Part 8: Truth
Harry, 28th June, 1995
Minisinoo

Released finally from hospital, Harry walked down from the castle towards the Quidditch pitch.  One of Cedric's roommates -- the boy named Peter -- had told him Cedric had come down here.  Apparently, after an initial grilling of over two hours conducted by the Minister of Magic and several Aurors, Cedric had barely talked to anyone -- not his mates, his parents, Professor Sprout or McGonagall.  Even Viktor Krum, who'd shared their ordeal, had tried talking sense into him, only to be rebuffed.  Harry didn't know that he'd fare any better, but had to try.  Cedric was blaming himself for everything that had happened, and Harry reckoned he had to share some of that blame.  If Harry had just believed him in the maze . . .

When he arrived, he could see the shadowed outline of Cedric sitting up on the very top row of the stands on the Hufflepuff side.  The maze was gone, dismantled by Ministry workers the day after the Task.  Harry let himself into the stadium, then climbed up to where Cedric sat.  If Cedric saw him coming, he made no attempt to flee.

Finally reaching the top, Harry made his way down to where Cedric occupied the end of a row.  There, he sat down backwards on the seat just below and looked up at the older boy.  The wind played havoc with Cedric's usually neat hair and he wasn't looking at Harry, just gazing out over the pitch.  The morning sun shone in his eyes, turning them a rare light silver.  "I'm glad you're awake and all right," he said.

"I owe you for that.  And Krum."  Harry waited, but Cedric didn't reply, so he went on.  "The funeral's tomorrow, before the students leave."  He was a bit amazed at his own level tone, but he'd done his crying already.  Now, he felt mostly numb.  He wasn't sure it had fully sunk in yet that Albus Dumbledore was dead.

"I got him killed," Cedric said, hanging his head, face all twisted up with self-loathing.

"Cedric, you did the best you could do.  Crouch has been planning this for almost a year.  How could it be your fault that Crouch murdered Dumbledore?"

"I knew he wasn't Moody.  I should have made Dumbledore listen, argued harder -- "

"Stop it!"  Harry reached out to take one of Cedric's long hands, meaning to squeeze it in support, but Cedric yanked it free.  "Look, we can all play this game," Harry went on.  "I should have believed you in the maze; if I had, Voldemort wouldn't have returned.  And maybe if Dumbledore had believed you in the first place, Crouch wouldn't have got him.  It's not all your fault.  I'm not sure much of any of it's your fault, honestly."

"The Ministry is planning to press charges against me for not reporting the time travel to Minister Fudge immediately."

Harry had heard about that.  With Albus Dumbledore dead, the Ministry of Magic was looking for a scapegoat, and Cedric was convenient.  Nobody at Hogwarts seemed to blame Cedric for his choices, or even for his stubborn refusal to give up the name of his informant from the future.  But Fudge's staff was having a field day.  They'd already expelled Cedric and stripped him of his status as a Hogwarts Champion.  Fudge was claiming that Cedric should have come to him and laid out everything he'd learned instead of waiting to tell Dumbledore.  "It involved a bit more than just the school!" Fudge was insisting.

But if Cedric had gone to Fudge, Harry was sure Fudge would've laughed him out of the castle.  Even Dumbledore had been doubtful.  Yet Cedric was easiest to blame, letting the Ministry deflect attention from their own failings.  Fudge was attempting to deny Voldemort's return, too.  Harry was furious about that, but he was even angrier at how Cedric had borne the brunt of the accusations.

And he hadn't even fought back.  He'd just accepted it.  Apparently, he thought he deserved it.

Getting up, Harry switched seats so that he was right next to Cedric, who tried to move away but being already at the end of the bench, couldn't.  Leaning over, Harry looked into his face.  "Who are you protecting?"  Cedric shook his head.  "It's somebody isn't it?  Your father?  Was it your dad who came back to save you?"  Amos Diggory worked at the Ministry; maybe he'd got hold of a Time-Turner . . .

"No."

"Who, then?"

Cedric finally looked up.  His eyes seemed hollow.  "You," he said, as if he were just too tired to fight anymore.  "It was you, Harry."

Stunned, Harry sat back.  "Me?"

Cedric just nodded.  A long minute passed, then he spoke, voice low, "You a year from now.  Things got . . . bad.  I'm not sure that's going to change.  Dumbledore's dead; that didn't happen before.  But you came back to try to stop Voldemort.  And save me."

Harry blinked, still trying to take it in.  He was the one who'd warned Cedric?  His future self?  "I can't . . . I can't imagine what I'd have felt if you'd died."  And he realized it was true.  Losing Dumbledore had left him reeling and bereft of a compass -- he doubted he'd really grasped all the implications yet -- but losing Cedric would've shaken him too, maybe more than it had a right to given how little he knew the older boy.  Cedric or Dumbledore?  Why did it have to be one or the other?  Yet after seeing the results of his other self's meddling in the time stream, Harry didn't think he dared try again.  What if next time it was both of them?

"So that's what you meant in the maze," he asked, "that you wouldn't let anything happen to me?  Because I saved you?"

Cedric hesitated, but then nodded.  "You saved my life.  I had to try to save yours."

"Thank you," Harry said, sincerely.  It won a smile from Cedric.

They just sat side-by-side for a while then, looking out at the pitch.  Swallows were playing about the high boxes, dipping and spinning like mad flyers against a blue summer sky.  Harry tried not to think on the enormity of the changes thrust on them now.  How could they fight a resurrected Voldemort with Dumbledore dead?  And what would happen to Sirius?  Lupin was the only other adult who'd known and believed in Sirius' innocence.

"Could they really prosecute me for something I haven't done yet -- and probably won't now?" Harry asked after a while.

"I don't know.  I don't intend to find out, either.  They shouldn't, but they're not exactly playing fair, are they?"

"Cedric, you can't take the fall for this --"

"Too late, Harry.  I already did.  And I'd do it again -- I knew what choice I was making.  I've passed my OWLs.  You haven't.  You have to go back to school next year.  I don't."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Dunno."  He shrugged.  "Get a job, I suppose.  Assuming I don't get sent to Azkaban after the trial."

The very idea of gentle Cedric locked away in Azkaban made Harry want to rage and throw things.  "Why are you doing this?" he almost shouted.  "You barely know me.  You don't have to take the blame for something my future self did."

Cedric looked over at him.  "It's the right thing to do," he said simply, which made Harry blow out in frustration.  It was the sort of answer he'd have given himself, which made it hard to argue.

"I talked to Moody -- the real Moody -- this morning," Harry said.  "He's furious . . . about being caught, about being impersonated, about Crouch killing Dumbledore -- everything.  He's furious, too, that Fudge is blaming you.  Without you and Viktor, he'd have been dead, along with me.  Crouch didn't need him anymore.  Moody won't let this stupid trial happen, Cedric.  They can't send you to Azkaban -- it's not fair.  You didn't do anything wrong except try to protect people!"

"But Dumbledore's still dead.  I made mistakes and bad choices, Harry -- whether I meant harm or not.  I'm not sure Minister Fudge is wrong to blame me for it.  I didn't go immediately to anybody that first night.  Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened.  But no -- I went to bed."

"Because Crouch made you!  That's what you said.  Then your roommates . . . "

"I didn't tell them, either -- and they're not exactly happy with me.  I didn't trust them."  He bent forward again, head in hands.  "Like I said, I made a lot of mistakes.  Some things go beyond forgiveness or second chances."

"I don't believe that," Harry said, feeling stubborn.  Tentatively, awkwardly, he reached over to pat Cedric's back and Cedric tensed, but this time, didn't jerk away.  "Yeah, so you messed up a few things.  You still did the best you could do.  Maybe you should've told your roommates, but I don't know.  I mean, I'd trust Ron and Hermione.  But Dean or Seamus or Neville?  It's not that I don't trust them, but there are things I don't tell them.  They're not my best mates."

"I don't have any."

Harry paused, unsure what Cedric meant.  "Any what?"

"Best mates.  I don't have any, not really."  Cedric was still bent over, face in hands, elbows on knees.  Surprised, Harry studied the back of his dark head.

"But everyone in your House likes and admires you.  Any of them would be . . . honored to be your best mate.  I mean, I would if it was me."

Cedric laughed bitterly.  "No they wouldn't, Harry.  They only think they would.  I don't have a best mate because nobody knows me, not the real me."  Abruptly, he pulled his hands down and sat up.  Harry stared at the side of his face in surprise.  "You told me to tell you the truth.  You said you'd understand -- wouldn't hate me."

"I said that?"

"You -- the older you."

"Oh."  Harry frowned.  "Well, what is it then?  This thing that makes you think they wouldn't be your friends?"

"I'm gay."

Harry blinked.  That had . . . come completely out of left field.  He'd not have guessed it to be anything like that.

"Or that's the word you called it," Cedric went on.  "I'm queer -- a poofter.  You said 'gay' was nicer."

Harry swallowed, wondering just what kind of conversation his older self had shared with Cedric Diggory the night before the Third Task.  "'Gay' is nicer.  And, er, well, being gay's hardly awful, Cedric.  I mean, loads of people are.  Well, not loads but enough.  And it's not like you're a mass murderer."

Cedric spit laughter.  "You said almost the exact same thing the other night.  Almost word-for-word."

Harry rubbed at his scar.  It was strange to think he'd had this conversation already with Cedric -- but he hadn't had it.  And he wasn't at all sure what to say next.  The full import of what Cedric had just admitted was only now hitting him.

Cedric Diggory, the most popular boy in Hufflepuff, maybe in the whole school, was gay?

He supposed that only went to show you really couldn't tell.  "Who does know?  I don't guess Cho . . . "

"Nobody knows.  Well, you now."

"Nobody?"  He found it incredible that Cedric had spent six years at Hogwarts and never told a soul.  What must that have been like?  "What about Cho, though . . . ?"

"I broke up with Cho.  The day after the Task.  I can't -- I can't do it anymore.  I'm too tired.  I'm too tired of the games and the lies and . . . everything.  I can't do it.  But I didn't tell her why.  I didn't want to insult her or make her think there was something wrong with her."  He turned to look at Harry.  "So she's free.  If you're still interested in her."

How had Cedric known that?

Oh, wait -- the older Harry must have told him.

But oddly, he wasn't sure he was interested.  He felt a bit too blindsided by everything to even think about pursuing Cho.  He'd figure it out later.

"And you think nobody in your House would accept you -- "

"Not 'think,' Harry.  What I am -- it's perverted."

"No, it's just different."

"In our world, it's considered perverted.  Maybe not to Muggles.  But to Wizards."

"Well, Muggles thought it was perverted too, until recently.  Some still do."  His aunt and uncle came immediately to mind.  "But attitudes change."  Harry leaned sideways a bit and studied Cedric.  "You should give people a chance, you know.  You might be surprised."

Cedric laughed again.  "You said that too.  The other you."

"At least it's good to know I agree with myself," Harry said, a little irked that apparently he kept repeating himself.

"Sorry," Cedric told him.  "It's just . . . odd.  To hear you saying the same thing, but it's not the same you."

Looking away, Harry shrugged.  Silence fell between them once more while Harry mulled things over in his head, reconsidering how Cedric had been behaving towards him lately -- on the day of the final Task of course, but even before that.  His actions took on a new cast in light of what he'd just admitted, and Harry vividly recalled how the other boy had clung to him after rescuing him from the fake Moody.  Very possessive, protective.  He hadn't been pawing him, he'd just been . . . protective.  Taken care of him.  He'd been protective through the whole Tournament, in fact.  Harry had thought him just being nice and big-brotherly.  Now he wondered.  Did Cedric fancy him?  And how did he feel about that, if it were true?

A bit odd, frankly.

But also a little flattered.

It was Cedric Diggory, after all -- gay or not . . .

-- which of course made him doubt it completely.  If Cedric were to get a crush on a boy, it wouldn't be on some awkward, controversial fourth year with bad hair and glasses.  "Well," Harry said now, slowly.  "If, er, if you still want a friend, and um, you don't mind having one who's just a fourth year, I'd be glad to be your friend, Cedric."

Cedric's head whipped about and he appeared startled -- and Harry felt foolish.  How idiotic must that have sounded?

"But I still think you're underestimating people," Harry went on.  "Loads of people admire you and think well of you, and I don't think you being gay would change that.  Take Viktor.  He's done nothing but talk about how brave you were and defended you to Minister Fudge.  Hermione says Krum's very level-headed.  She wouldn't fancy him otherwise.  I bet you could tell Viktor, and --"

"You want me to tell Viktor Krum I'm queer?"

"Gay," Harry corrected automatically.  "And I don't see why not.  I'll talk to Hermione, though."

"Don't say anything to Hermoine Granger!"

"I know Hermione wouldn't care.  I've heard her mention things before, just in general, so I know she wouldn't think less of you for it."

"I'd just . . . rather you didn't."  Cedric's voice was tight.  "But, er, if that offer of friendship still stands, I wouldn't be ashamed to call a fourth year a friend -- if he's not ashamed of me.  Either for being gay or for everything else.  My name's mud these days."

"Not ashamed."  Harry shook his head decisively.  "Not ashamed at all."

Cedric smiled.

Part 9: Mates

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