Cedric still thinks about the Triwizard Tournament.
He lies in his bed at night and stares up at the dark ceiling – and he thinks about those final moments in the maze, with the Cup glittering magnificently on the silver plinth, and he can still hear Harry’s voice in his mind: We both got here, let’s just take it together –
And Cedric remembers how badly he wanted to win, and how all that stood in his way was the choice between what was right, and what was easy.
And what was easy, just so easy, was to take the Cup that Harry offered him, take it at the same time, because shared glory was still better than none at all, and his father would be so proud.
But what was right was to refuse, to step back and let Harry take it all, because Harry was the true champion, and Cedric would rather be second best than receive glory he knew he didn’t deserve.
Cedric is still glad he did what was right.
* * *
December 2003
Cedric wakes up on Monday morning to find a solid flurry of white outside his bedroom window. He groans, grabs his blanket and curls himself tighter into a ball. It’s been snowing indiscriminately every day since December began; and today, three days before Christmas, he really, really doesn’t want to go to work.
On his bedside table, his alarm clock titters quietly – it’s been charmed to make the same soft whistling noise that the Snitch does whenever it zooms past, and that sound never fails to chase the lingering sleepiness from Cedric’s eyes.
He sits up and looks around him – the bright snow outside fills the room with a soft, white glow, and it’s quite frankly one of the more beautiful things he’s seen in a while. Cedric has lived in this flat in the outskirts of London since he was twenty – he used to share it with Ernie Macmillan when they both worked in Ernie’s father’s security company, designing magical wards. But Ernie graciously gave up his room and moved away earlier in the year to accommodate Cedric’s mother, when she moved out of the Diggory family home in Ottery St. Catchpole so Cedric could keep her company after his dad... after what happened to his dad.
Cedric can smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee as he steps out into the living room at eight o’clock, all dressed in his robes, ready for work. He wanders into the kitchen and finds his mother, tending to a pan of scrambled eggs. Three plates of bacon and toast sit on the counter.
"Morning, Mum," Cedric says.
His mother glances up.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she says; then she adds worriedly, "I really think you should take a snow day off today."
Cedric smiles; he goes over, puts his arms around her waist and gives her a quick peck on the side of her face.
"I've told you, Mum," he says wryly. "There isn’t such a thing as taking snow days off."
"Well, there should be." His mother turns back and glares at the sizzling eggs. "I don’t see why you can’t just travel by the Floo network on days like this."
There’s a secure Floo network to the Ministry, but Cedric hates getting the soot and dust up his nose and all over his clothes. And his mother never liked his dad travelling by Floo for this same reason, although now Cedric doesn’t remind her of this.
"I’d feel so much better if I knew you’d be Apparating to the Ministry," his mother continues, "but no, you have to trek through this beastly weather..."
"It’s like I’ve said before," Cedric explains quickly. "The Ministry decided that it’s just easier to keep track of people coming and going if no one can Apparate in and out whenever they please. It’s just an additional safety precaution... like in Hogwarts, you know?"
His mother turns around to face him squarely.
"But Hogwarts still wasn’t safe enough, was it? Is it safe anywhere anymore?" Her voice is no longer steady as she continues, "they said, they said the Aurors had already checked that basement, that –"
"Mum," Cedric tries to cut in. "Mum, please –"
"They said it was safe for him to go inside, and he believed them! I believed them!" She clutches both his shoulders and looks at him, and there are tears in her eyes. "And now they put you in the same job and say it’s safe for you to travel in daylight, through the snow, and I’m supposed not to worry because it’s what they said?"
"Mum!" Cedric pulls her forward into a fierce hug, and she starts sobbing silently in his shoulder; Cedric bites his lip as the tears spill from his eyes as well. It’s not the loss of his father that hurts most now, it’s seeing his mother fall apart, one piece at a time, every morning he steps out the door to do his father’s job.
"I’m sorry, dear," she says, her voice muffled. "I’ve just not been sleeping well, that’s all, and – and this is the first time we’ll spend Christmas without him."
"I miss him too, Mum," Cedric whispers. "And that’s why I have to do this."
His mother pulls back and wipes her eyes.
"Yes, yes, I know," she says with shaky composure. "And oh, Cedric, your father will be just so pleased to know that you’re filling in for him at the Ministry until he gets back."
She turns away, missing the expression on Cedric’s face. She hurriedly takes the pan of overcooked eggs off the fire, adds a dash of pepper and dishes them out onto each of the three plates. She adds a pinch of salt to the eggs on two of the plates, and hands one to Cedric.
"Here you go," she says, and gives him a brave, teary smile. "Eat up, now, you’re going to need it to keep warm."
Cedric stares at the third plate that remains on the counter – pepper, no salt, just the way his father likes it.
* * *
There are actually other Ministry-approved ways of getting to work besides the Floo Network; designated Portkey stations all over London are scheduled to transport employees directly to the front step of the Ministry, but Cedric won’t touch a Portkey even if his life depends on it.
And so, Cedric takes the Muggle tube.
He doesn't mind, really. In fact, he quite likes the brief feeling of normalcy, every morning, jostling and squeezing into the train together with Muggles. He looks at his fellow commuters and thinks how it must be a nice feeling not to live in fear and vigilance all the time.
Two weeks after Cedric’s 26th birthday, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures received a call regarding a nest of hybrid dragon eggs in the basement of a raided Death Eater’s house. His father went there first; and when his colleagues showed up ten minutes later, they found no dragon eggs, no debris, not a stick of furniture – nothing. And his father was gone.
Cedric still wonders if his father’s really dead, or if he’s still alive somewhere – is he being tortured by Death Eaters? Cedric feels sickened, because he thinks his father is probably better off dead than captured.
"Cool bracelet," someone says next to his ear, jerking him out of his painful reverie.
Cedric blinks and looks down at his favourite Oriental bracelet around his wrist, which is just peeking out from under the sleeve of his coat.
"Oh," he says to the fellow with dreadlocks who spoke to him, "thanks. It’s Chinese – an ex-girlfriend gave it to me."
Cedric and Cho Chang broke up shortly after Triwizard Tournament, but still remained friends; and he was happy for her when she started going out with other boys, although he couldn’t explain why he felt a pang when she briefly dated Harry Potter.
As for Cedric, in his seventh year he didn’t so much date other people as throw himself headlong into so many relationships he lost count – girls at first, then later, more boys, and he didn’t really stop to think about what he was doing until Zacharias Smith slit his own wrists after he caught Cedric making out with Miles Bletchey, then the Slytherin Keeper, behind the Quidditch stands.
Looking back now Cedric realises he was just desperately trying to find something – something he still doesn’t quite understand, except that since he stepped out of that maze all those years ago a part of him has never been the same.
Cedric’s so lost in thought that he almost misses his stop; he jumps off the train just as the doors are closing, then shakes his head to clear his mind as he makes his way to street level.
It’s still snowing outside, although not blindingly, and Cedric pulls the hood of his thick fur cloak over his head, squints up at the tall grey buildings surrounding him, and then starts down the street.
Since they implemented the no-Apparation rule, they’ve added another entrance for Ministry employees – two revolving doors set in a graffiti-scrawled wall. These doors open to three long escalators, which lead down into the far end of the great Atrium near the Floo fireplaces, just opposite the rickety little elevator that provides access to visitors.
As he crosses the street towards the revolving doors straight ahead, Cedric reckons he needs to get new boots; the soles of his current pair are worn thin. He’s a little too preoccupied watching his step and trying not to slip and fall on the snowy, wet pavement to notice what’s happening around him until a woman lets out a loud scream.
Cedric looks up, startled – and straight ahead of him, he sees a young man with dark hair, hunched over by the limp, heavy weight of another person he’s carrying over his shoulder. The young man’s face is bowed and his clothes are in disarray, and the colour of blood on his robes is stark against white falling snow all around him.
It takes Cedric a full moment to realise that it’s Harry Potter.
Then pandemonium breaks out among Muggles and magical folk alike; because while the entrance to the Ministry is invisible, Harry Potter is not. Within seconds a crowd has gathered; Cedric manages to jostle closer, and craning his neck he can just about get a look at what is happening in the middle of the circle – Harry Potter has just heaved the body he’s carrying down on the ground, and what Cedric sees makes his blood run cold.
Neville Longbottom is lying on the snowy ground, eyes open, staring glassily up at the sky.
Harry has dropped to his knees next to Neville – and he's leaning over Neville's body, clutching him tightly, and Harry seems completely oblivious to the attention he has drawn.
"It’s Harry Potter –"
"– and is that – that’s Longbottom! Neville Longbottom –"
"– he’s dead!"
A couple of older wizards at the front of the crowd step forward – but before they can get any closer Harry’s head snaps up. Cedric blinks, and the next thing he knows Harry has leapt to his feet and is standing over Neville’s body, his wand in his hand.
"Don’t touch him!" Harry yells, pointing his wand at the two wizards, who look completely flabbergasted. "Don’t come any closer!"
Everyone freezes and stares at Harry; then one of the two wizards, whom Cedric recognises as Eric Munch from Atrium Security, bravely steps forward.
"Now listen here, son," he says in a placating voice, "let’s just –"
Without warning Harry sends a fiery burst of white sparks at Munch – the crowd lets out a gasp of horror as Munch yelps and falls backwards.
"Don’t call me son!" Harry shouts. "And stay back! All of you!"
There’s a wild, almost crazed look in Harry’s eyes as he holds his wand out, as if daring anyone else to venture forth.
"Someone call Scrimgeour!" a wizard near Cedric hisses urgently, and fearful-looking junior employees waiting for an excuse to flee the scene readily leap to the task.
"Harry!" booms a loud voice from behind them – and Cedric glances around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt hurriedly pushing his way through the crowd.
Harry’s expression changes when he catches sight of Shacklebolt, Head of the Auror Office – clearly, seeing the familiar face of his superior calms Harry down, just a little.
Shacklebolt stands a distance away, giving Harry his space – he’s speaking to Harry in a low voice and Cedric can’t hear what he’s saying.
After several moments, Harry finally lowers his wand. There’s a collective sense of relief from the crowd; Cedric watches as Shacklebolt carefully moves closer, first to look at Neville and then to take Harry’s wand away. Harry lets him take it; there’s a blank expression on his face.
At this point several other Ministry law enforcement officials burst through the revolving doors, their wands ready – but even they cannot hide their shock as they take in the sight of Neville Longbottom’s body lying on the ground, and Harry Potter standing beside him, his arms hanging limply by his sides, robes covered in red and a bleeding gash across his left cheek.
Harry raises his eyes, and looks at them.
"He’s dead," he says in a flat tone.
Then he reaches into his cloak, withdraws something and throws it to the ground.
"Voldemort’s dead."
Cedric catches a glimpse of a long, blackened wand lying on the pale snow; and everyone is completely still for a moment that seems to last forever.
Then everything spins into motion – the crowd breaks into excited confusion, and the rest of the officials descend upon Harry and Neville, briskly pushing the crowd back, but Cedric manages to evade them and get a little closer. He also sees Remus Lupin, who’s heading up the Werewolf division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, swiftly moving to Harry’s side.
Around them a handful of trained Obliviators quickly get to work, dispatching with the curious, soon-to-be-forgetful Muggles that have gathered. A couple of officials stoop to lift Neville’s body; but Harry, momentarily distracted by Lupin and Shacklebolt, swiftly catches their movement and jerks around.
"No," Harry snaps fiercely, glaring at them. "I’ll carry him."
The officials hastily back away, looking alarmed. Harry casts a defiant look around – then he bends down and gathers Neville’s body, lifting it off the ground. He sways a little on his feet, unbalanced by the weight in his arms, and Shacklebolt and Lupin quickly steady him.
Cedric watches as Harry gazes down at Neville’s face for a long moment; then Harry looks up, and with a great jolt Cedric realises that Harry’s looking straight in his direction. Their eyes meet for a moment – although from the empty, vacant expression in Harry’s eyes, Cedric can’t tell if Harry actually sees him.
Then Harry starts towards the revolving doors. He’s walking with a limp and every step he takes is heavy, burdened. He’s tightly surrounded by Shacklebolt and other wizards that Cedric vaguely recognises to be from the Auror Office; he sees Remus Lupin bend to pick up the wand that Harry threw to the ground.
Cedric tries to follow them, but he gets jostled about as other Ministry officials efficiently clear the scene. Someone stands on his foot and he gets elbowed in the ribs, and when Cedric finally looks up he’s just in time to see the revolving doors close behind Harry and his Auror contingent.
Cedric stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, and looks around. Obliviators are still chasing down the last of the Muggles to wipe their memories; other wizards and witches are clustered in small groups, engaged in excited discussion.
"Do you think it’s true – that He-Who-Must-Not –"
"Was that really the Dark Lord’s wand?"
"– but then where’s his body?"
"Poor Neville – how did he –"
"– could this war really be over?"
Cedric gazes at the spot where Harry and Neville were; the snow is scuffed up and stained with traces of diluted blood. Something glitters sharply on the white-covered ground nearby, catching Cedric’s attention – he goes over and picks it up.
It’s a small square mirror. Its glass face is broken – it was probably dropped and then trampled in the chaos. Cedric turns it around in his hands, and notices a small word scratched into the back in a boyish scrawl: J POTTER.
Cedric gazes at the name thoughtfully; then he takes out a handkerchief and carefully wraps up the broken mirror. He puts it in his pocket, and then raises his eyes, just as a fleet of tawny owls soar overhead, silhouetted against the white-grey sky.
* * *
It’s been a couple of hours, and the furore at the Ministry shows no sign of calming down. Rufus Scrimgeour, poker-faced, was seen swiftly disappearing into his office with Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the heads of other Ministry departments – and everyone’s restless to know what’s happening.
Cedric sits at his desk and stares down at a complaint report of a rogue Manticore that’s been tearing up some farmer’s field in Salisbury. He can’t get any work done, but he doesn’t want to join the endless circles of conversation among his colleagues. Speculation is pointless, Cedric thinks – and after Warren Pitters from Misuse of Artefacts bluntly asked him whether the new developments gave Cedric renewed hope that his father’s still alive, Cedric has been quite content with hiding in his cubicle.
His eyes stray to the square, wrapped object on the table. He reaches forward, unfolds the handkerchief and takes out the mirror, then holds it up and looks at his fractured reflection – wavy brown hair falling across grey eyes, lips that curl slightly in a half-smile. Cedric tilts the mirror, catching different angles, and there’s something fascinating about seeing himself in pieces like this.
He turns the mirror over in his hands; his fingers run over the uneven grooves of the letters etched on the back, and his thoughts stray to Harry Potter.
Since Cedric graduated from Hogwarts he’s spoken to Harry maybe a handful of times: mostly in passing at the Ministry when Cedric visited his dad, and once last year at a worksite after a set of magical wards Cedric helped make – back when he worked for Ernie’s dad – were breached by Death Eaters, and the Aurors showed up to investigate. But Cedric’s heard a lot about the things Harry’s done; being the youngest wizard in the Special Auror Force at the age of twenty-three is not lightly earned.
Much less, Cedric thinks, can and will be said about Neville Longbottom.
Cedric’s slightly ashamed to admit that he never really made an effort to get to know Neville – not in Hogwarts, and not even recently when Neville was working just downstairs from Cedric, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. They’ve exchanged quick hellos when they passed each other along the corridors, and if Cedric’s not mistaken, Neville is – was an assistant in the International Magical Office of Law.
Thinking back, Cedric remembers the first time he met Neville, somewhere in Diagon Alley. Cedric was there with his mum, and Neville was with his grandmother; and Cedric recalls Neville’s grandmother telling them, her grandson’s just starting school at Hogwarts, and – if Neville gets sorted into Hufflepuff, then would Cedric mind keeping an eye on him so he stays out of trouble?
Cedric wonders if anyone has told Neville’s grandmother yet. It took six hours for the Ministry to tell Cedric and his mother that his dad was missing – they said it was standard protocol to conduct a thorough preliminary investigation before informing the family, so as not to cause undue alarm over what might just be a misunderstanding.
An image of Neville’s body lying on the snowy ground flashes in Cedric’s mind, and he thinks nothing about that can possibly be misunderstood.
Cedric decides to see if he can send a message to his mother to let her know what’s happening and that he’s perfectly fine, so she won’t get alarmed if she hears about the morning’s fracas from somewhere else. He carefully folds the mirror in his handkerchief again, and puts it on his desk; then as an afterthought, he picks it up and slips it into his pocket.
Cedric’s on good terms with Jacob Hughes, assistant keeper of Ministry-owned creatures (non-magical). Jacob badly wanted to work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but he couldn’t get in because he didn’t get enough O.W.L.s. Which is a shame, Cedric thinks, because Jacob genuinely enjoys working with animals and is probably more knowledgeable about magical beasts than Cedric is. It makes Jacob happy whenever Cedric comes down to ask his opinion about or advice on how to deal with magical creatures.
"Sorry, mate," a frazzled Jacob tells him, zooming around and randomly snatching owls and attaching/removing messages. "Strict orders from upstairs, all owls on Ministry business only. Can’t spare any, not even for you, sorry – ow! Bloody bird!"
He grabs an owl that’s been nibbling insistently on his ear, and rips the tightly sealed message from its leg.
"Ah, this one’s for Shacklebolt – oh! This must be the reply from the Head of the French Auror Office, he told me to bring it straight up to him as soon as it arrives – but then who’s going to handle all these – OW! – crazy owls..."
"I can take it up to Shacklebolt for you," Cedric quickly volunteers, just in case Jacob asks him to mind the owls.
"Can you?" Jacob looks relieved. "That’d be brilliant – thanks, mate, I really owe you one. And oh, can you take a quill and parchment with you, in case he wants to send back a reply with the French owl?"
"Sure," Cedric says, and he takes the letter from Jacob and leaves.
He goes up the stairs to the Office of the Minister for Magic – several wizards and witches are loitering around outside, although Cedric is sure there are charms on the door to repel eavesdroppers. He earns several curious looks as he goes up to the door and knocks firmly, twice.
A few seconds later, the door opens and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself pokes his head out. He gives Cedric a questioning look.
"Hello," Cedric says, raising the sealed letter in his hand. "Sorry to disturb, but a message for you just arrived."
In the periphery Cedric can see people edging closer, trying to peer into the Minister’s Office. Shacklebolt obviously notices this as well – he quickly takes the letter, thanks Cedric and starts to close the door.
"Wait," Cedric adds, and produces the quill and parchment he brought along. "Jacob Hughes from the owlery wanted to know if you’d like to send a reply with the French owl on its way back."
Shacklebolt considers for a moment; then he reaches out, pulls Cedric into the room, and firmly closes the door behind them.
Cedric pauses and looks around – he’s never been inside the Minister’s Office before, although his attention to the ornately decorated surroundings is swiftly diverted by what’s happening in the room.
Rufus Scrimgeour is sitting in his vast armchair; he’s surrounded by Ministry officials and senior members of the Auror Office, some of them sitting in chairs, others still standing, arms crossed, faces grave. Remus Lupin is there as well, his pale face drawn; his eyes flicker briefly towards Cedric, then back towards the middle of the circle – where Harry Potter is standing, directly opposite Scrimgeour.
"What do you mean, you think I should have brought Voldemort’s body back instead?" Harry is yelling, his face flushed with anger. "You would rather I left Neville behind?"
Scrimgeour regards Harry placidly.
"All I’m saying," Scrimgeour replies in a cold voice, "is that you would’ve done a great service to the wizarding world if you had brought back physical, irrevocable proof that Voldemort has indeed been destroyed. You would’ve given everyone the peace of mind, the closure they so greatly need."
"And what about Neville’s grandmother?" Harry snarls back. "Doesn’t she need some closure too? How is she going to get that closure without even having a body to bury?"
A blinding pain rips through Cedric’s mind; he jerks his head away, and it’s all he can do not to lose his composure completely. He stares at the floor, his eyes stinging, and bites his lip so hard he tastes blood.
"Minister." Shacklebolt speaks up in a deep, booming voice – and Cedric, standing just next to him, glances up in time to see everyone, including Harry, turn in their direction. Cedric’s eyes lock with Harry’s for a brief moment; but Harry doesn’t smile, and Cedric quickly looks away.
"What is it?" Scrimgeour asks testily.
"I’ve just received word from my counterpart in the French Ministry," Shacklebolt replies. "They’re ready to help us in an immediate, coordinated effort to flush out the rest of the Death Eaters, now that the Dark Lord has fallen. We need to move swiftly before Voldemort’s followers have time to regroup."
"Do we even know that Voldemort has fallen?" Scrimgeour throws his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. "All we really have now is the rumour of his death!"
"We have Harry’s word," Remus interjects in a quiet but firm voice. "And Voldemort’s wand. That is proof enough – and," he adds pointedly, "if you, as Minister of Magic, come out to say that you believe he has been vanquished, I should think the wizarding community doesn’t really need to see Voldemort’s head on a stake to be convinced."
All eyes turn back to Scrimgeour, who looks uncertain for a brief moment.
"We’ll take this under advisement," he says, and shoots a hostile look at Harry. "As per standard procedure for anyone who has come in contact with Dark wizards, you are required to go to the Department of Magical Accidents to get yourself checked for any hexes. You may leave by the concealed door beside the tapestry over there."
Scrimgeour points in Cedric’s direction; Cedric blinks and then glances over his shoulder in time to see a plain doorway materialise out of the wall just behind him.
"And you are not to speak to anyone – and I mean, anyone – about what has been discussed in this room," Scrimgeour continues imperiously. "The Ministry will make known the details when it is ready to give its official statement. Do I make myself clear?"
Harry glowers at Scrimgeour defiantly – he doesn’t move for a long moment, and Cedric wonders if the Minister of Magic will dare to have Harry forcibly removed from his office. He feels sorry for the poor law enforcement wizards who’ll be given that task.
But finally Harry turns away from Scrimgeour and strides purposefully in Cedric’s direction. There’s an expression of grim determination on Harry’s face; and then he stops, just feet away from where Cedric’s standing, and turns around to look at Scrimgeour again.
"I should’ve known," Harry says, his voice hard, "that the Minister of Magic would be more concerned with the body of a villain than that of a hero."
Scrimgeour’s face turns an alarming shade of red; but before he can reply, Harry stalks off through the open doorway. Everyone stares after Harry; next to Cedric, Shacklebolt surreptitiously presses a rolled-up piece of parchment into Cedric’s palm.
"Send this," he mutters out of the corner of his mouth; and then he swiftly steps in front of Cedric, blocking him from Scrimgeour’s view, and Cedric takes his cue to leave through the doorway, after Harry.
It turns out the concealed exit from the Minister’s Office opens into a long corridor with labelled doors on either side, leading to other places within the Ministry. Some distance in front of him, Cedric sees Harry walking straight ahead, his head bowed and a slight limp still in his stride.
"Harry!" he calls out, before he realises what he’s doing. "Harry, wait!"
Harry stops; he remains still for a moment, before he finally turns around.
And it’s as if Cedric is looking at a completely different person – that boy Cedric once knew, with bright green eyes and a ready smile, is gone, and now there’s no acknowledgement in Harry’s eyes as he regards Cedric.
Cedric catches up; he’s feeling slightly breathless, and he isn’t so sure it’s just because he’s been running.
"I’m uh," he begins, and then blurts out lamely, "it’s me. Cedric."
Harry’s still looking at him in that same expressionless way. "I know."
Cedric feels an embarrassed smile burn on his face.
"Sorry," he says. "It’s just – I just wasn’t sure if you recognised me."
A flicker passes across Harry’s face; and it’s the closest thing to emotion that Cedric has seen so far. Up close, Cedric sees that the gash on Harry’s left cheek has dried to dark red. He also notices how much height Harry has gained – now he’s only a couple of inches shorter than Cedric. Harry’s boyish features have matured somewhat, although his black hair is unruly as ever, and even behind those glasses Harry’s eyes are still as green as Cedric remembers, like emerald stones, and now, just as hard.
Cedric hesitates; then he reaches into his pocket, and takes out the mirror wrapped in his handkerchief. He unfolds the cloth and holds the mirror out to Harry.
"I – I think this belongs to you," Cedric says.
Harry stares at the broken mirror; he doesn’t move to take it, and after several moments Cedric starts to feel rather foolish.
"Uh," he says awkwardly, "it’s yours – isn’t it?"
Harry raises his eyes from the mirror and looks at Cedric.
"Where did you find this?" His tone is steady – steady, Cedric realises, but for once, not deadened.
"Outside," Cedric answers, "on the ground. It was already broken when I found it. Sorry."
Harry reaches out and takes the mirror from Cedric’s hands; their fingers brush, very lightly, before Harry moves away, pocketing the mirror as he takes a step back.
"I heard about your father," Harry says, and then adds simply, "I’m sorry about what happened."
Cedric feels his mouth twist.
"Are you sorry because," Cedric feels his voice choke up a little, "because you think he’s dead?"
Harry looks at him.
"I’m sorry because no one should have to go through what you and your mother have been through," he says in a level voice.
Cedric drops his gaze to the floor. He can’t look at Harry, because Cedric knows if he does the tears will just start, and he doesn’t want to cry, not in front of Harry, not when Harry’s still looking at him dry-eyed after everything that’s just happened.
A few moments pass in silence; then Harry turns, and starts walking away.
Cedric looks up.
"Harry," he says, before he can stop himself.
Harry halts, and glances back at him. Their eyes meet – and Cedric’s mind goes slightly blank, and suddenly he doesn’t know what he wants to tell Harry.
"I just –" Cedric begins, and then breaks off helplessly, "I, uh..."
Finally Harry speaks, instead.
"You don’t have to say anything," he says – and Cedric thinks he catches a glimpse of sadness in Harry’s eyes as he turns away.
Cedric stands where he is, and watches Harry go.
* * *
Cedric discovers that watching Harry walk away soon becomes a more important detail than he ever imagined.
Because an hour later, Harry still hasn’t shown up at the Department of Magical Accidents for his hex screening, and no one seems to be able to find him anywhere on Ministry premises. And Cedric, who is swiftly singled out as the last person to have seen Harry, finds himself being grilled by nearly everyone at the Ministry, including Scrimgeour.
"I’ve told you already," Cedric repeats wearily. "We talked for maybe a couple of minutes and he went on his way. I just assumed he was going to Magical Accidents."
"Well you bloody assumed wrong," Ron Weasley snaps, glaring so venomously at him that Cedric almost feels like it’s really his fault that Harry’s disappeared. Cedric has a feeling that Ron’s malevolence towards him also has something to do with the fact that he and Hermione Granger were apparently barred from entering the Minister’s Office to see Harry while the meeting with Scrimgeour was in progress.
Cedric is worried about Harry too; and he knows more than anyone else what it feels like when a loved one suddenly disappears. But the full gale force of Harry’s two agitated best friends is starting to grate on his nerves.
"Did he say anything?" Hermione persists, even though she’s already asked Cedric that question a dozen times. "Perhaps he mentioned someone he wants to see, or..."
"The bloke just went through what he did, and you let him go off on his own?" Ron demands.
Cedric looks at Ron.
"I don’t know Harry as well as you do," he says evenly, "but he really doesn’t strike me as the sort to let himself be fussed over."
Ron turns red, and looks as if he’s going to explode; Hermione quickly grabs Ron’s arm and steers him away, although she shoots Cedric a quick, distrusting glance over her shoulder, as if she’s almost sure he’s not telling them something.
Hermione has always been a smart witch, Cedric muses. He isn’t sure why he hasn’t told anyone about the broken mirror; but somehow the expression on Harry’s face when he gave him back the mirror makes Cedric feel like it’s something very private, almost painfully so. And he wants to respect that.
Harry’s vanishing act precipitates one of the most frenzied manhunts in the history of the Ministry. The entire building goes into lockdown; the Floo Network Authority watches every Floo network linked to and from the Ministry and starts checking back on all Floo traffic through these channels in the past two hours; and the Portkey Office scrambles to make sure all their active, unused Portkeys are accounted for.
Almost an hour after Harry’s disappearance is discovered, Scrimgeour receives a small package. Cedric, sequestered in the Minister’s Office for convenient questioning, watches Scrimgeour tear open the envelope.
An Auror badge falls onto Scrimgeour’s desk with a thud; a note flutters out of the envelope after it. Scrimgeour snatches up the note – he stares at it, and his face turns a nasty shade of purple.
"Very well!" he spits; he rips the note to shreds, then glares around the room. "If this is how he wants it!"
The Ministry’s search for Harry Potter abruptly ceases; and by late afternoon the collective excitement over Voldemort’s alleged defeat, followed by Harry’s departure and the Ministry’s brief but frantic hunt for him, has completely eclipsed the news of Neville’s death.
Ron and Hermione have decided to organise their own search party to continue looking for Harry; and when Cedric very politely declines to join them, they stare at him as if he’s a particularly nasty Blast-Ended Skrewt. Cedric wants to tell them that he isn’t a scent dog – just because he’s the last person to have seen Harry doesn’t mean he’ll be able to sniff him out. He barely even knows Harry, and he definitely hasn’t the faintest idea where Harry will go when he wants to be alone.
By five-thirty, Cedric has had enough. He’s tired of hearing speculations that are steadily getting more ridiculous – the latest one being that the Harry who came into the Ministry in the morning was actually a polyjuiced Death Eater – and he’s tired of people constantly asking him about Harry.
Frankly, he’s tired of just about everything, and Cedric thinks that’s his cue to just go home.
Cedric grabs his coat and quietly leaves. No one really notices. As he passes through the Atrium to get to the escalator leading up to the revolving doors, he sees Scrimgeour surrounded by reporters as he delivers the Ministry’s first official statement of the day’s events.
"... cannot confirm the fate of the Dark Lord at this point, but I can say that we have dealt a crucial blow to the Dark forces," Scrimgeour is telling the reporters gathered all around him. "We are also pleased to say that our friends from neighbouring Ministries have promptly rallied around us in this time of decisive action – and we feel confident that a triumphant end of this war is imminent."
"What about Harry Potter?" a reporter calls out. "Word has it that he’s disappeared. Do you have any comment?"
Scrimgeour’s mouth tightens.
"Harry Potter has decided to terminate his association with the Ministry," he replies in a grim tone. "Wherever he is right now, I would like to emphasise that he is not – I repeat, not on Ministry business. It is disappointing and regrettable that a member of the Special Auror Force has chosen to abandon his team at such a critical time. Any more questions?"
"Is it true that a Ministry employee, Neville Longbottom, was killed today?" another reporter asks.
Scrimgeour’s expression turns suitably grave.
"Sometimes it is inevitable that we lose one of our own in this terrible war," he answers solemnly. "Our sincerest condolences go out to Neville Longbottom’s family. Many like him have given their lives for the greater good, and they will be fondly remembered. Next question, please."
Cedric turns away and steps onto the escalator. He’s heard enough.
He is no stranger to the Ministry’s way of handling such... incidents. He remembers how two days after he agreed to take his dad’s job in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, an internal memo was issued: simply instructing everyone in the Ministry to address all queries to Mr. C Diggory instead of A.
The escalator takes him up to the revolving doors, and Cedric steps outside. It’s no longer snowing; light is fading, and shadows fall across the snow-clad ground as Muggles hurry back and forth, many of them clutching large, colourful shopping bags filled with Christmas gifts.
Cedric turns up the collar of his coat and starts walking towards the station. High in the darkening sky he can still see the owls, gliding in all directions, ostensibly delivering messages of hope and exhortation and a call to arms.
But for all the excitement in the Ministry, Cedric muses as he steps onto the escalator leading into the underground train station, he still senses a prevailing scepticism among wizarding folk. Maybe people have lived under threat of Voldemort’s malice for so long, they’ve just stopped believing it’s even possible to be free of it some day.
Cedric believes that Voldemort is dead; he believed it the moment Harry said so. And he expected to feel a sense of joy and exhilaration at this glad news, a fresh surge of hope that maybe, just maybe they’ll find his father alive somewhere – but Cedric doesn’t feel anything, and that makes him sad.
He’s queuing to pass through the barriers to get to the platform when he suddenly feels the weight of eyes on him, as if he’s being watched.
Cedric looks around – and Harry Potter is there, sitting on a metal bench, half-leaning against the wall with his legs up on the seat.
Cedric stops dead in his tracks. Harry is looking straight at him; their eyes lock and hold, until the fellow behind Cedric walks into him, and swears loudly. Cedric quickly ducks out of the line.
He half-expects Harry to bolt as he’s approaching; but Harry doesn’t move. He’s slouched in the seat in a very uncharacteristic way, and Cedric wonders if he’s been sitting there like this all afternoon. He finally stops about three feet away from Harry.
"Hi," Cedric says.
Harry tilts his head and regards him; he says nothing. Cedric ventures a small smile.
"Didn’t think I’d run into you here," he adds.
Harry leans back, and there’s a soft, slightly unfocused look in his eyes.
"You’re not looking for me, are you?"
"Actually, no," Cedric replies truthfully. "Figured I’d leave that to the experts. I’m just on my way home."
Harry raises an eyebrow.
"You take the Muggle train home," he says.
Cedric grins.
"Yeah," he replies. "Weird, I know."
Harry doesn’t answer; but he takes his feet off the seat next to him, which Cedric interprets as a non-verbal invitation to sit down, and so he does. No one else seems to notice them there – Cedric knows it’s easy enough to become invisible to Muggles, but from fellow wizarding folk?
"You know," Cedric says, keeping his tone light, "I’m pretty sure Ron and Hermione have looked down here. At least twice."
Harry remains silent; it’s a long moment before he finally speaks.
"There’s a nifty little spell I learned about, in my first year at Hogwarts," Harry says, not looking at Cedric. "It can make something unfindable by everyone except those who aren’t trying to find it." He pauses, and then shrugs. "I suppose that’s why you found me – you weren’t looking."
Cedric glances at Harry – his eyes are still fixed straight ahead, staring at the incessant flow of people entering and exiting through the ticket barriers.
"Listen," Cedric finally says. "You’re injured, and I’m sure you could use a little food, a bath and some rest."
Harry gives him a sharp, sidelong glance; there’s an expression in his eyes that warns Don’t, don’t tell me what to do – and Cedric has to take a deep breath to steel himself.
"I’ve a place here in London, about a half hour away," he continues, watching Harry’s reaction carefully. "I won’t tell anyone, and you can leave whenever you want – I promise I won’t stop you."
Harry turns to stare at Cedric – his eyes are dark, liquid, and Cedric’s heart jumps a little because they’re not frozen and expressionless any longer.
"Come on, Harry," Cedric says, holding his gaze. "I want to help, let’s... let’s do this together. All right?"
And it only takes something simple like that to spark a flicker of raw emotion in Harry’s eyes; and maybe, Cedric realises, maybe Harry still thinks about those final moments at the end of that maze, too.
Then Harry’s gaze falters, and he looks away.
"I can’t," he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. "I can’t let you be part of this."
"Why not?" Cedric wants to know. "Why do you have to do this alone?"
Harry raises his eyes to meet Cedric’s once again.
"Do you remember the Triwizard Tournament?" he says, and his voice is filled with thinly controlled emotion. "Remember when we reached the Cup at the same time, and I asked you to take the trophy, together?"
Cedric bites his lip.
"Yes," he says softly. "I remember."
"It would’ve been so easy for you to take the Cup with me," Harry says; and Cedric sees the muted anguish in his eyes. "And if you hadn’t had the strength to walk away from it all..."
Harry trails off; and he doesn’t need to say more. Cedric knows that the portkeyed Cup took Harry to a graveyard; and he heard about how Harry faced Voldemort for the second time, alone, and once more lived to tell the tale.
And now, even though a reckless part of Cedric still doesn’t want to let Harry go through this alone, he knows that Harry is just trying to do the right thing.
"It’s not easy," Harry adds quietly, voicing Cedric’s thoughts. "But it has to be this way."
They sit together in silence. Cedric doesn’t push Harry any further; he knows there’s a limit to what he can accomplish, and sometimes letting go is the only thing left to do.
"Where will you go from here?" Cedric finally asks. "I won’t tell anyone, I’m just – I’m just curious."
Harry glances at him, and then gives a small shrug.
"Here and there," he replies. "I’ll probably visit Neville’s grandmother on Christmas Eve – it will be hard for her, spending the holiday without him. Then maybe on Christmas Day I’ll go to Godric’s Hollow – that’s where I was born, you know? I went there when I left Hogwarts after my sixth year, and I haven’t been back since."
Harry looks away, and it’s a long time before he speaks again.
"I’ve always wondered what it would’ve been like," he says, "to go home every year, spend Christmas with my mum and dad – we’ll sit down and have a home-cooked meal together, and..."
Harry breaks off; he tilts his head, and there’s a wistful look in his eyes.
"Going back at Godric’s Hollow," he says quietly, "I know it sounds kind of morbid, but – it’s the last place we were together as a family."
Harry halts; Cedric takes this opportunity to get to his feet. Then he turns back to face Harry, and stretches out his hand.
Harry stares first at Cedric’s offered hand, and then up at Cedric; a heartbeat of stillness passes between them, and then Harry reaches out and takes Cedric’s hand.
Harry’s fingers are cold, and Cedric’s immediately close around them, tightly, as he helps Harry to his feet. Harry sways a little, and Cedric catches him by the arm. Harry looks embarrassed and quickly shrugs off his steadying hand.
"I’m fine," he mutters. "I can manage."
Cedric meets his gaze.
"I know," he says, and completely means it.
Harry looks mildly surprised; and for the first time the ghost of a smile passes over his face, and he’s about to turn away when Cedric speaks up.
"Harry, wait," he says.
Harry stops and looks at him inquiringly. Cedric gestures towards the deep gash on Harry’s left cheek, and then takes out his wand.
"May I?" he asks.
Harry looks at him uncomprehendingly for a moment – then realisation dawns, and an unnamed emotion flits across his face. He looks away, and then finally nods, once.
Cedric takes a breath, and moves closer to Harry. He raises his wand as unobtrusively as possible, then very gently touches the tip of the wand just beneath the dark wound on Harry’s cheek.
Harry draws a sharp inhalation, and closes his eyes.
"Episkey," Cedric whispers, and he watches as the wound promptly begin shrinking in on itself from the edges, becoming smaller and smaller until it finally vanishes completely, leaving only a trace of dried blood.
Cedric reaches out and rubs the lingering smear of blood away with his thumb – he can feel the hum of tension in Harry’s body, and Harry’s eyes are still closed, his lips slightly parted. Cedric looks at him, and suddenly all he can think about is leaning in, taking Harry’s face in both his hands, and pressing his mouth to Harry’s lips.
But he doesn’t.
Cedric steps back, the tingling warmth of Harry’s skin still on the tip of his thumb; he automatically closes his hand into a fist, as if that’s going to keep the moment, the memory.
He stands aside, and when Harry steps past him and walks away, towards the stairs behind him leading out of the station, Cedric doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t turn his head, just keeps his eyes fixed on the empty space in front of him; because this is what he has to do, and what is right is never easy.
When Cedric finally looks around, Harry is gone.
* * *
The next day is the eve of Christmas eve; and the Daily Prophet arrives by morning owl post, with bold headlines declaring VOLDEMORT DEAD? HARRY POTTER MISSING!
Cedric also receives a note from the Ministry – informing him that all employees, except those in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, are to take compulsory leave for the rest of the week. Aurors from all over Europe have arrived, and the Ministry needs the offices for each team of Aurors to work out of.
Christmas Eve arrives, bringing with it a watchful sort of peace – the Ministry remains tight-lipped about Voldemort’s fate and their hunt for Death Eaters, willing only to say that everything is going as planned. But everyone seems afraid to celebrate like they did the last time word went out that Voldemort was defeated; it’s as if they just don’t want to be wrong again.
In the early afternoon Cedric attends Neville Longbottom’s funeral. He meets some of his Ministry colleagues there; and he sees Neville’s grandmother sitting in the front row, a vulture hat perched high on her head. On her left is a shrivelled woman with wispy white hair, fidgeting in her seat and smiling to herself. Next to her a bald man sits hunched, fiddling with the buttons on his robes and looking childishly amused.
Cedric glances around, almost expecting to see Harry there, watching from a distance – but he ends up catching Ron Weasley’s eye instead, and Ron gives him a scowl. Cedric doesn’t relish the thought of running into Ron – who knows, Ron may have a drop of Veritaserum handy, and then Cedric will really be in trouble. He may say something stupid, like where Harry’s going to be over Christmas, or that he’s still thinking about what it would have been like to have kissed Harry.
Cedric doesn’t want to imagine Ron’s reaction to that.
It’s a simple memorial service, and Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley each take turns saying a few words about Neville. When the service is over, everyone shuffles closer to pay their last respects. Cedric watches as Neville’s grandmother leads the little woman with wispy white hair around the closed coffin.
For a long time the little woman just stares blankly with her pale, overlarge eyes; then finally she reaches out and, with a trembling hand, places a crumpled sweet wrapper on top of the coffin.
When Cedric sits down for dinner with his mother that night, he can’t help thinking about how strange it feels to be spending Christmas in London. He always goes home to Ottery St. Catchpole for the holidays; and Cedric thinks about his dad, how he always insisted on getting a real tree every year and decorating it together, as a family.
Cedric’s mother holds up bravely through dinner, even though she is on the brink of tears when she clears up the empty place mat and plate that she laid out. Cedric takes the plate away from her, puts it down and then hugs her tightly – and it’s all he can do, Cedric thinks helplessly as he stares over her shoulder, he just doesn’t know what else he can do.
And he thinks about Harry, sitting down with Neville’s grandmother on this same cold, wintry night.
Christmas morning dawns pale and fragile – a light snow has fallen the night before, and the colour of the sky is mother-of-pearl. Owls arrive with Christmas greetings; Cedric smiles a little when a particularly disgruntled snow owl, with a red scarf around its neck and a tiny Santa’s hat on its head, pecks him mournfully and sticks out its talon. It’s from Ernie Macmillan.
There’s not a lot to do on Christmas day – his mum has made it clear she doesn’t want to host a party for friends and relatives this year, it’s just too hard without his dad around. So Cedric stays at home, and later in the day, helps her cook dinner. It’s simple fare, but there’s his favourite mango pudding and black pepper steak and cream potatoes – and Cedric tries to ignore that his mother is clearly cooking more than the two of them can eat.
In the evening, Ernie drops by with his girlfriend Hannah Abbott. They’re on their way to Justin’s place for dinner, and they want to know if Cedric would like to join them.
Cedric politely declines; he doesn’t feel like being around a lot of people. He can tell from the quick looks Ernie and Hannah exchange that they’re just trying to help Cedric take his mind off things.
After Ernie and Hannah leave, Cedric goes to help his mother pack the leftover food into containers – and suddenly an idea occurs to him, like a tangible articulation of something he’s been subconsciously thinking about all day.
"Mum?" Cedric says, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "I need to go out for a bit."
* * *
There’s really no easy way to get to where he wants to go – and Cedric finally decides on Apparation, even though it’s never recommended to Apparate to a place you’ve never been and don’t have a clear mental picture of. But Cedric checks the Apparation Directory and maps out the coordinates in his mind; then he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and Disapparates.
On arrival, Cedric feels his feet materialise beneath him; and he finds himself standing in half a foot of snow. And that’s all he sees, all around him – snow, everywhere, and the barren boughs of trees are like dark cracks against the white-covered landscape.
Cedric looks around and thinks: there’s something empty, yet beautiful, about Godric’s Hollow.
He sees a house in the distance; a path probably once led up to it, but no one has walked this way in ages and now it’s buried somewhere under the snow. Cedric pulls his bulky cloak around him and starts walking slowly towards the house. When he reaches the front step, he raises his hand and knocks the door, twice.
No one answers – the wind whistles eerily in the silence, and falling snowflakes sting Cedric’s face. He knocks again, and waits.
And when the door finally opens, and Harry’s standing in the doorway with an expression of undisguised surprise on his face, Cedric realises that he’s been waiting far longer than he even knew.
Cedric takes a deep breath.
"I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find you," he says.
Harry is still gazing at him with disbelief. "What – what are you doing here?"
Cedric reaches into his coat, and produces a small tupperware box, wrapped in a brown paper bag.
"I know you don’t want to be disturbed," he says, looking at Harry. "But my mother made enough dinner for three people – and I thought, I just thought you might like a home-cooked meal on Christmas Day."
Harry stares at him, speechless. Several moments pass in silence; finally, Cedric reaches out and presses the box of food into Harry’s hands. Then he turns to leave.
"Cedric," Harry calls out, in a choked voice.
Cedric halts; and there’s an expression on Harry’s face that Cedric has never seen before – torn, helpless, and utterly lost.
Then Harry blinks and looks away – and it’s a long time before he raises his eyes to Cedric’s.
"Stay," he says, very softly. "Please."
Cedric doesn’t realise he’s said yes until he’s inside the house, and Harry’s shutting the door behind them.
The house is dim and empty apart from sparse pieces of dusty furniture; all the windows are boarded up, except one, blocking out most of the wintry light from outside. It doesn’t look as if anyone has lived here in years, and Harry hasn’t done anything to make it any more homey. There’s a moth-eaten sofa in the far corner and a rickety-looking wooden chair, overturned.
Cedric remains standing and watches as Harry goes to put the box of food on a table nearby. There’s a certain manner in the way Harry moves; not ponderous, or even weary, but something beyond that, something which Cedric understands – as if there’s nothing left to do, but all the time in the world to do it.
"Did you know that Neville wanted to be an Auror?"
Harry’s voice breaks the silence; he stands facing away from Cedric, and doesn’t turn around.
"His parents were Aurors, you know – but the Ministry turned down his application because he didn’t do well enough on Transfiguration and Potions, and he didn’t have a 'special skill' that could qualify him."
Harry pauses; but before Cedric can answer, he continues speaking.
"And you know, no one really even asked how Neville died." There’s a raw, painfully quiet tone in his voice. "They just assumed he was collateral damage. And Scrimgeour was so obsessed with finding Voldemort’s body that it didn’t even occur to him that Neville’s the reason they even had a body to look for."
Cedric looks at Harry.
"Neville – Neville’s the one who killed the Dark Lord?"
Cedric can’t keep the astonishment out of his voice; Harry turns sharply, and his eyes are dark and his mouth twists with bitterness and Cedric feels a twinge of guilt for proving Harry’s point.
"I’m sorry," he says, sheepishly. "It’s just – I just always thought it was you." Cedric halts, and then adds as unobtrusively as possible, "Why didn’t you tell them?"
But Harry has stepped away, towards the only window that hasn’t been boarded up, and Cedric doesn’t think Harry heard him.
Harry places both hands on the dusty glass and stares outside.
"Last Sunday I received a letter from Neville," he says. "I tried to find him, but it took me almost two whole days to figure out exactly where he was going, and by the time I got there..."
Harry breaks off, and from his profile Cedric sees a contortion of pain on his face. In the silence that fills the room Cedric can hear Harry’s heavy, uneven breathing, and the window glass is misted over from his exhalation.
Cedric takes one step closer, and then another, until he’s standing just behind Harry.
"You know," Cedric finally says. "I used to wonder why you always chose to be different. At first I thought you just liked the attention, or maybe the thrills – but I never could understand why being normal seemed to be such an unbearable thing to you."
Harry doesn’t move, and Cedric can’t see his expression from the faint, hazy reflection on the window glass. Cedric takes a deep breath.
"And then I realised, it wasn’t about that at all," he says quietly. "You were just doing what you had to do. You had to tell me about the dragons, you had to save Fleur Delacour’s sister. You had to find Neville," Cedric pauses, "and you had to bring his body back."
Harry turns around, abruptly; they’re face to face, and Cedric is struck by the look in Harry’s eyes – anguish, helplessness, and such misery; and he’s close enough to touch Harry, but he doesn’t.
"You weren’t trying to be different, or brave, or noble," Cedric continues very softly, holding Harry’s gaze. "It wasn’t even a choice."
Harry looks back at him; there’s a quiet desperation in his eyes, and Cedric feels a flush of warmth all over his skin. And suddenly he doesn’t want to think about choices, whether this is right, or wrong, or –
Cedric leans forward, and kisses Harry on the lips.
For a split second everything freezes, and Harry’s mouth is warm, unmoving against his – then everything spins in a dizzying rush, and the next thing Cedric knows he’s being slammed up against the wall, their positions reversed, and then Harry’s there, kissing him back, and nothing else matters anymore.
Cedric closes his eyes, and he’s holding Harry’s face and Harry’s hands are gripping his jaw and they’re kissing, as if they need this more than they need to breathe –
– and Harry’s grinding against him, and the friction makes Cedric gasp. He arches forward to meet Harry’s movements, tries to angle himself to hit the right spot; but Harry pushes him back against the wall and pins him there, holding him wedged between his thighs and Cedric thinks, Oh.
And he gets the idea, and the thought of Harry wanting to be in charge is just so intense that it makes Cedric harder than he’s ever been.
Harry’s hands rake up the sides of Cedric’s body, pulling up his sweater, and Cedric sucks in a deep breath as Harry’s fingernails drag across his skin, over his chest; and then Harry braces both his hands against Cedric’s shoulders for leverage, and then thrusts his hips forward, hard against Cedric’s.
Cedric makes a ragged noise and the back of his head hits the wall; Harry’s mouth is wet and hot on his neck, and Harry’s moving against him, gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise – the fronts of their trousers are in full, hot contact, and Cedric’s fingers dig into Harry’s back and Cedric is vaguely aware that he’s making breathless, panting sounds as every – single – thrust drives him closer, closer to the edge –
When Cedric comes, he lets out a choked cry and bites his lip so hard that he immediately tastes blood – then he hears Harry grunt and shove forward one more time, hard, and Cedric feels Harry’s fingers dig into his shoulders, and he arches against Harry as he squeezes his eyes shut and rides out the waves of sensation.
And it’s over before he knows it – and then they’re sinking to the floor, in a tangle of limbs. Cedric slumps back, still dizzy and flushed; Harry’s half-lying on top of him, and the sticky dampness of their clothes trapped between them is uncomfortable.
Cedric shifts a little; Harry raises his head and moves off him. Cedric looks down at the wet spot on the front of both their trousers, and grimaces.
"Someone should really make a pair of trousers with a built-in Impervius Charm down there," he says, trying to sound light. "I’m sure it’d sell out in no time."
Cedric mutters a nifty drying spell he learned from an adult wizarding magazine, and the messy wet spot disappears. He straightens his ruffled clothes, and when looks up he finds Harry gazing steadily at him.
"You’re leaving?" Harry says.
Cedric hesitates for a moment.
"It’s getting late," he replies.
Harry tilts his head; he doesn’t say anything, although something in his eyes prompts Cedric to add, in a rush,
"I can come back tomorrow, if you like."
Cedric stops; in response, Harry drops his gaze and an uncomfortable expression flits across his face.
"I – I don’t know where I’ll be, tomorrow," he says.
Harry’s words are like a punch to Cedric’s gut; he exhales sharply and thinks, this is when reality sets in. This is how it’s over even before it really begins – and it hurts, more than Cedric thought it would.
Cedric salvages his composure, and looks up at Harry.
"Well, then," he says. "You know where to find me."
And Cedric can’t bear to look at Harry’s reaction – he feels stupid, and disappointed, and just a little bit guilty even though he knows Harry probably wanted it almost as much as he did.
He turns away and walks towards the door. He doesn’t know why he’s going outside, he doesn’t need to, but the sharp, cold air that hits him when he opens the door helps to clear his mind a little.
"Cedric," he hears Harry’s voice behind him.
He looks around – and there’s a look of uncertainty on Harry’s face, and Harry hesitates as if he wants to say something, but no words emerge.
"It’s okay." Cedric finally speaks, very quietly. "You don’t have to say anything."
Cedric turns away again, takes a few steps and then stands still for a moment, ankle deep in snow. The whiteness all around him stings his eyes, and the emptiness resonates in a way that suddenly makes Cedric feel sad.
He closes his eyes, and Disapparates.
* * *
It has been five days since the first flurry of news about Voldemort’s alleged defeat, and by now the wizarding community is restless and impatient to know what’s really happening. The murmur of discontent finally prompts Scrimgeour to hold a press conference on Boxing Day, at noon; by mid-afternoon the Daily Prophet has released a special press edition with the latest story.
Cedric picks up the newspaper that an owl just dropped through the open window of his flat. He goes to sit down on the sofa, and begins reading.
Voldemort has been destroyed, Scrimgeour declares; but as yet, his body has not been found. The Ministry believes that the Death Eaters have hidden his body, and Aurors are still actively engaged in an extensive search to find it. Within two months, Scrimgeour also vows, the Ministry will have every single Death Eater behind bars in Azkaban.
No mention is made of Harry, or Neville; and Cedric doesn’t fail to notice that the "Special Auror Force, an elite team handpicked and specially trained by the Ministry," was collectively credited for their "systematic, coordinated and closely supervised efforts that led to and resulted in the fall of the Dark Lord."
Cedric folds the newspaper, and tosses it onto the table.
The day before New Year’s Eve, his father’s body is found.
Remus Lupin delivers the news in person. Cedric answers the door; one look at Lupin’s sombre expression and Cedric immediately knows what Lupin’s here to tell them.
His mother takes the news bravely. She sits on the sofa with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, eyes lowered, and nods in all of the appropriate places as Lupin speaks to them in a low, measured voice. Cedric puts his arm around his mother; he’s too numb to do anything more than just sit there, staring at Lupin but only hearing snatches of what he’s saying.
Amos was found in a shallow grave, Lupin tells them, in a field behind a Death Eater’s mansion. Lupin pauses, and then adds that he was there when they found Amos – and from the conditions at the scene it seems that he died shortly after his disappearance. His body is now at St Mungo’s; and whenever they’re ready...
Cedric’s mother looks up.
"So he didn’t suffer much," she says, her voice trembling.
"No ma’am," Lupin answers gently. "I don’t think he did."
His mother looks down at her hands.
"That is all I can ask for, then." She raises her eyes again, and gives Lupin a strained smile. "Thank you for coming all the way to tell us."
Lupin looks at Cedric’s mother; he hesitates a little.
"There’s something else," he says. He reaches forward, takes her hand and presses a small object into her palm.
It’s his father’s wedding ring.
His mother stares down at the plain gold ring in her hand; a muffled sob escapes, and tears run silently down her face.
Cedric stands up.
"I’ll go to St Mungo’s with Remus, Mum," he says. "I’ll get Aunt Maisie to stay here with you..."
"No, no," his mother waves him off, getting to her feet. "I’ll go along too – we’ll go together, Cedric, your father always said we should do things as a family... just give me a few minutes to get changed... "
Cedric watches helplessly as she hurries off to her room, closing the door behind her. He can feel Lupin watching him.
"I know this must be very hard for you, too," Lupin says quietly.
"I guess it’s better that we know the truth." Cedric can hear the hollowness in his own tone. "All these months, waiting, not knowing... I think that’s even harder to get through."
He halts, and then looks directly at Lupin.
"Tell me the truth," Cedric says, a raw edge in his voice, "did – did they torture him? Before he died?"
Lupin levels his gaze.
"Your father’s body was already decomposed," he answers. "We couldn’t really tell if he sustained any injuries. But the mediwizard said that his limbs and bones were all still intact, with no fractures or dislocations – so that leads us to believe that he didn’t suffer any extreme torture."
Cedric sits back with a sharp exhalation. Lupin’s words, though grisly, are somewhat comforting: the sense of relief that floods through him makes the pain a little more bearable.
"Thank you," Cedric says softly. "Thank you for being honest with us."
Lupin reaches forward and touches Cedric’s shoulder.
"You deserve the truth," he says, and then adds, "your father was a good man, Cedric."
Cedric tilts his head, and gives Lupin a wan smile.
"I know," he says.
* * *
The funeral takes place on the afternoon of New Year’s eve. His father is buried in St Andrew’s Cemetery, not far from their family home in Ottery St Catchpole. Many turn up for the memorial service, most of them Ministry colleagues – Arthur Weasley is there with his wife, and Jacob Hughes from the owlery comes over and surprises Cedric by enveloping him in a fierce hug.
Scrimgeour shows up too, briefly, and stays long enough to shake Cedric’s hand and exchange a few words with Cedric’s mother before Disapparating.
When the memorial service begins, Cedric sits in the front row next to his mother. Bob Hickman, his father’s closest friend and department colleague the Ministry, delivers the eulogy.
Cedric stares at the closed coffin; his eyes are dry, and he feels a sting of guilt. But somehow the knowledge that his father actually died six months ago makes the grief more detached, almost surreal; and the funeral feels like the end of mourning, instead of the beginning.
Afterwards Cedric mingles with those gathered, shakes hands with people whose names he doesn’t even know and thanks them for coming. He listens politely to humorous little anecdotes about his dad, and they feel like stories about another person altogether. Ernie Macmillan finally rescues Cedric from a nice but agonizingly long-winded elderly witch, whose lawn Cedric’s dad apparently helped mow when he was in his teens.
When most of the crowd departs, Cedric and his mother return to the family home, accompanied by several aunts and other assorted female relatives. Cedric sits and talks with them in the living room for a while, ends up drinking more cups of tea than he really wants to, courtesy of an over-zealous Aunt Maisie; finally, feeling thoroughly exhausted and seeing that there are enough relatives to keep his mother company, Cedric excuses himself and goes back to his room.
He closes the door and looks around him. After an entire afternoon of being surrounded by people, the stillness feels strange, although the room is familiar. This is his childhood bedroom – his bed is over there by the wall, next to outdated Quidditch Premier League schedules from the 1996/7 season and posters of his favourite team, the Falmouth Falcons. On his dresser sits a picture of Cedric and his parents, taken at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. His mother has a luminous green rosette pinned to the front of her cloak; Cedric and his father are both wearing dancing shamrock hats on their heads and broad grins on their faces.
Cedric looks away, and his gaze settles on the dresser mirror. He stares at his own reflection – he’s wearing a plain white shirt, with formal black robes and a black tie, now loosened around his neck, and the expression on his face is just as solemn as the colours he’s wearing. He tries to smile, but it’s a feeble attempt.
He used to smile a lot more, Cedric thinks, as he shrugs off his robes and slings them over a chair. Not just before his father abruptly disappeared from their lives, but... even before that. There was a time he smiled, not just to be polite or hide his feelings or get laid, but just because he was happy. He can’t even remember what changed, or when it did – but it’s been a long time since he smiled the way he used to, and Cedric’s not sure it’s going to happen again anytime soon.
There’s a knock on his bedroom door – probably Aunt Maisie, Cedric thinks with a measure of dread, bringing more tea and cookies. He sighs, drags himself to his feet and goes to open the door.
Harry Potter is standing outside his bedroom. Cedric stares at him, speechless.
"Hi," Harry says; he takes his hands out of his pockets and gestures in the direction of the stairs. "Your, uh, your mum told me it would be all right to come up and look for you."
Cedric finds his voice.
"Harry?" he says disbelievingly. "What – what are you doing here?"
Harry looks awkward; he shuffles he feet a little, and the silence between them is displaced by the clinking of cups and saucers from downstairs. Harry glances down the stairs again and then looks back at Cedric.
"Can I," Harry clears his throat, "can I come in?"
Cedric steps aside, letting Harry slip into his room, then shuts the door behind them. The shock of seeing Harry is wearing off; now the memory of what happened the last time they were alone, in Godric’s Hollow, rushes back to Cedric’s mind.
Cedric feels a bit light-headed; he stares at the door for a few seconds longer before turning around to face Harry.
Harry is looking around the bedroom; Cedric can see him taking in the neatly made bed, the posters on the light-blue wallpaper, the framed photograph on his dresser.
"Nice room," Harry says.
Cedric gives a little shrug. "This was my room since I was a kid."
Harry glances around the room again.
"Well, it sure beats a cupboard under the stairs," he mutters, although Cedric doesn’t understand what he means.
Cedric watches as Harry walks towards the dresser, leaning down to take a closer look at the photograph of Cedric and his parents. Cedric stands where he is; he waits until Harry finally straightens and turns back to him.
"I heard about your father," Harry says simply, looking straight at Cedric. "I’m very sorry."
Cedric can’t stop himself. "Is that why you’re here?"
A flicker of emotion crosses Harry’s face, and Cedric immediately feels bad – he’s still edgy and defensive and the words didn’t quite come out as he intended. But Harry doesn’t turn away; instead, a pensive expression settles across his features. Then he reaches into the pocket of his cloak and retrieves a familiar object.
"This belonged to my dad," Harry says, looking down at the broken mirror. "It’s part of a pair: all you have to do is say the name of the person holding the other mirror and you can see and talk to each other. My godfather gave this to me – he and my dad used it all the time when they were in separate detentions, and he was holding the other half of the pair."
Harry pauses; he turns the mirror over in his hands, and it’s a long moment before he speaks.
"They never found his body," he finally says, very quietly. "And I didn’t realise why he gave me this mirror until... until after."
Harry breaks off and takes a deep breath.
"Ever since then, I carried this mirror wherever I went. And whenever I needed someone to talk to, I’d talk to him, through this mirror – somehow I always got the feeling he was somewhere in there, listening to me." Harry utters a short, pained laugh. "And when you gave it back to me, like this…"
Cedric speaks up.
"Have you tried a fixing charm?" he suggests. "I’m sure there must be a spell that can..."
Harry shakes his head.
"No," he answers. "I tried everything I could to fix it, but no charm would work – and it felt like I’d lost the last thread that still linked me to him."
Harry halts; then he finally raises his eyes to Cedric.
"But I guess this was his way of telling me to find someone else to talk to," he says.
Cedric stares at Harry; his throat suddenly feels dry and tight, and he can’t say anything, not even as Harry walks towards him, step by step.
"I also don’t think it’s a coincidence," Harry continues, "that you’re the one who brought the mirror back to me."
Harry reaches out – when his hand touches Cedric’s face, Cedric feels a warm shiver run over his skin. He sucks in a sharp breath.
"I..." Cedric blurts out, helplessly, "I just don’t know what to do."
Harry’s eyes are dark and steady as he leans closer, until their faces are inches apart.
"Neither do I," Harry whispers, and then he kisses Cedric.
Cedric closes his eyes – and suddenly it’s all too much, and the sharp, painful swell of emotion inside Cedric’s chest suddenly makes it hard to breathe; then Harry’s tilting his face so that he can deepen the kiss, and Cedric clutches on to Harry and kisses him back.
They somehow manage to stumble backwards, until Cedric feels his legs hit the foot of his bed. He falls onto the mattress, pulling Harry on top of him – and then Harry’s leaning over him and Cedric hears Harry whisper in his ear, hot and soothing: Tell me what you want me to do.
And Cedric, dizzy and breathless and panting, tells him.
Cedric thinks he catches a small grin on the edges of Harry’s mouth; then Harry kisses him again, hard on the lips, before sliding down the length of Cedric’s body. He feels Harry unbuckling his belt, pulling down his trousers – Cedric lies back and closes his eyes, and waits.
When he feels Harry’s mouth around him, he arches and gasps, thrusting upwards, and he feels Harry’s hands on his hips, holding him steady. The teasing flickers of Harry’s tongue and the heat of Harry’s hands on his inner thighs makes Cedric writhe; he moans and fists the sheets, desperately wanting more, needing it, until –
Cedric comes with a strangled cry; his hips jerk upwards, and his mind goes white.
When it’s over he collapses back, breathing harshly. The mattress shifts a little as Harry moves up next to him; Cedric doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he opens his eyes to a blur of tears, and he feels Harry’s fingers brush away the wetness on his cheeks.
Cedric remembers that it’s his turn now. He slides closer, reaching out for the fly of Harry’s trousers – but Harry’s hand catches his, stopping his movement.
Cedric looks at Harry, surprised; Harry shakes his head once and leans in, so their noses are just touching.
"Not now," Harry whispers; he strokes a damp strand of fringe away from Cedric’s face, and then adds, "We’ll have time for that."
Cedric stares at Harry – and the disbelief must be plainly obvious, because Harry gives a wry smile and bends closer to kiss Cedric on the lips.
Cedric holds Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him fervently, before lying back on the bed. Then a sated exhaustion overcomes him; he closes his eyes and falls asleep.
* * *
When Cedric wakes up, it takes him a moment to remember where he is, and then, what happened before he fell asleep. The bedroom is dim and shadowy; it’s already dark outside his window.
Cedric blinks – then he realises that Harry is lying there next to him, still asleep. His glasses are off and he’s lying on his side, facing Cedric, with his head resting in the crook of his elbow. Cedric reckons Harry’s arm is going to be all pins and needles when he wakes up; he wants to move him into a more comfortable position, but then he doesn’t want to wake him.
Cedric sits up as quietly as he can, without shifting the bed. He looks back at Harry – there’s something unguarded, honest about Harry’s face when he’s asleep, and watching him like this is the most calming, peaceful feeling Cedric remembers in a long time.
He gets dressed and leaves the room, silently closing the door behind him. He can see the light from downstairs, and Cedric straightens his shirt and trousers as he goes down the steps – he doesn’t relish the idea of walking into Aunt Maisie with his fly undone.
It’s oddly quiet in the hallway; but the aroma of tasty meat sizzling on the grill leads Cedric to the kitchen, where he finds his mother busily waving her wand, tending to several dishes at once. There’s no one else around.
"Mum?" Cedric looks around the empty kitchen and living room. "Where’s everyone? Have they all gone home?"
"Oh, I made them all go home!" His mother turns around briskly before going to check on the pot of soup on the stove. "It’s New Year’s Eve – they should be spending it with their own families, not cooped up here with me. I can make dinner perfectly well by myself."
Cedric takes a few steps forward; then he suddenly catches sight of the three empty plates waiting on the counter, and he feels a pang of dismay.
"Mum," he blurts out, before he can stop himself.
His mother looks up at him.
"Harry’s staying for dinner too, isn’t he?"
Cedric opens his mouth, but no words emerge – and in that moment, everything finally falls into place.
"Yes," Cedric says; then he smiles, and really means it. "Yes, he is."
- fin -