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Silence enveloped the sixth year’s dormitory room in Gryffindor Tower. The two boys lay in bed: Harry in his bed and Ron in his. Harry felt his stomach twist into a tight little ball of nerves. His heart pounded so hard he wondered if Ron could hear it one bed over. “Um, Ron? Would you say something?”
Ron still took some time to do as he’d been asked. “Why are you just telling me now?”
“I dunno. I wasn’t really sure how to say it. Muggles have some problems with it and I wasn’t sure what it was like for wizards.” He took a deep breath. “And I’ll understand if you don’t want to be my friend any more…”
“Just ‘cause you’re a pofter? Not likely, mate!”
Harry smiled as he moved his gaze from the canopy of his bed toward Ron’s bed.
Ron smiled back at him. “But, honestly, I’m a bit surprised. For the longest time, I thought you were mad for Cho.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. For the longest time, I thought I was, too. But it turns out I just liked her because I was really hot for Diggory.”
“Diggory!” Ron sat straight up in bed, alarmed. His eyes were wide with shock. “Cedric Diggory?”
“No, Amos Diggory.” Harry laughed heartily. “Of course Cedric Diggory. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff Quidditch seeker. Cedric Diggory, the true Hogwarts Champion. Cedric Diggory, smoking hot pretty boy. Yeah, that’s the one.”
Ron looked thoughtful for some time. It took Harry prodding with a “What?” before Ron spoke.
“Now it makes sense why you told Diggory that the first task was dragons.”
Harry went a little pink in the cheeks. He was glad the room was dark, lit only by the fire on the far side of the room. “Didn’t take you long to figure that out. Took me a whole year to admit it.” A whole year of watching Cedric perform in tasks, over and over. Three quarters of a year imagining what it would be like to be the boy whose lap Cedric’s head rested in. A half year of picturing Cedric naked and swimming in the prefect’s bathtub. And a month wondering what it would be like, walking into the maze side-by-side with Cedric. He’d left with Cedric as well, in a way that had just about broken him.
Harry suddenly felt ill. He didn’t like to think of Cedric dead, of those blank eyes staring up at nothing. He liked to think of Cedric on a broom, trying to beat Harry to the snitch. Or Cedric in the middle of a group of huggy Hufflepuffs; Gryffindors shook hands, but Hufflepuffs always hugged over everything. He liked to think of Cedric as someone who would have stood beside him and fought for everything Harry valued.
“Hey, Harry. Did you ever fancy me?”
That made the knot in Harry’s stomach loosen. He chuckled. “Oh, of course. You drive me absolutely mad. There’s nothing stopping me right now from marching over there, tearing off your clothes, and making out with you. Better watch out.”
Though Harry’s tone was flat, Harry was glad that Ron obviously understood the statement to be a joke. From out of nowhere, a pillow came soaring over and whapped Harry in the face.
“Just don’t tell Hermione. I’m not sure she could stand having competition.”
That was the best reaction he could have hoped for. Relaxing more, Harry got ready for a pillow fight of ultimate proportions. He threw Ron’s pillow back and followed it swiftly with one of his own. Hit, Ron fell back on his bed, laughing.