pairing: harry potter x cedric diggory
setting: modern, non-magical, undercover cop/survivor au
story concept for rare pair march madness 2020
Harry has never seen an episode of Survivor.
He understands the basic premise, and he understands why other people—people who are not him—might enjoy watching all the lying and scheming and backstabbing go down in the proverbial shadows of swaying palm trees and strategically loud waterfalls. It’s scenic. It’s dramatic. It’s a staged, contrived, tropical island shitshow with obstacle courses and tiki torches.
What he doesn’t get is why he’s being asked to go undercover as a fucking contestant on the staged, contrived, tropical island shitshow with obstacle courses and tiki torches.
It’s an asinine assignment.
It’s a flagrant goddamn waste of his valuable goddamn time.
The producers are nice to him, sort of, even if they’re a little bemused as they explain precisely how they’re going to rig the “tribal council vote” in his favor every week. Or is it every night? Moody said Harry would be stuck there—“there” obviously meaning both Fiji and a highly specific circle of Harry’s own personal hell—for thirty or forty days. And math has never been Harry’s strong suit, but he doesn’t think there are thirty or forty elimination episodes.
Christ, what if there are?
He meets the other contestants on the flight over, and they’re exactly what he expects. High-achieving, athletic, self-absorbed. Not as smart as they want to be, not as friendly as they seem. There’s a pretty pharmaceutical sales rep with an exaggerated French accent, a retired professional soccer player with bushy eyebrows and a farmer’s tan, and—
Cedric Diggory introduces himself to Harry with a firm handshake and a bashful smile.
Harry silently stares for a second—two seconds, three seconds—and then forces himself to respond. Later, he will not remember what he said or how he said it or why it made Cedric Diggory laugh, and the thought will startle him. Alarm him. Cedric Diggory is a handsome, charming, egregiously likable twenty-nine-year old firefighter from Denver, Colorado. He speaks three languages and has dimples in his lower back that Harry wants to trace with his tongue.
Cedric Diggory, Harry notices immediately, is there to win.
Harry is there to keep tabs on Igor fucking Karkaroff.
So, really, there isn’t much of a conflict of interest. Harry could—what’s it called—form an alliance with him. With Cedric Diggory. That wouldn’t be against the rules. Harry could help him out. Be on his side. His team. Cedric Diggory’s team. Harry could do that, and it wouldn’t even be much of a distraction because Karkaroff is competing, too, which—Harry has to act like he gives a shit about all of that, doesn’t he? The competition? Cozying up to Cedric Diggory would basically just—be his job. Harry’s job. He’d be clocking in, boots on the ground, ready to fucking work. That’s it. That’s all that would be happening.
Besides, there’s almost no conceivable way a mostly fake alliance on a staged, contrived, tropical island shitshow with obstacle courses and tiki torches could end in disaster. Spiral out of control.
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