Harry Potter: Raised by Wolves.

"And more important enemies than each other," Zabini said quietly, his dark eyes knowing. Harry's jaw tightened. Was he talking about Voldemort, or Dumbledore?

They parted ways without another word, and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room — just in time to hear another explosion from Ron about Crookshanks going after Scabbers.

Honestly, the sooner that rat died, the better it would be for everyone. They could finally get some peace and quiet.

.-.-.

Harry should've known better than to expect quidditch to brighten his spirits, the way his term was going so far. He hardly thought it was necessary to keep him in the hospital wing for the whole weekend, but he didn't argue too hard — it kept him away from prying eyes, at least. And once Neville brought him some books, it wasn't too bad. He appreciated the attempt at cheering him up, at least.

He hadn't told anyone about the Grim, yet. He was pretty sure he was actually imagining things. One thing he definitely wasn't imagining was the voices he'd heard right before he'd passed out, the voices the dementors had brought into his memories. He'd known already, deep down, but know he really knew. That was his mother he was hearing — her last words, as she begged Voldemort to spare him. Her dying screams. Weeks ago, he would've given anything to hear his mother's voice. Now, he'd give anything to make it stop. It was all he could think about, echoing in his ears every time he tried to sleep. The visitors were a nice distraction, but every time he was left alone, the voice returned.

"Potter, are you, uh, alright?" He was snapped from his thoughts by an unfamiliar voice, and looked up into the cautious face of Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff seeker.

"Diggory," he greeted, confusion clear in his tone. Diggory edged closer.

"Hi. Uh, I brought you this. From dinner. Madam Pomfrey never lets me have sweets when I'm in the hospital wing, so I thought you'd like it." The Hufflepuff awkwardly thrust out a napkin-wrapped bundle, which turned out to be a slightly misshapen slice of treacle tart. "I asked the twins, they said it's your favourite."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He took the treat, still entirely baffled by the other seeker's presence.

"Look, Potter, I just wanted to come say I'm sorry. I didn't notice what was happening until it was too late— I'd never have caught the snitch if I'd known."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry assured him, grimacing. Stupid, noble Hufflepuffs. "It's fine, you won. It's just a quidditch match."

"Don't let Wood hear you say that," Diggory retorted, making Harry snort. "Are you okay? You fell so quickly. For a minute, we all thought…" He trailed off, glancing away. Harry knew what he'd been about to say. They all thought he was dead, at first.

"I'm fine. Barely even hurt." He was tired and sore, and still a little shaky, but he'd had worse injuries from quidditch before. "Wish I could say the same about my broom." He glanced over at the pile of splintered twigs, and Cedric winced.

"I heard about that. Merlin, I'm sorry. It was a great broom, that. Hopefully you can get something good to replace it."

Harry couldn't even think about replacing his broom right now, though he knew he'd need to before the match against Ravenclaw.

"Well, anyway, I'm glad you're alright. And I'm still really sorry about the match. I tried to get a rematch, but Hooch wasn't having it. I just… I wanted to beat you fairly, y'know? Not because the dementors made you faint."

The reminder made Harry scowl. "You won fair enough. You were already on your way to the snitch when I fell."

"That doesn't count! I've seen you fly, Potter, you could've easily beaten me to it." Diggory ran a hand through his hair, a frown on his handsome face. "Whatever; I've clearly lost the argument anyway, so it doesn't matter. I just… I didn't want you to think I was happy about the way things turned out."

"I wouldn't blame you if you were," Harry replied. "But thanks. And there's always next year, right?" That made Cedric grin.

"Next year, you're on," he agreed, shaking Harry's hand. "I'll leave you to your evening. Hope you get all patched up soon, Potter. See you around."

"Yeah, see you, Diggory."

"Cedric," the older Hufflepuff corrected, a faint flush to his cheeks. "It's Cedric." It took a beat too long for the two of them to stop shaking hands. "Then call me Harry."

Cedric grinned, and Harry could see why all the girls got so flustered over him. Something in his gut flip-flopped. "Later, Harry."

The Hufflepuff turned away, and Harry sunk back against the pillows, shaking his head as he processed the bizarre interaction. At least something good had come from the whole disaster; he'd sort-of, maybe, made a new friend?