CEDRIC
XV
The brief moment in which he thought he wasn't the only one having strange dreams came as unexpected as the illusion that surged within him. Deep down he believed that, after all, there might be some explanation for those eyes haunting him, but what Harry had heard on the Quidditch field was nothing like it.
A memory, he said it was. Of his mother.
One far worse than simply being watched. Cedric shuddered with the impulse to hug him, because Harry seemed so devastated that he couldn't look back at him. Cedric remembered every time that fragments of his mother appeared to him at night and the immense sadness he would wake up to, and he knew there was no comparison. He thought about how much he would have liked to have someone there for him and be able to share it, as Harry had done with him.
That trust was priceless.
So pure that Cedric was about to tell him about his dreams.
He couldn't do it. «Harry, I must tell you, I've been dreaming of your eyes since before we met» sounded weird on so many levels that he couldn't quite place them all. If he couldn't shake the feeling that there must be a reason, he couldn't help but think that there must also be one for his dreams returning to normal as the days went by.
It didn't make sense that they had stopped.
Or that they had happened in the first place. Cedric wondered if he had been enchanted, but who could have done something like that? When and why? And especially how? Because he didn't know of any spell capable of provoking that sort of dream as an effect, and he had researched in the library. While his friends were studying for the real exams, he would search for books on the subject. And even when he was reading for class, his mind wandered.
"What does it mean if you dream of someone?" Cedric asked once, sitting in one of the armchairs in the common room with two of his best friends.
Malcolm, who was also one of his roommates, could always be counted on to engage in any (really any) topic of conversation. So it was only natural that he would be the first to look up from his textbook on the art of divination.
An unexpected goofy smile on his lips -as if he thought it was funny.
"It means that you fancy that certain someone," he replied, putting the book aside, interested. "Who is the lucky one?"
Highly interested in the topic in the wrong way .
Cedric expected his friend to take it more seriously, since he was fond of the occult. Maybe he would have something to say that he hadn't already read. And although he certainly hadn't read about it, he didn't know what to answer.
That couldn't be the case. There had to be other options.
Luckily for him, Tam came to his rescue.
"It depends on what you dream of," she murmured, interrupting the trace of her quill.
"Let's just say... Their eyes."
This time Tam glanced at him.
With a smile.
Just as silly as Malcolm's seconds ago.
"Oh, you have fallen so hard."
Cedric shook his head and refocused on his next week's homework.
XVI
"IS IT A NIGHTMARE?"
Malcolm kept trying to get information out of him about the person he dreamed of. Cedric didn't know how much to answer him. Anything could be used against him. He told him that it wasn't exactly a nightmare, but it wasn't ROMANTIC either (as he implied). Malcolm insisted on asking him what he felt in his dreams, if he had had any others and, of course, who it was about. Cedric was almost sure that it was just one of his strategies to make him answer without realising it.
When Malcolm saw that he would not succeed, he gave Cedric a list of books he recommended. Not all of them seemed to have something to do with the topic. Malcolm would often try to convince him to read his favourites. Cedric took a look at a few, wondering where his friend got those titles from. Because he did find one that referred to the expression of love in dreams. Another was on urban myths and beliefs, in the Muggle studies section. Perhaps because he had come across a line (from an unreliable source, he had to admit) that said «when you dream of a person it is because they are thinking of you» he could not give up the idea that perhaps Harry did not dare to mention he was dreaming about him too.
With his grey eyes, maybe?
A strange jumble of nerves formed at the thought of it.
XVII
One of all the ideas he considered was that perhaps the dreams had stopped because they had not spoken again. Maybe they would only occur as long as he was near him. He wasn't sure if it made sense, because they had started before they met him. And there were other possible reasons. Maybe he was too tired to dream at all. Or even to remember it. The new responsibilities that his appointment as prefect implied did not lessen an ounce of his pride and determination, but he was exhausted when he returned to his room.
He wasn't sure if he just smiled at Harry whenever he saw him because he didn't want to confirm his theory. This wasn't what he wanted. Even if it was a possibility, Cedric didn't want to stop talking to him.
After all, they weren't terrible dreams.
They did not frighten him.
There was something in them more than the sadness he felt the first time. Something contained and delicate that he couldn't quite capture in a name.
Calm was what those green eyes conveyed to him.
XVIII
The Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match put Cedric in a position he had never been in before. He had Ravenclaw friends on and off the field. The seeker herself, Cho, was one. She had recently recovered from an ankle injury and Cedric shouldn't hesitate to support her.
He did. Of course he did.
It was just that he couldn't stop his attention from drifting to Harry.
He used to watch the players in order to learn from them. He had always liked sports, and even though he had never imagined himself on the team, he wanted to be better. So he should be trying to figure out Harry's strategy instead of thinking about the last time they'd talked in the hospital wing. Neither should he feel ashamed as he watched him fly, his dark red uniform cape and his hair blowing in every possible direction because the wind was brutal up there. Embarrassed because he knew that he had been a coward for not wishing him luck before the match as he had intended to. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't supported Ravenclaw and any of his friends who heard him would believe he was betraying their ideals.
Because Harry Potter wasn't his friend, was he?
Cedric wanted him to be.
More time than he had expected had passed. Classes had resumed after the school break a few weeks ago. Considering it had been enough and refusing to be a coward, he came to a conclusion: his loyalties were right and he could root for both teams, even if it wasn't something most people would understand.
He could do it -for Harry.
IXX
A bright light spread across the field and, as if it hadn't happened, the match continued. Cedric had seen the exact point it came from. Harry. He couldn't figure out what had happened when he caught the snitch and landed on the ground. The entire Gryffindor team rushed at him and he could see his best friends running out of the stands. Seeing Harry this happy must have been contagious because Cedric couldn't help the little smile on his lips.
Walking down the stairs to the firm ground, he spotted Cho among the blue uniforms. He moved closer and touched her shoulder.
"You were great out there," he said, with his hand still resting on her cloak for a moment. "Welcome back, Cho."
Although the girl did not look in a good mood, her expression was soft as she thanked him and pointed out:
"You're the only one who's beaten Harry. We should practise together."
Cedric's face burned in shame.
"I don't think that counts as winning."
"The dementors, that's right," she replied, turning her head away with a small frown. "I almost thought I saw a few of them a while ago. Harry cast a spell on them, but it turned out to be some boys playing a prank. If I freaked out like that today, I can't imagine how Harry must have felt that day."
Cedric remained motionless.
Who could have pulled a joke so awful?
XX
Five minutes later he had already found out what had happened. Cedric spoke to another of the prefects and asked for information, and he got to see the three boys disguised in long black robes. Their hoods were down, and they could barely look at Professor McGonagall while she was talking to them. Her anger was obvious, even from the distance Cedric was at, as it was evident who that blonde hair belonged to.
Harry's own third-year classmates had played that trick on him.
Cedric, who had never been able to think of anyone he disliked before, was sure he didn't like Draco Malfoy one bit. Especially when he caught sight of him in the middle of a fight just minutes after the match. Cedric was following the direction that the Gryffindors had taken, hoping to have a word with Harry, and before turning into one of the corridors he heard something that wasn't right. He not only recognized Draco from his hair but also because the other boy on the floor turned out to be Harry. Adjusting his glasses and not noticing Cedric, Harry was on his feet so quickly that Malfoy didn't expect him and almost fell over when he pushed him.
They started hitting each other between insults.
A kick was the price to pay for trying to separate them. Draco glared at him. Because Harry took a step back when he recognized him, Cedric noticed that his pants were torn at the knee, a sign that he must have been hurt. It didn't seem likely that it had been during the match.
"Malfoy, let's go find a professor to talk to about this," he said, taking Draco with him the way he'd come, but before he walked away he turned to Harry. "Potter, to the hospital wing."
Then he made sure that McGonagall knew what had happened.
XXI
It was possible that Harry had not gone to the hospital wing, as he had been told. Prefect and all, Cedric knew students wouldn't always listen to him. The reassurance he felt when he found Harry sitting on a bed with his knee healing was, in part, because he hadn't believed that he would (still) be there. He had hurried in hopes of catching up with him.
"Would it help if I said I didn't start it?" was the first thing Harry said with a grimace of a smile the moment he saw him halfway. "I'm almost certain he started it."
"I don't care who started it," he muttered, not entirely sure whether it should be his concern or not.
Cedric felt uncomfortable transferring Draco to someone with enough authority to deal with what had happened. It was one of the first times he had done something similar and he recognized his own implication even if he had followed protocol. He didn't like the boy and Cedric doubted that he was going to receive a befitting sanction for the prank he had pulled on Harry. The latter's voice sounded calm and low as he asked:
"Am I in trouble?"
"I don't think so, Harry. The only one in trouble is Malfoy," he stepped forward to explain, with no desire to worry him. Professor McGonagall would speak to him if she considered it necessary, but Cedric didn't think that was going to happen, given the circumstances. "I heard about the joke he made. I am sorry."
Harry held his own hands in his lap, eyes lowered.
"I shouldn't have fought with him. That was just what he was looking for, to bother me. Affect me, and I shouldn't have let him accomplish that. I'm so sorry you had to see it."
With a gentle touch on his shoulder, Cedric encouraged him to look up.
"It's part of my job to witness that kind of thing and not let it get out of hand. I'm glad I was there to intervene," he replied, examining his knee through the slit in his trousers. "Are you okay?"
He adjusted his glasses and nodded.
"It was just a little scratch. Look, it's almost gone," Harry said as he stretched out his leg, where there was barely a hint that he had ever fallen. "I wouldn't have come to the hospital wing if you hadn't told me. I tend to forget that in the wizarding world, you use magic for all sorts of things."
Cedric didn't often think about the world of non-magical people, and he easily forgot that Harry had grown up there.
"What would you have done then?" he asked, curious.
"Wait. Time heals everything, they say. Especially scratches like this one. I got several scars from my childhood that way."
Cedric wondered what kind of memories were those.
None worth remembering.
He pulled his wand out and pointed at Harry's knee.
"Allow me," he requested, waiting for his slight confirmation before uttering a spell that left his trousers as good as new. "There won't be a scar this time."
If only there was magic that could take away all the pain Harry had felt in his entire life. Magic that could make him never have heard his mother die in the first place, that could turn every sad memory into a real one of joy... Cedric would like to know all there was about it.