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Harry hit the ground, shaking, clutching Cedric's body, the quidditch pitch was too loud, leaving him dizzy. Harry pressed his forehead against the grass, cold and wet, he dug his fingers into Cedric's shoulder, pulling his robes, he held the cup with his other hand, feeling his hand sticky from the blood. People cheered around him, and Harry felt the need to throw up.
A gentle hand moved his shoulder, Dumbledore was looking at him, the twinkle in his eyes gone.
"Voldemort is back," said Harry, holding the cup and Cedric with trembling hands, "he killed Cedric, he came back."
The noise grew louder, and more frantic, people screamed, and Harry fell back at the world cup, the chaos threatening to swallow him whole. Amos Diggory kneeled next to Harry, his hand caressing Cedric's face, the man sobbed, heartbroken, cradling Cedric's head on his lap.
"He wanted me to bring him back," Harry said, voice weak and broken, "he wanted to be with his parents."
Cedric's mom kneeled beside her husband, sobbing as she brushed Cedric's hair. Harry moved to give them space, still clutching a handful of Cedric's robes. Holding Cedric's body felt like the only thing keeping him sane.
Someone was trying to pull him away, strong hands bruising his shoulders, Harry shook his head, twisting Cedric's robes. The pull became stronger, and Harry was dragged away, the cup still in his hand. He saw people scream and cry, professors trying to calm the students down, and Dumbledore and Professors Sprout kneeling next to Cedric's parents, sharing their grief. Moody shoved him forward, a heavy hand on his shoulder, making Harry turn away from the people.
"The Dark Lord is back," Moody said, something weird bubbling in his tone, "Voldemort finally came back."
He dragged Harry across the field and inside the castle, Harry's leg was too weak to support his weight, slowing their trip. Harry felt breathless, head spinning, he didn't know where Moody was taking him, hauled upstairs and tumbling down the halls. Harry felt mildly surprised when they ended up in Moody's office, he had expected to be taken to the infirmary, but Moody wanting to heal Harry himself wasn't that weird, after all his classes, Harry was surprised Moody eat his food with the rest of the school, instead of going to the kitchens and cooking for himself.
Moody shoved Harry towards a chair, pacing in front of him. Harry shivered, resting his temple against the cold window. He felt tired, his body throbbing with pain, the adrenaline wearing out.
"Tell me, Harry, how many were stupid enough to flee? How many had the guts to show up? Did he punish them?"
Harry frowned, a headache forming, pressure building against his forehead. Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and clutching the cup, trembling.
"What? I… I don’t…"
Moody grinned, the wicked smile looking macabre on his face, scars stretching in a grotesque pattern, the magic eye fixed on Harry, the other dilated, the intensity of his gaze making Harry squirm on the chair. "He promised to liberate the ones in prison, and to kill me."
Moody grabbed his arm, the one Wormtail had cut, Harry cried from the pain, blood dripping from the wound. Moody looked out of his mind, eyes open, a maniac light on them, the magic eye was trembling by how hard it focused on Harry. He tried to turn his head away, catching a glimpse of the enemy detector, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were on it, eyes white,
"Desmaius!"
Moody dropped to the floor, falling on Harry's hurt leg, he cried, vision turning white for a few seconds, feeling his leg burn.
"Severus, tie him, and bring me some veritaserum, Minerva, look in the chest, Harry, I'm glad you are okay."
Harry just closed his eyes, wishing for everything to stop hurting.
Harry grabbed a fistful of Snuffles' fur, soft and warm between his fingers, he used the dog as support, putting most of his weight on him. Sirius didn't complain, howling when Harry stumbled up the stairs, his wet tongue licking Harry's hand.
Harry felt hollow, after listening to Crouch and telling Dumbledore and Sirius everything that happened in the cemetery. He wanted to sleep, forget about everything, ignore the world, and just hold Sirius close, knowing nothing could hurt him if he had his godfather.
At the infirmary he found a bed waiting for him. Someone had already brought his pajamas there, a worn-out Weasley sweater, a deep green with a letter H on it, the first one he got, and a pair of joggers from Dudley. Molly Weasley was pacing back and forth, smoothing the wrinkles on the bed and the clothes, Bill was sitting at the window said, fidgeting with the fang on his collar. Ron, Hermione, and Draco sat together, next to the bed.
The door opened, the hinges creaking loudly, everyone turned to look at Harry, but Harry only had eyes for Draco, lips pressed in a tight line, mercurial eyes swirling with worry, he looked dull, tie askew. Draco saw Harry, and his eyes opened in relief to see him alive, his gesture smoothed, and he rose from his seat to meet Harry.
Dumbledore said something, but Harry paid him no attention, he let go of Sirius and rushed to meet Draco halfway there. Harry fell over Draco, his bad leg giving out, hugging Draco as tightly as he could, taking in the scent of his cologne, soap, and all the potions he used on his hair. Draco hugged him back, squeezing Harry and supporting most of his weight, hands patting his body to ensure he was real and whole.
Holding Draco, Harry felt something pop open inside him, like a soda that had been shaken until it burst, spilling all over the place. Harry trembled, and he sobbed, pulling Draco tighter, he didn't cry, not really, he just spilled a few wayward tears, hiding his face in Draco's shoulder, trembling. Now that he was safe, the terror of the night finally caught up to him, leaving him shaken to the core. Moody’s, or Crouch’s, betrayal, Voldemort’s reborn, Cedric, and the knowledge the outcome of the tournament had been planned and carefully executed. Harry clung to Draco, wishing he had a time-turner to stop himself and Cedric from touching the cup.
Mrs. Weasley guided them towards the bed, urging Draco to help Harry change out of his damaged clothes. Harry kept one hand on Snuffles' fur and the other on Draco, feeling only they could keep him sane and whole. He ended up on the bed, Snuffles at his feet, Draco holding his hand and Mrs. Weasley cleaning his face, and bubbling potion on her hand.
"Dreamless sleep," informed Madame Pomfrey, casting a splint around Harry's injured leg, and closing the cut Wormtail made on his arm. Harry took a long sip. "Thank you."
Snuffles climbed up the bed, his eyes looking so human, warm brown and so sad, Sirius pressed his snout against Harry's stomach, comforting him. Draco dragged his chair closer, still holding Harry's hand, sitting next to him, drawing figures with the tip of his fingers on Harry's forearm, avoiding the red marks the rope left on his wrist. Ron and Hermione sat at the other side of his bed, Hermione petting Sirius’s flank, idly untangling the knots and matted hair he had, Ron sat in thoughtful silence, eyes darting back to his mother and Bill, the deep red tint of his ears betraying his feelings.
Harry took a few sips of the potion, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
Harry woke up startled, seeing Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Fudge screaming at the top of their lungs. Professor McGonagall was livid, fists clenched, her eyes burning with anger, all of it directed at the Minister, Dumbledore was impassible, eyes cold, brow knit as he looked at Fudge, the Minister was red, hands twitching as he denied everything Dumbledore was saying. No one was paying attention to Harry, only Draco noticed he was up.
“They are saying Voldemort came back.”
Harry nodded, Draco sighed, letting his shoulders fall, he held Harry’s hand, squeezing it. Harry scooted closer to the edge of the bed, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. In front of them, Fudge was pulling his green hat between his hands, taking an awful purple color.
“Do you trust the word of a madman and a kid? You must see, Dumbledore, why one can doubt their word.”
“I trust Harry, why would he lie about what happened tonight?”
Fudge huffed, rocking back and forth under Dumbledore and McGonagall’s heavy gaze.
“He… he talks parsel! and the scandals he does about his scar hurting, that’s ridiculous!”
“The Minister had been reading Rita Skeeter!” exclaimed Harry, pointing at Fudge.
“And what if I had done it?!” Fudge turned to look at Harry, “A Slytherin that can speak parsel tongue, that is nothing but a bad omen! And one that has certain deviations .”
Draco recoiled at the tone of the minister, trying to squirm away, Harry glared back, holding Draco’s hand tightly, keeping it proudly on his lap. Sirius barked, showing his fangs at Fudge.
“Cornelius,” Dumbledore interrupted, pulling Fudge away from Snuffles, “you have an opportunity to make the right decision, help me, and you’ll be remembered as the man that helped to stop Voldemort, go away, and you will be the one that let him rise to power.”
“Nonsense!” Fudge put on his hat, pulled a pouch from his pocket, the prize of the Triwizard Tournament, tossed it at Harry’s feet and walked away. “Here is your prize.”
Harry looked at the bag, feeling tired once again, he laid back, feeling Sirius lick at his hand, Draco, Ron, and Hermione next to him. Draco’s hand on his, warm, soft, and real. Harry saw people come and go, all of them under Dumbledore’s order, he saw Sirius go away and felt Draco squirm as Dumbledore started to unravel his plans to stop Voldemort.
Harry lay on the bed, feeling the threat of Voldemort more real than ever before, seeing Dumbledore order people around, preparing to attack back, he looked at Draco, wondering if the war would drive them apart, if they would have to fight on opposites sites.
“Your father was there,” muttered Harry, only for Draco and his friends to hear.
“I’m not surprised, my dearest, not at all.”