’ room from time to time. We have one next week. Dumbledore will be there too. It’s a perfect timing for such a confession.”

Flora, however, looked dubious. "But how do we get it into her dinner? She certainly won't invite us to tea, and she probably has her own elf serving her half the time."

"Polyjuice Potion," Hermione stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, a shared history of rule-breaking passing between them, before both nodded almost imperceptibly. They knew Hermione.

"Polyjuice?"Cedric asked. "But that takes months to brew, Hermione. We don't have that time,"

"And it's highly illegal!" Emily added, her voice a squeak.

Flora looked at Hermione with a stern expression. "Exactly! We can't just-"

Harry, seeing their distress, couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “Hermione already has enough made for that.”

Silence. Everyone stared at Hermione, who flushed slightly but held their gaze. Then came a collective gasp, followed by shocked murmurs and wide eyes fixed on Hermione.

Harry laughed again. “Come on, now. You really thought the three of us were entirely innocent?”

Cedric chuckled, shaking his head, a soft, warm pressure on Harry's hand under the pillow. That small, secret touch, a private comfort amidst the chaos of their plotting, made Harry's stomach flutter.

"Alright, alright, you three," George said, clearing his throat, "so we have the potion. Now, for the critical bit: who's going to be our dinner-mixer?"

"It's my problem to begin with," Harry volunteered immediately, pushing himself slightly forward. "I'll do it."

Fred, however, shook his head. "Nonsense, Harry. This is more our style. I'll do it. Polyjuice into Filch. He's always lurking around the staff tables, grumbling about students. Nobody would suspect him of much beyond pilfering a few sugar cubes."

George clapped his brother on the back. "Perfect!"

Within an hour, everything was set. The plan was made. Fred would turned into Filch and go to Umbridge's office and mix the truth serum that they brew for their business work.

George, Harry and Ron would be the destruction to real Filch. Emily and Bethy would be the second backup if Filch get away from Harry, Ron and George.

Angelina and Alicia would get the hair earlier from Filch room and this time Hermione and Flora would get Filch busy.

There would be different pairs of students so that no-one get suspicious. Cedric and Flora would be present in the meeting being the Head Girl and Head boy. They would try to provoke Umbridge to talk about her personal thoughts in front of other Hogwarts teachers. That's a great plan.

When the hum of the meeting was winding down, quills being capped and parchments gathered, Cedric called out, drawing everyone's attention one last time. He looked directly at Harry, then swept his gaze to include Ron and Hermione.

"Before we break," he began, a warm, inviting smile on his face, "Harry, Ron, Hermione... we'd really appreciate it if you considered joining us. The Unbreakable Circle could use your unique perspectives, your... well, your experience." He gave nod.

Both Ron and Hermione immediately swivelled their heads on Harry. An unspoken question hung in the air: What do we do? Harry felt the familiar weight of their unspoken request settle on his shoulders. He knew they were waiting for him, trusting him to navigate this.

His own gaze instinctively flickered to Cedric's. Their hands were still intertwined, a secret warmth a stark contrast to the formal setting. Cedric's thumb brushed lightly over Harry's knuckles, a silent message of support, no matter his choice.

Harry took a slow, deep breath, letting it out quietly. He addressed Cedric directly, but loud enough for the others to hear.

"Cedric, I appreciate the offer, truly." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But I don't think it's the right move for us right now. This meeting should remain secret from Umbridge's eyes and me being here won't help,"

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of curiosity and disappointment, but she remained silent, deferring to Harry. Ron simply watched, his expression unreadable.

"To be honest," Harry continued, looking at his friends briefly before returning his gaze to Cedric, "Ron, Hermione, and I... we're not very good with the political manoeuvring, the theoretical debates. We tend to be more effective when there's an immediate task, something practical we can do. Less talk, more action, if you will." He offered a small, apologetic shrug. "So, for now, I don't think we'll be joining the Unbreakable Circle."

Cedric held his gaze, then gave a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze to Harry's hand under the pillow, a private acknowledgment.

"I understand, Harry," Cedric said, his voice as steady and respectful as ever. "I respect your decision completely. Practical work is vital too. Perhaps we help each other out, on that front in the future." He offered another gracious smile. "With that, the meeting is concluded."

A wave of murmurs filled the room as people began to disperse. Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their house, and Harry with a secret warmth still lingering in his palm.

As soon as Harry, Ron, and Hermione pushed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Tower, Harry’s eyes darted around. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and the faint, comforting aroma of woodsmoke.

Ron and Hermione made their way over to their favorite corner by the window, sinking into the deep, plush armchairs that had molded to their shapes over years of use.

Hermione pulled out a book, though she didn't open it immediately, and Ron stretched his long legs out, letting out a soft groan of contentment.

Harry, however, remained standing, his hands jammed into his pockets. He thought about telling them about Cedric. The words felt heavy in his chest. He looked at Ron first, who was already half-slumped, gazing blankly at the ceiling. Ron would be fine. Ron already supported him, had always been his steadfast, a rock. But Hermione… Hermione was the one he wasn’t so sure about. She was so logical, so bound by rules sometimes.

Hermione was already launching into a tirade about Umbridge’s latest educational decree, her voice rising in indignation. “Honestly, it’s like she’s trying to dismantle the entire curriculum piece by piece! How are we supposed to learn anything meaningful if she keeps banning every decent textbook and making us read those dreadful Ministry pamphlets?” Ron grunted in agreement, nodding his head sagely, though Harry suspected he wasn’t listening with full attention.

Harry debated in his head whether to tell them now. His heart was thudding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. They were already tired. Maybe tomorrow. No, he couldn’t wait. The words were a physical ache, pressing to be free.

And suddenly, without any warning, the words simply… blurted out. "I kissed Cedric."

The common room went utterly silent save for the crackle of the fireplace. Ron choked, a half-swallowed yawn turning into a strangled gasp. Hermione, mid-sentence about Umbridge’s fascistic tendencies, froze, her eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on Harry.

Harry froze too, instantly regretting it, telling himself that was a bad decision, a terrible, spur-of-the-moment catastrophe. He braced himself for questions, for confusion, for judgment.

But then, Hermione flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I knew it!" she declared, her voice muffled against his shoulder, "I knew it! Oh, Harry, I knew it!" She punctuated each "I knew it!" with a squeeze, shaking him gently.

Ron had finally recovered from his near-choking incident, stared at Hermione with an expression of utter disbelief. He looked back and forth between Hermione and Harry, his mouth agape for a moment, before he finally found his voice. “Oi! I’m the one who should be saying ‘I knew it!’ Not you, 'mione! You don't know anything about it!” He pushed himself up from his armchair, pointing an accusing finger at Hermione. “I told you, Harry, right?! I saw the way you two were looking at each other at the dinner table. I knew something was up first!”

Harry, still caught in Hermione’s fierce hug, felt his heart lighten up, a joyful, astonishing floaty feeling spreading through him. He couldn’t help but laugh, that probably echoed a bit too loudly in the quiet common room. His two best friends were fighting over who knew it first! Not even looking at Harry weirdly, not questioning him – he just kissed a boy! There wasn't a single flicker of shock or disgust, only a bizarre, competitive pride.

The relief was immense, a tidal wave washing over him, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in months. He hugged Hermione back properly, a smile spreading across his face. It was going to be alright. Better than alright. It was perfect.

"So, how was it?" Ron asked, elbowing Hermione with a grin that was far too knowing.

Hermione smacked his arm, a sharp, almost automatic motion. "Ron!" she hissed, though her own gaze, when it landed on Harry, was equally bright with barely contained curiosity.

"Er… wet?" he mumbled, the word escaping before he could properly censor it.

Ron's eyebrow shot up so high it nearly vanished into his fringe. "Wet? I don't want details, mate, really." He made a face, though a chuckle escaped him.

Hermione snorted, then covered her mouth with a hand, the sound muffled but definitely a laugh. "Honestly, Ron! Harry, what exactly do you mean by 'wet'?"

Harry sighed, a long, shaky breath that felt like it had been held for an eternity. "Well, I was crying, then he kissed me but I just attack him with kiss," he admitted, the words barely audible.

Harry felt his face burn, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be embarrassed. It just… happened. "It was just… a lot. He found me in my dormitory and we talk then it became a lot, I was crying and Cedric was so gentle and kind ... And he kissed me," He waved a vague hand in the air, trying to explain the tsunami of emotion that had washed over him under Cedric's touch, his gentle voice, the cool night air prickling his skin as Cedric's lips had found his.

Ron managed to compose himself enough to ask the crucial question. "So… did he ask you out? For a proper date, I mean?"

Harry shook his head, the memory of Cedric's gentle touch, the warmth of his breath, still vivid. "No. Not really."

Hermione looked confused. "Then what did happen, Harry? You were crying, and he kissed you but didn't ask you out… this is very confusing."

Harry looked between his two best friends, a jumble of sensations warring inside him: exhilaration, confusion, and a terrifying vulnerability. "We… we just kissed."

A beat of silence. Then, Hermione clasped her hands together, a giddy smile on her face. "So, are you going to ask him out now? You have to! He clearly fancies you, Harry! Why else would he have kissed you?"

Harry stared up at her, feeling a fresh wave of panic. Ask Cedric out? He hadn't even processed the kiss itself yet. It had been… unexpected. Overwhelming. Every fibre of his being had lit up, a startling, beautiful explosion.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not sure I could do that." He looked down at his hands, twisting them together. "I mean, he didn't confirm anything. We kissed. He didn't say it meant anything. He didn't say, 'Oh, let's go on a date, Harry.' He just… kissed me. And then we had to go that meeting." A fresh pang of uncertainty hit him. What if it was just a moment? An impulse? What if Cedric regretted it?

Hermione, however, was already in full planning mode, oblivious to Harry's rising anxiety. "Nonsense! A kiss is definitely a confirmation! Don't you dare let him think you're not interested, Harry Potter!"

Harry just slumped further into the armchair, the image of Cedric's smile, the feel of his hand briefly cupping Harry's cheek, burning behind his eyes. He wanted it to mean something. More than anything.

He'd just been kissed by Cedric Diggory. And he had absolutely no idea what to do next.