HARRY
XIII
Harry's mood was down. His head hurt and he hated being in the hospital wing, not one of his favourite places. There were no good memories in that room, and every year he would find himself there for the most diverse and unexpected reasons. He felt like a whole new kind of miserable this time. Sleep was impossible between the storms inside his head. He had been having something that resembled a nightmare without being in a dream at all.
The last events repeated over and over again.
The match. The shouting and crying. The defeat.
Even if he had thought it was possible to receive visitors after allowed hours, Cedric would be the last person he would expect to see so late at night. And the only one that would improve his mood so quickly. Harry had to focus his eyes to recognize him without his glasses. As he put them on, he noticed the dark nightshirt he wore under his coat and his messy hair for the first time.
A light brown lock stood out.
He looked stunning.
And very sorry.
"I was convinced that you would be awake." Cedric was standing at the end of the bed, staring at him while ruffling his hair, and it seemed as if a thought was amusing him. "My head isn't working properly."
Harry didn't really care that he'd woken him up and put a pause on the torture he had been in, which couldn't be called dreaming. He wasn't sure if he meant it to be funny or sincere when he replied, "Neither is mine."
The small grin Cedric gave him almost made his mental state worth hinting at. Harry settled down on the bed, with the pillow against his back, and Cedric shifted a little in his place.
"How are you?" he finally asked, obliterating any attempt on Harry's part to hide his emotions with jokes.
"I'm fine. I didn't get hurt."
"I didn't mean just physically."
Cedric was looking at him so intently that he knew he was about to mention everything that had happened. Harry would have heard it out of mere curiosity to get his perspective on events. To hear the words he would choose and his soft voice. He would have gone silent if he could only hear it again.
"You didn't wake me," was all Harry could reply, with no desire to lie by saying he was fine and unsure whether he wanted to talk about it. "I wasn't sleeping. Not really."
"Were you having a nightmare?"
"I don't know if it can be called that way."
"Have you been dreaming strange things?"
Cedric's question sounded cautious as he took a few steps closer until he was right beside Harry.
"It's not exactly a dream," Harry tried to explain. "I guess it's... a memory. Or so I think. It felt very real on the field. Too real."
So much so that he doubted he would ever be able to forget it. The screams and cries of his mother before she died with his name between her lips as a plea: Harry. Anguish, pain and love -he had felt it all as if he was living it for the first time.
XIV
He told Cedric about what he had heard on the Quidditch pitch. It was something that he had not confided to his friends. He didn't want to worry them any more than they already were. Many times Harry found himself unable to tell them certain things. He didn't like talking about his childhood experiences, his previous muggle school or his life before Hogwarts. Not because he couldn't do it, but because of the look on people's faces when they heard him.
Ron's face when he found out he did not celebrate his birthday.
Everything that Harry has ever called life was not. He'd only survived in that house. The thought that he would have been better off in an orphanage sometimes appeared in his head. Other times he was certain of it. Hogwarts had been an opportunity for him. One he never thought he would have. The wizarding world had welcomed him with more interest than Harry had ever seen. The attention and the glances placed on him would often be uncomfortable. Fame felt more of a burden than anything else half the time. Professors expected great things from him just because of his name. Students would look at his scar as they passed through the hallways and would know the things he had done and those he had not. There would be rumours about him around the corner.
And yet, Harry accepted this and more. He tried to do his best. Study. Help as much as he could. Keep a low profile or at least try to, even when it was not in the cards for him. Because that was the price to pay for the chance to have a home if only for the school year, and loyal and sincere friends who loved him for simply being Harry. The cost of having a family, even if it wasn't a traditional one. He would pay anything for that.
Just like his mother had done.
Her life for his.
XV
He was not ignorant of the fact that Cedric was more of a stranger than someone he could call a friend. The thing was, there was something about him that made Harry feel like he could be trusted. Maybe it was the way he looked at him, like he cared. His gentle and soft eyes. Harry didn't need any more time to be sure that Cedric would never tell anyone whatever he told him nor would go around spreading rumours and revealing confidences. He really did not seem like that type of person.
It was two in the morning, and Cedric was there. With Harry, when he had absolutely no obligation or motive other than genuine interest. That was proof enough. Cedric listened to him carefully, and Harry could see the exact moment when the sadness showed on his face. Moving to the side on the bed, he made room for Cedric to sit on the edge.
In a comforting gesture, Cedric placed his hand on Harry's ankle, which was under the covers.
There was no sorrow or pity reflected in his expression, but understanding.
XVI
Harry did end up hearing Cedric's perspective on what had happened. It didn't go unnoticed that he had tried to visit him hours before when he was still unconscious. Although Oliver had told him about the defeat and Diggory's suggestion of a replay, it had been clear to Harry that it was not going to happen.
On the other hand, Cedric did not seem to have it so clear.
He wanted to talk to McGonagall again.
With Dumbledore if necessary.
It seemed so unfair to Cedric that under those circumstances they would not have invalidated the match. And he was sorry he won. So very sorry he hadn't been attentive enough, he told him. It took a long time for Harry to convince him to give up. McGonagall wasn't one to bother twice when he had made up his mind. If she had already said no, it was unlikely she would change her resolution.
Harry wasn't happy with the events that had occurred, but it wasn't anything he couldn't live with.
"You needed a win," he shrugged, trying to joke. "I told you that I would let you win."
That got an almost hysterical laugh out of Cedric.
"Now that's a dramatic way of letting me win, Harry."
During the rest of the conversation Harry slid so slowly over the thin mattress that he didn't realise it until his head was on the pillow. He didn't remember what they were talking about when he fell asleep very late at night. If he could choose, he would rather remember it because deep down he wasn't sure how long it would be until something like this happened again.
XVII
Harry hadn't received all the bad news.
His broomstick got shattered into pieces by the Whomping Willow. Not so many objects belonged to him and none was more precious. The invisibility cloak followed close behind, and now it was all he had left in his room. His best friends and teammates delivered the news to him early that morning. Harry had made peace with his first defeat last night, since he couldn't be mad at himself or at Cedric. But this felt entirely different, like losing a little part of himself. Perhaps it was silly how much it broke his heart.
How was he going to play without his broom?
The team assured him they would get him one for practice.
Only they and his friends seemed concerned about Harry the next day. The rest of the school was talking about the dementors and Hufflepuff's victory, not seeming to find any injustice in these circumstances, and looked at Harry in the hallways as if surprised that he was standing up. Cedric was the only person outside of Gryffindor who didn't appear to be exploding with happiness at the results of the match. If Harry's gaze met his, Cedric would return a slightly sad expression.
Someone else , Harry thought, would brag about winning . Malfoy would have done that, but he didn't need anything more than to have witnessed it all from the stands to come over and be a bother.
"You are alive, Potter." Draco interrupted his way to class. "I thought we were going to your funeral. I guess the only thing that died is your chance at winning the Cup this year."
Harry was too tired for such nonsense.
"You seem to have worried about me, Draco," he replied, walking past him.
No way he was going to be late.
XVIII
It was true that the odds of winning the Quidditch Cup that year were slim, but not impossible. Harry's biggest concern was the dementors, a creepy presence that had been haunting the castle since the beginning of the year because of Black, the serial killer who had escaped from prison. Lupin, his new favourite professor, had promised Harry that he would teach him how to defend himself, and by that, his mood and hopes were improved.
Following closely the results of every match, Wood was encouraged when Hufflepuff lost to Ravenclaw because it meant Gryffindor still had a chance. Harry had not only watched Cedric play but had supported him along with Hermione. Although he didn't usually choose sides when it came to a house other than his own or Slytherin, this time he hadn't even had to think about it.
Harry wanted to approach Cedric after the match.
The fact that they had lost did not imply that he was not a good player or captain. He wondered if Cedic also knew that or if he was torturing himself. Either way, he would have liked to remind him. Harry had to settle for casting him an apologetic look down the halls that he hoped could be resignified by Cedric as "I'm sorry you lost, you're amazing." Which was perhaps ambitious of Harry, but Cedric looked up at him and smiled as if he'd gotten the message as he walked past with his Hufflepuff friends.
How much Harry wished he was one of them.