Hunger Consumed

The knock on his door broke through the silence of the night, a sound that seemed to reverberate in the stillness of Harry’s room. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he was getting ready to sleep, but the door creaked open before he could even think of a way to respond. Standing there, framed in the doorway by the dim hallway light, was Cedric Diggory.

Cedric had been visiting Harry ever since he left Hogwarts, not as often as Harry would’ve liked—given he was in his last year and N.E.W.T.S were around the corner—but enough to remind him that he wasn’t completely alone. The Diggorys and the Potters had always been close, James and Cedric’s father, and Cedric had become a familiar face to be around, even a comforting presence in Harry’s life since he’d stopped attending school.

He hadn’t been able to return to Hogwarts since the fifth year, not after the nightmares had worsened. The constant waking up in a cold sweat, the disorienting dreams, the relentless feeling that something—someone—was always lurking, waiting.

He missed his friends more than he cared to admit. The silence in his life had become unbearable, the quiet of the house suffocating. He wondered—no, he feared—what they thought of him now. Ron and Hermione had written to him a few times, but the letters always felt like empty words, like something they had to do, rather than something they wanted to do.

Did they even care anymore?

Harry’s thoughts wandered back to the first time he had told them about his nightmares. The memory was as vivid as ever, despite the passing of time.

It had been the summer evening of their departure from Hogwarts, ready to start their summer vacation. Harry had been quiet, his thoughts heavy, his mind consumed by the same unsettling feelings that had been haunting him for weeks.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice had been gentle, coaxing him out of his thoughts. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s going on? You don’t seem like yourself.”

He’d hesitated, feeling the familiar lump in his throat. He wanted to tell them, but fear held him back. Fear of their reaction. Fear of what they might think. Could they understand? Would they think he was losing it, that he was just some broken, insane boy who couldn’t even handle his own mind?

But before he could hold back any longer, he spoke. “I’ve been having these… these nightmares.” His voice was barely a whisper, and the weight of the words seemed to press on him like a physical burden.

“I can’t… I can’t control them. It’s like… like there’s something there with me. Something… wrong.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Mate, you’ve been through a lot. We all have, but—nightmares? You can’t let those mess with you. They’re just dreams.”

Hermione had been more careful with her response, her brow furrowing as she considered his words. “But you’re saying it’s more than that? You’re not just… dreaming?”

Harry had nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes meeting hers, his voice trembling. “I feel it. It’s real, Hermione. I’m awake, and it’s still there. Something… something’s watching me. I can’t explain it, but it’s real.”

They had both gone silent for a moment, Ron looking unsure, but Hermione’s gaze never wavered, her concern palpable. “You’re not going crazy, Harry,” she’d said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “But maybe… maybe you should talk to someone. Like Dumbledore. Or someone who can help.”

At the time, her words had offered a glimmer of hope, a tiny flicker of light in his dark world. But in the weeks and months that followed, Harry couldn’t help but feel that maybe it had been a mistake. They had wanted to help, of course, but Harry had always wondered: had they really understood? Or had they simply tried to convince him that everything was fine, that it was all in his head?

Harry blinked, snapping himself out of the memory as a shiver ran down his spine.

No, if Harry was honest with himself, he wanted to run away. Hogwarts was an escape, a place far away from the oppressive silence of Godric’s Hollow, from the suffocating fear that followed him everywhere. He was tired. Tired of being trapped in his own head, tired of feeling like he was losing control. Hogwarts was the one place he could hide from it all. The one place where maybe, just maybe, he could stop feeling like he was being hunted by something other than himself.

And Harry knew, in the pit of his stomach, that going back to Hogwarts might not save him from what haunted him. But maybe, just maybe, it would be the only place left to hide.

He was surprised to see him tonight. Cedric was holding something in his hand, a delicate bundle wrapped in twine, and Harry’s eyes narrowed as he saw the faint outline of flowers peeking out.

“Cedric?” Harry asked quietly, lifting his head from where he had been lost in his own mind. “What—?”

Cedric gave a soft smile, stepping into the room with an ease that suggested he had been here countless times before. He was still wearing his school robes from some sort of visit to his family’s home, but the robes looked out of place in the soft evening light of Harry’s room.

“Thought I’d bring you something,” Cedric said, his tone warm, yet tinged with the unspoken weight of understanding. “Lilacs. I know you used to like them. Thought you could use a bit of color.” He held out the flowers, offering them with the quiet care of someone who had seen Harry at his lowest and still believed in offering small moments of brightness.

Harry’s gaze dropped to the lilacs in Cedric’s hand, and for a moment, he felt the deep weight of the flowers’ soft, vibrant purple petals. It was a thoughtful gesture. Cedric always knew how to pick something Harry liked, even if it wasn’t obvious. He’d brought flowers before, small things to cheer him up when Harry had been at his breaking point.

But then, something inside Harry stirred. His empathic senses, sharp and often overwhelming, flared as he took in the energy of the flowers. He could feel the life force of the plant, the connection it held with the earth, and the pulse of the lilacs’ quiet beauty.

But it wasn’t just that.

The flowers… they were already wilting. Their once-vibrant petals had dulled, and their stems were drooping in Cedric’s grasp. The life force within them was already fading, and it was only after a second of focus that Harry realized why.

Cedric killed them.

His heart sank, a wave of sadness crashing over him as he realized how much of the energy the flowers had absorbed from the air had already been drained. The life he could feel in them wasn’t there anymore. It was gone, taken away before Harry had even touched them. A sharp pang of sorrow tightened in his chest.

It wasn’t Cedric’s fault—he didn’t know, he never would—but it still hurt. It always hurt when he could feel the connection of life being severed, whether it was a plant or a person, or even the tiniest living thing. Harry couldn’t help it. It was who he was.

He took a deep breath, trying to push the sadness away before Cedric noticed. The last thing he needed was for Cedric to see his own pain, especially after everything the man had done to try to help.

“I… thank you,” Harry managed, his voice softer than he intended. “You didn’t have to bring anything. But… they’re lovely.”

Cedric smiled, but there was something slightly off about it, a subtle tinge of confusion in his eyes. He didn’t quite understand what was happening, and Harry could tell. Cedric never seemed to fully grasp how deeply Harry felt things, how attuned he was to everything around him. Harry’s ability to connect with the spiritual world, to sense emotions and energies, was something Cedric had always supported—but he couldn’t feel it the way Harry did.

“I know it’s been tough,” Cedric said after a beat, his voice light, but with a certain heaviness to it. He set the flowers down carefully on the desk beside Harry’s bed, avoiding looking too closely at the wilting stems. “But hey, you’ve been through worse, right? You’ll get better. You just need to get out of your head for a bit.”

Harry looked up at him, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the words stung in ways Cedric wouldn’t understand.

“You think I can just… get better? You don’t get it, Cedric. It’s not just about getting out of my head. It’s something else. It’s not something you can fix with distractions. It’s… it’s real, you know?”

Cedric paused, his brows furrowing slightly, though his expression remained kind. “I know you think it’s real, Harry. And I’m not saying it’s not. But you’ve been going through this for a while now. I know it’s hard, but you can’t stay stuck here forever. We’ll all help. I will help.”

Harry swallowed, feeling the weight of his words pressing against his chest. “It’s not about them, Cedric. It’s not about anyone else. It’s… it’s me. It’s what’s in my head. I can’t escape it. I can’t escape it.”

Cedric’s eyes softened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of understanding. But it was fleeting. Cedric was always supportive, always there, but he couldn’t feel it, not the way Harry did. He couldn’t sense the thing following Harry, the presence that clung to him like a shadow, the dark pull that twisted and distorted everything in Harry’s life.

“You know, we’re not going to let you fall apart,” Cedric said gently, stepping closer. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “You’re not alone in this.”

But Harry wanted to tell him the truth. He wanted to scream at Cedric that it wasn’t just about being alone. It wasn’t about friends or family or Hogwarts. It was about the thing that wouldn’t let him go. The nightmares, the dark presence that seemed to follow him even when he wasn’t asleep. It was about the guilt that gnawed at him, the self-loathing that spiraled every time he woke up with a scream caught in his throat and his body aching for more.

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t quite articulate. “I… I appreciate it, really. I don’t know if anything will make it better.”

Cedric hesitated, his hand lingering on Harry’s shoulder before he gave him a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together. You just… you don’t have to do this alone.”

The words were kind, but they only reminded Harry how much he was trying to hide from his friends. They didn’t truly understand, not in the way he wished they could. And that made it even harder to bear.

He hesitated, then finally spoke. “Can you—” He stopped himself, feeling foolish, but then shook his head and tried again. “Can you stay?”

Cedric blinked in surprise. “Stay?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, glancing away. His fingers curled into the fabric of his blankets. “Just… for the night. I don’t—” His throat tightened, and he exhaled sharply. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Cedric studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Of course.”

He didn’t question it. He didn’t push. He just toed off his shoes and settled onto the bed beside Harry, lying down like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his presence filled the cold, empty space that had stretched around Harry for far too long.

Harry let out a slow breath, his body relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. Harry could feel the familiar weight of the darkness waiting for him. It would be back tonight, whether Cedric stayed or not.

In the quiet darkness of Harry’s bedroom, the familiar pull of sleep wrapped itself around him. His eyelids fluttered, the weight of the night pressing down on him. He was so tired, but not of the physical world; no, it was the exhaustion from the endless turmoil within that gnawed at him. His body longed for rest, but his soul never quite found peace.

The warmth of Cedric’s presence beside him should have been enough to keep the shadows at bay. Should have.

But it wasn’t.

It started the way it always did.

A whisper curling through the edges of his mind. Soft at first, like wind moving through tall grass. Then sharper, a hissing thing, something with jagged edges scraping against the inside of his skull. It wasn’t a voice, not exactly—more like a feeling, an emotion wrapping around him, slipping beneath his skin and pulling.

Harry’s dream had started as something else—with Cedric sitting next to him in a field of flowers, lilacs, their faces close, the warmth of their love filling the space between them. Harry could feel the familiar warmth of Cedric’s hand in his, the quiet joy of their closeness.

But then the air shifted, turning colder, the field darkening around them as the entity loomed closer, its shadow stretching over them, the colours bleeding out of the world until there was only darkness. Cold. Wet. Like the bottom of a lake.

And then— it came.

A shadow with no true form, stretching impossibly tall, something shifting beneath its surface like rotting silk. The spirit. The thing that haunted him, that watched him even when he was awake. At night, when his defenses were down, it came closer.

It moved toward him, impatient, demanding, possessive.

Harry tried to move, but his limbs were heavy, his breath caught in his throat. The weight of it pressed down, suffocating, his lungs burning as if the air had been stripped from them. He was gasping, choking on something unseen, his body arching as though being pulled by invisible strings.

“He doesn’t see you,” the whisper slithered through his mind, slick and cold, pressing into him. “No one sees you. No one ever will.”

A hand— not a hand—brushed against his chest, tendrils of something unseen curling around his ribs, slipping beneath his skin. He thrashed, moaning as a pulse of heat shot through him, equal parts terror and something deeper, something he didn’t want to name.

“You think he can keep you safe?” the spirit murmured, the pressure intensifying. “Can he please you like I do?”

“You can stop fighting,” the voice crooned, seductive, coaxing. “You could let go. Let me in. I can make it easier.”

“No,” Harry gasped, something curling around his throat—not choking, not yet, just a reminder of its presence.

Then the air changed. A shift, sharp and cruel.

The tendrils retreated from Harry’s body, pulling back, but not disappearing. No, they were moving elsewhere—toward something else. Toward—

Cedric.

Harry’s heart stopped.

He saw him now, through the haze of the dream, standing there, unaware, untouched—for now.

“You don’t want to give in?” the spirit whispered, mockingly gentle. “Then I’ll take something else. I can take him, just as I’ve taken others.”

“I could pull him apart right here. I could make him scream for you.”

“No.” Harry thrashed, trying to move, trying to reach out. He couldn’t. His limbs wouldn’t obey.

The darkness coiled around Cedric’s sleeping form, and Harry felt pure terror rip through him.

“Then give in.”

Harry’s breath came in ragged gasps. He could feel it—he could feel the thing pressing into him, the weight of its demand. His body trembled, caught between fear and something deeper, something older.

“Let me in, Harry.”

Harry arched again, gasping, body seizing under the weight of its presence. His lips parted in a strangled moan as he fought against it, but it was inside him now, in his head, pressing into the deepest parts of him.

“You’re mine, Harry.”

A sharp jolt, as though something had snapped.

Harry’s eyes flew open.

His body convulsed once, his chest heaving as he sucked in air like a drowning man breaking the surface. He was trembling, drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around him. The room was still dark, moonlight spilling through the window in pale ribbons of silver.

And beside him—

Cedric.

He was awake. Watching him. His face was shadowed, but Harry could see the furrow in his brow, the way his lips parted as though he had just been about to speak.

Harry was still gasping, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of the dream, his skin prickling with phantom touches. He could feel how hot he was, flushed and trembling, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him in sweat.

Cedric’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“Harry?”

Harry didn’t know what to say.

His chest was still rising and falling too quickly, his breath uneven. The weight of the dream—the spirit—was still there, lingering in the air, but Cedric was real. Solid. Here.

And Harry might’ve just ruined his life by telling him to stay tonight.

Harry swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to form words, but all that came out was a sob.

Cedric shifted, carefully shifting closer, concern etched into his features. “You—” He hesitated. “You were… moaning.”

Harry stiffened, shame crashing over him in a tidal wave.

His face burned. His body was still reacting to the dream, his muscles tense, his breath shaky. He could still feel it—the way the spirit had pressed into him, the way it had touched something deep inside him, twisting fear into something else.

And Cedric had heard.

Had seen.

Harry turned his face away, his jaw clenched. “It was just a nightmare,” he muttered, voice rough.

Cedric didn’t move for a moment. He was still watching him, eyes scanning Harry’s face, his body—taking in the way he was still shaking, the way his fingers had curled into the sheets like he was afraid to let go.

“It didn’t look like just a nightmare,” Cedric said finally, quiet but firm.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to disappear. To sink back into the mattress and pretend this wasn’t happening.

But then—Cedric touched him.

Just a hand on his arm, steady, grounding.

“You were.” Cedric continued, voice softer now, careful. “And—” He hesitated again, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. “And you were… gasping. Like something was—”

“Don’t.” Harry cut him off, his voice sharper than he intended. He opened his eyes, looking directly at Cedric now. There was too much there—too much knowing, too much concern.

Cedric’s expression didn’t waver. He didn’t press, but he didn’t look away either.

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Harry exhaled, running a hand over his face, trying to steady himself. The spirit was gone, for now. The room was real again. Cedric was real.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, quieter this time. “It was just… bad dreams. They happen.”

Cedric didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay.”

He let go of Harry’s arm, but he didn’t move away. He just stayed there, close enough that Harry could still feel the warmth of him, solid and steady.

Harry swallowed. His heartbeat was still too fast. Looking to his right, he realised that the lilacs Cedric had brought for him and placed them on his desk were gone. Missing. 

As if they were never there to begin with.

Cedric hesitated again, then said, “You want me to stay awake for a bit? In case…” He trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Harry almost said no. Almost told him to go back to sleep, to forget what he’d seen, what he’d heard.

But instead, after a long pause, he exhaled and nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Just… for a bit.”

Cedric nodded, settling back against the pillow, but he didn’t close his eyes.

And Harry, even though the weight of the nightmare still lingered, found himself breathing just a little easier.

For now.