Right Now Could Last Forever

The stands were full, and the Quidditch Pitch was completely unrecognisable. A twenty-foot-high hedge ran all the way around the edge of it. There was a gap right in front of the champions; the entrance to the vast maze.

The air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students files into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, on eighty-five points each – Mr Cedric Diggory and Mr Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!” The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. “In second place, on eighty points – Mr Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!” More applause. “And in third place – Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!”

Harry waved up to us, and we all waved back, beaming at him.

There came a short blast of Bagman’s whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forwards into the maze. I stared shaking as soon as Harry was out of sight, and Fred, who was standing next to me, grabbed my hand.

-

There was a thud as Harry hit the ground out of nowhere. Under him was Cedric, and in his hand was the Triwizard Cup. Screams and footsteps everywhere. Neither of the two boys were moving, and I ran down to the place where Harry had appeared, fighting my way through people, for surely he couldn’t be dead.

“Harry! Harry!”

Dumbledore turned him over, and Harry’s eyes opened. I pushed my way through the last couple of people, and fell to my knees next to him.

“Are you alright?” I asked frantically.

However, Harry ignored me. He let go of the Cup and clutched Cedric to him tightly. It was only then that I realised; Cedric was dead. Cold and lifeless; never to see the day of light again. Harry raised his free hand and seized Dumbledore’s wrist.

“He’s back,” Harry whispered. “He’s back. Voldemort.”

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

The face of Cornelius Fudge appeared looking white and appalled.

“My God – Diggory!” it whispered. “Dumbledore – he’s dead!”

The words were repeared and the shadowy figures around us pressing in on us gasped it to those around them... and then other shouted it – screeched i – into the night – “He’s dead!” “He’s dead!” “Cedric Diggory! Dead!”

I held Harry’s hand, in a feeble attempt to comfort him in the slightest.

“Harry, let go of him,” Fudge said, but Harry wouldn’t let go.

“Harry, you can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go,” Dumbledore said softly.

“He wanted me to bring him back,” Harry muttered. “He wanted me to bring him back to his parents...”

“That’s right, Harry... just let go, now...”

Dumbledore bent down and, with extraordinary strength for a man so old and thin, raised Harry from the ground, and set him on his feet. Harry swayed.

“What’s happened?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Diggory’s dead!”

“He’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge said. “He’s ill, he’s injured – Dumbledore, Diggory’s parents, they’re here, they’re in the stands...”

I stood up without hearing, and walked away from the scene in a blur. He was dead; Cedric was dead. I’d never known him personally, but he’d always been so nice in the hallways, always smiling and greeting everyone. I stumbled blindly into the mass of ginger hair, and felt someone’s arms around me.

“Are you okay?” someone asked.

I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head against what I recognised to be Fred’s chest. I let out a small sob.

“He’s dead,” I managed to get out.

“Harry?” that was Ginny.

“No. No, Cedric.”

-
“Your winnings. One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but in the circumstances...” Fudge said, cramming his bowler had onto his head, and walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at us all.

“There is much work to be done,” he said. “Molly... am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”

“Of course you can,” she said. She was white to the lips, but looked resolute. “He knows what Fudge is. It’s Arthur’s fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.”

“Then I need to send a message to him,” said Dumbledore. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and Arthur is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius.”

“I’ll go to Dad,” said Bill, standing up. “I’ll go now.”

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry –“

“Leave it to me,” said Bill.

He clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode quickly from the room.

“Minerva,” said Dumbledore. “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also – if she will consent to come – Madame Maxime. Poppy,” he said to Madam Pomfrey, “would you be very kind, and go down to Professor Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.”

“Very – very well,” said Pomfrey, looking startled, and she too left.

“And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognise each other for what they are. Sirius... if you could resume your usual form.”

The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man.
Mrs Weasley screamed and leapt back from the bed.

“Sirius Black!” she shrieked, pointing at him.

“Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled. “It’s OK!”

Snape had not yelled or jumped backwards, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror.

“Him!” he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?”

“He is here at my invitation,” said Dumbledore, looking between them, “as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences, and trust each other. I will settle in the short term for a lack of hope hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”

Very slowly, but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing but ill – Sirius and Snape moved towards each other, and shook hands. They let go extremely quickly.

“That will do to be going on with,” said Dumbledore, stepping between them once more. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher- the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin’s for a while, I will contact you there.”

“But –“ said Harry.

“You’ll see me very soon, Harry,” said Sirius, turning to him. “I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah... of course I do.”

Sirius grasped his hand briefly, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw. Then he was gone.
“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared...”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

“Then, good luck,” said Dumbledore, and he watched with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again.

“I must go downstairs,” he said finally. “I must see the Diggorys. Harry – take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later.”

Harry slumped back against his pillow, and none of us spoke for a long time. I still gripped Harry’s hand in my own, no wanting to let go just yet.

“You’ve got to take the rest of your potion, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said at last. Her hand nudged the sack of gold on his bedside cabinet as she reached for the bottle and the goblet. “You have a good long sleep. Try and think about something else for a while... think about what you’re going to buy with your winnings!”

“I don’t want that gold,” said Harry in an expressionless voice. “You have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn’t have won it. It should’ve been Cedric’s.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Mrs Weasley whispered as I gave his hand a small squeeze.
“I told him to take the Cup with me,” said Harry.

Mrs Weasley set the potion down on the beside cabinet, bent down and put her arms around Harry. There was a loud slamming noise, from over by the window Hermione was standing at. She was holding something tight in her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Your potion, Harry,” said Mrs Weasley quickly, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand.
Harry drank it in one, and instantly fell asleep.
-
It was with a heavy heart that I packed my trunk up in the dormitory, on the night before we returned home for holidays. I was dreading the Leaving Feats, which was usually a cause for celebration, when the winner of the Inter-House Championship would be announced.

When we entered the Hall, we saw at once that the usual decorations were missing. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning house’s colours for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers’ table. I knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect for Cedric.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table, his wooden leg and magical eye in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. I wondered as I sat down with the other Gryffindors, where Karkaroff was now; whether Voldemort had caught up with him.

Madame Maxime was still there. She was sitting next to Hagrid. They were talking quietly together. Further along the table, sitting next to McGonagall, was Snape.

Dumbledore stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less nosy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet.

“The end,” said Dumbledore, looking around at us all, “of another year.”

He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had got to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

“There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight,” said Dumbledore, “but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here” – he gestured towards the Hufflepuffs – “enjoying our Feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory.”

We did it, all of us; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised our goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, “Cedric Diggory.”

“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities which distinguish Hufflepuff house,” Dumbledore continued. “He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about.

“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so – either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.”

Stunned and frightened, every face in the Hall was turned towards Dumbledore now... or almost every face. Over at the Slytherin table, I saw Draco muttering something to Crabbe and Goyle. I felt a hot, sick swoop of anger in my stomach.

“This is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric’s death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter.”

A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall, as a few heads turned in Harry’s direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore.

“Harry Potter manage to escape Lord Voldemort. He risked his own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honour him.”

Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry, and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. They murmured his name, like they had Cedric’s and drank to him.

“The Triwizard Tournament’s aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened – of Voldemort’s return – such ties are more important than ever before.”

Dumbledore looked from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs at the Slytherins table.

“Every guest in this Hall,” said Dumbledore, and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, “will be welcomed back here, at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again – in the light of Lord Voldemort’s return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.

“Lord Voldemort’s gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

“It is my belief – and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken – that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you, in this Hall, have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst.

“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”

-

After a brief goodbye to Krum, I was ready to get on the train back home. The weather could not have been more different on the journey back to King’s Cross than it had been on our way to Hogwarts the previous September. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. The three of us had managed to get a compartment to ourselves. Pig was once again hidden under Ron’s dress robes to stop him hooting continually; Hedwig and Calandra were both dozing, their heads under their wings and Crookshanks was curled up in a spare seat like a large, furry ginger cushion.

Sometime after lunch, Malfoy had entered our compartment, followed by Crabbe and Goyle – of course.

“Get out,” said Harry, after a short conversation.

“You’ve picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you, you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? You too, Samuels? I told you not to hang around with riff-raff like this!” He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. “Too late now! They’ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord’s back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well – second – Diggory was f-“

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, I blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. All four of us were on our feet, all of us (apart from me, but I had my fists at the ready once more) having used a different hex. Nor were we the only ones to have done so.

“Thought we’d see what those three were up to,” said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle, and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside.

“Interesting effect,” said George,, looking down at Crabbe. “Who used the Furnunculus curse?”

“Me,” said Harry.

“Odd,” said George lightly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn’t be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let’s not leave them here, they don’t add much to the decor.”

Ron, Harry and George kicked, rolled and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle – each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit – out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.

“Exploding Snap, anyone?” said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards.

“You going to tell us, then?” Harry said to George, when we were halfway through our fifth game. “Who you were blackmailing?”

“Oh,” said George darkly. “That.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head impatiently. “It wasn’t anything important. Not now, anyway.”

“We’ve given up,” said Fred, shrugging.

But Harry, Ron and Hermione kept on asking, and finally Fred said, “All right, all right, if you really want to know... it was Ludo Bagman.”

“Bagman?” said Harry sharply. “Are you saying he was involved in –“

“Nah,” said George gloomily. “Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn’t have the brains.”

“Well, what, then?” said Ron.

Fred hesitated, looking sideways at me and George, then said, “You remember that bet we had with him, at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?”

“Yeah,” said Harry and Ron slowly.

“Well, the git paid us in leprechaun gold he’d caught from the Irish mascots.”

“So?”

“So,” said Fred impatiently, “it vanished, didn’t it? By next morning, it had gone!”

“But – it must’ve been an accident mustn’t it?” said Hermione.

I laughed very bitterly. “Yeah, that’s what these two thought, at first. I thought that if we just wrote to him, and told him he’d made a mistake, he’d cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us.”

“In the end, he turned pretty nasty,” said Fred. “Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn’t giving us anything.”

“So we asked for our money back,” said George, glowering.

“He didn’t refuse!” gasped Hermione.

“Right in one,” said Fred.

“But that was all your savings!” said Ron.

“Tell me about it,” said George. “Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan’s dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he’s in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. Gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn’t enough to cover all his depts.. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He’s lost everything gambling. Hasn’t got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?”

“How?” said Harry.

“He put a bet on you, mate,” said Fred. “Put a big bet on you to win the Tournament. Bet against the goblins.”

“So that’s why he kept trying to help me win!” said Harry. “Well – I did win, didn’t I? So he can pay you your gold!”

“Nope,” said George, shaking his head. “The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you’d win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He made a run for it right after the third task.”

George sighed deeply, and stared dealing out the cards again.

The rest of the journey passed pleasantly enough. All too soon, the Hogwarts Express was slowing down at platform nine and three-quarters. The usual confusion and noise filled the corridors as the students began to disembark. Ron and Hermione struggled out past Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, carrying their trunks.

“Fred – George – wait a moment,” Harry said. “You too, Corey.”

The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk, and drew out his Triwizard winnings.
“Take it,” he said, and thrust the sack into George’s hands.

“What?” said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

“Take it,” Harry repeated firmly. “I don’t want it.”

“You’re mental,” I said, grabbing the sack of George and trying to push it back at Harry.

“No, I’m not,” said Harry. “You guys take it, and get inventing. It’s for the joke-shop.”

“His is mental,” Fred said, in an almost awed voice.

“Listen,” said Harry firmly. “If you don’t take it, I’m throwing it down the drain. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. But I could do with a few good laughs. We could all do with a few good laughs. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need them more than usual before long.”

“Harry,” George said weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, “there’s got to be a thousand Galleons in here.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, grinning. “Think about how many Canary Creams that is.”

The twins stared at him, and so did I.

“Just don’t tell your mum where you got it... although she might not be so keen for you to join the Ministry any more, come to think of it...”

“Harry,” Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand.

“Look,” he said flatly, “take it, or I’ll hex you. I know some good ones now. Just do me a favour, OK? Buy Ron some different dress robes, and say they’re from you.”

I tackled him in a hug, before he left the compartment. The twins and I stood grinning at each other for a while before I finally spoke.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get started!”