"Cedric? Darling? Are you comfortable?" Mrs Diggory asked. Cedric nodded, still unable to trust his voice. His mother smiled slightly and took a seat at his bedside. She’d always been the strong one in the family, but the strain was showing. Up close Cedric could see it pulling at her eyes and cheeks. And her hands… they were an old woman’s. Cedric didn’t look at her hands if he could help it.

“Your father will be here soon. He got caught up at the office.” Mrs Diggory’s eyes flicked towards the enormous hourglass on the wall. Her lips moved as though whispering something. When Cedric made a movement to indicate that he couldn’t hear, she simply looked at him with a brittle smile and said nothing. There was a long silence. Cedric wished he could lessen the awkwardness somehow; he wasn’t used to being in situations where he couldn’t use his charm. But talking wasn’t so easy these days – physically or emotionally.

Cedric stared at his mother, desperate for words that never came; to make a joke perhaps – she’d always loved his jokes – or ask what had been happening to her while he had been asleep. His father had told him some of the most important changes during his regular visits. One Saturday morning in particular stuck out in Cedric’s mind. Mr Diggory had arrived in the ward, whistling.

“Alright, Ced?”

Cedric had nodded slightly as his father fussed with a tiny leather bag he’d brought with him. It had become a little ritual of Mr Diggory’s to come to the ward at the weekends and give Cedric a shave.

“The nurses used to do it mostly. But I liked to feel helpful sometimes,” his father said, vigorously brushing on the shaving cream. “I always knew you’d wake up. No one whose hair grows this fast could be gone forever.”

That was how Cedric had found out about the world and how it had moved on without him. It was terrifying. He’d been seventeen when it had happened, and now he was… twenty six? All those years, gone. Lost.

“The war’s over, Cedric. Voldemort was defeated,” Mr Diggory had said, announcing the startling news as he searched for a razor in the leather bag. Cedric had felt his chest constrict and his breath quicken. He had struggled for a few moments before a sound of confusion escaped his throat.

Mr Diggory’s head had jerked up immediately and looked at his son. “Calm down, son. Calm yourself. I just thought you’d like to know.” He had lifted Cedric’s chin and had begun to press the razor carefully against his cheek. “It was Harry Potter; in single combat with Lord Voldemort. He really is an amazing young man. Amazing.”

It hadn’t really surprised Cedric to hear what Harry had done. He’d always been the brave one – the one with outstanding moral fibre.

Mr Diggory had changed the subject then and had begun to regale Cedric with all manner of trivial and amusing changes to the wizarding world, right up to who the most popular musical group was. (“A troop of angry young men with dark hair and darker lyrics. Call themselves The Wizards of Oz.”)

But right now, Cedric really wanted to hear some personal news. What had his parents been doing for the past eight years? Cedric and Mrs Diggory sat in silence for a long while, until his father finally came bustling into the ward. Mrs Diggory stood up automatically as though to greet her husband but didn’t move forward. She watched with a stony face as Mr Diggory hurried towards them.

“Apologies,” Amos said, his voice a little breathy. His face was sweaty and his smile genuine when he looked down at Cedric. “Looking good, my boy! Did I miss anything?”

“No. The Healer hasn’t arrived yet,” said Mrs Diggory. She was sitting in the chair again, looking at Cedric as she spoke. It occurred to Cedric that this was the first time that he’d seen both his parents in the ward together since he’d awoken.

“Ah, good! Good,” said Amos, before lapsing into silence. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked slightly on his heels. There was something definitely wrong between the two of them. Cedric’s voice failed him when he tried to ask what the matter was. He only managed to produce a hideous, wet choking sound which made his mother frown in concern and made his father flustered. At last, a tall young man in green robes strolled towards them, mercifully breaking up the scene.

“Mr Diggory. Mrs Diggory.” He nodded to each in turn before looking fully at Cedric. “Hello, Cedric, a pleasure. I’ll be working with you over the next couple of months. I’m Bartholomew Ashdown.” The young Healer conjured a second chair so that he could sit on Cedric’s free side.

“Now, we’re very enthusiastic about your improvement. Your progression has been steady thus far, but it is time to take the next step in your recovery. You have been immobile for over eight years now, so it is only natural that your muscles have atrophied – wasted away a bit – and your tendons have shrunk. We can fix that, though. With a growth potion, some physiotherapy, and lengthening your tendons, you can be up and moving very soon.”

“He’ll walk?” asked Mr Diggory, pacing forward and grasping onto the bed frame. Healer Ashdown glanced at Mr Diggory for a moment before turning back to Cedric.

“I believe so, with a lot of rehabilitation. Your body will need to be reminded of how to move. You may never regain the full range of movement as you had before the coma. But we’ll come to that in due course; it’s early days yet. For now, I want you to understand what this procedure entails. It’s not unlike re-growing bones. Simple enough – but painful.”

As Healer Ashdown continued to explain the whys and hows, Cedric closed his eyes. Only for a minute, he told himself. But it felt so good to keep them shut and let Healer Ashdown’s words morph outside his consciousness and lose their meaning.

When Cedric opened his eyes again, his parents and the Healer had gone. It was morning he supposed, though the dark sky and heavy snowfall made it hard to be sure. At the other end of the ward, a stout witch was hanging Christmas decorations in the windows. Cedric was happy to lie there and watch her work. He thought about the last Christmas he remembered. It had been the Yule Ball, and he’d danced with Cho all night. He remembered the feel of her waist under his hands and how she’d giggled into his kisses.

Cedric wondered where she was. He kept expecting her to walk down the ward towards him, a book in her arms and wearing school robes, as though he’d simply caught a bad cold and had been staying in the medical wing under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey. It surprised him – with a pang of loss each time – to remember that she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore. How could she be? No one wanted to be the girlfriend of a vegetable.

A young man stepped into the ward then. He looked around slowly, searching each bed before his eyes fell on Cedric. With a decidedly determined gait, the young man made his way towards him – much to Cedric’s surprise. He stopped at the end of Cedric’s bed. The young man had a nice face; round and pink. The kind of person who would grow up to wear tweed robes with leather patches over the elbows. The visitor was holding an odd-looking plant with red, smouldering leaves. Cedric thought it looked vaguely dangerous.

“Hello, Cedric,” the young man said, smiling slightly. “Do you… remember me at all? My name is Neville. Neville Longbottom?”

Squinting, Cedric took in his visitor again. Should he know this man? If he had once, he didn’t now. It was so frustrating to think he had forgotten so much. Cedric shook his head.

Neville glanced down at the bed frame for a moment before looking up with a bright smile. “Well, you were always more popular than me! I saw your mum in the ward the other day, and she said it’d be nice if I came to say hello, you know – as we were both Hogwarts students and all.” There was pause.

Neville held the plant aloft. “I brought you a flaming fern.”

“A what?” Cedric asked, getting his tongue to move in roughly the right places.

“A flaming fern. They’re marvellous plants, you know. Soak up the warmth of the sun and re-emit it like a furnace – great for cold weather like this. And if you dry the leaves right they make a great cup of tea.”

Cedric smiled. “Thanks.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I have a whole greenhouse full.” Neville moved round to place the plant on a little table to Cedric’s right. Neville then looked down at him, frowning slightly.

“I was wondering if, well… if you wouldn’t mind another visitor sometime? It’s just that since I told Harry that you’d woken up, he hasn’t stopped asking me about you. I think he’s still feeling guilty about the – what happened that night.”

Harry Potter. The last person Cedric remembered from before. Harry saving him from that vine, Harry offering him the Triwizard cup, the Portkey, a… graveyard. He wondered if being the saviour of the wizarding world had changed the awkwardly-chivalrous teenager. An image of Harry presented itself before his mind’s eye: arms too long, a bit surly and self-conscious at times, traits which had never showed when he sat on a broomstick. The kid had been a natural. Cedric still remembered the first Triwizard task clearly.

Did Potter really blame himself for what had happened that night? From what he remembered of Potter, it seemed the sort of thing he’d do. Cedric looked at Neville waiting anxiously.

“I’d like that,” he said at last, working his lips round each word carefully.

Neville’s posture eased, shoulders relaxing. “Good,” he said, nodding his head enthusiastically. “He’ll be happy to see you.”




Healer Ashdown hadn’t been joking when he said it would hurt. The pain was excruciating, as though Cedric’s entire body had been thrown into a Hungarian Horntail’s fireball. He couldn’t sleep; there was just too much pain to allow for sleep. A mediwitch came and checked on him periodically throughout the night. He could hear the whimpers that escaped from him but was too far gone to be embarrassed. At some point in the early hours of the morning, Cedric fell into a fitful doze.

“It’s over now,” his mother told him a few days later. “Healer Ashdown said the potion worked, and your tendons have been lengthened adequately.” She paused, removing a strand of hair from his eyes. “You had a visitor yesterday and the day before. He’s come again today. Seems rather keen on seeing you, Cedric.”

“Who?”

“Harry Potter. Neville said you didn’t mind him visiting?”

“No.”

“Do you feel ready to see him?”

“Yes. It’d be nice,” Cedric said. He still found it difficult to speak without sounding as though he’d drunk an entire barrel of Firewhisky, so he kept his answers to the bare minimum. Mrs Diggory smiled, fingers still stroking his brow.

“I’ll go and get him,” she said at last, standing.

Cedric was excited about seeing Harry again. It would be a friend to talk to and take his mind off the aching. Here was a chance to get another perspective on the war.

A broad young man with messy dark hair came into the ward then. There was a stirring from the ward witches; they all glanced towards him, watching the young wizard carefully from under their eyelashes.

Cedric wasn’t sure what to make of this new Harry. First and foremost he felt shock. Potter was so much… older. He’d matured into his body and shot up at least two feet from what Cedric remembered of him. He’d also grown a dark beard over his chin and jaw, making his face seem more mature and stronger somehow. Cedric suddenly felt very young.

“Hello, Cedric.”

Close up, Cedric noticed that Harry’s eyes were still that famous green, but something was off. It took Cedric a moment to realise what.

“Your glasses!” he said in surprise. Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

“I’d never have guessed those would be your first words to me after all these years,” Harry said with a grin, and Cedric felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Got to move with the times, you know. Couldn’t keep wearing those round things, not if I wanted to be taken seriously. Do you mind…?” He pointed to a chair.

“No. Please.”

“It’s good to see you, Cedric.” The sincerity in Harry voice made Cedric’s chest tighten, and he felt a stinging in his nose and eyes. Merlin’s beard! He wasn’t going to cry in front of Harry, was he? Cedric took a deep, unsteady breath, trying to regain some control.

“Same here.”

“I see Neville gave you a flaming fern, too,” Harry said, eyeing the plant with a rueful smile. “He’s been giving them to everyone.” They were silent for a moment. Cedric wasn’t sure what to say to this strange Harry Potter. This wasn’t the boy he remembered.

“I heard. What you did. In the war,” Cedric said at last. He noticed Harry frown and clasp his hands tighter in his lap.

“Yeah.”

“It was brave.”

“Call it brave if you like, but I just did what I had to do. I’m glad those days are over.”

“Do you. Blame yourself? For me?” Harry looked up from his lap sharply and searched Cedric’s face. “Neville said…” Cedric tried to elaborate.

“Neville talks a little too much,” Harry muttered.

“But you… really shouldn’t, Harry.”

“I… used to blame myself for everything that happened. I was just so angry. I’d let down those that I loved most. It wasn’t easy to forgive myself, but I had help after the war. Counselling.” Cedric was surprised at how candidly Harry spoke, but it was a nice feeling to have someone so open with him.

“But coming face to face with you...” Harry shook his head. “I never thought I’d get to talk to you like this again.”

“You aren’t to blame. You didn’t put me in… the coma.” Cedric held the other’s eyes, willing him to believe. At last Harry nodded.

Neither man said much more, but sat in silence until Mrs Diggory arrived to help Cedric with his evening meal.

“I’ll come back again?”

Cedric nodded.

After that, it became a regular thing for Harry to visit. Some days they laughed together about old times, about being Triwizard champions together or rivals on the Quidditch pitch. Other times, when Cedric had had a bad day of physiotherapy, they didn’t do much talking. Harry would bring a copy of the Quidditch News and read out the latest scores. It was how Cedric found out about Harry and Ginny Weasley.

“She’s living in Andorra at the moment. Andorra la Vella signed her for at least three seasons. It was too good an opportunity to miss. It’s a great team.”

“When did you start going out?” Cedric asked, confused. He wasn’t sure he could see those two together.

“Oh. The end of my sixth year.”

“Wow. Why didn’t you go with her?”

Harry sighed. “We discussed it a lot. It was a hard decision to make, but I couldn’t just leave the country. I’m almost finished with Auror training, and Ginny didn’t want to give up her own dreams. So we decided to try a long-distance relationship.”

“Must be hard.”

“It is.”

Cedric didn’t say anymore on the subject because of the angry frown that crept across Harry’s face.

Another day Harry arrived early, Quidditch News under arm, catching the last few minutes of Cedric’s physiotherapy.

“Wayhay! So you’re the famous Harry Potter!” cried Cedric’s physiowizard, a Barbadian wizard named Maddox Fink. Maddox was a short man with a head full of dreadlocks and an infectious grin. Cedric had liked his upbeat personality immediately and, coupled with his no-nonsense approach to rehabilitation, Cedric had found a friend. Maddox was someone you liked to please.

“Nice to meet you.” Harry smiled, extending his hand to Maddox, who took it with enthusiasm. He pumped Harry’s hand up and down, up and down.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Now, enough jawing – I need to finish up with Cedric here. Won’t take long.”

Harry sat down in his customary seat and opened the Qudditch News but didn’t start reading. Instead, he watched as Maddox led Cedric through some leg stretches before moving on to Cedric’s arms.

“My hands never seem to move how I want them to.” Cedric sighed, frowning at his clumsy fingers.

“In time. What is it the Muggles say about Rome?”

Cedric looked blank.

“Wasn’t built in a day,” Harry provided.

“Top marks to the Dark Wizard Slayer. Well, that’s all for today, Ced, my man. Remember to practice rotating your wrists and stretching your fingers. Try gripping your wand; clench and unclench several times. Get used to holding it again.”

Cedric nodded, happy that the session was over. It was amazing how tiring it was just to stretch – it made him exhausted merely thinking about what it would be like when Maddox suggested walking again.

“See ya, Ced.” Maddox smiled at Cedric and saluted Harry before disappearing from the ward. Harry chuckled as he watched him leave.

“Quite a character, eh?”

“Yeah. But exhausting. Hand me my wand, would you?”

“Should you be working on that now?” Harry asked, passing the wand to Cedric.

“I just want to try. I feel like something’s missing. Not being able to use magic is… it feels wrong, you know?” Cedric took the wand in his hand and looked it over with affection. It was as he remembered it. Someone had even polished the wood recently and it gleamed. Cedric smiled.

But the smile didn’t last long. Nothing would coordinate. His fingers never quite fit right on the wand’s handle, his mind didn’t remember the spells particularly well, and when he did, his tongue wouldn’t allow for annunciation. After much effort, Cedric conceded defeat. Harry watched quietly from the side until Cedric fell back on his pillow with an ooph.

“Look, Cedric, maybe you should do what Maddox suggested. How about practicing gripping the wand?”

Cedric gave Harry a sideways glance. “Romania wasn’t built in a day, right?”

Harry’s laugh was loud and sharp; he laughed with his mouth wide open, showing all his teeth. Cedric’s brow furrow. When Harry had his breath back, he said, “Yeah, exactly,” a huge grin on his face.

Taking up the wand, which now lay on the bed beside Cedric, Harry flexed his fingers around it and gripped hard for a moment before releasing. He did it again. Cedric watched those fingers as they patiently worked through the exercises. Harry had nice hands Cedric decided; each finger tapered to a satisfyingly round point. They were steady and firm and hard working. They were actually quite beautiful. They were probably the real reason Harry had had such success as a Quidditch player. Hands that worked (unlike his own) and that weren’t withered (like his mother’s). Perfect.

“What?” Cedric asked, a little alarmed.

“I said,” Harry began, looking askance at Cedric, “are you OK? Would you like to try it now?” Harry was offering the wand back to him, but Cedric didn’t take it immediately. He was startled at having been caught staring and more startled still to find himself blushing. With a deep breath, Cedric took his wand back. But as he did, his fingers brushed up against Harry’s and he felt himself flush all over again. He couldn’t understand why, but he felt like a child again – small and young; discovering the world anew. And the world was a strange, upside-down place. 




That night Cedric had trouble sleeping: one minute he was too hot, and another, too cold. In the silence of the early morning, Cedric couldn’t keep his mind from wandering and reminiscing.

His thoughts led him towards his first kiss – something he hadn’t thought about for several years before the coma. Cedric had been ten at the time and was kissed (with childish enthusiasm) by the scrawny eleven year old from next door – Erasmus Pinkerton. Pinky had been a good laugh and always ready for an adventure. At the time Cedric hadn’t thought much about kissing a boy. Why should he? Kissing was nice! When Cedric had started at Hogwarts, he had discovered that kissing could be just as fun with a girl.

But it had been during his first year at Hogwarts that he had realised he needed to stop thinking about boys as anything but friends. He’d gleamed off the other children that girls liked boys and boys liked girls – exclusively. You weren’t supposed to feel that way about someone of the same gender. Though he told himself this, and enjoyed his first fumblings with girls, his reasoning hadn’t stopped Cedric from the occasional… lapse. Oliver Wood, for example. Oliver had always been such a great Quidditch player, and Cedric found he rather liked the older boy with all that aggressive passion and his broad shoulders. He had been a great opponent. Not that Cedric had ever acted on the strange feelings.

The remembering continued for most of the night and so, tired from lack of sleep, he wasn’t quite prepared for Harry’s arrival the next day. Looking into his friend’s face, Cedric couldn’t help but feel that strange sensation of giddiness – of vertigo. For a brief moment he worried he was being unfaithful to Cho, but reminded himself firmly that they were no longer together.

“I’ll just sit here till you’re done,” Harry said, nodding slightly to Maddox. The physiowizard grunted in response, busy working on Cedric’s right arm. When he’d finished, he took a step back.

“I think you need to get out of this place,” Maddox announced, hands on his hips.

“You and me both!” Cedric said with a laugh. “But I doubt these damned legs of mine are up for the task.”

“No, no. We can get you out of here another way.” And in an instant, Maddox had conjured a slick metal wheelchair.

“Ta-da!” Maddox was practically bouncing, making Cedric smile more. He hadn’t thought about using a wheelchair before. “Now, we just need to move you – here, help us would you, Harry?”

Harry stood and followed Maddox’s lead, putting one of Cedric’s arms around his neck. Cedric felt the warmth of Harry’s hard side pressed against his ribs. He could smell the scent of clean clothes and leather polish. It made him blush with the intimacy. The two wizards lifted him safely into the wheelchair. Harry’s hand lingered for a moment on Cedric’s shoulder before both stood back to admire their hard work.

“I’m not going to be able to push it,” Cedric said with regret. “I can’t even cast a spell to get it moving magically.”

“No worries, I’ll take you for a spin round the hospital,” Harry said, grabbing hold of the wheelchair handles.

“Brilliant!” said Maddox. “Now, just a quick once-round, mind. I’m not having you exhausted.”

Harry and Cedric promised profusely to a suddenly-stern Maddox, and made a swift exit. It was nice to be out of the ward and to have different people and different walls to stare at. St Mungo’s had gone all out for the Christmas holidays, and everywhere Cedric looked there were tall fir trees and glistening icicles hanging from the ceilings. He wondered what the children’s ward must look like.

“Anywhere you want to go?” Harry asked from behind him as they turned a corner.

“I’d like to go outside. I haven’t been out in the fresh air for… I don’t know how long.”

“Sure, but we’re going to have to get you wrapped up. It’s cold.” Harry stopped the chair in a deserted corridor and pulled out his wand. “Let me see…”

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment before a hat with ear flaps appeared in his free hand. He passed it to Cedric and then continued to Summon other outdoor wear. Cedric was a little awed. He’d never got to the stage of magic where you could literally conjure objects from thin air. It suddenly seemed a long stretch ahead of him before he would be able to master that kind of magic. A very long stretch.

Cedric wasn’t able to put on his new stripy scarf, gloves or woollen robes by himself, so Harry helped. Cedric once again had a chance to linger over Harry’s hands as they wrapped the scarf round his neck and slid his arms into the robe sleeves. When it came to the gloves, Cedric tried to do it himself, to save some embarrassment (there was something intimate about gloves), but Harry wasn’t having any of it.

“Here, let me help with the fingers.” He hunkered down to kneel before Cedric. “I suppose it was silly of me to Summon gloves for you, mittens would have been better. More manageable.”

“They’re lovely. Really. Thanks.”

Harry wiggled the gloves a little further onto Cedric’s right hand, making their fingers mesh together. With alarm, Cedric felt another telltale blush forming on his cheeks. Staring at his fingers interlaced with Harry’s, he felt vulnerable and wondered when he’d become so unsure of himself. He’d always had the ability to converse easily with people and knew he had always been rather charming. Where was that now?

So lost in his thoughts, Cedric didn’t notice at first that Harry had yet to move. Cedric finally glanced at the other’s face. He was a little shaken by the look Harry was directing towards their linked hands. The down turned mouth, the lowered eyes, the slanting of the eyebrows – it had to be sadness. But what for? They stayed like that, unmoving, until Harry blinked and seemed to gather his thoughts from wherever they’d been.

“Sorry,” he murmured moving to the second glove. When it was on, Harry lingered again before gently squeezing Cedric’s hand.

With the new woolly clothes (and a fast beating heart), Cedric was ready for the cold.

But not quite as ready as he’d thought. Harry wheeled Cedric onto St Mungo’s rooftop gardens, and he was met with a bitter wind that made his eyes water. When Cedric laughed at the strange familiarity of it, his breath escaped him in little white puffs.

“It’s not cold,” Cedric said to Harry, “it’s bloody freezing!”

“Do you want to go back in? Maddox’ll probably kill me if he found I took you out here…”

“Don’t be daft, Harry. It’s wonderful.” Above Cedric’s head there came a happy chuckle.

They wandered the garden paths for a few minutes in silence before finding a bench. Harry manoeuvred the wheelchair so that it was beside the bench while he sat on its end.

“How’s your Auror training going?” Cedric asked.

“Oh, fine. Lots of hard work.” Harry told him about the training and the years of graft. He even made Cedric laugh about the time Harry and Ron and all the other trainees had been taken on a week-long training course in the Outer Hebrides. One night Ron had drunk a little too much and was more than usually susceptible to idiotic dares…

“You should have seen Ron’s face! Completely starkers, in winter, and in front of the Captain.” Harry’s voice shook with mirth. Cedric liked the sound.

“How much longer until you’re fully qualified?”

“Not long. Another six months, maybe? It takes several years, and I didn’t start my training straight after my seventh year – neither did Ron. I wasn’t quite sure if I was ready for a life of fighting; I’d rather had my fill of it by then. But I decided, after some respite and counselling, that it was something I did want. And not just because it was expected of me or because I’d be following in my parent’s footsteps.” Harry stopped talking then.

“They’d be proud of you,” Cedric said. The other man nodded.

“You’re looking better and better every time I see you,” Harry said suddenly, startling Cedric with the change of direction. “It seems so quick after years of nothing. Amazing, really.”

“It’s not as quick as you might think,” Cedric said, blowing into his balled hands.

“When did you first realise you were, you know, awake again?” Harry asked.

“I don’t remember. It was such a gradual resurfacing, I can’t place exactly when the first time was. There were lots of gentle voices and touches at the beginning. The first few times I had enough energy to even attempt opening my eyes I had to close them straight away. It seemed to go on a good long while – though my concept of time was off.” He paused.

“After that I remember thinking that nothing was quite in focus when I had my eyes open. At one point I remember someone saying my name over and over – I think it was my dad. He sounded so sad, desperate almost. I tried to turn to him but my neck just wouldn’t move. I tried. I really did, but the effort was exhausting.”

Cedric turned to Harry, who seemed to be blushing, though Cedric couldn’t understand why. He decided that Harry wasn’t blushing at all; it was just the chill in the wind biting at his cheeks.

“You must have been so frustrated,” Harry said, looking at his hands.

“Yeah, still am. But talking was the one I cried over the most. I mean, even now I sound odd. My tongue doesn’t seem to like consonants.” Cedric ducked his chin into his scarf, covering his lower lip.

“I think you’re brave.” The quiet words startled Cedric.

“I’m not.” He smiled with a sly little grin. “I just do what I have to do.”

An answering smile crept onto Harry’s face, and he gently swayed towards Cedric so that their shoulders bumped. They held each other’s eyes for a long, silent moment. Cedric was charmed by the greenness of Harry’s eyes and didn’t want to look away. It was nice just looking, and Cedric wanted it to last for hours, but then the heavens opened and it began to snow.

“Look at that,” Harry said, squinting into the sky. “Best take you inside before you get frostbite.” He pushed Cedric back to the ward, neither man saying anything more. 




“What’s wrong?” Cedric asked the next week when he saw Harry again. “You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks for that, mate,” the other said with a sardonic quirk of the mouth. Harry sat looking agitated. “Ginny and I… we decided to stop seeing each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. We both agreed to a bit of time apart from the relationship – it just wasn’t working with her being so far away. Neither of us is very good at long distance. I just told the Weasleys. They’re a bit disappointed to say the least.” Harry threw a hand in the air. “And it’s the holidays!”

“How’s Ron taking it?”

“Poorly. On the one hand I’m his best mate, on the other I just broke up with his little sister.” Harry now balled his hand into a fist, punching his knee. “He’s gone running to Hermione for comfort and can’t really talk to me at the moment. Can’t even look me in the eye. Hermione says he’ll get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” Cedric said again. He felt a bit of a fool for not being able to offer anything more than apologies. But the tension in Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little at Cedric’s words.

“Well,” Harry began after a pause, “I’m going to miss being in a relationship.” He gave Cedric a conspiratorial wink.

“I keep thinking I’m still with Cho,” Cedric admitted. “I have to remind myself that we aren’t together. I often wonder where she is.”

“Last I heard Cho was living in Canada. An archivist, I think,” Harry replied.

“Out of the country? So that’s why she hasn’t visited me. Merlin, I miss kissing her.” Cedric gave a self-conscious laugh. “Used to do this odd lip-biting thing every time right before we kissed. I never understood why.”

“I remember that,” Harry said, nodding absently.

Cedric looked at him sharply. “What?”

He noticed Harry blink for a moment before looking a little uncomfortable. “Nothing,” he said, face averted.

“How do you know that about her?”

“I just… do. Saw you two kissing, didn’t I,” he said, becoming defensive in his embarrassment. Cedric knew he was scowling but couldn’t help it.

“Bollocks.”

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you. It really wasn’t – isn’t – a big deal. Me and Cho, we went out for a short while. But we haven’t been together in years.”

Cedric shouldn’t have been shocked, not after having guessed where this was headed, but he was. Harry and Cho?

“When?” he demanded.

Once again Harry couldn’t look him in the eyes. Cedric began to panic. “Tell me, Harry.”

“I was in my fifth year,” he said with a sigh.

Cedric couldn’t believe it. Not even a full year after he’d been Avada Kedavra-ed into a coma and his girlfriend and his friend had become involved? What do you say to that?

“Go away, Potter,” Cedric said in low voice. Harry looked deeply unhappy, a worried frown on his face.

“Don’t, Cedric. I know it looks bad, but she was lonely and simply needed to be with someone that was with you when it happened. We didn’t work–”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Cedric physically turned his back on Harry and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he heard the other man get up and walk out of the ward.




Harry didn’t come the next day, leaving Cedric with time to think. He was still angry but wasn’t sure why. He’d never been in love with Cho – though she was special to him. (Anyone could guess his feelings for her after the second Triwizard task.) And Harry… Harry hadn’t even been a good friend at the time. Yet he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

And the thought of them kissing – it made him want to throw something. Or cry. He was still angry and sulky when he his mother came to visit that afternoon.

She kissed his forehead and sat down.

“How was your day, darling?” Mrs Diggory asked quietly. He knew when she was being anxious; she always sat on the edge of the chair and wouldn’t let go of her snake-skin handbag, gripping it with those old-woman hands.

“Fine,” he said shortly.

“I saw Mr Fink in the corridor. He… said you were doing well, coming on leaps and bounds.” She paused, looking closely at Cedric. “But he seemed to think you were, er, out of sorts today.”

“Did he?”

“If there is something wrong, you know you can tell me. Maybe I could help?”

“Thanks, Mum, but you can’t.” Cedric saw his mother smile sadly and glance at the floor.

“As you like. I didn’t mean to pry. You used to like chatting with me about everything. I thought maybe – ”

“That goes both ways,” Cedric interrupted. He glared at his mother. “You used to be very open with me, too.”

“Cedric? I am honest with you, love.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong with you and dad.”

Mrs Diggory looked startled and her hands gripped tighter to her handbag.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You rarely come to visit me together and you won’t look at each other when you do. I’m not a comatose vegetable anymore, no longer blind to what’s going on around me. ”

Mrs Diggory turned pink, and for the first time, Cedric thought she was going to shout at him like she used to do when he’d been acting up. But she gathered herself and said, “We didn’t want to rush you.”

“What’s going on? Mum, just tell me.”

“Your father and I, we…” she trailed off before looking up at Cedric and staring him full in eyes. “We’re divorced.”

Cedric’s mouth dropped open. Divorce? It was so final. He’d surmised that they were likely having marital problems, but he’d also supposed that things would sort themselves out. They always did.

Or, they had.

“When?” he asked incredulously.

“Five years ago.”

“Five? Five fucking years?! But how? Why? You love each other.”

“We did love each other, Cedric.”

“It was because of what happened to me, wasn’t it?”

“No. Well, not just because of what happened to you. It put us under a lot of strain. We couldn’t handle it, either of us.”

“Still my fault,” he said bitterly. Finally something must have snapped inside Mrs Diggory because she was no longer sitting on the edge of her chair but standing (towering in fact) over Cedric.

“Don’t you dare,” she said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Don’t you dare think this is your fault. The coma didn’t help our marriage, but that is nothing to do with you and everything to do with your father and me. What happened to you was just a catalyst. For a while we tried hard to stick it out but we just couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t stand it.” The fiery anger went out of her as suddenly as though Cedric had uttered Nox. And then she began to cry.

Cedric had never seen his mother cry before. They were silent tears that made her gasp and shake for breath. She looked so hopelessly frail, and Cedric hated that he’d been the cause.

A thought occurred to him then. He’d been so wrapped up in his own experience, of discovering how much he’d missed of the world and how angry that made him. And yet, all those he had left behind... They’d lived through a war, lost countless loved ones and were still picking up the pieces. His parents had been in a state of limbo, watching over a son who was neither dead nor alive. What a horror and a strain, he thought, and his anger dissipated.

“Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” He reached towards his mother and took one of those bony hands in his. They didn’t frighten him anymore.

“I love you, Mum,” he said, squeezing her hand, and his mother nodded. He took a deep breath and told her why he’d been so upset – about his fight with Harry and what he was feeling. He’d never said these things before, he even told her about Pinky. It made him nervous to say them out loud, but she didn’t pull her hand from his or look horrified or start to cry again.

“I wonder if I’m gay,” he mused in a near whisper. “Do you think I am?”

“That isn’t a question for me to answer.” For a moment Cedric thought that was all he was going to get out of her, but then she looked at him. “I wondered… when you were younger. But I thought that if you had any worries, you would come to me like you always did. I suppose that was wishful thinking.”

“I didn’t know what I was feeling, so I didn’t want to worry you. Or embarrass myself. What made you wonder, though?”

“The way you were with Pinky. And Pinky himself.” She smiled for the first time in a long while. “His mother might have been blind to the signs, but I could see him plainly. Poor woman never quite got over the shock when he came out to her.”

“He came out? He’s openly admitted he’s gay?” Cedric was surprised and a little awed at Pinky’s determination and bravery. His mother nodded.

“At the end of the war. He said he was rather tired of hiding as he wasn’t very good at it. Like hide and seek, he said to me, when you could never quite disappear behind the armoire – there was always a foot or two on show.” She chuckled and Cedric joined in. Pinky; always a good laugh.

“I think you should talk to Harry,” Mrs Diggory said abruptly.

“What? No! I couldn’t.”

“I don’t mean that you have to tell him about how you feel – though I don’t think that’s an awful idea. Don’t stay mad at him. He’s been a good friend to you. He used to visit even before you woke up. He used to read to you.”

Cedric felt rather queer at hearing this, and it made his heart beat oddly. He hadn’t known. Why had Harry ever said?

“But,” Cedric began in confusion, “he had Neville ask if he could come and see me when I was awake. Why’d he do that?”

“Harry didn’t want to push you, dear. I told Harry he shouldn’t feel guilty but he never listened, the stubborn boy. I think he wanted to know if you’d be willing to see him; he wondered if you might blame him.”

“I told Harry I don’t. Never occurred to me to blame him. He – ” Cedric paused and felt himself blushing all over. “He really came to read to me?”

“Yes, he did. I know he cares for you very much.” Mrs Diggory squeezed his hand. Cedric felt his heart skipping in his chest and he needed to stop it from leaping away with from him with joy.

“Maybe he just needed to clear his conscience. Or maybe he pitied me,” Cedric ventured pessimistically.

“Originally, that might have been the reason. But it stopped being true fairly early on.”

“But how do you know?” Cedric was almost desperate.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you don’t notice. That isn’t the look of someone feeling pity or the need to clear a conscience. Just talk to him, Cedric.”

So Cedric agreed.




It was nice being home, even if the Healers had only allowed him two days. The cottage looked a little different now that Cedric’s mum was the only occupant, but it certainly smelled like home. Mrs Diggory was baking cinnamon elves in the kitchen, and the tree was giving off the wonderful scent of pine resin that took Cedric back to his earliest Christmas memories. Home smelt so good, much better than hospital food and illness. Cedric took another deep breath of home and let it fill his lungs.

“Merry Christmas,” a voice said from behind him. Cedric jerked his head round. It was Harry Potter.

Harry was the last person he had expected to see standing anxiously beside the fireplace, holding a package wrapped in red and green paper. Too shocked to say anything, Cedric just blinked.

The expression on his face caused Harry to colour up and say, “I’m sorry. Your mum said you wanted to talk to me? But if you aren’t ready, then –”

“No! I don’t mind. I was just surprised is all. Please, have a seat.”

Harry unwound a scarf from his neck and sat down on one of the faded sofas. Neither man said anything, and the silence was deafening.

“I brought you something,” Harry said at last, handing over the lumpy little gift. “Open it now, if you like.”

Cedric slowly ripped the paper off, happy that unwrapping presents was never meant to be a delicate task. It was a pair of yellow woollen mittens. Cedric felt his heart lurch.

“They’re wonderful.”

“I knitted them myself, actually,” Harry said with an awkward chuckle.

“Really? You knit?”

“Well, Mrs Weasley thought it was a life skill and everyone needed to learn. Ron and George didn’t take to it very well, but I don’t know… it’s not that bad. I’m still learning. Don’t think I’ll ever be as good as Mrs Weasley.”

“Honestly, they’re great. I can get them on easily.” Cedric demonstrated by sliding the mittens onto his hands. “I’m sorry for how I behaved the other day,” Cedric said, looking over at Harry with an apologetic frown.

“I don’t blame you. I’d have been pissed off too at finding out something like that. We didn’t do it to hurt you. I suppose it was a foolish attempt on both our ends to cling to you.” Another silence filled the room as Cedric let Harry’s words sink in.

“Did you really come and read to me all these years while I was in a coma?” he whispered.

Harry’s face went bright red. “You know about that? I suppose your mum told you.”

“Yeah, she did. It makes me happy to know you were there the whole time. And you’re still here. Thank you.”

“Well, you’re my friend,” Harry said with embarrassment.

“And you’re mine.” Cedric caught Harry’s eyes and held them. They stared at each other just as they had on the rooftop of St Mungo’s. Cedric knew this time he wasn’t going to let it end. “Harry…” he said quietly. He searched his friend’s face. And then he kissed him.

Cedric didn’t move at first, just barely touching Harry’s lips. He was waiting for Harry to react, to push him away or… maybe kiss back. The moment seemed to last forever before Harry broke away, eyes wide and a little scared.

“I’m sorry,” Cedric blurted before Harry could even open his mouth. “I – I’ve wanted to do that for a while now, but I shouldn’t have forced myself on you. I just…”

“For a while, you say?” Harry asked. His shock was now under control, in fact he looked serious and determined. It was Cedric’s turn to be a little frightened. “Hm,” Harry continued, leaning forward slightly and glancing down at Cedric’s lips. “Well, I’ve been waiting years.”

Now Harry was kissing him. And it was glorious. The warmth of Harry’s lips and the touch of his hands – one was cupping Cedric’s face and another was meshed in his hair. He was out of breath but didn’t want to stop – wouldn’t stop – not for all the Galleons in the whole of Gringotts. If the little sighs of contentment coming from Harry were anything to go by, he wasn’t going to stop either.

“Merry Christmas,” Cedric whispered against Harry’s lips. Harry grinned, his cheeks a little rosy.

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Cedric. Now, shut up and kiss me.”

So he did.