24 JUNE, 1995. It was the day of the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Come the night's end, only one champion would reign victorious: only one would receive the prize money of one thousand Galleons and 'eternal glory,' as Dumbledore had called it. Classes were to be dismissed early that day, and by the time he students were allowed to make their way to the Quidditch Pitch, an excitable buzz filled the air like electricity.

As per usual, Fred and George Weasley were going around placing their bets, avoiding Ludo Bagman as they found themselves irritated with the man who'd cheated them of all their savings by rewarding them with leprechaun gold. Judges stood around talking quietly amongst themselves, and the heads of houses at Hogwarts led their students to their selective stands: just as if this were any regular match.

Bagman announced the rules of the final task: the champions were meant to capture the Triwizard cup, which would teleport them immediately back outside of the maze and they would be named victor of the tournament. Should they encounter trouble or forfeit the task, they were meant to send up Red Sparks, or 'Vermillious' into the skyline so a ministry official or teacher could lead the champions out of the maze. They were told that beasts roamed the interior of the maze, as well as many other challenges, and Hagrid was given props for his wondrous job at growing the thing. It was announced that earlier in the day, Professor Moody had placed the cup inside the maze. At the sound of canon fire, Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter were meant to step inside the labyrinthian creation first.

BANG!

The canon fired, and the champions adorned in Hufflepuff yellow and Gryffindor scarlet raced into the maze.

The stands were filled with anticipation as they awaited the return of a champion, whether they be from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, or Beauxbatons. Hermione Granger, finally well enough to leave the Hospital Wing after a week of missing classes, sat beside Ron, squeezing his hand with worry. He didn't mind much: they were friends again, after all, and though their sudden physical interactions differed from their previous interactions, he didn't mind that either.

Hermione was quite soft. And incredibly warm.

Across the stands, Pansy Parkinson sat between Blaise and Draco. While the boys seemed immersed in the game, she was using her omnioculars to gaze upon the her girl crush. Hermione's face betrayed just how scared she was for her best friend's sake. She wanted desperately to race across and comfort her, but the sight of her hand in Weasley's freckled one made her heart clench.

Things hadn't gone the way she wished they would have in the Hospital Wing that day. She'd finally admitted her feelings for the Gryffindor, and in response, the brown-haired girl had responded with, "I'm so confused."

Heartbroken, Pansy had said, "take your time." They hadn't spoken since that day; she finished their potion in Snape's class and was free to sit with Blaise once more, though her eyes always fell on the empty desk that had become like a second home to her... and Hermione someone to go home to. She felt pathetic, and couldn't stop staring at her hand being held between Weasley's.

She felt Blaise shuffle in his seat next to her, his body emanating immense heat as she suddenly felt so terribly cold. She leaned into him, dropping her omnioculars in her lap, and buried her face into his broad shoulder. "Let's get out of here." She begged, voice muffled. He gave her an odd look.

"We can't leave. The champions are in the midst of their final task. Look, Fleur Delacour's just been eliminated! It's up to Hogwarts or Durmstrang to win this thing now." Blaise claimed, pointing to where the French girl was exiting the maze. She looked ghostly pale, and allowed herself to be wrapped up into her mother and sister's arms from the visitors' stands.

"Blaise," Pansy's eyes were clouded with despair. "Please."

He nodded, giving in. The two made their way down from the stands, away from the still-entranced Draco Malfoy as well as his cronies, and out of the pitch. They headed off towards the Black Lake, appearing eerie as the sun dipped low over the hillsides. They sat down, Pansy crumpling into Blaise's side with a heavy heart. Not far off, they could hear the magically increased volume of Ludo Bagman's voice as he gave the play-by-play of the tournament. Harry Potter had just encountered a topsy-turvy golden mist.

"I'm sorry, Pansy," Blaise started. She'd never actually told him what had happened, but it was obvious from the crestfallen look on her face. "I'm truly very-"

"Please, Blaise, just shut up." She begged, turning to stare into his deep brown eyes. "I wish things were different," she caressed his cheek. "You're so handsome."

"Pans, you don't know what you're saying." He shuddered at her touch. If things had been different, perhaps he would've let her continue this. But he couldn't. "Pansy, get off of me."

"Isn't this what you've always wanted though, Blaise? Me?" Her voice cracked: tears in her dark eyes. "Don't tell me you plan to reject me too."

"Pansy, I'm in love with you, but I've accepted the fact that we will never be together. You're gay." She climbed into his lap, fingers now playing with his hair.

She purred. "We could forget about that for now."

He sighed, and her lips brushed his lightly. He grabbed her waist, pulling her against him for a moment. She smelled of jasmine and something else... He wanted to stay like this, kissing her forever. His wandering thoughts were pulled away though suddenly as the sounds of horrified screams filled his ears. He pushed Pansy away quickly, rising to his feet at the speed of light while the short-haired girl remained dazed.

"Blaise?" She queried. His jaw was set stiffly.

"Something's wrong." Without another word, he raced up towards the pitch, Pansy on his heels. Harry Potter had returned with the cup, though he'd discarded it and was hunched over something, crying loudly.

And then they saw a slip of yellow, and Blaise's skin grew ashen. Cedric Diggory was dead.

————— ↯ —————

In the days that followed, a memorial service was held for Cedric Diggory. His parents had taken his body from the grounds and were mourning in solitude. Whisperings of the Dark Lord's return was making its way around the school, and Harry Potter remained far too depressed to talk to anyone after that first night.

Reporters and teachers had been prodding and poking at his memory since the end of the third task: since he'd been rescued from the clutches of Bartemius Crouch Jr., who'd used Polyjuice Potion to disguise himself as Alastor Moody and had turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey. The real Moody had been in a terribly weakened state, locked within a trunk for months on end: big clumps of his hair had been removed for the making of the potion. Still, Harry looked worse.

Hermione refused to leave his side. The two had taken to sleeping in the common room, where his nightmares were heard by the whole of Gryffindor House in forms of terrified screams, but at least she could be there with him. Ron joined their slumber party in the common room on the second night, and soon a whole group of students had gone down with their duvets to comfort him in the low firelight.

"Harry, please, you have to eat." She begged him. He hadn't eaten in three days: she'd barely even gotten a drink into him. His skin had taken on a sallow color: he'd been excused from classes.

"I'm not hungry." He mumbled, turning over on the couch so as not to face his friend. She'd brought up a whole tray of food for him, much like she had the past few days, but nothing had been consumed.

"Harry, please."

"I said I'm not hungry!" He whipped his head around and sent the tray clattering to the ground. The dark-skinned girl eyed him with horror. Ron frowned and moved to sit by his friend's feet, placing his hand on the collar of Harry's dingy gray shirt and dragged him upwards to face him.

"Listen here, you git. We're all hurting at Cedric's loss, and yes, it sucks terribly that you had to witness it firsthand and couldn't even save him. But I am not going to sit by while you abuse those who are just trying to help you." The redhead spat angrily, and Harry's eyebrows narrowed angrily. Then, his green eyes flashed as he looked towards Hermione.

"Fine. You want me to eat? I'll eat when you start taking care of your own problems."

"When in Godric's name are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione cried, terribly frustrated at the stubbornness of the champion who'd never wished for any of this.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She swallowed, a deep frown etching onto her face. Her shoulders slumped. "You promise you'll eat something if I do?"

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, blue eyes scanning each of his friends' faces with confusion. "Hermione, what's he talking about? What's going on?"

"You have my word."