Sirius had informed him that the Diggorys didn't blame him for what had happened to their son, but Harry had been sure that he was being untruthful to protect him. But as he looked into the stricken eyes of Mrs. Diggory as she forced him to look at her, he didn't see any hate or anger on her face. Instead, her expression was soft as she gazed upon him. "Harry," she whispered, "Professor Dumbledore has told Amos and I what happened. Honey, we are so sorry, and we want you to know that we don't blame you."
"Eileen is right," said Mr. Diggory, his voice raw. With a jolt, Harry remembered his horrific screams of "THAT'S MY SON! MY BOY! MY BOY! MY BOY!" That had torn their way out of his throat the night before. "We blame the scum who did this to him," the man continued. "But that person is not you."
"Don't waste away in guilt, Harry," Mrs. Diggory murmured to the shocked boy. "My son wouldn't want that. Never."
"He thought a lot of you," said Mr. Diggory as he placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "He was very adamant that he wanted to support you."
At this pronouncement, another bout of immense guilt seized Harry. Thinking back, there was no doubt that Cedric had been a far better champion. Over the months that passed, Harry had resented and been jealous of the older boy, and the regret Harry felt now would stay with him for the rest of his life. In the larger scheme of things, those feelings had been so petty, so insignificant.
He had been so envious because Cedric had friends who seemed to like him for him, had parents who truly doted on him, and, to add insult to injury, seemed to radiate pure happiness when with Cho Chang, the first girl Harry had ever had a crush on. He remembered his old wish, that Cho would agree to ditch Cedric and go to the ball with him, and self-disgust rose up like bile. In the months after the ball, both Cho and Cedric had seemed to glow when they were together, and Harry had yearned for a happiness such as that.
The truth was, he had no idea what being in love felt like; it wasn't something that had entered his mind before, young as he was. But all he knew was that he wanted to be that strong, that confident, to be liked because he was true to himself rather than being idolized for fame he had never wanted.
But now ... how was he supposed to look Cho or Cedric's friends in the face ever again? It was almost impossible to do it with his parents, and he knew he wouldn't have to face them every single day. But with the others, it would be constant. He might run into them in the corridors all the time, and see the agony of loss and sorrow on their faces. How could he ever come to terms with any of it?
"I'm sorry," Harry burst out, his emotions almost at the breaking point. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him. I ..."
"Harry, you don't owe us an apology," Mrs. Diggory said softly, cupping the boy's face in her hands. "We are so thankful you did what you did for him at the end. You brought him home, and we couldn't be more grateful."
"Agreed," said Mr. Diggory, and his hand remained on Harry's shoulder. "And we want to tell you that we will be here to support you in whatever's ahead. We know the Ministry are being fools right now," he said, and his face transformed for an instant into an expression of deep fury. "And we believe you."
"We remember the First War," said Mrs. Diggory, "and there have been signs all year that something was amiss. We have no doubt that You-Know-Who has returned, and we are going to do whatever needs to be done. We're going to fight, in memory of our Cedric, and for you." She held out her arms to embrace Harry. Harry, his mind so submerged in emotion he could hardly think, let himself sink into the embrace. After all the trauma she and her husband had been through, they were going to help Harry. They didn't blame him, they didn't hold him responsible. Harry felt tears press at his eyes again, and despite his best efforts, a few fell onto Mrs. Diggory's shoulder as she held him close.
By the time she pulled back, though, Harry had managed to pull himself together again. "Is Cedric still here?" He whispered, and the words seemed to come from a place he didn't know existed.
"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Diggory. "He is still in the room across the hall that's separated from the rest of the wing. In a few minutes, we are taking him to the funeral parlor near our home, and arrangements will need to be made." Her face spasmed with the pure sorrow she felt at having to make that statement.
At the word "funeral", Harry felt his heart clench as well. In a voice barely audible, he said, "Can I ... can I say goodbye?"
The Diggorys and McGonagall exchanged a glance. The older woman had been silent this entire time, simply watching the interaction between Harry and the Diggorys. All three seemed to communicate without words in that moment, and Harry wondered what they were thinking.
Finally, Mrs. Diggory's warm hand landed on Harry's shoulder again, and she said quietly, "Of course you can."