The same but different

Chapter 1 Feelings

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."