Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

Harry should have known better than to expect Quidditch to lift his spirits, given how his term was going so far.

He didn't think it was necessary for Madam Pomfrey to keep him in the hospital wing for the entire weekend, but he didn't argue too hard—it at least kept him away from prying eyes. And once Neville brought him some books, it wasn't too bad. He appreciated the attempt to cheer him up, at least.

He hadn't told anyone about the Grim yet. He was almost certain he was imagining things.

One thing he definitely wasn't imagining, however, were the voices he'd heard just before he passed out—the ones the Dementors had dredged up from his memories. He had already known, deep down, but now he really knew.

That was his mother's voice he was hearing—her last words as she begged Voldemort to spare him. Her dying screams.

Weeks ago, he would have given anything to hear his mother's voice. Now, he would give anything to make it stop.

It was all he could think about, echoing in his ears every time he closed his eyes. The visitors were a welcome distraction, but the moment he was left alone, the voice returned.

"Potter, are you, uh, alright?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice and looked up to see the cautious face of Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Seeker.

"Diggory," he greeted, confusion evident in his tone. Cedric edged a little closer.

"Hi. Uh, I brought you this. From dinner. Madam Pomfrey never lets me have sweets when I'm stuck in the hospital wing, so I thought you might like it." The Hufflepuff awkwardly thrust out a napkin-wrapped bundle, which turned out to be a slightly misshapen slice of treacle tart. "I asked the twins—they said it's your favorite."

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." Harry took the treat, still completely baffled by the other Seeker's presence.

"Look, Potter, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late—I never would've caught the Snitch if I had."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry assured him, grimacing. Stupid, noble Hufflepuffs. "It's fine. You won. It's just a Quidditch match."

"Don't let Wood hear you say that," Cedric shot back, making Harry snort.

"Are you okay, though?" Cedric continued, his expression serious. "You fell so fast… for a minute, we all thought…" He trailed off, looking away.

Harry knew what he had been about to say. They had all thought he was dead at first.

"I'm fine. Barely even hurt," he lied. He was exhausted, sore, and still a little shaky, but he'd had worse injuries from Quidditch before.

"Wish I could say the same about my broom," he added, glancing over at the pile of shattered wood.

Cedric winced. "Yeah, I heard about that. Merlin, I'm sorry. It was a great broom. Hopefully, you can get something good to replace it."

Harry didn't even want to think about replacing his broom right now, though he knew he would have to before the match against Ravenclaw.

"Well, anyway, I'm glad you're alright. And I really am sorry about the match. I tried to get a rematch, but Hooch wouldn't hear it. I just… I wanted to beat you fairly, you know? Not because the Dementors made you faint."

The reminder made Harry scowl. "You won fair enough. You were already on your way to the Snitch when I fell."

"That doesn't count! I've seen you fly, Potter—you could've easily beaten me to it." Cedric ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear on his face. "Whatever. I've clearly lost this argument anyway, so it doesn't matter. I just… I didn't want you to think I was happy about how it turned out."

"I wouldn't blame you if you were," Harry replied. "But thanks. And there's always next year, right?"

That made Cedric grin.

"Next year, you're on," he agreed, shaking Harry's hand. "I'll leave you to your evening. Hope you're back on your feet soon, Potter. See you around."

"Yeah. See you, Diggory."

"Cedric," the older Hufflepuff corrected, a faint flush creeping up his neck. "It's Cedric."

It took a beat too long for them to stop shaking hands.

"Then call me Harry."

Cedric grinned, and Harry could suddenly understand why all the girls got so flustered over him. Something in his gut flip-flopped.

"Later, Harry."

The Hufflepuff turned to leave, and Harry sank back against the pillows, shaking his head as he tried to process the bizarre interaction. At least something good had come from the whole disaster—he had sort of, maybe, made a new friend?

—.—.—.—

If he thought Cedric's visit had been strange, he was utterly bewildered by the person who crept into the hospital wing shortly after curfew.

"Malfoy?"

"Shut up, Potter! I don't want to get caught," the Slytherin hissed, glaring.

The moonlight bounced off his platinum hair, making it practically glow in the darkness. He looked almost ethereal.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you didn't want to get caught, why are you here?"

There was a long, weighted silence.

"You were worried about me, weren't you?"

"Shut up, Potter," Malfoy bit out again.

Harry grinned. He was! Malfoy was actually concerned about him.

"Maybe I'm here for Pomfrey. My arm hurts."

"We both know that's not true. Your arm is fine."

"Yes, well. After the way you fell, I'm surprised they weren't scooping you into a cauldron to get you off the pitch. The girl Weasley is going around acting like you'll never walk again."

Harry grimaced, glancing at Ginny's homemade get-well card, which was firmly wedged under his fruit bowl.

"I'm fine, really. It's just the Dementors…" Harry trailed off. "You heard what Snape said in class. They're worse for people with bad memories."

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