#cedricdiggoryfic

He was her best friend. And, for the last six months, the secret architect of her daydreaming. 

"Earth to YN," a voice called out, breaking her reverie. 

YN jumped, knocking a quill off the table. Cedric was standing there, his grey eyes crinkled with amusement, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. 

"Careful," he grinned, setting the mugs down on her table. "You looked like you were trying to telepathically communicate with the Giant Squid." 

"I was contemplating the complex social hierarchy of grindylows, actually," YN lied smoothly, accepting the mug. She wrapped her hands around the warmth. "Thanks, Ced." 

"Anytime." He pulled up a wooden chair, turning it backward to straddle it, resting his chin on his arms. "You’ve been staring at that same page of Libatius Borage for forty-five minutes. I timed you." 

"Creeper," she teased. 

"Observant Captain," he corrected, his grin softening. "You’re stressed about the Potions essay?" 

"Snape is looking for a reason to fail me," YN sighed, finally looking at the parchment. "He stared at my draught of peace yesterday like it was personal insult to his ancestors. If I don't nail this essay on fluid dynamics in brewing, I’m toast." 

Cedric reached out, his fingers brushing against her hand for a fleeting second as he tapped the book. "You’re the best potioneer in Hufflepuff, YNN. Snape’s just miserable because... well, because he’s Snape. You’ll be fine." 

"Easy for you to say. You charm the quill right out of the teachers' hands." 

Cedric’s expression grew a little more serious, though the twinkle remained in his eyes. "Not all of them. I still haven't managed to charm the one person I actually want to impress." 

YN’s heart did a traitorous double-beat against her ribs. She took a quick sip of chocolate to hide her face. "Oh? And who is the unfortunate soul immune to the Diggory charm?" 

He looked at her, holding her gaze a beat longer than usual. The noise of the common room—the exploding snap games, the chatting first years—seemed to fade into a dull hum. 

"It's complicated," Cedric murmured. Then, shaking his head as if clearing a fog, he sat up straight. "Anyway, I didn't come over here just to distract you from your academic doom. I have a proposition." 

"Is it illegal?" 

"Not strictly." 

"Does it involve waking up before dawn?" 

"Ideally, no." Cedric leaned in closer. "Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. Saturday." 

YN nodded slowly. "Right. The first one of the year." 

"I was thinking," Cedric started, looking down at his hands—hands that were usually so sure on a broomstick but now fidgeted slightly with a loose thread on his sleeve. "Usually, we go in a big group. You, me, Malcolm, the rest of the team. But I was wondering if maybe this time... you wanted to go with just me?" 

The air in the alcove suddenly felt very thin. YN set her mug down carefully, terrified she might drop it. "Just you? Like... a study session?" 

Cedric laughed, a nervous, breathy sound. "No, YNN. Not a study session. No books allowed. Just us. Butterbeer, Honeydukes, maybe a walk up to the Shrieking Shack if the weather holds." 

"Oh," she breathed. "Like a date?" 

She hadn't meant to say the word so bluntly, but subtlety had never been YN’s strong suit when she was flustered. 

Cedric’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, endearing him to her even more. "Yeah. If you’d like that. Like a date." 

A smile broke across YN’s face, one she couldn't suppress if she tried. "I would like that, Cedric. I’d like that a lot." 

The relief on his face was instantaneous. "Brilliant. Okay. Great." He stood up, looking happier than she’d seen him after winning the Quidditch Cup. "I’ll, uh, let you get back to Snape’s fluid dynamics. Pick you up at ten on Saturday?" 

"Ten," she confirmed. 

As he walked away to rejoin his friends, YN saw him do a subtle, triumphant fist pump. She looked back out the window at the swaying dandelions. Suddenly, the Potions essay didn't seem nearly as impossible. 

Saturday morning arrived with a crisp bite in the air, the kind of weather that demanded thick wool scarves and sturdy boots. The sky was a piercing, cloudless blue, contrasting sharply with the amber and russet leaves clinging to the trees surrounding the castle. 

YN stood by the portrait hole in the Hufflepuff common room, adjusting her scarf for the tenth time. She had opted for a fitted jumper in forest green and her favorite denim trousers, trying to strike the balance between 'effortless' and 'I spent an hour on my hair.' 

"You look nice," a voice said. 

She turned to see Cedric descending the boys' dormitory stairs. He wore a heavy beige coat with the collar turned up and a scarf in Hufflepuff yellow and black loosely draped around his neck. He looked devastatingly handsome, fresh-faced and bright-eyed. 

"You don't look so bad yourself, Diggory," she smiled, feeling the butterflies in her stomach start a riot. 

"Ready to go?" He offered his arm. It was a gentlemanly gesture, old-fashioned, but it fit him perfectly. 

YN looped her arm through his. "Lead the way." 

The walk down to the village was filled with the easy banter that had always defined their friendship, yet there was a new current running underneath it. Every time their shoulders bumped, or he guided her around a puddle, the electric awareness was palpable. They talked about Quidditch tactics for the upcoming season, speculated on the new Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum, and laughed at the antics of a group of second years trying to levitate snowballs (despite there being no snow yet). 

When they reached the village, Hogsmeade was bustling. The smell of frying sausages, pine, and magical sweets filled the air. 

"Where to first?" Cedric asked, looking down at her. The height difference meant she had to tilt her head back, a vantage point she certainly didn't mind. 

"Scrivenshaft's?" she suggested. "I need new ink." 

"I said no studying," Cedric teased, though he steered her toward the stationery shop anyway. 

"It's not studying, it's supply management. Besides, I love the smell of parchment." 

They spent twenty minutes in the shop. Cedric patiently waited while she tested six different shades of color-changing ink, offering his opinion on which one best matched her handwriting. He ended up buying her a peacock-feather quill when she wasn't looking, slipping it into his pocket with a smirk. 

Next was Honeydukes. The shop was packed to the rafters with students, a chaotic sea of black robes and colourful wrappers. The air was thick with the scent of caramel and chocolate. 

"Pepper Imps?" Cedric held up a jar, his eyebrows raised. 

"Only if you want me to breathe smoke in your face for the rest of the day," YN laughed. "I'm a Chocoball girl. You know this." 

"Right, right. Strawberry and cream filling." He reached past a third-year to grab a bag. "I’ll get these. You get the Fizzing Whizzbees." 

They navigated the crowd, their bodies pressed close together to avoid being separated. Cedric’s hand found the small of her back, a protective and gentle weight that sent shivers up her spine unrelated to the cold outside. 

After escaping the sugar-fueled madness of Honeydukes, they found themselves standing on the main street. The wind had picked up, biting at their cheeks. 

"Three Broomsticks?" Cedric suggested. "I think I need to defrost." 

"Desperately," YN agreed. 

The pub was warm, noisy, and welcoming. Madam Rosmerta was shouting orders over the din, and the fireplace roared with green flames. They managed to find a small, secluded booth in the back, away from the main thoroughfare of students. 

Cedric went to the bar and returned with two frothy mugs of Butterbeer. He slid into the booth opposite her, shedding his heavy coat. 

"Here's to," Cedric raised his glass, pausing as he looked for the right words. "To... finally getting this right." 

YN clinked her glass against his. "To finally getting this right." 

They drank, the warm, buttery liquid soothing the chill in their bones. Cedric wiped a bit of foam from his upper lip, grinning. 

"So," he started, tracing the wood grain of the table with his finger. "I have a confession." 

"Oh no. You’re actually a vampire?" 

He chuckled. "No. Nothing that dramatic. I just... I’ve wanted to ask you out since fourth year." 

YN nearly choked on her drink. She set the mug down hard. "Fourth year? Cedric, that was two years ago. Why didn't you?" 

"I don't know," he admitted, looking sheepish. "I guess I didn't want to mess up the friendship. You’re... you’re important to me, YNN. We’ve always been on the same wavelength. I was terrified that if I made a move and you didn't feel the same way, things would get awkward in the common room. I couldn't risk losing my best friend." 

YN reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. His skin was warm, his fingers strong. "You big idiot," she said softly. "I spent all of fourth year waiting for you to ask me sit with you at the end-of-term feast. I eventually just assumed you only saw me as 'one of the guys' because I play Chaser." 

Cedric turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with hers. The gesture was intimate, solidifying the shift in their dynamic. "I have never, not once, seen you as one of the guys. You’re YN. You’re brilliant, you’re funny, and you fly like you were born in the air. It’s intimidating, actually." 

"You? Intimidated? Mr. Perfect Prefect?" 

"It’s a façade," he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in. "Inside, I’m just panic and hope." 

YN squeezed his hand. "Well, for the record, I’m really glad you asked me today. And I’m really glad we’re here." 

"Me too." 

They sat there for a long time, nursing their drinks as the afternoon light outside began to fade into a dusky purple. They talked about everything and nothing—their families, their hopes for after Hogwarts, the weird dream Cedric had about a giant badger playing the bagpipes. It was the same conversation they would have had in the common room, but the context had changed. The barrier was down. 

"Hungry?" Cedric asked eventually. 

"Starving." 

"Let’s head back up to the castle for the feast. But... can we take the long way?" 

"The one past the Shrieking Shack?" 

"Yeah. Better view of the sunset." 

They left the warmth of the pub, stepping back into the twilight. The temperature had dropped, and a few stray snowflakes were beginning to drift down from the darkening sky. 

Instead of linking arms this time, Cedric simply took her hand. It felt natural, as if they had been doing it for years. 

They walked up the hill toward the outskirts of the village. The Shrieking Shack stood looming and silent, but they ignored its eerie reputation, focusing instead on the horizon. The sun was dipping below the mountains, painting the sky in strokes of violet, bruised orange, and deep indigo. 

They stopped at a vantage point overlooking the valley, the castle lights twinkling in the distance like fallen stars. 

"It’s beautiful," YN whispered, her breath clouding in the air. 

"Yeah," Cedric said. 

When she turned to look at him, he wasn't looking at the sunset. He was looking at her. The expression on his face was open, raw, and full of affection. 

"YNN," he said, his voice dropping an octave. 

"Yeah?" 

He stepped closer, closing the small gap between them. He reached up, his gloved hand gently brushing a snowflake from her hair. He let his hand linger there, cupping her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin, sending a jolt of heat through her that defied the winter chill. 

"Can I kiss you?" he asked. 

It was so typically Cedric—polite, considerate, giving her the choice even when the answer was written all over her face. 

"If you don't," YN whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs, "I’m going to hex you." 

Cedric smiled, a slow, dazzling thing that made her knees weak. He leaned down, tilting his head. 

When his lips met hers, it wasn't an explosion of fireworks. It was something better. It was coming home. It was soft and warm, tasting faintly of butterbeer and promise. It was the culmination of two years of stolen glances and shared jokes, of studying by the fire and flying in the rain. 

YN closed her eyes, melting into him. She reached up, gripping the lapels of his coat to pull him closer. Cedric’s arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady, pulling her flush against him as if he never wanted to let go. 

They broke apart slowly, breathless, foreheads resting against each other. 

"Wow," Cedric breathed, his eyes still closed. 

"Yeah," YN managed, her voice trembling slightly. "Wow." 

He opened his eyes, and the grey was bright and clear. "Worth the wait?" 

"Definitely," she laughed breathlessly. "Though let’s not wait another two years for the next one." 

"Deal." He kissed her quickly on the nose, then straightened up, interlacing their fingers again. "Come on. If we’re late for the feast, the Fat Friar will eat all the treacle tart." 

They began the walk back to the castle, the snow falling a little heavier now, dusting their shoulders in white. 

The weeks that followed were a blur of happiness. It was the kind of happiness that was quiet and constant, a background radiation that made even the dreariest Monday morning Herbology double-period seem bearable. 

They didn't make a big announcement. They didn't have to. It was in the way Cedric saved her a seat at the Hufflepuff table every morning. It was in the way YN wore his Quidditch jersey to practice instead of her own, the fabric swallowing her frame. It was in the way they studied in the library, their feet tangled together under the table. 

One evening in mid-November, the Hufflepuff common room was particularly rowdy. The team had won a match against Ravenclaw that afternoon—YN had scored four goals, and Cedric had caught the Snitch in record time. The party was in full swing. 

YN was sitting by the fire, laughing as Malcolm reenacted a particularly spectacular bludger hit. She felt a tap on her shoulder. 

"Hey, star player," Cedric whispered in her ear. 

She turned, grinning. "Hey yourself, Captain." 

"It’s getting a bit loud in here. Want to escape?" 

"Where to?" 

"Astronomy Tower? It’s clear tonight." 

They snuck out through the barrel hole, giggling like first years avoiding Filch. The castle was quiet at night, the stone corridors lit by flickering torches. They climbed the spiraling stairs to the highest point of the castle. 

The air up there was freezing, but the view was unparalleled. The stars were scattered across the black velvet sky like diamond dust. 

They stood at the railing, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake, which reflected the moonlight like a dark mirror. 

Cedric wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. YN leaned back into his warmth, crossing her arms over his. 

"It’s a good year," Cedric murmured. 

"The best," YN agreed. 

"I’m glad we’re doing this. You and me." 

"Me too." She turned in his arms to face him. The moonlight washed him in silver, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the softness of his eyes. 

"You know," Cedric said, looking down at her. "My dad keeps asking about you." 

YN raised an eyebrow. "What have you been telling him?" 

"Just the truth," Cedric shrugged. "That I’m dating the smartest, prettiest, and most talented witch in the school. He wants to meet you properly over the holidays." 

YN felt a flush of pleasure. "I’d like that. As long as he doesn't bring up that time I fell off my broom in second year." 

"No promises. He loves that story." 

They stood in silence for a moment, just listening to the wind whistling through the turrets. It felt suspended in time, this moment. No exams, no pressure, no expectations other than just being there for each other. 

"YNN?" 

"Mmhmm?" 

"I think I’m falling in love with you." 

The words hung in the cold air, crystal clear. YN stopped breathing for a second. She looked up at him, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only sincerity. 

Her heart swelled, filling her chest until she thought it might burst. It wasn't scary. It was the easiest thing in the world. 

"I think," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face, "that I’m already there, Cedric." 

He smiled, that same brilliant smile that had started it all in the common room weeks ago. He leaned down and kissed her, and under the vast, starry sky of Hogwarts, everything was perfect. 

There were no dark clouds on the horizon tonight. No ominous signs. Just a boy, a girl, and the infinite promise of a future that belonged entirely to them. 

"Come on," Cedric said softly, breaking the kiss but keeping her close. "Let’s go back inside. I think I hid a stash of pumpkin pasties in my trunk." 

"You are a scholar and a gentleman, Diggory." 

"I try." 

YN rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it. She knew his tricks. She knew the way his left shoulder dipped right before he dove, a tell he had never quite managed to coach out of himself despite being one of the best Seekers Hufflepuff had seen in a decade. 

She didn't follow his feint. Instead, she hovered, her eyes scanning the horizon where the sun was slicing itself against the treeline. She was looking for the glint. The elusive flutter of gold. 

They had been flying for three hours. Their mother, calmness personified, had called them for dinner twenty minutes ago, but neither was willing to land. Not yet. Not when the score was tied, and certainly not when this was one of the last evenings they would have like this. 

Cedric had finished his N.E.W.T.s with the expected fanfare. He was Head Boy, Captain of the Quidditch team, and possessed a smile that charmed professors and peers alike. But now, the real world was looming. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had already sent an owl. He was leaving the nest, quite literally, in two days to start an apprenticeship in Wales. 

YN, entering her fifth year, felt the impending separation like a physical bruise. 

Suddenly, she saw it. 

A flicker of gold near the old oak tree that marked the boundary of their property. 

Cedric had seen it too. He pulled out of his feint, leveling off with terrifying speed. He was bigger than her, broader in the shoulders, and his broom had a higher top speed, but YN was lighter, and she had the angle. 

"Go!" she whispered to herself, flattening her body against the handle. 

They dove together, two streaks of motion hurtling toward the ground. The wind roared in YN's ears, deafening and exhilarating. She could see Cedric in her peripheral vision, his face set in that focused mask of determination she admired so much. He wasn't holding back. He never did with her. That was his way of showing respect. 

The ground rushed up to meet them. The Snitch hovered teasingly just above a patch of thorny brambles. 

Cedric reached out, his long fingers stretching. YN adjusted her grip, banking hard to cut off his line. She felt the leaves of the oak tree brush her boots. 

"Gotcha!" Cedric grunted, lurching forward. 

"Not today!" YN countered. She didn't reach with her hand; she used the momentum of the broom to shunt the air, forcing the Snitch to jitter upward. As it rose, she abandoned the handle with one hand, snatching the gold ball out of the air just as she pulled up to avoid crashing into the trunk of the tree. 

Cedric overshot, his boots skidding through the dirt as he braked hard, carving two long trenches in the grass. He came to a halt, chest heaving, hair thoroughly windblown. 

YN circled back, landing gracefully a few feet away. She held up the struggling Snitch, a triumphant grin plastered across her face. 

"That," she panted, tossing the Snitch to him, "is match point to the younger sibling." 

Cedric caught the Snitch, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. He shook his head, wiping sweat from his forehead. "You pushed the air pressure to force it up. That’s a Chaser move, not a Seeker move." 

"Improvisation," YN said, hopping off her broom and trudging through the tall grass toward him. "You taught me that." 

"I taught you to fly, not to cheat physics," he teased, throwing an arm around her shoulders as she reached him. He smelled of ozone, broomstick polish, and sweat—the scent of her childhood. "Good catch, YNN. Truly." 

"You hesitated," she accused him gently as they began the walk back up the hill toward the farmhouse. "At the tree line. You pulled up a fraction of a second early." 

Cedric looked toward the house, where warm yellow light was spilling out of the kitchen windows. "Maybe I just didn't want to explain to Mum why her favorite daughter is covered in scratches from a bramble bush." 

"I'm the only daughter." 

"Exactly. High value." 

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound the crunch of dry grass under their boots. The playfulness of the game began to evaporate, replaced by the weight that had been hanging over the house all week. 

"Are you packed?" YN asked, staring straight ahead. 

Cedric squeezed her shoulder. "Mostly. Mum keeps trying to sneak socks into my trunk. Apparently, they don’t sell wool in Wales." 

"It’s colder there. Or wetter. One of the two." 

"It’s practically next door, YN," Cedric said softly. "I can Apparate home for Sunday roast. It’s not like... well, it’s not like I’m going to Romania like Charlie Weasley." 

"It feels far," she admitted, her voice quiet. "Hogwarts is going to be quiet without you. Who’s going to tell me which corridors to avoid when Filch is on the warpath?" 

"You know the castle better than I do by now," Cedric assured her. "Besides, you have your O.W.L.s this year. You won't have time to miss me. You’ll be too busy burying your nose in Charms textbooks and panicking about Transfiguration." 

"I don't panic." 

"You panic a little bit," he grinned. "Remember the Herbology incident in your second year? The Mandrake?" 

"That was a sensory overload issue, not panic!" she protested, shoving him lightly in the ribs. 

They reached the back door. Cedric paused, his hand on the latch. He looked down at her, the humor fading slightly from his expression. The twilight caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look older than his seventeen years. 

"It’s going to be fine, YNN," he said, and it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "It’s just the next step. It’s what we’re supposed to do." 

"I know," she said. "I just wish the steps didn't have to be so big." 

He smiled, a sad, crooked thing, and opened the door. 

Dinner at the Diggory household was usually a loud affair, largely due to Amos Diggory. 

The kitchen was warm and cluttered in the best way possible. Pots scrubbed to a shine hung from the ceiling beams, and the large wooden table was groaning under the weight of a chicken pie, roasted potatoes, and a tureen of gravy that smelled of sage and onion. 

"There they are!" Amos boomed as the siblings entered, kicking off their muddy boots by the door. "The dynamic duo! Who won? Don't tell me, let me guess. Cedric ran rings around you, eh, love?" 

YN sat down, grabbing a roll of bread. "Actually, Dad, I beat him. Four hundred and fifty to three hundred." 

Amos laughed, a hearty, belly-shaking sound, and clapped Cedric on the back hard enough to make him stumble slightly. "Letting her win, eh? Good lad. Building her confidence before the school year. That’s what a Head Boy does!" 

Cedric exchanged a quick, tired glance with YN across the table. "She beat me fair and square, Dad. It was a brilliant catch." 

"Of course, of course," Amos dismissed, piling potatoes onto his plate. "But we know who the star is, don't we? The Department of Magical Creatures! Imagine that. Right out of school. Mr. Scrimgeour was telling me just yesterday that it's highly unusual for them to take an apprentice so young. Usually, they want three years of field experience. But when they saw Cedric’s N.E.W.T. scores..." 

Mrs. Diggory, a kind-faced woman with hair greying at the temples, placed a jug of pumpkin juice on the table. "Amos, let the boy eat. He doesn't need his resume read back to him over dinner." 

"I'm just proud, that's all!" Amos beamed, his face flushed with delight. "My son, off to wrangle dragons—" 

"Graphorns, Dad," Cedric corrected gently. "The reserve in Wales specializes in Graphorns. No dragons." 

"Graphorns, dragons, it’s all dangerous beasties," Amos waved a fork. "Point is, you're going places. You’re making the Diggory name shine. Not that we aren’t proud of you too, YN," he added as an afterthought, gesturing vaguely in her direction. "Fifth year is big. O.W.L.s. Very important." 

"Thanks, Dad," YN mumbled, pouring gravy over her potatoes. 

"Just make sure you study hard," Amos continued. "You don't want to fall behind. Cedric set a high bar. Twelve O.W.L.s. That’s the target." 

"I'm taking nine subjects, Dad," YN said, her grip tightening on her fork. "So twelve might be mathematically difficult." 

"Well, quality over quantity then!" Amos said cheerfully. "Top marks. That’s the ticket." 

The conversation drifted into Amos recounting his day at the Ministry, complaining about the incompetence of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and speculating on the upcoming Quidditch World Cup qualifiers. Cedric nodded along, offering polite interjections at the right moments, but YN could see the tension in his jaw. 

He was the Golden Boy. The Hufflepuff Champion. The Prefect. The Head Boy. And now, the Ministry Apprentice. It was a heavy cloak to wear, and Amos kept adding layers to it. 

"I was thinking," Mrs. Diggory said during a lull, cutting a slice of pie for herself. "We should have a small gathering tomorrow night. Just the Weasleys and the Lovegoods. A send-off for Cedric." 

"Oh, absolutely!" Amos agreed. "A party. We’ll get some Firewhisky for the adults. Celebrate the start of his career." 

"I don't know if we need a big fuss," Cedric said quickly. "I still have packing to do, and I wanted to check over my copy of Fantastic Beasts one last time..." 

"Nonsense!" Amos roared. "You’ve got to celebrate victories, son. Modesty is a virtue, but invisibility is a curse. We celebrate!" 

YN watched Cedric retreat into himself, that polished, polite smile fixing itself onto his face like a mask. It was the smile he used for teachers and Ministry officials. It wasn't the real Cedric. 

"I'm done," YN said abruptly, standing up. Her plate was still half full. "I'm going to go check on the owls." 

"You haven't finished your pie, love," her mother noted. 

"Not hungry. Great dinner, Mum." 

She grabbed her wand from the sideboard and slipped out the back door before anyone could protest. 

The night air had turned cool. The stars were out, piercing the ink-black sky with hard, diamond light. The wind rustled the leaves of the orchard, creating a soothing, shushing sound. 

YN walked past the owlery, past the broom shed, and headed for the old stone wall that lined the edge of the property. There was a flat section of roof over the tractor shed—a Muggle relic their grandfather had kept for sentimental reasons—that was accessible via the lower branches of the oak tree. 

She climbed up, the rough bark scraping her hands, and hauled herself onto the slate tiles. It was their spot. It had been their spot since Cedric was eleven and terrified of going to Hogwarts for the first time. 

She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, looking out over the dark valley. In the distance, she could see the faint, lopsided silhouette of The Burrow. 

Ten minutes later, she heard the familiar scrabbling of boots on bark. 

Cedric pulled himself up onto the roof, grunting slightly with the effort. He dusted off his robes and sat down next to her, their shoulders touching. He didn't say anything for a long time. He just exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that seemed to expel the entire dinner conversation. 

"Sorry about Dad," he said finally. 

"He's just happy," YN said, though her voice lacked conviction. 

"He's... a lot." Cedric picked at a loose piece of moss on the roof tile. "He thinks I've got it all figured out. He thinks I'm going to walk into that reserve and run the place within a week." 

“Won’t you?" YN nudged him. "You're Cedric Diggory. You charm magical creatures into submission with your winning smile." 

Cedric chuckled darkly. "I'm terrified, YNN. I'm absolutely terrified." 

YN turned to look at him. The moonlight washed out the color of his face, making him look pale. "Why? You know your stuff. You're great with creatures." 

"It’s not the creatures," he admitted. "It’s... everything else. Being an adult. Being alone. I’ve spent seven years at Hogwarts with my friends, with you. Everything was structured. Breakfast at eight, Charms at nine. Now? It’s just me. In a cottage in Wales. What if I fail? What if I'm not the genius Dad thinks I am? What if I'm just... average?" 

"There is nothing average about you," YN said fiercely. 

"You have to say that. You're my sister." 

"I say it because it's true. Average people don't catch Snitches by diving into bramble bushes. Average people aren't kind to first years who drop their books. Average people don't put up with Amos Diggory’s speeches with a smile." 

Cedric sighed, leaning his head back against the stone chimney. "I feel like I'm playing a part. Everyone sees this version of me—the 'Golden Boy.' But I don't feel golden. I feel like I'm making it up as I go along." 

"That’s what being an adult is, I think," YN mused. "Making it up." 

"I'm going to miss this," Cedric gestured to the view, to the house, to her. "I'm going to miss having you around to keep me humble. Who's going to tell me when my head gets too big?" 

"I'll send owls. Daily. With diagrams of your inflating head." 

Cedric laughed, and this time it was real. The tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped package. 

"Here," he said, handing it to her. 

"What's this? It’s not my birthday." 

"It's a 'sorry I'm leaving you with Dad’ present." 

YN unwrapped the brown paper. Inside was a small, silver mirror, intricately carved with vines and badgers. 

"A two-way mirror," Cedric explained. "I have the other one. Sirius Black—Harry's godfather—he mentioned them once to me, said he used them in school. I managed to track a pair down in Diagon Alley last week." 

YN ran her thumb over the cool glass. "Ced..." 

"If you ever need me," he said, his voice turning serious. "If Dad is driving you crazy, or you're stuck on a Transfiguration essay, or some Slytherin is giving you grief... just say my name into it. I’ll answer. Always." 

YN felt a lump form in her throat. She gripped the mirror tight. "You're going to be busy. You'll have work." 

"Never too busy for you," he promised. 

She looked at him, studying the brother who had been her protector, her rival, and her best friend for her entire life. She thought about the distance between Ottery St. Catchpole and Wales. It felt like an ocean. 

"I don't want you to go," she whispered, the confession finally slipping out. "I know you have to. I know it's good. But I hate it." 

Cedric put his arm around her, pulling her into a side hug. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "I know. I hate it too, a bit. But you're going to come visit. And I'll come home. And before you know it, you'll graduate, and you can come work with me. We can be the Diggory duo. The terror of the Welsh mountains." 

"You think they'd hire me?" 

"If I'm running the place? Absolutely. Nepotism is a time-honored Ministry tradition." 

YN laughed, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "I'd make a terrible Magizoologist. I don't have the patience." 

"Then be an Auror. Or a Quidditch player. Or the Minister for Magic." Cedric pulled back to look her in the eyes. "You can do anything, YN. You're smarter than I am, and you've got a wicked streak that I lack. You're going to own this world." 

"I don't want to own the world," she said softly, looking down at the mirror in her hands. "I just want to keep the people I love in it." 

The wind picked up, rustling the oak leaves above them. A barn owl swooped low over the field, hunting for mice. 

"You know," YN started, her voice steadying. "When we were flying earlier. I wasn't just trying to win." 

"Oh?" 

"I was trying to stay close to you. Up in the air... it feels like the only place where things don't change. We're just two seekers." 

Cedric nodded slowly. "The air is the same everywhere." 

"If you go to Wales," she said, turning the mirror over in her hands. "And then maybe they send you somewhere else. Maybe France. Or America. Or somewhere wild and dangerous to find some rare beast." 

"That's a possibility," Cedric agreed. 

YN looked him dead in the eye, her expression fierce, the Hufflepuff loyalty burning bright in her chest. 

"Then I'll learn the geography," she declared. "I'll learn the languages. I don't care where the Ministry sends you, or how far away it is." 

She took a breath, the words ringing with absolute certainty in the quiet night air. 

"I'd follow you anywhere." 

The sentence hung between them, heavy and sacred. It wasn't just a promise of travel; it was a promise of allegiance. It was YN saying that no matter who Cedric became—Golden Boy, failure, hero, or stranger—she was on his team. 

Cedric’s eyes shone in the moonlight, glossy with unshed emotion. He didn't make a joke. He didn't deflect. He simply reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tight. 

"I know you would, YNN," he whispered roughly. "And I'd wait for you. Every time." 

They sat there for a long time as the moon climbed higher in the sky. They talked about the upcoming Quidditch season at Hogwarts, debating who would take Cedric’s spot as Captain. They talked about the rumors of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. They talked about nothing and everything, storing up the sound of each other’s voices like squirrels storing nuts for winter. 

Eventually, the kitchen light below them flickered and went out. 

"We should go in," Cedric said, checking his watch. "Big day tomorrow. Dad's party." 

"Ugh, don't remind me," YN groaned, stretching her legs. "Mrs. Weasley is going to try to feed me fudge until I explode, and Dad is going to make a speech." 

"He definitely will make a speech," Cedric laughed, sliding toward the edge of the roof. "Probably two." 

He dropped down to the branch below, then turned to help her. 

"Cedric?" 

"Yeah?" 

YN paused at the edge of the roof, looking down at him. "Wales isn't that far, right?" 

"An hour by broom if you push it. Seconds by Apparition." 

"Okay." She nodded. "Okay." 

She climbed down, finding her footing on the branch. Cedric guided her until her boots hit the grass. 

As they walked back toward the darkened house, the fear was still there. The future was still a large, looming unknown. The silence of the house without Cedric was a reality she would have to face in forty-eight hours. But the weight in her chest felt lighter. 

She had the mirror in her pocket. She had the memory of the wind in her face. And she knew, with the bone-deep certainty of a sister, that distance was just geography. It couldn't touch the bond they shared. 

Cedric opened the back door and held it for her. 

"After you, seeker," he said. 

"Thanks, captain," she replied. 

"Take a breath, YNN," I said, sliding a small bowl of peppermint humbugs toward her. "O.W.L.s aren't until June. It’s November." 

"Easy for you to say," she shot back, though she took a sweet. She popped it into her mouth, the tension in her jaw relaxing slightly. "You're Cedric Diggory. You probably knew how to cast a Patronus in the womb. The professors look at your essays and weep tears of joy." 

"Hardly," I laughed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Snape gave me a 'Acceptable' last week and looked like he wanted to poison my pumpkin juice while doing it." 

"That’s just his face, Ced. He loves you. Everyone loves you." 

She said it with a tone I knew well—a mixture of sisterly pride and a deep, simmering resentment that she tried very hard to hide. It was the curse of being a Diggory, specifically the second Diggory. Our father, Amos, wasn't exactly subtle about his favoritism. To him, I was the sun around which the family orbit spun. YN was... present. Loved, certainly, but often treated as the audience to my performance. 

"Dad's coming this weekend," I dropped the news carefully, watching her reaction. 

YN stopped chewing. The humbug clicked against her teeth. "Oh?" 

"Hogsmeade weekend. He wants to have lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Discuss 'my future'." 

She looked down at her parchment, her expression closing off. "Right. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The Great Plan." 

"That's the one." 

"Well," she said, her voice tight. "I have a lot of studying to do. You two go. I'll just hold you back." 

"YNN, no. Come on. He wants to see you too." 

She looked up, her brown eyes—so much like mine, yet sharper, more guarded—piercing through me. "Does he? Or does he want a cheerleader while he lists off your accomplishments to Madam Rosmerta? Because he might have told you he was coming but I received no such news." 

I didn't have an answer for that. Because she was right. 

The air in Hogsmeade was crisp, smelling of woodsmoke and damp leaves. It was a perfect day, the kind that usually made me feel glad to be alive, glad to be a wizard. But as I walked toward the Three Broomsticks, my scarf wound tight against the chill, I felt a knot of dread in my stomach. 

YN walked beside me, her hands buried deep in her cloak pockets. She had agreed to come, mostly because I had begged her. I hated facing Dad alone when he got into one of his moods. I needed her grounding presence, her cynicism to balance out his overwhelming enthusiasm. 

We spotted him before we even entered the pub. He was standing outside, talking loudly to a wizard I vaguely recognized from the Ministry. 

"—Head Boy, naturally! Top of his class. And the Quidditch Captaincy, well, that goes without saying. He’s got the makings of a Minister, I tell you!" 

YN slowed her pace. "He’s doing it already. We haven't even said hello." 

"Just smile and nod," I whispered. "Get a Butterbeer, eat a pasty, endure the hour. For me?" 

She sighed, a puff of white fog in the cold air. "You owe me. Big time. I want your Chocolate Frog cards for a month." 

"Deal." 

"Cedric! There he is!" Dad shouted, waving us over. The Ministry wizard gave a polite, hurried nod and scurried away, likely relieved to escape the monologue. 

Dad clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, beaming. "Look at you. Shoulders broader every time I see you. And YN," he added as an afterthought, nodding at her. "Keeping your nose in the books, I hope? O.W.L. year is no time for slacking." 

"Hello, Dad," she said flatly. "I'm doing fine." 

"Good, good. But let’s get inside, I’m starving. And we have things to discuss, Cedric. Big things." 

The Three Broomsticks was crowded, noisy, and warm. We squeezed into a booth in the back. Before I could even take my cloak off, Dad was launching into his agenda. 

"I spoke to Ludo yesterday," Dad said, his eyes gleaming. "He’s practically holding a desk open for you. Junior Assistant to the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office to start, but you’ll move up fast. You have the temperament for it, my boy. Fair, honest, hardworking. A true Hufflepuff." 

I stared at the foam on my Butterbeer. "Dad, I’ve been thinking..." 

"Thinking? Good! You need to be thinking about your N.E.W.T. selections. You need top marks in History of Magic and Charms for the liaison track." 

"I was thinking," I tried again, my voice feeling small despite my size, "that maybe I’d take a year off. Before the Ministry." 

Silence. It was brief, but it felt deafening. YN kicked me under the table, hard. I wasn't sure if it was a warning or support. 

Dad laughed, a booming sound that drew glances from the nearby tables. "A year off? To do what? Backpack through Romania? Chase dragons like the Weasley boy? No, no, Cedric. Momentum is key. You stop now, people forget. You’re the golden boy of Hogwarts. You ride that wave straight into the office." 

"I just don't know if a desk job is... me," I murmured. 

"Nonsense," Dad dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "You’re humble. It’s your best quality, but don't let it be your downfall. You’re destined for greatness, son. We Diggorys are reliable. We serve. We don't drift." 

He turned to YN, suddenly remembering she was there. "Tell him, YNN. Tell your brother he’s being foolish." 

I looked at her. This was the dynamic we had lived with for years. Dad used her as a sounding board to reinforce his plans for me. Usually, she just shrugged and agreed to end the conversation. 

YN took a long sip of her drink. She set the tankard down with a thud. "Maybe he doesn't want to be the golden boy, Dad." 

Dad blinked, confused. "What?" 

"Maybe he hates it," she said, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly under the table. "Maybe he doesn't want to spend the next forty years arguing with goblins just so you can brag about it at the office." 

"YNN," I warned, low in my throat. 

"No," Dad said, his face reddening. "She’s... well, she’s jealous, Cedric. That’s all. It’s understandable. Hard to be the younger sibling of a star." 

YN’s face went pale. It was the one thing you didn't say to her. You could call her messy, you could call her prickly, but you didn't call her jealous. Because she wasn't jealous of me. She was jealous of the attention, maybe, but mostly she was fiercely protective of her own identity. 

She stood up abruptly. "I’m going back to the castle. I have an essay to write." 

"YN, sit down," Dad commanded, though he looked more baffled than angry. 

"Enjoy your lunch," she spat. "Don't forget to plan his retirement party while you're at it." 

She stormed out, weaving through the crowd. I watched her go, the bell above the door chiming her exit. 

"Teenage girls," Dad sighed, shaking his head. "So emotional. Now, about Bagman..." 

I sat there for another twenty minutes, nodding at the right times, eating food I couldn't taste. But my mind was out in the cold, walking back to the castle. 

It took me hours to find her. She wasn't in the library, nor the Great Hall. The Hufflepuff common room was warm and inviting, but I knew she wouldn't be there—she was a Ravenclaw, after all, and even if she could get in, she wouldn't want the company. 

I checked the Ravenclaw tower entrance, but the knocker just asked me a riddle about the nature of time that I didn't have the patience to solve. Finally, I went to the one place we used to go as kids when the noise of the house got too much. 

The Viaduct Courtyard was empty, the wind whipping through the stone arches. She was sitting on the low wall, her legs dangling over the edge, looking out at the darkening landscape. The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruises of purple and angry orange. 

I sat down next to her. I didn't say anything for a long time. The stone was freezing against my trousers. 

"You didn't have to do that," I said finally. 

"Someone had to," she replied without looking at me. "You were just sitting there, folding in on yourself like a cheap telescope. 'Yes, Dad. No, Dad. Whatever you say, Dad.'" 

"It’s not that simple, YNN." 

"It is that simple!" She turned to me then, her eyes red-rimmed. "You’re Head Boy. You’re of age. You’re the best wizard in the school, and you act like you’re twelve years old around him." 

"He just wants what's best for me." 

"He wants what makes him look good!" she shouted, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "He doesn't care if you're miserable, as long as you're successful. And you're going to let him do it. You're going to take that job, and you're going to be miserable, and I'm going to have to watch you slowly turn into... into him." 

I felt a spark of anger then. It was rare for me, but it flared hot in my chest. "You think I like it? You think I enjoy the pressure? It’s easy for you to judge from the sidelines, YNN. You don't have everyone watching your every move, waiting for you to trip up." 

"Oh, poor Cedric," she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It must be so hard being perfect. It must be so terrible having everyone adore you." 

"That's not what I'm saying!" 

My voice boomed, louder than I intended, startling a flock of crows from the trees below. I stood up, pacing away from her, running my hands through my hair. My heart was hammering. I never yelled. Especially not at her. I was the calm one. The steady one. 

I spun back to face her. "That's not what I'm saying, and you know it. I'm not talking about popularity. I'm talking about the weight of it. The expectation. If I fail, I don't just fail myself. I fail Dad. I fail the House. I fail... everyone." 

I took a breath, the cold air stinging my lungs. "And you... you think I don't see you? You think I don't see how smart you are? How much better at Charms you are than I ever was? But you hide it. You purposefully sabotage yourself so you don't have to deal with what I deal with. You get B's when you could get O's because you don't want the spotlight." 

YN went quiet. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her cloak tighter. "Better to be invisible than a puppet." 

"I'm not a puppet," I said, though the conviction was draining out of me. 

"Then why didn't you tell him?" she asked softly. "Why didn't you tell him you want to play Quidditch? Or that you want to travel? I found the brochures, Ced. Under your bed. Egypt. Brazil. Why didn't you say it?" 

I leaned back against the stone archway, sliding down until I was sitting on the ground. "Because I’m scared," I admitted. The words tasted like ash. "I’m scared that if I'm not the Cedric Diggory he invented, I’m nobody. If I take away the badges and the grades and the Ministry job... who am I?" 

YN looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time all day. The anger was gone from her face, replaced by a sad sort of understanding. She hopped off the wall and sat on the ground next to me, our shoulders touching. 

"You're my brother," she said. "You're the guy who helped me find my toad when I was eleven. You're the guy who sends me sweets when I'm studying. You're the only person in this family who actually listens to me." 

She bumped her shoulder against mine. "You're Cedric. Just Cedric. And that's enough. It has to be enough." 

I looked out at the horizon. The sun was gone now, the first stars beginning to prick the velvet darkness. "He's going to be furious if I turn down the liaison job." 

"He'll get over it," she said. "Or he won't. But it’s your life, Ced. Not his sequel." 

We sat in silence for a while, the wind whistling around the towers. The castle behind us was waking up for the evening, lights flickering on in the windows. 

"I don't even know if I'm good enough for professional Quidditch," I confessed. "Puddlemere United is holding tryouts in August. But... what if I don't make it?" 

"Then you fail," YN shrugged. "And then you go to Brazil. Or you become a curse-breaker. Or you open a shop that sells nothing but self-replenishing humbugs. Who cares? At least it'll be your mistake." 

I laughed, a dry, short sound. "You make it sound so easy." 

"I'm a Ravenclaw. We deal in logic. Emotionally, I'm a wreck, but logically, I'm sound." 

I smiled, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen just a fraction. "You know, you're smarter than me." 

"Obviously. I've been telling you that since I was five." 

"You should try, YNN. On your O.W.L.s. Don't hide. If Dad starts putting the pressure on you, I'll take the heat. I promise." 

She looked at me sideways. "Deal. But only if you write to Puddlemere United tonight." 

I looked at the castle, then at the sky, and finally at my sister. The fear was still there, the looming shadow of Amos Diggory’s disappointment, the terror of stepping off the path that had been paved for me since birth. But for the first time, the other path—the dark, unlit, overgrown path—didn't look quite so lonely. 

"Okay," I said. "Tonight." 

"Good." She stood up, dusting off her robes. "Now, come on. I missed lunch because of your family drama, and if we miss dinner, I really will break something." 

I stood up, offering her a hand. She took it, pulling me up with surprising strength. 

"YNN?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks." 

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward. "Don't get sentimental on me, Golden Boy. Just get me some treacle tart." 

As we walked back toward the warmth of the castle, leaving the cold wind behind us, I realized something. Dad might have thought I was the sun, the center of the universe, but he was wrong. I wasn't a solo act. I was part of a binary system. And as long as I had her gravity to keep me from spinning out into the void, I thought I might just be okay. 

I wasn't just Cedric Diggory, the prize pony. I was Cedric, YN’s brother. And for the first time in seven years, that felt like the most important title I had. 

The Great Hall was a cacophony of noise and light. Floating candles bobbed overhead, casting a warm glow over the four long tables. I parted ways with YN at the entrance; she headed for the Ravenclaw table where her friends were waving her down, and I made my way to the Hufflepuff table. 

"Where have you been, mate?" asked Ernie Macmillan, shifting over to make space for me. "Missed you at lunch." 

"Family stuff," I said, grabbing a plate. 

"Everything alright?" 

I looked across the hall. YN was laughing at something a friend said, her face animated and bright, not hidden or sullen like she had been earlier. She caught my eye across the room. She raised an eyebrow, tapped her wrist as if checking a watch, and mouthed the word: Write. 

I looked back at Ernie and smiled, a genuine smile that reached my eyes. 

"Yeah," I said, reaching for the pumpkin juice. "Everything's fine. Actually, everything's going to be great." 

Later that night, sitting in the dormitory while the other seventh years slept, I pulled out a fresh piece of parchment. My hand hovered over the inkpot. The letter to Puddlemere United. 

I could hear Dad’s voice in my head. Quidditch is a game, Cedric. The Ministry is a career. 

I could hear the doubts. What if you’re not fast enough? What if you get injured? What if you’re just... average? 

But then I heard YN’s voice. At least it’ll be your mistake. 

I dipped the quill. The ink was black and permanent. 

To the Management of Puddlemere United, 

My name is Cedric Diggory, Captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House team here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am writing to inquire about the open tryouts scheduled for this coming August... 

It wasn't a manifesto. It wasn't a revolution. It was just a letter. But as I blew on the ink to dry it, I felt lighter than I had in years. I folded the parchment, sealed it with wax, and set it on my bedside table. 

Tomorrow, I would go to the Owlery. Tomorrow, I would tell Dad that his plan wasn't my plan. Tomorrow, the shouting would probably start again. 

But tonight, the castle was quiet. My sister was safe in her tower, I was safe in my badger sett, and the future was no longer a tunnel I was forced to walk down, but a sky I could choose to fly in. 

As the crooked, gravity-defying silhouette of the Burrow came into view, the tension in my shoulders began to unspool. It was impossible to look at that house and not feel a sense of fondness. It looked like a building held together by magic and optimism. 

I didn't go to the front door. If Mrs. Weasley saw me, she’d force-feed me three pounds of fudge and ask about my father. If Fred or George saw me, I’d likely end up a test subject for whatever volatile confection they were brewing in their room. 

Instead, I skirted the perimeter, heading toward the orchard. I knew YN’s habits. When the house got too loud—which was always—or when the twins were testing explosives, she retreated to the edges of the property. 

I found her in the old, slightly leaning broom shed at the edge of the paddock. The door was ajar, slicing a beam of dusty sunlight across the gloom of the interior. 

She was standing with her back to me, gripping a Cleansweep Seven so tightly her knuckles were white. She wasn’t flying; she was just holding it, staring at the bristles as if they held the answers to the universe. Her red hair, a shade darker than Ron’s but brighter than Percy’s, was pulled back in a messy knot that was already losing the war against gravity. 

I stepped into the shed. The floorboards, usually treacherous, decided to be mercifully silent under my trainers. I waited a moment, not wanting to interrupt, but the silence stretched too thin. 

"Hey, YNN," I said softly. 

The reaction was instantaneous and violent. 

YN spun around, the broom swinging up like a beater’s bat. She gasped, a sharp, ragged sound, and took a stumbling step back, knocking into a stack of terra cotta pots. The pots wobbled dangerously but didn't fall. Her eyes were wide, the pupils blown, and for a split second, I didn't see my friend; I saw a girl terrified of the shadows. 

I raised my hands immediately, palms open. "It's just me. It's Cedric." 

She blinked, the adrenaline slowly draining out of her stance. She lowered the broom, her chest heaving. "Cedric," she breathed out. She let out a shaky laugh and ran a hand over her face. "Bloody hell, Diggory." 

"I'm sorry I scared you," I said, and I meant it. The guilt hit me harder than a Bludger. I stepped fully into the light so she could see me clearly. "I thought you heard me coming." 

"You walk like a ghost when you want to," she accused, though there was no heat in it. She leaned the broom against a workbench and sat on an overturned crate, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I’m just... jumpy. Since the Cup." 

"I know," I said, moving to lean against the doorframe. I didn't want to crowd her. The shed smelled of linseed oil, broom polish, and the faint, sweet scent of rotting apples from the orchard nearby. "It’s been rough." 

"Rough," she scoffed, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. "That’s one word for it. Dad’s been working double shifts at the Ministry. Percy is stomping around acting like he personally needs to arrest the entire wizarding population as if he had the power to do so. And Mum..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Mum keeps hugging us. Randomly. She’ll just grab you and squeeze until your ribs crack, like she’s checking we’re still solid." 

"She’s scared," I offered gently. 

"We’re all scared," YN murmured. She looked up at me then, her brown eyes searching mine. YN was often the overlooked Weasley—sandwiched between the overachieving Percy and the chaotic force of nature that was Fred and George. But I had always found her to be the most observant. "How are you holding up? Your dad okay?" 

I let out a groan, tilting my head back against the wood. "If I hear him tell the story of how he introduced me to Bagman one more time, I might defect to the muggle world. He’s... proud. But he doesn't see the other side of it. He just sees the glory, not the panic." 

"That’s Amos for you," she said with a small, crooked smile. "He thinks the sun shines out of your ears." 

"It’s exhausting." 

"Try living with Fred and George," she countered. "I found a Canary Cream in my pillowcase this morning. In. My. Pillowcase. If I hadn't checked, I’d be chirping right now." 

I laughed, the sound breaking the heaviness in the room. "Okay, you win. The twins are worse." 

She grinned, and it was the real one this time—the one that scrunched her nose and made her freckles dance. But it faded quickly. She looked back at the broom. "I came out here to fly. To clear my head. But I couldn't get off the ground." 

"Why not?" 

"My hands were shaking," she admitted quietly. She held them out to demonstrate. They were steady now, but I could see the tension in her fingers. "I kept thinking about the campsite. The way the sky looked. It felt... silly. To be flying on a broomstick, playing a game, when people were being tortured." 

I pushed off the doorframe and walked over to her. I sat on the dusty floorboards near her crate, crossing my long legs. "It’s not silly, YNN. It’s normal. It’s the thing you love. When things go dark, you’re supposed to hold onto the things you love. Otherwise, what’s the point?" 

She looked down at me, skepticism written in the set of her jaw. "That sounds like something that would be printed on a Chocolate Frog card." 

"Maybe I’ll have one someday and they’ll print it on there for me," I joked, nudging her shoe with my knee. "Look, if you don't want to fly, you don't have to. We can sit here and complain about our families until the sun goes down. We seem very good at that." 

She was silent for a long moment, listening to the distant sound of a gnome screaming as it was tossed out of the garden—likely by Ron. 

"I do want to fly," she said eventually. "I just... I don't want to do it alone." 

I stood up and dusted off my trousers. "Well, lucky for you, the Hufflepuff Seeker is at your service. And I happen to have brought my Firebolt." 

Her eyes widened. "You brought it?" 

"Shrunk in my pocket," I said, patting my side. "Dad insists I take it everywhere. 'You never know when a scout might be watching, Cedric!'" I mimicked my father’s booming voice. 

YN rolled her eyes, but she grabbed her Cleansweep. "Alright, pretty boy. But if you go easy on me because I’m 'traumatized,' I will knock you off your broom. I’m still a Beater. Then I’ll drag you into the house and let Mum fuss over you." 

"I wouldn't dream of it," I promised. 

Five minutes later, we were in the air. 

The paddock behind the Burrow was one of my favorite places in the world. It was enclosed by high hedges and shielding charms, a private sanctuary where gravity was a suggestion rather than a law. 

The air was cooler up here. As soon as my feet left the grass, the knot in my chest unraveled completely. This was where I made sense. Just a body in motion, reacting to the wind. 

YN was a different kind of flyer than me. I was all about efficiency and lines—seeking the path of least resistance. YN flew like she was arguing with the air. She was aggressive, sharp, and fearless. She rode the Cleansweep hard, banking into turns that would make a lesser flyer sick. 

We didn't speak for the first ten minutes. We just flew. We dove and spiraled, playing a game of tag that didn't require rules. I’d pull into a steep climb, and she’d be right on my tail, her laughter carried away by the wind. 

"Too slow, Diggory!" she yelled, diving past me and clipping my shoulder with her elbow. 

"That's a foul!" I shouted back, grinning as I rolled sideways to gain speed. "Ref! She's violent!" 

"No ref out here!" she called back, pulling up into a hover near the top of the oak tree. 

I pulled up alongside her, the Firebolt humming with restrained energy beneath me. We hovered there, fifty feet up, looking out over the patchwork quilt of the countryside. From here, the Burrow looked like a toy house. We could see the tiny figures of de-gnoming going on in the garden—orange hair indistinguishable from the oversized pumpkins. 

"Better?" I asked. 

YN took a deep breath, the wind whipping loose strands of red hair across her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and the haunted look was gone from her eyes, replaced by the bright spark of exertion. "Yeah. Much better." 

She looked at me, her expression softening. "Thanks, Ced. Really." 

"Anytime." 

She shifted her grip on her broom handle. "So... tell me the truth. What have you heard about this year at Hogwarts? Dad goes silent every time Percy brings it up, and Percy looks like he’s about to burst with self-importance, which is normal, but worse than usual." 

I hesitated. The rumors had been swirling all summer. "I don't know for sure. But my dad... he’s dropped hints. Big ones." 

"Like what?" 

"He keeps talking about 'opportunity' and 'eternal glory.' He says Quidditch is cancelled." 

YN nearly fell off her broom. "Cancelled? You’re joking." 

"I wish I were. He says there’s going to be something else. Something massive. An old tournament." I lowered my voice, even though there was no one but the birds to hear us. "The Triwizard Tournament." 

YN’s eyebrows shot up. "They stopped doing that years ago. People died, Cedric." 

"I know. But apparently, they’ve fixed the safety measures. Dumbledore is overseeing it." 

She stared at me, processing this. "And let me guess. Amos wants you to enter." 

"He doesn't just want me to enter," I sighed, looking out at the horizon. "He’s already planning my victory speech. He thinks it’s my destiny or some rubbish. 'A Diggory in the history books!'" 

"And what do you think?" she asked. 

I looked at her. YN was one of the few people I could be honest with. If I told my Hufflepuff friends, they’d be supportive but terrified. If I told the other guys, they’d make it a competition. 

"I think... I think I could do it," I admitted, feeling the weight of the confession. "I think I’m good enough. And part of me wants to prove it. Not for him. For me. To prove I’m not just a pretty face or a diligent student. That I have... grit." 

YN studied me. She didn't laugh, and she didn't tell me I was crazy. She just nodded slowly. "You do have grit, Cedric. You’re the hardest working person I know. You beat Harry Potter in a storm with Dementors on the pitch. You caught the Snitch." 

"He fell off his broom," I reminded her automatically. 

"You caught the Snitch," she repeated firmly. "You stayed on yours. That counts. Just don’t let him know I told you that. I don’t think he would forgive me." 

She maneuvered her broom closer until our knees bumped. "If you enter, I’ll back you. I’ll make badges. I’ll fight anyone who says you can’t win. Even if it’s Fred and George." 

"I appreciate that," I smiled. "Though please don't fight the twins. They fight dirty." 

"So do I. I am their older sister after all." She smirked. "But Cedric?" 

"Yeah?" 

"If it gets too dangerous... if it’s like the World Cup... promise me you won't be an idiot. Promise me you won't try to be a hero just because your dad is watching." 

Her voice had gone quiet again, the fear creeping back in around the edges. 

"I promise," I said. "I’m not looking to die, YNN. I just want to see if I can do it." 

"Good." She looked away, towards the setting sun which was painting the sky in violent shades of violet and orange. "Because I don't have enough sane friends as it is. I can’t afford to lose the best one." 

The admission hung in the air, warm and solid. We had been friends since our first year, bonding over a shared love of Quidditch and a shared exasperation with our respective reputations. It was a comfortable, easy love—the kind that didn't need grand gestures. 

"You’re stuck with me," I said. "I’m like a fungus. Or a gnome in the Weasley garden." 

She snorted. "Don't let Mum hear you say that. She’ll swing you around by your ankles." 

We stayed up there until the light began to fail, watching the shadows lengthen across the hills. It was a moment of perfect stillness before the chaos of the school year began. Before the Tournament. Before everything changed. 

"We should go down," she said eventually, shivering slightly as the evening chill set in. "Mum will be serving dinner soon. If I’m not there, Ron will eat my portion." 

"He would," I agreed. 

We angled our brooms downward. "Race you?" I challenged, a spark of mischief returning. 

"You have a Firebolt!" she protested. 

"I'll give you a head start. Count of three. One..." 

She didn't wait for two. She dove, tucking tight against her handle, shooting toward the ground like a stone. 

"Cheater!" I yelled, laughing as I urged the Firebolt forward. 

The wind roared in my ears, washing away the doubts, the fears of the Dark Mark, and the pressure of my father’s expectations. For a few seconds, there was only the speed, the ground rushing up to meet us, and the flash of red hair ahead of me. 

We pulled up just before the grass, landing with running steps. YN was breathless, her hair a disaster, grinning wildly. 

"I won!" she panted. 

"You cheated," I corrected, walking over to her. 

"Gryffindor tactics we don’t cheat, we think ahead," she winked. "You Hufflepuffs are too noble." 

"It’s a curse," I agreed. 

We walked back toward the shed to stow the brooms. The Burrow was glowing now, light spilling from every crooked window. We could hear the faint sound of Mrs. Weasley yelling for everyone to wash their hands. 

At the shed door, YN stopped and turned to me. She looked more like herself now. The color was back in her cheeks, and her posture was strong. 

"Thanks for coming over, Cedric," she said. "I know you probably came to escape Amos, but... thanks." 

"I came to see you," I corrected her. "Escaping Dad was just a bonus." 

She smiled, a genuine, soft expression. She reached out and punched me lightly on the arm. "You’re a good mate, Diggory." 

"See you on the train?" 

"Yeah. See you on the train." 

I watched her jog back toward the house, her silhouette framed against the warm light of the kitchen door. She paused on the threshold, waved once without looking back, and disappeared into the noise and warmth of her family. 

I turned back toward the dark fields and the walk home. My hand brushed the wand in my pocket, a reminder of the world we lived in now—a world where marks appeared in the sky and people were scared in their own gardens. 

The anxiety was still there, a low hum in the back of my mind. The Tournament was coming. The darkness was rising. But as I walked through the tall grass, listening to the crickets, I felt steadier than I had all week. 

I wasn't just Amos Diggory’s son. I was Cedric. And I had people to fly for.