Chapter Text
In the last year or so, Harry had become somewhat accustomed to getting strange feelings every now and then. Not all of the Voldemort-related variety — though there were plenty of those in the mix, because Merlin forbid he be normal — but the usual teenage sort-of feelings. For the most part, Harry had ignored them; he had bigger things on his mind, after all. It wasn’t like he was going to do anything about the feelings. Not with another person. Not in the ways the Dursleys worried about — with Petunia’s shrill demand for him to ‘keep his freakish hands off any of the nice normal girls in the neighbourhood if he knew what was good for him’ — and certainly not in the ways they had learned about through Madam Pomfrey, in the most excruciatingly awkward hour and a half the entire third year had ever experienced, where she spoke to them about changes in their bodies and the urges of their oncoming adulthood.
Anyway, the point was, Harry was getting pretty good at ignoring weird emotions and funny swooping sensations in his belly. Even when he arrived at the Burrow in preparation for the Quidditch World Cup — and met the two eldest Weasley brothers for the first time. Shaking hands with the handsome Charlie Weasley, Harry ignored the bubbling in his gut, and prayed Charlie couldn’t tell he was blushing. If Charlie noticed, he didn’t say anything.
All of that changed when Harry crested Stoatshead hill behind a slightly breathless Mr Weasley, catching the silhouette of a man in the slowly rising sun — which, as he grew closer, resolved into the smiling face and sparkling grey eyes of Cedric Diggory.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the older boy. It wasn’t even the first time he’d had the tingling, gut-squirming sensation upon seeing him. Before the dementors had interrupted the quidditch match the year before, Harry had genuinely worried he might lose the match due to being distracted by the line of Cedric’s strong shoulders as he bent low over his broom. But this time, it hit Harry like a punch to the gut.
He managed to avoid tripping over his own feet as he and the rest of the group made it up to the portkey. Cedric caught his eye, grinning at him, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Alright, Potter,” he greeted quietly. Harry croaked out something that may have been ‘hey’; if you were feeling generous. His cheeks went red, but luckily — or unluckily — Cedric was distracted from responding by his dad’s bragging about the Hufflepuff’s quidditch skills. The words made Cedric’s smile falter, his brow furrowing in annoyance, and Harry’s face heated up for an entirely different reason.
Mr Weasley derailed Amos by reminding him of the portkey, and soon Harry found himself gripping tight to the old boot, his shoulder pressed against Cedric’s bicep as they all gathered around it. He had a brief, ridiculous thought of his hands getting so clammy that he slipped and let go of the portkey and got left behind.
Then the swooping sensation in his stomach was entirely different. It felt like he was being yanked up by his bellybutton, his world a blur of colours and lights until all of a sudden his feet were on solid ground and his knees were crumpling. He groaned faintly, sprawled on the grass, and looked up at the rest of the group who had all managed to stay on their feet.
“First time using a portkey?” The quiet voice was knowing, and Harry blinked as a hand stretched out in front of him. Cedric was barely even ruffled, his hair just slightly windswept from the journey and making him look even more attractive. Rude.
“Please tell me it gets better,” Harry replied, shoving down the feelings as he took Cedric’s warm hand in his own, the older boy pulling him easily to his feet. Cedric chuckled.
“Eventually. Can’t say it ever gets enjoyable, though,” he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder, where his dad was already strolling off through the field. “I should get going. Enjoy the game, it’s going to be brilliant. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you too. Bye, Cedric.” Neither of them moved, and it took a minute for them to realise that Cedric still had Harry’s hand in his.
“Come on, Harry! Let’s go!” Ron’s impatient call was what made them break apart, and Harry ducked his head in an attempt to hide his burning cheeks. Hurrying away from the Hufflepuff, Harry caught up with the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione, falling into step beside the bushy-haired girl. She eyed him curiously.
“Everything alright, Harry?” she asked, and he nodded, clearing his throat.
“Yeah, fine. How come you didn’t fall over from the portkey?” there was a tinge of annoyance in his tone, and she snickered.
“Honestly, Harry; the way you are with the floo, are you surprised?”
Harry opened his mouth to retort — he wasn’t that bad with the floo anymore — but as they turned a corner and saw the tents sprawled out in front of them, he couldn’t pick his jaw up from the ground.
God, he loved magic.
.-.-.
As the summer went on, Harry felt restless. Ron and Hermione chalked it up to the Death Eaters at the world cup — well, Hermione did; Harry was pretty sure Ron hadn’t noticed — but Harry knew it was something different. He couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was, but it left him feeling like something was bubbling under his skin, like his muscles were itching to do something.
Playing quidditch in the back garden helped. Sneaking around with the twins and their inventions helped. But at night, Harry lay in bed with his eyes wide open and his fingers twisting in his duvet, wondering why he couldn’t relax. Was it Voldemort? He’d had that dream earlier in the summer, with Pettigrew and the old man and the creepy house. What if Voldemort was in his head, doing things to his mind, making him feel this way?
He didn’t say anything to the others. Ron didn’t notice that Harry hardly slept. He was pretty sure everyone else did, but no one asked outright. One of the perks of being Harry Potter was that people excused a certain level of odd behaviour from him.
Finally, they were on their way to King’s Cross, and Harry’s pulse began to thud with more intention; like he was getting closer to whatever the something was. Nerves tangled in his belly, but Harry pushed it away; there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t even know what it was.
It kept him distracted enough not to blush when Bill ruffled his hair and hugged him goodbye, and soon Harry found himself leading the way onto the train.
“This one’s empty, Harry,” Ron said, pointing to a compartment they’d just passed. Harry shook his head; for some reason, he needed to go further.
“No, let’s keep going.” Behind him, Ron and Hermione shrugged, but continued. Harry followed the rush in his blood until it eased off, right outside a compartment with only one other person inside.
“Hiya, Harry,” Neville Longbottom greeted cheerfully, a book on his lap with a strange plant on the cover. Harry’s brow furrowed; why had the feeling wanted him to seek out Neville?
He didn’t question it, returning the greeting and shuffling into the compartment, stowing his trunk away. Ron and Hermione were happy enough to follow, and soon the four were sat down and happily sharing stories of their summers. Mostly, Ron described the entirety of the quidditch world cup — and everything that came after — to Neville, whose gran hadn’t wanted him to go. Harry was fairly quiet, his eyes regularly drifting back to Neville like the other boy was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. He looked much the same as always — his jawline a little sharper, like he was finally starting to lose his puppy fat, but otherwise just regular old Neville. Only, his knee bounced near-continuously, a small enough motion to go unnoticed, except Harry had been doing the same practically all summer. Harry’s gaze narrowed in on the boy; was whatever affected him also affecting Neville? What the hell was going on?
Trying his best to put thoughts of strange feelings aside, Harry managed to relax a little as they grew closer to Hogwarts. When the trolley lady arrived outside their compartment, both Harry and Neville jumped to their feet, pulling out their money purses on their way into the narrow corridor. Harry wasn’t even that hungry; he just needed to move.
Handing over the money for his snacks, Harry was about to turn back into the compartment when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Hello, Neville Longbottom.” The faintly lilting voice drifted over as the trolley lady moved away. Both boys turned to see a girl with long blonde hair even lighter than Malfoy’s, already wearing her Ravenclaw uniform. She had small radishes hanging from her ears, and her silver eyes almost glowed. “Harry Potter.”
Harry felt like he knew this girl, but he was coming up blank on a name. He’d probably just seen her around school somewhere. “Hello,” he replied cautiously, glancing aside at Neville. The other Gryffindor seemed a little transfixed, and Harry gently kicked him in the ankle.
“Oh, uh, hi. Luna, right? Luna Lovegood?” He coughed, turning red, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. She nodded, smiling serenely.
“That’s me. I’m glad you know my name.”
“Well, uh, you know mine. It’s only fair,” Neville replied, gaze fixed somewhere over Luna’s left shoulder. Harry wondered if this was how he looked when talking to Cedric Diggory at the portkey. Merlin, he hoped not.
“It’s nice to meet you, Luna,” he cut in, attempting to save his friend. “Do you, uh, want to sit with us?” Neville’s eyes widened in alarm, but Luna shook her head.
“No, thank you. It’s not quite time for that yet. But it’s very sweet of you to offer.” Her smile brightened. “I’ll see you both at school.” With that, she turned away, skipping down the corridor and disappearing into a compartment. Harry turned to Neville, eyebrows raised.
“What was that about?” he asked, watching Neville blush brighter.
“I, uh, I have no idea,” the other boy admitted. “She’s in Ginny’s year. I’ve seen her around sometimes, at the outskirts of the forest. She’s always looking for creatures of some kind. She’s… interesting.”
“She seems it,” Harry agreed knowingly. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the Ravenclaw table in future — maybe he could help Neville out a bit with his crush. It would be good for him.
They returned to their compartment, and Ron caught the chocolate frog Harry tossed him, giving him a strange look. “What took you so long?” he asked, expertly biting the head off the frog before it could escape his grasp. Harry sat down, sharing a brief look with Neville.
“Just couldn’t decide what to get,” he replied nonchalantly. He didn’t want to embarrass his friend by mentioning the Ravenclaw girl; Ron wasn’t exactly good with emotions, or subtle about anything. Neither was Hermione, in all honestly. If they were, they’d probably be dating by now.
Absently nibbling on his pumpkin pasty, Harry let his mind wander for the rest of the journey; first to ways of getting Neville to talk to Luna more, then to a fun but ridiculous daydream of impressing Cedric so much with his quidditch skills the boy couldn’t help but kiss him.
Snapping out of his daze when Hermione nudged him in the side, Harry realised the train had halted at Hogsmeade station. His blood was rushing faster now, but that wasn’t unusual; Hogwarts was the first home Harry had ever had, and it always excited him to be back.
The four of them found a carriage, and Harry’s fingers drummed on his thigh as the wheels began to roll, while opposite him Neville’s knee bounced once more. He tuned out Hermione’s fussing over their summer homework, worrying she hadn’t put enough detail into her Charms essay.
All of a sudden, Harry’s spine tensed and his skin tingled. Neville’s leg halted at the same moment. Somehow, Harry just knew they had crossed the wards into Hogwarts — the restless energy in him had ceased, replaced with a warm, comforting sensation, like the school himself was welcoming him back. He wasn’t sure what was happening with Neville, but the other boy seemed to relax too. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, who were still bickering about schoolwork; nothing had changed for them, evidently.
Frowning, Harry shook it off, staring up at the castle ahead. He was home now; that was all that mattered.
