Chapter Text
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Cedric’s body as Voldemort began his rambling tirade, but his heart was jackrabbiting in his throat, his body felt like it was on fire, and something screamed in every inch of him to run. But he couldn’t. He was bound to the gravestone of Voldemort’s father and pain pierced through him from when Voldemort had pressed his hand to Harry's head.
Hermione had stressed over and over again that they could die during the Tournament, and yet here they were, at the end, and it wasn’t the Tournament that killed them. Harry felt like if he had anymore sense of awareness in that moment that hysterical laughter would have bubbled up out of his throat.
Suddenly, the ropes loosened and fell around him and his wand flew at him, landing lamely on the ground in front of him. He refocused on what the insane prick in front of him was saying.
“Pick up your wand, Potter.” Harry blinked owlishly through the white noise in his head, and then Voldemort’s face contorted with fury, “I said pick it up, get up!”
Harry was loath to do anything the man demanded of him, but it would be stupid not to grab his own wand when he was alone, outnumbered in a graveyard by a dozen or so adults who all knew Dark Magic like the back of their hands. He pushed himself to his feet, and Voldemort made a high, gleeful noise that grated against Harry’s whole body.
Why did his body feel like it was on fire? He could feel the sweat - the summer air closing in on him, thick and too humid, but it felt like everything in his body was too heavy, a deep ache in his bones and muscles comparable to how he felt after running drills for Wood the year before for Quidditch.
“Good,” the word felt almost like a purr against his skin, a balm to the ache in his bones. His hair stood on end, his skin covered in bumps as he shivered, and he wasn’t hearing whatever it was Voldemort was saying-
“ Bow ,” a voice hummed through his mind, and Harry choked again, something clawing inside his chest because there was no fucking way in hell he was going to bow for this shitheel. He raised his head even as his neck and the voice in his head screamed to do the opposite, and he glared at the man. However, his moment of bravado was broken when his knees gave out, and he lost hold of his wand.
There was a horrible sort of silence in the clearing. Every figure stood stock still and Harry panted, digging his hands into the soil, trying to anchor himself. There was an ache between his legs, but he’d powered through bullshit before and he’d do it again. He shoved it all behind him into the tiny corner of his mind that had a banner reading “ PROBLEMS FOR FUTURE HARRY ” as he pushed himself back to his feet, panting. He needed to get out of here before Voldemort, or any of these pillocks, tried to kill him. Whatever was going on with his body would have to wait.
“If only Dumbledore could see you now, boy,” Voldemort hissed, staring at him like he’d done a neat trick, and Harry wanted to curse the man. “Maybe I will keep you alive if only to break you apart in front of him.”
A red light shot from Voldemort’s wand, and Harry thrust all his weight to the side. He tried to duck into a roll, but the pain threw him off balance. The curse struck, and Harry found himself writhing on the ground in pain. He started to scream but cut it off at the pass, gasping as he curled in on himself. His stomach convulsed, and he gagged. Then the pain stopped, and he swallowed the bile down at the back of his throat, coughing. His wand, where was his wand?
His chest ached, his throat burned, and his nails and skin felt like they were itching to crawl off his body. Voldemort’s robes swished into view, and suddenly, pineforestfiresmoke flooded his senses. His body went lax, the itching slowing to a halt as a hand fisted his hair, pulling him up to his knees. Voldemort’s body was crowding him against one of the gravestones. Even as the absolutely insane desire to shove his face into Voldemort’s robe rose inside of him, Harry became horribly aware of two things at once.
Voldemort’s leg had slotted between his, and Harry’s cock was rock hard. The ache between his legs was so intense now that it was practically pulsing. He let out an involuntary noise at the contact, the smell and touch overwhelming him. He’d never known something could both hurt and feel so good at the same time.
“Pathetic, the great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. An omega ,” Voldemort hissed, and Harry froze in panic, trying to jerk his head away. No, no, he couldn’t be- all of his classmates had already presented, the last being Bulstrode in Slytherin at the beginning of the year- everyone else had presented in their second or third year.
Voldemort’s face was too close to his neck for comfort, teeth bared with the threat to bite the mating gland on his neck. And while the omega half of Harry was still practically melted at the smell of pine forest and campfire, the other half of Harry, the one that ran the show and knew this was not a good alpha, not someone to trust with anything let alone their fucking body or virginity , took over the reins and he turned and sank his teeth into the only thing he could- Voldemort’s forearm.
The elder man let out a litany of curses, and Harry dropped and rolled. He reached blindly for his wand, willing it with every fibre of his being into his hand. Once he felt it, he threw up a shield even as a section of headstone blew off the one closest to him.
“I am going to bite you and mount you and then rip your throat out in front of that wizened, decrepit old fool!” The man screamed and another gravestone exploded. Harry ducked once and then again, scrambling, trying to find a way to get back to the portkey.
The next curse hit just over his ear, and he could feel the heat and magic of it. He bounced out from his cover, screaming, “Expelliarmus!” louder than he ever had before.
Red and green strikes smashed together in a horrible, blinding display, and his hand burned , so he clutched onto the wood with both hands, trying to push through whatever was happening.
Even as he heard Voldemort screaming, he saw the green of the killing curse and the red of his disarming spell blend and bleed until they became a bright gold, almost white in its blinding brightness. Harry tried to look away, only to realise the bright lights were destroying his night vision and all he could see were crackles of more gold sparking off from the connection and feel and hear the shifting of the Death Eaters around them.
Harry blinked as his eyes tried to focus on the images in front of him. There was a hand for a moment, but it disappeared as rapidly as it appeared, and then Cedric was there, floating towards him. His heart caught in his throat. He wanted to reach out, but he was so afraid to release either of his hands from his wand. They hurt so much, they burned and ached, and he was certain if he tried to unclasp them that he wouldn’t be able to grip his wand again.
A woman and then a man. The man he recognised- he was the one from his dream the summer before, the muggle man. And then his parents stepped into his field of vision. If Cedric had caused his heart to jump into his throat, his parents made his heart stop . He could feel tears at the corner of his eyes as he gasped, struggling to take in every part of them.
He wanted this to stop. His heart ached so hard it felt like it was tearing in two as he heard a terribly beautiful song- a phoenix song, like Fawkes had sung for him before. He wanted all of this to stop. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He was tired- his body hurt, his heart hurt, and he wanted to lie down and die so he could hold and be held by his mother and father and cling to them as he sobbed.
His mother was there suddenly, right in front of him as if she could hear his thoughts. Her eyes looked watery, and her hands cupped his cheeks as the tears poured down them. He gasped for air through the pain and tears.
“My son,” her voice was light and airy and barely there above a whisper, almost as if she spoke louder, she was worried she’d also break down, but it still triggered something deep in him, like a melody he’d forgotten. He knew this voice better than anyone’s, but he wouldn’t be able to recall it if asked directly. “You’re so strong, be strong for just a little longer.”
Harry shook his head and gasped again, sobbing as his father wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pressed his cheek to his. He could feel that hand on his back.
“Please,” Harry begged, not really knowing what he was asking for.
“Don’t let go,” James said, his voice also sounding heavy with unshed tears, “Don’t let go until we say.”
“Harry,” Cedric said, there on the other side of his mother, the spirits making a tight little half-circle around him, blocking Voldemort and the Death Eaters entirely from view. Honestly, he didn’t care. If this was how he died, then he’d take it. “Harry, please, take my body back to my father,” Cedric asked, reaching up and pushing hair out of Harry’s face. “You can do it.”
“Harry,” his father, his dad said, and Harry felt so overwhelmed in every capacity- physically, mentally, emotionally. “When the connection breaks, you must get to the portkey,” his grip tightened for a moment like he was steeling himself. Harry wanted to let go of the wand and grab him and his mother and never let go, but his father shook his head as if he knew exactly what he was thinking, “We can delay him for a moment to give you time, but it will only be a moment, do you understand?”
Harry swallowed all the excess saliva and mucus that had disgustingly pooled in his mouth as he’d cried and nodded his head. He didn’t want to, he wanted to give up, he wanted to lie down, but he looked at Cedric and took a deep, shaky breath and nodded his head- Cedric deserved to have a proper send off. If he could power through this for anyone, it was him. Cedric deserved to get back home.
“It’s time,” his mother said, her forehead bumping gently against his. He could see a single tear on her cheek. “Let go, sweetheart, and run .”
The connection broke, and Harry was desperately glad for Cedric’s shout of “Now!” to shove Harry into action because both of his hands were shaking, and he was barely able to unclutch one hand as he dove towards Cedric’s body. Death Eaters were running towards him, and the portkey was just there, out of reach-
“Accio!” He screamed, and the cup flew at them. There was screaming as he felt a jerk in his stomach, and the world spun around them. He clung to Cedric’s body- lights and colours and sounds.
Harry and Cedric landed inelegantly on the ground, tumbling across the grass and Harry clung to the older boy’s body, his tears back, the grief and pain and horror of everything ripping through him now that he was no longer worried about immediately being tortured and/or killed in front of Malfoy’s father and a bunch of other bigots.
Someone was screaming his name. There was a lot of noise, but none of it made sense to Harry; his whole body was strung so tight, the pain and the overstimulation grated. His hands were burned, and he couldn’t get either to loosen their grip on Cedric or his wand, and he curled more tightly into himself over the body.
“Harry! Tell me what happened!” A voice shouted too loudly. He flinched.
Harry stared, his eyes unseeing for a moment, unfocused as he tried to process what those words meant- he could hear a ringing noise in the background, high-pitched, more voices, lights flashing, and then screams.
Dumbledore , Harry practically sagged when his brain put it together; it was Dumbledore! The headmaster was trying to gently uncurl Harry’s burnt hands from Cedric, pulling him off the elder boy’s body.
“He’s back,” Harry managed to finally say, staring at the headmaster, his voice sounding hollow and distant. “Voldemort’s back. Cedric- he asked me to bring back his body-” Someone was jostling them and Harry realised his legs weren’t working. The full-body ache had returned now that he was no longer in a life-or-death situation, and his stomach felt like someone was trying to cut him open from the inside.
“I couldn’t leave him,” he managed to get out. The words felt odd- like someone else was saying them. He felt like he was floating.
“It’s alright, Harry, you’re home, you’re both home-” Dumbledore was saying, and Harry felt his head nod slowly. Then, he smelled worn parchment and books and leather and realised Dumbledore had lifted him up; he didn’t know Dumbledore could do that. His head was turned, breathing in the man’s scent, and the distraction it provided was just enough to keep from… From what?
What was happening? What was he doing?
Dumbledore was talking to someone, so many people, but when someone tried to take Harry, Harry felt his whole body flinch again. He was shaking and gasping for air like his lungs were burning. Despite the burns covering his hands, he clung to the Headmaster. He knew if he didn’t, he was going to start screaming and that he wouldn’t be able to stop.