Harry landed with a thud, face down in the grass, and was immediately hit with a wall of sound. Voices, and footsteps, and cheers that were morphing into strangled screams. Harry paid it no mind, sinking even further into himself, relaxing his grip on both Cedric and the cup. He should probably move, but just the idea of sitting up and taking stock of his surroundings made him want to scream. No, better to stay here with his face in the grass. He was distantly aware of his fingers being peeled from Cedric’s wrist and being turned over by strong hands on his shoulders. Abruptly, he was no longer looking at the grass, but into Albus Dumbledore’s blue eyes, peering at him over his half-moon spectacles. Harry had the strangest impulse to smile at him.