"Maybe," Neville agreed. Harry knew they had to go back inside, he had to face the crowd eventually. But his head was spinning with all the information he'd given Neville, all the new information he'd gained from that.
So much for a quiet, normal year.
Going into the castle for lunch was exactly as awful as Harry thought it would be.
The Great Hall was full of people when he and Neville entered, and all of them looked up at his entry, immediately breaking out into whispers. Harry made to turn around, but Neville yanked him forward. "You're not going to the kitchens," he insisted. "Come on, let's sit with Parvati."
The Indian girl looked up when the two boys sat beside her, and she glanced at Harry. "You look awful," she declared, making him snort.
"Thanks."
Her gaze turned considering. "Some people are saying you didn't put your name in."
"I didn't," Harry insisted. The Hogwarts rumour mill was a vicious thing, but there wasn't a single scrap of it that didn't end up past Parvati Patil or Lavender Brown at some point or another. If Harry wanted an accurate idea of peoples' opinions, she was the one to ask. "What am I looking at, here?" He pointedly ignored all the people staring and murmuring around him. Parvati twirled a lock of hair around her finger, lips pursing.
"Obviously there are those who think you tricked your way in. Others think you bribed someone else to put your name in for you. Most people are realising that still wouldn't explain how there's four champions. But they don't care whether you did it on purpose or not — they're just angry it happened at all. Especially the Hufflepuffs," Parvati reported. Harry sighed; it could be worse, he supposed.
He didn't really blame the Hufflepuffs, to be honest. He'd be angry too in their shoes. He was stealing the glory from their rightful champion, overshadowing Cedric with all his drama. They had a right to be pissed about it.
He helped himself to some chicken, staring resolutely at his plate, even when the whispers rose dramatically. He didn't look up until a throat cleared behind him. Expecting some nosy person asking about the Goblet, Harry turned with a scowl on his face, which dropped quickly when he saw the person stood there. "Cedric?" he greeted, bewildered. Cedric flashed him a nervous smile.
"Hiya, Harry. Mind if I sit here?" He gestured to the seat beside him. Harry blinked.
"At the Gryffindor table?" he asked dumbly. "Yeah." Cedric had his shoulders squared, but his eyes looked like he might bolt any minute. Everyone was staring at them.
"Yeah, go ahead." Harry scooted up the bench to make room for the sixth year, staring at him incredulously. "What're you playing at, Cedric?" he asked under his breath. Cedric's smile widened, more confident, and he reached for a bread roll.
"We're in this together, aren't we?" he said, loud enough for his voice to carry over the whispers of people shamelessly eavesdropping. "Both Hogwarts champions and all. Besides, if the rumours are true, and someone is out to do you in over this, then I reckon it's my responsibility to help you through this in one piece."
Harry could hardly believe what the older boy was saying. He was willing to give up his moment, to share it with Harry, just so people would leave him alone? "You are such a Hufflepuff," he hissed. Cedric beamed.
"Thanks, Harry. Knew you'd see it my way. Pass the soup, would you?"
.-.-.-.
After Cedric's little display at lunch, things got easier. Several of the Hufflepuffs still seemed resentful, but they were keeping it to themselves; if Cedric wasn't angry with Harry, they couldn't be either. After a couple of days, people had mostly settled down about the whole thing. Parvati was right; people didn't care how it had happened, they just wanted to see what would happen next. And a fourteen year-old boy, Boy-Who-Lived or not, being part of the most dangerous event to happen in centuries… that was something to talk about.
Harry got used to hearing people discuss his chances of survival as he walked through the halls. He told himself it was better than hearing them jeer at him, or call him a glory-hunter. He just had to not let it get to him.
Easier said than done.
Hermione didn't seem to know what to do with herself, flitting between Harry and Ron with an anxious look on her face, refusing to abandon the redhead but not wanting Harry to think she was on Ron's side. If that wasn't a clear sign to Harry that he couldn't trust her, he didn't know what was; if she was really his friend, she'd tell Ron that he was being a jealous arsehole and needed to get over himself. How could she be like that after the way he'd treated her last year, when he thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers?
Because of that, Harry was spending most of his time trying to avoid people, hanging out in the dorms — when Ron wasn't there — or in the library. It was one such afternoon that Harry was walking through the common room, on his way up to see if his dorm was empty, when an arm draped over his shoulder. "Hey, Harry. Mind if I borrow you for a bit?" It was George, and Harry automatically looked around for the other Weasley twin. He was nowhere to be found. How odd.
"Yeah, sure." Perhaps Fred was waiting wherever George was taking him; he braced himself for some kind of prank planning. Instead, he was surprised when George led him to his own dorm room, which was empty. Harry had never been in there before; it was messier than his own, with evidence of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes all over the place. One of the beds had the curtains firmly shut, and a two-foot radius of clean floor all around it. George shut the door, heading over to the bed warily. "Oi, Kenny, you in here?" He edged closer to the bed, knocking on the invisible wall that surrounded it. There was no response. He turned to Harry, grinning. "Kenneth always keeps his bed warded when he's not in here. Says he doesn't trust us." He had a look of wide-eyed innocence, as if he couldn't possibly understand why. Harry snorted. It must be hard, being in the same dorm as the Weasley twins. "Anyway, Harry, take a seat."
George gestured to the bed next to his own, which Harry assumed was Fred's, and Harry perched hesitantly on the mattress. "What's this all about?" he asked. "Where's Fred?"
"He's off with Angelina," George replied with a fond grin. "I won't ask what they're doing."
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