The Time-Turner still thrummed with residual magic against your skin as you slipped out of Dumbledore’s office, the world rewinding in a dizzy rush until you landed—breathless, heart pounding—back on June 24th. Cedric had been gone only weeks in your time: the graveyard, the flash of green, Wormtail’s trembling arm, Voldemort’s high, cold voice slicing through the night—“Kill the spare.” His body crumpling. The scream that tore out of you then still echoed in your chest.

You couldn’t let it happen again.

You ran through the castle’s shadowed corridors, dodging excited students heading for the stands, until you burst out near the Quidditch pitch gates. There he was—tall, steady, golden hair catching the late-afternoon sun, Triwizard robes billowing slightly in the breeze. He spotted you and his face lit with that familiar, easy smile.

“Hey,” he called, jogging over. “Where’ve you been? The task’s about to start—you should be up in the stands already.”

The smile vanished the instant he really saw you: pale as death, eyes swollen and red, cheeks streaked with tears you couldn’t stop even now.

“Merlin—what’s wrong?” His voice dropped low, urgent. He reached for you, warm fingers curling gently around your wrist. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You caught his hand in both of yours, gripping hard enough to feel his steady pulse. Alive. Real.

“Cedric,” you said, voice cracking, “listen to me. Please. You can’t touch the Triwizard Cup.”

He blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “What? I have to—it’s the final task—”

“No. It’s not just a trophy.” You forced the words out before courage failed you. “It’s a Portkey. Someone tampered with it. When you reach it—when you touch it—it will take you somewhere else. A graveyard. There are people waiting there. Dark wizards. They’ll… they’ll kill you. They say ‘kill the spare’ and then—green light. You fall. You don’t come back.”

Cedric went very still. His gray eyes searched yours, wide with shock and something deeper—fear, maybe, or the first crack of belief.

“You’re not joking,” he said quietly.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” Your voice trembled. “I know it sounds insane, but I’ve seen it happen. I can’t watch it happen again. Please. Let Harry take the Cup alone. Turn back in the maze if you have to. Just… don’t touch it. Come back to me.”

For a long moment he said nothing. The distant roar of the crowd swelled; the horn would sound any second.

Then he exhaled sharply and pulled you against him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders. You pressed your face into his chest—grass, cedar, the faint trace of peppermint—and felt his heartbeat thudding strong and fast.

“I believe you,” he murmured into your hair. “I don’t understand how, but I believe you.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “I won’t touch it unless I’m absolutely sure it’s safe. I’ll watch Harry. I’ll be careful. And the second this is over, I’m coming straight back to you. I swear.”

You nodded, tears spilling again. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” He cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the wet tracks on your cheeks. “I love you. More than anything.”

The horn blasted—sharp, final.

Cedric pressed a quick, fierce kiss to your forehead. “Wait for me.”

Then he turned, shoulders squared, and strode toward the maze entrance without looking back.

You stood frozen, watching his tall figure disappear into the crowd, the Time-Turner heavy and hot against your ribs.

You’d warned him.

Now all you could do was wait—and hope you’d changed enough.