When Harry and Cedric meet, they don’t talk about the Triwizard tournament. They don’t discuss the next and final task, exactly what it may be or how they’re planning to get through it.
They step inside the broom shed; Cedric closes the door behind them, and then moves towards the small cleared space in the center of the shed. Harry stands where he is and watches as Cedric shrugs off his cloak and spreads it on the ground.
Cedric glances up and catches Harry looking; he pauses and a self-conscious smile spreads across his face.
"I know this isn’t the best spot," he says ruefully. "But we can’t risk it in the castle again."
Harry turns away, towards the closed door.
"That’s all right," he answers, and points his wand at the broken lock, sealing the door shut with a muttered spell.
A soft rustle of footsteps behind him, and Harry feels Cedric’s hands on his shoulders.
"I’ll find us a warmer place next time," Cedric says.
Harry turns around, and Cedric is right there – and then they’re kissing, in the darkness, and Harry closes his eyes and just lets himself feel, feel the heat of Cedric’s hands moving over his skin, the sudden chill around his body as his sweater is tugged over his head and flung aside. Then Cedric’s pulling him away from the door, and they’re sinking to their knees, and Harry feels the velvet warmth of Cedric’s cloak against his back as Cedric maneuvers him down, then leans over him and whispers in his ear, I want you so much.
Harry turns his face in the dark – he seeks out Cedric’s mouth with his own, silencing him, and as his hands scrabble furiously at the zipper of Cedric’s trousers Harry tries not to think about anything at all.
* * *
Afterwards, Cedric’s cloak is damp in certain places and bunched up uncomfortably under Harry’s back, but Harry can’t bring himself to move. They lie next to each other, still breathless and panting and sweaty despite the cold; and Harry notices the darkness around them has turned a shadowy pale, the way darkness does after you’ve been around it for long enough.
"Cedric," he finally says. "Why did you put your name in that goblet?"
Next to him, Cedric lets out a laugh that’s a little too quick.
"Well, why wouldn’t I?" he counters.
Harry stares up at the dusty wooden beams that no one has cleaned in ages.
"Oh yeah," he says in a toneless voice. "I forgot. Eternal glory and all that."
He can feel Cedric giving him a sidelong glance.
"You don’t have to put it that way, Harry."
Harry props himself up on an elbow and turns to look at Cedric.
"You have a family that loves you," he tells Cedric. "Your dad – you should see the way he looks at you, with such pride in his eyes. You have friends who already think you’re brilliant, and you’re a Prefect, a Seeker... what more do you want?"
Cedric looks away, almost as if embarrassed; when he speaks, there’s a tone of self-deprecation in his voice.
"I know this probably sounds childish and stupid to you," he answers, still not looking at Harry. "But it’s just – I just want to be remembered, you know?"
Harry is quiet for a moment.
"And winning the trophy," he finally says, and there’s no judgment in his voice, "that’s what you really want?"
A troubled expression settles over Cedric’s face.
"Being chosen for this... I guess it just makes me feel like I have to win it," he shoots a quick glance at Harry, "no offense – I really don’t mean to keep cutting you off like this."
Something in Cedric’s apologetic tone makes Harry sit up and look at Cedric with narrowed eyes.
"Cho told you?"
Cedric looks sheepish. "Yeah. And to tell the truth, I already guessed that you wanted to take her to the Ball."
A note of anger creeps into Harry’s voice. "So you asked her just to spite me."
Cedric levels his gaze.
"No," he says, "I asked her because I couldn’t ask you."
Harry stares at Cedric; he opens his mouth, but he can find no words.
Cedric sits up as well – he reaches out and strokes his fingers through Harry’s hair, and the tenderness in his gaze makes Harry’s chest clench painfully.
"I want you to promise me something, Harry," Cedric says, very seriously.
Harry leans into the touch of his palm. "What is it?"
"I want you to promise that you’ll play fair."
Harry smiles. "I won’t hex you or kick you in the shins, if that’s what you mean."
"No." Cedric’s eyes are dark and intense as he leans even closer. "I want you to promise that you’ll play to win, because that’s what I’m going to do."
He halts and looks at Harry expectantly; Harry gazes back, but doesn’t say anything.
"You’re supposed to say, me too," Cedric adds.
Harry smiles sadly.
"Yeah," he answers. "I know."
They sit together in silence.
"If one of us wins," Harry finally says, "it’ll never be the same again."
"No, Harry," Cedric replies staunchly; he takes Harry’s face in both his hands. "This – what we have – it’s about us. And nothing’s ever going to change that."
Harry looks at him.
"Even if I win?" he asks softly.
The briefest flicker crosses Cedric’s face; it’s gone within a blink, but not swiftly enough to escape Harry’s notice.
"Nothing is going to change," Cedric repeats, and then he leans in and kisses Harry lightly on the lips. "I swear."
Harry catches Cedric and kisses him again, more fervently this time.
"Okay," he whispers against Cedric’s lips.
Cedric pulls away; Harry stretches out both his legs and Cedric lies flat on his back, with his head resting on Harry’s lap. Harry’s fingers automatically stroke through Cedric’s hair, and Cedric raises his eyes and looks up at Harry.
"You know," he says wryly, "sometimes it’s just so hard to figure out what you really want."
Harry doesn’t say anything – but as he gazes down at Cedric, he thinks he really doesn’t need to look very much further.
* * *
Harry keeps his promise to Cedric. He fights through the maze like he really wants to win – and when he and Cedric are right there in that clearing, with the Triwizard Cup in sight, for the first time Harry realizes exactly how much he actually does want it.
But he knows Cedric wants it more.
So when Cedric falls down and calls out his name, Harry stops; he looks back at Cedric, the only person he has ever kissed, and suddenly that trophy doesn’t mean so much at all.
But then Cedric doesn’t let Harry give it up so easily; he yells for Harry to take the Cup, just take it, and Harry looks into Cedric’s eyes and sees the frustration, the disappointment, the resignation.
I just want to be remembered, you know?
And in that moment Harry thinks – this is what he wants Cedric to have. And maybe it was meant to be this way, from the beginning: him and Cedric, side by side, until the very end.
So Harry takes a deep breath, and then breaks his promise.
"Together," he tells Cedric.
- fin -