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Chapter Text

Harry stood, struggling as his wand and Voldemort's fought with each other, the spirits of his parents, Bertha Jenkins, the old man from his nightmare at the start of the year and, of course, Cedric Diggory surrounding him.

“Take my body back, back to my family,” Cedric requested, just before Harry broke the connection and all the spirits rushed Voldemort, turning on his heel. Harry snapped out two disarming charms before rushing past the two wandless Death Eaters.

The ground beneath his feet was slick with mud, and there were several times he fell and had to roll in it to dodge stunners before climbing back up and running towards Cedric’s body. He wouldn't get another chance, it was keep moving or die.

Finally, he grabbed Cedric by the arm, jabbing his wand at the cup and casting a summoning charm on it. At the exact same moment his hand wrapped around the handle, Harry heard a high-pitched cry of “AVADA KEDAVRA!” and felt the spell hit him. Harry’s grip on the cup faltered, and it slipped through his hand as Harry flew through the swirling colors, he closed his eyes, accepting the end…

…which is why it was so surprising when he woke up to an young lady looking down at him.

—

The last words Cedric Diggory was supposed to hear, according to some beliefs, was a voice he didn't know saying, “Avada Kedavra!”

He had just enough time to realize what was going to happen before a sickly green spell hit him with the sound of speeding death in his ear. He stood stock still as his body collapsed and Harry let out an anguished noise.

He watched the rest of the confrontation at the graveyard in stunned, horrified silence. As the rat-like man cut off his hand and took Harry's blood, as he dropped the feeble, child-like thing into the potion, as You-Know-Who stood up out of it, naked. And most certainly, as Harry clashed with the darkest wizard of his time. He was startled as he-but-not-him came out of the wand, urging Harry towards the only victory either of them would have that night. 

When Harry broke the connection with You-Know-Who’s wand, Cedric finally found his voice, yelling so hard his throat ached, “Come on, Harry! You can do it! Just keep running! Don't look back, I’ll watch your back!”

Cedric continued to yell, knowing nobody could hear him. He watched as You-Know-Who cleared the echoes, or whatever they were, from around him just as Harry wrapped his hand around Cedric's forearm and jabbed his wand at the cup. You-Know-Who yelled out another killing curse and the flash of green light flew towards Harry. Cedric stepped between it and Harry, in a desperate, vain hope to block the curse from hitting the Boy-Who-Lived with his body.

It flew through him, knocking him off his feet, as he watched You-Know-Who give a triumphant yell before suddenly dropping like a puppet whose strings had been cut as everything finally faded away. 

“He could still use your help,” Cedric turned onto his stomach and pushed himself up to stare at the man talking to him, “He’s going to have a long journey with tough decisions, and he could definitely use your help with it.”

Half moon spectacles sat over soft, dark eyes; Short, grey hair that reminded Cedric of his own; a tweed suit with a white tie and undershirt.

Eldritch Diggory, once Minister of Magic, stood in front of his descendent, looking at him without judgement, in his hands were two brooms.

“How can I help him? I’m dead,” Cedric said, feeling a bit awkward to point out the obvious.

“Harry is going to a place where the line between the living and the dead is a lot thinner,” Eldritch said, holding up one broom, “Even thinner than places like Hogwarts. If you choose to, you can choose to go after him and help him, though it will be difficult for you to take human form again.”

“Or?” Cedric asked, and Eldritch shrugged, holding up the broom.

“You could hop a flight to what comes next. It's up to you, Cedric.” Cedric didn't think before he wrapped his hand around the broom that would let him follow Harry. He stared into Eldritch’s eyes as the old Diggory gave a smile and a nod, letting his hand let go of the broom, “Good luck, Cedric. I know you two can do it.”

—

Yuna was praying in the temple when there was a sudden crashing noise behind her, alongside gasps and shrieks. Immediately, she turned, finding two boys, one about the same age as her and the other a couple years younger, lying on the floor. The younger boy had his fists wrapped around, one, the other boy’s forearm and two, a large, crystalline sport’s cup gasping and gulping for air even as his eyes remained closed. The other boy, on the other hand, was quite dead, no breath coming from his mouth and grey eyes staring at Yuna without blinking. 

Standing, Yuna walked over to the boys, gently turning the dead one over. He was wearing a strange yellow and black outfit, and would have been decently handsome if not for a large gash on his face and the fact that he was, well, dead, and the color had already begun to drain out of his face. Yuna uttered a small prayer to Yevon before turning to the other boy.

Turning to the other, who was still gasping for air like there was no tomorrow, Yuna cast water on him, cleaning mud out of the small gashes across his face, chest, hands and legs before she cast cure on them. His breathing slowly stabilized as the wounds healed, though sweat slicked his brow and his hair seemed to be fighting to stick up as he lay soaked. His almond shaped eyes flickered open, revealing striking green eyes, he coughed up some spit mixed with mud, before asking, groggily, “Who are you?”

“I’m Yuna,” she said, bowing to him.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Harry Potter,” he slurred out, before his eyes rolled back and he blacked out again.

Chapter Text

Harry stood in the Great Hall, looking all around him. Strangely, he couldn't seem to make out any faces, not even at the High Table. Before he could try to talk to someone, a hand touched his shoulder, causing him to jump and whirl in place.

“Hi,” Cedric panted, dropping a glowing broom on the ground and letting it fade. Harry’s eyes turned from it to Cedric's gray eyes, memory flooding back to him. Harry gagged, before doubling over and retching. He felt, more than saw, Cedric crouch down next to him and rub his back.

“We’re dead, aren't we?” Harry croaked.

“I am, and that's not your fault,” Cedric agreed, “but you aren't.”

“What do you mean I’m not?” Harry croaked in confusion, “I got hit by the killing curse. It was… Horrible.”

It had felt like being touched by a dementor, slick, icy hands spreading up and down his back, grabbing him by the shoulders, dragging him down, down, down into a freezing mire that ate at something deep inside Harry. Something he’d both always and never should have had.

“I bet, surviving the killing curse twice? I hate to make light of it, Harry, but that's impressive.”

“So what are we doing here?” Harry croaked.

“I think… I think we’re supposed to help that Yuna girl.”

Harry suddenly remembered it, water pouring down on him, somehow pulling him from the darkness then a calm, warmth dragging him totally out of it. Of heterochromic eyes looking down at him.

“Ok… How do we do that, what does she need help with?”

“That, I don't know,” Cedric said, “We’ll have to figure it out together. And we will do it together. I think I changed in some way, try calling for me when you have a chance.”

—

Yuna blinked as Harry sat straight upright on the stretcher Wakka and Kimarhi were carrying. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before going to stand up, “Don't-”

“I’m fine,” he said, standing up before smiling at her, “Thanks for the worry, Yuna, but I think it'd actually be better if I walked. Where's Cedric?”

Yuna blinked again, before realizing he was most likely referring to the dead boy, “He’s at the waterfront, we’re getting ready to Send him. Do you want to go see him before we do?”

“Yeah,” he said in his strange accent, stepping forwards before buckling, being caught by Wakka just in time to keep him from faceplanting, “Thanks.”

“No problem, yeah?” Wakka said, “You sure you want to go?” 

“Yeah, just, let's go slowly, uh?”

“Wakka,” Wakka said.

“Harry,” Harry said, “I’d say it's nice to meet you, but I’ve been having a very, very shit day.”

“I believe that,” Wakka said, “suddenly drop in from the roof with a dead man? Anything that causes that can't have been good. You messin’ with Machina or something?”

Harry’s face pulled into a look of polite confusion as they went, “No, I don't think so. It's a… long story.”

He didn't think so?

They walked onto the beach front, finding ‘Cedric’ being wrapped in the traditional white cloth used during a Sending. Harry allowed himself to be lowered to the ground next to Cedric, looking him over.

“How did you know each other?” Yuna asked softly.

“We went to the same school, Hogwarts.”

“That's a funny name,” Wakka said, chuckling.

“I guess it is, yeah,” Harry agreed, before suddenly patting himself down, “Where's my wand?”

“Your wand?” Yuna asked.

“Yeah, I remember- Oh, Merlin, is that what I dropped?” Harry sounded aghast, even as Wakka went on guard.

“Merlin? Who’s that?” He asked, “Never heard of that High Summoner?”

“Summoner? What's that supposed to mean?”

“You don't know what a Summoner is?” Wakka said, “You some kind of heretic?”

“Wakka!” Yuna gasped.

“No, it makes sense, he shows up outta nowhere, he doesn't know what Machina is or what a Summoner is. You ain't a Yevonite, are ya?”

“I… Don't know what that is?” Harry said.

“So you are one!” Wakka said, reaching for Harry. Before he could do anything, a large something exploded from Harry's shadow, a large, black creature that looked like a mixture of a person and a badger with grey eyes.

The two of them stared at each other as Harry hung in the air. Finally, Wakka grunted and looked away.

—

And so Harry, and by proxy, Cedric, began life in Besaid village…

Ok, so it wasn't technically inside the village. Before the first night was up, rumors of “the Heretic” (always feeling like it was capitalized) ran through the village like wild fire, and Harry had been quickly and quietly, if politely, shoved to the very limits of what could generously be called the village to make his camp. 

The first months had been hard, though not impossible.

Equipped with Cedric's wand, Harry had gone about transfiguring various essentials. A tent, that had taken ten days to get right, a frying pan and other essentials for cooking under a fire, the last of which only taken a couple of seconds, thankfully, though charming the axe to be automatic about wood took longer still. But, by the end of the first three months, Harry had settled down into a life of modest magical living. Few people talked to him, and he talked to few people, and both sides seemed to be content with that.

There was, of course, one bugbear on the villagers' side.

Harry sat on the waterfront, waiting for a fish to trigger the self throwing fishing spear (three weeks!) when he heard a familiar crunching sound of boots.

Well, look who's back, Cedric said lightly in Harry's head.

“I thought the villagers told you to stay away from me, Yuna,” Harry called, “not that I don't mind the company.”

“It's not my fault you're here,” Yuna said, sitting next to him.

“Really? That's the excuse you're going to give? You just happened to be walking down the beach I always fish at, at the exact day and time I always fish at, and you just happened to find me?”

“Um, yes?”

“Someone has to teach you to lie,” Harry shook his head with a sigh.

Chapter Text

“Lulu!” Lulu turned as Wakka came jogging towards her, “Hey, have you seen Yuna? I can't seem to find her anywhere.”

“Given the time and day,” Lulu said idly, and Wakka’s face pulled into a scowl.

“Oh, she better not be with-”

“Let me go talk to her,” Lulu said, putting a hand on Wakka’s shoulder and pushing him back a couple of steps to knock him out of his tirade before it even could start, “I’ll have her back before dinner.”

Lulu turned, walking towards the part of the island where their resident “heretic” lived. She would admit she was far from thrilled with Yuna’s interest in the foreigner, but she also accepted she couldn't control Yuna’s actions. 

Turning the corner on the beach, she watched Harry talking with Yuna for a minute before approaching carefully so they wouldn't notice her.

“-the last player is the Seeker, that's what me and Cedric both played, our job, though we could run interference when needed, was to catch the golden snitch. A small ball, about the size of a walnut, worth 150 points to whoever caught it and, well, the game couldn't end until someone did. The only exception I know was one match that went on for six months, and at that point the players got so sick of it they just gave up. There's a bounty on that snitch to this day.”

“You have to be exaggerating,” Yuna said, laughing slightly, which caused a jolt in Lulu. Yuna barely ever laughed…

“The lowest amount of time said is three months, and some people go as high as nine, but the generally accepted number is six,” Harry said, leaning back and looking up, “Blimey, what we wouldn't give to play just one more game… Hell, I’d give my arm to have my broom here. My godfather bought it for me, the Firebolt, fastest one on the market and maneuvered like a dream.”

“Sirius, right?” Yuna said, “The murderer who didn't actually kill anyone?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I wonder if they're worried about me. Well, that's about all for today, off you hop. Otherwise Lulu’s gonna come out of that treeline and be very cross with us,” Harry said, grinning directly at Lulu. He knew she was there?

“Quite,” Lulu deadpanned, coming out of the trees, “Come on, Yuna, we should hurry back to the village if you don't want to miss dinner. Harry,” she raised her chin in a curt nod. Harry just smiled back.

“Oh, and about that thing, Yuna. I’ll think about it,” Harry said.

—

Harry trudged back to his tent with his basket of fish, a preservation charm already on them to keep them fresh. Hearing a soft “whump” behind him, Harry turned, “Hello, Kimahri.”

The Ronso, who was apparently short for their height, nodded, “Harry.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry said, smiling, while Cedric rose up around him to give a quick wave before fading.

“Wanted to talk,” Kimahri said simply, sitting across from Harry as the wizard carved scales from the fish with a few well placed severing charms before sticking them on a splint to cook, lighting a fire below with the jab of his wand, “Yuna asked you to be her Guardian too?”

“Yeah, she told you?”

“Only one she felt she could trust with idea, Wakka and Lulu don't like you much.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, sitting back. He just didn't get Yevon. Why would you worship someone who ruined so many lives? It would be like worshiping Voldemort. And the fact that every time he went into town he got dirty looks thrown at him didn't help matters.

“Are you coming?” Kimahri asked.

“Probably,” Harry said easily, “Someone's got to stop her from hurting herself.”

“You know-?”

“Of course I do,” Harry said, “I’m sure there's another way.”

“...Kimarhi hopes you’re right.

—

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, feeling rather morose as she looked at the empty, ceremonial spot between her and Ron at the table. She looked up and met her friend's eyes. He nodded to her, muttering “Do you think he's alright?”

“The watches would have told us if anything changed,” Hermione responded.

Everything had changed at the end of the last school year. When the Tri-Wizard Tournament finally went spectacularly wrong. Harry and Cedric had never come out of the maze, they hadn't found their bodies when they brought the maze down either. The only sign that Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory had existed was Harry’s wand and a glowing, ethereal copy of the Triwizard Cup nobody could move from its place hovering a few feet above the Quidditch pitch.

The only reason everybody who knew the two weren't beside themselves with grief is that the magical devices Dumbledore used to monitor Harry's health hadn't stopped working, so they could know his condition, roughly, and it hadn't changed in months. Harry, by all standards they could find, was completely healthy and unharmed.

Dumbledore had found a way to miniaturize the Weasleys’ clock into pocket watches and handed them out to everyone who truly cared for Harry. Ron and her, Sirius and Lupin, Mrs. Weasley. All of them monitoring Harry's location at all hours in case something changed.

The last change she had seen, two hours before, had been from fishing to “at home” and then, moments later to “with friends”. Which, honestly would have been more shocking if he hadn't gone between the first two consistently every Wednesday for the last three months. Hermione didn't even know if Harry liked fishing, but he seemed to view it as a weekly requirement.

Hermione saw Ron’s eyes flicker to the pocket watch under the table, mouthing “at home” to her a second later. She nodded, looking up at the High Table as Dumbledore stood up to speak.

“Everyone,” he said, “it is good to see you back with us, or for our new students, with us now. A few words before I send you out to your dormitories. First, as always, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for every student at this school.”

“Fat lot of help that does,” Ron muttered, “has there been a year that one of us didn't go into the forest?” 

“Second, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Alastor Moody!”

Polite applause came as the real Moody inclined his head at the High Table.

“And third. About our missing friends, we are keeping as tight a monitoring of their condition as we can at all times. Please, do not pester the Department of Mysteries employees working on recovering them.”

—

Yuna walked alongside Lulu, glancing back as she did. Lulu sighed, “I don't know why you're so interested in him, Yuna.”

“That's because you really haven't tried to know him,” Yuna pointed out. Harry was… He was a breath of fresh air, she supposed. His stories, of a far away land where a house made out of pigpen stood higher than anything in Besaid, of massive cities of metal and glass and machina like old Zanarkand, of the castle where he learned his strange magic and went on adventures with his friends…

It made part of Yuna… It made part of her ache. The desire to not die, ingrained into everyone but carefully trained out of her so she could become Grand Summoner like her father without fear, roared to life when he talked of games played on broomsticks and a board game that had moving pieces. Harry, it felt, was full of life. So different from the culture of Spira, where they lived every day afraid of the chance Sin would claim them. Where a father orphaning his daughter to buy a single year’s respite was seen as the highest of honor.

But at the same time, they were similar. Harry, too, had been orphaned, only saved by his mother's love, buying a thirteen year respite from a threat. He had expectations to live up to his parents’ legacy, to be the “Boy-Who-Lived”. To face that threat, that “Voldemort”, again and again until one of them was, without a doubt, dead.

“I don't particularly see why I should get to know him,” Lulu said.

Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? That Yuna tried and they didn't. That to her he was Harry Potter, a friend, and to them he was the Heretic, Harry.

“He’s not a bad person. He just… He thinks differently,” Yuna said, not sure how to elaborate on just how much of a foreigner Harry was.

“He doesn't worship Yevon,” Lulu said, stiffly, “People have died for that cause and he doesn't even care.”

“How would you know that?” Yuna shot back, a bit irritated by just how much Lulu and Wakka were stuck on Harry’s lack of faith. And speaking of Wakka, here he came, ready for another lecture.

A part of Yuna, if she was honest, wasn't sure how they were all going to survive on Pilgrimage.

—