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!!!
