Aorist Subjunctive 01

Nature & Destiny

Summary:  When presented with an unexpected

opportunity, a depressed and besieged fifth-year
Harry attempts to change the past.  But changing
the past can be dangerous.  Who's to say things will
turn out any better?  c. 28,000 words  COMPLETE
Genres:  Suspense, action-adventure, romance
Pairings:  Harry/Cedric, rest from canon
Warnings:  ADULT  (explicit sex, slash and het
themes both)
 Also MAJOR SURPRISES.  Can't tell what or it'll
spoil!

You may not translate this novella series without

my permission.

Chapter 1: Queer
Chapter 2: Crush
Chapter 3: Time-Turner
Chapter 4: Virgin
Chapter 5: Intrigue
Chapter 6: Task
Chapter 7: Masks
Chapter 8: Truth
Chapter 9: Mates

Chapter 1: Queer

Cedric, 1986-1995
Cedric first knew he was different at eight when he
remarked to his father that the tall Scottish boy he'd
met at his first junior Quidditch practice was quite fit. 
His father glanced down at him with a frown that was
half amused, half bemused, and ruffled his hair. 
"Boys don't call other boys 'fit,' Ced.  Oliver's
certainly a bloody good flyer, but, well, he's not a girl,
y'know."

"I don't like girls, dad."

His father laughed.  "Of course you don't!  At your

age, girls are repulsive.  But by the time you're twice
eight, you'll have changed your mind about them."

He was more than twice eight now.

He still didn't like girls.

The recognition of what this meant -- and that it

wasn't acceptable -- came slowly between eight and
sixteen like a puzzle assembled in pieces.  He'd
always been both more interested in, and more shy
of, boys rather than girls.  His neighbor, little Luna,
was a bit odd, but fun enough.  He was never
nervous around her, and they'd gone hunting for
blibbering humdingers in the woods near their
homes until his father had told him to stop it, there
was no such thing as a blibbering humdinger -- even
if Luna's father insisted there was.

"The Lovegoods are absolutely nuts, Ced.  The

death of Luna's mum sent them both right 'round the
bend.  Be nice to her for heaven's sake -- they're
good people -- but you can't believe anything she
says."

Cedric thought that only partly true -- sometimes

Luna was more observant than he was -- but he'd
also begun to realize others laughed at her, so he
learned to keep his distance.  He didn't like to be
laughed at.

It was being laughed at -- or letting people down --

that he feared most.

His apparent lack of romantic interest in girls didn't

change when he reached Hogwarts and found
himself surrounded by more of them on a regular
basis.  At first, his age-mates had little interest in
girls either, but by his third and fourth year, they
began to discuss tits and clits and other girl-parts in
hushed voices.  And he just didn't care.  Girls made
good friends, but he had no desire to find out more
about their privates.

His mates' privates, however, increasingly intrigued

him.  He wondered if they were intrigued by his --
but no one ever discussed that.  He once tried a
round-about way of inquiring whether they ever
'checked out the equipment' of other boys in the
showers, and was rather laughingly rebuffed by his
denmate Ed.  "It's not your equipment I'm interested
in, Ced!"  Ed had meant nothing cruel; Cedric knew
that.  Nonetheless, he recognized that he'd asked an
unacceptable question, or at least not one anybody
else gave much thought to.

He was also learning less-nice words for things --

slag, twat, toffee, up the duff, queer, and poofter . . .
He wasn't always sure what these things meant
exactly, and pride prevented him from asking.  No
boy wanted to admit to a lack of knowledge in that
department, so he giggled with the rest as if he
understood, and during summer holidays asked his
father -- who grinned and defined them all for him. 
But when his dad got to 'queer' and 'poofter,' Cedric
was hard-pressed to keep his face bland when he
asked, "You mean boys can like other boys?"
Frowning, his father nodded.  "It happens.  It's not
normal, of course, but there are some.  You
shouldn't make fun, though, Ced.  It's not polite. 
They can't help how they are."

It's not normal, of course . . . they can't help how

they are.  Acid words burning through his gut.  But at
least now he had a name for what he was.

Queer.

Back at Hogwarts, he looked it up in a dictionary.

From the German quer, meaning across, at right

angle, diagonally or transverse.

1.  Strange, unusual, or peculiar.

2.  Suspicious or not quite right.

3.  Someone mildly insane or who exhibits

socially inappropriate behavior.

4.  Someone in financial trouble.  ('Living on

Queer Street').

He stopped at that point and closed the dictionary,

returning it to Madam Pince.  It was clear enough
that being queer meant he was abnormal, and he
could never admit to or explain it to anyone else,
least of all his friends and admirers -- or they
wouldn't be his friends and admirers.

Not if they knew he was queer.

He became adept at hiding his sidelong glances at

other boys in the locker room, and made his hugs
and embraces properly rough and manly.  When his
denmates talked about girls, he talked about them
too.  When they described what they wanted to do to
female classmates, he learned to listen and repeat
what he heard, adjusting the order a bit to be
creative.  When they watched the girls walk past, he
pretended to watch too.

Sometimes, though, he gave himself away by small

things.  In his fifth year, he caught up to the
Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, after the
Ravenclaw-Slytherin match, to compliment her on
her catch.  They'd happily chatted Quidditch all the
way back to the castle.  But when his denmates
teased him later for flirting, he was honestly
surprised and replied (without thinking), "I'm not
interested in Cho.  She's a great flier, that's all."
He must have sounded too sincere because Ed,
Peter and Scott all blinked at him in surprise. 
"What's wrong with your eyes, mate?" Peter asked. 
"Cho Chang is gorgeous.  And she was all over you,
to be sure."

Realizing his error, he smiled with false

embarrassment.  "Well, yeah.  But, er, we were just
talking Quidditch."

His mates cottoned on -- or at least, they thought

they had -- and shoved at him good-naturedly,
saying, "Yeah, right!" and, "'Just talking Quidditch,'
we don't believe that for a minute."

Yet their reactions gave Cedric an idea.  What if she

had been interested in him like . . . that?  Did she
think him nice-looking?  Could he pretend to be
interested in her too?  It would be a good cover, and
certainly, he'd liked talking to her.  She was sensible
and intelligent, and he thought they could be
friends.  There were worse girls to pretend to like.

It never occurred to him the extent of the deception

on which he was about to embark.  And he never
meant to hurt anyone.
By the end of his fifth year, he and Cho were close
friends, and he sometimes tried flirting, even if it felt
very mechanical.  Yet it wasn't Cho whose eye he
most wanted to catch, but that of Oliver Wood who
he remembered from childhood.  Unfortunately,
Wood saw him as an opponent, or the annoying
younger boy who asked stupid questions in the
hallways and pestered him unduly.  "Merlin's beard,"
Peter admonished, "would you stop following Wood
around?  He's not God's gift to Quidditch, you know. 
It's like you're mooning or something.  That's just
queer, Ced."

Queer.

The word had been enough to shock Cedric out of

his obsession.  He couldn't afford to obsess over
boys, only over Quidditch and classes.

"I can't believe you're not in Ravenclaw," Cho told

him once.  She meant it as a compliment, but it
annoyed him.

"A person can be in Hufflepuff without being an

idiot."
She blushed.  "Well, of course!  I wasn't saying that. 
It's just . . . you study as hard as any of my
classmates."

He shrugged.  He didn't want to admit that he

studied because it kept his mind off other things and
if he spent late hours pouring over books preparing
for his exams, he was too tired to come in his sleep
while thinking about Oliver Wood.

He earned eight OWLs that year -- not the most, but

still top of his class.  His proud parents
congratulated him and bought him a new broom in
celebration and he returned to school for his sixth
year increasingly twisted up inside.  He had no real
friends because no one really knew who he was. 
And if they did know, he wouldn't have friends
either.  He'd be as much an outcast as Luna
Lovegood.  It was bad enough that some in their
year, like the Weasley twins, insisted on calling him
'pretty boy' and 'nancy boy' and 'sissy.'  He
wondered sometimes if his own mates might
suspect something.  The fear of potential discovery
made him sick any time he thought about it.  So he
didn't think about it.

He couldn't say exactly why he put his name in the

Goblet of Fire, but he certainly hadn't expected his
name to come out of it.  He was glad, though; it gave
him a chance to prove himself -- his bravery, his
intellect.  His masculinity.  Surely the Goblet wouldn't
have picked him if he weren't worthy?  And if he was
worthy, then it must mean being queer wasn't
permanent.  He'd . . . outgrow it, or something.

So he asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball.  She was

ecstatic and told all her friends.  He didn't tell his
until they found out through the grapevine . . . then
they teased him no end.  He supposed that going
with Cho was as good as going with anyone else. 
Since Oliver had finished school, nobody had caught
his eye and he was doing his very best not to think
about boys.

He certainly wasn't thinking about Harry Potter.

Of course he'd been aware of Harry since the

younger boy had arrived during his third year.  Who
wouldn't be?  He was Harry Bloody Potter.  But
Cedric had neither resented him nor been especially
interested in him.  He was a great Seeker -- better
than Cedric, if Cedric were honest with himself.  But
otherwise, Harry wasn't Cedric's type -- too much the
loner, too messy, too inclined to court trouble.

Too much of a glory seeker.

Cedric didn't believe him when he said he hadn't put
his name in the Goblet, and continued to be
skeptical until the day Harry sought him out to tell
him about the dragons.  That made Cedric re-
evaluate a number of things, and he paid a bit more
attention to Harry afterwards.  Yet as Harry was two
years younger, he didn't often cross Cedric's path.

At the Yule Ball, Cedric noticed him again.  He had

eyes for Harry before he had eyes for his own date
-- and she noticed.  "Why are you staring at Harry
Potter?" she asked him.

Startled, he glanced down at her.  "What?  No

reason.  Just, you know, wondering if he's figured
out his egg yet."

Yet that began something, and Cedric found himself

with a new infatuation -- and a rather inconvenient
one.  Harry Potter.

He was glad to be able to return the favor Harry had

shown regarding the dragons by telling Harry about
the egg.  And if he'd had a bit of help from Professor
Moody, well it didn't matter.  Fair was fair.  When
they ended up tied for first place after the Second
Task, he was surprised and oddly pleased.
Unfortunately, Cho made rather more of being his
'treasure' than she really had a right to, and Cedric
wondered who'd made those selections anyway --
suspected his had been perfunctory.  Cho had been
his Yule Ball date and they were still seeing each
other.  Ergo, she must be his treasure.  It wasn't as if
anybody could read his mind.  And even if they
could, his 'treasure' could hardly be another
champion.

As they approached the Third Task, Cedric's life

grew more complicated.  He became obsessed with
Harry the same as he'd once been with Oliver
Wood.  But this time, his mates definitely noticed. 
"What's with you and Potter?" Ed asked him, and
Peter said, "The way you act, you'd think you had a
crush on him.  Ced, he's your rival, not your best
mate."  Scott just frowned when Harry's name came
up, but didn't comment . . . and Cedric feared what
Scott guessed most of all.

Cho was a problem all her own -- but a problem he'd

created.  He couldn't blame her.  He'd made an effort
to seek her out the year before, he'd asked her to
the Yule Ball this year, and then she'd been chosen
as his treasure in the lake.  Small wonder if she
assumed she meant something to him beyond a
pleasant Sunday afternoon conversation.  And how
horrible was that?

She also noticed his preoccupation.  Once when

they were up in the owlery messing about -- kissing
hard and exploring with hands -- he put on the
brakes because Harry's snowy owl suddenly showed
up.  She glared and said, "Sometimes I think you're
more interested in Harry Potter than in me."

And he froze for a moment -- because it was true. 

But she was only expressing frustration in his
distraction, and he was able to divert her attention

On the night before the day of the Third Task, what

he'd most feared happened.  Cho tried to have sex
with him.  And he couldn't.  He simply couldn't
maintain an erection when faced with more than
letting her bring him off.  He could close his eyes
and imagine her hand was Harry's, but girl parts
were girl parts and there was no getting around it. 
They didn't exactly disgust him.  They just held no
fascination whatsoever and he couldn't stay hard.

He apologized profusely, blamed nerves, and told

her they should wait until afterwards to celebrate.  It
gave him time to think of how to get out of it.  He
knew she was confused and hurt and angry, but
hoped she wouldn't say anything to anyone.  The
evening of the task, she remained up in the stands
with her friends, not coming down even to the edge
of the seats to wish him luck.  He hated that he felt
more relieved by that than upset, and resolved after
the task to take her aside and quietly end the
charade.  He wouldn't tell her the whole truth -- he
wasn't brave like a Gryffindor -- but he was a
Hufflepuff, and honesty mattered.  He'd at least
admit that he wasn't feeling what he should -- and
that it had nothing to do with her.  He probably
couldn't avoid hurting her, but he didn't want her to
blame herself.  Cho deserved better.

By the task's end, he and Harry found themselves

united, teammates, not opponents.  Secretly ecstatic
at this turn of events, Cedric agreed to take the cup
together with Harry.  A shared victory meant a
shared celebration afterwards, and he'd rather win
with Harry than defeat him.

Yet as soon as they touched the cup, they found

themselves transported to a creepy graveyard, and
that wasn't right.  Cedric was alarmed, but more
concerned over Harry's alarm and the pain from his
scar.  The boy was younger and needed Cedric to
protect him; that was Cedric's duty -- and not
because of his crush.  So when the strange figure
stepped out of an archaic crypt and started towards
them, it was only natural for Cedric to raise his wand
in defense of Harry.  "Kill the spare" was the last
thing he ever heard, and brilliant green was all he
saw.

As the Killing Curse sped towards him, in those last

few seconds of life, he felt . . . peace.  Despite the
suddenness of it, the 'tragedy' of his unfinished
youth, he didn't regret dying.

Dying meant he never had to explain to his friends

or family, "I'm queer."
Chapter 2: Crush

Harry, March 1996

"So, what do you think of Firenze?" Harry asked

Cho.

"He's a bit . . . odd.  Not very emotional, compared to

what I've heard about Professor Trelawney."

"Not exactly a bad thing that, is it?" Harry asked.  "At

least he doesn't spend every lesson predicting
someone's gruesome death!"

Cho winced, and only belatedly did Harry remember

what she appeared never able to forget -- Cedric's
murder.  But he'd been referring to Trelawney's
predilection for predicting his demise.  Now he
wondered (a bit morbidly) if she'd ever said anything
to Diggory?  Not that it would have meant much. 
Trelawney's normal 'predictions' had all the veracity
of a newspaper horoscope.
"I meant me," he clarified now, face hot with both
embarrassment and irritation.

She nodded.  "I know."  She was staring down at her

book as one hand stole up to wipe surreptitiously at
her eye.  Then she gave him a forced smile.  "Even
if she had said something to Cedric, he wouldn't
have listened.  He thought she was a head case." 
Then she gave a little shrug.  "Perhaps it's best if we
don't know the hour of our death.  I don't think I'd
want to.  Except . . . well, maybe I'd do things, say
things -- not put them off.  You always think there will
be a later."

Harry puzzled over that a moment, wondering if she

were speaking in general or had something specific
in mind that she wished she'd said to Diggory . . .
and did he really want to know what that was?  Did it
matter?  Diggory was dead.  Except he wasn't.  He
always seemed to be there haunting them both and
everything they said to each other.

It was a stormy Sunday afternoon in mid-March, and

he and Cho had met in the library to study.  These
study sessions were all that made his weekends
worthwhile -- ghost of Cedric or no -- now that
Quidditch was out of the question and Umbridge had
his Firebolt.  Ever since his interview with Rita
Skeeter in The Quibbler, Cho had been willing to
forget the disastrous Valentine's Day visit to
Hogsmeade and Harry supposed they could be
described as seeing each other again -- although he
wasn't always sure what that entailed.  Cho seemed
to have expectations, and behind those expectations
Harry could make out -- once again -- the ghost of
Cedric Diggory.

Diggory had been bad enough when he'd been

alive.  How could Harry shadow-box an enshrined
memory?  It would've been so much easier if he
were able to hate Cedric -- if he didn't, himself, wake
sweating from nightmares where he saw Cedric's
dead face, or heard his voice begging Harry to take
his body back.  But Harry suspected that Cedric
would've been the first to tell him (and Cho) to quit
mourning and get on with living.

Maybe Harry could have if Umbridge weren't so

horrible.  Or if Cho weren't so immersed.  Or if the
rest of the Wizarding World weren't so intent on
denying Voldemort's return and chalking up Cedric's
death to 'an unfortunate accident.'  Rival or not,
Cedric deserved better.

So everything, everything, everything kept dragging

him back to the night of 24th June.
Sometimes he wondered what the year would have
been like if Cedric hadn't gone with him to the
graveyard, hadn't taken the cup after all --

Hadn't died.

"Harry?"  Cho had bent over the table, peering into

his face.  "All right, Harry?"

"Yeah -- sorry.  Just thinking."

Smiling, she covered his hand for a moment with

hers, then returned attention to her parchment.

A bit before dinner, they packed up and she asked

him, "Would you like to go up to the owlery?"

Confused by the question, he glanced over at her. 

"What's in the owlery?  Besides owls, I mean?"

"Oh -- there's a nice view.  And, well, it's, er, private. 

People don't often go up there, and definitely not in
the evening."

Harry wondered how she knew that (Cedric Diggory

again?), and it made him nervous.  But also excited. 
There were things he'd wondered about but kept
mostly to himself, afraid to discuss them even with
Ron.  Was a girl's breast soft or firm?  And what did
the skin just beneath her ear taste like?  And how
did it feel to hold someone so close he could make
out every rib and curve?

They reached the owlery as the sun was setting; its

light cast a brilliant red-orange-gold glow through the
dust and feathers.  Harry did sometimes come to the
owlery to visit Hedwig, and it did, indeed, have the
nice view of which Cho had spoken.  But this was
the first time he'd come up here to be alone with
someone rather than with his own thoughts.  Unsure
how to proceed, he followed her over to an open
window, setting his book bag down beside hers. 
Leaning her shoulder against the window edge, she
looked out, then turned her head to smile at him. 
The wind caught her long black hair, fanning it about
her and wrapping it over her face.  Impulsively, he
reached up to wipe it away and she bent towards
him.  Their lips met.

He could probably count on one hand the number of

times he'd kissed her -- really kissed her, not just a
peck on the cheek.  He still wasn't entirely sure what
to do with his tongue, or his hands, and they spent
some minutes exploring mouths.  It was amazing
how quickly his blood could boil and his brain
disconnect.  He wasn't analyzing things now, just
feeling them, his breath coming heavy and his hands
wandering because he wasn't thinking.  Her waist
felt good under his palms, and the flare of her hips,
the curve of her back, the swell of her breast.  She
leaned into him.  Before he knew what was
happening, her palm had crossed the front of his
trousers beneath his robes, gripping his erection --
and he nearly fell backwards, he jumped so badly.

She'd touched him there.

He gaped at her.  She stared back, pretty little mouth

parted in surprise.  "Cho!" he squeaked, unable to
say anything else.

Her surprise transformed into an angry frown.  "What

is it with boys?" she snapped.  "One minute you're
an octopus, Harry Potter -- hands everywhere.  The
next, you jump like a Vestal Virgin if I dare to touch
you back!"

"I just, er --"  Had his hands been everywhere?  He

hadn't really meant that to happen.  "Well, I wasn't,
um, expecting it.  I wasn't trying to be fresh.  I
just . . . wasn't really thinking."
She made a disgusted noise.  "It's such a double-
standard!  Boys get to look and touch, but if girls
want to mess about, we're whores!  If girls want to
have sex, we're slags!"

Harry was floored.  He hadn't even considered the

possibility that they were coming up to the owlery in
order to mess about or have sex.  She had?  The
very idea she might've considered it made him
almost painfully hard inside his trousers -- even
while it scared him to death.  "What are you talking
about?  I said I was surprised, not that you were -- "

"You and Cedric both!  The minute I try to initiate

anything, you both shove me away like I'm . . . some
leper!"

Oh, God -- were they back to Diggory?  "Why does

everything have to come back to bloody Cedric
Diggory!  He's DEAD!" Harry practically shouted.

And she burst into tears, but they were tears of

anger, not sorrow.  "That's right!  He's dead!  And all
he could talk about his last night was you and that
damn Tournament!"
Harry blinked.  What?  But it was a momentary
distraction.  He was more riveted by the rest of what
she'd implied.  "Did you and Cedric try to have sex?"

He asked it more in wonder than in jealous surprise. 

Quite honestly, he'd never considered that some of
his classmates were sexually active, even as he
recognized it was a really stupid thing to be
surprised by.  After all, Cedric had been seventeen --
more man than boy.  Harry should've been more
surprised if he hadn't wanted to have sex with his
girlfriend.

Thus, her next words surprised him again.

"No, we didn't.  Though not because I wasn't willing."

"He didn't want to?"  Curiouser and curiouser.

Cho flushed and that was reply enough.  "I'm sure

he thought I was easy."

"No," Harry said almost instinctively.  "Well, I mean, I

wouldn't think that, if I were him."  What he didn't say
was being easy would hardly have kept Diggory
from doing her -- more likely the reverse.  As always,
Cedric had played the gentleman.
"You're not him."

He grew angry anew.  "As you're constantly

reminding me."

"Well maybe I think it's a good thing you're not!" she

snapped, then abruptly sobbed hard, hand over her
mouth.  "Maybe I think it's a good thing," she said
more softly, and quite suddenly collapsed into a
heap against the wall, bawling.

Confused, upset, still angry, but also guilty -- he

remembered Hermione scolding him after the
disastrous Valentine's date -- Harry squatted down
beside her, trying to keep owl crap off his dark
robes.  "Cho?  Cho?  What was going on with
Cedric?"

"He . . . he was going to break up.  I know he was.  I

could . . . could feel it.  Everyone thought we were
this perfect, idyllic couple -- but we weren't!"  She
sobbed again, hands over her face.  "And I couldn't
tell anyone.  He was nice to me, but he never loved
me."

Harry struggled to sort out the feelings her words

raised in him -- a strange relief to see the icon that
had been his perfect rival crumble, but also anger at
Cedric for making Cho cry.  Most of all, though, he
felt bewilderment -- why would Cedric have turned
away the devotion of Cho Chang?  "How do you
know he didn't love you?  I mean, well -- you're
pretty special."

She blushed furiously when he said that, but

laughed -- really laughed -- and raised her face to
look at him, smiling.  "Thank you.  I needed . . . just
thank you, Harry.  You're such a sweet boy."

Harry's insides froze.  That wasn't how girlfriends

talked about boyfriends.  That was how a girl talked
about the boy she thought was nice but didn't really
feel for . . . and if Cedric hadn't wanted Cho, Harry
now had a backhanded confirmation of what he'd
privately suspected for a while: Cho didn't want him
either.  He was just the last person who'd seen
Cedric alive.  She was with him because he could
tell her about Diggory.

She was looking down at her hands, twisting her

Ravenclaw scarf between them, head tilted
sideways.  "I don't know why he didn't like me.  Well
-- that's not true.  I do know.  Or at least, I sort of
suspect.  We started out as good friends.  Now,
looking back, I think that's all it ever was for him.  I
just . . . I wanted it to be more so badly.  And he was
too nice to make it loud and clear that it wasn't; he
hated hurting people's feelings.  Besides" -- her
voice turned wry and bitter -- "he needed a date for
the Yule Ball.  I was the one who thought it more --
tried to make it more."

Her words hit him like the stinging scatter shot of

little pebbles thrown up by a bike wheel on gravel. 
Maybe she needed to say them, but why pick him? 
He didn't want to hear this, how she was still crazy
about Cedric Diggory, as crazy about Diggory as
Harry was about her.  "But you were his treasure,"
Harry said.

She laughed once more, but without amusement this

time.  "Oh, yes, of course I was, because
Dumbledore just assumed instead of paying
attention.  Nobody actually paid attention to Cedric
in the Tournament, none of the teachers except
Sprout.  They were all worried about you."

Harry flinched, surprised by the bitterness even as

he had to admit she was right.  The teachers, and
the press, had focused on him.  "I wasn't supposed
to be in the Tournament.  I'd've been happy to leave
it to Cedric."
"I know."  She sighed and deflated a little.  "I don't
blame you, Harry.  I know you didn't put your name
in the cup.  Cedric didn't think you did either; he
didn't resent you, even when he might've.  He wasn't
like that.  He never put himself forward, never
bragged, never sought out attention.  I still don't
understand why he even entered that bloody
contest.  But he didn't resent you.  Still, I think
Dumbledore picked me because Cedric and I were
still seeing each other, so Dumbledore assumed I
was what Cedric would miss most."  She wiped at
her eyes.  "Really, I'm not sure there was anyone at
Hogwarts he'd have missed most.  Dumbledore may
as well have put his broom in the lake.  He'd
probably have cared more."

"But everybody liked him."

"Of course they did.  He was easy to like, but he

never told much of anything about himself, did he? 
The quiet one -- the big mystery, that was Cedric." 
Her voice was bitter again.  "Nobody hated him
because nobody ever knew him.  Including me."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he was.  All these things

he'd never known -- about Cho, about Diggory . . . 
"Why didn't you break up with him then, if you didn't
think he really liked you?"
She smiled at him, dark eyes amused.  "Because I
wasn't thinking these things at the time, silly.  Cedric
had a way about him -- he made you feel special. 
He asked questions about you, got you to talk about
yourself, and really listened.  But he never confided
back.  I didn't see it then, but it was how he kept
everybody at a distance."

"By being interested in them?" Harry asked,

confused.

"Exactly.  Clever, isn't it?  Cedric always was clever. 

And he was nice -- that wasn't a front.  So I didn't
notice how he never told me about himself, never
said he loved me, never even followed me around. 
We had a 'relaxed' relationship, Marietta said; he
didn't try to smother me.  Now I see it's because he
wasn't really interested."

Harry scratched his chin, using the puzzle of Cedric

Diggory to bury his own pain and disappointment. 
"You said you think you know why he wasn't
interested?"

Her wry, bitter smile returned.  "Suspect, yes.  The

more I thought about it later, the more I put two and
two together."  She eyed him a moment, before
saying, "He wasn't interested in me because he
fancied you.  He didn't want to have sex with me
because I wasn't you."

And it took five whole breaths before the full import

of what she'd just proposed hit bottom.  Then Harry
almost fell over in shock.  "He WHAT?"

"He had a crush on you, Harry.  I think Cedric liked

boys, not girls."
Chapter 3: Time-Turner
Harry, April 1996

However speculative, Cho's theory that Cedric had

harbored a crush on Harry plunged him into a
quagmire of confused feelings.  He found it almost
too incredible to believe.  Even assuming Cho was
right and Cedric had liked boys, what would popular
Cedric Diggory -- prefect, Hogwarts Champion,
Quidditch captain and O-student -- see in him? 
Harry was none of those things.  It was beyond
absurd to think about.

Yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Ron asked him what was up, but he couldn't tell

Ron.  Hermione asked too, and he considered telling
her, but held his tongue.  This felt too intimate.  He
needed to work it out himself, the mix of flattery and
confusion and curiosity -- even the fact he wasn't
repulsed.  Shouldn't he be repulsed by the idea that
another boy might have dreamt about him the way
he sometimes dreamed about Cho?

But he wasn't.  And that confused him more than

anything else.

Thoughts of Cedric, and what he might, or might not,

have felt were abruptly dismissed in early April when
Dolores Umbridge discovered the D.A., and
Dumbledore took flight.  Harry felt a sort of frozen
dread creeping over him.  He studied hard over
Easter holidays, and avoided Cho.  Even if things
hadn't fallen apart between them over Cedric,
Marietta's betrayal -- and Cho's defense of her
despite it -- drove a final wedge between them.

Harry was working in the library the last weekend of

the holidays, prowling through the stacks for a
particular book Hermione had recommended, when
he overheard two older boys talking.

"Ced would've known where to find it."

"Fat lot of good that does us," came the sharp reply.

Harry peeked between the shelves and spotted two

boys in Hufflepuff robes -- clearly seventh years --
on the other side.  He recognized them from the little
crowd who'd followed Cedric around during the
Tournament -- the ones who'd taunted Harry with the
badges.

"I was just saying," the first boy replied now in a

Midlands accent.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not be reminded."

"Peter -- "

"Drop it, Scott.  I don't want to talk about him.  He's

gone."

Harry frowned and knew he should quit listening in,

but curiosity drove him.  After half a minute, the first
boy, Scott, said, "It's all right to miss him, you know,
even now -- "

"Fuck you!  I said drop it."  And the second boy,

Peter, stormed off.

Harry wasn't sure what gave him away.  Maybe an

indrawn breath, maybe the squeak of his shoe, but
abruptly the boy on the other side snapped, "Who's
there?"
Instinctively, Harry tried to flee, but the boy caught
him at the end of the stacks as he was emerging,
hand like a vise around Harry's wrist.  "It's you," he
said with distaste.  Harry found himself looking up at
a tall boy with dark hair and angry blue eyes.  "Why
were you eavesdropping?"

"I wasn't!"

"Don't lie."

"I wasn't -- honestly!  Just . . . you were talking about

Cedric, and I'm really sorry.  I'm really sorry for what
happened to him."

Scott let him go, but the blue eyes were still cold. 
"I'd've traded you for him any day, me."

It was deliberately cruel, but Harry felt better for the

other boy's honesty.  "I don't blame you," he replied. 
"You were his friend."  Then he added, because
these boys had a right to know what he hadn't
wanted to tell Zacharias or Ernie.  "He tried to
defend me.  At the end.  He drew his wand and got
in front of me."

The other boy sucked in breath almost as if struck. 

"He would've.  He was so bloody worried about you
competing, like you were his personal responsibility
or some such shite."  Then he paused and his voice
changed.  "Did he suffer?  No one would ever tell us
afterwards."

Harry shook his head.  "I don't think so."  He didn't

say anything about Krum using Crucio on Cedric in
the maze.  His friends didn't need to know that.  "It
was the Killing Curse.  He died instantly."  Harry
could still recall staring at Cedric's dead face -- it had
shown surprise, not pain.

The other boy nodded once with a simple jerk of his

chin.  "We believe you, by the way," he said, "about
You Know Who.  Ced was too smart to die in some
stupid accident."

"He was," Harry agreed.  "And he didn't."

Scott nodded again, then spun on his heel and

stalked away.  Harry stared after him, still hearing
one sentence echo in his head: He was so bloody
worried about you competing, like you were his
personal responsibility .  .  .

Had Cho been right?  Had Cedric fancied Harry?

He was thinking about it all again as April tiptoed into
May and Umbridge strengthened her crushing grip
on Hogwarts.  His plan began on impulse because
of a chance occurrence in the week following Fred
and George's departure.  Harry had stopped by
Professor McGonagall's office to ask her some
further questions about Auror training, but in the
middle of their discussion, a bug-eyed Dolores
Umbridge appeared at McGonagall's door,
demanding her assistance in repairing the damage
done to Pansy Parkinson.  Apparently someone had
briefly Transfigured the Slytherin prefect into a deer,
then inexpertly returned her to her natural form,
leaving her with a pair of antlers sprouting from her
brow.  Sighing in exasperation, McGonagall said,
"Potter, wait here.  This should take only a
moment."  And she followed Umbridge.

Harry waited.  And waited.  Whatever had been

done to Parkinson, it clearly required more than a
moment to undo.  Growing restless, he got to his
feet and paced around the cluttered room, studying
the titles on book spines on the shelves and
examining knickknacks.  He wouldn't have taken the
businesslike McGonagall for a hoarder, but she had
a surprising array of gadgets and other
paraphernalia.  It was while examining some painted
tiles and a bronze figurine that looked vaguely Greek
that he stumbled over the small, silver sphere with
the spinning sand-clock inside.

Hermione's Time-Turner.

He snatched it.

At the time, he had no rational explanation for why

he did such at thing, and he certainly had no plan. 
He just took the Time-Turner on impulse, fueled by a
vague, dim wish.  He'd only ever heard of Time-
Turners taking people back a few hours, or a day or
two.  One turn per hour, Hermione had told him.  It
couldn't possibly take him a whole year into the past,
could it?

He'd been back in his seat for a whole ten minutes --

still stunned by the magnitude of the theft he'd just
committed -- when McGonagall reappeared in the
doorway.  It was only to say, "Potter, I'm sorry, but
this is going to take a bit.  Come back tomorrow, all
right?"

"Yes, professor."

Escape was a relief.  He wasn't sure how he'd have

faced McGonagall with that Time-Turner burning a
hole in his pocket while he tried to discuss his future
career in law enforcement.  Back in Gryffindor
Tower, he hid it behind a loose bit of stone he'd
found under the window near his bed.  He couldn't
risk McGonagall discovering her Time-Turner was
gone and running a search of the castle only to have
it turn up in his trunk.  Nor did he want anyone else
to know he had it, even Ron.

His plans were still vague, but starting to form.

"How far back d'you think a Time-Turner could take

a person?" he asked Hermione a few nights later. 
There had been no hue and cry about the Time-
Turner, so Harry supposed McGonagall didn't check
her shelves often enough to see it was missing.

Hermione glanced up.  "Normally, it's used only for a

few hours.  One turn equals one hour."

"I know.  But could it go back further?  Without, you

know, standing there and turning it a couple of
thousand times?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "I have no idea . . . " 

Then she trailed off.  "Well, actually, now that you
mention it, I do recall Professor McGonagall telling
me there are spells that can make a single turn of
the sand clock equal a week or a month or even a
year."

"Do you know what they are?"

"No, Harry, why would I?"  Her eyes narrowed and

she rubbed the side of her nose with the feathered
end of her quill.  "Why are you asking me this?"

"Idle curiosity."

"There is no such thing as 'idle curiosity' with you. 

You're not exactly a philosopher."  Her eyes
narrowed even further.  "And since you couldn't
possibly have a Time-Turner -- the Ministry keeps
them all under lock and key -- this must be about
something else.  So out with it."

"It's not about anything else.  Honestly," he lied.  "I

was just reading something that made mention of
them and I sort of wondered -- reckoned you'd
know."

She preened a bit.  "Well, I did have to learn quite a

lot about them . . . "

"So what would happen if you met yourself?  You

told me, the night we rescued Sirius, that 'terrible
things' happened to wizards who met themselves. 
But you didn't specify."

She studied him thoughtfully, as if she still found his

questions suspicious.  "They go mad," she replied. 
"Or they die.  It's called the Doppelgänger effect."

"Oh."  That was, yes, pretty terrible, he decided.

He didn't dare ask Hermione more, but began his

own research, sneaking into the Restricted Section
after dark to find books on Time-Turners.  If he
wasn't an especially good student -- not like she was
-- he'd been watching her do research for the past
five years and had learned a thing or two.  It took
only three nights of hunting before he found the
book -- and spell -- he'd been seeking.  He'd also
formulated a plan, although he knew it highly
theoretical and full of things that could go very, very
wrong.  Hermione would tell him he was out of his
mind.

Maybe he was, but even if he wasn't, he would be

soon if matters continued at Hogwarts the way they
had been.  He had to stop this somehow -- but to put
an end Umbridge (and Fudge), he had to stop
Voldemort from returning in the first place.  He
couldn't go back and warn himself not to take the
cup; he didn't want to end up mad or dead.  But he
could warn Cedric, and Cedric could stop the
younger Harry.

If that also meant Cedric would be alive and Harry

could therefore find out if Cho had been right in her
suspicions . . . well, he simply didn't let himself think
too much about that.

He chose a Saturday afternoon to make the trip, and

headed off alone after lunch.  Before he departed
the Great Hall, however, he looked back at his
friends sitting together at the long, Gryffindor table. 
Red head and bushy brown bent close together,
they were, as usual, quarreling about something that
probably didn't matter, but it made him smile.  This
was how he'd want to remember them.

Because one way or another, he wouldn't be coming

back tonight.

If this worked -- if he did manage to warn Cedric and

Cedric changed the past -- then Harry would cease
to exist.  Not his younger self, of course, but now-
Harry and everyone else in this godforsaken
timeline.  If he didn't succeed, though, he'd be back
almost a year, and would have to live forward to
now.
But it had to work.  If it didn't, he'd go back again
and again until it did.  He had to save Cedric.  And
he had to stop Voldemort.  (He wasn't sure which of
those he wanted most.)

So he removed the Time-Turner from where he'd

hidden it in the wall and went out into the courtyard. 
He could remember the night before the Third Task;
he'd been unable to sleep and had wandered the
castle under his father's invisibility cloak, not seeking
anything, just needing to move.  By chance, he'd
been downstairs in the classroom hallway when
Cedric had come back in through the courtyard door
-- rather late.  He'd looked windswept and upset.  On
impulse, Harry had pulled off his cloak and stepped
out where Cedric could see him.  "Are you all right?"

Cedric had spun in surprise, then glared.  "What are

you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry had admitted, "Same with

you?"

Cedric's face had softened.  "Yeah, me neither.  But

you should go to bed.  You'll need your rest, yeah? 
That's where I'm going now."
Harry had done as Cedric had said -- and
recollection of that brief encounter now told him
where he'd find Cedric tonight.  He'd be in the
courtyard before half past eleven.  To be on the safe-
side, Harry decided to go back to ten o'clock that
same evening.

"Here goes," he muttered beneath his breath as he

pulled his wand and removed the Time-Turner,
tapping it and muttering the spells that would make
each turn count for more than just an hour.  Then he
set it spinning.

Around him, time flowed into reverse.

Chapter 4: Virgin

Cedric, 23rd June, 1995

Cedric met Cho at her request in Flitwick's

classroom after curfew.  He'd had a bad feeling
about the proposal in the first place, and when she
showed up wearing perfume, the bad feeling got
worse.  Cho never wore perfume.  Then she was
kissing him and rubbing his prick through the front of
his trousers, and his 'bad feeling' turned to alarm
and discomfort.  She'd brought him off before, but he
thought she meant to go further tonight, and when
she took his own hand to slip it beneath her school
skirt -- and he found she wasn't wearing knickers --
downright panic took over.

He jerked his hand back from her girl bits.  "What

are you doing?"

Her dark eyes went wide.  "I . . . well -- I'd thought --

"
"You thought wrong."  Then he realized how cruel he
sounded, and dropped his chin.  "Sorry.  I didn't
mean to snap.  I'm just . . . I'm a little preoccupied
tonight, Cho."

She wore an expression of worried fear.  "I know.  I'd

thought I could take your mind off of it.  We've never
-- you know.  I thought maybe tonight should be the
night."

He stared at her.  She wanted to have sex? 

Tonight?  He couldn't imagine anything he wanted
less right now, and could practically feel his cock
shrinking inside his underpants at the thought of
touching her between her legs.

And dear heaven -- how would he ever manage to

fake it properly with a girl if the very idea of
intercourse turned him off so?  His stomach roiled
like a sea under storm and he could scarcely think
straight.

Running a hand over his face, he said -- as gently as

he could manage -- "I'm too uptight.  I couldn't . . .
can't -- it's just not the right time.  I'm sorry.  It's not
you -- honestly.  It's not you."  And spinning on his
heel, he fled up the steps and out the door, down the
hall and through the courtyard into the cool night air. 
He was sweating from nerves and still felt sick to his
stomach.  Going over to a bench beside an oak, he
flopped down on his back and looked up at the sky.

What was Cho doing right now?  Crying?  Fuming? 

Going back up to Ravenclaw Tower to commiserate
with her friends?  Would she be able to guess the
truth about him?  Would she tell everyone of his
failure?  What normal, healthy seventeen-year-old
turned down an opportunity for sex on the eve of a
dangerous and frightening task?

His kind, of course.  Queer.

Wanting sex wasn't the problem.  He was so keyed

up he could probably come in a minute or two with
the right impetus.  The problem, of course, was the
impetus.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the crickets sing and

the hooting of owls on the hunt.  It was still warm
and muggy even at this hour, as if the air itself held
its breath.  He tried not to think about Cho.  Or the
coming Task.

Or Harry Potter.
After a while, the tight thrumming inside his chest
lessened and the knot in the pit of his stomach
unclenched.  He wasn't relaxed, but he wasn't ready
to fall apart either, and in a splendid irony, he now
had a hard-on.  Bloody hell.  He raised his head. 
There certainly wasn't anybody around; the
courtyard was dark and completely empty.  So he let
his head fall back and his hand slide inside his robe
to press the heel of it against the front of his
trousers, rubbing up and down.  This was the only
sex he was going to get tonight, and if he normally
did his best to beat down and exhaust his body until
he didn't want so badly -- well, tomorrow loomed and
would it be so damn awful if he dreamed a little
tonight?  He rubbed the heel of his hand harder,
then reached up with his fingers to the top of the zip.

"Cedric!  Psst, Cedric!"

He nearly leapt out of his skin and actually fell off the
bench, looking around wildly for the voice.  It couldn't
be who he thought it was -- could it?  He was
dreaming.

"Cedric!"

"Harry?  Where are you?"

Merlin's beard -- had the boy been watching?  Had
he seen Cedric rubbing himself, preparing to wank? 
How utterly humliating.  Especially if it was Harry, of
all people.

A dark figure emerged from behind a tree trunk. 

"Come over here," Harry said.

Frowning, Cedric picked himself up off the ground

and stalked over.  "What are you doing outside at
this hour?" he snapped.  "I don't want to have to
report you."

"Well, what are you doing outside?" Harry countered

and Cedric felt his face flush.

"I . . . needed to think," he answered, wondering if

Harry would call him on that -- inquire as to whether
'thinking' usually included tossing off.

But he didn't.  "I came to find you," he said instead,

and his admission took Cedric so by surprise, he
could barely speak.

"Oh.  Er, um -- why?"

"I need to talk to you."

"All right."  And Cedric waited politely.

But now Harry seemed the one at a loss for words,

biting his lip and frowning down at the grassy dirt
under the tree, digging into it with the toe of a shoe. 
"Can we go somewhere we might not be spotted? 
It's . . . sort of personal.  And, er, sort of, well,
peculiar."

Cedric felt hard-pressed to conceal the rush of both

uncertainty and irrational hope that Harry's words
drew out of him.  What was so personal that Harry
had come looking for him after curfew in order to tell
him?  Cedric glanced around.  There really was
nowhere in the courtyard any more private than
where they stood right now.  He considered the
classrooms, but the memory of Cho burned too
much.  "Come on," he said after a moment, and led
Harry over to the courtyard exit, the one that led
down a narrow passage between castle walls, then
outside the castle altogether.

Harry followed.  In fact, Harry followed him trustingly

all the way to the Quidditch Pitch that was the site of
tomorrow's Task -- engulfed now by a gigantic
hedge.  House changing rooms remained around
the periphery, though.  Cedric could hear his own
heart beat in his ears and felt ready to belch from
nerves.  Harry paced beside and a little behind him
and Cedric slowed his stride so the younger boy
could keep up . . . except he didn't.  He fell behind
again.

Once they'd reached the pitch, Cedric led Harry into

the Hufflepuff changing rooms, and Harry glanced
around in curiosity.  "They look the same as ours. 
Well, apart from the color."

"Hardly a surprise," Cedric told him, moving towards

the back where he had an office as Captain.  He
unlocked it with a tap of his wand.  "Come in."  And
he lit the lamps with a wave.

Harry followed.  And here, in the lamplight, Cedric

noticed what he'd been unable to see in the dark.

Harry didn't look like Harry.  Except of course he

did.  It was still obviously Harry Potter, but he
seemed taller -- older.  Yet he couldn't be.  Maybe it
was just that his hair was shorter; had he got it cut
that afternoon?  He wasn't wearing the same clothes
he'd been wearing earlier, either (Cedric noticed
such things when it came to Harry).  "What is it?"
Cedric asked because the other boy was staring at
him too.
But Harry just shook his head.  "Sorry -- being
stupid."

"About what?"

"Nothing.  Well . . . "  he trailed off, scratching his

head, as if puzzled.  "I don't even know where to
begin.  I made all these plans, and now I don't know
where to start explaining."

"Explaining what?"  Cedric's heart was hammering

again, but despite his wild hopes and secret
longings, he doubted Harry meant what he might
wish he meant.

Sighing, Harry slumped down in one of the chairs in

the office and instead of getting behind his desk,
Cedric pulled around another to sit facing him. 
Bending forward a little, he looked into Harry's face. 
"The best place to begin is the beginning -- or so
they say."  Cedric smiled at him.

Harry didn't smile back -- just stared again.  Then to

Cedric's astonishment, he reached up to rub a
thumb along Cedric's cheek.  "You really are real,"
he muttered.  Cedric jerked back, which he
immediately regretted because Harry flinched and
turned his head away.  "Sorry."
"You, er, took me by surprise," Cedric said.  "It's all
right."  It had been very all right, but he could hardly
admit that.

Harry sighed and looked up.  "First, I need to ask a

really personal question.  And, um, I'm not trying to
insult you or anything.  And I'm not, well, angry -- if
it's true.  I just have to know and this may be my only
chance to find out."  Harry took a deep breath, then
blurted, "Do you like me?"

Cedric blinked and his stomach clenched.  He

opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again.  No
sound came out.  How had Harry guessed?  No one
knew.  Cedric had never confided in a soul.  Then he
realized Harry couldn't possibly mean what his guilty
conscience had assumed the boy meant.  "Of
course I like you.  You're a good person, brave, fair
at sports -- "

"No, I mean -- do you like me."  Harry's face was

turning pink.  "Fancy me."  Then he shook his head
and rubbed at his scar.  Cedric had noticed before
that it was a nervous gesture.  "Do you have a crush
on me, is what I'm trying to ask."
Mouth open again, Cedric sat back, once more
robbed of his voice.  Harry looked up at him,
studying him intently.  "Like I said, I wouldn't be
angry if you did.  Or upset.  Someone told me you
did, and I just . . . wanted to know."

Unable to answer Harry's question, afraid to be that

honest, Cedric replied with a question of his own. 
"Who told you such a thing?  And why wouldn't you
be upset?  It's, er, well . . . "

Harry shrugged and ran a hand into his hair.  "So

you're gay.  It's not a big deal.  I mean -- if you are. 
Loads of people are.  Well, maybe not loads but
enough.  And some of them are in office.  Well,
Muggle office.  In the government, I mean.  Blair's
government.  It's not like you're a mass murderer or
anything."  Then Harry slapped a hand over his
face.  "Blast.  I sound like an idiot."

Cedric was still trying to process everything Harry

had just said, jumbled as it had been.  "Gay?" was
all he managed to get out.  He'd never heard the
word in reference to being queer; 'gay' meant
'happy,' and there was certainly nothing 'gay' about
being who he was.
"Oh, er, um -- boys who like boys.  Lesbians are girls
who like girls, and bisexuals like both.  I just
assumed . . . well, I don't know what the Wizarding
World calls it.  That's what Muggles call it."

"The Wizarding World doesn't discuss it," Cedric

snapped, and Harry flinched.  "Sorry," Cedric
apologized.  "I've just never heard the word you
used.  Only queer or poofter or bent as a nine-bob
note.  I don't even know what a nine-bob note is."

"Nine shillings, and there never was such a thing,

which is sort of the point, I suppose.  And yeah, we
-- I mean Muggles, I don't suppose I am one, right? 
-- anyway, Muggles use the same terms, but they're
not as nice."

Cedric scratched his head.  "I didn't know there was

a nice word for it."

"Well, it's not like there's something wrong with you. 

Um, er -- I mean, if you were.  It's just, well, not the
usual, you know?"

Yet Cedric could still -- two years later -- remember

his father's casual remark to him on the subject: It's
not normal . . . they can't help how they are.  "Some
people would say there's something wrong with it,"
he told Harry.

"Yeah, and some people think it's okay to use

'mudblood,' too."

Cedric winced instinctively at the ugly term.  "I see

your point."  They sat a moment while Cedric stared
at his hands.

"You are, aren't you?" Harry asked finally, his voice

gentle.  Cedric nodded, risking a glance up, but
Harry only nodded back.  "Well then, um, that
answers that.  I don't guess it really mattered one
way or the other, I just wanted to know."

"How did you know?" Cedric asked.  "You said

somebody told you, but they can't have.  I've never
told anyone."

"Cho guessed."

Cedric's stomach did a hard twist inside and he

thought he might be sick right there.  "Who else has
she told?"

"Nobody."  Harry reached out to take his hand.  "Just

me."  He paused.  "You're shaking."
And Cedric realized he was.  "It's . . . I've never told
anybody."  And he pulled his hand free even though
it had been Harry touching him and Harry touching
him was what he wanted most.  But it was also what
he feared.  "I've never told anybody.  I expected
them to hate me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a bloody freak!"

Harry winced.  "Sorry, yeah.  I mean, I understand --

but no, I don't hate you and you're not a freak."  He
shrugged and a tiny smile played at his mouth.  "It's
sort of flattering, in a weird way."  Cedric just stared. 
"That you'd like me, I mean.  Not that you're gay. 
That's not flattering, it just is.  I mean --" He slapped
a hand over his face again.  "I can't say anything
right, can I?"

"No more than me," Cedric admitted.  "I don't know

what to say either.  Except apologize."

"Don't do that!"  And it sounded so completely

sincere, it took Cedric's breath.

"You're really not angry?" Cedric asked.

"No.  I'm really not."

"You don't think I'm, well -- queer?"

Abruptly the other boy grinned.  "Well you are

queer.  But you're not queer."  Then he spit laughter. 
"What a stupid joke.  Sorry."

But it made Cedric smile too, and he felt some of the

shock leaving him.  He was still weak from
adrenaline, and he wasn't sure what to say to Harry,
but at least the other boy wasn't screaming
obscenities at him.  Nonetheless, "I suppose, from
how you phrased all that, you don't feel the same?"

The smile fell off Harry's mouth.  "I don't know," he

admitted

-- which wasn't at all what Cedric had expected him

to say.  The question had been almost rhetorical. 
"You don't know?"

"No.  I mean, well -- I like girls.  I, um -- "  He was

coloring a very bright pink.  "Actually, I like Cho." 
Cedric's mouth dropped open as Harry went on in a
rush, "But I don't know, I've been thinking a lot about
you for the past, well, the past two months.  But I've
never been interested in a boy before."  He blinked
at Cedric almost owlishly.  "How do you know if you
like a boy?"

And that was perhaps the strangest question Cedric

had ever fielded.  "You just do.  It feels to me the
same as you feel about girls -- about, er, Cho."  Now
he was blushing.  "That sort of crazy-mad feeling
you get when the person's around."

"You feel that for me?" Harry asked, as if

astonished.  "But I'm not anything special."

Cedric smiled almost against his will.  "I think you

are."

Before he could say more, he found himself being

kissed -- rather hard and badly -- by Harry.  Once he
got past the complete shock of it, he grabbed the
back of Harry's head to return the kiss just as hard
and frantically.  Everything he'd never felt with Cho
he did feel now -- excitement, lust, belly-shaking
tenderness, and a shrieking joy.

He was kissing Harry Potter.

He wondered when he was going to wake up.

But dream kisses didn't include slobber and teeth
knocking together and almost overbalancing on his
chair -- and he abruptly pulled back to stare into
green eyes.  "Harry?"

"Was it bad?"

Cedric wanted to laugh.  Harry had just kissed him --

kissed a boy for probably the first time ever -- and he
wanted to know something as mundane as whether
it had been bad?  "Er, no.  I mean, a little wet
maybe.  But not bad."  So he was lying, and he must
be grinning like a fool, but he just didn't care.  "Can I
kiss you again?"

Harry nodded, somewhere between shy and eager,

and Cedric licked his lips, bending and turning his
head so they didn't knock noses together.  He made
this one gentler, a meshing -- no tongue, just lips. 
Soft-soft, and his hand was cupping the back of
Harry's neck.  Harry tried to match what Cedric did,
his own hand gripping Cedric's hair.

Testing the waters, Cedric let his tongue slide out to

touch Harry's lips, which opened.  Then his own
mouth was being invaded -- literally -- by Harry's
tongue, which moved too fast and of which there
was too much.  Cedric pulled away.  "Gentle," he
said.  "Relax.  It's not a Quidditch match."

Harry burst into giggles against his mouth.  "Sorry."

Cedric tried again, just a little swipe of tongue along

Harry's teeth, a darting against Harry's own tongue,
then he pressed the tip of his to Harry's and it was
the most amazing sensation he'd ever experienced. 
Suddenly -- uncomfortably -- he was as hard as a
rock, and he shuddered.  He thought Harry must be
feeling the same as the boy had started to tremble
under Cedric's hand.  Cedric shifted his weight a bit,
rising from the chair slowly and taking Harry up with
him.  Harry let him lead, then their arms went around
each other and there wasn't any distance between
their bodies.  And at that, Cedric could feel Harry just
as hard.

What in bloody hell was he doing?  He pulled away

again, panting and pressing his forehead to Harry's. 
The boy was fourteen.  "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't --
You're so young."

"Less so than you think," Harry muttered back,

hands still fisted in Cedric's robes as he tilted his
face up to kiss Cedric again, briefly.  "Don't worry
about it."
"Harry -- "

"Don't worry about it."

"Harry, you don't understand.  I want -- You don't

understand."

"What, are you dim?  Cedric, I'm not an idiot."  He

turned his body just a little so that his hip hit Cedric's
own erection inside his robes and trousers.  "I have
one of those too."  Then he was laughing.  "And
that's a bit strange."

"Exactly," Cedric said, pulling back even more. 

"I've . . . well, I've felt this way as long as I can
remember.  About boys.  This is . . . strange, yes. 
But it's, um -- it's what I've been dreaming about all
my life."  He didn't know how to explain.  It did feel
strange; boys weren't supposed to kiss boys.  But
when he closed his eyes and did so, it felt like the
most natural thing in the world.  This was him, heart,
soul and body.  "It's not the same for you."

"I'm not so sure," Harry said.  "It feels strange . . .

and doesn't.  I think it's just what we learn to expect. 
I didn't expect this, but it's not so odd.  Kissing is
kissing.  Girl and boy, boy and boy . . . "  Harry
looked up at him again and Cedric was struck once
more by the obvious that he'd lost sight of while
they'd talked.  This wasn't Harry -- or not the Harry
he knew.

"You're taller," he said abruptly.  "And you don't look

the same."  Cedric was starting to get an absolutely
impossible, insane suspicion.

Harry was smiling just a little, and he loosened his

grip on Cedric without letting him go.  "It's me.  Just .
. . me older."

Suspicion confirmed, Cedric tilted his head.  "How? 

And how much older?"  Now that he was really
looking hard and had the confirmation, he could see
other differences.  There was less baby fat in Harry's
face, and the adult lines were starting to emerge. 
He looked like he had to shave too, which Cedric
had felt a bit while kissing him.

"Not quite sixteen," Harry said.

"So that's . . . a year from now?  Why are you here

talking to me in the past when you could be talking
to me -- "

He cut off.
The truth hit him like a sucker punch, or a kick to the
balls, hard and fast and shocking, followed by a
sluice of ice water.  He stood frozen.  "I'm dead," he
said softly.  "In your time, I'm dead.  I must be.  Or
you wouldn't be here asking this me questions you
could ask that me."  Harry's face was shocked, as if
Cedric had made the leap faster than he'd
anticipated.  Cedric trailed off and slid down right out
of Harry's embrace.  His legs simply wouldn't hold
him up.  "How?" he asked.

Harry dropped to kneel in front of him, hand gripping

his chin.  "It doesn't have to happen.  That's why I
came back.  It can't happen -- I won't let it."

"Harry -- you can't change the past.  It's very, very

illegal -- and plain wrong.  How did you even get
here . . . ?"

Harry pulled a silver sphere on a chain from under

his shirt and showed it to Cedric.  "Do you know
what a Time-Turner is?"

Cedric's jaw dropped.  "How did you get that?  Did

someone give -- "
"No.  Well, not exactly.  And you can change the
past.  I have before.  It was only a few hours back,
and it's a long story -- but it's possible.  I'm not going
to let you die again.  Not now.  Not . . . well -- " He
cut off, grabbing Cedric's face to kiss him, hard but
brief.  "Not now," as if that explained everything. 
And maybe it did.  "So listen to me, all right?"  Cedric
nodded dumbly, still trying to process the whole of
what had happened tonight, from Harry knowing
about his crush, to kissing him . . . to the revelation
this wasn't his Harry, but an older version who'd
come back through time -- illegally -- to warn him he
was going to die.

"Tomorrow you and I will go into the maze at the

same time.  But the cup -- it's a portkey.  I think it
was supposed to be one anyway, charmed to port
the person who grabbed it first back to the arena. 
But it was reset.  It took us somewhere else."

"Us?"

"We took the cup together -- we agreed.  A

Hogwarts' victory."  Harry smiled, quick and brief. 
"We thought we'd celebrate together too.  Not, um" --
he colored -- "not like, well . . . I didn't know then
how you felt.  Anyway, the cup took us to the south
of England, to a graveyard.  Voldemort was waiting
-- "

"What?!"  Cedric was almost too surprised to react at

hearing the Dark Lord's name.

"He was waiting.  He had a helper in the castle -- the

person who put my name in the cup.  It was all an
elaborate plan to get me to Voldemort so he could
cast a spell and get his body back.  He needed my
blood."  And Harry pulled up his sleeve to show
Cedric an old scar, white and faded.

Cedric ran a fingertip over the scar and Harry

shivered.  "Did he?  Come back?"

"Yes.  It's -- It's horrible, the way things are now.  So

much went wrong.  And seeing him return . . . and
kill you -- "

"I died -- will die -- tomorrow?"

"No.  You're not going to die tomorrow.  That's why I

came back.  You're not going to die.  I won't let it
happen."

Harry spoke fiercely and Cedric was suddenly faced

by the boy who'd outflown a dragon and swum like a
merman under the Black Lake.  The boy who,
according to school legend, had already faced and
defeated the Dark Lord (however weakened) twice
since coming to Hogwarts -- and that didn't count the
first time.

This was Harry Potter.

"I want to believe you," Cedric whispered.  "But

there's a reason people don't go back in time, Harry. 
The past . . . it's dangerous to tamper with. 
Extremely dangerous.  The further back the change
made, the more all the threads get tangled.  Terrible
things can happen."

He didn't want to die.  He didn't.  He was terrified. 

But if he let Harry save him . . . what would that do
to the future?  "If you change the past too much, it
changes everything in your future."

"I know," Harry replied.  "That's more or less the

idea.  I want to change the future.  I want to stop the
future I'm living in."

"But you'll die."

"No, I won't.  Well, I suppose this me will cease to

be.  But the other me -- the me who's here in your
time.  He won't die.  I won't die.  And you won't die,
either."

And that was making Cedric's brain hurt.  He rubbed

his forehead.  "All right.  I suppose.  But I still don't
know how --"

"Don't take the cup tomorrow.  Whatever I say, or do,

or insist.  Don't take it.  You going with me -- it
doesn't make any difference.  He just killed you,
Cedric."  Harry's voice cracked.  "He just killed you. 
You being there didn't make any difference.  Not in
what happened after."

Abruptly, his arms were around Cedric's neck and he

was hugging him tightly, but there was no lust in this,
nothing of passion.  It was all desperation.  "You
dying, though -- that made all the difference in the
world.  He called you 'the spare.'  'Kill the spare,' he
said.  You're not a spare.  Not to me.  Not to your
friends.  Not to your parents.  I won't let it happen
again.  And if it changes the future, if it stops my
present, ends it -- good."

Still confused, and frightened, but feeling a touch of

hope and a lot of gratitude, Cedric raised his own
arms to embrace Harry in return.  "Thank you," he
said, a little overcome by Harry's words.  "It's nice to
know I'm not a spare."

Harry didn't reply, but didn't let him go either.  They

clung together for long minutes and Cedric's own
feelings shifted from shock and relief back to
something more blood-driven.  How could he think,
right now, about what he wanted to do with Harry? 
But of course he was.  He might die tomorrow.  Even
with Harry coming back, he might die tomorrow -- he
was out of time.  It made him bold.  Turning his
head, he kissed Harry's cheek, then neck.

And Harry let him, even turned his head to the side
to grant him easier access.

Things tumbled downhill from there -- all feeling, no

thought or reason or common sense.  Cedric had
what he'd wanted so badly.  And Harry wasn't
fighting him; Harry, in fact, seemed just as eager as
he undid the fastenings on Cedric's robe while
Cedric undid those on his.  Once, Cedric tried to ask
something, but Harry just covered his mouth and
Cedric's brain switched off once more.  They were
male, and high on a rollercoaster of emotions that
had ranged from peaks of fear and relief to stomach-
dropping lust.  It was the latter that pulled them
down now into blood need and body heat.  All Cedric
knew was that, however impossibly, Harry's skin was
under his hands and mouth, and Harry wanted him
back just as badly.

Even so, it was a start and stop process.  Harry was

shy in a way Cedric hadn't expected.  A lifetime of
being admired had made Cedric relatively at ease
about his body; he knew he was pretty.  The thing
he'd been most shamed by -- the direction of his
own desire -- was reciprocated by the boy
undressing him, so he allowed it without protest.  But
past outer robes, pullover, shoes, socks and tie --
and glasses -- Harry turned blushing and shy. 
"What's wrong?" Cedric whispered.  "I want to touch
your skin, Harry, I want to kiss every part of you."

Head tilted uncertainly, Harry couldn't speak for a full

minute while Cedric tugged at his trousers.  "I'm not .
. . I don't look like you."

-- which made Cedric laugh.  "I should hope not. 

Peter may call me a peacock, but I'm not inclined to
that level of narcissism."

Harry glared.  "I mean I'm not ...  I'm not built like
you."  He glared down at his chest showing pale
beneath the unbuttoned white shirt.  "I'm scrawny."
Still grinning, Cedric just shook his head.  "I doubt
you'll stay that way.  You're going to have broad
shoulders" -- he touched them inside Harry's shirt --
"and be built thicker than me.  You're just not there
yet."  That reminded him, yet again, of the difference
in their ages, which worried him for other reasons. 
Frowning, he ran his palms over Harry's chest.  "Are
you sure about this?"

Getting up on his knees, Harry steadied himself with

hands on Cedric's own shoulders.  "Yes."  He didn't
sound uncertain now -- that Gryffindor courage
perhaps, concealing nerves.  Or maybe he really
wasn't uncertain.  "You're not seducing me, Cedric.  I
think it might be the other way around, actually.  I
came back looking for you."  So Cedric kissed him,
content to be seduced.

There were mechanics to figure out, as well. 

However exciting this felt, however natural for Cedric
as they lay stretched across both their robes on the
floor of Cedric's office, it also wasn't self-evident. 
Cedric had been too ashamed and embarrassed to
look in places where he might have learned what to
do.  He was flying in the dark, navigating by Harry's
moans and kisses.  At least Harry's body was the
same, and Cedric had some idea what he liked
himself, so he tried that.  When he stroked Harry's
prick just so, Harry did it back.  When he kissed
Harry's belly just below the ribcage, Harry twisted
like a mongoose, getting himself free and rolling
Cedric over to do the same, making Cedric's own
prick flex and bounce in excited response.  Their
hands explored and fondled, even tickled
unintentionally sometimes.  Cedric discovered he
could laugh -- he could enjoy this.  It wasn't all
desperate and forbidden and shameful.  For a little
while, it just was.

"If we're going to do anything else," he muttered

finally, his voice sounding throaty to his own ears
while they stroked each other in a mutual rhythm,
"we'd better do it soon.  I won't last much longer."

"What else do we do?" Harry asked in return.  "I've

never done this before."

"Me, either," Cedric admitted.  Well, he hadn't with

another boy anyway.

"You don't know?"

Feeling stupid, Cedric shook his head while kissing

Harry's chest.  "Never tried to find out.  Couldn't. 
Too . . . well, I just didn't."
"I understand," Harry replied, pulling up Cedric's
head with his hands so he could look Cedric in the
eye.  "I don't much know what to do with girls
beyond the general either -- never asked."

"And you definitely didn't ask about boys," Cedric

finished, half grinning.

"Definitely didn't ask about boys," Harry agreed. 

"Except, well, what you hear."  He paused and his
green eyes slid sideways.  "I think you're supposed
to go inside me."

Cedric was taken aback.  "How?  We're sort of

missing something girls have.  Unless you mean in
your mouth -- ?"  That was what he'd had in mind
anyway, hoping Harry might be game too.

"Well, um . . . " Harry blushed.  "I think in the arse,

actually."

And how strange for Harry to be telling Cedric that,

with Cedric being older, but Harry seemed to know
more.  He'd known a term -- gay -- that Cedric had
never heard himself, and now he was telling Cedric
how boys made love to boys.  "It sounds rather
painful," Cedric commented, even while it also
sounded exciting.  To be inside that way . . . he'd
barely realized how much he wanted it until Harry
suggested it.

"I don't suppose it could be that painful," Harry

replied, "if people want to do it.  It hurts girls at first,
too -- or that's what I've heard.  Maybe you just get
used to it?"

"Maybe," Cedric agreed.  His brain seemed to have

resurrected itself enough to consider the question,
and he rubbed thoughtfully at Harry's bare shoulder. 
"We'll need something slick, I think.  For me to get
inside."

Reaching down, Harry stroked Cedric's prick and

Cedric had to close his eyes and bite his lips. 
"Don't," he said.  "I'll come.  I mean it."

"Maybe that's what we could use," Harry replied. 

"It's slick."

Cedric swallowed.  "It is.  And, well, if you, um, if you

want to be the one, I suppose that's all right.  I want
you too badly.  I don't care if it hurts a little."  Or a lot,
as the case might be.  If it felt good for Harry --

But Harry was taking his hand and putting it on his

own prick.  "No.  It's okay.  You do me."
Cedric didn't have to have that opportunity offered
twice.

It didn't take Harry long either, and Cedric watched

in delighted wonder while the younger boy clenched
his teeth and strained up into Cedric's hands as he
came, white semen spurting all over Cedric's fingers
and making a pool in his palm.

Then Harry was turning over and raising up on his

knees, offering his arse.  More aroused than he'd
ever been in his life -- at least that he could
remember -- Cedric smeared Harry's ejaculate on
his own prick and then smeared it all around Harry's
arsehole, one slickened finger sliding in to feel
around.  "Ah!" Harry cried out and Cedric's stomach
clenched.  He was still aware enough to be put off at
the idea of hurting the boy.

"All right, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said through clenched teeth, then a

surprised, "Oh."  Then a gasp and, "Hurry.  There's
something up inside there.  Oh."

Cedric thought he might have found it, whatever it

was.  He hadn't even known it was there, but it
swelled a little under his finger the same as a cock
might.  Harry's mouth was open in surprise, his eyes
shut.  Without the glasses, his face looked oddly
blank, but Cedric liked looking at him without the
glasses.  He rubbed the spot a little faster.

"Oh, God," Harry muttered.

To Cedric's surprise, he could see the boy was half-

hard again, purple head just peeking out of the
foreskin.

"Inside!" Harry croaked.  "Now."

Raising up on his knees, Cedric leaned the front of

his thighs against the back of Harry's, nudging
Harry's apart a little more.  Then he spread the
cheeks of Harry's white arse, took hold of his own
prick, which was leaking fluid, and rubbed the head
of it against the exposed red pucker of anus, his
forefinger still inside.  This was a bit awkward, more
like lining up jars on a shelf than a wild, passionate
act.  He added a second finger up inside Harry, still
stroking that spot.  Harry was pushing back against
his hand, panting a little.  Cedric could feel the
muscles of Harry's sphincter twitching and clenching
around his fingers, and he should probably worry
about the sanitation of it all, but his brain had gone
to a completely different place.  Or rather, his body
had gone there.  His brain had stopped functioning
entirely.

Removing his fingers, Cedric pushed the head of his

cock inside.  Harry gasped and clenched and
muttered, "Ow."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Cedric whispered.  "Sorry."

"Hurry.  I want -- just hurry."

In reply, Cedric pushed his entire length inside and

Harry shouted.  Cedric didn't know if that were from
pain or not, but he was so lost, he felt scarcely
conscious and had to hold absolutely still to keep
from coming on the spot.  The entrance had been
tight-tight, but further inside felt a bit hollow, and his
world had narrowed to the flesh encasing six
inches.  His arms were around Harry's waist, his
head against Harry's back between his shoulder
blades.  Absently, he licked salty skin.

"Do something," Harry said, sounding at the very

edge of what he could bear.

Cedric licked him again, as if he could soothe him

that way, and -- very gently -- began to move in and
out with little thrusts.  "Relax," he whispered.  Harry
was twitching, as if trying to adjust his posture, and
Cedric (dimly) recalled that the swollen spot was
below, towards Harry's front, not his spine.  He
adjusted his own posture a little and Harry suddenly
gasped.  "Did I find it?" Cedric whispered, almost
incapable of coherent speech.

"Found it," Harry replied through obviously clenched

teeth.

And then something happened, some alchemy. 

Cedric was moving, thrusting carefully and Harry
was rocking back onto him.  Cedric put a hand on
Harry's half-erect prick, which responded to the new
attention, and it all felt perfect -- profound and mind-
blowing.  Transported by his bliss and overcome by
the new sensations, Cedric felt his balls tighten and
knew he was about to ejaculate.  He got in two more
quick thrusts, then it was pouring out of him -- his
need and hope and love and lust and all of it.  His
whole self.  He spent his whole self inside Harry and
collapsed on his back, panting and almost crying. 
Harry slid down from his knees onto his belly under
their combined weight.  Too stunned, they didn't
speak.  Cedric buried his face against the back of
Harry's neck.
After some minutes, Cedric felt Harry wiggling under
him.  "You're heavy," he muttered.  Pulling out as
gently as he could manage, Cedric rolled onto his
back while Harry twisted to lay his head on Cedric's
shoulder.  Even in June, Cedric's office was a bit
cold and he could feel goosepimples rise on his skin
now that the blood-rush was past.  He was sticky,
too, and stroked Harry's back and shoulder, or as
much of it as he could reach with Harry lying on that
arm.  He didn't want to move, not ever, even to clean
up.

But he knew he had to.  It was quite late now, and

he had lots of things to do before tomorrow.  "Who is
it?" he asked Harry.

"Who's what?" Harry replied, voice sounding

constricted and lazy at once, as if he weren't sure
what to think of what they'd just done.

"The person inside the castle who spelled the cup

into a portkey.  You mentioned him before we, er, got
distracted.  But you didn't tell me his name.  Did you
ever find out who it was?  That's the best way to
stop it.  I'm not going to just stand back and let them
take you either, you know."  His grip on Harry
tightened slightly.
Harry raised himself up on an elbow, squinting down
at Cedric and Cedric reached behind him, finding
Harry's glasses where they'd laid them out of the
way and handed them over.  "Thanks," Harry said,
putting them on.  It was sort of funny to see him
wearing nothing but glasses.  "I've been thinking,
while we've been lying here -- rethinking."

Cedric opened his mouth but Harry put a hand over

it.  "Just listen.  You can't go back into the castle
tonight and tell them about the cup.  They'll want to
know how you know.  What are you going to say? 
How many Wizarding laws did I break tonight,
Cedric?  Enough to get me sent to Azkaban?  And I
can't plead ignorance.  I knew exactly what I was
doing."

"It won't matter.  If we change what happens, then

you'll . . . "  He trailed off.  "They can't arrest you if
you don't exist.  And they can't arrest the younger
you for something the older you did."

"Maybe not -- but they could arrest you."

"For what?  I didn't do anything.  Well" -- he glanced

down at himself -- "except this.  But I don't have to
tell them about this.  I can just say you came back in
time to stop the Tournament.  Or I could even say I
figured it out myself, depending."  Cedric sat up. 
"Just tell me -- who is it?"

Harry hesitated, then said quietly, "Moody.  He's not

really Moody.  He's Barty Crouch -- the younger
Barty Crouch."

Cedric's eyes went wide as he recognized the name

from things his father had said.  "The Death Eater? 
But he's dead -- "

"No, he's not.  It was a ruse with his mother.  Long

explanation, but she basically died for him, so he
could escape Azkaban."

Cedric shook his head.  "But how -- how could he be

Moody?  Poly--"

"Exactly -- Polyjuice Potion."

Cedric ran a hand through his hair.  "All right.  So I'll

go to Dumbledore, or Bagman, and say that I've had
some doubts about Moody, and --"

"Cedric" -- Harry sat up too -- "it's not going to work. 

Dumbledore will know.  He's a Legilimens."  Cedric
blinked at that; he hadn't been aware of it, but wasn't
surprised.  "Just tell him.  I think . . . well, he'll be
angry with me, but like you said, I won't be around. 
Once you make the first move that changes the
past, I should, er, just disappear.  And Dumbledore
was the one who helped us use Time-Turners before
to, ah, change something.  It wasn't so far in the
past, but I think . . . I think he might understand,
even if he were angry.  To save your life, and to stop
Voldemort from coming back -- he'd understand."

Cedric couldn't help wincing at the Dark Lord's

name.

"Just don't talk to anyone but Dumbledore, and for

God's sake, don't try to do anything to Moody
yourself, yeah?  The whole point of this is to keep
you alive, not give someone a chance to kill you
sooner."

Cedric nodded.  It was common sense enough,

although it felt strange to talk so casually about the
possibility of his own death, or that of the older
Harry.  But that was what would happen, wasn't it? 
The Harry he'd just made love to -- he was going to
die.  They could euphemize it, say he'd 'cease to be'
-- but he was going to die.  "You did this," he said
now, "came back here to warn me, even though you
knew it would kill you."
Harry shook his head violently.  "I'm not dying.  Just
the me in this future -- and I don't want to keep living
there, Cedric.  Not in that world.  Not if I can change
it.  You can't imagine how bad -- "

Now it was Cedric's turn to put a hand over Harry's

mouth.  "Yes," he said, "I can imagine.  There've
been times I've thought about it -- dying.  Just
ending it all.  It's so hard to live like this."

And he suddenly found himself engulfed by Harry

again.  "Don't talk like that!"

"It's lonely," Cedric told him, hearing his own voice

break even as his arms snaked around Harry's
shoulders.  The boy's naked skin felt so good
against his, and not for erotic reasons, just out of a
craving for human closeness.

"I'll still be there.  It's still me.  Well, sort of.  You'll
have to take your time.  That me has a crush on Cho
Chang, but I'll get over it.  Be patient.  I'll still like
girls.  But yeah, I think maybe I like boys, too -- at
least I like you."  He squeezed Cedric, who
squeezed him back.  "And you've got friends.  Talk to
them."

"Harry, I can't -- "

"Yes, you can."  Harry drew away to look at him. 
"They miss you.  I can't tell you too much; I've
already said more than I should.  But they miss you. 
Your whole House, they were devastated over what
happened.  You meant a lot to them."

"That's the me they think they know.  It's not the real
me.  They wouldn't like the real me."

"Don't keep saying that.  Unless it's all a front.  Is it

all a front, or just the part about being gay?"

Cedric blinked.  "What do you mean?  That's a pretty

big part."

"Not really.  Well, I guess it is, but I mean it doesn't

have anything to do with the you they admire.  They
don't admire you for dating Cho, Cedric.  They
admire you for everything else.  You're a prefect, a
good student, a really powerful wizard, a fantastic
Quidditch player . . . a really nice person.  All that is
you."

Cedric blinked.  "But I'm queer.  Gay.  Whatever.  It's

not . . . That changes things."
"Only to people who are idiots.  I'm not suggesting
you stand up on a table in the Great Hall and make
an announcement."

Cedric snorted in horrified laughter at even the

jesting thought of doing such a thing, and Harry
grinned too.  "But you can tell some people," he
said.  "You don't have to be alone.  You can tell me,
at least."

"But -- "

"Hey -- I know how I'd react, don't I?  It's me.  Just
younger.  I'll be surprised.  It might take me a bit to
get my head around it, but more because I never
guessed, never really thought about it.  Out in the
Muggle World, it's not as badly regarded, all right? 
It's not that they're all accepting or anything, but I
didn't learn to think about it the way you obviously
did.  I'm not going to hate you, or make fun.  And I
wouldn't tell a soul."

"I can't exactly tell you about . . . this.  About us."

"No, but you can tell me the truth about yourself. 

You can tell me at least, and know I won't laugh or
make fun.  And I bet you can tell some others --
maybe even Cho.  She did guess."  Cedric winced. 
"She was upset, but I think she was more upset
because you lied to her.  She didn't talk about you
liking boys as if she thought it was disgusting.  She's
pretty clever, y'know.  She is in Ravenclaw."

Cedric smiled.  "I know."

Harry opened his mouth to say more but Cedric shut

him up with a kiss.  He didn't want to talk further.  His
body was reminding him that he was sitting next to
the very naked boy he'd had a crush on for half a
year.  And after tonight, it was going to be a long
time before Harry Potter was ready and willing to be
kissed by Cedric Diggory -- if ever.  Assuming that
Cedric survived the next evening.

Harry seemed willing to be diverted, and they were

young enough, and this was new enough, to be up
for twice in an hour, the second time with mouths. 
Harry didn't need to explain how to do that; Cedric
had been dreaming about it for years -- another boy
hard against his tongue and lips, pulsing in his
mouth.  He had to stop Harry from working on him at
the same time.  "Too distracting," he hissed, and
returned his attention to the body he straddled,
licking and sucking the cock head and all around the
retracted foreskin, then moving his mouth up and
down on the shaft while his free hand stroked
Harry's balls.  Harry writhed beneath him, making
mewling noises and whines and moans that were
almost enough in themselves to cause Cedric to
ejaculate.

Harry ejaculated instead, right into Cedric's mouth,

and the suddenness of it almost choked him.  He'd
felt the boy's prick twitch and then his mouth was full
of semen.  He swallowed instinctively around Harry,
making the boy shout and arch up, nearly choking
him worse.  Cedric had to take his mouth away,
although he slid a hand up to the head, covering it. 
Then he fell over on his side, panting and wiping his
mouth with his free hand, his eyes closed.

Harry was panting too, and reached down to close

his hand over Cedric's where it still gripped him. 
"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome."

"Did it taste bad?"

Cedric laughed a little.  "It didn't taste good, but I

could get used to it."

Which in turn made Harry laugh, then twist on his

side, pulling out of Cedric's grip to get his own mouth
around Cedric's prick.  Cedric made a "Nggg" noise,
then just lay there, one knee raised while Harry
sucked him until he came too -- not as powerfully as
the first time but the sensations were more intense,
the release more of a release, the kind one had after
being hard a while and finally getting off.  He was
trembling, and lay a moment, just running his palm
up and down Harry's thigh and studying the boy from
this angle.  This older Harry had a substantial
amount of pubic hair, and his legs were lightly
downed, his penis and testicles almost fully
developed.  From this angle, he didn't look like a boy
at all, and raising up, Cedric twisted to climb his
body until they were face to face.  "You're going to
be thicker than me, but you're not going to be very
tall, are you?" he asked.

Harry blinked and tried to focus on Cedric's face. 

The glasses were gone again.  "Er, probably not. 
Where did that come from?"  He seemed amused.

"Whatever you said before, you're nearly grown. 

You'll fill out more, but you're nearly grown."  Cedric
shifted his balance to free a hand and run a finger
up Harry's cheek, feeling the soft whiskers.  "You'll
get another few inches maybe."
Harry's eyebrow went up and Cedric could sense his
insecurities coming back.  "Does it matter?"

Grinning, Cedric just shook his head.  "I was mostly

observing.  I think you're perfect the way you are."

"Oh."  Harry was blushing.  "Well, you're bloody tall,

you know.  Most people aren't as tall as you are."

"I know."  He grinned again, but it faded.  They

couldn't just lie here.  "What time is it, do you think?"

"Dunno.  It was a bit after ten when I found you."

"It must be close to two in the morning.  My

denmates will wonder where the hell I am.  Or
speculate."  He made a face and fell over to lie on
his back next to Harry, hands clasped on his chest. 
"They probably expect I'm with Cho, losing my
virginity."

Harry snorted beside him.  "Well you did lose your

virginity.  Just not with Cho."

"Yeah, I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"Did I?"
Cedric turned his head to look at Harry, who was
looking back, green eyes wide.  "I . . . dunno," Cedric
replied.  "I suppose.  I mean, it's not exactly the
same, so the same definitions can't apply, can they? 
But . . . yeah.  Yeah, I think you did."

Harry nodded once, took a breath and sat up.  "You

should get dressed and go back to the castle. 
You've got to get some sleep tonight."

"I'm going to Dumbledore, is what I'm doing," Cedric

replied, pushing himself up as well to stand.  He felt
sticky and his legs were shaky, but he Vanished the
half-dry evidence of their romp.  Harry was standing
now too, his own legs spread.  He winced when he
took a step.  "Did I . . . does it hurt much?" Cedric
asked.

"I'm a bit sore, but I'll be all right.  It won't matter."

Cedric frowned, reminded again that if he were

successful, this Harry would cease to be.  "Where
are you going to go?  You can't risk anybody else
seeing you."

"I don't know . . . could I, well -- could I just stay

here?"
"I don't see why not," Cedric replied.  "Are you
hungry?  I'll bring something back for you in the
morning."

"I . . . all right.  If I'm still here."

They dressed and Harry let Cedric kiss him again.  A

goodbye kiss.  It was intense and sweet and
whatever Harry had said earlier, Cedric knew it
would have to be enough for a long time.  Maybe for
the rest of his life.  When he broke it, he pressed his
forehead to the side of Harry's for a moment, then
turned quickly and left the office without looking
back.

Chapter 5: Intrigue

Cedric, 24th June, 1995

Cedric didn't plan to sleep that night until he saw the

fake Moody in Dumbledore's custody.
Being the wee small hours of morning, it was chilly
enough that he jogged back up to the castle, slipping
quietly through the front doors.  He got three steps
inside before a hand grabbed his upper arm and
yanked him off balance.  "What?"

A whispered spell and he couldn't move.  The end of

a wand ignited and came up beside a face -- the last
face he wanted to see.  Mad-Eye Moody.  Or at
least, the person posing as him.  And now what did
Cedric do?  Was he a dead man despite everything?

(Some irreverent part of his mind whispered that at

least he'd lost his virginity first.)

But the fake Moody had no idea what Cedric knew

and his face split in a grin.  "You smell like sex, boy. 
I don't suppose I have to ask what you were up to --
or with whom.  If I go to the Ravenclaw Tower, will I
catch her sneaking back in?"

Petrified, Cedric couldn't even blink.  No, the fake

Moody had no idea at all.  And that was good.

The man stepped away from him.  "Night before the

last task, a little roll in the hay won't hurt you -- so I
didn't see anything, right?"  And with a flick of
Moody's wand, Cedric felt control of his body return. 
"Good to know you're not quite so lily-pure, Diggory. 
Normal boy, out for a little fun with his girl.  Go to
bed.  You've got a big day tomorrow."  And he
grinned that ugly grin -- evil.  It looked evil, Cedric
thought.  Or half-mad.  And how could he stand
there joking about Cedric's imagined love life,
pretending to be his friend, when he was about to
spell a portkey that would -- if Cedric didn't do
something -- result in Cedric's death and the return
of the Dark Lord?  Cedric might have been
pretending to be something he wasn't for years too,
but not for malice.

Does that make the lies any better?  he wondered.

Stepping away from Moody, he turned, but with the

man watching him, he had no choice except to go
towards the stairs leading down to the Hufflepuff
common room.  He paused once to look over his
shoulder, but Moody was standing there at the top,
watching him descend.  Cedric continued down and
said the password to enter the portal.

He was no sooner inside than he heard, "Where the

bleedin' hell have you been?"

It was Ed, Peter and Scott.  They'd been dozing in

chairs, apparently waiting for him, and now sat up,
their expressions supremely annoyed.  There was
no way he could stand here a few minutes and wait
for Moody to leave, then go back out to see the
Headmaster.  "Ah . . . I was nervous.  I went for a
run."

It was clear none of the three believed him.  "You're

a rumpled mess," Scott pointed out.  "And not from
running."  He laughed.  "You left here about nine to
do rounds, and you're back at" -- he checked his
watch -- "almost three?  How many times did you
and Cho go at it?"

"What?  It wasn't -- "

"Oh, shut it," Peter replied, "and just go to bed.  We

don't want our champion exhausted on the day of
the last task, right?"

Cedric found himself ushered back to the dormitory

-- the 'den' -- he shared with his roommates.  They
got ready for bed and crawled in.  Cedric intended to
lie there for half an hour or so until they were asleep,
then sneak back out again.

Except he really was exhausted, and fell asleep too.

He didn't wake until past noon.  Then he sat up so
fast, it made his head dizzy and practically leapt
from the bed, dressed only in his underpants.  There
was no one there, of course.  A note had been
Spellotaped to the mirror.

You were dead to the world so we left you.  After

you shower, come and find us.  We'll probably be
in the common room or the courtyard.  Peter
saved food for you from the kitchen, and your
parents are here.  They're with Sprout.  -- Scott

Cedric checked the pocket watch his grandfather

had given him -- it was, in fact, ten past one.  He
considered just putting on clothes and running to
find Dumbledore right now, but he stank, and
despite the Vanishing spell the night before, still felt
sticky.  So he took a fast shower and didn't even
shave.  Dressing, he hurried out, trotting through the
halls until he'd reached the base of the stairs to
Dumbledore's office.  "Ice mice," he told the
gargoyle, which moved aside, and he took the stairs
two at a time, banging on the door at the top when
he'd reached the landing.

But no one answered.  He tried twice more before

giving up.  Dumbledore obviously wasn't here, and
he went down again to the Great Hall where only a
few people had congregated -- none his denmates. 
Ernie MacMillan came forward to shake Cedric's
hand.  "Good luck, mate.  We'll all be rooting for
you."

"Thanks, Ernie."  Cedric said.  "Have you seen

Professor Dumbledore?"

"Uh, no.  Not since lunch.  I think I saw him, Moody,

and Ludo Bagman walk down towards the pitch -- or
the hedge now, I suppose it is -- "

Cedric didn't hear the rest because he took off out of

the hall, down the corridor past startled students,
and out the main doors.  On the path beyond, he
broke into a full run, though his cumbersome school
robes dragged.  A stitch had formed in his side by
the time he made it to the transformed pitch.  He
thought of Harry, and wondered if he were still in the
Captain's office of the Hufflepuff changing rooms,
waiting for Cedric to bring him something to eat. 
Cedric himself felt light-headed from lack of food, but
he didn't have time for that now.

He caught sight of Bagman, Dumbledore and the

fake Moody in the center of a little cleared area
ringed about by stands, like an arena.  They were
conferring in serious voices.  Percy Weasley was
with them, and Minister Fudge.  They all stared as
Cedric came pounding up.  "Is something wrong, Mr.
Diggory?" Dumbledore asked mildly as Cedric bent
over, hands braced on his knees, trying to catch his
breath.

"I . . . I need . . . to talk to you . . . sir."

The fake Moody's eyes were narrow.  "I'll take care

of it, Albus -- you, Ludo and the Minister go on."

"No!" Cedric practically shouted, then continued

more calmly, "No.  Professor Dumbledore, sir . . . I
need to speak to you.  Alone.  It's urgent."

He may as well have shouted that he suspected

Moody because the other man's magical eye was
spinning like mad and he'd stepped slightly away
from the group.  Cedric couldn't accuse him right
there, or he would've.

Dumbledore was frowning and gripped Cedric's

shoulder.  "Of course.  Come with me, Cedric."  He
led Cedric to the other side of the field, near the
stands.  "What is this about?"

Glancing back over his shoulder to where the others

had begun to walk back towards the castle, Cedric
took a deep breath.  This was it -- his chance to
change Harry's past and his future, and to halt the
rebirth of a terrible evil.

"Professor Moody isn't who he seems, sir."

Dumbledore frowned, but didn't interrupt.

Cedric took another breath.  "This is going to sound

mad, I know, and, er, somebody broke a lot of laws
to tell me this -- but you have to believe me.  That
man isn't Moody.  He's Barty Crouch, the Death
Eater.  He's the one who put Harry's name in the
cup, and he's been fixing the contest so Harry would
come out ahead.  He's spelled the Triwizard Cup to
take Harry somewhere else when he reaches it.  You
Know Who is going to use him -- use his blood -- for
some spell to reincarnate."

The Headmaster was staring at him in shock -- but

not in disbelief.  "How do you know these things?"

"Harry told me."

"How would . . . " Dumbledore trailed off.  "Not this

Harry."
"No, sir.  Harry older.  He came back to stop it.  To
stop the Dark Lord."

"Why you?"

Cedric hesitated.  "Er -- because You Know Who

kills me.  Well, he did in Harry's past.  Harry was
trying to stop that too.  I think he reckoned it was
safest to talk to somebody who didn't exist anymore
in his timeline."

That wasn't entirely why Harry had chosen him, but

it sounded good and Dumbledore didn't question it,
probably because he was too preoccupied.  "Is this
Harry still here?"

"I don't know, sir.  He thought -- we thought -- when I

did something to change what's going to happen,
he'd . . . disappear."

Dumbledore nodded once sharply.  "No doubt

correct, but take me to him anyway -- if you know
where he is."

"In my office -- the Quidditch Captain's office.  But

shouldn't you stop Moody?  Crouch, I mean?"
Smiling, Dumbledore raised a hand.  "For the
moment, our snake in the grass is with the Minister
and Ludo.  I'd like more information if possible,
before I move against him."

They were speaking even as they were walking out

of the constructed arena and around behind the
hedge towards the Hufflepuff changing rooms. 
Despite Cedric's youth, Dumbledore still moved
faster and he had his wand out to tap the door,
which opened for him.

They moved swiftly through the benches inside

towards the office at the rear, which Cedric got to
first, yanking it open.

It was empty.

"Harry?"  There was no reply.  "Harry?"

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called, whipping his

wand around the room, peering even into empty
corners, which puzzled Cedric.  Then the
Headmaster shook his head.  "He's gone, either
because you have, indeed, changed the future -- his
past -- or because it was all a ruse."
The Headmaster turned back to Cedric.  "Did it
occur to you that the 'Harry' you met might not be
Harry?  That, in fact, he might be the imposter?"

Cedric blinked.  That hadn't occurred to him at all.

"I find it more likely that he's our Death Eater than
Alastor.  Think, Cedric.  How could Harry have come
back --"

"He had a Time-Turner, sir.  I saw it."

"Then I find it even less likely.  The Ministry guards

those very carefully."  His eyes were soft on Cedric,
and for a moment, Cedric wondered if he knew the
rest of what had happened in this room last night. 
"I'm sorry, but I fear you were duped, although to
what end I'm not certain.  You're quite correct that
someone put Harry's name in that Goblet who wasn't
Harry.  I've suspected since the very beginning this
Tournament is being used with intent to harm him. 
But I specifically asked Alastor to look after him, so if
he's been helping Harry -- well, it wasn't my intention
for Harry to cheat, but in a manner of speaking,
Professor Moody has been following my orders. 
That's not suspicious, Cedric.  And Alastor Moody is
one of the greatest Aurors of our age.  I find it
difficult to believe he could be taken by the likes of
Barty Crouch -- who according to all reports is quite
dead and buried.  Professor Moody is the one who
originally caught Crouch."

Hands on hips, Cedric breathed out, suddenly

doubting himself -- but also not convinced.

Do you not want to be convinced because you want

what happened last night to have been real?

He wanted to believe because it hurt less than to

think he'd been used, that someone out there now
knew his most tender secret, someone who wouldn't
hesitate to use it against him.  But Cedric was
rational and had to admit Dumbledore had good
points.  Yet -- "Polyjuice potion makes a person look
exactly like another, right?"  Dumbledore nodded. 
"Well, he didn't.  It was Harry -- but older." 
Dumbledore's eyebrows climbed.  "He was what
Harry would look like a year from now.  Taller by a
bit, his face older.  Polyjuice can't do that, can it?"

"Not normally, no.  Although if he also had a Time-

Turner . . . " The Headmaster trailed off.  "This is
getting too Byzantine -- wheels within wheels.  Still,
Tom would like that, the game of it."  He was silent a
moment and Cedric watched him think.
Finally he shook his head.  "I'm not sure what to
believe.  I believe you," he added quickly.  "Or at
least, I believe you're convinced you spoke to an
older Harry.  But who that was, and whether that
person, or Professor Moody, is the imposter -- that
I'm not certain of."  He turned his bright blue eyes on
Cedric.  "I want you to go back to the castle and say
nothing about this to anyone.  If someone does ask
what you wanted to talk to me about, imply it
concerned Durmstrang.  People already suspect
Headmaster Karkaroff of cheating and they'll believe
you found evidence of it.  We don't want Professor
Moody to suspect -- whether he's truly Alastor or
Barty in disguise.  And he will.  Alastor was born
suspicious.  He'll ask you."

"Yes, sir."

"You leave me to see to the rest, Cedric."

"Yes, sir," he said again and headed out, leaving

Dumbledore behind in his office.  Yet as he was
about to exit the changing room itself, he
remembered another detail about Polyjuice Potion. 
Its effects lasted only an hour -- yet he'd spent far
more than that with Harry in his office the night
before.  He started to turn back to tell Dumbledore,
but never had the chance . . . and never saw the
person who caught him from behind.  All he heard,
hissed in his ear, was, "Obliviate!"

Chapter 6: Task

Harry, 24th June, 1995

"Where's Dumbledore?" Harry asked Cedric.  They

were waiting in a room outside the little stadium
where spectators had assembled on the evening of
the Third Task.  Mrs. Weasley and Bill had come to
be with him, and Cedric had his parents.  But Harry
and Cedric had been pacing around nervously. 
Now, they met in the middle of the little room.

The taller boy looked down at him and smiled. 

"Dunno.  Haven't seen him all day."

"He got called away," said a voice behind them, and

Harry felt a heavy hand come down on his shoulder. 
He turned.  It was Professor Moody.  "An
emergency."
"More important than the Triwizard Tournament?"
Harry asked.  He felt . . . abandoned.

Moody grinned at him.  "There are more important

things in the world than this damn game, Potter."  He
patted Harry again, then slapped Cedric's back, too. 
"Good luck, you two.  Do Hogwarts proud."

"Yes, sir," Cedric replied.  But his face looked

troubled.

When Moody had moved off, Harry asked, "You

nervous?"

"I'd be an idiot if I weren't."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, feeling foolish.

Cedric must have realized how he'd sounded

because he patted Harry's shoulder in turn, too. 
"Sorry.  Shouldn't have snapped.  But yeah, you
could say I'm a bit nervous."  Abruptly he dropped
the hand and shoved it in his pocket, as if not sure
he had a right to be that familiar, but Harry didn't
mind.  "So -- good luck in there, all right?"

"Yeah.  You too, Cedric."

Dumbledore still hadn't arrived by the time the task
was to begin.  Harry wasn't sure what to think, and
neither were Fudge, Bagman or McGonagall --
never mind the other school Heads -- but Moody
appeared serene, and so Harry relaxed.  If there
were a real problem, something dangerous, Moody
would've called it off.  He was too famously
suspicious.

Bagman summoned the Champions out into the

arena and introduced them to wild cheers from the
crowd.  Harry felt his heart in his throat as he looked
up at the people, then he was being directed
towards the entry in the giant hedge, Cedric beside
him.  They looked across at one another, nodding
slightly.  Bagman blew his whistle and they both
entered the maze together.

Green hedges soared up twelve feet to either side of

them, making a narrow aisle where the evening light
grew dim.  Sound from outside was cut off and Harry
felt as if he were underwater again.  He lit his wand
with a quiet, "Lumos!" and heard Cedric do the same
just behind him.  At about fifty yards in, they came to
a fork, and by unspoken agreement he went one
way while Cedric went the other.  "See you," he said,
though he hoped he didn't, at least not in the maze. 
He hoped he reached the cup first.

Well, if he survived blast-ended skrewts and

boggarts.  He did run into Cedric again after all, who
warned him about the skrewts.  Shortly after, he
heard Fleur scream but was caught in enchanted
mist trying to reach her.  By the time he got away,
she was nowhere in sight, then he had to tangle with
a skrewt himself.

Free of that, he heard what he hadn't expected in

the maze:  Cedric speaking in angry surprise to
Krum, then Krum's own voice calling out, "Crucio!" 
Cedric began to scream.  Harry didn't think, just ran,
trying to find his way through to Cedric.  Cedric had
been nothing but kind, especially since the dragon
task.  He didn't deserve to be tortured.

Harry had to blast his way through a hedge to find

Krum standing over Cedric, watching while Cedric
convulsed on the ground.  Harry whipped out his
wand, but Krum had heard him and tried to flee. 
"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, hitting Krum square in the
back.  Krum fell onto his face in the grass.  Harry
wasted no time on him but ran to Cedric instead.
The older boy lay on his back, panting hard, hands
over his face.  Harry knelt down and gripped his
arm.  "Are you all right?"

Cedric didn't reply for a moment, then he dropped

his hands and sat up with Harry's help.  He
appeared . . . stunned.  Harry began to worry that
maybe Krum had done something more than just the
Torture Curse.  "Merlin's Beard," Cedric said finally,
rubbing at his eyes.  "He got me.  That bastard.  He
got me and I didn't even see him."

Harry was still gripping Cedric's arm.  "I can't believe

it either," he replied.  "I thought he was all right,
Krum."

"Not Krum -- Moody."  Cedric's face wore such a

look of pure terror that Harry actually moved back
but Cedric grabbed him anyway.  "We have to get
out of here, Harry.  Moody's not Moody.  He's Barty
Crouch, Jr., the Death Eater.  He Altered my memory
and I don't know what he's done to Dumbledore. 
This Task is a trap.  We have to get out of here and
back to the Hufflepuff changing rooms."

Harry stared at Cedric.  Had the older boy lost his

mind?  "What do you mean Moody's not -- "
"Listen to me," Cedric said, practically shaking him. 
"Moody means for you to win and get to the cup. 
But it's a portkey and it'll take you -- us -- to a
graveyard where You Know Who is waiting.  He'll
take your blood for a spell to reincarnate.  I told
Dumbledore and he didn't -- well, he didn't disbelieve
me, but he was going to check some things.  Now
I'm here in the maze, Dumbledore's missing, and
while I can still remember what happened in
between, the me in between didn't remember the
real truth till just now.  You've got to believe me,
Harry.  He's trying to kill you."

Frowning, Harry pulled away.  "Cedric, you're talking

crazy.  Moody's trying to help me -- he's been
helping me all along.  That curse must have addled
your wits -- "

"No, it cleared them.  Moody -- I mean Crouch --

Altered my memory, but I remember now.  I
remember everything."  And despite twilight dimness
of the hedge, Harry could tell that Cedric was
regarding him very strangely, as if he were seeing
someone besides Harry.  There was a warmth there
that made Harry slightly uncomfortable, and only
confirmed his fear that Cedric wasn't himself.  "We
have to get out of here and find Dumbledore," Cedric
said.  "And stop Crouch."
Harry knew his entry in this Tournament was part of
some dangerous game, but he didn't think Cedric
had it quite right.  "It's Karkaroff who's the threat.  I
overheard him talking to Snape -- and just now, with
Krum attacking you . . . It's Karkaroff, if it's anybody."

"No!" Cedric insisted, looking almost desperate.  "It's

not Karkaroff.  It's Moody -- but he's not Moody. 
He's just pretending to be.  He's taking Polyjuice. 
Harry, listen to me.  If things go the way they did
before, You Know Who is going to come back, he's
going to kill me and wound you and everything's
going to change.  But now I don't know what'll
happen.  I did change something.  Moody didn't
make Dumbledore disappear last time."

Harry was gaping at him.  "What are you talking

about?  You're not --"

"Time-Turners.  I know you know about them.  Harry,

listen -- "

"Are you Cedric?"

"What?  Of course I am!"

"I mean, are you from the future or something?"

"No!"  Clearly frustrated, Cedric ran a hand into his
hair.  "It was somebody else.  I can't tell you more, I
can't.  Just . . . trust me.  Please.  Things are not
what you think.  I've already changed what happens
a little and I don't know how anything will turn out
now.  We have to see if we can find Dumbledore. 
And for God's sake, don't touch the cup!"

Harry blinked and stared at the hand Cedric held out

towards him.  He didn't know what to do.  "Tell me
who told you all this.  Tell me that and maybe I'll
believe you."

He watched Cedric wrestle with the demand, then

sigh and drop the hand.  "I can't, Harry.  There are
some things I can't tell you.  It's too dangerous.  I
need you to trust me; I've never lied to you."  He
looked Harry in the eye.  "Please.  I'd never hurt
you.  I'd never let anything happen to you if I could
stop it."  And there was something about the way he
said that, the raw intensity of it, that alarmed Harry,
reminding him of the funny look Cedric had given
him a minute ago.  It didn't sound like Cedric at all. 
Why would the real Cedric say something like that? 
Or if it was the real Cedric, what if he were trying to
make Harry give up on the Task?  Krum had turned
out to be rotten.  Maybe Cedric was as well.  Harry
didn't think so, but he'd trusted Krum.  Maybe
Cedric, too, had been lying all along.  Pretending.

"I don't know what's going on," Harry said to him

cautiously, holding his eyes so Cedric (or whoever
he really was) wouldn't notice him shift his grip on
his wand, "But Moody's helped me from the very
beginning.  Yeah, Dumbledore's not here, and that's
strange, but Moody wasn't worried -- "

"Of course he wasn't!  He's the one who did

something to him!  Harry, please -- "

Harry whipped his wand up and aimed it right at

Cedric, shouting, "Stupefy!"

The spell hit Cedric square in chest, knocking him

onto his back.  "Sorry, Cedric.  Or whoever you are. 
I'm not sure I trust you, either."

And Harry went on.

Half an hour later, his hand touched the softly

glowing cup only for it to yank him off his feet and
land him, out of breath, in a graveyard.  Feeling the
searing pain in his scar that announced the
presence of Voldemort, Harry realized that Cedric
had been telling him the truth.
Chapter 7: Masks

Cedric, 24th June, 1995

Twice in one damn day.  Twice he'd been caught by

surprise and rendered useless.

That was Cedric's first thought when he shook off

the Stupefy Spell only to realize it was Krum
crouching over him.  Scrambling backwards on the
grass, he fumbled for his wand but the other boy
raised hands immediately to show he was unarmed. 
"Just me," he said quickly.

Cedric, who had his wand now, kept it pointed at

Krum.  "How do I know that?"

"I am not cursing you?" the other asked, one corner

of his mouth lifting.
He had a point, and Cedric lowered his wand but still
kept it at ready, just in case.  "What happened --" he
began even as Krum said, "Moody."

Cedric nodded.  "He got you too?"

"Imperius Curse," Krum explained as Cedric pushed

himself off his backside to his feet.  Krum stood as
well.  "I was stopping you and Fleur by any means." 
His dark eyes hooded.  "I am very sorry, Saed-ric.  I
would not -- It is forbidden curse for us, too."

Cedric just nodded.  "It wasn't you.  It was Moody. 

Well, it was Barty Crouch."

"Who?"

"Long story," Cedric said, crossing to hold out his

hand.  "Want to help me catch the bad guys?"

Krum raised one heavy brow but accepted Cedric's

handclasp.  "Bad guys?"  He looked amused.

"Come on and I'll explain on the way.  We have to

find Harry and keep him from touching the Triwizard
Cup."  Cedric held out his wand.  "Point me."
"I thought whole idea was he should not touch it?"
Krum said, still grinning as Cedric's wand pointed
north.  "By taking it first instead."

"No -- none of us can touch that cup.  It's a portkey. 

This whole tournament was a trap set by You Know
Who to get a hold of Harry Potter."

Viktor's brow went up.  "Is elaborate for a trap. 

Involve everyone?"

Krum was no idiot.  Cedric shook his head while

they walked quickly down the aisles together, wands
out, prepared for skrewts or other nasty beasts. 
"Well, not the whole tournament, but Harry's being in
it.  You Know Who's using it as a means to an end.  I
don't know the whole story, but I know that cup was
spelled to take the one who touched it somewhere
else -- and not back to the arena.  Then Moody --
well, Barty Crouch -- had you stop me and Fleur
from getting there.  And you, of course.  That left
only Harry.  Crouch has been helping him all along,
feeding him clues so he'd do well and stay in the
contest, not get disqualified."

"Everyone cheats in tournament, Saed-ric."

"Ced-ric," Cedric corrected.  "Or . . . just call me
Ced."

"Ced," Viktor tried.

Cedric nodded approval, wondering at himself for

correcting Krum's pronunciation of his bloody name
when there were more important things afoot.  But it
got on a bloke's nerves to have his name mangled. 
Then again, he wasn't saying 'Viktor' the way Viktor
himself said it, so he supposed either foot could
wear that shoe.  He'd try to do better.

"I wish I had broom," Krum muttered now.  "Could

see from above."

"Yeah, but then they'd see us.  Well, Crouch would. 

We have to find Harry without anyone knowing.  I
tried convincing him, but he didn't believe me.  He
thinks Moody's on his side.  If he hears it from both
of us . . . "

"Is harder to deny, yes.  Even if we opponents."

"Right now, I think being opponents is moot."  But he

had no chance to say more.  A gigantic acromantula
skittered into the hedge aisle right in front of them
both.  "Oh, shit."
Working together, it took them but a few minutes to
paralyze the spider, then Cedric hurried over to pull
Krum to his feet where he'd rolled under it to hit the
vulnerable underside while Cedric had kept it busy. 
"We make a good team," Cedric told the Bulgarian.

"We do," Krum agreed, smiling.

They went on as fast as they could and be properly

cautious.  The longer it took, the more Cedric
worried.  They had to find Harry before he found that
cup, then they could look for Dumbledore.

It was another twenty minutes and a sphynx with

riddles before they finally reached the plinth that had
(presumably) held the cup.

It was empty.

"Bloody hell," Cedric said, one hand pulling at his

hair in desperation.  "Voldemort has Harry.  That
bloody bastard . . . "  He paced around the plinth at a
panicked loss, not even aware he'd just called the
Dark Lord by name.
Krum got right in front of him.  "Stop!"  It snapped
Cedric out of his dismay.  "No time for regrets, no? 
We hurry now.  Find Dumbledore."

Cedric took a breath and nodded.  "Right.  We have

to get out of this maze, but not back to the arena. 
The Hufflepuff changing room is where I left
Dumbledore.  If he's not there then . . . Moody's
rooms, I suppose."

Krum nodded.  "Which direction is these changing

rooms?"

Cedric held up his wand again.  "Point me."  The

wand spun to north and Cedric pointed west.  "That
way."

Wand out, Krum aimed at a hedge.  "Reducto!"

Barring apparition, the shortest distance between

two points was a straight line, but blasting through
giant hedges took a lot of power.  Between them,
they managed, but they were quite exhausted by the
time they escaped out the west side, peering around
to be sure no one was there.  Teachers were
supposed to be patrolling the perimeter, but this
section was empty so Cedric pointed towards the
silent bulk of the Hufflepuff changing room and they
ran for it.

He wasn't prepared for what they found.  The interior

was in a complete shambles.  "What is this?" Krum
asked, picking up the shattered remains of a bench.

"There must have been a fight.  I can't believe

somebody could beat Dumbledore in a wizard duel."

"What if he was tooken by surprise?" Krum asked.

"Maybe . . . " Cedric trailed off, noticing the door to

his office was closed.  If Moody had caught
Dumbledore coming out of it, why would he close it
again?  And worse, there was a trail of something
dark and wet leading beneath it.

Leaping over a fallen locker, he gave the password

and yanked the door open.  His office was still
pristine -- but there on the floor, crumpled in a heap,
lay Albus Dumbledore.  "Professor!" Cedric called
out, dropping down beside him while Krum stood
near the door, wand out, on guard.  Cedric rolled
Dumbledore face up at the same time he saw the
large pool of red, and the body sort of . . . flopped
over, faded blue eyes staring sightlessly.  The gray
hair above was matted with blood and the skull had
been crushed.  There was blood all over Cedric's
hand now, too.

Shouting in shock, disgust, and sheer fright, Cedric

released the body and leapt backward.  "Oh, God! 
He's dead!  Viktor, he's dead!"

Krum hurried over, his mouth open in shock. 

"Dead?  You sure?

"Look at him!"

Krum looked, still gaping, then he said something in

Bulgarian that sounded harsh.  "How you stop most
powerful wizard in world?"  Cedric just blinked at
him, confused.  "Bash in head before he sees you,"
Krum answered himself.  "More sure than duel."

"No kidding," Cedric agreed bitterly.

"He could not had . . . could not have . . . " 

Frustrated, Krum shook his head.  "Hate English." 
Despite everything, Cedric grinned in sympathy.  "He
did not die immediately."  Krum gestured to the
destroyed changing room.  "He fought."

Cedric looked back at the body and the bloody floor,

then realized he was going to be sick and barely
made it out the door before emptying his stomach
amid pieces of broken wood.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

And Voldemort had Harry Potter.

What were they going to do?  They were just a pair

of teenage boys.

Raising his head, he said, "We have to get out of

here."

Krum was nodding and had moved towards the door

to the changing room, looking out cautiously.  "No
one," and he gestured for Cedric to join him.  They
slunk out and around the edge of the pitch.  "Should
we be together, or separate?" Krum asked.

Cedric wasn't sure what he meant.  "What?"

"If caught together, both here to fight.  But if both

taken --"

"Ah, I see your point."  Cedric thought about it.  "I

think we should stay together.  Even with the risk,
we've a better chance of stopping Moody.  Er,
Crouch.  What do you think?"
Krum nodded.  "I think is good plan.  Where you
think he go?"

"Moody?  Probably back at the arena, waiting with

the rest.  How long has it been since we --"

A sudden eruption of cheering from the arena

interrupted him.  "What the fuck?" he muttered as, a
minute or two later, the cheering turned to shouts of
alarm.  Then he understood.  "Harry must've
returned!"  He tried to bolt forward, but Krum held
him back.  "Let me go!"

"No!  You cannot!  We not know what is happening,

Ced."

"Harry's back!"  Cedric was desperate to get to Harry

and make certain he was all right.  Harry had said
the night before that he'd return alive, but with
everything changed, Cedric hadn't been sure of that
-- and had been trying not to think about it.

Krum was glaring from under those fearsome

eyebrows above that great beak of a nose.  "Where
did your mind go?" he asked bluntly.  "So he is
back.  Does not matter -- Moody is still there."
It was a bucket of water over Cedric.  "So now
what?"

"We watch.  They will send people for us, no?  Into
maze.  And they will take Harry back to castle.  More
easier to ambush Moody there."

Even as Krum said it, Cedric spotted a hunched

figure with a bad gait leading a smaller one away
from the arena.  "That's Moody!" Cedric hissed. 
They could still hear shouting in the arena and
Bagman's whistle, then an amplified voice --
Bagman's.  "Viktor Krum!  Cedric Diggory!  The Third
Task is complete, please make your way out of the
maze back to the arena!"

"Not just now, thanks," Cedric muttered under his

breath.  "Moody's going to try to kill Harry," Cedric
told Viktor.  "That's why he's taking him away.  Come
on.  We have to get back to the castle before they
do."  And turning, he sprinted for the changing room.

"Where are you going?" Krum hissed behind, but

followed.  Cedric pulled the door open again and
looked around wildly, doing his best not to look
towards his now-open office door and the dead body
within.  Shouldn't they tell someone about that?  But
a body could wait; Harry couldn't or he'd be a dead
body.

The broom cupboard was still intact and Cedric

picked his way over to it, pulling it open.  These were
the team brooms -- not all that good, but better than
running.  Grabbing one, he tossed it to Krum, who'd
figured out by now what he was up to.  Cedric took
another and they went back out.  An idea occurred
to him then and he pulled his wand.  "Wait a
moment."  Aiming at the sky, he shot off a fountain of
red sparks.  Maybe they didn't have time to tell
anybody about the Headmaster, but surely that
would bring someone -- then they'd find him.

"Follow close," was all Krum said before mounting

the borrowed broom and kicking off.  Cedric shot
after.

Krum didn't take a direct route.  They'd have been

spotted.  Instead, he sailed around the back of the
pitch and zoomed low to the ground along the far
wall towards the edge of the lake.  Cedric kept
following, just hoping he could keep up.  Krum was
still Krum, even on a lousy broom, but flying like
lunatics kept his mind off the memory of
Dumbledore's dead face and his fear for Harry. 
What if Crouch decided to try to kill him on the way? 
Cedric didn't think he would -- too much chance that
someone would see -- but he might.

Krum had turned, banking his broom to zip past the

greenhouses and up towards the castle.  They
landed in the courtyard and discarded the brooms,
running for the door that led inside near the
classrooms.  "Wands out," they both said at the
same time as Krum pulled the door open and they
slipped into the castle.

Here, with the light from lamps and torches, Cedric

could see how beaten up Krum looked with track
clothes torn from getting through hedges and one
side of his face scraped badly -- probably where he'd
landed after Harry's jinx.  Cedric wondered what he
looked like himself, doubting it was any better.  His
sleeve was still burnt from his early encounter with a
skrewt, and he was covered with scratches.  He
noticed, too, that he had dried, flaking blood
smeared on his right hand up to the wrist.  It wasn't
his, and he shuddered, shifting his wand long
enough to wipe off the blood against his track
bottoms.

They were halfway down the classroom hall when

they heard the front door open and the fake Moody's
voice, talking to Harry.  "And then?"
"Made a potion . . . got his body back . . . "

Harry sounded awful, dazed and frightened and

Cedric's stomach clenched.  Oh, Harry . . . he
thought.  Why didn't you believe me?

"The Dark Lord got his body back?  He's returned?"

"And the Death Eaters came . . . and then we dueled

..."

Cedric glanced over at Krum, whose eyes were wide

in shock as they trailed the pair, slinking silently
down the hall in their trainers.

"You dueled with the Dark Lord?" the fake Moody

was saying as he led Harry towards his office. 
Cedric and Krum followed.

"Got away . . . my wand . . . did something funny . . .

I saw my mum and dad . . . they came out of his
wand . . . "

"In here, Harry, " Moody said, pushing open his

office door.
Krum nodded to Cedric, who understood.  It was
now or never.

Exploding out from behind the stairs, Cedric

shouted, "Expelliarmus!" even as Krum shouted,
"Stupify!"

The dual spells hit Moody -- or Crouch -- at the

same time.  The man's wand flew out of his hand
even as he seized up and fell, dragging down Harry
in the process.  "What the . . . ?" Harry cried, still
sounding dazed.

Cedric knelt next to him as Krum leapt them both to

ransack the office for something to tie up Crouch
with.  "It's okay, Harry.  You're safe."

Harry blinked at him.  "You were right.  About

Voldemort.  He was waiting.  But Moody -- he's all
right . . . "

"No, he's not," Cedric snapped.  "Ask Viktor."  He

picked up the wounded Harry in his arms.  Harry
was alive and so was Cedric, and everything would
be all right.

Well, assuming the whole world didn't go straight to

hell now.  Voldemort was back and Dumbledore was
dead, and the older Harry's attempt to change his
past and Cedric's present might have made it all
worse.  "Viktor?" Harry asked, glancing at Krum who
was wrapping Moody in a magical net.

"Moody cast Imperius Curse on me," Krum

explained, then looked up at them both.  "We lock
this door and call your Minister."

Harry glanced from one of them to the other as

Cedric carried him out and Krum shut the door after
them, then Sealed it.  "So it really was him?" Harry
asked, leaning his head against Cedric's shoulder.  "I
thought it was Karkaroff."

Krum glanced over sharply but didn't comment. 

Neither did Cedric, but for want of breath to do so. 
Harry might be small and thin, but Cedric was very
tired and Harry must still have weighed over seven
stone.  "I can walk," Harry protested.

"You're not walking," Cedric replied, though there

was no good reason not to let him and he caught
Krum glance over quizzically.  "You Know Who
almost killed you," he explained, his breath coming
in puffs.  But the truth was he couldn't bear to let the
boy go.
They'd barely got past the stairs when the castle
doors flew open and a large crowd invaded,
McGonagall at the forefront with a white-faced
Minister Fudge, as well as Ludo Bagman, Hagrid
weeping, the Giantess from France with a hysterical
Fleur, trailed by other teachers and students, many
sobbing.  They surrounded a body on stretcher
covered by Hagrid's cloak -- Dumbledore, no doubt.

The entering crowd spotted Viktor, Cedric and Harry,

and within seconds, they were surrounded -- rapid-
fire questions thrown at them from every direction. 
Hagrid was trying to take Harry from Cedric, but
Cedric wouldn't let him go.  "What exactly
happened!" Fudge kept demanding, as if trying to
wrest some control over an insane series of
developments.

Still gripping Harry, Cedric raised his voice finally

and shouted over the rest of them, "Please listen! 
This is important!  Moody isn't Moody!  He's an
imposter.  He put Viktor under the Imperius Curse to
make him attack Fleur and me.  When Viktor
snapped out of it, we came here to rescue Harry. 
We Stupefied the imposter and Viktor tied him up. 
He's in his office."
McGonagall, Bagman, Fudge and Madame Maxime
were all staring at him.  "Who is he then?" Fudge
asked.

"I don't know," Cedric lied -- which got a sharp look

from both Krum and Harry.  "But he's not Alastor
Moody."

 
Chapter 8: Truth

Harry, 28th June, 1995

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.

Chapter 9: Mates

Cedric, 31st July, 1995

Number four, Privet Drive looked very nice . . . in a
generic, middle-class sort of way.  The well-tended
front garden had bright flowers, even hedges, and
cut grass just like the neighbors'.  Lace curtains
hung in the windows and none of the paint was
peeling.  Yet nothing about it stood out, Cedric
thought, nothing was unique.  It was boring.

Looking down at himself quickly, he took stock. 

Jeans, tan pullover, trainers -- he didn't think there
was anything obviously wrong with his attire.  He
was wearing the clothes from the Muggle kit his
father had bought him to attend the World Cup last
summer.  It had to be right, didn't it?

Sighing, he walked up the drive and path to the front

door, knocking politely.  Then he stood with his
hands shoved in his pockets.

After a minute, the door swung open to reveal a

great whale of a boy who appeared to be eating
something filled with cream.  There was white all
over his mouth.  "We don't want any," he said and
started to shut the door in Cedric's face.

"I'm not selling any," Cedric replied quickly.

The door stopped and the boy looked out again. 

"Then what do you want?"

"I came to see Harry."

"Harry?  What do you want with Harry?"

"I'm a friend.  From school."

The boy looked him up and down, face somewhere

between dismissive and frightened.  "Yeah, I just bet
you are."

And he shut the door.  Cedric blinked at it.  "Well,

that was bloody rude," he muttered, and knocked
again.

There was another wait and this time, a middle-aged

woman answered.  She had dark hair and a prim
mouth pulled into lines of permanent distaste. 
"Hullo," Cedric began again.  "I came to visit Harry. 
I'm a friend of his from school."
"We don't appreciate being harassed by your kind,"
she snapped.  Cedric sucked in breath.  How could
she possible know?  Harry had said he wouldn't tell
anybody.  "Go away," she said, and shut the door in
his face again.  Behind it, he could hear her screech,
"HARRY!  GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Feeling shaky and humiliated, Cedric turned away to

walk down the drive.  How could Harry have told his
secret?  Had he been a joke around their dinner
table?  The queer . . .   It just proved a person
couldn't trust anybody.

Abruptly the door behind him opened again and

Cedric heard Harry shout, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" 
Turning, he saw Harry slam the door and sprint
towards him.  "Cedric!  Wait!"

Cedric turned away and kept walking.  Harry caught

him up.  "What'd she say to you?"

"Why did you tell them about me?" Cedric blurted,

unable to keep it in.

"Tell them . . . what are you on about?  I talk to them

as little as possible, believe me."
Cedric glanced over.  "They know about me."

"Know what?"  Then he seemed to get it.  "Oh."  But

he shook his head.  "They couldn't know.  If Dudley
said anything, it's just because he's a prat.  Cracking
queer jokes is his idea of humor.  He's dim as a
broken bulb."

"No, not the boy.  The woman."

"My aunt?  How could she know anything?"

"She said she didn't appreciate being harassed by

my kind."

Harry stared a moment, then burst out laughing. 

"She didn't mean . . . "  He sighed, as if relieved, and
said in a low voice, "She meant a wizard.  She and
my uncle can't even say the word, they have to talk
around it."

"Oh."  Cedric felt nonplused.  "Sorry.  I just . . . I

suppose I'm a bit sensitive."

"It's okay.  But what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Cedric said, grinning.

Harry stopped walking and stared.  "Why?"

"Because you're my friend?" Cedric replied, amused.

"But Ron doesn't -- "

"Ron can't apparate, can he?"

"Oh.  No, I guess not."  He frowned then, looking

thunderous.  "I'm a little surprised they let you come,
though.  It's like they're trying to keep me in the dark
despite everything.  McGonagall sent me right back
here and wouldn't even explain why."  Briefly, Cedric
wondered where else Harry had thought he might
go?  Wasn't this his home?  "Did you hear they
refused to confirm her as Headmistress?" Harry
went on, rambling, as Cedric nodded.  "They
appointed some Ministry flunky.  I can't remember
her name -- starts with a U -- but they say it was
Fudge's last act as Minister of Magic.  At least
Moody wrote to say he got those Ministry charges
against you dropped, so you'll be back at school
next year.  That's terrific, Cedric."

"Yeah."  But Cedric wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

Relieved certainly, but also guilty.  He still believed
he'd deserved some of the blame.  "Fudge being
ousted meant a lot of change."
"Fudge being ousted is the best thing to happen the
Wizarding World lately.  At least the new Minister
isn't denying Voldemort's back."

Cedric winced at such casual use of the Dark Lord's

chosen name.  "What do you know about
Scrimgeour, Harry?"

"Not much, but Ron said in his last letter that he

used to head up the Aurors' division.  Seems like a
good choice as Minister if Voldemort's got his body
back."

Cedric nodded again.  "He ran his department rather

efficiently, but a bit ruthlessly.  My father isn't sure if
this is good or bad.  It's too soon to tell."

Harry seemed dubious, but Cedric doubted he ever

adopted a wait-and-see attitude.  Partly that was his
age, but partly it was being a Gryffindor, and as
much as he liked Harry, that leap-first, think-later
approach annoyed Cedric.  He preferred to mull
things over, but didn't say anything now.  He also
wasn't fond of quarrels.

"So you . . . came just to see me?" Harry asked.

"Yeah.  Just to see you."

Harry's whole face lit up and Cedric wondered if he

had any clue how bloody attractive he was when he
smiled like that?  Then he squashed the thought. 
This Harry wasn't the one he'd made love to in his
office.  This Harry was just fifteen.  Fifteen today, in
fact.

"By the way -- Happy Birthday."  And he pulled a

package out of his pocket, handing it over.

Harry's grin looked wide enough to split his face as

he took the package.  "Thanks."

"It's not much really."

"How'd you know it was -- "

"Hermione.  I asked her.  Viktor gave me her

address."

"I don't know when yours is."

"In September, the 27th."

Harry was ripping open the package to reveal a new

set of Quidditch gloves.  "Wow.  These are . . . is this
dragon leather?"  Cedric nodded.  "Thanks.  Just . . .
wow.  Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Harry grinned up at him.  "I suppose, now that you're

coming back, we'll be playing each other again in
Quidditch."

"We'll finally get that rematch," Cedric agreed. 

"Although I don't think my poor broom can keep up
with your Firebolt this time.  The Nimbus was bad
enough."

Harry shrugged and they started walking again, past

a park.  Harry tossed the paper in a rubbish bin then
put on the gloves, flexing his fingers.  "We could
practice maybe, when school starts?  I mean, if you
want to."

"I'd like that."

"So, what d'you want to do today?"

"I don't care.  This is your town.  Why don't you show
me what Muggles have for entertainment?  I'm at
your mercy, Harry."
In more ways than one.

Harry glanced over at him, green eyes speculative,

as if he might have caught on to that.  "Let's get a
coffee," he said.  "Then you can tell me more of
what's going on with Voldemort . . . "

They walked on.

End

Notes:  I confess, I'm among those who suspect the

Wizarding World's view of homosexuality would be
rather old fashioned and bleak.  It's not always
religion that shapes attitudes, even if religion may
once have informed those attitudes.  How much
does a society adjust its religion, and how much
does religion adjust a society?  The historian in me
recognizes these questions are not clear-cut.
Cedric and Harry's story is now continued in
Chronicles, Volume 2 of the Aorist Subjunctive
Series.

Original Challenge:  "Cedric/Harry -- Harry finds

out from Cho that Cedric died a virgin.  Determined
to put things to right he uses the Timeturner [sic] that
Hermione had conveniently forgotten to give back to
the ministry to savour the moment before Pettigrew
kills 'the spare' . . . "

The challenge also requested that Cedric survive,

which I've kept, although I altered how and why. 
Obviously, I also put the Time-Turner with
McGonagall.  Can't see Hermione either forgetting or
the Ministry letting it slide if she had.  It's pushing
logic far enough to suppose even McGonagall still
has it.