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. 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. Shock and exhaustion kept him on the ground, breathing in the smell of the grass, waiting ... waiting for someone to do something ... something to happen ... and all the while, his scar burnt dully on his forehead ...