The maze was a blur.
All four champions had agreed to keep an eye out for one another during the task, to help out if it looked like someone was in a really sticky situation. With no idea what could be lurking within the hedges, it had seemed like a good idea.
Then everything went so very, very wrong.
Harry found Cedric at the mercy of Viktor, whose eyes were glassy and unfocused. A quick spell had the Durmstrang champion unconscious on the grass, and Cedric stared up at Harry with fearful grey eyes. "What the hell is wrong with him?"
"I don't think he was himself," Harry said, looking down at Viktor with a grimace. "Someone put him under the Imperius curse." He was pretty familiar with the signs, after Moody's classes. Cedric went ashen.
"Merlin. You don't think… Fleur?" Harry hadn't been the only one to hear her scream, then. He shrugged, shaking his head. All they could hope was that she was okay.
"We should stick together, if we're the last two left," Harry suggested. "Either way it's a win for Hogwarts. And quite frankly, I just want to get this over with. The sooner we're done, the sooner we can check on Fleur, and get Viktor somewhere safe."
Cedric agreed, and after sending up red sparks for Viktor, the pair set off.
A sphinx and an acromantula later, and the pair of Hogwarts champions were stumbling up to the plinth to see the Triwizard Cup glowing softly in front of them. Harry had a huge gash on his leg, and Cedric was bleeding from several places beneath his shirt. "You take it," Harry urged. "You're the real Hogwarts champion."
"I wouldn't have made it this far without you," Cedric insisted. "You take it. Show everyone what you're made of, that Harry Potter is a force to be reckoned with. You need that more than I do."
"Together," Harry decided eventually, realising the Hufflepuff wasn't going to back down. "Like I said before; it's still a win for Hogwarts. We'll split the money, or whatever." Cedric could have it all. Harry certainly didn't need it.
That seemed to satisfy Cedric, and the pair each took a handle. Harry immediately felt like something was hooking him in the navel, and the world spun. They arrived in what looked like a graveyard, the Cup dropping to the ground between them. "Is the Cup supposed to be a portkey?" Cedric asked, his wand raised in front of him. Harry felt dread building in his gut, every instinct insisting that something was wrong.
"Kill the spare."
The words echoed in Harry's head, the flash of light burned into his eyelids, and all of a sudden Cedric was on the ground and Harry couldn't look away and he was dead.
Cedric was dead.
The feeling of wrongness increased when the cloaked man forced Harry to his feet and began tying him to a gravestone. Harry managed to catch the name on the stone before his head was yanked back around with a hand that was missing a finger.
TOM RIDDLE
Harry stared at Wormtail as the man secured Harry's bindings. This was not good at all.
He couldn't help but look back at the grass, where Cedric's still form lay. He wished the boy would jump up, grinning that rakish grin, and assure Harry it was all a joke, that everything was fine. But he wouldn't.
He was gone.
He tried to struggle when Wormtail cut into his arm, but it was fruitless, and Harry could do nothing but watch as Voldemort was reborn from the cauldron. He caught the odd hissed word from the snake circling him slowly, but his focus was on the red-eyed wraith of a man in front of him, the parchment-pale face twisted in a satisfied smirk. "We meet again, Harry Potter."
Uncaring of Wormtail's whimpering as he bled onto the grass from his stump of a wrist, Voldemort used the man's Dark Mark to summon his Death Eaters, sending a fiery spark of pain through Harry's scar. Harry looked around at the masked faces, their bodies shrouded in black robes. He wondered if Snape was one of them. Would he be expected to risk his position at the school to join them? Would Harry have one ally in this graveyard?
He wasn't surprised to see Lucius in the mix, even as his heart twisted painfully. Draco would be upset; though he knew, deep down, that his father was only loyal to Voldemort, Harry knew there was still a part of him that hoped for his father's redemption. Hoped it was all an act, and he was truly the loving father Draco had always wanted. Finally, Voldemort's attention turned back to Harry. Harry could hardly focus as the man regaled his followers with the story of his return, his head feeling like it was about to cleave in two. But he tried his best; it was all important information. Sirius and the others would need to know.
He'd thought the pain in his head was the worst thing he'd ever experienced, but it was nothing compared to the Cruciatus curse in person. Harry would have been on his knees if he weren't tied to the headstone; almost did end up on his knees, when Wormtail untied him. It was only sheer stubbornness that kept him upright, his refusal to show any sort of weakness in front of those people.
Even his lessons in the summer couldn't have prepared him for duelling with Voldemort, surrounded by Death Eaters. Voldemort was toying with him, making a mockery of his enemy, and Harry was torn between wanting the man to just kill him and get it over with, and desperately looking for a way out.
When it came, it was in a way that Harry never would have imagined. The golden cage of light; the shades of Cedric, of his parents, of Bertha Jorkins and the muggle man. We're so proud of you, son. His mother's sad smile. Cedric begging him to return his body to his father, pleading for Harry not to feel guilty.
And then he was running, dodging spells left and right, his eyes focused on Cedric's body and the faint glow of the Triwizard Cup. As soon as his hand clenched around Cedric's cool wrist, a wandless Summoning charm had the cup flying into his hand, and the world spun again.
Harry returned to Hogwarts, slamming into the ground just at the edge of the maze. He let the cup fall to the side, his grip still tight on Cedric. The Hufflepuff's face was pale, and Harry choked back a sob.
All around him, the crowd had burst into deafening applause, cheering and whooping at what they saw to be a combined Hogwarts victory. Suddenly, fingers gripped Harry's shoulder, and he was wrenched up to meet Dumbledore's gaze. "Harry," the headmaster said, looking down at Cedric. "What happened?"
"Voldemort," Harry gasped out. "He's back."
He just managed to see a flare of what looked like triumph in Dumbledore's eyes before his vision was blocked by a lime green bowler hat. "What's going on? What happened? Oh my word!" Fudge's eyes went wide. "The Diggory boy! He's—"
Dumbledore tried to pull Harry away, but he clung tighter. "No, he told me," he muttered. "He wanted me to bring him back. He shouldn't have been there." If he hadn't told Cedric to take the Cup with him, if he'd just accepted the victory and gone alone, Cedric would still be alive. Kill the spare. Harry was the only one supposed to be in the graveyard. It was his fault.
"Harry, there's nothing you can do for him now." Dumbledore's voice stood out amongst all the others, but Harry refused to let go of Cedric. Everything around him was a haze of screams and whispers and shadows, people sobbing, the word dead being passed around over and over, Fudge's voice getting progressively higher as he grew more and more panicked. Dumbledore released him, but a different set of hands gripped him by the shoulder, wrenching him off of Cedric and away from the huddle. Harry tried to fight it, but after multiple rounds of Cruciatus, he couldn't have fought off a kitten.
"No," he murmured, feeling the stranger usher him across the grass, stumbling as they hit the castle steps. "No, I can't leave Cedric."
"Easy, lad," it was Moody, and Harry struggled harder. "You need a lie down, you've had quite the shock. Come on, that's it." Harry couldn't pull away as the man took him up to a room he vaguely recognised as the Defence teacher's office; quite different to how it had been when it was Remus'. "Tell me what happened."
"Voldemort's back," Harry mumbled. "I have to get back to Cedric."
"Back? He's returned?" Moody checked. Harry nodded. "What else happened? Did he call his Death Eaters? Who was there?" Moody kept bombarding him with questions, pushing a potion vial into his hand, but Harry refused to drink it, knocking it away and letting it smash on the floor.
"Foolish boy!" Moody roared, his magical eye whizzing around in its socket. "Tell me what happened, so I can know if my hard work has paid off!"
Harry gaped at him. Moody smirked viciously, his scarred face turning grotesque. "Yes, I did it. I put your name in the Goblet; I turned the cup into a portkey; I made Krum attack his fellow champions. It was a bloody miracle and a half you even made it that far! Refusing all my help, making it through by the skin of your teeth. You certainly didn't make it easy on me, Potter! But it was worth it, if my master has returned." He raised his wand, turning on Harry. "Imagine how pleased he'll be to hear I've tied up his loose ends for him."
"Stupefy!"
All of a sudden, Moody toppled to the ground. Harry looked around to the office door, which was hanging off its hinges, to see Snape and McGonagall rushing inside. "Professors!" Harry gasped. "Moody — he did it. He did it all. Voldemort's back and it's his fault."
McGonagall looked horrified, and Snape quickly bound the Stunned man. "I'll fetch the headmaster," the Gryffindor housemistress declared, hurrying from the room. Snape dropped to his knees in front of Harry, cupping his jaw to look him in the eye.
"Did he curse you?"
Harry shook his head. "Tried to get me to drink, but I didn't," he said, gesturing to the mess of potion on the floor. Snape scowled, then held up a vial from his own pocket. Harry drank it without hesitation, and the world immediately regained focus, though his hands were still shaking. "Sir, Voldemort's back."
"I know." Snape's eyes flicked down to his left forearm. "Are you alright?"
There were so many ways Harry could answer that question, but he settled for just a nod. He wasn't dying — that he knew of — and the damage had been done now.
Snape straightened up at the sound of hurried footsteps growing closer, and by the time McGonagall returned with Dumbledore he was on the other side of the room, staring down at the bound Moody with distaste.
"Sir, Professor Moody!" Harry said as soon as Dumbledore's blue eyes landed on him. The headmaster was furious, though Harry couldn't tell what part of the whole evening had made him so. He certainly didn't seem upset about Voldemort's return.
"That is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore announced, striding over to the unconscious man and staring down at him. "I knew as soon as he removed you from my sight. You have never known the real Moody." He reached down, pulling the hip flask from Moody's robe. He popped the cap and held it out to Snape, who sniffed it, sneering.
"Polyjuice," he declared, meeting Harry's gaze. That solved the puzzle of who had broken into his office.
"But then— who is he?" Harry was baffled, but Dumbledore seemed to know exactly who to expect once Moody's face returned to its original form. He sent Snape off to get truth serum and Winky the house elf, McGonagall to get Pomfrey, and then Harry was alone with the headmaster and an unconscious stranger. Harry's heart thudded against his ribs, his wand in his hand, just in case the fight wasn't yet over.
Far from it; Dumbledore practically ignored him, discovering the real Alastor Moody inside a magically expanded trunk. It was only when the man on the floor began to change did Dumbledore pay attention once more.
The scars melted away, the fake eye popping out as the socket was once again filled. The wooden leg fell to the ground with a clunk. Eventually, Harry was left staring at a man with a bedraggled mop of straw-blond hair, his skin pale and his face surprisingly young. He looked about the same age as Sirius, if not younger, though he was prematurely wrinkled around his eyes and brow.
"Crouch." Snape had returned, and was stood in the doorway staring at the young man on the floor, realisation in his eyes. Winky let out a wail at his side. "Barty Crouch."
Harry wrinkled his nose, confused — that definitely wasn't Mr Crouch — before it hit him. Mr Crouch's son.
The Barty Crouch he'd been seeing on the map all year long was the younger Bartemius Crouch, not the elder.
"I thought he was supposed to be dead," Harry murmured. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"I believe that's exactly what he wanted us all to think." He didn't wait for McGonagall to return, taking the small vial from Snape and dropping three drops of liquid into Crouch's mouth. Then, he revived him, keeping his wand out. Harry barely dared to blink as Barty Crouch Jr told his story of escaping Azkaban, Winky letting out moans of despair every few sentences. He learned the truth about the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World cup, and his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament after Voldemort came to Crouch's house. He learned of Barty Crouch Sr's death.
At some point, McGonagall had returned, Pomfrey in tow, and the two women were struck silent in horror as they listened. When Dumbledore was satisfied, he put Crouch to sleep with a spell.
"Minerva, would you mind standing guard while I take Harry here upstairs for a minute? Poppy, if you could, Alastor is down in that trunk, he's in a rather dreadful state and could use your assistance."
"Potter should come as well," Pomfrey insisted, but Dumbledore shook his head.
"I'm afraid I need Harry for just a little bit longer. Severus," he added, turning to the man. "Please go out to the grounds and fetch Cornelius Fudge; he'll undoubtedly want to question this man himself. Tell him I shall be in the Hospital Wing in half an hour's time if he should need me." He moved to stand beside Harry's chair, helping him onto his feet. Pain seared through Harry's leg. "Up you get, there you go, my boy. This will only take a moment."
The last thing Harry wanted to do was go up to Dumbledore's office with him, but he didn't seem to have much of a choice. Dumbledore's grip on his arm was surprisingly firm for such an elderly wizard, and he led Harry slowly up to his office.
The journey was a haze of pain, but soon he was sat in a chair in Dumbledore's office, Fawkes perched on his knee. It helped a little to have the phoenix's warmth with him, but it didn't do a thing to aid the jumble of thoughts in Harry's mind, or his throbbing leg.
"Harry." Dumbledore's voice cut through the fog. "I need you to tell me everything that happened tonight."
"Professor, I really just want to go to sleep," Harry pleaded, his voice cracking. "Can this not wait until the morning?"
"I'm afraid it cannot." Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. Even in his hazy state, Harry knew not to look him in the eye. "Start from the beginning, Harry. Don't leave anything out."
Slowly, with his eyes closed, Harry began to recount what had happened in the maze. By the time he'd reached the part where Cedric was killed, his voice was trembling, and he jumped when the office door slammed open. "Harry!"
A faint sob escaped Harry's lips as Sirius rushed to his side, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Oh, pup," he breathed, stroking Harry's hair. "It's okay, you're alright, we're here, we've got you, you're safe." Harry glanced up to see Remus stood behind Sirius, glaring at Dumbledore.
"What the hell are you playing at, Albus, bringing him up here alone after an event like that? Harry needs rest!" he thundered. Dumbledore didn't flinch.
"Some things are more important than comfort, Remus. Though now you two are here, I'm sure Harry would be happy to allow you to stay."
Harry's fingers twisted in Sirius' robe. His godfather wasn't going anywhere.
With Sirius' arms around him and Remus' hand on his shoulder, it was easier for Harry to tell his story. He didn't even think about what might not be prudent to tell Dumbledore, his brain too messy from the evening's ordeal, so he just spilled everything. Both the Marauders tensed when Harry told them of the shades that had emerged from Voldemort's wand; echoes of Lily and James Potter. He kept going right up until the moment he grabbed the portkey. "And then I came back to the school," he finished eventually, his throat raw and his heart aching. Saying it all out loud, reliving every moment, made it real in his mind. Cedric was dead. Voldemort had returned.
"Can he go get medical care now?" Sirius asked sharply.
"Madam Pomfrey is expecting him," Dumbledore agreed. "Harry, you have shown immense bravery tonight — equal to that of those who faced Voldemort in the first war. You have shouldered a great burden, and it is time for you to rest from it. Sirius, would you like to stay with him?"
"I'd like to see you stop me," Sirius retorted. "Come on, pup. Can you stand?"
Harry made to push himself up, and let out a cry of pain as his leg throbbed. Fawkes fluttered down to the ground, leaning his head against Harry's calf and shedding a few tears — the wound healed, but Harry still felt like his limbs were made of jelly. "I've got you." Remus smiled softly, turning his back to Harry and placing the teen's arms over his shoulders. The next thing Harry knew, the werewolf was lifting him in a piggyback. Harry let his head rest on the man's shoulder, eyes falling half-shut.
Sirius returned to his animagus form and padded alongside Remus as he carried Harry out of the office and towards the Hospital Wing. Harry was vaguely aware of Dumbledore following them, but he was so tired, and he was still trembling from the Cruciatus curse.
When they reached the Hospital Wing, it was to an entire crowd of Weasleys, plus Neville, Hermione, Fleur and Viktor. They all jumped up at the sight of Harry, though several of them looked perplexed at seeing him carried by Remus.
"Poppy, he'll need a Nerve Tonic," Remus called, ignoring the audience to set Harry on the edge of one of the beds. Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened.
"Cruciatus?" she checked, and Remus nodded. Mrs Weasley gasped.
"Oh, Harry!" She rushed forward to hug him, but Remus stepped between them.
"Madam, I must ask you keep your distance; Harry has had quite the ordeal this evening, and he needs medical care and a lot of rest."
"Professor Lupin? What are you doing here?" Hermione piped up.
"We were concerned." His plural brought their attention to the large black dog sat at Harry's feet, and Ron and Hermione let out quiet 'oh' sounds.
"If Harry wishes you all to stay with him, you may," Dumbledore announced. "But please save your questions until he is ready."
Pomfrey returned with several potion vials, and Harry drank them as soon as he recognised Snape's handwriting on the labels. The matron glanced down at the dog, who stared back at her silently. "This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," Dumbledore told her, his tone one not to be questioned.
"Very well. Into bed with you, Mr Potter," Pomfrey urged, her voice surprisingly gentle. Harry didn't care that he was still in his torn and bloodied tournament clothes, merely lying back on the mattress. Remus helped him with his shoes, pulling the blanket up over him.
"Harry." It was Viktor, approaching the bed hesitantly. "I am sorry, for vhat I did in the maze."
"It wasn't your fault," Harry assured tiredly. "Are you alright? Fleur, you as well?"
"We are fine," the French witch told him, offering a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We will return to our families, but… we wanted to make sure you were okay." She approached the bed with a cautious glance towards Sirius, who didn't move. Her fingers curled around Harry's, squeezing gently, and tears welled in her eyes. "Sleep well, 'Arry. We will return in ze morning."
Viktor clasped Harry's shoulder briefly, then nodded, and the pair left the room. Harry wondered how much they'd been told; he'd tell them the whole story in the morning, or as much of it as he could bear. They deserved that much. They were all in the tournament together.
Once Harry was in bed, Pomfrey offered him another potion vial. "It's Dreamless Sleep," she explained. "I would recommend you drink all of it."
Harry's gaze turned to Remus, who smiled and moved closer. "We'll be right here until you wake up." Sirius let out a quiet bark of agreement, and hopped up onto the end of the bed to curl up beside Harry's feet. Harry drank the potion, barely managing half of it before he was slumping against the pillows.
As he laid back down, the world became hazy, his eyelids suddenly very heavy. With Remus' fingers smoothing over his fringe, he fell asleep.
.-.-.
Harry awoke slowly, feeling warm and fuzzy, and like he could happily drift back off to sleep. But he could hear very faint shouting, and when he blinked his eyes open he realised he hadn't been asleep long at all.
In all the chaos of Fudge bursting into the room, no one but Sirius and Remus noticed Harry sitting up and putting his glasses back on. The huge black dog shuffled further up the bed, resting his head in Harry's lap and looking up at him with soulful eyes. Harry pet him on the head, offering Remus a halfhearted smile.
Somehow, it didn't surprise him that Crouch had been 'accidentally' Kissed before a confession could be recorded. He didn't think Dumbledore was surprised, either — it was much easier for the Ministry to stay in denial if the only proof of Voldemort's return was the word of a fourteen year-old boy. When Fudge began to doubt Harry openly, Harry stared the man down.
"I can offer Pensieve memories, if you like," he suggested hoarsely. Fudge began to splutter.
"Highly unusual! I hardly think— as if we could take memories from a boy and expect people to believe it!"
Fudge continued to have his head firmly buried in the sand as he argued with Dumbledore, ignoring the headmaster's suggestions about the dementors and the giants. Harry didn't know why Dumbledore was bothering; they all knew Fudge wouldn't accept Voldemort's return until the man appeared in front of him himself.
Even when Snape showed off his Dark Mark, he refused to believe it, making his excuses to leave. He almost forgot to give Harry his winnings — Harry had entirely forgotten he was owed them. When the Minister left, Dumbledore let out a sigh.
"There is work to be done," he declared. By now, everyone in the room was watching the headmaster. Waiting for him to take over, as he had done in the first war, Harry realised. It made his stomach clench uneasily.
Dumbledore issued orders, and no one hesitated. Though Bill gave Harry a weighted look before he left; he would no doubt be in touch as soon as it was safe. When McGonagall and Pomfrey had both left as well, Dumbledore turned to the bed, giving Sirius a pointed glance. "It is time," he said simply.
Sirius growled quietly, but he shuffled to the edge of the bed and transformed, sitting at Harry's hip. Mrs Weasley screamed.
"Sirius Black!" she exclaimed, raising her wand.
"No!" Harry said, shielding Sirius the best he could. "He's innocent. It's okay!"
"What is he doing here?" Harry had almost forgotten that Sirius and Snape were supposed to loathe each other; they were glaring as if they were hoping to set the other on fire with their eyes.
"It is time to put your differences aside," Dumbledore insisted. "You are on the same side now. I will settle for a lack of open hostility."
Harry bit back a laugh as the pair shook hands, gripping tight enough to attempt to break fingers. They were probably enjoying that little act far too much. Beside him, Remus' eyes danced with amusement.
"So… not a mass-murdering lunatic, then?" Ginny piped up, eyeing Sirius warily. Harry smiled wearily at her.
"Nah, not quite. He's my godfather."
She nodded, apparently happy to accept that explanation. The twins and Neville, who had heard about Sirius from Harry but never met him, looked perfectly comfortable in the situation. Harry was honestly surprised Dumbledore had let them stay.
"Sirius, I need you and Remus to set off at once. The old crowd must be alerted," Dumbledore instructed. Sirius' eyes turned stormy.
"I'm not leaving until I know Harry's alright," he insisted. "A few hours won't lose us the war, Albus. We're leaving in the morning, and no sooner."
Dumbledore's lips thinned, but he didn't argue; he couldn't, not without revealing how little he cared for Harry's wellbeing. "Very well, but you must leave first thing tomorrow. Severus, you know what you must do… if you are ready."
"I am," Snape replied, though he was paler than usual. Harry's hand clenched beneath his blanket; Dumbledore wasn't even hesitating to send him back to that awful monster.
"Then hurry. And good luck." Snape swept from the Hospital Wing, and Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "I must go downstairs; I should see to the Diggorys. Harry, take the rest of your potion. I'll see you all in the morning."
Harry's heart ached at the reminder of Cedric, and he closed his eyes against a fresh wave of grief. When Dumbledore left, he looked up at Sirius, who scooted back on the bed to put an arm around him. "He's right, pup, you should get some sleep. We'll stay with you."
"Take your potion, Harry," Mrs Weasley encouraged, still sending nervous glances towards Sirius. "Try and get your mind off things. Think about what you're going to spend your winnings on, eh?" She tried for a smile, but it just made Harry wince, staring at the bag of galleons accusingly.
"I don't want it. I shouldn't even have it, I didn't win." He and Cedric had taken the cup together. It was his fault Cedric was dead.
"Cedric wouldn't want you to blame yourself, mate," Fred told him softly. "You couldn't have known what would happen."
Logically, Harry knew Fred was right, but that didn't mean his heart believed it. He had survived and Cedric had not, because he was Harry Potter and Cedric was the spare. The Cup had been a portkey because of Harry. It was always because of Harry.
"You guys should go back to the dorm," he muttered, looking away. He was going to cry, he could feel it, and he refused to do so in front of such a large audience. "Get some sleep, come back in the morning."
"Only if you promise to sleep too," Neville insisted. Harry nodded, though he didn't speak the words.
Mrs Weasley was hard to convince, but eventually the twins managed to ease her from the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry alone with Remus and Sirius. His eyes began to burn.
"Your potion," Remus started, but Harry shook his head.
"Not yet." If he kept pushing the reaction away, it would only get worse. "Just… just give me a minute."
Sirius pressed a kiss to his forehead, squeezing him around the shoulders. "Whenever you're ready, pup."
Leaning into his godfather's embrace, Harry let out a shaky breath, feeling a couple of tears leak from his eyes. Cedric was dead. Friendly, funny, overwhelmingly Hufflepuff Cedric. The boy who had become a good friend to Harry in the last year, who had been one of the first to believe him when he said he hadn't entered the tournament. The boy who loved quidditch, and his friends, and his girlfriend — oh, God, Cho. She would be devastated. Harry hoped she had someone to comfort her. He hoped she didn't blame him.
The door creaked as it opened, and Harry tensed, expecting another round with Dumbledore. There was no one there — at least, not until after the door was closed, and a murmured incantation removed the Dissillusionment charm on the two people who had entered. "Harry." Draco hurried towards the bed, ignoring Sirius and hoisting himself up to pull Harry into his arms. "Oh, thank Merlin you're alright."
Harry couldn't stop the dry, aching sob that broke free, and he buried his face in the front of Draco's robes, letting his boyfriend soothe him with a hand rubbing his back.
"He wouldn't believe that you were fine until he saw it with his own eyes," Snape volunteered, striding towards the bed. Now that they didn't have an audience, he eyed Harry with concern. "I must apologise, Harry. I had all the pieces of the puzzle, and yet I failed to put them together until it was too late."
It took Harry a minute to realise what the man was referring to, and then he eyed him incredulously. "Crouch had all of us fooled. You couldn't have known."
Snape didn't look convinced, and Remus put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close. "It wasn't your fault, Severus. This would have happened one way or another. The circumstances are tragic, of course, but… it was inevitable."
"My father was there, wasn't he?" Draco asked, voice hollow. Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "Yeah, he was."
Draco's grey eyes shuttered for a moment, and when he opened them again his jaw was set. "I won't let him get to you." He held Harry tighter, lips pressing to his hair.
"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Harry asked dully. Everything he'd been working towards in the last year — everything he'd planned, it was all coming to fruition. Progress could not be made until Voldemort was dead, but unfortunately that meant he had to be alive again first. The war was on their doorstep, and it was time to fight on two fronts. "We have to make plans. We have to be ready."
"You have to sleep," Remus corrected softly, still holding the vial of potion. "You've had one hell of a day, cub. Get some rest. We can make plans when you've had time to recover, whenever it's safe to do so."
Harry wanted to argue, but he knew the werewolf was right. He was in no state to start planning a war.
"Draco, I should return you to your common room before someone notices you're missing," Snape added, gently touching his godson's shoulder. Draco's hold on Harry tightened for a moment, and then he sighed.
"The Slytherins will be worried about me," he agreed. "They'll want answers. I don't know what to tell them."
"As much of the truth as you can," Snape replied. "They must all soon make choices. We can only hope they make the correct ones."
Harry wondered how many students in Slytherin — and indeed, in other houses — had a parent who had been present in the graveyard earlier. How many children would be dragged into a war that wasn't theirs to fight.
Draco cupped Harry's face, kissing him tenderly. "I'll see you as soon as I can," he promised softly, then slid from the bed. He glanced up to Sirius. "Lord Black, I'd like you to write to my mother, but I don't know if it's safe for her to receive mail."
"I can get a message to her," Sirius assured. "And the offer still stands. Whatever protection the House of Black can give is yours whenever you want it. You're family, in more ways than one."
Something in Draco's shoulders loosened, and he nodded, stepping back. Snape made to leave, but Remus' hand tightened. "Be careful, Severus," he pleaded, honey eyes fearful as he met his partner's gaze. Harry was surprised to see Snape soften, leaning into the touch for the barest moment.
"As careful as I can. I shouldn't be gone long; the school term isn't over yet." Was he headed to speak to the other Death Eaters, Harry wondered? Or to Voldemort himself? Either way, he was walking a dangerous line, even if it was one he'd walked before.
Remus' hand moved to cover Snape's heart for a brief moment, then he straightened up, pulling himself together. A practiced move — how often had he let the man he loved walk into the jaws of death? Harry didn't know how he could bear it.
The two Slytherins left, and Remus stared after them for just a beat too long. "Here," he said eventually, handing Harry the potion. "You need to rest. If you're ready?"
Harry probably could've fallen asleep without the potion at this point, but he dreaded to think what his brain might conjure if he did. He took the vial, downing the whole thing in three large gulps. Sirius eased him down to lay his head on the pillow, then transformed back into a dog and stretched out alongside him, a comforting warmth. Harry let his eyes fall shut, and they did not open again.