CHAPTER NINE

Cedric Diggory looked the same; he still had his light brown hair, muscular stature, and signature good looks. And yet, Harry thought, it was obvious that Cedric was not the same.

He was much paler than average, as though he hadn't seen the sun in many days. Considering it had only been four or five days since . . . well, since he had returned, Harry had to assume that his pallor must signify that Cedric wasn't feeling well. Beyond his pale skin, his once bright eyes were now blood-shot, droopy, and surrounded by dark circles underneath.

"Harry," Cedric nodded slightly. Even though his voice was quiet, it carried much weight. An immediate reminder that, yes, the two of them had been through something horrible.

To his immense embarrassment, Harry felt his eyes become watery.

"Cedric," he cleared his throat and tried his best to pretend he was all right.

The two boys stared at each other silently, frozen at the doorway and unsure of how to proceed.

Harry averted his eyes; he could feel the words at the tip of his tongue, and he couldn't bring himself to see Cedric's reaction when he said them. If he could just force himself to say what he needed to say, then maybe this guilt would lessen.

"I'm – I'm sorry that you . . . died," Harry stuttered. It was much less eloquent than he'd planned, and much less meaningful. Harry fully realized that he'd been given the opportunity to do something many people never got to do. But the weight of the moment overpowered him, and he couldn't properly express himself.

Cedric, to his surprise, shrugged casually.

"I don't remember being dead," he said truthfully. "I remember the graveyard, though. And the next thing I knew, I woke up in the Hospital Wing. I assumed I'd been knocked unconscious. I – I still don't entirely believe I did die."

Cedric sounded dumbfounded. He sounded lost and helpless, and Harry had no idea how to help him. Cedric Diggory never seemed to be the type of boy who got confused easily, or who second-guessed himself. But it wasn't a surprise, Harry thought, that Cedric felt the way he did. After all, it would have been strange if he hadn't been upset about his situation.

Harry's gaze met Cedric's for only a moment.

"You did," said Harry softly. "I – I did everything I could, but –"

Cedric reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's sit down, Harry," he said as he lead Harry to a black leather couch that appeared to be clean despite the state of the rest of the room.

"Dumbledore told me what happened," Cedric continued before Harry could speak again. His voice was scratchy and groggy, as though he was exhausted. "He told me that I . . . came back and told you to bring my body home."

In that moment, it all became so real to Harry. Cedric had told him to bring his body back. And Harry had. And that same body – the same body that he'd cried over, that all of Hogwarts had cried over – was sitting on the couch next to him, a little worse for wear, but alive nonetheless.

"Thank you, Harry," said Cedric awkwardly. "For bringing my body back. You must have been so brave, considering – well, Dumbledore said it was . . . You-Know-Who."

Harry stiffened. Cedric sounded truthful, but Harry could still hear a hint of doubt in his voice. Doubt that Voldemort was back? Doubt that Harry could have gotten away on his own?

"It was Voldemort," Harry spoke quietly. "I wouldn't lie about that."

Below his serious tone of voice lurked an anger Harry had not felt since he believed Sirius had killed his parents. Although he and Cedric had rough patches throughout the tournament, even until those tense moments in the maze before they decided to both grab the cup, Harry had thought that the other boy had discovered that he was not one to fabricate stories for attention.

But Cedric didn't argue with him as Harry had expected. Instead, he nodded wearily and sighed.

"I know. It's just easier to convince myself that it wasn't him. Not even a week ago I was a normal seventeen-year-old competing in this tournament for the glory. I had friends, a girlfriend, and a good life ahead of me. None of that is certain now."

Without intention, Harry's thoughts turned to his own future – a future that he was discovering may be bleaker than he'd ever expected now that he knew there was most likely a prophecy that dictated a destiny he would have never chosen.

"I shouldn't complain," Cedric said half-heartedly. "At least to you. Now that Voldemort's back, I can't imagine how you feel. He must be looking for revenge if he set up that portkey to the graveyard for you."

Harry nearly admitted the whole truth to Cedric, telling him all the fresh worries on his mind. But something in him knew that would be unwise, and since Cedric didn't ask any direct questions, Harry changed the subject.

"Your parents . . . must be relieved," said Harry awkwardly. He could think of no other subject that wasn't completely ludicrous that would not remind Cedric of everything that had changed within the past few days.

Cedric's gaze went glassy, as though his mind was elsewhere, and he looked away.

"That's certainly an understatement," he said ruefully. "I think they would watch me go to the loo if they could, the way they've been hovering."

Cedric cut his words off abruptly, as though on the cusp of saying something he rather wouldn't.

Harry sat in silence, waiting for the other boy to speak.

"What else happened in the graveyard?" Cedric eventually asked. His tone was mild and his voice was slow, but his gaze was insistent.

Looking into Cedric's eyes, Harry had a flashback of just what had happened at the graveyard. Cedric's perplexed but determined look before Wormtail killed him. Being tied up, his arm cut open, seeing Voldemort materialize from Dark Magic – it was his worst nightmare, something he'd been dreading for the past three years. Panic seized him once more as he remembered that this was all about a prophecy, about how he could see what Voldemort was doing and feel what Voldemort was feeling. And now his parents were here, and if Voldemort ever knew, surely he would kill them again, and then Harry would be all alone, knowing what it had been like to be loved and cared for, only to have that taken away -

"Harry!"

He startled. Cedric was gripping his arms tightly – when had that happened? With embarrassment, he realized that his face was wet with tears and he was gasping desperately to catch his breath.

Cedric stared at him silently as his breathing slowed and his hands stopped shaking, but his tears continued to flow freely, completely out of his control.

"Don't answer that," Cedric said softly. "Perhaps it's best if I don't know."

Despite his embarrassment and the lingering feeling of panic inside of him, Harry was determined to keep his head as much as he could.

"Wormtail – Pettigrew – he used my blood and a bone from the cemetery, and his own hand to resurrect Voldemort," Harry whispered. "And then, after he came back, he summoned his Death Eaters. He tried to force me to fight him –"

Cedric interrupted. "That's what Dumbledore told me. That's how I came back, he said. Something about brother wands dueling and the reverse spell effect."

Cedric shook his head, and met his eyes for just long enough that Harry saw some sort of appreciation within them.

"And you fought him," the older boy said. "And saw my ghost, and brought me back, all on your own."

Harry had no words.

"I'm too young to remember when You-Know-Who had power. But I've grown up hearing all of the terrible stories. I know that everyone credits you as the reason why we've had peace all these years. I never understood it, but Harry – you're only fourteen, and you're sitting in front of me, and . . . and even if I can't remember what happened that night, I know for certain that we ended up in a graveyard, in the middle of nowhere, and a man walked toward me and – I remember the spell," Cedric admitted quietly. "Avada Kedavra. I remember the green light."

Harry remembered it all too. And he remembered the green light from his dreams, from a time when he had never even known about magic.

"You're fourteen," Cedric repeated, "and you're still sitting here in front of me, and I'm here, even though . . . even though I died. Harry. I can't begin to understand what You-Know-Who's return means for the Wizarding World, or what it will mean for you, but I need you to know: I am alive because of you."

Harry couldn't bring himself to look at Cedric. Although his heart felt lighter at hearing his words, it also felt heavier at the same time. Disbelief – Harry knew he truly hadn't done anything to resurrect Cedric. He only dueled Voldemort out of force, and out of need to do something to get out of that graveyard. And then there was dread, once more. That Cedric, who as he'd pointed out, knew little of the world of terror Voldemort had created years ago, would recognize that Harry was somehow connected to Voldemort. . . well, it scared him senseless that it was so obvious. Especially due to his newfound knowledge of the existence of a prophecy.

"I only did what I had to . . . to survive," Harry eventually replied, ignoring most of what Cedric said despite his desire to confide in someone.

Cedric didn't reply for many minutes. They sat in near silence. The only thing that interrupted their peace was the sound of Buckbeak moving around in his bedroom.

"My parents," Cedric started, and then stopped. He wrung his hands in front of him and stared strictly at the floor.

"My parents want to contact the Prophet, or the Ministry. They want to pretend like I was just knocked out, or severely paralyzed for a time. They want to announce that I'm alive."

Harry felt his heart pounding fast in his chest at Cedric's words. His mind moved so quickly with responses that he couldn't quite form a coherent reply.

Cedric continued. "I could have my life back, maybe. If . . . If I have to continue to hide . . . I can't imagine how difficult living will become. To never go out in public as myself. To finish Hogwarts as a different person, or be homeschooled. Or sent to a different country for schooling. My entire life is a blank slate."

Harry felt his pulse in his throat. He began to feel anger creeping up inside of him once more, mixed with an intense desperation.

"If you do that," Harry eventually said, quietly but with an undertone of displeasure, "Voldemort will know what happened in the graveyard. He'll know the others are back, too. He'll come after you. After all of them that returned."

Cedric continued to refuse to look at Harry.

"Not necessarily," he replied, his voice so casual that Harry felt incensed. "He could just assume that because I was the last person to be effected by his last spell cast, that I am the only one to return."

Harry inhaled deeply and reminded himself that Cedric was a guest. That Cedric had recently been through something equally, if not more, traumatic than he in the last few days, and that he was allowed to hope for something better than what reality had handed him. Harry knew the feeling well.

But it was very dangerous when that something he hoped for could destroy the lives of others as well.

"You-Know-Who is person just like the rest of us," Cedric said quietly. Harry found his statement ironic, considering Cedric avoided calling him Voldemort. "He isn't invincible. We can hide, protect ourselves, fight against him. We can't let him control our lives and our happiness out of fear. I can't give up my life," Cedric's voice cracked.

Harry used every ounce of control in his body not to scream at Cedric about how risking other people's lives for the sake of his own was not only cowardly, but selfish. But he could agree with one point: They could not give up their lives just out of fear of Voldemort.

"I spent almost my entire life living with relatives who hated me," Harry eventually confided quietly. "They treated me horribly and tried to suppress my magic. Before Hogwarts, I never knew love and I never had a friend. And now, with what has happened . . . I have people who care about me, who love me even. I have a family."

His argument stopped as his voice became shaky with suppressed tears.

Cedric finally turned his gaze on Harry and nodded slowly. "I understand," he told the younger boy softly.

No, you don't, Harry thought. You couldn't possibly understand.

But he said nothing aloud.

Cedric sighed deeply. "It's just a thought," he replied lightly, but tension still lurked in his tone. "Dumbledore is suggesting I remain hidden as well, and my parents respect his viewpoint. They may never say anything."

Harry was not comforted by his words in the least.

"Thank you for everything, Harry," Cedric murmured sincerely. "Considering the current circumstances, would it be okay if I visited again sometime?"

Harry nodded distractedly. He still had not overcome the panic he felt at the thought that Voldemort may discover his parents lived once more. Dumbledore was annoyingly skilled at controlling situations at times – perhaps Harry could plead his case to the Headmaster, and they could find a way to convince the Diggorys to stay silent, at least until the war ended.

No matter how much Harry's heart told him to do exactly that, to have a conversation with Dumbledore, his head told him that arguing for his own selfish reasons was no better than what Cedric may do if he revealed his survival.

"What's that noise?" Cedric asked as he rose from the couch.

Harry could once again hear Buckbeak in the other room, no doubt tearing apart his lunch. For some reason, though, he did not want to share this information with Cedric.

"The house," Harry said instead. "It's old and magical. It's been sitting for so long it probably has a ghoul in the attic."

Cedric looked interested in that thought, but it was at that moment that a knock sounded on the door, and Dumbledore revealed himself.

"Boys," Dumbledore said light-heartedly. "I'm about to return to Hogwarts. I apologize if this cuts your conversation short, but I must escort Mr. Diggory back to his parents."

Harry remained seated while Cedric walked over to the Headmaster.

"Goodbye, Harry," Cedric nodded, and stepped out of the room.

Dumbledore spared Harry one last look, and smiled softly.

"Don't trouble yourself over the Diggorys, Harry. Everyone will remain safe, I promise you."

Harry was unsure whether Dumbledore spoke in general or whether he was referring to Cedric's potential revival announcement. Either way, Harry chose to shrug and nod non-committedly.

After Cedric and the Headmaster left, Harry sluggishly made his way back to his bedroom, where he hoped he could rest for a few hours without being reminded of the lurking danger in everyone's future.

"You're telling me," James said softly, in a tone that lingered somewhere between moderate annoyance and complete enragement, "that Snape is the Death Eater who told Voldemort the prophecy?"

Lily's worried green eyes looked up at him. She nodded only once, but it was enough to trigger James's outrage.

He stood from his chair at the kitchen table without thinking about it and was halfway across the room before he realized where he was going.

"And we asked him for a favor? We took a potion he brewed? You spoke with him alone? You called him your friend? We were in his presence? Harry's been in his presence? We're -"

"James, please!" Lily shouted. "I know! It's terrible!"

James looked briefly at Sirius, who had stood from his chair as well but seemed to have frozen in indecision as to whether he was joining James's tirade or protecting Lily from said tirade.

"Terrible?" James shouted.

"Harry's upstairs, James, please don't shout," Lily told him in a loud whisper.

He reluctantly lowered his voice.

"Lily," James said. "How on earth can you justify any of his actions?"

Lily had tears running down her face as she shook her head passionately.

"I can't. I'm not. I'm not saying I forgive him. I told him as such."

James gave a bitter chuckle. "Forgive? I'm not even talking about forgiveness here. Talking to him is more than I'd give him."

"I told him I needed time," Lily continued. "But – at the time, it was difficult to stand in front of him after hearing everything he told me. What would you have done?"

"Do you want to know what I would have done -"

"Never mind," Lily cut him off. "My point is, I'm not saying we should forgive him of his actions, but at the same time I'm not going to ignore that he did contribute to keeping Harry safe."

"According to him."

"He was under Vertiserum."

"Why are you arguing for him?" James asked, utterly bewildered.

"I'm not!" Lily said tiredly. "I'm not at all. I'm just telling you what happened. And please, consider what Dumbledore told us, and Snape's position as a spy, the importance -"

"I don't care about any of that," James said forcefully. "I care about Harry. Forget about any information Snape might relay from Voldemort. In the end, having him as a spy is just as much a risk as it is a benefit."

Lily exhaled and sat back down at the table.

"Snape knows about us, Lily. He has valuable information once more that very few have. And I'll beg you to remember that Voldemort demanded the rest of the prophecy from Snape. If he doesn't give it, it will most likely cost him his life. Do you know what information would be just as valuable to that evil bastard?"

Lily looked at him warily, and James could see fear enter her eyes.

"Our survival, that's what."

"Dumbledore said they would figure something out," Lily said quietly.

"What's to figure out, Lily?" James asked desperately. "It's black and white to Voldemort. Prophecy or no prophecy. Even if they fabricate a prophecy, it's still a risk to Harry."

"You're implying that Dumbledore would tell Snape to reveal that we're living? Just to ensure that the Order has a spy within Voldemort's ranks?"

James was silent.

Eventually, Lily continued, her voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Snape claims that he changed because of my death," she said. "That he joined the Order, and agreed to protect Harry in his own way, because of the guilt and grief he felt over what happened to me because of what he'd done. I don't know if Snape would make the same mistake twice."

This time, James knew his wife spoke out of hope and not out of possible defense of her former friend.

"You don't know that he wouldn't, either. Especially because his life is at stake."

Lily closed her eyes. "You're right. We can't trust him."

Silence hung in the tensed environment until a mild voice spoke.

"Are you suggesting we choose not to trust Dumbledore as well?" Remus asked hesitantly, his presence almost forgotten by the others in the heat of the moment.

James felt conflicted. After everything he'd learned since returning, all of his instincts were telling him that the Headmaster was not completely genuine. But at the same time, he had never known the man to deliberately risk someone's life for the sake of gaining advantage.

"Of course we can trust him," James eventually said. "We have to. Otherwise this entire world has gone to shit since we've been gone."

"You're quiet, Sirius, which worries me" Remus commented. "What's your opinion?"

Sirius's expression was grave, and his eyes shone with a grief and knowledge that James could not comprehend. His best friend was not the same person, and James did not know that Sirius would ever completely open up to him as he had when they were boys after everything he had been through. There were things that a human could not share with another, and a twelve year stay in Azkaban was one of them.

"I think we've played this game before," Sirius said hoarsely. "Who's the spy? Who can we trust? How can we outsmart them?"

His voice was bitter with spite.

Sirius looked only at James as he spoke. "Never mind whether Snape will make the same mistake twice. We won't make the same mistake twice."

"We're the best of the best, James," Sirius told him, his gaze intense. "We're rusty, sure, but we could fight like hell back in the day. We know that Snape is a risk, and have no reason to compromise any of our lives. I can't lose you or Lily again. I can't. The first time around, we weren't sure of the spy's identity. This time we know what we're up against. We eliminate the problem before it eliminates us."

James felt lightheaded for a moment, entirely unsure of whether or not he understood what Sirius was suggesting.

"Murder, Sirius?" Lily exclaimed. "Be reasonable! How would that make us any better than the Death Eaters? We can't harm Snape, don't be absurd."

Sirius looked at her, his expression solemn, before he cast his eyes away from her and did not speak at all.

"Of course we will not harm Severus," Remus said matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I think the best course forward is to speak with Dumbledore and Snape together, and I'm certain that you will be reassured of your safety."

James did not believe that anything would be able to reassure him.

"I have a headache from all this arguing," he eventually said. "The important thing to remember is what Lily told Harry earlier. We will be safe in Grimmauld Place; no one can find us here. This is the Headquarters of the Order and our home, and Dumbledore would never reveal its location. Besides – this ancient magic Dumbledore spoke of . . . the reason that Harry survived and why he had to live with Petunia. Surely if he's living with Lily, the protection is just as strong, if not intensified?"

Lily breathed a sigh of relief. "We can hope. I know I would give my life again to protect him."

James and Lily shared a look between them, knowing her words to be true for the both of them.

"We need to do something to get our minds, and Harry's, away from everything and focus only on something positive," Remus said as he stood from his position in the corner of the room and began to charm the dishes to wash themselves. "Harry mentioned that he would like to have Ron and Hermione visit over the summer break. Perhaps that can be arranged?"

Lily smiled. "Of course. Until then, we'll focus on cleaning and redecorating this house. To make it our own."

"I'll help you, Lily," Remus told her.

"I want to check on Harry before we start anything," Lily replied, and as they walked out of the room, Remus could be heard reassuring her that Harry was fine.

James stared after them for a moment, the door closing punctuating the end of the conversation. It wasn't until many minutes later that he remembered Sirius remained in the room, silent. James turned toward him, and saw that his friend had not moved an inch.

"Padfoot," he said softly. James didn't know what Sirius was thinking, and it bothered him. But what he did know was that his brother in all but blood had a tendency to act rashly, and it concerned him.

"I won't sit here in this house while the others do everything for us," Sirius said quickly, his voice a sharp knife. "We can't let our decisions be made by someone who doesn't have to live our lives."

James nodded once, in compliance, but Sirius shook his head to stop James's reply.

"I wasn't saying we should kill Snape," he said softly. "And I'm not saying we shouldn't trust Dumbledore, either. My point is entirely that we have our own brains and we're capable of making our own decisions, others be damned. I will not sit here, knowing there's a threat, and let it go," Sirius reiterated.

James was torn between two sides of himself: The James Potter he'd been for most of his life, and the James Potter he'd become when he started a family. He could not make decisions based solely on his instinctual beliefs, but instead felt an overwhelming compulsion to do whatever it took to ensure his family's safety. And it all narrowed down to risk. Risk when he was younger only effected himself. Risk now, with Harry and Lily by his side, effected them all.

But even James had to admit that finding a way to ensure Snape would not snitch again was not much of a risk at all.

"As long as it does not involve leaving this house," James eventually said. "I will help you."

Sirius smiled widely at that, a look that brought both sorrow and nostalgia to James. Sorrow because his boyhood smile was hidden beneath a mask of age and indisputable suffering.

"Why would we have to leave the house?" Sirius said mockingly. "Snape's in the Order now, haven't you heard. Ask Dumbledore to summon him, we know the slimy bastard is used to obeying orders."

Sirius's suggestion mirrored Remus's. Not for the first time in his life, James pictured Sirius and Remus as two separate sides to a decision that must be made, the hypothetical devil and angel on his shoulders, representing the proverbial good versus the questionably bad.

Who does that make me? James wondered, and found that he did not know anymore.

"It's up to you in the end, Prongs," Sirius announced as he stood up from his chair. "But you know my opinion."

Sirius patted James on the shoulder as he left the room.

James continued to stand in silence and solitary in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, wishing above all that none of them were faced with such difficult choices.

AN: Next chapter will have more "action" and less angsty conversations.