Past Present
Minisinoo

2. Colours

Cedric tended to forget the colour of Harry's eyes.

It wasn't that he forgot they were green, but the exact shade of green . . . that took him by surprise when he hadn't seen Harry in a while.  They weren't grey-green like the winter sea, or murky hazel like old jade.  Those could be striking, to be sure, but they weren't Harry's eyes.  No, Harry's eyes were bottle green.  They didn't look quite real.

Even so, they weren't a uniform colour.  The outer ring was a rich, deep aquamarine while the iris itself was simple viridian.  Only the very centre near the pupil bore a hint of yellow.  The combined effect brought one to a full mental stop upon first seeing it.

Or perhaps that was just Cedric's insane, intense infatuation.  "I love your eyes," he whispered that first evening when he arrived in the hall of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry blushed and grinned at once.  "Everybody says I have my mother's eyes."  He looked down at the Persian carpet beneath their feet.

"I never saw your mother," Cedric replied, impulsively reaching out to brush a thumb along the corner of one of Harry's eyes behind the glasses.  "To me, your eyes are all your own."

Harry looked up again.  "Thanks," he said, tone oddly intense.  Then they just stood there staring at each other, Cedric's overnight bag forgotten at his feet.  Cedric should probably go inside and greet Sirius and Remus, but he couldn't seem to move, pinned where he stood by Harry's eyes and his own indecision.  Should he kiss him?  Was that too forward, too intimate?  It was one thing to kiss Harry in private behind locked doors, quite another to do so just inside the front door of his godfather's house where anybody living there might see.  He'd learned to be furtive.

"Well, are you two going to just stand there, or are you going to bring your boyfriend down to dinner, Harry?"

They both started and jerked around to see Sirius standing in the kitchen doorway, waving for them to join him.  "Leave the bag, Ced.  Dobby will take it up to Regulus's room."

"That's where he'll be staying?" Harry asked, although Cedric was still back on the 'boyfriend' part.

"It's the only clean room left," Sirius replied.  "Viktor's got the second floor bedroom and the third isn't fit for habitation yet.  Now come on before the soup's cold."

Harry glanced back at Cedric, before bounding down the stairs.  Cedric followed more slowly, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched.  They didn't touch.  Cedric wasn't sure where the proper boundaries lay; there wasn't an accepted social script for this.

The kitchen was warm, and rattled with the sounds of food preparation.  It looked as if it would be just he and Harry, Remus and Sirius -- and Cedric, feeling like a bug on a pin, wished for Viktor.  But Sirius said he was at Hermione's.  They settled around the table, Sirius at the head with Remus on his right, Harry on his left.  Cedric took the chair beside his "boyfriend".  Even if Sirius had used it without mockery, the term rubbed him up the wrong way.  Under the table, he felt Harry tap the side of his foot lightly and smiling, he tapped back.  It was a private little signal they'd fallen into at the end of last term, studying in the library.

A house elf -- apparently Dobby -- brought them soup: leek and potato.  It was hot, and savoury.  Cedric concentrated on eating whilst he listened to Sirius, Remus and Harry discuss party plans.  The Christmas party was not, apparently, just a convenient cover for Cedric to visit.  Sirius was throwing quite the shindig from the sound of it.  Harry seemed as bemused as Cedric.  "You want us to wear dress robes?"

"Well, not as formal as for the ball last year, but it's a proper party, Harry.  I don't want you in drab black!"

Nervous, Cedric swallowed the last of his soup and moved on to the casserole Dobby had delivered.  "Er, ah -- I didn't bring anything suitable," he said.  "I'll have to Apparate home . . . " He wondered if he had anything at all.  His parents had rented his robes for the Yule Ball.

"Nonsense," Sirius said.  "I"m quite sure there's something that will fit you in a closet around here, Cedric -- and it won't even be impossibly old fashioned."

Cedric caught Harry grinning at that, and wondered what was so funny.  Before he could ask, however, the front door opened, making Cedric start in alarm.  Wasn't this place Unplottable?  But Sirius, who could see out of the kitchen doorway, just said, "Viktor."

Indeed, Viktor Krum came thumping into the kitchen a moment later.  He didn't look happy, but did manage a smile for Cedric as he leaned across the table to offer a hand before taking the chair next to Remus and accepting a bowl of soup from Dobby.  "What news?" Harry asked.

"Australia," he replied.

There were groans, and Cedric was confused.  "Australia?"

"Hermione's parents," Harry explained.  "They're taking her away.  Apparently Down Under."

Cedric was too shocked to speak for a moment.  He'd heard the news that her parents were withdrawing her from Hogwarts, but he'd not expected this.  "Australia?"

"They can get . . . subsidy" -- it was clear Viktor was trying to remember the proper term -- "for a business there.  They rent out house while gone."

"Damn," Sirius muttered, while Harry just looked glum.  And although Cedric hadn't known Hermione as long as the others, he was sad too.  In all the upheavals of the autumn, she'd been the one constant friend who still knew the full truth about him.

"Are we allowed to write to her?" he asked.

Viktor's heavy brows lifted.  "They can try to stop me!"

That made Cedric smile, even if it wasn't really funny, but the conversation sagged as all of them digested the impact.  The only noise came from Dobby whistling in the pantry and the sound of spoons against ceramic.

After a bit, Sirius cleared his throat and changed the subject.  "Regarding the party -- the decor shouldn't take too long."  He consulted a list at his elbow.  "Dobby's been working on it all last week, and the tree itself is already up.  We'll want to block off anything above the second floor, however.  It's still not fit to be seen.  The catering will have to be picked up from Diagon Alley the day of the party -- well the food will.  We can pick up the beer, wine and spirits tomorrow from Old Simon's.  Dobby is handling the roast, but the rest will have to be fetched that day -- sugared treats and some cakes from Taylor and Smythe's, French baguettes and pastries from Dumond's -- Fleur insists it's as good as anything in Paris -- "

Cedric nearly choked on his bitter.  "Fleur Delacour?"  He'd spent most of the previous November hiding in broom cupboards because Fleur Delacour wouldn't believe his 'no' meant NO.  He'd never met a girl that bloody persistent.  "The Triwizard Champion?"

"The very same.  She's seeing Bill Weasley, so we'll have all four of you in the same drawing room that evening."

"Oh."  Cedric tried to conceal his alarm; Sirius had said she was seeing Bill . . .

Viktor, damn him, was grinning.  "Fleur was very fond of elder British Champion," he said.  "She did not understand why he kept -- ah -- running away."

"Fleur was a bloody barracuda," Cedric muttered under his breath, but it carried anyway and the other four -- even Harry -- erupted in laughter.

Rather to Cedric's surprise, Harry reached over beneath the table to grip Cedric's hand.  "Well she's taken, and he's taken.  So it shouldn't be a problem."  He sounded almost possessive, and Cedric felt himself blushing at such an overt reference to their relationship even in this company.

Sirius returned to his list of what remained to be done, assigning duties.  After dinner, they sat over coffee and chocolates, talking of many things.  Cedric mostly listened.  If even Viktor was comfortable enough to be chatty, Cedric wasn't comfortable.  He felt under inspection.  "So what have you been up to since holidays started?" Remus asked finally, trying to draw him out.

And what was he supposed to say to that?  'Daydreaming about Harry and wanking'?

"Er, not much, really.  Some shopping, and helping dad about the place."

"Did he have a 'little chat' with you before you came here about Mssrs Black and Lupin's 'funny relationship'?" Sirius asked with his usual bluntness.

"No."  In fact, neither parent had said anything, although Cedric, too, had half-feared they might.  "I think they were distracted getting ready to go down to Cornwall to visit my dad's mum."

Remus's grin was crooked.  "I'm surprised they weren't worried we'd try to convert you."

"Convert him nothing," Sirius said.  "They'd be more likely to fear we'd pack his fudge."

-- which earned a shocked laugh from Harry, and a smack from Remus.  Viktor was momentarily confused, then put two and two together and almost choked on his chocolate.  Cedric should laugh too, but suspected his face was stark instead.  "Give the lad a break," Remus was saying.  "He's been squirming all evening, trying to use the proper utensils and show his best manners to impress you."  Remus winked at Cedric, who'd gone from white to tomato red.

"Cedric," Sirius said, leaning over the table and pointing at him with his coffee spoon.  "We've known you all summer.  Stop acting like the only straight at a shirt-lifters parade.  This is the one place you can be yourself."

Viktor had raised his hand jokingly at Sirius's 'only straight' crack, which made everyone laugh but Cedric, who dropped his eyes, unsure how to respond.  "Okay."

"I mean it," Sirius went on, shaking a finger at him.  "I haven't seen you touch Harry since you arrived."  He'd clearly missed Harry's grip of Cedric's hand under the table earlier.  "It's like you're no more than friends.  Remus and I played that game; we recognize it.  I'm not inviting you to throw him down on the table and snog him silly in front of us, but no games.  Not here."  He turned his gaze on Harry.  "That goes for you too."

Harry just shrugged and grinned, looking more embarrassed than uncertain.  In fact, he used the shrug to casually hang a hand on the back of Cedric's chair.  But it was easier for him.  This was his house and his godfather; Cedric was more comfortable letting him make the overt gestures.  What Cedric wanted most of all at the moment was for everybody to leave so he could have some time alone with Harry.

Perhaps guessing as much, Remus stood and shot Sirius a significant look.  "We're going up to the drawing room," he said.

Viktor rose as well.  "I will shower, before I must to wait in a queue."

But nobody got anywhere because there was a loud pop and an absolutely filthy house-elf appeared right on top of the kitchen table.  It startled everybody.  This must be the Kreacher of whom Cedric had heard much all summer but only spotted once or twice at a distance.  He had watery eyes and droopy ears that were even larger than average for an elf, and wore the most disgusting tea towel around his waist.  It barely covered him.

He was holding Regulus's diary in his hand, shaking it at Cedric.  Where had he got that?  Had he been going through Cedric's bags?  "You stole master's diary!  Filthy blood-traitor has master's diary!  How dare you!"  And without warning, he launched himself at Cedric, teeth bared and free hand curled into claws.

Cedric leapt backwards off his chair, knocking it over in the process, even as Sirius bellowed, "Kreacher!  Hold!"

The elf stopped dead atop the table, journal still in hand.  "Yes, master," he said aloud, then muttered, "Of course he doesn't care about other master."

Cedric was stumbling still, trying to keep from falling over and Harry had him by the elbow, keeping him upright.  "Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, just a bit bruised."  Harry released his elbow as Cedric turned to glare at the elf.  "He was going to attack me!"

"I should have you strangled!" Sirius was yelling, although Remus restrained him physically.  "Intending harm to a guest in my home!"  Viktor appeared bemused, but held himself away from the table, and in the pantry behind, Dobby watched it all with horrified eyes.

"Wait, wait!" Harry was saying now that he knew Cedric was all right.  "Wait.  Sirius, wait.  Kreacher -- Cedric didn't steal the journal.  He writes in it to Regulus.  They're --" he glanced back at Cedric "-- they're friends."  Cedric had told Harry a few things about it since August.  "Cedric is Regulus-in-the-diary's friend."

Kreacher tilted his head sideways.  "You friend of master?  But master hide this diary."

"Yes, he did," Cedric said, seeing finally how to diffuse this -- he hoped.  "But he wanted it to be found by someone who could avenge his death.  That someone is me.  Harry's right; I am his friend."  Thankfully, Sirius was staying quiet although he still looked fit to be tied.  "If you'll give me the diary, I'll show you.  I write in the diary, and Regulus writes back to me.  You can see for yourself."

The elf clutched the diary against his bony chest, expression quite dubious.  "You try to trick Kreacher, steal back Master's diary."

"No, I'm not," Cedric said.

"Oh, give him the damn diary!" Sirius snapped.  "That's an order, Kreacher.  And hand it over nicely -- don't you dare throw it at his head!"

Growling, the elf glared at his sole living master, but had to do as ordered.  His hands shook as he offered up the small brown book that contained the imprint of Regulus, and Cedric felt a prick of pity.  Taking the book, he said, "Thank you."  Then he pulled the pin that he kept tucked in the spine to prick his skin, bringing the requisite drop of blood that he pressed against the cover.  The diary opened for him and he sat down.  "Er, does anybody have a quill and some ink?"

"Dobby will get some!" Dobby cried even as Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, thin object that he tossed over to Cedric.  "How about a fountain pen?"

"A what?"

"It's a Muggle thing," Harry said, reaching over Cedric's shoulder to open it and show him.  "Ink's already inside."

"Oh!  I, er --" Cedric was grinning.  "I want one of these!"

It made Harry and Remus laugh.  "Umbridge would probably confiscate it," Harry said.

"She'd have to find it first," Cedric replied as he bent over the diary, conscious of the watching house-elf, and wrote:

Kreacher found your diary in my bags.  He must have gone through them after I arrived.  Sirius had Dobby take the bags up to your old room.  It's where I'll be staying while I'm here.  Anyway, he ran off with the diary and brought it downstairs, tried to attack me for stealing it.  Will you please tell him -- he's watching as I write this -- that I didn't steal the diary and I'm your friend?

It probably wasn't the most coherent thing he'd ever written, and it only occurred to him after he'd written it to ask the elf, "Can you read?"

Kreacher looked offended.  "Of course Kreacher can read!  Kreacher had to take lists to market for his mistress!"

"Okay," Cedric said and turned the diary so the elf could see the page.  Harry watched over Cedric's shoulder, as did Remus and Viktor from across the table.  Even Sirius was observing at the table's head, although trying to pretend disinterest with arms crossed.

Kreacher's there?  appeared on the page after a moment, and Cedric heard Harry suck in breath behind him.  "It is like Riddle's."  Even if Harry and Remus had seen the diary before, they'd never seen it open or watched Cedric write in it.  Cedric was reminded of what Harry had told him about Tom Riddle's diary.

"It's not a Dark Object, though," Cedric said even as he wrote, Yes, Kreacher's perched on the table right beside me.  He's watching me write.

And indeed, the elf's eyes were as big as saucers, one hand over his mouth.

How are you Kreacher?  the diary wrote.  I hope you're doing well.  You were always a loyal elf to me and mother.

To everyone's shock, Kreacher burst into tears, sobbing into his clenched fists.  "I's didn't save Master Regulus!" he bawled.  "I's didn't save him when the Bad Men came!  I's let them in.  But I's didn't know!  I's sorry Master Regulus!"

"What is he raving about now?" Sirius muttered, sitting down heavily in his seat.

But Harry watched Kreacher with interest.  "I think . . . " he began, then spoke up over the elf's wailing -- "Kreacher, do you know what happened to Regulus?  Do you know how he died?"

Kreacher nodded his head but didn't stop crying.

"Will you tell us?" Cedric asked.  He'd assumed that destroying the Horcrux had killed Regulus, but maybe not.

Abruptly, he felt the journal close on his hand and squeeze.  Hard.  He'd momentarily forgotten it and glanced down.  It flopped back open and words appeared, What did he say?

Wait a minute, Cedric jotted back.  Kreacher may know how you died.  But he's crying too hard to talk.  He said something about letting men in.  I'm trying to find out more for you.

Hold me up so he can read what I write.

Cedric did as Regulus-in-the-diary asked, and words appeared on the page.  Kreacher -- please tell him how I died so he can tell me.  I'm sure you did all you could, but I'd like to know the end of the story.

"Kreacher," Cedric said as gently as he could, "Kreacher, your master has something he wants to say to you.

Cautiously, the elf pulled away one hand until his eye showed and he read the words . . . then he burst into tears again.  "Well, that was a bad job," Harry muttered, running a hand over his face before leaning over Cedric's shoulder again.  "Kreacher," he said, "Please tell us."

Kreacher glared at Harry.  "I's not tell Harry Potter.  I's tell Master Regulus's friend."

Cedric resisted pointing out that 'Harry Potter' was Master Regulus's friend's boyfriend.  They could deal later with the intricacies of family jealousies.  This could get complicated.

The elf settled down, still perched atop the table, which seemed to annoy not only Sirius but Dobby too.  "Dirty elf feet not belong on dining table," Cedric could hear Dobby muttering from inside the pantry.

Kreacher ignored him and began, "Master Regulus was very ill.  I's was trying to care for him but feared he was dying.  Two men came to the door and said they comes to help him.  They's friends of master from before, but when I's let them in, they's Froze Kreacher and went upstairs.  I's could hear master calling for me, but I's couldn't move, then I's heard that spell."  He whispered it.  "The Killing Curse."  He put his hands over his face and wailed.

"Go on," Cedric said, trying to recall him to his story.

Choking back the tears, Kreacher continued, "They's left me there till the Mistress comes home a day later and finds us, then she punished Kreacher mighty for letting in the Bad Men."  Kreacher nodded his head behind his hands.  "Kreacher earned it."

"I didn't know she found his body," Sirius said softly, and Cedric shot a furtive glance at him to gauge his reaction to this tale of his brother's death.  He was frowning at the floor.  Whatever hostility had existed between them at the time, Regulus was still Sirius's little brother.

"Why was Regulus that ill?" Harry asked.

Kreacher pretended not to hear until Sirius snapped, "Why was Regulus dying?  Answer!"

"The locket," Kreacher said, glaring again at Sirius.  "Master opened the locket.  It had bad spells -- made master very sick."  Kreacher shuddered.  "But Kreacher didn't like the locket.  Even before, it made master mean."

"Handling a Dark Object like a Horcrux will do that," Viktor muttered and Remus was nodding.

Cedric glanced down at the journal.  It had one word in big letters: WELL?!

Wait a minute, he wrote back.  I'm still talking to him.

"What happened after that?" Cedric asked Kreacher.

His face was sad.  "Mistress was very angry.  She blamed Kreacher, at first.  Then she blamed Master Regulus, said he was a bad servant of the Dark Lord and he embarrassed the Noble House of Black.  But Master Regulus was never cruel to Kreacher.  Mistress buried Master Regulus in the family mausoleum, but didn't put a name plate on it."

"Could you show me which niche is his?"

The voice was Sirius's, and everyone looked over at him.  He was still staring at the floor, frowning.  "It's not right that she didn't mark his grave," he said without looking at anyone.

Kreacher's expression was ...  oddly speculative, on a house-elf.  "Kreacher could do that."

"Then we'll see to it.  Tomorrow."  And he swept out past Harry and Cedric, through the kitchen door and up the stairs.  Remus glanced at them, then went after.  Viktor followed after giving Cedric and Harry a little nod.  "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Harry said, watching him leave.  Dobby had disappeared as well, although Cedric suspected the elf was still watching from somewhere.

Cedric was busy writing.  "Thank you, Kreacher.  I'm going to tell Regulus what you told me."  And he related the gist of it with both Harry and Kreacher looking on.  It was the first time he'd ever corresponded with the diary in the company of others and he felt a bit . . . exposed.  It was hard to predict what Regulus would say, but Cedric doubted he'd want to discuss Cedric's secrets just now.  And indeed, he had more questions for Kreacher, who answered as best he could.  Finally, the diary said only: So I wasn't even able to fight back.  That's a bit embarrassing.

Cedric wasn't sure how to reply, but wrote, I'm sorry.

At least I know the end of the story, and why I couldn't add more to this diary.  If breaking the Horcrux poisoned me, I couldn't risk transferring that miasma to this.  But my mother didn't bury me?

Well, she buried you.  She just didn't mark it.  Kreacher remembers which vault is yours, however, and I dare say Sirius will see to it that your grave is marked.

The diary didn't respond to that immediately either, then said only, Tell him thanks.

I will.

A long, wrinkled finger touched the back of Cedric's hand, and it made him start, almost dropping Remus's fountain pen.  He looked up at Kreacher.  "You really is master's friend."

"Yes," he said.  "I'd like to think so anyway."

Kreacher gave him an oddly serene smile for such a loony old elf and -- abruptly -- Disapparated.  Cedric felt Harry grip his shoulder where he still stood behind, uncharacteristically silent.  Cedric wrote, I need to go now.  I'll talk to you more tomorrow, okay?

All right, the diary replied.

"Can I write something?" Harry asked suddenly.

Cedric turned to look at him.  Harry's face was serious, eyes on the diary.  "Let me ask him," Cedric said, unwilling to just hand over the diary without its permission.  He also -- admittedly -- was a bit worried what it might say to Harry about him.  "Just . . . don't tell him your last name.  He knows you as 'Harry', but, well, Regulus was a bit jealous of your dad."  Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, but nodded.  Turning back to the diary, Cedric wrote, Harry wants to say something to you.  Is that all right if I let him write to you?

Your Harry?  the diary asked, and Cedric could almost feel the curiosity radiating from the page.

Yes, 'my' Harry.  He was here when Kreacher showed up with you.  He's standing behind me right now.

All right.  Let me talk to him.

Momentarily reluctant, Cedric added, Be nice, to the page, then pushed the diary towards Harry and handed over the pen.  "Be careful," he advised.  "Regulus can be a bit . . . cheeky."

Harry smiled.  "So can Sirius."  Taking the pen, he sat back down in the chair he'd occupied at dinner.  Hello, he wrote.  I'm Harry.  I just wanted to say 'thank you' for destroying the Horcrux.  It was a very brave thing you did.  We won't forget it, or you, I promise.

I should hope you won't, the diary responded.  It was Cedric's turn now to read over Harry's shoulder.   I can tell this is a different person.  Funny that.  Your writing is much more forceful -- you press into the page, but you sound like Cedric, all honour and duty.  Are you in Hufflepuff too?

No, in Gryffindor.

But you don't mind your pretty Hufflepuff, I take it.  He won't level with me, but I gather he is pretty.

Harry actually laughed at that, and shot Cedric a grin.  Very pretty, he wrote.  He's also quite clever, a good flyer and exceptionally good-hearted.  A loyal friend.

And I hope good in bed, too, for your sake.

Harry looked . . . gobsmacked.  Almost, Cedric laughed.  "I warned you," he said.

Harry's eyebrow went up, and without looking at Cedric, he wrote, That's for me to know and you not to find out, smart-arse.

Ha.  At least you didn't get all embarrassed on me like he does.  I like you.

Thank you.  Perhaps we can write more later?

Perhaps.  But the idea of Harry corresponding further with Regulus made Cedric nervous.

Then I'm going to close you and take my very pretty, very clever, and very hot boyfriend upstairs.

The page edges curled, then it snapped closed.  "He was laughing," Cedric explained.  "Well, I take the page curling for laughter."  He tried to pretend his face wasn't on fire.

Handing Cedric the diary, Harry leant in to kiss him.  It was sweet, and made Cedric's head spin.  He'd been awaiting that for days.  His right hand went out, catching the back of Harry's neck to pull him closer and his left cupped Harry's cheek while Harry's arms were around his shoulders.  They held the kiss for half a minute before Cedric finally pulled away, feeling a need to gulp air because he was bloody dizzy.

"Do you really think I'm hot?" he blurted, then blushed again.  "Or were you just . . . yanking Regulus's chain?"

Harry was blushing too.  "You're hot," he muttered.  "But, er, it's more than that, you know.  I don't want you to think . . . It's not just that . . . Oh, bugger.  I really like you."

Cedric felt a grin steal onto his face and leaned in again, pressing a quick kiss to Harry's mouth.  "I really like you too," he admitted.  "And, well, um, it's nice to know that, er, you think I'm hot."

In fact, it thrilled him at all sorts of levels, made him feel less guilty for thinking that of Harry.

"But you are more than that," Harry insisted, his hands still on Cedric's shoulders.  "You really are.  I know how the girls chased you last year.  I didn't want you to think -- "

"It's okay," Cedric interrupted.  "We've been friends since the summer.  It's nice to know . . . ah, well, I mean, I like it that you find me, erm, attractive.  It's not just that you feel sorry for me or something -- "

"It's not pity," Harry interrupted.  "It's definitely not pity."

Cedric bent to kiss Harry again.  The mutual, shy honesty seemed to have freed him to indulge in the physical.  It wasn't just him.  Harry fancied him back -- even after days apart and time to reconsider -- and if it were rather awkward to lean across between their chairs, at the moment, he didn't care.  His hands were buried in Harry's messy hair and Harry had bunched his fists in Cedric's jumper, holding him close.  The kiss was good -- a little wet, but tongue-on-tongue, enthusiastic and thrilling down to Cedric's toes.  Certainly it thrilled Cedric's groin.  In fact, things were getting uncomfortable down there so he shifted, trying for ease, but that just dragged cotton underpants across sensitive flesh and made matters worse.  "Damn," he muttered, pulling away and trying to resist pushing his bits straight in his trousers because that was just . . . crass, wasn't it?  Harry looked to be in a similar predicament so Cedric stood, easing things a bit.

Harry followed him up, asking, "You want to go upstairs?"  Then he realized how that sounded and his ears practically glowed.  "I meant to see my room."  But that was no better, and Cedric laughed gently at Harry's expression.  "I just . . . I've a new room.  It's mine; Sirius said I can decorate it however I want.  Would you like to see?"

"Yes," Cedric said, smiling.  "I would."  He picked up the diary and caught Harry's hand, lacing their fingers.  They'd gripped hands before, but never held them, not like this.  It shook Cedric.  He was holding Harry's hand, just like he'd held Cho's the year before, but this time it meant something.  It meant everything.  Wings unfurled in his chest and beat softly.

Smiling back, Harry led them out, hands still gripped.  They went all the way upstairs to the top landing.  The rest of the house seemed quiet.  "I reckon Sirius and Remus are in their room," Harry said under his breath.  Cedric just nodded.  "And Viktor -- I don't hear the shower.  I suppose he's finished?"

"Or he's shaving and not got started yet."

"By the way, Regulus's room -- where you are -- it's right down the hall from mine."  He pointed to the door at the opposite end of the landing.  "But the toilet's on the third floor, and the full bathroom is on the second.  Well, there's a bathroom in the master suite on the third floor, but you don't want to go in there.  It's not really been cleaned up yet.  That's why Viktor said that, about showering tonight.  There's really only one usable bath for five people.  Sirius hasn't got the toilet expanded in the ground-floor room yet to include a shower."

Harry was babbling like he did when nervous.  Cedric's own tendency was to shut up.  Just now, he was pondering the fact Harry would be just down the hall.  Opportunity, or mere temptation?  Was Harry even ready yet for it to be temptation?  Older Harry had been, but this Harry . . .

Harry opened his door and Cedric followed him inside.  They were, finally, blessedly alone, and Cedric had to refrain from jumping all over Harry right there like he had last Saturday in his office -- although Harry hadn't seemed to object.  Now, he paced nervously around, and Cedric tried to concentrate on the room, not on him.

It was twice the size of his own attic bedroom at home, and far more sumptuously appointed with hardwood furniture and crimson velveteen draperies.  After the summer, Cedric knew how Harry had been raised and this opulence wasn't usual for him, either.  "I like the wallpaper," Harry said.  "I think I'll keep that.  Sirius said I could redecorate however I wanted.  At first, I thought red was fine, but all of Gryffindor is red and I'm a bit tired of it."  He looked over at Cedric.  "Do you get tired of yellow?"

"Absolutely," Cedric replied.  "It isn't even up there as a favourite colour for me."

"What is?"

"Green," Cedric replied automatically.

"Like Slytherin?"

"Like your eyes," Cedric returned, not really thinking about how sappy that sounded until Harry laughed.  "No, really.  I like green.  It's very . . . live.  You know?  Trees and grass and plants . . . they're green.  It's soothing."  He watched Harry wander aimlessly.

"I'm thinking about blue," Harry said.  "Blue reminds me of you."  Then he blushed.  They were doing that a lot, as if smiling and blushing and laughing were the extent of their emotional range tonight.  "I mean, I like blue.  It's not just you; I like the colour.  But it does reminds me of you, and it'll match the silver wallpaper."

"You need some pictures," Cedric said, hands in robe pockets.

"I know.  I'm not sure what I want.  Oh, here -- look here."  He waved Cedric over and pointed to the lone picture still remaining.  "This was my father, Sirius, Remus and, er, Peter Pettigrew, back when they were still at Hogwarts."

Cedric approached, leaning close to see.  Four boys stood with arms around each other and if Cedric had never seen a picture (that he could recall) of James Potter, it was clear which he was.  He had his son's black hair and easy grin.  Sirius was obvious as well, and startling for his young beauty.  Azkaban had certainly done a number on him.  Remus also looked young -- yet not.  His eyes were old, and the scars had been there even then.  Peter Pettigrew was a blank.  Cedric had never seen him except in fuzzy images printed in The Daily Prophet after Sirius's trial, yet he didn't fit with the other three at first glance.  James and Sirius wore the casual confidence of the very attractive, and Remus also seemed secure in his place.  In the photograph, Sirius was turning his head, shooting Remus a glance that said, 'I belong to you.' It was how Cedric suspected he sometimes looked at Harry.  Sirius might have the beauty, but Remus owned Sirius's heart.

Yet Pettigrew . . . he seemed truly on the fringes -- included but uncertain.  Cedric understood that, and for the first time, thought he might also understand why Pettigrew had done what he did.  If one never felt one belonged, then betrayal wasn't betrayal, was it?

Cedric didn't belong, either, not truly.  There were things about him that his Denmates didn't know, things he couldn't tell . . . feared telling.  If Cedric kept parts of himself concealed, Peter, Ed and Scott couldn't really know him.  Distance existed, at least from his perspective.  Had Pettigrew felt the same estrangement?  Was that why he'd betrayed the rest?  He'd never felt as close to them as they'd imagined he did?  It gave Cedric something to think about, but he didn't voice it to Harry.  He doubted Harry would understand.  Harry was all there: one was his friend -- or not.  "Have you told Ron yet?" Cedric asked abruptly, straightening back up to look at Harry.

"Told Ron what?"

"About us?"

"No.  I don't . . . I'm not sure he's ready to know."  Cedric nodded, but Harry added, "It bothers me -- not telling."  Cedric nodded again.  "He's been my friend since the beginning, stood by me -- well, until last year with the Tournament.  I never thought I'd doubt him but that made me doubt him.  He believed I put my name in."

"So did I.  At first."

"But you weren't my best mate, Ced.  He was and he still didn't believe me.  How's he going to take this?"  He gestured back and forth between them.

Cedric pondered that.  "Why didn't he believe you?"

"He thought I lied to him because I like being famous or something.  It's not the same thing here obviously, and he reacted to the news about Dumbledore better than I thought he would.  He still thinks being gay is abnormal -- "

"Most wizards do, Harry."

"-- but he didn't . . . he wasn't repulsed or anything.  Of course, it was Dumbledore, not me and you.  I suppose . . . " He trailed off, forehead creased in thought and Cedric had to fight to keep hands off him when he got like this; he had no idea how attractive he was.  "I'm not sure anymore that our friendship's enough," he said finally.  "Ron gets . . . jealous."  He squirmed and Cedric suspected he was trying to avoid stating what Cedric already knew.

"He's jealous of me."

Clearly embarrassed, Harry nodded.  Cedric chewed his lip.  "Was he jealous of Cho?"  Harry shook his head, and that confirmed something Cedric had suspected.  "Right now, he thinks I'm trying to steal you from him as a best mate.  Or not quite" -- Cedric recalled Ron's reaction after the Quidditch game against Slytherin.  "I think he knows -- on one level -- how I feel.  But he doesn't know how you feel.  He probably doesn't have a clear idea what he's afraid of, but it boils down to me taking his place with you."

"He's not afraid of Hermione that way!"

Cedric shook his head.  "Hermione's a girl."

"But she's our friend, not a girlfriend."

"Doesn't matter; it changes the dynamics.  And Ron's still your best mate; it was Ron who Dumbledore put in the lake for you last year -- not Hermione.  And not just because he needed her for Viktor, was it?  Ron . . . " Cedric trailed off and tried to come at it from another angle because Harry still appeared baffled.  "Ron needs to be first with you, Harry.  At least for something.  Think about it -- he's the youngest boy in his family, never had much that was his own first.  He doesn't want to take a backseat to me with you."  And Harry's expression suddenly opened, as if he'd been struck by an epiphany.  "So letting him know I'm not a threat like he's afraid of might help.  If you emphasize that what you and I have is different from your friendship with him, it might reduce his jealousy, at least."

Harry was grinning now.  "You and Hermione . . . you're both bloody brilliant when it comes to sussing people out."

Cedric shrugged with one shoulder.  "I've sort of had to be.  And it's easier for me to see because I'm on the outside.  Plus, I'm not dead certain that is the problem.  If he'd been jealous of Cho too . . . but since he wasn't, at least some of it probably owes to a fear that you'll replace him with me.  None of that promises he won't go spare about me being a poof."  And he frowned.  He was trying not to panic about this; he knew Harry needed to tell Ron, but it wasn't just about Harry.  "He wouldn't, he won't . . . tell people about me just to get back at me, would he?"  He flinched, afraid such a question might offend Harry, but he couldn't not worry about it.

To his surprise, though, Harry gripped his upper arms and moved closer, peering up at him with great seriousness.  "He might be angry with me, but he's not . . . Ron's not vicious like that.  And if he did spread tales, he'd have me to answer to.  I won't let him hurt you."  His grip tightened.  "You don't need to be afraid of that."  Then his grip softened and he actually stepped back a little.  "But I won't tell him if you don't want me to."

Cedric shook his head.  "No.  You need to tell him; I understand that."  Yet he could still feel his muscles tightening as if his body understood the risk he was taking better than his head did.  If Ron took the news badly, he could completely wreck Cedric's life.  But not taking that risk -- it would mean returning to the stifling straightjacket of complete concealment and Cedric couldn't bear to go back to that.  He might still have trouble accepting his orientation, but he couldn't hate himself the way he once had.

And he couldn't give up Harry -- couldn't hurt him.  What would he say?  'Sorry, I lied, I'm not really head-over-heels for you'?  Harry needed to be loved, and Cedric wanted to love him.  Harry had other friends, of course -- it was probably arrogant of Cedric to think his own devotion mattered that much -- but he still couldn't break it off with him.  Love meant risk, and not only with the one loved.  He and Harry didn't exist in isolation, as individuals or as a couple.

Reaching out, he slid arms around Harry, pulling him in, and Harry returned the loose embrace.  It felt nice just to hold each other, Harry's head against Cedric's shoulder.  Yet if Cedric didn't mind the height difference, Harry apparently did, and steered Cedric over to sit on the edge of his bed.  Then bending, he kissed Cedric, who reciprocated with enthusiasm.  It let him forget the complications for a while.  Eyes closed and body-sunk, this was all about touch and taste and sound.  At one point, Harry pushed him back on the bed, climbing atop so that his body pressed all along Cedric's, chest to chest, belly to belly, and groin to groin.  And that was . . . everything Cedric had wanted.  His own hands moved over Harry's arse, pulling him even closer.  He felt demented with need as they rocked against each other.  It was just like that Saturday in his office, except Harry wasn't making it easy for him to stop this time.  He seemed just as drunk on lust.

"Harry -- "

"Shh."  Harry's mouth on his wasn't letting him talk.  Despite having experienced his first real kiss just a few weeks before, Harry had become as adept as he was aggressive.  Cedric wasn't kissing right now, he was being kissed, and Harry's mouth slid all along his cheek and jaw and neck, licking and biting and sucking as if testing to see what got the strongest reaction.  Cedric didn't like having Harry's tongue in his ear -- that was just loud -- but sucking on the lobe turned him into a pile of putty.  The side of his neck was almost too ticklish, but his throat . . . Harry worked his way down that to hums and groans.  Just below his collarbone was sensitive too, and Harry had the top half of his robe undone almost before Cedric realized what he was up to.

"Harry -- "

"Shh."

Harry took his glasses off and laid them on the bedside table, and Cedric used the break to push Harry onto his back, his own weight holding him down.  "My turn."  Harry didn't object, so Cedric showed him erogenous zones they hadn't tried the previous Saturday: hands and wrists and the inside of elbows.  Harry wasn't, however, inclined to remain passive, as if he had something to prove.  Or perhaps it was just his innate dominance coming to the fore.  Harry led and Cedric followed.  That had always been the nature of their interaction, really, and Harry was back on top before long, Cedric's wrists pinned in his grip as he raised himself on hands and knees, grinning down.  "You look quite pleased with yourself, Potter," Cedric said.

"Considering what I've caught in my bed, shouldn't I be?"

The question hung for a moment, awkwardly coy, a brave attempt at bedroom humour that just . . . didn't work -- at least not coming out of Harry's mouth.  For a moment Cedric held his eyes and tried, oh he tried not to burst out laughing.  He failed.  Fortunately Harry realised how it must have sounded and began giggling too, forehead resting on Cedric's shoulder.

Finally they calmed and Harry settled his body on top between Cedric's legs, once again pushing his pelvis against Cedric's.  But it wasn't just grinding now.  It was a deliberate, rhythmic thrusting and Cedric wondered how much Harry was running on pure instinct, and how much was intentional.  He suspected more of the former, given Harry's half-lidded, drunk expression.  "Harry -- " he tried for a third time, to slow Harry's rather frantic movement.

"Do you really want to stop?" Harry asked.

"No," Cedric admitted, feeling guilty even if he were being honest.

"What do we do next?  Take off our robes?  This is a bit . . . frustrating."

"Erm, we can take them off if you want to."

"I want to."  And Harry sat up abruptly, yanking his outerwear off and tossing it aside until he was left in just a light t-shirt and jeans.  More slowly, Cedric did the same as Harry reached out to unbutton half Cedric's shirt and latch onto the skin below Cedric's collarbone again.  Cedric fell backwards, hips lifting, seeking contact.  Harry straddled him, pushing back.  There were still several layers of cloth, but their legs could twine without the long robes in the way.  Cedric ran his palms all over Harry's back, unsure if he were trying to soothe the younger boy or urge him on.  He'd been worried before coming here about rushing Harry, but Harry was directing things, Cedric just along for the ride right now.

Harry kissed his way down Cedric's chest, or as much of it as the half-unbuttoned shirt allowed.  "Now what?" he whispered.

Cedric tried not to laugh.  "There's not a . . . a script."  He pulled Harry's head up until he could hold those remarkable eyes.  "Do whatever you want to."

"You sure?"

"Yes.  I'm sure."

"I might" -- he blushed and glanced sideways -- "I might make you laugh."

Cedric pulled his head down to kiss him.  Hard.  "Shut it.  Just . . . love me.  Do whatever you want to do, Harry."  If Harry were making the decisions, Cedric didn't have to worry that he'd do something Harry wasn't ready for, did he?

So Harry kissed his way over Cedric's chin and down his throat, across his collarbone again to his sternum and down, unbuttoning the rest of the shirt as he went.  Then he moved his mouth sideways to lick one of Cedric's nipples.  Even if Cedric had been anticipating that, it still made him gasp.  Apparently pleased with himself, Harry chuckled, then sucked in earnest as they returned to thrusting through their clothes, seeking enough friction to get off.  Cedric's hands wormed beneath Harry's t-shirt to run palms all over the bare skin and tweak Harry's own nipples.  That got a louder gasp than Cedric had given.

After that, shirts came off and Cedric was so flushed he didn't even feel the cold winter air of the house.  Trousers stayed on, but they were unzipped and hands shoved down the loosened fronts inside underpants.  Harry's fingers on Cedric's prick made him grit teeth with a combination of relief and excitement.  He thrust rapidly into Harry's grip while working Harry with the same fervour himself.  They lay side-by-side now, mouths close but not quite kissing, too focused on the ecstasy below the belt.  Sometimes one or the other would lick at lips, or their tongues met in the middle, tip to tip, causing a cascade of shivers.  Both panted in time until Harry gave a moan, then a gasp, lids fluttering closed over green irises.  He let go of Cedric's cock while his own twitched.  A moment later, he ejaculated all over Cedric's hand.  Cedric stroked him finished and studied his face.  He appeared stunned, eyes still closed; Cedric kissed first one lid, then the other and drew back.  The eyes opened.  Wide.

Harry jerked up, pulling away.  "Huh.  Wow.  Huh."  He ran a hand up and down the back of his head, turning to glance down at Cedric.

"Harry?" Cedric asked.

"I'm okay."  But he still looked stunned and Cedric was doing his best not to appear either frantic or pathetic.  Almost, he reached down to rub himself finished but Harry seemed to recall his state and lay back down, sliding one arm under Cedric's shoulders as his free hand returned to Cedric's prick.  Cedric closed his eyes and tried to relax, but he'd been interrupted not far from his own climax and now it had to build again.  To make matters worse, every time he tried to touch Harry, Harry pushed his hand away.  "I'm finished," he said.  "It's your turn."  So he had to lay there as if being . . . serviced.  He didn't know how to explain that for him, it was as much about giving as getting.  Laid out like this, he felt concentrated on and self-conscious with it.

"Do you want me to do something else?" Harry asked after he'd been working Cedric for several minutes to no avail.  Cedric bit his lip and shook his head, trying to focus on the sensations.  But this wasn't how it had been in his office the previous summer -- or even how it had been just a few minutes before with their mutual wanking.  This wasn't mutual anything.  Harry seemed determined to hunt down an orgasm for Cedric and bring it back dead or alive.

Suddenly -- and all unexpected -- he hit his peak hard, prick spurting and hips arching, dragging a gasp from him.  Perhaps startled, Harry let go so that Cedric had to grab himself to ride out the finish, curled on his side.  When it was over, he opened his eyes.  He felt suddenly tired and messy and disappointed, and Harry was looking at him with an unfathomable expression, holding his sticky hand up so he didn't get spunk on the bedspread.  Automatically and from long practice Cedric passed his own messy hand over Harry's, Vanishing the evidence for them both, then did the same to his front -- but hesitated over Harry's own rucked up shirt and zip.  "Trust me?" he asked.  "I won't Vanish anything critical."

Harry snorted.  "After all that, I reckon trust is the least of it.  Go ahead."

Cedric cleaned up Harry too.  "Trust is all of it," he said, finally meeting Harry's eyes.  He felt . . . exposed, even more than he had flat on his back with his fly open and Harry's hand on him.  "Sorry it took me so long."

"That's okay."

But the words were just words, meaningless.  Cedric had no idea where to begin articulating his uncertainties right now, and suspected Harry didn't either, so he just pulled him close and held him -- clutched at him, really.  They didn't say anything, and gradually, the desperate strength of the hug relaxed until they lay wrapped around each other, their faces very close once more but not kissing, just breathing each other.  Harry smelled faintly of leeks and coffee, and the room smelled of sex, even with the semen cleaned up.

"I should go to my own room and bed," Cedric said after a while, but didn't move.  Harry said nothing, just raised a hand to run it over and through Cedric's hair.  After another five minutes, Cedric finally pushed himself up but continued to stare down at Harry, one finger tracing his cheekbone and jaw.  There was no undercurrent now of lust bridled.  As awkward as that had been, perhaps they'd needed it to scrub out desire so they could focus on the rest of it.  "You look sleepy," Cedric said.

"I am," Harry replied.

Bending, Cedric brushed his mouth over Harry's, then straightened again.  "Get some sleep.  I'll see you in the morning."  And he crawled off the bed to collect his discarded shirt and robes.

But Harry rose too.  "I'll walk you to your room -- make sure Kreacher didn't mess things up when he found the diary."  Cedric didn't object, just pulled on his shirt and they made their way down the hall, struggling not to stagger under the sudden weight of an exhaustion both physical and emotional.

Not only was Regulus's room -- predictably decorated in green -- not messed up, it looked like it had been readied for a prince.  Cedric's bags had been unpacked for him, his clothes hung in the wardrobe whose doors stood open, his socks and underpants tucked away and the bag itself stashed in a corner.  The porcelain wash basin on the vanity was full, water still steaming from a Warming charm to keep it ready.  A soft green flannel lay beside it.  The bed had been turned back and Cedric laid his hand on the sheets, finding them Warmed too as a fire burned merry behind the gate.  Instead of smelling of dust and must, the room smelled of pine and vanilla.

"What the . . . " Harry muttered, gaping around.

A crack startled them both and they spun to find Kreacher bowing all the way to the floor in front of Cedric.  "Kreacher hopes master's good friend is pleased with the room?"

"Kreacher?" Harry asked.

Cedric swallowed his own shock and ran a hand over his face.  "Er, yes.  It's . . . brilliant.  Um, thank you?"

Kreacher's ears curled up in pleasure.  "Master's good friend is most welcome!" and he Disapparated again.

"Well," Harry said, glancing at Cedric.  "That was . . . unexpected."

"No kidding."

"Okay, ah -- I'll let you get ready for bed then."

"Yeah."  Cedric turned to look at Harry and opened his mouth to ask if Harry were all right, but didn't.  He feared it would sound stupid, or at least patronizing.  Instead he slid an arm around Harry and kissed him one last time as gently as he could, putting all his affection in it.  Harry kissed back -- and not as if he couldn't wait to get away from Cedric.  After a moment, he pulled away and left, closing the door softly behind.  Cedric waited a moment, then dropped backwards onto the bed, arms spread, and tried not to over-worry the evening's events.

3. Toujours pur, toujours sans peur

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