DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter, its publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made for this. No copyright infringement is intended.

TITLE: Treasured Seconds, Eternal Moments

AUTHOR: Relala

BETA: lady of scarlet


"Cedric. Cedric."

Dudley Dursley's piddling snide comment had hit the mark more than the Muggle teenager could have ever imagined possible, hitting the bull's-eye with swift precision. ("Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?") The truth of the matter was that that was precisely what Cedric Diggory was - or at least, what he had been - to Harry Potter before he died. But the Muggle cousin would never truly guess at that fact, merely mistaking Harry's moans and pleas as those of someone with survivor's guilt.

And that may well have been what ailed Harry on some nights, but in this moment of time it certainly wasn't a factor in his blissful dreamland. Harry Potter was far away from those thoughts, in a private utopia scented like pine fresh goodness and Cedric's skin.

He lay within a dampened puddle of golden candlelight emitted by the Prefect's bathroom chandelier, the soft comfort of his towel discarded in a frenzy of eager hands and a restless tangle of limbs. The perfumed purple clouds, which had been breathed into existence from the taps during their bath together, hovered like the smoky wisps of ghosts over the deep waters and floated throughout the air.

"Harry!" Cedric's breathing was a sweet melody, his pool-water soaked lips pressed to his tiny seashell ears, loud and breathily. They only have moments, mere seconds, Harry knows, before they are grabbing onto that shining moment of glory together - always together, always united in their tie - slipping their fingers over the handles of the moment before it all comes to a sickening end with the whooshing of wind and screamed words which are not of pleasure any longer.

And he knows that when he gets over the panic, the all-consuming terror, there will be no pretty image of Cedric the lover boy in the midst of passion, but rather Cedric the dead - spread-eagle on the ground beside him and oh so very cold to the touch inside the cruel necropolis where Lord Voldemort would be destined to rise - had risen.

He wakes up screaming, completely alone, staring into the fathomless abyss of grey ceiling and finding only Cedric's face: Open grey eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, half-opened mouth, which looks slightly surprised.

The treasured seconds are over and this moment lasts eternity.


"Reviews are the only payment FanFiction authors receive. Even if it's just a word or two, leaving a review lets me know you've passed this way."