Crush
Minisinoo

12. Loves and Truth

It took until noon the next day -- at the Quidditch match, in fact -- before Cedric realised Harry had to have been lying the night before.  As Cedric had predicted, Umbridge had waited until the last possible minute before giving her approval, but the match had gone on as scheduled.  Now Cedric was seated in the stands with his denmates, watching Gryffindor crush Slytherin, when he suddenly realised Harry couldn't have been looking at Cho because the Ravenclaw stands would have been behind him, not in front of him, when Cedric had caught the Snitch.

It came like an epiphany, or the hammer strike that stunned the bull.  Weeks ago, Hermione had said Harry had missed the Snitch because he'd been looking elsewhere -- at Cedric, according to her implication.  Cedric hadn't bought that theory however much he'd have liked to, yet Harry had confirmed it last night -- although he'd claimed to have been looking "elsewhere" at Cho, which Cedric hadn't questioned.  Yet now he saw it couldn't have been at Cho.  Did that mean . . . ?

He shook his head, as if to clear it of both confusion and possibility.  Given what had happened with older-Harry, he knew it was theoretically possible for Harry to fancy him.  That didn't mean it would happen, and Cedric had told himself so firmly.  Now he wondered.  Then again, if it had been Cedric who'd distracted him, why would Harry lie about it?  It'd be understandably risky to admit to any other bloke at Hogwarts he was staring at him -- but not to the gay fellow.

An elbow in the ribs jolted him out of his musings.  "Hey, you in there, mate?"

"What?" Cedric asked, turning to look at Ed.

"You were a million miles away."  And laughing, Ed repeated himself, "I said did you see that save Weasley-the-younger made?  We rattled him, to be sure, but he's actually not too naff."

"Ron?" Cedric asked, refocusing his attention on the field and the game.

"Yeah -- saved one practically hanging off the end of his broom."

"Harry said he's good when he's on his game."

"Well, the way they're making goals out there, we may have to worry about Gryffindor -- even if we win all of ours."

"I could hold off catching the Snitch next time -- let you three run up the score."

"I wouldn't try it with Ravenclaw, but Slytherin's another matter.  Malfoy couldn't catch the Snitch if it danced a jig in front of him."

Cedric chuckled.  "He's not quite that bad, but it would be easy for me to mislead him.  Their Keeper's no good, either.  It might be a way to raise our own overall score."

"As long as we stayed on top of it," Ed agreed.

"Would you two shut it about strategy?" Peter leaned over to ask.

On the way out of the stadium after the game -- Gryffindor victorious -- Zach Smith caught up with Cedric to say, "Got those photos for you; they came this morning."

"Spectacular," Cedric said, clapping Zach on the shoulder.  "Thanks."  Then he wished he hadn't touched the younger boy because Zach's whole face lit up.  "Er, I'll see you later at the castle," and he hurried off with his friends.

"He's a great Chaser," Ed remarked as they walked away, "but creepy.  Acts like he's your personal lap dog, Ced."

"I think he's got some competition for that spot," Scott drawled, nodding ahead to the exit gate where Hermione Granger was waving to Cedric.  "And competition who'll likely get further."  He elbowed his friend whilst Peter and Ed laughed and whistled.  Cedric turned red.

"Nothing going on there," Cedric protested.  "I told you, Summers -- she fancies Viktor Krum."

"You claimed there was nothing going on with Cho Chang, too," Peter said.  "We know how that turned out."

"Nothing's going on," Cedric reiterated before beating a hasty retreat to join Hermione.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

Cedric shook his head and took her arm, walking her through the gate quickly.  "They're convinced we've got a thing.  Don't worry, I told them about Viktor; they're being obnoxious."

Hermione's face had turned thoughtful.  "Actually, it might not be a bad idea if they do think we've got something going on.  Viktor wouldn't care."

"Hermione, I swore after Cho, I'd never do anything like that again -- "

"Cho didn't know.  I know.  It's good cover for you."

"I don't want to play games."

"Well, you're not out marching in Gay Pride parades, either," she whispered.  "We don't have to 'play games.'  We can just . . . not disabuse people of their illusions, all right?  It's pragmatic.  But speaking of game playing, I wanted to talk to you about Harry."

Cedric sighed and, hands on hips, glared down at the frosty grass.  Late into November, there had been more than a few hard freezes at night.  "Would you stop trying to play match-maker?  He doesn't fancy me.  He fancies Cho.  And you were right that he was looking at something besides the Snitch -- but it wasn't at me."

She let out a great sigh.  "Oh, for heaven's sake -- he lied.  Cedric, he lied.  I know he lied."

And despite Cedric's own realisation up in the stands earlier, now he practically shouted, "What makes you think he lied?"  Then he remembered they were hardly alone.  Other students passed by on the path back to the castle, shooting them glances.  "He's been crushing on Cho for ages," he said more softly.

"Yes, well, his date with her didn't go so well, and I happen to know" -- she stressed it, albeit softly -- "that it was you he was looking at out on the Pitch."  Cedric felt his mouth go dry at that.  "I have it on very good authority -- the horse's own mouth.  And that's no doubt betraying a confidence, but really, the two of you are starting to give me a headache.  It's not betraying a confidence when the only reason it is a confidence is that he's afraid you couldn't possibly be interested in him, and you're afraid he still fancies Cho Chang.  You both fancy each other.  How much clearer do I have to be?"

Blushing hot and rubbing his forehead, Cedric muttered, "All right, all right."  Between her insistence and his own earlier realisation, he was finally willing to accept Harry might have a crush on him.  "But why on earth would he be afraid to tell me?  For pete's sake, I'm gay."

"Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're interested in him," she pointed out.  "And Harry's not exactly brimming with relationship confidence, you know."

"Oh."  And stated so, it did seem obvious.  Cedric had leapt a step in the middle.  Abruptly, he found himself smiling like a silly loon.  "Er -- now what?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Well, I think that's where I'll leave it to you to figure out, Mr. Diggory.  My work here is done."  Turning, she began to pick her way back up the path towards the castle, the wind lifting her bushy hair.

Cedric stood watching a moment, his own thoughts dashing to and fro like a litter of puppies.  His heart hammered, he felt positively giddy, and he wanted nothing more than to find Harry right now and get this whole matter settled.  Without stopping to think, he headed back into the stadium -- now virtually empty -- around towards the Gryffindor changing room behind the seats.  He practically ran into half the team headed out -- all three Weasleys and Harry still dressed in Quidditch gear.  He stopped dead, eyes on Harry, whose cheeks were pink with exhilaration.  Harry stared back, and the smile slid off his mouth.  "What do you want, Diggory?" one of the twins asked -- just a bit hostile.

"Er" -- he didn't want to talk to Harry in front of them and now felt foolish for running off half-cocked, forgetting that Harry wouldn't be headed back alone -- "actually, I was looking for Johnson.  To congratulate her."  He nodded to Harry, unable to keep from grinning.  "And Harry too.  Good catch."

"Thanks," Harry said, blushing.

The four of them passed him by, and as he'd said he'd come to see Angelina, he reckoned he'd better do it, so he moved on towards the changing rooms.  "Oi!  Diggory!" stopped him, and he turned to see Ron trotting back towards him alone.  "I want to talk to you."

Puzzled but not liking Ron's expression, Cedric halted, waiting for the other boy to catch up.  Despite being two years younger, Ron wasn't that much shorter.  He was frowning, looking uncomfortable but determined, as if he didn't want to do this but felt compelled somehow.  "What was all that yesterday?"

"What?"

"With the boggart?"

Cedric sighed heavily, not wanting to talk about it.  "Didn't Harry tell you what I told him?"

"Yeah, I know what he said."  And although Ron didn't state as much, the implication seemed clear that he didn't believe it.  His expression was sullen and hostile.

"Well, what more do you want me to say?" Cedric asked, deciding to ignore what Ron had implied.

Ron didn't answer immediately.  He studied Cedric's face; Cedric glared back.  After another moment, Ron took one step backwards, then a second -- giving over.  "Harry's got a lot to be going on with, y'know?" he said.  "Don't give him more.  It's not fair to him."

Cedric might have been angry at that, but found he couldn't be.  Ron was jealous -- that had been clear for months -- but he hadn't made it all about him.  He was thinking about Harry.

"Trust me," he said, "I don't plan to make anything more difficult for Harry."

Again, Ron looked frankly dubious but didn't challenge Cedric directly, just turned on his heel and trotted off after his brothers.

Cedric got no opportunity to talk to Harry at all that day; Gryffindor was celebrating well into the evening.  Antsy and anxious, Cedric returned to his own common room where he found a great deal of whispered talk about an article in that morning's Prophet.  Apparently Igor Karkaroff had been found -- dismembered -- in a shack somewhere in Eastern Europe, a Dark Mark in the sky above it.  It all sounded a bit gruesome, and Cedric wondered how Viktor had taken the news.  He should owl him later.  He didn't think Viktor had been all that fond of Karkaroff, but the man had still been his teacher and Headmaster.  Cedric wouldn't wish a death like that on anybody.  The news was additionally disturbing because it suggested that Voldemort was extending his reach outside Britain, and Grindelwald still had supporters on the continent.  Voldemort might be seen as someone around whom those old Grindelwald supporters could rally.

Cedric was pondering these things when Zach found him.  "Here are those pictures," Zach said, handing over the stack he'd had developed.  "Do you think it might be enough to get rid of her?"

Cedric glanced through them; they showed his hand in various stages of wounding from the punishment quill.  "I don't know," he said.  "I've got these, and the gauze to prove it really was my blood.  It might be enough to take to the Board of Governors.  I'll ask Moody."  Even though he was still irritated with Moody over the boggart, the old man seemed the most likely to know whether he had a case he could win.  McGonagall or Sprout would be too enraged to think it through clearly.

"You've also got your reputation," Zach said now.

"Huh?"  Baffled, Cedric glanced up.

"Well, it wasn't like she used this on the Weasley twins . . . although maybe she did, but yeah.  It's you.  Mr. I-Never-Get-Into-Trouble."

That made Cedric smirk.  "I'm not an angel, Zach."

"I mean you don't go out of your way to break the rules or cause problems, and everybody knows it.  You're . . . a good person."

And Zach was suddenly looking at Cedric again like that, as if the sun shone out of his arse, and Cedric didn't know how to respond or react.  "Er, thanks.  But I'd better go and find Moody."  He smiled so that it didn't sound like a brush off, even if it sort of was.

"Good luck," Zach called after him as Cedric headed back to his dormitory to find the gauze, then headed upstairs to Moody's office, but Moody wasn't there, so he tried Moody's room, but Moody wasn't there either.  Puzzled, he walked around for a while inside, but couldn't find the professor anywhere and nobody seemed to know where he'd gone until he ran into Seamus Finnegan.

"Well, he's probably down in Hogsmeade at the Hog's Head getting tight -- likes a drink, you know.  'S why he's not an Auror anymore.  Well, one reason, so they say.  Hey, did you hear about Karkaroff?  Parvati Patil's afraid her mum and dad will definitely withdraw her and her sister now.  Bit of a loss, that -- such a pretty pair of birds."  Cedric just nodded, not really paying attention.  "Then again," Finnegan went on, face suddenly sly, "I don't reckon Parvati's the Gryffindor you've got your eye on."

"What?" Cedric asked, jerked abruptly back to the present.  Finnegan couldn't possibly know . . .

"Hermione."  Finnegan elbowed him with a leer.  It wasn't attractive.

Oh, good grief, not that again.  "I'm not wooing Hermione," Cedric insisted.  "She's seeing Viktor Krum."  Whatever Hermione had said earlier, he wasn't going to lie.

"Yeah, well, you're here -- and Krum's not."

"It doesn't matter; she's seeing Viktor.  We're just friends."  And Cedric left, still pondering Moody.  He'd known Moody drank, could smell it on his breath even in class sometimes, but he'd never seen him truly drunk and hadn't given a lot of thought to it.  Was Moody an alkie?  It seemed hard to believe; he didn't stagger around the castle on a regular basis.  Perhaps Regulus would know more.  He seemed familiar with such things even if he'd come from the upper classes (maybe because he'd come from the upper classes).  So Cedric opened the diary to tell about the death of Karkaroff and ask what Regulus knew about alcoholics.

Yes, Moody's an old soak, the diary responded.  That's not news.

But wouldn't he be unable to function if he were?

I doubt he can function without a shot of firewhisky in the morning, like some can't function without tea or coffee.  But I want to talk about something more important.  You mentioned Karkaroff was murdered . . . I think it's time we discussed the Horcruxes.

Cedric stared at the words, quill hovering above the page.  Since the end of the summer, he'd carefully not pushed Regulus, hoping that when he did ask more questions, Regulus would be forthcoming.  He hadn't expected Regulus himself to bring it up.  I'm ready if you are, he wrote after a moment.  What can you tell me?

Well, the first thing we've got to consider is how many the Dark Lord may have made.  We know it had to be more than one, and he didn't lack for victims, but Horcruxes aren't produced like you multiply beans in your cauldron for soup.  They're incredibly hard to make.  For instance, I know he was incapacitated for days after he made the one in the locket, and he never liked to appear weak in any way.

So maybe he only made one other?

Ironically, no, the diary wrote.  No, I think if he were actually able to pull off making more than one, he wouldn't stop at two, but he couldn't make oodles, either.  He'd have used a magically significant number.  He might have chosen four, for the number of the elements or the directions, but more likely five for the points on a pentagram.  That would appeal to him.  He might have tried for seven, but that seems excessive.  I've been thinking and five is probably the number you're looking for.  Or rather, four, plus him.  Remember, one part of his soul is still in him.  So -- one down, likely three to find.

Where do we even begin to look?  Cedric felt the beginnings of despair.  Even one had seemed daunting, but three more Horcruxes to locate?

He'd have used things that are significant to him -- like the locket.

How would we know what they are?

There are clues.  In his own arrogance, the Dark Lord sometimes gave away more than he realised.  Chin up, Cedric.  It may take a while, but we'll find them.

It was only as Cedric put away the diary that it really struck him: Regulus had used 'we'.

Cedric found Moody on Sunday, but not Harry.  Weekends brought irregular eating times, to be certain, but Cedric thought Harry might be avoiding him.  Moody, however, was in the Great Hall for lunch when Cedric arrived, and the informal atmosphere made it easy for Cedric to approach him.  "Could I meet you this afternoon?"

Both Moody's eyebrows went up.  "Don't see why not."  He checked his pocket watch.  "Drop by my office in an hour."

"Yes, professor."

Cedric ate hastily, then returned to his dormitory to collect the photos and gauze before heading upstairs again.  He was there sitting on the floor outside Moody's office, reading, when Moody arrived.  "I thought I said an hour?" Moody asked, but more in surprise than heat.

"I know -- sorry."  Cedric hurried to his feet.  "I just didn't want to miss you."  He didn't mention he'd been looking for the older man all the day before.

"Come on in," Moody said, unlocking the door with a tap of his wand, then swishing it around almost idly as they entered.  Cedric suspected he was undoing wards.  Moody plopped himself down at his desk and stretched out his artificial leg.  "Take a seat."  He gestured.

Cedric nodded once and looked around, finding another chair and settling into it.  Then he began, "You remember that I had a detention with Professor Umbridge?"

"Yeah," Moody said.

"Well, er, she gave me lines.  But, um, not of the normal sort."  He pulled out the photos and the bloody gauze and laid it on the edge of Moody's desk.  "I didn't want to go to anyone before I had proof.  And I was a bit reluctant to tell Professor Sprout.  I thought she might be overly angry; I didn't want her to get into trouble.  I'm not sure whether there's actually anything to be done."

Moody had picked up the photos and looked through them, glancing at the bloody gauze and making a face but not bothering to touch it.  "Punishment quill."

"Yes, sir."

"This was clever," Moody said, wagging the photos back and forth before handing them back to Cedric.  "Unfortunately, I'm not sure it's enough to pursue."  Sighing, Cedric slipped the photos back into a pocket of his robe.  "We'd need the actual quill, plus a few more testimonies.  But don't trash those, Diggory.  Something more might come up.  This is the sort of thing we need multiple testimonies to make anything of.  As you've no doubt gathered, Dolores has a friend or three among the Governors, even if she's not Scrimgeour's favourite person.  The Ministry's very divided right now.  If we bring just one case of documented misconduct, she's likely to get her wrist slapped and that's it.  There's misconduct and then there's misconduct.  Punishment quills may be illegal in school, but there are those who think they shouldn't be, and this isn't sexual or financial.  The most we could hope for would be a public censure and perhaps a fine, or you could request damages.  Unfortunately, it's not enough to get her sacked."

"I was afraid of that," Cedric muttered.

"I'm glad you told me; I wish you'd told me sooner -- while it was happening.  I could perhaps have got it lessened.  More to the point, I'm impressed you thought to keep records.  You've a good, logical head on your shoulders, kid."  Moody leaned back in his chair, drumming fingers on the desktop.  "Have you given any thought to becoming an Auror?"

Cedric blinked.  "Er -- no?  When I had my careers advice, Professor Sprout didn't suggest that."

"I checked your timetable and you're already taking the main NEWT classes you need -- Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions.  Even Snape is complimentary of your abilities, and we know that's rare."  Moody's grin was wry.  "I take it that means you're actually talented."

"Er, competent is probably more honest."

"You've also got History of Magic, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures -- any of those would do for your fifth NEWT.  You'll need an E or O in five, but looking at your OWLs, that should be a doddle for you.  If you get Es or Os in all seven, you'd be a shoe-in."

Cedric bit his lips, thinking hard.  "You really think I might be good at it?"

"Hell, yes.  I've seen more than my fair share of young Aurors, and I think you've got the talent."

Still lip chewing, Cedric asked, "Wouldn't my, er, preferences be a problem?"

Moody leaned over and held Cedric's eyes.  "No.  In any other career, perhaps, but not the Auror corps.  Being an Auror is one profession where you get judged on your instincts and arrest record -- not who you sleep with, as long as it's legal.  If you bugger your preteen nephew, that'd be a problem, but if you bugger the barman, nobody gives a shit, frankly."

Cedric was blushing hard.

"Come spring term," Moody went on, "I'll be hand-selecting a few seventh years for extra lessons -- those who I think could go on to a career in magical law enforcement.  Your name's topping my list, Diggory.  You interested?"

"I -- er, yes.  Yes, I am."  He felt stunned and flattered at once.  An Auror.  One of the elite.  He'd never really considered that he might be Auror material, his selection by the Goblet aside.

"Good," Moody said, slapping his desk top.  "No need for you to make any career choices just yet.  You can see how it goes.  But I will be putting you trainees through your paces, physically as well as mentally, so over the holidays, you may want to keep up with the exercises I set the club this autumn."

"Yes, sir.  And thank you, sir."

Moody made a vaguely dismissive gesture.  "Get out of here; go and enjoy your Sunday.  And don't thank me until you're flat on your back, gasping, after I make you run five miles."

Cedric spent the next several days consumed mentally by three very different topics -- the chance to become an Auror, how many Horcruxes Voldemort had actually made, and what exactly Harry was feeling towards him.  Only the latter was something he could do much to solve presently, yet Harry proved elusive that last week of November.  Cedric left him two notes, caught him before dinner once, and even sent a message through Hermione.  The reply was always some variation on, 'Sorry, I've got to be . . . ' with any number of other commitments named.  Part of it was the return of Hagrid from whatever mission the Order had sent him on; Harry, Hermione and Ron were spending a lot of time in his company.  Nonetheless, by Friday, Cedric was frustrated and beginning to feel a bit desperate.  They had only two weeks of term left before the winter holidays.

He had no luck cornering Harry until Sunday, when word came from Moody that the duelling club would meet at half past three.  When they'd all arrived and were milling around, he said, "Consider this your autumn term test."  Then he made them count off -- one, two, one, two -- in order to divide the group in half.  To one side, he gave slips of parchment and a self-inking quill so they could write their names, then drop the slips into a ratty old bowler hat.  This, he took to the other group to pull names.  Cedric had assumed the idea was to guarantee a truly random match-up, until George Weasley pulled Fred's name, Ron pulled Ginny's, and Cedric pulled Harry's.  All the pairings were like that: siblings, close friends, boyfriend and girlfriend . . .

Sighing, Cedric went over to sit on the ground beside Hermione and watch whilst Angelina faced Alicia.  "Random, my arse," he muttered to her.

"Who'd you get?" she whispered back and he unfolded the slip to show her.  She snorted.  "To be honest, though, I've been waiting for him to call that match all term."

"Me too," Cedric admitted.  "I told Harry as much after the first meeting.  How d'you think he pulled off the charm?"  He was curious, and Hermione wouldn't just roll her eyes at him.

She sat thoughtful for a moment before replying, "I bet he put a general spell on the slips so they'd move towards the hand of the person who felt the greatest protective attachment to the writer.  The twins have each other, Colin got Dennis, you got Harry, I got Neville."

"But why did Ron pull Ginny instead of Harry?  The hat went to him before me."

"She's his little sister.  When it comes down to it, I think Ron feels more protective towards Ginny than towards Harry.  Harry's more his equal; Ginny's not."

"You think that's how I see Harry?"  They'd been whispering, but now he lowered his voice even further.  "It's not as if I think he's incompetent or a little boy, you know."

"Of course not.  But you don't have to be condescending towards someone to feel protective of them, Cedric.  I feel protective towards Harry too; I just meant that between Harry and Ginny, I think Ron feels more protective of Ginny."

Lips pursed, Cedric changed the subject.  "Well, in any case and once again, it'll be painfully obvious to everybody that Harry means a little more to me than he should."

"Shh, lovebirds!" Peter tossed over his shoulder.

Cedric went fire red and dropped his head into his hands, whilst Hermione snorted.  "Obviously, you might want to rethink that last remark."

Being at the back, Hermione and Cedric were among the last called forward, and Harry didn't appear terribly surprised when Cedric just pointed to him silently.  There was a rustle and murmur as they squared off in the room's centre to bow politely, then turn back-to-back.  "No quarter," Cedric muttered to Harry under his breath.  "Agreed?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied.  "No quarter."  This might not be a Quidditch match, but it was a chance to make up finally for previously fouled competition, whether by dementors or Harry's distraction.

"Ready?" Moody asked, but began counting off before either could reply, "One, two, three, four, five -- "

Knowing Harry was right handed, which would tilt his wand slightly to the left, Cedric dove to his own right without even turning, tucking into a ball and somersaulting, coming up with his wand out, still well within the duelling circle.  It had momentarily disoriented him, but had caught Harry by surprise, and Cedric shot off a silent Stinging Hex before Harry could centre on him.  Yet Harry had moved too, and the hex merely grazed his shoulder, making him wince.  Harry tried to return with his usual Expelliarmus, but Cedric already had up a Shield Spell and was moving again, circling behind Harry and forcing him to turn.  The students had all fallen well back, not wanting to be on the receiving end of any missed spells.

Harry tried a Stunner, but still couldn't break Cedric's Shield at a distance.  Cedric returned a Freezing Spell that had no more effect than Harry's spell had, and although they continued to circle, each looking for an advantage, Cedric had a feeling this would wind up a matter of wearing down the other.  Magic took energy no less than other forms of exertion, and powerful spells took more, so Cedric put effort only into his Shielding Spell whilst Harry continued to hammer at him full strength.  He was incredibly strong; Cedric could feel every jinx or hex all the way to his teeth, and made certain to keep his distance.  But Harry was no chess player, and Cedric was content to let him wear himself out.

When Cedric could see he was panting, his arm wavering, Cedric launched his final assault.  Waiting until Harry let off another Stunner, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, twisting -- and ran headlong at Harry, who was unprepared.  Cedric was gambling on Harry's Shielding Spell being too weakened to hold off a point-blank spell cast.  "Aguamenti!" he shouted, bringing a fountain of water from the end of his wand.  It struck the invisible wall of Harry's Shield, and for a moment, the spell held -- then gave under the weight of the water.  The cascade crashed down on Harry, soaking him to the skin.  Startled by the unexpected spell, Harry froze.  "Accio wand!" Cedric said.  Harry's wand popped out of his loosened grip, sailing over to Cedric.

"Match to Diggory!" Moody said amidst of a burst of applause.  "Return the wand, please."

Cedric approached Harry, offering up Harry's wand on his open palm.  Voluntarily returning the wand to its owner was the last part of a duel for sport -- the difference between a friendly match and an unfriendly one.  The owner had to actively retake his wand in order to make it work for him again correctly.  Now, Harry reached out to remove his from Cedric's hand, his touch wet and cold on Cedric's skin.  For the briefest instant, Cedric curled his fingers so that they caressed Harry's palm.  It made the younger boy start, although his expression was unreadable.  "Don't run away again after, right?" Cedric asked softly.  "I need to talk to you."

Then he returned to his half of the room, accepting back slaps and hand shakes, but looked over his shoulder to where Harry was drying off.  Please don't leave, he mouthed silently.

On Harry's abilities, JKR has always implied that he's a powerful young wizard, but what that means exactly is less clear.  There appear to be two components to spell casting -- knowledge and inherent ability or 'strength.'  As early as Book One, Hermione admits she has the former but Harry the latter; both Dumbledore and Voldemort apparently have a combination of both.  At times, Harry seems almost criminally lax about learning spells, depending on Hermione to remember them beyond a few he has down cold.  Nonetheless, his ability to perform a Patronus spell so young, and his ability to hold off Voldemort in the graveyard -- even if we figure in the adrenaline of desperation -- do suggest he possesses real strength, as well as the ability to think fast on his feet.  So why does Cedric defeat him here?  Knowledge and strength.  Like Hermione, Cedric studies, and he was chosen by the Goblet for a reason.  Harry has raw strength, yes, (perhaps more than Cedric), and seizes opportunities, but he's the 'scream and leap' type when attacking.  Here, Cedric simply out-thinks him.  In fact, all things being equal given the age differential, it might be more unrealistic if Cedric had lost.

13. Kiss


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