Disclaimer: I do not own 'Harry Potter'

This story is Not: Evil Dumbledore, character bashing or slash (still with Cho at the moment but that will change)

This story Is: a kid reliving an unimaginable event at an important time of his life and turning into something unrecognisable by the end of it.

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Cedric wakes up.

Now, that was a problem.

The Avada Kedavra curse doesn't promise a prolonged healthy life. In fact, it bares the exact opposite in the most depressing way death can politely manage.

His dorm mates startle awake to an unhappy morning filled with Cedric's screams of horror.

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Like any other traumatized teenager, Cedric takes refuge amongst baked goods in the kitchen. A comfort fitting for a Hufflepuff and one that was sorely missed out by other houses.

Dressed in nothing but yellow checked pyjamas and an oversized fluffy nightgown, Cedric shivers from the cold. Bare toes twitching near the crackling fire kind house elves snapped to life for him.

Curled up in a wooden chair, he stares blankly at the popping embers of wood. Looking more ghoulish than human.

Despite the brimming redness in his cheeks, Cedric still felt cold.

Dead.

"Kill the spare."

Some wood bursts, tiny red fragments exploding and Cedric flinches at the flash of phantom green.

"You're imagining things," he whispers to himself. "He – "

He, who?

A pudgy rat-faced man killed him because a headless voice told him to. It was absolute bonkers and…

horrific.

To die so quickly and without even realising what was happening until the green was a touch from his chest…

As much as he thought about what happened a mere twenty minutes ago, Cedric couldn't understand. The Cup had obviously been rigged, the entire set up was organised in a way so only Harry would get there. Cedric was a 'spare'. They, whoever they were, wanted Harry.

Another chill.

Only one group of people could simultaneously kill without thought and want his friend.

Death Eaters.

And he was nothing but a victim of circumstance.

A statistic of brewing war.

Harry…the kid had watched him die.

Goosebumps skitter across his arms and neck. Tingling and forcing another tremble to rack his body like a wet leaf. Cedric was too petrified to notice that he was crying until a House Elf handed him a tissue and asked whether she should get his Head of House.

"I'd like to stay alone a bit longer, thanks."

"If that's what Mister Diggory wants."

"Diggery does."

So he's handed a cup of hot cinnamon chocolate.

Of which he promptly takes generous sips.

If he hadn't just perished and woken up ten hours beforehand (a random first year wishing him luck on his mad dash out was a real head spinner) he wouldn't have indulged. Maintaining weight for Quidditch was a must. It was one of his career options.

Right now career options could suck Lucius Malfoy's Royal arse for all he cared.

Just as he's consuming a second serving of delicious hot choc, a small head connected to an equally round little bod squeezes itself behind the picture frame.

It's Neville Longbottom, and Cedric's ashamed to say he only knows about the boy due to his unforgiving family name and the tortured history that came with it.

"Mister Longbottom!" one of the working House Elves scatted about the ancient kitchen exclaims. Squeaky voice tinged with long-lived affection.

Cedric tries to make himself as obscure as possible in his chair, but it's pathetic.

Only a couple meek steps in, Neville spots him and is visibly shocked to stone. The warm expression on the kid's face twists into something distressingly uncertain.

"S-Sorry I didn't know anyone else was in here…Cedric Diggory."

He's pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that hiss of disbelief. As though the kid had stumbled upon Viktor Krum doing push-ups naked and not Cedric still in his PJ's looking like he's contemplating a tea read from Professor Trelawney.

Cedric raises a shuddering hand to stop Neville's decent backwards. "Don't leave. Just ignore me, please."

Neville bites his lip and nods compliantly.

Cedric goes back to staring at the slithering flames and ignoring what…happened.

"Dippy missed, Mister Longbottom yesterday!"

"I know, sorry. I stayed in the library for some quick extra credit on Herbology…."

"It's not good to skip meals, Mister Longbottom."

"…Sorry."

For some reason he couldn't stop himself from being hyper aware of Neville's presence as the kid took a seat at the kitchen table, served an English brekky compiled with; toast, sausages, pan fried bacon with sunny side eggs and enjoying conversation with Elves.

No matter how much he tried to stare at the flames, awareness of Neville did not cease. Almost like he expected the harmless kid to turn around and attack.

He doesn't get to concern himself over this long, because Professor Sprout swoops inside. Extreme breathlessness taking control of her words.

"Mr Diggory, there you are!" The ageing squished woman startles at catching sight of him in the firelight. "Why you look absolutely dreadful."

Despite himself, Cedric manages a half-smile.

"Poor boy, you must have not been able to catch a wink of sleep because of nerves. I heard you gave your friends a terrible fright this morning. Ran out of the common room like a pack of vampires were after you, I heard." She nods to herself, convinced Cedric's appearance was from lack of sleep instead lack of life.

He doesn't blame her. It isn't an everyday conclusion to come to.

"Well, lets get you sorted. Quick trip to Madam Pompfrey and a pick me up potion ought to sort you out. Your parents are here along with the rest of the Champions."

Just then, Cedric is forced to acknowledge the Triwizard Tournament. An awash of terror looms over him like a werewolf on a full moon. Wet saliva slipping down its jaws and dripping onto his face.

"Professor," Cedric resolves himself. "I need to see Professor Dumbledore."

And the woman just stops, frown creasing her eyebrows. "Is something the matter, dear?"

He can't help the nervous chuckle that escapes him, "You could say that."

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Cedric has never seen Dumbledore so silent before.

"I see," the man says. Eyes like blue steel and looking past Cedric's shoulder in thought. "Ah."

"Um, Sir…" Cedric keeps himself from fiddling. "You believe me?"

"If my age has not yet made me senile, I trust my choice of character. And as such, I find that you my boy, are not the sort to make such disturbing jokes."

"I'm not," Cedric rushes to confirm. A pause of breath he sighs. Simultaneously tense and lax in his seat across the old wizard. "I'm not."

"This is most worrisome."

Doesn't even begin to describe it, Cedric looks down at his hands clenching his dressing gown sleeves.

Still cold.

"What's most, I find, is my inability to act upon it."

"What," Cedric stares. Cold as the moment he died. "That's shit!"

Dumbledore's face was set.

Showing he agreed, but nerveless did not appreciate his questioning.

"Let's review what could happen, Mr Diggory. Right now this is mere speculation upon your part."

"I died."

"And yet here you stand," Dumbledore gestured filially. "Time travel without an authorized Time Turner is impossible. As is dying and coming back to life without a magical scar like Mr Potter, mere hours before the incident. There is no proof of your claims. Certainly you can provide a memory, but that is not certain. Memories can be edited, subjective and entirely unreliable. Veritaserum yields similar results. Truth is a tricky thing as everyone has their unique version of events. What you speculate to be true now could turn out to be a simple case of wild imagination."

Cedric wanted to yell. "I'm not lying, sir."

"My dear boy," Dumbledore's hardness edges away. "I believe you, and I wished I didn't. The man you described murder you is Peter Pettigrew." If he saw the way Cedric flinched, he didn't show it. "Last year he was proven to be in league with Voldemort."

He pales at the name. "But he – "

" - is showing signs of returning. Death Eater appearances are growing in England, as you yourself witnessed last September. By your own words, his most loyal follower kidnapped Mr Potter for nefarious intentions. Going so far as to infiltrate Hogwarts' grounds and alter the Cup's Portkey. Vodlemort is involved, and I fear tonight he shall return."

On Dumbledore's desk, Cedric finds himself transfixed on a gold twirling object. Numbing himself to the ravaging fear curled around his heart like thorns. In the candlelight reflecting off metal, he saw acid green.

I don't want to be here.

"The Ministry is afraid of the truth and they will never believe the word of a child."

No. "You can't stop the Tournament?"

Dumbledore frowns at Cedric's manic look. "Why would I do that?"

A preposterous surge of weary anger curdles his eyes. "Because Harry will die if we don't. Like me." he hisses.

Dumbledore is politely calm. "We know Voldemort's plan, therefore we know how to corner him while he's still weak. Harry will be perfectly safe. The faculty is stronger than many believe. Professor Snape and Moody will follow you to the cup and make sure Mr Potter will get tangled in some vines."

"Follow me?"

"Certainly. Per rules, the Cup can only be activated by champions. We cannot risk Mr Potter's life."

"What about mine?" Cedric stares, a need for reassurance in his eyes.

"There are no other alternatives."

The rigid response blows into Cedric's ribs like a stunner. His bloodshot eyes meet Dumbledore's regretful blue ones.

"I am so very sorry."

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Thoughts and helpful criticism is most welcomed :D