#cedric x reader

[lostazuree]

୨୧—❝Go out with me?❞

HP Boys x Reader.ᐟ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Harry Potter boys struggling to ask you out.ᐟ

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: Cedric Diggory, Harry Potter, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy.ᐟ

ᝰ ᴄᴇᴅʀɪᴄ ᴅɪɢɢᴏʀʏ.ᐟ

You're reading that same old book with torn edges, that looks as old as time. You've come to love it. What you didn't know, was that the boy infront also knows that. He wants to speak. But he can't. Though, you can feel his gaze on you all the time as he's sat across you at your desk in the library. You'd come here to read, not to have a Diggory staring at you! From the corner of your eye, you're noticing how he's sneaking glances at you. It's distracting. But he knows you're looking at him through your peripheral vision. So you finally look up.

"You're staring." "So are you." "I'm studying!" "So am I."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes and smile, despite yourself. He smiles back. Though, now, his confidence really is slipping through his fingers like sand.

He doesn't know what to say, and he knows you're noticing it. He's waiting for you to flip to a certain page and— There! A dried red rose placed neatly between the pages. You were pleasantly surprised, to say the least. "Oh, I wonder who could have placed that..." You said with a pretense obliviousness. "Me....I did." He chirped up a second after, which earned him a chuckle from you. "Thank you, Cedric." He smiled in response. Now is the time, he thought.

“Right. So, I was thinking—hypothetically—if someone were to ask you to Hogsmeade, say, next weekend…” "Hypothetically?" "Yes. Hypothetically."

You smiled, shaking your head at how silly it all sounded. "Depends. What's in it for me?"; "Butterbeer? Honeydukes fudge...and uh—my company? The hypothetical someone's company, I mean." And you grinned. "That's a great deal. I like the sound of that. Except, I don't want the hypothetical someone's company." You got up from your seat with your things and His head snapped towards you, just then; "Cedric Diggory's would do." you leaned down to where he was sitting, planted a kiss on his cheek and walked away. "Oh." And he sat there, dumbfounded, in a pleasant—giddy way.

ᝰ ʜᴀʀʀʏ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ .ᐟ

He's nervous. Very. He's been standing infront of the bathroom mirror for long that he feels his reflection would reach out and choke the words out of him. He's been practicing for so long that he has to remind himself every once in a while that his agenda is to ask you out, not to sell an insurance plan. Why can't he just do that? It can't be that hard. Except it is, for him. "Fancy seeing you here." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That was—awful." he thought to himself, but he was soon pulled out of his thoughts when he heard a knock at the bathroom door. "You're gonna be late for potions, Harry!" your voice rang. “Y–yeah! Be right there!” You squint at him as soon as he steps out of the bathroom.

"You look tense, what took you so long in there?" "Mental practice." "Mental practice?" "Y'know, visualizing success."

You passed a grin, shaking your head. He seemed suspicious. You were not gonna use the bathroom now. His tongue gave up entirely as soon as you followed up with a question. "What kind of success?" His words falling out before he can stop them. "Uh..the kind where I ask you to Madam Puddifoot's tea shop and you say yes?" You stared at him in surprise, lips parted in shock before you laughed, "That's your idea of success?" Oh how embarrassed he felt! He could feel heat rising up to his cheeks like some stupid Shoujo. "Well, it is now!" He said, his voice an octave higher as he fixed his glasses. You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "You're really bad at this.";

"It was supposed to be charming." "It was. Accidentally."

His head snapped towards you at once in surprise. "I'll go with you, Harry. Tea shop, tomorrow." And with a grin, you turned and walked away to your class. Him? He stood there, frozen, grinning silly.

ᝰ ꜰʀᴇᴅ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ.ᐟ

He's many things. Funny, confident, charming (self proclaimed), and apparently, very incapable of asking you out like a normal person. Because the moment he sees you sitting there in the library, his brain goes static. He grabs a book without even seeing what it is about, pulls a chair across from you and sits, propping his chin on his elbow as he grins. "What'cha readin' love? You look rather focused." You click your tongue, raising an eyebrow at him. "Studying for a test of course, not everybody is as free as you are."; "Ouch?" He starts reading out loud to prove you wrong, except, he isn't really reading.

"And then he asks the girl sitting across from him, 'Would you like to go to Brews and Stews Cafe with me?'." You deadpanned, raising your head to stare at him. He continued, his eyes fixed on the book.

"And shockingly, or not so shockingly for the handsome lad, she sai—" "Stop projecting your fantasies on that book, Fred."

Now that perked his ears, even though it was stupidly obvious what he was doing, he wanted to know what gave it away.

"What?" "You're not even trying.""What do you mean by that, love?" "No such lines exist in that book. You're holding an encyclopedia, y'know. Upside down." "Oh.."

He was mentally face palming. You on the other hand, pack your stuff up with a hint of a smirk, before you ruffle his hair and lean down. "She said yes for 6 p.m., by the way." which earned you a sheepish smile by him. "And she also said that the 'handsome lad' should step up his game." With that, you walked away. He didn't know whether to feel offended or giddy—but oh well, mission successful!

ᝰ ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ᴡᴇᴀꜱʟᴇʏ.ᐟ

He's been roaming around in the lawn for a long while, holding a bunch of crumpled paper cranes that he's been making absentmindedly, wondering how he'd ask you out. You liked this stuff. Maybe that's why, since this morning he's been trying to do make something nice, in hopes you'd notice that he's been trying to make a move. He's been wanting to do it for a good while. He's surprised he's even so nervous, but he can't really bring himself to be confident like usual either. How is he even really gonna— "Ouch!!" A smack lands across his back, from you, of course. "Now, what was that for?!"; "Nothing." You said with a grin and he shook his head, now stuffing the cranes in his cloak's pocket. "What are those?" You asked him before he took them out, and held them out to you. Origami? Since when was he interested in this? "It's a little disoriented." You murmured, holding his hand and guiding him with the folds and he can't help but smile at how concentrated you are. "Now that, looks nice." He grinned. "Since when were you into all of this?" You asked, strolling beside him.

"Since this morning, if it guaranteed your attention." You blinked, "What?" "Nothing!" He's grinning now, but his ears are red. "I said nothing."

He hands you the paper cranes, signaling you to unfold one. There's a little scribble inside. "20% off at the tea shop on Saturday. Trip?" You can tell he tried to draw a flower next to it but erased it out of embarrassment. "A trip? With Fred?" it didn't take him even a second to cut you off. "Without him." You smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"Is that your way of asking me out, Weasley?" "Depends. Was it good enough?""It was terrible." "Aww man."

"You're such a sap, George." Though, you folded the piece of paper and placed it in your pocket with a faint smile. "So that's a yes."; "You're awfully overconfident." you rolled your eyes. "Wrong?"; "Not really."

ᝰ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟꜰᴏʏ.ᐟ

This is the perfect time to ask you out. But he still just can't. You're sitting right by him in the common room. He wants to ask you out. But at the same time, he doesn't. His ego won't let him. He's surely gonna get teased and never hear the end of it. He's sat too close to you for his own comfort. Though, he kind of likes it, it's a—nice kind of discomfort. He'd never admit that he likes to hear you yap, and he thinks that he does a phenomenal job at making it seem like you irritate him. But he doesn't. His faint smile gives it away. Though, today, he seems a little distant, fingers fiddling with crumpled pieces of paper. He tried—tried to make it less awkward by thinking he'd write you a letter. But quickly decided against it. Though, to his surprise, you already knew how he was struggling to ask you out. For the past whole week. It didn't take a genius to figure out with his Oh-so-obvious hints and his terrible attempts to back out.

"Fancy you studying beside me today." "Fancy you noticing where I study." "Wow, being sarcastic now? I'm sure you weren't even listening what I said." "I don't need to be." A beat. "And I did listen."

He regretted saying that. You didn't need to know that. But now you did. To change the topic, or perhaps to hide his embarrassment, he decides to say something even more embarrassing, (for him), "Oh, you know..I'm potentially available this Sunday." He said, looking away as if that statement was self explanatory. "Oh. That's nice." You hummed. He frowned. Then decided that his next statement might do it. "Andd...I'm thinking about going to Hogsmeade." You grinned. "That's great. It's a nice place." He was on the verge of giving up now. "You're impossible, (Y/N)." And you almost felt sorry for the poor guy. But, you, being the stubborn you, wanted HIM to make the move. "You know, Draco, there's a phrase more impossible than I am." That got his attention quickly. "What?"; "Repeat after me."

"Would you," "Would you," "Like to," "Like to," "Come to," "Come to," "Hogsmeade with me?" "Hogsmeade with me?" "Yes I would, Draco!" "oh....Oh!"

He realised a beat too late but, atleast he earned himself a date, at the cost of his dignity, smiling despite himself.

First time writing for HP characters! Hope it's not ooc. Reblogs and Likes would be highly appreciated! 🎀

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

poor timing

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader

Word Count: 14k

Summary: How is Cedric meant to ask you out on a date when he keeps getting interrupted by your tornado of siblings?

A/N: This was way longer than I expected it to be

Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.

It also meant you always had to look out for your family.

When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.

But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.

It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.

Not completely. Never completely.

Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.

But you didn’t grow up alone.

Not really.

Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.

Bill. Charlie. Percy.

But especially Charlie.

Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.

He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.

So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.

And cried.

And cried.

For weeks.

Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.

And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.

The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.

It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.

“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”

Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.

Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.

You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.

You hovered in the doorway instead.

“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.

Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.

“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”

You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.

“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”

They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.

Charlie hadn’t left.

He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.

“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”

“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”

You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.

“Alright.” You murmured.

Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.

“See you in a bit.” He said.

And then he was gone too.

The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.

It felt strange, suddenly.

Too quiet.

You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.

Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.

For a moment, you considered getting up.

Going after Charlie.

He said you could.

But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

You’ll never make your own friends.

You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.

You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked.

You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”

“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”

You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—

Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.

“I’m Cedric." He offered.

You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.

“First year?” He asked.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”

“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”

You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”

Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”

Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.

You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.

The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.

He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.

At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“For you.” He said simply.

You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”

There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.

“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.

You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.

“Who’d you get?” He asked.

You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”

You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”

You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.

“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.

By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.

The boat ride felt like something out of a story.

Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.

You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.

Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.

By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.

It was beautiful.

And overwhelming.

You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.

Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.

You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.

You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—

"Cedric Diggory."

Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.

Then—

“Hufflepuff!”

The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—

And then he found you.

He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.

You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.

Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.

The ceremony continued.

Until—

Your name.

It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.

The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.

It didn’t take long.

“Gryffindor!”

The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.

Relief hit you first.

Then something warmer.

You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.

“There she is!”

“About time!”

“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”

Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.

You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.

You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.

You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.

You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.

Cedric Diggory.

You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.

You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.

He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.

“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.

“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.

“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”

For a second, you just looked at him.

Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.

“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—

And then you heard it.

Your name.

Again.

This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.

It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.

You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.

He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.

And then he broke.

Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.

Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.

“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.

He tried to answer.

“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.

Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”

“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.

And then it clicked.

Of course.

Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.

You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”

That did not help.

If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.

“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”

He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.

You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.

“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.

“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.

You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.

He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.

“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”

Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.

Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.

You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.

Still, you noticed.

Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.

It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.

Just something that could have been something else.

And then it passed.

Or at least, it should have.

A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.

The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.

“Hey.”

Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.

“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.

He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”

It was a better excuse this time.

Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.

You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—

And then—

"(Y/N)!"

The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.

You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.

With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.

She didn’t slow down.

“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

You didn’t even think about it.

“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”

Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."

Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.

“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.

Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.

“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”

She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."

“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”

Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t interrupted.

But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.

You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.

He didn’t even look surprised.

If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.

“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”

You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”

She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.

You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"

He nodded, a smile on his face.

He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.

By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.

Everyone else did.

The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.

There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.

Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—

All you could think was:

You hadn’t known.

Not once.

Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—

And somehow you missed the one thing that did.

So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.

Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.

It was stupid, really.

Your siblings were safe.

That was all that should have mattered.

And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.

You should've noticed. You should've known.

Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.

You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.

You were her older sister.

That was supposed to mean something.

It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.

It was supposed to mean she came to you.

Like how you would go to your older brothers.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.

You didn’t look up immediately.

Not until they stopped near your table.

“Hey.”

The voice was familiar.

You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.

“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.

He didn’t ask to sit.

He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.

“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.

You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.

“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.

And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.

“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”

The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.

“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”

You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”

"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."

You didn’t respond right away.

Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.

After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.

“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."

The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.

Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.

Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.

You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.

“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.

Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”

Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.

"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."

“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”

Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.

“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.

Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.

Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”

“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.

You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.

Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.

“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.

“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”

The courtyard was quieter than usual.

Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.

Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.

You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.

Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.

“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”

A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”

“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.

“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.

Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.

“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.

“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”

“Miss Weasley.”

The voice cut cleanly through the moment.

You both turned immediately.

Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.

You were already on your feet before you realized it.

“Yes, Professor?”

“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”

The words landed all at once.

Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”

“Ronald.”

You stared at her for half a second.

Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.

“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.

McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.

You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.

“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”

Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.

“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.

You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.

As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.

“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”

The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.

It didn’t take long to find him.

Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.

Alive.

Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.

And then—

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.

“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”

You stopped mid-step.

“…what?”

The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.

What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.

You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.

“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”

“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.

“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.

Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”

“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Eventually.” George added.

You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.

“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.

“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.

A chorus of groans followed immediately.

Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.

Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—

“Ah! There we are!”

Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.

A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.

“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”

“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.

The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.

“This is my family!”

Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.

You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.

“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.

Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”

There was a beat.

Then—

A sudden rustle overhead.

Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.

You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—

Only to be met with a very familiar face.

Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.

“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.

Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”

Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”

But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.

You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.

The world snapped back into place all at once.

Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.

And then—

Stillness.

Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.

You let go.

Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.

“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.

“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.

Harry, however, was glaring at you.

“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.

You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.

“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”

“I was going to grab it!”

“You weren’t.” You said flatly.

“I was—!”

“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”

He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”

Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.

“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.

You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.

“What?” You asked.

He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”

You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."

Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.

For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.

Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”

“—Charlie! Bill!”

You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.

The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.

Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.

“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.

“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.

“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.

“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”

“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.

Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.

Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.

The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.

You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.

Cedric.

He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.

Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.

You ignored it.

“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”

You opened your mouth to answer—

But of course, he wasn’t finished.

“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”

You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”

Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.

You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”

Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.

“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”

Charlie blinked once—

Then broke into a grin.

“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”

Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”

“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”

Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.

“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.

Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.

And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.

Then—

“(Y/N)!”

Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.

You closed your eyes briefly.

"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"

You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”

Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.

“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”

He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”

Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”

That was all it took.

“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”

You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.

“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”

Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”

With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.

The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.

You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.

Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”

They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.

“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.

“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”

They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.

“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”

“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”

“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.

You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.

“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.

You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”

“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.

“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”

Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.

All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.

He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.

He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.

The stands were packed.

The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.

Because down below—

Cedric was stepping into the arena.

You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.

It was massive.

Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.

“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”

The dragon roared.

You flinched.

“—I’m watching.”

Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—

Your stomach dropped.

“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.

And then—

It was over.

The egg was in his hands.

The stands erupted.

You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.

You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.

Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.

“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.

“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."

He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.

Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.

“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.

You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.

“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”

He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”

There was a beat.

The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.

Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.

"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.

But before he actually got the words out—

A roar of cheers erupted behind you.

Louder than before.

You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.

“Oh—”

Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.

“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.

Cedric blinked.

Then looked between you and the arena.

Then back at you.

And laughed.

“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”

You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”

But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.

“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”

The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.

Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.

You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—

“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”

You froze.

Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.

No—

There was no way—

But there he was.

Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Charlie?”

The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.

His grin widened.

And that was all it took.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

“Charlie!”

You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”

You blinked.

“…You brought them?”

Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”

"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"

He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."

The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.

Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.

You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.

You didn’t need to look.

“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”

You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”

“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.

For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.

Cedric cleared his throat quietly.

“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.

You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”

“(Y/N)!”

Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.

You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.

“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”

You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.

A very old dress.

“Ginny—”

“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”

Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.

He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.

Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.

“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”

Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”

You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”

As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.

Cedric noticed.

Of course he did.

“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.

You blinked.

And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”

Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”

You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”

Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.

Cedric opened his mouth—again.

“Wait—”

But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.

And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.

Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.

His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.

For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.

Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.

The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.

It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.

And at the center of it all—

You.

Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.

Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.

Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.

Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.

Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.

“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.

And you meant it.

Then came Ron.

Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.

You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.

Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.

And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.

By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.

You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.

You were late.

Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.

You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.

Cedric.

He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.

Your steps faltered.

Just slightly.

Your stomach flipped.

Again.

He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.

Because he was staring.

And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.

You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.

“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”

Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.

“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I—uh—”

But before he could get another word out—

Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”

Your expression dropped immediately.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Cedric blinked, “What—?”

“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.

Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.

You barely made it two steps—

Before—

“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”

The room went quiet.

Completely quiet.

You froze mid-step.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.

Cedric was standing where you’d left him.

Except now he looked… different.

Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.

Every eye in the room was on him.

On you.

And he didn’t look away.

“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”

For a second—

You didn’t move.

Then your brain caught up.

Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.

“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.

Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.

“What took you so long?”

You really hated the hospital wing.

In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.

But this time felt different.

The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.

You didn’t really understand it.

Or maybe you did.

There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.

And the stakes had never been this high before.

When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.

Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.

You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.

After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.

You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.

But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.

So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.

You ran.

The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.

It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.

Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.

You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.

“Hi.”

The word came out softer than you intended.

Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”

Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.

“Are you alright?”

“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”

A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he reached for you.

His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.

Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.

Your frown deepened.

“I’m alright." He said gently.

You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”

“Which is better than the alternative.”

Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.

“Cedric—”

“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.

And then it softened.

His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.

Your breath hitched.

Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.

“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.

Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.

You didn’t trust your voice.

So you nodded.

That was all he needed.

He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.

And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.

Soft. Barely there.

It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.

For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.

Until it wasn’t enough.

You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.

The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—

Charlie.

Standing in the doorway.

Arms crossed.

Oh Good Godric.

“Charlie—”

“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”

You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”

“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”

Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.

You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”

“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”

You stared at him.

“I’m what?”

“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”

Your jaw dropped.

“For-Until I graduate?!”

“Yes!”

“Why?!”

He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”

You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”

“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”

Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”

Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.

“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”

“This is ridiculous—!”

Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.

And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—

“Bye, love.”

"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”

“Charlie!”

And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.

And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."

bonus:

The morning had been quiet.

Suspiciously quiet, really.

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.

And Cedric.

You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.

For once, there were no interruptions.

No chaos.

Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.

“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”

“Mum!”

“Dad!”

Cedric froze.

You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.

There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.

Cedric exhaled slowly.

Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.

“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”

You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.

“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”

“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”

Cedric blinked.

Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Excuse me?”

Before you could respond—

A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.

Followed by—

“That wasn’t me!”

“Yes it was!”

Right outside the door this time.

You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.

He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"

A beat of silence.

"That we're not supposed to."

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[yuunarii-arii]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐌𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫?

featuring ❅ draco malfoy, cedric diggory, tom riddle, enzo berkshire, fred weasley, george weasley, theo nott, mattheo riddle, blaise zabini x reader (each featured separately)

summary ❅ How do the boys react when there is an overhanging mistletoe? And how do they feel with a holiday peck in public?

word count ❅ 3.7k | aprx 400 words per drabble themes ❅ just fluff, kissing, some indications of sex but not explicitly mentioned or described. yuna's voicemail ❅ AHHH I had so much fun writing this one! I hope you all enjoyed it! I included as many of the boys as possible just so everyone can get a moment with their favourite character.

Draco Malfoy - Let’s leave the rest behind close doors, love…

Draco did not feel the most comfortable when it came to large public displays of affection; it wasn’t that he felt ashamed of you, nor was he embarrassed to love you—rather he would prefer to personally show his ways of love in private. The Slytherin did not care to prove to others that his heart was yours, as long as you knew, then that was all he needed.

So when the eventful mistletoe decided to hover above the two of you, he wasn’t sure what to do. A silent blush creeping across the apple of his cheeks as your deep glossy eyes bore into his.

The amused sounds of younger mischievous students came from behind the decorated tree, a wand in hand as it controlled the plant floating between you and your lover. Their hopes to tease the blond certainly became noticed by everyone else in the decorated hall, older professors chuckling at the adorable jokes children certainly loved to play.

Sadly for the young ones, they could only humph in disappointment as Draco left a lingering kiss to the back of your hand, his sharp gaze never straying away, observing every little change of reaction that occurred behind your lovely pupils.

Though it wasn’t until later, by the time you felt content and had enough of the spiced warm drinks at the Christmas party, did Draco swiftly whisk you away from the festivities. Taking you along the cobbled walls until finally reaching the comforting chambers of his bedroom. Alone and away from prying eyes. Now it was the moment for his lips to embrace yours, as a branch of a bright berry red mistletoe floated above you, sitting still in the air.

Perhaps he wanted to reenact a proper Christmas kiss for you—although his mistake of using a red holly instead of the usual white mistletoe was absolutely adorable. Nevertheless, it ended the night with a passionate kiss and tangles under close quarters with Draco holding you like it was the last of his breathes.

Cedric Diggory - A kiss, maybe two. Oh, how about one more!

There was one thing that many misunderstood when they saw Cedric Diggory, and it was that Cedric was a shy young man when it came to romance.

Oh, how could they be anymore wrong. This Hufflepuff loved to get you all red and embarrassed whether the two of you were in public or private, kissing your ears every little bit while you walked along the halls; or the occasional whispers in your winter bitten lobes as he muttered sweet sounds of adoration. Cedric Diggory was simply head over heels in love with you, and he did not waste a second to smother you in his light affections.

Now with the mistletoe above his head—one that he shamelessly spelled right in front of your very eyes—he could now kiss you with a reason for once. Less than an inch dividing his sweater borne chest from your anticipating body.

A pressed kiss to your heated cheeks, an extra to the tip of your nose, and finally to your awaiting lips. One that was long and worth the five unhurried seconds. Reciprocating his affection by wrapping your arms around his neck, slow and sensual as his lips found comfort against yours.

The carols sung by students played on and on whilst you and the golden boy found solus in a corner under the whimsical lights and decor.

Tom Riddle - Once under the mistletoe, the rest beneath the sheets.

Tom Riddle hated and absolutely detested public displays of affection, glaring at the way couples would shove themselves down the other’s throat in broad daylight—in the bloody school halls! And so it was no surprise that he avoided needless touches with you during class hours, the closest thing he did to a romantic display in public was allowing you to sit beside him in class without insulting your entire existence.

This also made many confused, were you dating the Slytherin? Or were you simply a companion by his side that he didn’t necessarily hate? It was all very confusing, even for you at times. But everything was made clear when you were alone, doors shut and locks clicked; occasionally this would even happen between classes as well, Tom would have an itch or an annoyance for something or someone and he needed to relieve his stress. He would conjure a door or drag you into the nearest closet or empty classroom and take what he desired until completely satisfied.

Now during the lovely mistletoe, you were all alone, standing below the branch with a grumble upon your lips. You had attempted to reel Tom in and make him kiss you for once in public, but you had failed a miserable number of times. Just the day before, you overheard girls mentioning your name, saying that you and Tom probably weren’t even dating, and another added that they hadn’t ever seen Riddle kiss you before.

So, here you were, the Christmas kiss scheme in the trash as you stood there in defeat. Tom sitting in the quietest possible corner to indulge himself in some reading, he was only here because Professor Slughorn forced him to attend this party, otherwise he would have been holed up in his bedroom.

Yet his attention was easily attained when a young man decided to flirt with you, right below the mistletoe no less, inching subtly closer after every moment you giggled at something he said. Before he knew it, Tom was already glaring downwards at the fool, scaring him off without a word. You wanted to argue, to yell at him for leaving you alone all night, and only showing up when someone finally decided to talk to you.

For a moment you wanted to call him selfish, accuse him of not truly loving you, but all further complaints were silenced with a kiss to your quivering lips. Melting into the soft intimacy before he pulled away, yet you found yourself wanting to chase his lips.

A whisper made its way to your numbing mind, the heat of his breathe tingling your nerves, “I’ll give you all that you deserve the moment we leave.” Somehow you wanted nothing more than to bail on this stuffy party, wishing to spend the rest of your night with your beloved uptight Slytherin. And you did.

A Christmas Eve filled with gasps into the fire warmed air, sheets crumpled together, and heated entanglements. Tom Riddle hated public affections, but he would make the occasional exception if deemed necessary.

Lorenzo Berkshire - Love deprived Berkshire was his name.

Lorenzo Berkshire was a shameless man, whether it came to his simple wants such as the placement of his seat in class or how his team enacted specific plays during a Quidditch match, he was never afraid to make others aware of the way he wanted things done; although his method of letting people know was a little more diplomatic compared to Mattheo. A smile brightening under his eyes and a whole load of sugar-coated words aided him when someone needed a bit of convincing before they gave the young man what he asked for; other times he would get rather physical when he had a desire, however, that would only be with you.

Some days, Berkshire wished for something as small as a hug, though such light innocent affections weren’t in his dictionary, not until you came around to feed the deprived love monster deep in his heart. Now every little while—meaning every thirty minutes or less—he required a deep in embrace from your warm and hug-able self.

Sometimes it wasn’t a hug he needed, but a kiss—it didn’t matter what form of physical affection it was, he would retrieve the innocent intimacy in the same manner. He didn’t care for the situation that you were in, whether it was a conversation or reading a book, he took what he needed and went about the rest of his day—even if the teachers had a good chance of talking to you during the times Enzo required a smooch, oh dear, those were awkward moments.

That was no different now, blissfully and ignorantly standing under a mistletoe on the sidelines of the Christmas party, Enzo spotting your relaxed form under the branch. His feet took action before his brain did, leaving his complaining cousin to Blaise and Theo to grumble about Hermione for the thousandth time.

When you took notice of his approaching form, you expected the usual hug or little kiss, and you knew before he even took the affections that were rightfully his, Enzo would tell you what he wished for before acting on his emotions, words like “I need to hold you,” or “A small kiss, please,” before he completely circled his arms around you.

Though at this moment there wasn’t even a warning, his arm slithered around your waist, hand firmly holding you in a matter of a second, only to drag you forward and claim your lips on his. Giving you a tad bit more time to process what he was doing before devouring your sweet mouth, angling his face slightly to the left for clear access. Lorenzo Berkshire was a shameless man, and he certainly did not care if his professors were present or for the gasps of surrounding students, if he wanted to kiss you now, he would, even if that kiss consisted of shoving his tongue down your throat and pressing you against the tables.

Fred Weasley - The Juliet to my fruit cake... Wait, wrong line—

Fred loved to tease and play jokes, he knew that, you knew that, heck everyone in all of Hogwarts knew of it; and you were no exception, by the time you started dating Fred, he had already gotten you accustomed to all the fun pranks and overly affectionate displays in public. Hugs, kisses, and even random poetic sessions where he declared his love for all of the Great Hall to hear… For the fifteenth time and counting.

Yet somehow this seemed to be the most embarrassing, your cheeks burning as Fred knelt on one knee before you, your hand in his as he asked for your permission. For what? To smother you in his pure unfiltered adoration in the middle of the decorated Great Hall of course! Which also meant kissing you like the prince you deserved under the bright red mistletoe—was mistletoe supposed to be red? No. No it wasn’t, but we’ll ignore his confusion between holly and mistletoe just because he’s an adorable goofball.

“Oh my god, Freddy,” a free hand covering your steaming face the moment he started but another poetic line for your beautiful drums to hear; “You, my dear, are far more magical than any Hallmark movie, and more beautiful than the holly wreaths my mother makes a week after Halloween.”

When you thought he was just about done—he wasn’t, I don’t know how you came to that conclusion—his lips made wet smooches along your arm from the base of your hand till he chased your skin to the ends of your shoulder. “Freddy!!!” His tall frame now towering over you with a silly love struck grin. “Yes, my sweetie pie?”

You groaned jokingly at the nickname, “you’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who’s love knows no bounds, my snicker doodle.” He completed with pure pride.

“Oh, just kiss me.” Dragging him from the collar to close his talkative mouth shut, leaving your audience sounding the hall with ‘ooohs’ or the occasional groan from Draco. Either way, your Christmas hero has arrived to sweep you off your feet.

George Weasley - A bombard of kisses for the ginger and his princess.

George and Fred were very much alike, even when it came to pranks and affectionate displays; however, George was a bit more soft compared to his twin. Always the more thoughtful brother, opening the door for you to enter first, a hand placed somewhere on your person at all times, and the softest yet loudest kisses that most would overlook if they weren’t paying attention. Regardless, you felt each and every one of George’s moments of love, his adoration for you marked upon your skin.

With the mistletoe hanging from the arch of the Gryffindor common room door, your cheeky sweet lover smiling from ear to ear as he looked down at your tiny form expectantly, almost like a waiting golden retriever, you couldn’t help yourself but imagine him violently wagging with a fluffy tail.

Merlin, why was he so cute!

Just as you stared at your boyfriend’s freckled features, his hands caressed your head so gently like it was a glass vase; whispering his next phase of attack before smothering you in his love, “kiss attack!” A peck all over every inch of your skin, one to the nose, a couple to your chin, a handful to the plushy red cheeks and forehead, and finally a countless number of smooches to your delectable lips.

“Y’know what would have been amazing?”

“What?” You answered with the biggest smile on your face, a product of all the laughing you had done under his peck attack.

“If we redid all those kisses, but I use your red lipstick.”

To that, your night ended with a bountiful of laughter, every sound you made was a symphony to his ears, even if he was the victim of a second course of kisses—George happily sat there like a hypnotized fool with red lips marked all across his face.

Theodore Nott - A secret kiss with my quiet lover.

The one thing you loved about Theo was that he loved with a enormous passion, yet he was the quietest among his group of friends. He made you feel loved during every second of the day, little messages hidden in the margins of your class books or in the notes you asked him to write for you.

Theo wasn’t the most easy going when it came to very loud affections in public, but it was noticeable in the small things that mattered. A hand in yours when you needed comfort, a small kiss to your hair when the drowsiness of boredom slipped into your mind midst the school day; he managed to make you feel like the luckiest girl on the planet, he was always so considerate.

His shyness towards PDA was so cute, and it was the only thing you could think about as you laid against the wall, bum to the floor in the lit up Slytherin common room—thanks to the affect of Enzo’s girlfriend’s holiday spirit rubbing off on him, he managed to drag Draco into helping him decorate the entire living space with festive lights and holly.

The place turned to a party as the night closed in, Christmas Eve pouring in slowly as the stars aligned; you found it far more comforting to sit in a random corner, and apparently Theo thought the same.

Your only question was, why was he holding a mistletoe above your head?

Your Italian lover stared at you with no words, just a sneaky glint in his eyes, “what’s up with that?”

“It’s a mistletoe.”

“I am aware of what it is, I mean what are you doing with it?” You replied bluntly.

“How about I show you instead, amore.” His body leaned into yours, a light kiss pressed to your lips, his were warm and so gentle against you; in a nudge of his lips, the kiss drove deeper, tongue dancing against each other, the taste of coffee hinting across your mouth as you wrapped your arms around him.

Thankfully, no one was around to lay eyes on Theo unraveling his tongue down your lips, everyone far too busy laughing at Enzo’s uncharacteristic excitement for something as childish as a Christmas gift. Theo was a shy young man when it came to kissing you in public, but right now, at this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to become one with you.

Blaise Zabini - Mr. and Mrs. Mistletoe scheme.

Blaise is very similar to Theo when it came to his quietness, however Zabini held a stronger presence in the room, he was quiet with a wave of confidence; he didn’t need to speak for others to respect him, they just did.

With that thought, Blaise generally seemed like the type to not conduct any sort of affections midst the crowds, however, he loved to hold your hand whenever he could, under the tables in class, whilst walking in the halls between periods, or even in the common rooms where the two of you snuggled into one another. And it wasn’t needed to say that he took the utmost pride in being a gentleman for his lady, he’d carry your books for you, open your doors, and tap you out of your sleep during classes.

When it came to kissing however, his range of public displays were not the most moderate, it was either a quick peck to the lips or a full make out, there was no in-between with this man.

Which made you wonder how Blaise would take the traditions of the wondrous mistletoe. With a plan in mind, you had one safely tucked into your pocket, sneaking around the Slytherin common room to spot your boyfriend, hoping to trap him under the plant’s power and attain your Christmas kiss.

Peaking out from the edge of the wall like some cartoon character, attempting not to raise any unneeded attention while you searched for your target.

However, unluckily for you, he was always two steps ahead, “who are we looking for?” A deep voice whispered from behind you like the Ghost of Christmas past; prompting a yelp with the highest notes, “Blaise!!”

“What are you sneaking around for, love?” A boyish grin played on his lips that told you he already knew what was going on.

“Nothing at all! None of your business in fact!” Hands shoved into your pockets to make sure the plant did not fall out during the sudden scare—it wasn’t there.

Your face stilled as you tried to feel for it, “looking for this?” Blaise asked knowingly, twirling the plant between his fingers.

“I- uh- Oh?”

“Oh, indeed,” mistletoe still playing on his fingers, gazing at your flustered form in a mixture of amusement and adoration.

“Could I have that back, please?” You wondered with many flutters of your lashes, maybe that’ll get him to cave.

“Well, naturally, you’ll have to pay a price.” One step and then another, just a few inches from you and his towering self, he was always much taller than you that he would occasionally have to bend down to hear you.

“Such as…”

“Such as a kiss,” bending forward with the mistletoe above your head. “What say you, m’lady?”

With a playful pause to think about his offer, a pinch to your chin and a loud hum between your lips, you came to the conclusion, “I believe that is a wonderful offer, Mr. Zabini.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mrs. Zabini.” In a heartbeat, Blaise pulled you in without hesitation, hands finding purchase atop your waist, while his mouth aided in angling your head backwards, lips driving deeper into yours till his touch was the only thing melting in your mind. Tongue exploring the heat of your mouth as you moaned at the contact, pulling him in from around his neck to be anymore closer than he was.

Plan A had certainly failed, but you were more than delighted to learn of Blaise’s plan B.

Mattheo Riddle - In my very own wonderland when I’m by your side.

This man is a menace to society and your heart, he has kissed you more times than none during classes and break periods, and he has a very veryyy bad addiction to holding you during every moment of the day. Sometimes it was just his hand placed on your lower back, maybe your waist, or hug around your shoulders, and ever so often he would have you on his lap, as you could see he was very attached to you, almost as much as a Berkshire in love—maybe even more, it was hard to tell.

After some time with Mattheo, you noticed that holding you made him less fidgety, like your entire being grounded him, allowed him to breathe without worry, yet this was something you could only recognize, and any time you mentioned it to Matt, he denied it with passion.

But let me say that he had no problem in making out with you on any day, anywhere. In the common rooms? Easy! Leaving classes? C’mere. In front of Potter? Say less!

So with the Hogwarts Christmas party taking place, everyone loud and all cheerful, decor dressing the spacious room in wondrous aesthetics, and a small overhanging mistletoe glaring at you and your curly haired mister.

Mattheo stared at it with confusion at first, and a beat later, he grinned with realization, turning towards you with a playful upturn on his lips.

“What was it that you said about Christmas rules?” With an arch of his brow, his hands slipped out your hands, finding a new purpose for them.

“Really? Right here?” A blush heated your cheeks, Mattheo’s friends were not even that far away, already watching the two of you, knowing smirks on their faces when they saw the plant above you two. And not to mention, the entire school was here, teachers present as well.

“Rules are rules, babe.” Dragged in by the waist, your hands quickly found purchase on his sweater clad chest—sensing his heartbeat quickening for every second that past, almost as fast as your own.

“Can I kiss you...” Smirk long gone from his face, just a nudge from his nose and a whisper for your consent while his forehead brushed against yours, leaning in but not kissing you just yet, not until you said the magic words.

“Please…”

That was all he needed to hear before your lips were claimed upon his. White dust glittering above you from a snow spell no doubt, a couple cheers came from Mattheo’s friends, most likely Enzo, but everything else muted around you while in the grasp of your special someone. His grip around you only tightening for every embrace to your lips.

You were his and Mattheo was yours, and he would spend every day of his life holding you, because you were the only winter star he needed for eternity.

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | @viperify @leeny-leens @rarebambi @marywantsttobattle @nottendo @pollyrome @theodoresvalentine @ur-local-wizard @sea-lit-stars @sparklyredhrt

©yuunari-arii 2025. All works posted under my name belong to me. Please do not copy, claim, republish, or translate my work anywhere else.

[slvqtore]

⟢ pairing. cedric diggory x fem!reader ⟢ summary. one night, you caught yourself in a mess you hadn’t quite planned—a forced blind date your friend had planned out. problem is, a certain prefect was out on duty and you sure weren’t on your dormitory this late at night. ⟢ he fell first, he fell harder. grumpy x sunshine. friends to lovers. cedric being jealous. ⟢ wc. 1,7k ⟢ masterlist!

you couldn’t quite place how you’d gotten into this mess. it was half past 10 and instead of being snuggled up on your bed, snoring soundlessly, here you were out on the castle grounds with justin, sneaking your way in back to where you should’ve been.

it was stupid, really. your supposed “friend” lavender has had the thought that what you really needed right now was a boyfriend. “you seriously need to go on a date to take your mind off of things. i’m telling you, it’s such a stress reliever!” or whatever lavender said.

you tried. once, twice, hell you declined the offer tens and thousands of times, but did she ever back down? no. it was pretty clear to you that no matter how many times you’ve turned the offer down, she’d still pester you about it. and so, as much as you wanted to tape her mouth down and shout at her face, you reluctantly agreed, with her agreeing that if this date thing didn’t work out, she’d never bother you for another.

just one date. one night. one hour.

you drowned your own head with those thoughts. from the moment you got dressed, down to the moment where he attempted to peck you—which, obviously you dodged. and right after that awfully awkward moment, the two of you spoke less than before, though you never really spoke to begin with. all he ever managed to muster up with that mouth of his was bragging about how he survived being petrified.

“so.. saturday, same place, same time?” justin asked with a flush, keeping his voice low as possible as he stood near the foot of the stairs of the entrance hall. clearly he enjoyed tonight, unlike you. “yeah, sure.” as much as you didn’t want to, you couldn’t bare saying no to him, your guilt only pushed even further when all of a sudden, a bouquet of flowers, carried with a tiny note inside, appeared on his left arm.

“for you,” he grinned shyly. “i hope you like them.”

you froze, blinked, then quickly quickly pasted on the most polite smile you could manage. “oh, wow! thank you, this means a lot to me.” chuckling awkwardly, you held the bouquet at arms length, gripping it tightly than you should’ve. neither of you spoke for a few moments, letting the awkward atmosphere pass through.

“well, i s’pose it’s getting late, isn’t it? we should really head back to our dorms.” he finally spoke, breaking the silence, as he clasped his hand. “oh, yeah, right.” you didn’t even know what time it was, but the way the hall stood deserted made it clear you should’ve been back in your dorm ages ago. your heart sunk just by the mere thought of being caught by filch.

“would you like me to walk you to your room? if that’s what you would like, of course.” he asked, scratching the back of his hair out of nervousness.

oh, god. now you felt even more guilty. he’s genuinely such a nice person, you couldn’t possibly turn him down.

“it’s alright, thanks.” you smiled softly, to which he gratefully returned, before he set off in a completely different direction, off to his own dormitory.

the walk to your dormitory felt like hours, you didn’t remember your dormitory being this far off. occasionally, you heard murmured voices and faint footsteps echoing through the halls, each one making your heart skip as you pressed closer to the shadows.

and at last, you settled through a corridor in which you go through everyday. a great sense of relief washed over as you quickened your pace, knowing your room was edging nearer with each step you took.

your little moment of relief, however, was cut off shortly when all of a sudden, a voice you recognized echoed down the corridor—calm, low, and far too amused for your liking. you needn’t turn around to know who it was.

“out awfully late, aren’t we?” cedric’s baritone carried easily through the quiet hall, and your stomach dropped. out of anyone, literally anyone, it just had to be him. of course he was on prefect duty tonight.

turning around with a scowl, you were met with cedric diggory himself, wearing that awfully, annoying, charming smirk, as he inched closer towards you. mumbling a word you shouldn’t have out of frustration, you quickly hid the bouquet behind your back.

“why, hello, isn’t it mr prefect,” you drawled. “i was just heading back to my dormitory, so if you don’t mind..” you shifted, attempting to slip past him, when in a blink of an eye, he was now in front of you, again, blocking your path.

“oh, but just hold on a minute,” his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “care to tell me what you’re doing this late at night?” he arched a brow, the corner of his lips twitching slightly as he eyed you up and down suspiciously.

“i was..” you traced off, scrambling for any possible excuse. “you were…?” his tone equal parts patient and infuriating. the faint smirk tugging at his lips told you he already knew he had you cornered. “i was just off from the library. you know, for the—uh—exams tomorrow?” you blurted, portraying the most innocent looking face you could.

he let out a low and warm chuckle, “going to the library with a set of bouquet in your hands? that’s a new one.” you rolled your eyes. so he did notice. “did you really think hiding it behind your back was a clever idea?” he teased, his grin never faltering. now that you did think about it, it was ridiculous to hide this massive bouquet behind your back in attempt to hide them.

“whatever,” you huffed, gripping the bouquet tightly as you swept past him. and to your dismay, he fell into step beside you with ease, his long strides effortlessly matching yours. “you know,” he said, hands shoved casually into his pockets, “most people would at least thank me for not docking points.”

you shot him a look. “right, and most people don’t go sniffing around after curfew waiting for someone to slip up.” you spat. “well, it is my job after all.” and again, he let out that same infuriating chuckle.

unbeknownst to you, however, his eyes had been lingering on a certain object for far too long. at last, he cleared his throat.

“so, uh.. those flowers,” he began, forcing a casual tone as his gaze flickered down to them once more. “sorry, i mean.. were you on a date, or..?” the question hung in the air, wrapped in false nonchalance. he mentally cursed himself for asking such a ridiculous question.

“i’m sorry, you don’t need to—”

a grin cracked across your lips. “yeah, i was out on a date.” you replied casually, adjusting the bouquet in your arms. “why?” you so innocently asked, raising a brow at him.

for a moment, his easy smirk faltered—just barely, before he recovered, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “no reason,” he said smoothly, though the way his jaw clenched said otherwise.

after a brief moment of silence, he asked—again.

“so, who was it, then? dean? harry?” the names rolled off his tongue casually, folding his arms in attempt of acting completely cool.

“oh, please,” you scoffed, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “don’t you have any better guesses? it’s justin. you know him, right?” you delivered the words offhandedly, still not grasping the situation you were currently in.

“justin? you mean the hufflepuff justin? him?” he breathed, disbelief slipping through as his jaw tightened; his tongue darted across his lips. you lifted your bouquet for him to see, “he was really lovely, you know. he even bought me these.”

he then mumbled something under his breath, too low for you to catch. “those aren’t even your favorite, he should’ve known better.”

“what was that? you’re speaking at a mouse-level noise.” you narrowed your eyes at him just as the two of you rounded a corner. “what? oh, nothing.” he replied, way too quickly. “last question, so, like—are you two dating, or..?” he scratched the nape of his neck awkwardly once he’s realized the ridiculous amount of questions he’s asked you.

you scoffed playfully. “don’t be stupid, of course not. he just took me out on a date once, that’s all.” and at that, he felt the knot in his chest finally loosen. “that’s great! he blurted, far too quickly—then faltered, clearing his throat. “wait—sorry, i meant.. i see.” his ears flushed just slightly.

“and what is that supposed to mean?” you asked offendedly, furrowing your eyebrows. fortunately for him, he didn’t get the chance to answer: the two of you had stopped before the doors to your common room.

“right then, thanks for not telling on me and walking me to my dormitory. very kind of you.” although your voice dripped with sarcasm, he smiled softly anyway.

and you hated it.

hated the way he would laugh.

hated the way he could be so infuriatingly perfect.

“well, i suppose this is where we say goodbye, then?” he said quietly, voice steady but softer than usual. he stayed just a step back, hands loosely at his sides, eyes fixed on yours. “thank God, it is.” he could only laugh lightly at your response, and oddly, you caught a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

after you had given the door your answer, you carefully stepped inside, still fully aware that of cedric’s gaze that never left yours. “goodnight.” was the last thing you heard from him that night before you completely shut the door behind you.

heading up for the girls’ dormitory, you felt a light warmth spreading through you, and you didn’t know why. didn’t want to know why. you just felt so. perhaps, it was the feeling people got right after a date? you couldn’t quite place what the feeling was, but you didn’t care.

[mmeskywalker]

oh gods || cedric diggory

summary: CEDRIC DIGGORY eating you out… thats it. that’s the summary. it has a really cute ending though! i just couldn’t be bothering to write build up. it’s 2:30 in the morning and i’m tired and thinking about cedric 💔

a/n: draco fans don’t be mad at me for tagging him, it’s just for engagement because the cedric diggory campaign doesn’t get much attention on here anymore ☹️

warnings: oral (fem receiving), fingering, dirty talk, aftercare, & cedric being a sweetheart

…………….…………….…………….…………….…………….…………

cedric groans against your slick flesh as you whimper and cry out his name. the sound spurs him on, urging him to take more of you into his mouth. he licks and sucks at your dripping folds, his tongue delving deep to taste you fully.

he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, the hardened nub peeking out from beneath its hood. he flicks it teasingly, watching as your hips jerk and shudder beneath him.

"merlin, you taste even better than i remembered," cedric growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. "i could eat this pretty pussy for hours and never get enough."

“ced, don’t tease,” you whimper, involuntarily bucking your hips into his mouth.

he chuckles, and to prove his point, he seals his lips around your clit and suckles greedily, his tongue lashing over the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. at the same time, he slips a long finger inside your tight heat, pumping it slowly as he laps at you.

your walls flutter and clench around his invading digit, trying to draw him deeper. your slick coats his finger, dripping down to pool on the sheets beneath you.

cedric adds another finger, stretching you open as he thrust them in and out of your soaked channel. his eyes flick up to watch your face as he pleasures you, committing each expression and sound to memory.

"that's it, love," he murmurs against your sex, his fingers pumping steadily. "don't hold back. i want to hear you, all of you. let me know how good it feels."

he curls his fingers just so, brushing against that spot deep inside that made your back arch off the bed. at the same time, he sucks harder on your clit, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive flesh. he can feel you tightening, can sense your impending release, and he’s determined to make it happen.

“fuck, cedric!” your body tenses, your thighs clamping around his head as your climax grows quicker. he doubles his efforts, sucking harder on your clit as he pumps his fingers faster, curling them to hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust.

you moan, mumbling nonsense before: “oh my gods, i’m going to come, baby. i’m going to come so fucking hard!”

"that's it, sweetheart," he encourages, his voice strained with arousal. "come for me, y/n. i want to feel you come undone on my tongue, want to taste your pleasure as it crashes over you.

“give it to me, honey.”

he feels your walls starting to flutter and clench around his fingers, your body drawing taut as a bowstring. he knows you’re close—because, well, duh—he can sense the coil of tension in your core as your orgasm builds.

"let go, sweetheart. i’ve got you," cedric urges, his breath hot against your sex.

with a final, hard suck your climax crashes over you. he groans against your sex, the vibrations of it sending shockwaves through your core as he feels your release gush out to coat his chin and hands.

he growls, fingers pumping frantically as he works you through your high, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence like a man starved. "that’s it, my love. come on my tongue, fill my mouth with your sweet cream. i’m going to drink down every last drop."

as your spasms finally began to subside, cedric gentles his touch, his fingers slowing their frantic pace to long, slow drags through your soaked folds. he presses soft kisses to your sensitive flesh, his tongue flicking out to catch the last drops of your release.

“how was that for hello?” he asks, body settling between your legs. he caresses the back of his fingers across your forehead, brushing the hair out of your face before kissing you gently.

you moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, then chuckle at his ridiculous remark. “that wasn’t any hello,” you say, tilting your head. “that was extraordinary.”

“was it?” he murmurs, a soft smiling playing on his lips. “because i was thinking i could’ve done better.”

your brows squint, meeting in the middle as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, and your forehead—and you let out a strand of air, giggling as you push him off of you, holding his face in your palms. “what are you talking about, better? darling, have you gone mad? it doesn’t get any better than that,” you scrunch your face as he comes back to kiss the tip of your nose, giggling more.

“have you seen the way your eyes shine in the firelight?” the plush of his lips brush against your cheek. “could’ve had you over there, and fed you s’mores…”

“is that even possible,” you scuff, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses your lashes. yes, your lashes. this man is relentless. but he’s your man, and you blush a deeper shade of red at every gentle peck. “‘course it’s possible,” he rolls his eyes. “don’t underestimate me, lovely.”

cedric rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re draped half across his chest, your head pillowed on his shoulder. his fingers find your hair, combing through the strands that glints even in the low light. “you’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs against your hairline.

you smile then, a real smile that reaches your eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. "thanks to you," you softly tease, your hand sliding up his arm, soaking in his embrace. "you remind me everyday, and everyday i fall a little more in love with you.”

“only a little?” you know he’d be clutching his heart if your chest wasn’t pressed against his, and you laugh, hiding your face in his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin.

“okay, a lot,” you correct yourself. you feel him smile against the top of your head.

his hand strokes up and down your back, brows furrowing softly before smoothing out at the sound of your yawn. “did our lovemaking make you tired,” he coos, chuckling as you nestle yourself against him.

“yes, you wear me out,” a slow grin stretches over your tired lips.

he scoffs. “i did all the work,” he says matter-of-factly. “i should be the tired one.”

“well, here we are,” you tilt your head to meet his gaze, only to find him looking at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. your heart melts at the sight. “ced,” you murmur, and he catches your lips with his, kissing you so gently you almost miss it. “go to sleep,” he musters. you look at him expectantly, waiting for him to say the three words he knows puts you to sleep immediately.

his palm nestles in your hair, cradling you back into his chest. “i love you,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head, repeating the phase over and over until you fall limp in his arms with sleep.

[papervenom]

cedric diggory and all the ways he quietly loves you... (a habits list, and probably not the last one i’ll make)

hi! omg this is my first headcanon (blurb?? one-shot??) whatever it is I've had so much fun writing it!!! it’s been a busy few days and I promise that I’m still working on the next chapter but i wanted to get this out because it made me so soft 🥹 thank you so much to the sweet soul who requested this, it genuinely filled my heart up putting it together. here are some of the little things cedric diggory does when he’s in love with you. habits, quirks, tiny rituals. the kind of stuff that piles up over time and makes you realize just how much someone sees you. feel free to imagine them as canon in the insatiable universe (because honestly, they are)

★ he always waits outside your classes — and outside the entrance of your common room in the mornings!! even if you’re running late, even if he’s drenched from practice. he’ll lean against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, and the moment you appear? he lights up like you’re the only person who exists.

☆ he compliments you so genuinely it makes your chest ache — not just your looks, though he tells you you’re beautiful constantly, like he’s never gotten over the sight of you. one afternoon, you’re mid-ramble about something completely ridiculous (a dream you had, a weird bug you saw, whatever) and he’s just staring, all soft-eyed and smitten. then, without even thinking, he says, “i swear, i could listen to you forever. doesn’t even matter what you’re on about. your voice is my favorite sound.” it’s so simple, so achingly sincere, you forget how to breathe for a second.

★ he kisses your forehead twice — always twice. even if he’s in a rush, even if your friends are around and it’ll definitely earn you a round of teasing. one kiss for hello, one just because. it’s instinct at this point, something he does without thinking. soft and automatic, like he’s pressing a little promise into your skin. two smooches, always.

☆ he tidies up for you when you’re not looking — he doesn’t say anything, just stacks the piles books you left out in the library, folds your laundry into neat little piles, quills tucked back into their case. he never mentions it. just blushes when you catch him in the act. “you always do it for me,” he mumbles, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

★ he keeps little pieces of you tucked away like they’re lucky charms — a hair tie, a scribbled note, your lip balm, the lighter you left in his pocket. once, it was a folded napkin with your lipstick mark on it. you don’t even know half the things he’s saved. he just likes having bits of you close, like tiny proofs that you’re real and his.

☆ he whispers that he loves you when he’s half asleep — you’re beside him reading, trying not to wake him, but his hand finds your waist and his eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep. “i love you,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with drowsiness, before pressing a slow, sleepy kiss to your shoulder. then he’s out again, like he just needed to say it, like it couldn’t wait.

★ he’s quietly obsessed with touching you — not in a flashy or obnoxious way, just enough that everyone knows you’re his. sometimes, when he sees you after a long day, or just when he’s overwhelmed with how much he’s missed you, he lifts you up in a tight hug the same way he did the first time he saw you at the yule ball, like the rest of the world falls away and it’s just you. he wraps his arms around you so tight it knocks the breath from your lungs, sways you a little like he can’t believe you’re real. in the hallways, he threads his fingers through yours like it’s second nature. under tables, it’s his hand on your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles it’s never excessive. never overdone. it’s just cedric — quietly, constantly marking the fact that you’re his favorite person in any room.

☆ he talks about you like you’re already his family — he’ll say “we” when making plans. tells his mum about your favorite meals so she can make them whenever you visit. he’s already talking about bringing you to christmas next year. and when he’s home visiting, his parents hear about you constantly. stories about what you did that made him laugh, how you did on your last assignment, just proudly gushing about you. back at school, you slip into most conversations with his friends even when he doesn’t realize it. “(Y/N) said that yesterday,” he’ll murmur, or “she actually read that book, said it was brilliant.” he thinks he’s being casual, but he’s so transparent. the boys tease him constantly, but he just grins and shrugs because he can’t help it. you’re always on his mind. always the first thing he wants to talk about. it’s like loving you changed his whole vocabulary.

★ he pays attention to everything — how you take your tea, the way you hum when you’re deep in thought, how you always tap your quill twice before writing. he catalogs you like he’s afraid of forgetting all the little things, the soft details, the throwaway comments. he picks things up for you without you asking. if you mention needing more ink, he’s already got your favorite shade tucked into his bag. if you say you liked the apple tarts at breakfast, he starts sneaking one into his pocket every morning. he reads whatever you’re reading, too. your favorite books, old essays, reading assignments. he reads it all just so he can talk to you about them. it’s not performative. it’s not a show. he’s just genuinely curious. about you, your thoughts, your world. he wants to know everything you know.

☆ he’s always calling you sweet nicknames — darling, dove, love, baby, sweetheart, flower, angel. he cycles through them like he’s trying to find the one that suits you best. once, you teased him for it and he just shrugged, grinning. “you’re too many lovely things to choose just one.”

★ he seeks you out at parties — if you’re not arriving together, you can bet he’s scanning the room the second he walks in. it doesn’t matter who he’s talking to, or what kind of crowd he’s in the middle of. the moment he spots you, he’s weaving through the noise like nothing else matters. “there you are,” he always says, smiling like the night couldn’t properly begin until he found you. sometimes he’ll kiss your cheek without thinking, or slip his hand into yours so casually it makes your heart skip a beat. it’s like his whole body sighs in relief just from being near you again.

☆ he stares when he thinks you’re not looking — you’ve caught him across the room, in the mirror, from your periphery, just watching you with this enamored look in his eyes. and then you both just… laugh. quiet, giddy little giggles like neither of you can help it. it’s your thing now, that shared glance that says we’ve done this before. because you have. that first night at the feast, evenings at the library when you were strangers across the room, something magnetic pulling your eyes back to each other again and again. like you already knew. like you were remembering, not meeting.

★ he listens so intently it makes you nervous — like he’s absorbing every word, every shift in your tone, every pause you take to catch your breath. his grey eyes soften when you speak, stormy but warm, like they’re made to reflect you. when you tell stories, he watches your mouth more than he should, totally entranced, smiling a little when you get excited and trip over your words. when you cry, he doesn’t rush to fix it. he just holds your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, and listens. not because he’s waiting to respond, because he wants to understand. because whatever hurts you, he wants to carry some of it too.

☆ he mouths “i love you” when he’s too far to say it — from the field during a match, where his hair’s a mess and his cheeks are flushed and he finds you in the crowd like it’s second nature. across the great hall, when he’s seated too far to reach you but can’t stop looking anyway. through the library shelves, when you catch each other in passing and he just stops, smiles, and mouths it, soft and sure, like it’s a secret just for you. it’s quiet. subtle. not meant for anyone else. but he says it like a promise, every single time. and you always say it back, even if it’s just in your smile.

★ he tucks your hair behind your ear when you're nervous — gently, like he's grounding you with the smallest touch. he knows you get anxious sometimes, knows the signs without needing to be told: the way your fingers fidget, your breathing shifts, how you stare a little too hard at nothing. so he leans in close and murmurs, “you’re okay. you’ve got this. i’ve got you.” his voice is soft, steady, certain. like a lifeline. even if you don’t believe it yet, he always does. and he’ll keep saying it until you do.

☆ he still gets flustered when you call him handsome — every single time. you’ll say it offhandedly, in the hallway, at breakfast, when he’s stretching before a match, and without fail, he ducks his head with a shy little smile, ears going pink. “you’re just saying that,” he’ll mumble, but he can’t quite stop the way his mouth curves or how he reaches for your hand after. sometimes he tries to play it cool, but he always ends up grinning like you’ve made his whole day. and the truth is, you have.

★ he gets visibly sulky when you’re upset — he wears your emotions like weather. if someone’s rude to you, if your insecurities start creeping in, if you just look a little too quiet for too long… he notices. he goes broody and still, tight-jawed, barely blinking as he mutters, “who do I have to kill?” and even if you laugh, he means it just enough to make your heart flutter and your anger soften. later, when things calm down, he pulls you in without a word, tucks you against him like he can shield you from the world. “you shouldn’t ever have to feel like this,” he murmurs into your hair. and you believe him, because somehow, with him, it feels true.

☆ he touches you absentmindedly when he’s studying — parchment spread out, ink smudged on his fingers, brow furrowed in focus. but even then, his body finds yours. his thumb draws slow circles on your thigh. your pinkies are hooked beneath the table like a quiet promise. his foot nudges yours every so often, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t drifted too far. he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it half the time, but you do. and it always makes your chest feel full. like even when he’s buried in notes and diagrams, you’re still the grounding point. always his center of gravity.

♱ 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱

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[rottenherbs]

Your Champion

✧.* : C.D x Potter! Reader ✎ : You’re Harry’s sister, close in age and fiercely protective of one another. At the Quidditch World Cup, you meet Cedric Diggory, and the connection between you is instant. Harry disapproves of the budding relationship, worried about Cedric’s intentions—but when the second task of the Triwizard Tournament puts you in danger, Cedric steps in to save you, proving just how much he cares. 𖦹 : 2.7k [masterlist] Much Love, Saige

Being a fan of the Bulgarian Quidditch team in the Weasley house was no small feat. It was undeniable that they had such a warm and inviting nature, especially allowing you and your brother to stay at their home over breaks, but conversations became quite pointed once the world cup came around.

The house was so starkly pro-Ireland it astonished you. Luckily Ron and Ginny both had some sense in them and wore their red and black proudly alongside you and Harry. Fred and George on the other hand practically questioned your every move, seeing your allegiance to their rivaling team sparked insidious competition.

“For the last time, I am NOT gambling with you.” You whispered starkly. The whole Weasley family was walking their way through the forest. Fred and George flanked either side of you, far enough away from their father who was oblivious to their antics.

“We're not asking for galleons here-” Fred started.

”Yeah, perhaps just a couple knuts or sickle if you can spare.” George finished, wagging his eyebrows jokingly. “Why.. .dont think you’ll win eh?”

You just sighed, not knowing how far you all still had to travel, you shoved your hand in your pocket digging around for any loose change that would shut them up. Once you removed your hand, both twins shot their fists in the air, happy to see their egging finally broke you into having a little fun.

“We thank you for your business.” Fred chirped, sliding the coins into his own pocket, while revealing a small notebook, swiftly writing down your contribution.

“And you won't regret it!” George slurred, both of them jogging up to their next unsuspecting victims, Ron and Hermione.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by their brotherly love, but also feeling deep admiration for the day set ahead of you.

It had to have been an hour or two when the scenery ahead widened into a beautiful hilltop. Still quite a ways away, everyone’s attention was focused on something else coming from just over the horizon.

Two figures came into view, one much taller than the other, both waving their arms beckoning the group to come over. Either parties walked briskly to each other, meeting just at the base of the hill. After a moment it became acutely aware to you who they were before Mr.Weasley introduced the groups.

Your attention couldn’t help itself, glancing ever so often at the boy, charmed by how he carried himself, his brown hair lit by the morning glow. Hermione nudged your shoulder, smirking at her feet. Both of you giggled to yourself, the special bond of your friendship could say everything without having to say a word at all.

Like most girls at Hogwarts, you knew of Cedric Diggory; The hufflepuff king. He was known for his academic knowledge and superb quidditch skill, and most of all his popularity amongst anyone who laid eyes on him —

but he wasn't popular like Draco… no, not at all.

He was known for the right reasons, his wit and ability to make friends with anyone was the reason he was so well known - not because of money or power or some evil greed.

You suddenly became nervous, hands clammy and unable to act normally.

Piling with Hermione as the adults chatted, both of you whispered to each other in the back of the pack.

“You know, I heard he liked someone in our grade-“ Hermione started, the sentence only making your stomach flutter.

”Please, we all know it's Cho,” you rebutted, trying to cover your distaste for the girl. You didn't have any serious issue with Cho, but a jealous streak flowed through you, a childlike pain of not being wanted by yet another one of your crushes.

“No no. I heard from Ernie that they both went on a study date and nothing happened. Like nothing.” Hermione whispered, biting her lip slightly at you. Her eyes were attempting to communicate to you, but all you could think about was the fact that it was clear you all were traveling to the game together, and the close proximity was inevitable.

You sucked your teeth at her, a small sound of annoyance yet acceptance as you nodded your head towards the group. The both of you looked up, seeing the group shift towards the hill, the Diggory’s making quick strides ahead.

For a second, Cedric turned, smiling deeply at your brother, smiling politely and making conversation, every so often looking around. You watched your brother curl his hands, laughing and bantering as best as he could before shoving his thumb over his shoulder and directing his attention towards you.

You were too far away to distinct what was being said, but you could decipher that he was (from afar) introducing Cedric to you, the words “sister”, “same age”, and “wicked smart” all following in quick succession. Your cheeks reddened, both you and Cedrics eyes meeting, a soft inviting smirk growing as he looked at you over his shoulder. Harry’s eyes followed between the two of you, suddenly aware of the implications and interests Cedric had in you. Though he thought little of it and changed the conversation.

Your heart fluttered once you got to the top of the hill, standing precariously close to Hermione and Ron, doing your best to focus on Mr.Weasley.

“Now, if everyone would please touch the boot.” He spoke, smiling from ear to ear. “Yes yes. Just a finger will do. Scoot close please.”

As all the children got close, you became shoulder to shoulder with others, your eyes fixated on the large mangy shoe in front of you. As you took a deep breath in, you looked up and locked eyes with Cedric, his face

“Hold on tight-“ Mr.Weasley shouted, everyone taking a deep breath in.

“THREE” Mr.Weasly started counting down.

“Hey-“ Cedric whispered, smiling softly at you.

”TWO!”

”Hi-“ you breathed out, feeling a warmth rush over you. He blinked slowly, licking his lip nonchalantly.

“ONE”

And with that, the world began to spin. Wind was blowing through your hair and eyes, shutting them out of fear. You couldn’t tell how high up you were or what was happening. You could hear small yelps from Hermione just next to you, your bodies colliding with each other as the air got colder.

“Let GO.” Mr.Weasley announced, his words cut through the wind easily, frightening your eyes open. Cedric and Mr.Diggory were missing, slowly one after another Fred and George let go, their bodies flying out of sight.

You took a breath in feeling zero sense of confidence in your actions and released your grip from the boot. The world continued to spin, your stomach and your heart felt to change places, your consciousness feeling something out of this world.

It only took a few seconds to get to the ground, an invisible net catching your body from slamming into the earth, holding you just a foot above the grass before dropping you roughly.

Harry landed just next to you a second later, the sight of his glasses hanging onto his face for dear life made you break into a deep guttural laugh. He looked at you through his disheveled hair, his hand swinging back to hit you playfully, slumping back into the ground to catch his breath.

Your attention was quickly diverted, Hermione’s hand pointing eagerly towards the sky.

Like out of a movie, Mr,Weaslys, Mr.Diggory, and Cedric were gliding on hair down to the ground.

”You’ve got to be joking.” Fred started, sitting up in the grass yanking his jacket over his shoulders.

”They didn't teach US that.” George rolled his eyes, running his hand through his hair.

Once Cedric landed, he adjusted his clothes quickly before making his way over to you and Hermione. His hand extended to you both, hoping to help you up. Hermione looked at you quickly, the excitement showing deliberately through her eyes.

She grabbed Cedric’s hand and helped herself up leaving you in the dust. Just behind Cedric she winked at you, turning to catch up with Ron and Harry. Cedric smiled, his hand still enveloped with you.

“Come on, they might leave us behind.” He smiled, tugging your arm lightly urging you up. You just nodded, feeling his strength pull you easily from the ground. Once to your feet, you brushed off the front of your pants, grass and rocks flinging from your clothes.

“Is my back bad?” You asked innocently, turning and facing your back towards Cedric. He was grateful you couldn't see his expression, his eyes tracing the outline of your body. There were dark dirt marks on your bottom and he wasn't sure how to tell you.

“It’s not.. well.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Nothing that won't come out in the wash.” He laughed, your face dropping as your hands covered your butt, wiping it frantically.

“It’s that bad?!” You asked, realizing what you had just asked him to do. He shrugged, cocking his head to the side.

“Cedric!” Mr.Diggory yelled, catching both of you off guard. ”It’s time!” His father coxed you both over, the group now congregating a bit away leaving you alone at the top of the hill.

”Let the games begin-“

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The events of the World Cup were memorable to say the least. You stayed close to your brother the entire night, fear filling your mind with each step. You tried your best to not show your fear going into your next year at Hogwarts, but you knew something would change, for better or for worse.

You prayed for a simple year, each being more laborious for Harry, seeing life not allow the young boy to grow and be a teenager. It hurt you, but it seemed to be going well… at least until the other schools showed up.

The prospect of the triwizard tournament bothered you to your core. Children, yes at least 17 years of age, but children nonetheless being thrown to the dogs for entertainment and forever glory to the school. It was insane!

But it only brought you and Cedric closer

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

“Dragons?” Cedric gasps. Both of you were hidden in the courtyard,

“Yes…Harry wanted to tell you, but his pride.. those damn buttons-“ You stunned, smacking his lapel as the button changed, clearly showing Potter Stinks glimmer in green. Cedric smirked, taking it off at once and holding it in his hand.

“It’s just house pride.” He snuffed, handing it over to you. “I know he didn’t put his name in, but no one else believes it. I’m sorry.” His words were soft yet firm. You hovered your hand over his before grabbing it, the proximity of his body became incredulously apparent to you; your lungs halting their movement.

You could’ve sworn he leaned in-

“Yes. Dragons” You cleared, looking up at the boy. His head was turned down towards you, his height staggering in comparison. He nodded, his soft brown eyes admiring you from his view.

He has been enamored with you ever since the summer. His mind raced with fear for your health and wellbeing the moment the warning shots went off. He selfishly deprecated his father and attempted to look for you, any trace of your presence in the fighting crowds would have eased his anxiety.

But he’d never tell you that. Not now.

“Each student will have a dragon and need to save the egg.” You sighed.

“Sounds invigorating.” Cedric beamed, leaning against the wall behind him running his hand through his hair.

“Sounds irresponsible” you choked.

“Oh please, y/n. They wouldn’t put us in a situation they couldn’t get us out of.” He smirked, watching you fuss with your fingers. He suddenly became aware of your anxieties, biting the side of your cheek, eyes fixated on the ground.

“Listen, darling,” Cedric started, pushing himself back from the wall, standing tall in a way to show his confidence. His arms held either side of you.

“I promise, nothing will happen to me, or your brother for that matter.” He leaned down, trying to lift your chin to look him in the eye.

“Okay?” He whispered, his eyes dancing between yours, the air suddenly becoming stiff.

“Okay.”

He wrapped you in a hug, swaying you back and forth casually.

“Chin up. I’ll put on a show.” He smiled, resting his chin on top of your head. You leaned your head tirelessly on his chest, the thumping of his heart gave you peace, but the thought of never feeling it again sent a new wave of shivers down your spine.

You attempted to gather your emotions, pulling back the tears, too embarrassed to cry in front of him.

“Please tell your brother thank you, and I’ll return the favor.”

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The first task came and went with utter success. With only minor cuts and scrapes, both Cedric and Harry had surpassed their dragons. And yes, you could admit Cedric put on a show.

The second task continued around the corner. To the surprise of no one, the confusion of the golden egg stumped each champion.

Harry hadn’t asked you for your help, knowing your small allegiance with Cedric and having his own help from Ron and Hermione; but he had a strong distaste for the older boy and how he had swooned you, worried he would treat you like the other girls and move on quickly.

Harry was nothing but protective. Both of your namesakes brought trouble; people who just wanted to know you or people who wanted to use you.

You hated it, but it was justified and trouble always came when Cedric’s name was brought up around you

“He tried to repay your hint!” You bellowed, confused to Harry’s annoyance at the golden egg

“Right like that does anything. I think he was telling me I was stinky more than anything-“ Harry scoffed. He held the large egg in between his hands, aimlessly tracing the opening with his fingertips.

“Harry. Underwater. Listen to it underwater.” You spoke plainly, looking at your brother with a blank stare. His facial expressions didn’t change, instead they stayed indifferent- the cogs in his mind working slowly.

He stood up at once, shooting you a soft smile, though his eyes said differently.

“I’ll go take a bath then.” His lips tightened, leaving you in the library alone. You sighed, leaning back in the chair. You knew he was under an immense amount of stress, but sometimes it felt like he was competing with you just the same.

——⭑⋆⋆⋆⭑——

The night before the second task, Hermione and Ron and you were all round up by professor Mcgonagal after the dinner bell, pulled away from the celebrations in the great hall.

Unsure to what it could be, you caught Cedric’s attention in the hall, walking opposite to you. Knowing you had no time to speak, your eyes met.

You both said nothing at all, but the softness in his eyes lingered, turning his body to watch you walk. Just before you rounded the corner, you blew him a kiss, hoping you would have time later tonight to see him.

You had no clue what that kiss did to him, his head hung as he walked away smiling foolishly to himself.

Neither of you knew he would have to save your unconscious body underwater in just 12 hours time.

[mentally-in-northern-italy]

a lover’s ruse — c.d. [2]

GIF by plumso

Summary: Your agonizing courtship and Cedric’s need to spite his ex are both ailments that have a very simple cure: a fake relationship, obviously.

⤷ [1] - [2] - in which the fake first date is nearly as agonizing as the courtship you're trying to avoid.

Requested: read the request here

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x fem!gryffindor!reader

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags: reader is rlly bad with feelings so instead she's mean and hates joy, grumpy x understated sunshine kind of, banter, banter, and more banter, some profanity probably, im a firm believer that cedric would love rage baiting people and reader is easily rage baited (sue me), cedric is a smug sarcastic shit sometimes but means well, he's also a yearner, slowburn, writing feels a little rusty to me it's been a while so apologies!!!

—

“It’s a fine line, that’s all I’ll say,” Jillian Sikorsky had quipped before turning back to her book, reading with an air of feigned nonchalance. You hadn’t heard the rustle of her pages turning in what must be twenty minutes now. 

“Not now, please,” you grumbled under your breath, the faint sound of the scratching of your quill upon parchment produced without pause. 

The Gryffindor common room was quiet at this time of night, with the occasional sounds coming only from the crackling fireplace or the soft purrs of Jillian’s cat sprawled across her lap. All of the upper-years had gone to bed early after the Quidditch game in preparation for their exams and most of the other fourth-years had elected to enjoy a night of partying and drinking in the other common rooms. Evidently, they weren’t too worried about the stark difference in workload in fourth year versus that in third year. 

You, however, were and therefore, had instead elected to finish your essay and Jillian was renownedly “retired” from partaking in further partying after a bad experience with Firewhiskey the week prior. You knew, as much as anyone did, that this retirement wouldn’t last even a full fortnight. 

“You have to admit…it is rather constant. Cedric this, Cedric that,” she tried again, running a hand over her cat’s tabby fur. “You’d be termed a stalker if you were any more obsessed with the guy.”

“It’s not an obsession.”

“Oh, yes, must be love then.“

You snap your head up at once.“I am not in love with Cedric Diggory.” Your tone is firm, leaving no room for questions. “Quite the opposite, actually—“

“Hm, nice try but the opposite of love is more akin to indifference. And you’re anything but indifferent to Cedric.”

“I just think he’s entitled. And arrogant. And annoying.” And he always knows what to say, and he looks at you like he can see through you, and he’s intelligent and—

Jillian only snorts as if you’ve proposed the most absurd idea to ever exist. “He’s none of those, as much as you’d like to make it out to be so.” After a while, she adds, “Maybe annoying, but all fourteen-year-old boys are, my mum says.”

You ignore her and continue writing with an erraticness that does no favours to your handwriting or the subsequent legibility of your essay. 

Jillian continues. “I was reading this Muggle romance book the other day, you know—“

“You and your bloody Muggle romance novels.”

“It was by Jenny Austen, I believe…” She pronounces Austen as if it’s German. “Anyway, it was all about this girl who is mercilessly judgemental of this man’s character and faults him for his perceived arrogance when there is none—“

“I think you’d do well to write a book report, Jill, instead of narrating this to me.”

Jillian doesn’t do much to hide her exasperation. “It reminded me of you, idiot. It’s so painfully obvious that you like him but keep trying to dissuade yourself by making all these judgements. You try to hide your feelings by—borderline bullying him, but I can see it.”

“Then you’re delusional and should seek Madame Pompfrey’s assistance before this spirals into irremediable psychosis.”

“So much for Gryffindor courage, huh? You should just tell him. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Mr. Darcy was. Finally, an end to all this tension—“

“There’s nothing to tell,” you stop writing to fix her a glare. “And who the hell is Mr. Darcy?”

She ignores the question and sighs dramatically, arms going above her head as if she was something Victorian herself. “I’m just saying. You know, it normally helps if you don’t hide your feelings under the guise of unrelenting hatred.”

“No,” you mumble. You dip your quill in ink and resume writing with such unyielding pressure that you puncture your parchment. “It—“

“—normally helps if you try to ignore them,” Cedric remarks lightly as he places the Chocolate Frog back on the mahogany shelf. A Bursting Bean pops free of its cardboard confines and whizzes past. Cedric dodges it with ease and swats it down with a careless flick of his hand before it hits you.

“I can’t bloody ignore them when they’re not even trying to be subtle about it,” came your response as you shot another gaggle of gossiping fourth years by the Peppermint Toads a dirty look, the shelf sinking its angular claws into your back as you leaned against it. Their eyes flit away diffidently, but not before one of them whispers something to the others, drawing an excited squeal out of all of them at once. “Whispering like we’re part of some stupid drama.” 

“Aren’t we?” he asks, the words almost too casual, his eyes still scanning the shelves.

“Hilarious,” you reply, your voice dry. “Really funny.”

Cedric laughs, airy and effortless – soft enough to seem private but still melodious enough to draw curious eyes. Namely, a pack of Ravenclaw girls by the Sugary Quills, who’ve just whipped their heads towards the sound. If Cedric notices, he doesn’t seem to show it – his eyes still casually scanning the candies adorning the shelves as his hands rest in the warm solace of the pockets of his brown jacket.

“Stop laughing,” you instruct pointedly.

“Why? Is laughing out of the ordinary when someone’s on a date with you?” He muses, sparing you a quick amused glance.

“No,” you drawl. “Because it’s like a siren song to them.” You nod your head towards the herd of girls who are now shamelessly staring, giggles and abashed smiles concealed within the huddle they’ve formed by the Sweet Seaworms.

“That seems dramatic,” he tilts his head, unconvinced, ever the beacon of modesty. Though, you can tell by his small grin that he finds this ordeal deeply amusing. 

And perhaps you would have, too, under different circumstances. 

Honeydukes hums around you blithely, the small shop packed to the brim, as is typical of a Hogsmeade weekend. The air is warm and sickeningly sweet, offering a sugary balm from the bite of the chilling autumn air outside. The shelves groan under the weight of every saccharine indulgence, and you, too, feel the weight of something heavier: the relentless eyes, the whispers threading through the space like invisible threads that have seemed to etch a permanent scowl on your face.

It would be foolish to say you hadn’t expected this. After all, he was Cedric Diggory.

Everything about him was worthy of front-page news: the way his hair looked under the harsh glow of Potions class, his jokes in the courtyard that had first-years swooning, the way he’d led the Hufflepuff team to victory last weekend. But most recently, the headlines read like this: his sudden breakup with the lovely Evelyn Waters, and a curious new interest in a certain Gryffindor—someone he'd never even thought to call a friend until now.

And with much reluctance on your part (and to Jillian’s immense excitement—“bloody finally”), the newest gossip filling the stone halls of Hogwarts after this harrowing affair would be this: Cedric Diggory and you, out together. On a date, of sorts. A public one, at that. Of course, it wouldn’t be of much use if it weren’t. The objective of the whole arrangement was, after all, perfectly clear. 

It had been discussed with all the meticulousness that can ordinately be mustered past midnight by two exhausted – both emotionally and physically – prefects just last week. You weren’t entirely certain what sort of demon had possessed your soul to try to help Diggory out with his romantic afflictions or who had so skillfully cast the Imperius curse on you that night to make you agree to being his fake girlfriend, but it had happened and the consequences, evidently, were as just as severe as the benefits were tempting. 

Posturing as Cedric’s rebound would keep a persistent Trevor Selwyn away from you (and your lips, thank you very much), while Cedric would be able to make his ex-girlfriend, Evelyn Waters, jealous enough to overcome her fickle pride. There’d be no broken hearts after a year of dutiful courting on Selwyn’s part and Cedric wouldn’t have to use some unassuming girl as a pawn in some petty plan. A good plan, in theory. 

However, you soon found out that the most ridiculous of ideas usually seem the most sensible in the dead of night.

“You really do think this will work, right?” Cedric asks again, his voice casual as his fingers drift over a box of Acid Pops on the shelf. 

You join him with a sigh, finally tearing your scathing glare away from a group of third year Ravenclaws, idly scanning the label on a Cauldron Cake. 

“In making Waters jealous? Yes. Do you think I’d be here if I thought it wouldn’t?” 

He glances sidewards at you. “And in getting rid of Selwyn?” 

“Still doubtful.”

He hums in response, abandoning the box of Acid Pops and stepping closer to you, opting for a Cauldron Cake, as well. Your shoulders brush in a way that feels too natural and you instinctively think to put a sea of space between the two of you. You turn your attention to the next shelf over, lined with Assorted Sours. Cedric glances at you again. “He didn’t take it well?”

“He didn’t take it at all, more like,” you huff. “Thought I was joking. Or lying, or something. I told you this wouldn’t be believable.” 

The news had been bared to the ever-perceptive Selwyn a few days after the midnight agreement between you and Cedric. Granted, perhaps disclosing such disheartening news in the middle of his Quidditch monologue hadn’t been the most tasteful route to take. Still, his initial reaction only consisted of a snort of laughter, followed by a scowl and then, a tearful accusation of lying. He then likely traversed through the five stages of grief – though you left before things got too melodramatic.

Cedric leans against the shelf now, his broad shoulders pressing into the boards, biting into the Cauldron Cake as he watches you peruse the shop. “Perhaps it’d be a bit more believable if you didn’t act like I’ve got Dragon Pox everytime I come near you.” 

Surprised, you look up at him, and he meets your gaze, his wry eyes glinting with curiosity. He had noticed. You’d moved away from him subtly, instinctively, and he noticed. 

You exhale a breath that teeters on the edge of a laugh. “What, you want us to start snogging in front of the Jelly Slugs?”

Cedric’s ears tinge a faint red and he breathes a laugh of his own. “What a bold idea.”

You turn your face away from him and school it back into a scowl. “I’m not that desperate, Diggory.”

He shakes his head with a fond smile as he takes a bite of the Cauldron Cake. “It’s not like you to not take credit for your ingenious ideas, you know. You’re acting like I forced you to be here when it was your idea.” 

“It’s hardly ingenious, considering it involves having to spend time with you.” 

It’s impressive really, the swiftness with which you were able to come up with insults for the Hufflepuff boy. You’d likely attribute your aptitude for such to your all-encompassing rivalry but of course, others had other….fanciful ideas. 

Jillian’s words rang in your ears only sometimes and when they did, you did well to push them back into whatever abhorrent abyss in your mind they had crawled out of. Feelings, you’d scoff. For Diggory? Please.

“Still, if my memory serves me right, this whole act was your suggestion,” Cedric takes another bite of his cake, surrendering all credit like he hadn’t been the one to chase you through the corridors to get you to agree to the plan, too. His smugness has never looked more punchable, you notice. Hexable, perhaps? 

“My suggestion,” you turn to him, affronted, “never explicitly involved this. At all.”

“It involved a fake relationship. Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“Yes, but not with me.”

“It’s funny, I was under the impression that you didn’t want to court Selwyn the Poet.”

“I don’t,” you pick up a Chocolate Cockroach only to place it back onto the shelf two spots over. “But I also don’t want to pretend to be with you.” The words come a little sharper than you intended and Cedric’s amusement conveyed through a single raised brow only makes you more flustered. 

Cedric had provided you with an opportunity as golden as his Hufflepuff robes and lustrous hair, and you knew it. If it had been anyone else who had offered you something as invaluable as getting to escape Selwyn’s clammy claws, you would’ve leaped with joy. But alas, it was him. It always seemed to be him, even at times you didn’t want it to be. 

“The lesser of two evils, then,” Cedric offers dipolomatically.

You grumble under your breath. “This is what I get for trying to help…” Cedric almost laughs before he clears his throat when you shoot him a look.

“And now, I’m trying to help you,” he counters finally, his tone carrying lazy, exasperated amusement. “You want Selwyn to believe it and leave you alone? Be a little more convincing.” 

“Selwyn isn’t even here.” 

“News travels fast,” he gestures subtly to a group of Slytherins by the door who are talking in hushed tones and failing to hide their prying eyes. He flashes a quick smile at them before turning his attention back to you. “It might help if you try smiling. I hear people tend to do that on dates.”

“I am smiling.”

“No,” he says slowly, wordlessly offering you the last piece of the Cauldron Cake. An immensely domestic gesture, an olive branch. “You’re grimacing.”

Your eyes flick to the cake and then back up to his teasing grin. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He shrugs, easy and languid. “Suit yourself. I wouldn’t want to give up Selwyn’s midnight poetry either if I were you.”

You glare at him again as he fails to stifle his mischievous smile. He knew exactly what he was doing – and he was succeeding. The mere reminder of Selwyn and his inept poetry had made you shudder. 

He was right, after all. You did stand to gain something from this, too. Plus, the sooner even those as cynical as Selwyn believed this little ruse, the sooner this would all be over. Evelyn would come crawling back into his stupidly toned arms and Selwyn’s pride will have suffered bruises that will have rendered him incapable of trying to crawl back to you. You would no longer have to stand so close to Cedric that you can smell his cologne or feel the undeniable warmth radiating from his body. And that’d be a good thing. A great thing, even. 

You begrudgingly step closer to him, taking the last piece of the Cauldron Cake and plastering a painfully rehearsed smile on your face. “Happy?”

“Very much so, yes.” His voice dances with the satisfaction of someone who has won, but it doesn’t last long.

Before the words can settle, his gaze flicks past you, locking onto something behind you like a piece of lace getting caught on a shard of glass. His jaw tenses slightly, almost impercitible to the untrained eye. But you’d studied this face, this boy, albeit begrudingly. You’d turn back to assess it for signs of frustration after correcting him in Potions, after besting him in Transfiguration, after every skillful manuever on your broom as you two chased the snitch on the Quidditch field. 

The realization hits you before you turn.

You hear Evelyn’s laughter before you lay your eyes on the Ravenclaw girl, tangerine scarf drawn tightly around her neck, fair skin tinted the slightest shade of rosey from the cold outside, and her arm entwined with Avery’s. She talks animatedly with the Slytherin boy beside her as the bell overhead the door to the shop announces their entrance, a sound usually as pleasant as any other turned dull as Cedric stands a little straighter.

Her smile falters, though, when her eyes land on you and Cedric in the far corner of the shop. She eyes both of you curiously, as if she’s actively trying to solve an impossible puzzle, some riddle that evades all sense. Satisfaction flutters in your chest, along with something else you don’t care much to name. This whole ruse will work for one of you, at least. All it took to make Evelyn pause was one glance in your direction. If you laid it on even thicker… how quickly would she crack? How soon could you be rid of Cedric and this sordid drama? You look back at Cedric with newfound determination. 

“She’s still looking?” You ask as you watch his eyes follow her around the shop with poorly concealed interest.

He sputters, as if jostled from a trance. “Uh– yeah.”

“Tell me a joke.”

He looks at you in confusion. “What?”

“Just– try to say something funny.”

“Alright– um–” he blinks, but Evelyn’s presence has rendered him unable to think.

Without warning, a laugh erupts from you. Admittedly, the sound isn’t quite as alluring as Evelyn’s laugh, soft notes that floated around the shop in an enticing dance. No, yours is more awkward, more forceful – an almost gruff sound that erupts directly from your chest. It even surprises you at first. Notably, it surprises Cedric even more.

His confusion only lasts a few palpable moments as heads turn, before it’s replaced with genuine laughter. His eyes crinkle in the corners as he fails to smother his amusement at your attempt at a staged laugh, his soft chuckles cutting through the tension in the air with canorous ease. For a moment, the weight of the eyes and the whispers around you disappears. You join with a soft laugh of your own at the absurdity of the situation – for real this time. 

“Alright, stop laughing,” you chastise him, completely devoid of any bite this time. 

“I think you’re the one who ought to do that,” he teases. “You scared her off with that siren song of yours.”

Your unabashed grin only grows when you turn to see no trace of Evelyn in the shop. She must have left amidst the laughing. So, it really was that easy. Get Evelyn to crack and you’re free. A light at the end of the tunnel, surely.“I told you making her jealous would work.” 

He hums in agreement as he grabs a few more Cauldron Cakes, mood evidently lifted. “Oh, now you want to take credit?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on, songbird,” he calls, his hand lightly brushing your arm to lead you out of the shop. “I hear Butterbeer is especially soothing for the vocal cords.”

You nudge him through the exit of the shop with a scoff. You’re not sure if the flush on your cheeks is from the chill of the air outside or the subsequent sound of his laughter.

__

Before you’ve even settled into the booth, Cedric has taken it upon himself to stride over to the bar to order. He comes back with two Butterbeers floating in tow. The pub flickers in the lazy candlelight behind him on a gloomy day such as this one, the air imbued with the warm and familiar scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon. The table underneath your arm is sticky with past residue of addling concoctions and sweet beverages prepared by the lovely Madame Rosemarta, who is currently milling around the pub to attend to seemingly the entire student body of Hogwarts. 

“A thanks will do just fine,” he says as he slides in opposite you and shrugs his jacket off. The warmth really is all-encompassing inside The Three Broomsticks despite the chill outside. You soon shrug yours off, too. 

You take a sip, letting the sweet foam dissolve on your tongue. “After what I just did for you back at Honeydukes? I think we’re even.” 

“You mean scare half the customers inside?”

You lick the cream off your top lip and set your glass down with a clumsiness that is usually uncharacteristic. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to belch a laugh out if you could be funny for even just a moment.”

“See, that carries the implication that your real laugh is any better.”

You fight a smile. You lose spectacularly. “See, now that was a little funny. Good job, Diggory.”

“Learning from the best,” he muses. He takes a sip before he adds, unsure and determined at once. “So, what exactly… are we expecting to happen? Like–am I meant to talk to her at supper tonight?” 

“No,” you say sharply. “Do not. You let her come to you.”

He frowns as he takes a sip of his own Butterbeer, leaning back against the booth. You’ve learned that he likes to fidget when he’s nervous. “What if she doesn’t?”

“Do you always admit defeat this easily? She will, Diggory.”

“Right, but what if…?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “You have to stop the pining if you want this to work.”

“I wasn’t pining,” he refutes with a slight flush to his cheeks. 

“You were,” you take a sip. “Just stop looking like a kicked puppy anytime she’s near and half the work is already done for you by all the gossip. It helps that people care more for your love life than they do about their class syllabus at this school.”

He’s quick to deny the charge. “Hardly true.”

“We’re sitting in a corner of this pub so dark that I can barely see you and I can still count about a dozen pairs of eyes trailing you.”  

He shrugs, his hand uselessly tapping against his Butterbeer. “Maybe they’re looking at you.” 

Your eyes linger on him incredulously. You do have to applaud the humble act, you think. It’s one thing to be irked by someone’s arrogance. How the hell do you justify being annoyed at someone’s apparent lack thereof? 

Of course, you know better. It’s all an act. It has to be. 

You take another sip, brush off imaginary crumbs off the table. “They’re not. Would you like to know what I hate most about you?” 

He hides his small, amused smile in his Butterbeer at the abrupt change in tone as he sips. “Hm, tempting offer. I’ll accept only if you tell me what you hate least afterwards.”

You ignore his request as you lean forward across the table. “Your performative modesty. It’s hilarious, really.”

“I must say, I was expecting something much harsher.”

“Butterbeer softens me up sometimes.”

“I suspected as much. So, you’d rather I gloat more?” 

You hum. “I’d rather you gloat openly. You needn’t pretend to be so humble. I might respect you more for it. Maybe your worshippers will, too. What they see in you in the first place, I’m not too sure, though.”

“Ah, the short-lived effects of the softening Butterbeer, you’ll be missed,” he purses his lips as he studies you for  a moment. “Would you like to know what I like least about you?”

You make a sound of protest into your cup. “It’s ‘hate most’, not ‘like least’.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. ‘Like least’ is too cordial. We’re not there yet.”

“Oh no, the cardinal sin of cordiality,” he rolls his eyes in jest. “In any case, I’d like to stick with ‘like least’.”

“Of course you would. Enlighten me then, please.” You rest your face on your hand, propped up on the table in silent challenge. You study his face without meaning to, half illuminated by the golden sconce mounted on the wall beside his head: the faintly flushed cheeks that carry a pink hue no matter the temperature, the golden-brown eyes that glow with warmth and a glint of mischief. 

“Your performative disdain for me.” 

You take a sip and put your Butterbeer down. Your throat feels a lot tighter. “Presumptuous."

“I just think it’s perceptive, really.” 

You narrow your eyes. Damn him and his perceptiveness. “And what about my disdain do you find performative?”

“Everything.”

“Quite precise, you are, Diggory.”

He laughs. “You’ve always done this thing–” He shifts as he leans forward as if he’s disclosing a Ministry secret. “This thing where you always act like you’re angry with me. Like you can’t stand me. Like you –”

“Like I hate you?” you supply.

“Yes, that. Very helpful, thank you.”

“No problem.”

He pauses for a beat, studying you wryly. “Considering I haven’t done anything to warrant it, I think it’s an act.”

That makes you pause. You sit up straighter, your breathing quickening the slightest bit. “Careful, Diggory, your performative modesty is slipping. Not everyone’s in love with you.”

He hums playfully. “Not what I’m suggesting. I’m not arrogant enough to believe I’ll be the object of your affections in this lifetime, don’t worry.”

Oh.

“What are you suggesting then?”

“Just that… I don’t quite understand why you pretend to hate me so much.”

“Ah, one fake date and now you think everything is pretend?”

He laughs. “No. I just think we’d be quite good friends, you know. If you dropped the act.”

“There’s no act.” Your thoughts catch on his use of friends. 

“If you really hated me, you wouldn’t be here at all, helping me.”

“A necessary evil for my own good, as I’ve already stated.”

“I thought I was the lesser evil? Now I’m necessary? Flattered, truly.”

To fill the silence that follows, you take another sip of your Butterbeer. You have nothing to add because there is nothing to add. You are helping him. You agreed to this ploy, and now you’re following through. 

It’s like he can see your thoughts whizz about in your mind. He grins, victorious. 

“You’re insufferable. Truly.”

“Careful, we’re supposed to be on a date.” 

“Careful, you’re about to be jinxed–”

“Surely, it’s not the same one you’re planning on using on Selwyn, is it? Because if so, I highly doubt that it’ll make front page news when you do use it on him–”

You decide casting a jinx via the means of magic would be doing him a kindness he doesn’t quite deserve and instead, lean over the table to hit him squarely on his arm. He laughs as he dodges it. Evidently, this makes quite the commotion – several eyes are trained pointedly at the pair of you when you finally sit back down with a quiet laugh of your own. 

There’s a lull in the conversation as you both finish your drinks. Cedric breaks the silence tentatively, brows furrowed as they often are when he’s concentrating. “So, we just keep… hanging out? Talking? Shall I prepare some jokes for next time?”

You roll your eyes but nod, serious despite the show of annoyance. “Judging by today, that should do the trick. Hopefully, Selwyn will hear and be humiliated enough to have some self-respect, at last. And as for you, you’ll have your girlfriend back by the end of the week, Diggory.”

He hums thoughtfully. 

You tap your empty glass. Just a week, you repeat to yourself. And then, all would be right in the world. 

Cedric, however, did not have his girlfriend back by the end of the week. All was not right in the world. 

Hogwarts had gained thrice as many students by the next Friday. The Durmstrang boys and the Beauxbatons girls had arrived, and with them, they’d brought the promise of something messier.

Alas, all would not be right in your world for a long, long time. 

A/N: AND IT BEGINSSSSS YAY. I have so many ideas for this fics and I’m sooo excited. Also, I apologize profusely for such late updates. At the end of the day, I am a college student and finding time to write is very, very rare. Nonetheless, I appreciate all the love<333.

Part 3 coming soon! Lmk your thoughts for this one in the meantime!!!