Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting. He felt as though he would slide away into the blackness gathering at the edges of his brain if he let go of either of them. To hold himself steady, he tightened his hold on the two things he was still clutching: the smooth, cold handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's body. All the breath seemed to have been knocked out of him his head was swimming so badly he felt as though the ground beneath him were swaying like the deck of a ship. He had closed his eyes while the Portkey transported him, and he kept them closed now. Harry felt himself slam flat into the ground his face was pressed into grass the smell of it filled his nostrils.
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