#nerdout!

Your fingers froze for a beat over the spot where the badge should’ve been, as if it might materialize out of sheer audacity. It did not.

A sensible person would have retraced their steps immediately. A sensible person would have asked another prefect for help.

You were a Malfoy. Sensible was what other people called you when they wanted to pretend you were predictable.

You could feel the day trying to become a disaster already, the castle humming with its usual chaos: portraits gossiping, staircases shifting, owls streaking overhead like feathery missiles. Somewhere in the Great Hall, someone laughed too loudly. Somewhere else, a suit of armour complained about its joints.

You kept your face smooth, your breathing even, and your plan simple.

Find the badge. Quietly. Before anyone noticed.

Before he noticed.

Because the last place you distinctly remembered touching it was… on prefect duty, late, weeks ago, fingers curled around the metal edge while you’d shoved it back into place with more force than necessary. The memory arrived uninvited, bright and sharp.

You and Cedric Diggory in a corridor lit by torchlight and irritation. Your voice too cold. His too calm. The argument a thing with teeth.

And then, the heat of it. The sudden, stupid, impossible tilt of the world when he’d stepped close to make a point and you’d stepped closer to refuse him, and the space between you had collapsed like it had been waiting for permission.

You remembered his breath catching. Your own hand fisting in the front of his jumper like it was a lifeline. The kiss clashing like a spell cast wrong and right at the same time.

And you remembered breaking away first, the taste of him still on your mouth, your pulse trying to climb out of your throat.

“Don’t,” you’d said, which hadn’t meant anything useful, because you hadn’t known what else to say.

Cedric had stared at you with those steady eyes, his lips parted like he had half a sentence ready and didn’t trust it yet.

Then you’d shoved past him and spent the following weeks perfecting the ancient art of avoidance.

You avoided the library when he tutored. You avoided the entrance hall when Hufflepuff came to breakfast. You avoided the Quidditch pitch so aggressively you’d nearly walked into the lake once out of spite.

You avoided him like he was a hex you refused to acknowledge.

It had worked.

Mostly.

Until your prefect badge decided to betray you.

You slid into the corridor outside the Slytherin common room with the grace of someone who had never panicked in her life, and the internal fury of someone who was currently panicking quite a lot.

The badge couldn’t have gone far. It might’ve fallen out during rounds. It might’ve snagged on a tapestry. It might’ve—

A voice, behind you, warm as a hearth you didn’t trust.

“Looking for something?”

Every muscle in your body went tight.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The castle could’ve gone silent and the torches could’ve snuffed themselves out and you’d still have recognized Cedric Diggory by the way your spine reacted like it had been insulted.

Slowly, you faced him.

He stood in the corridor like he belonged there, shoulders relaxed, school bag slung over one shoulder. Hufflepuff scarf looped around his neck, because of course he wore it as if it were an extension of his personality. He looked unfairly awake for this hour, hair still a little damp like he’d come from practice or a shower or some other wholesome activity that made you want to throw something.

His gaze flicked down, quick and assessing, then back to your face.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“Diggory,” you said, and put every bit of your bloodline into the syllables.

“Malfoy,” he returned, and his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

You hated that too. It made him look like he knew things.

“I’m busy,” you lied.

“So am I,” he said lightly. “But here we are.”

You could’ve walked away. You should’ve walked away. You’d built an entire routine around walking away.

Instead, you found yourself rooted, like the corridor itself had decided you deserved this.

Cedric’s hand moved, and for a terrifying second you thought he was going to touch you. Your nerves flared like a warning spell.

But he only reached into his pocket.

Metal glinted.

Your prefect badge.

Your stomach dropped again, harder this time. Like the stair was not only missing but laughing.

He held it between thumb and forefinger, letting the torchlight catch the polished surface. Your name looked crisp and official. Your House crest looked smug and powerful, a symbol of your failure to control.

You kept your expression blank. “Give it to me.”

His brows lifted, mock-innocent. “Is that how you ask?”

You stared at him with the coldest disdain you could conjure.

It didn’t land the way it usually did. Cedric didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look offended. He just looked… attentive, like he’d been waiting for you to look at him for weeks and didn’t plan to waste the opportunity.

“Please,” you said flatly, because you were not about to play etiquette games in a hallway.

Cedric turned the badge once, slowly, as if considering it. “I found it near the third-floor landing.”

That meant he’d been near the third-floor landing.

That meant he might’ve been doing rounds.

That meant he might’ve been thinking about the same night you were thinking about, the same corridor, the same torches, the same—

You cut off the thought like it was poisonous, invasive to your mind’s native state.

“Give it,” you repeated, voice clipped.

Cedric didn’t move. His eyes held yours, steady, warm, infuriatingly patient. Then he said it, soft as if he were offering you a choice.

“I’ll give it back when you stop running away from me.”

You let out a short laugh that had no humour in it. “I’m not running.”

“Oh?” he said. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been sprinting.”

Your jaw tightened. “I’ve been busy.”

“Right,” Cedric said, still calm. “Busy avoiding the Great Hall at breakfast.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Coincidence.”

“Busy taking the long way around the courtyard when I’m there.”

“Also coincidence.”

“Busy switching library tables like I’m carrying dragon pox.”

You should’ve been offended by the accuracy. You were offended by the fact he’d noticed enough to catalogue it.

“You’re imagining things,” you said.

Cedric’s mouth curved again, that almost-smile. “Maybe.”

Your fingers twitched, wanting to snatch the badge. He held it just out of reach, firmly, like he knew you’d lunge.

You tried to summon your best Malfoy composure, the one that made grown men falter. It didn’t help that your heartbeat had turned traitor.

“Diggory,” you said, low. “This isn’t funny.”

He sobered, just a fraction. “I’m not laughing.”

The corridor felt smaller. The torches seemed to lean in.

You lifted your chin. “You have no right to keep that.”

His eyes dipped briefly to the badge again, then to your collar, where it should’ve been pinned. You saw something flicker in his expression, quick and unreadable.

Then he looked back at you and said, very simply, “I do.”

Your breath caught, and you hated yourself for it.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Cedric’s voice didn’t sharpen. It didn’t need to. “You lost it. I found it. I’m not handing it over so you can disappear again.”

You were not used to people talking to you like this. People either snapped back angrily or folded politely. Cedric did neither. He stood his ground like it was a natural thing.

You felt your temper flare, hot and familiar, a comfort.

“Disappear?” you echoed, scornful. “You’re not my keeper.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’m not.”

He paused, eyes steady, and the quiet between you filled with everything you’d refused to say.

Then, quietly, “But I am a prefect too. And we both know you can’t do your job without that.”

You hated that he was right.

You hated the way he’d said it like it was practical, like he hadn’t just twisted the situation into a trap with velvet lining.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

Cedric’s gaze softened. “A conversation.”

Your throat went tight.

“No.”

His eyebrows rose. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, as if you could make the word into a wall.

Cedric studied you for a moment, then sighed, like you were exhausting in a way he’d expected.

“Fine,” he said, and for one glorious second you thought he might actually give in.

He stepped past you.

Your pulse leapt. “Where are you going?”

“To class,” he said, too casual. “I’ll hold onto this until you’re ready to act like an adult.”

You whirled, fury spiking. “You can’t just—”

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes bright with the faintest hint of amusement. “Watch me.”

Then he walked away with your badge in his pocket like it belonged there.

You stood in the corridor, perfectly still, while a portrait of an old witch cackled quietly behind you as if she’d just watched a play.

You wanted to hex her too.

The first thing you did was tell yourself it didn’t matter.

It mattered.

The second thing you did was vow to retrieve it by any means necessary.

You were very good at vows.

By lunchtime, you’d devised three different strategies, each more humiliating than the last.

The problem with Cedric Diggory was that he didn’t respond to the usual weapons. You couldn’t intimidate him. You couldn’t charm him without risking it actually working. You couldn’t shame him because he seemed impervious to shame in the way that only genuinely decent people were.

And he had your badge, which was a small piece of metal and also, apparently, your entire pride.

By dinner, you’d discovered a fourth strategy: pretend you didn’t care.

This strategy lasted approximately twelve seconds.

You spotted him across the Great Hall, laughing with his friends, and your attention locked like a curse. He looked up, as if he felt it, and met your gaze.

His smile faltered into something quieter, more focused. Then he lifted his goblet in a small, almost polite salute.

You nearly snapped your fork in half.

Draco, across from you, narrowed his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing,” you said sharply.

He leaned closer, voice lowered. “You’re staring at Diggory like you want to stab him.”

You didn’t look away from Cedric. “I might.”

Draco huffed. “Let me.”

“No,” you said immediately.

Draco blinked at your tone. “Why not?”

Because if Draco touched this, it would become a war. A loud, messy, public war that would drag your family’s name through every corridor and land you in your mother’s owl post for the rest of the year.

Because this was already too close to something tender and dangerous.

Because if Draco interfered, Cedric might get hurt, and the thought made your chest go strange.

You set your fork down carefully. “Because I said so.”

Draco stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You’re being weird.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed further. “If Diggory has done something—”

“He hasn’t,” you cut in, too fast.

Draco paused, then smirked slowly, like he’d smelled blood.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Your stomach clenched. “What is?”

Draco’s grin widened, maliciously delighted. “You like him.”

You went very still.

Across the hall, Cedric’s gaze stayed on you, steady as a heartbeat.

You looked back at Draco with all the frost you could muster. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Draco’s smile sharpened. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m furious.”

“That’s usually how it starts,” Draco said, smug.

You stabbed a piece of potato like it had personally betrayed you. “If you tell anyone, I’ll hex your hair off.”

Draco leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’m your brother.”

“Exactly,” you said. “I know your weaknesses.”

Draco snorted, then muttered, “Mum would faint.”

You pretended not to hear him.

You pretended not to feel Cedric’s eyes like warmth against your skin.

He didn’t corner you again until two days later.

You’d managed to avoid him with renewed ferocity, gliding through corridors like a ghost with a grudge. You skipped the usual route to Charms. You took staircases that threatened to change direction mid-step. You even ducked into a storage closet once to let a group of Hufflepuffs pass.

It would’ve been dignified if you hadn’t knocked over a mop.

Then, Friday evening, you stepped out of the Slytherin common room for rounds, and there he was, leaning against the wall across from the entrance like he’d been carved there.

Badge pocketed. Hands loose. Expression calm.

You froze.

Cedric pushed off the wall, slow, like he didn’t want to spook you. The thought made you bristle.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I’m not,” you replied automatically.

He glanced at the hourglass in the corridor. “You are.”

You bristled harder. “I don’t answer to you.”

Cedric nodded. “Good. Because this isn’t me ordering you around.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out your badge, holding it up between two fingers again.

Your eyes tracked it like it was the snitch.

“Then what is it?” you demanded.

Cedric’s gaze moved from the badge to you. “This is me giving you an option.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m listening.”

He looked almost amused. “Are you? Because last time, you did a lot of talking and not much listening.”

You glared. “Say what you want to say, Diggory.”

Cedric’s expression shifted, the teasing edge fading. “Fine.”

He stepped closer.

Not too close. Not yet. Just enough to make you aware of the space between you. Just enough to make you remember what it felt like when there hadn’t been any space at all.

“You kissed me,” he said quietly.

Your stomach dropped through the floor.

“That’s—” you began, then stopped because there was no clever lie that didn’t sound pathetic.

Cedric’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “And then you acted like it never happened.”

Your throat went tight, anger rising to cover whatever else was trying to surface. “It was a mistake.”

Cedric’s brows lifted, just slightly. “Was it?”

“Yes.”

He waited a beat, like he was giving you a chance to convince yourself.

Then, “You didn’t look like you thought it was a mistake.”

Your pulse thundered. “You don’t know what I looked like.”

Cedric’s gaze flicked to your mouth. Back to your eyes.

“I do,” he said. It wasn’t a boast. It was a fact.

You felt heat crawl up your neck. You hated it. You hated that he could do this without even trying.

You forced your voice into something sharp. “If you’re here to make me uncomfortable, congratulations.”

Cedric’s expression softened. “I’m here because you’ve been making yourself miserable.”

You scoffed. “How noble.”

He didn’t rise to it. “It’s not noble. It’s… frustrating.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Frustrating?”

Cedric exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding in too much for too long. “Yes. Because I don’t know what you want.”

You laughed once, brittle. “I want my badge.”

Cedric’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t humour this time. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

You stared at him, and for a moment, you saw something unguarded in his face. Not the confident captain, not the charming Hufflepuff, not the boy everyone liked.

Just Cedric. A boy standing in a corridor, holding a piece of metal like it was a bargaining chip and a lifeline.

You swallowed.

“I want you to stop,” you said, quieter than you intended.

Cedric’s eyes softened. “Stop what?”

“Stop…” You gestured vaguely, because naming it felt like stepping onto thin ice. “This.”

Cedric nodded slowly, as if considering.

Then he said, “I can’t.”

Your spine stiffened. “You can.”

“I could,” Cedric corrected. “But I won’t.”

Your anger flared again, easier than vulnerability. “Why?”

Cedric took another small step closer. The torchlight caught the gold in his hair. The Hufflepuff scarf brushed his collar. Your hands tightened into fists at your sides.

“Because it meant something,” he said.

Your breath caught.

Cedric watched you closely, as if your reaction mattered more than the words themselves.

You forced a scoff. “To you.”

Cedric’s gaze didn’t waver. “To you.”

You shook your head, sharp. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he repeated, voice quiet, certain. “Because you wouldn’t be this scared if it didn’t.”

The word hit like a slap.

Scared.

You, a Malfoy, scared of a kiss.

Your cheeks burned. “I’m not scared.”

Cedric’s mouth curved, faint and sad and infuriating. “Then why are you running?”

You opened your mouth, ready to slice him to pieces with a sentence. No words came out that didn’t sound like the truth.

You hated him for seeing it.

You hated yourself for letting him.

Cedric held the badge up again, gentle now, not teasing. “Come on.”

Your eyes snapped to it, then back to his face. “Don’t—”

“Talk to me,” Cedric said softly. “Just… talk to me.”

The corridor felt too bright. Too quiet. Like the castle itself was holding its breath.

You wanted to snatch the badge and disappear.

You wanted to stay.

Both wants collided inside you like duelling spells.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accused, because anger was safer.

Cedric blinked, then let out a short laugh, surprised. “Enjoying it? Merlin, no.”

“You are,” you insisted. “You like having leverage.”

Cedric’s expression sobered. “I don’t like any part of you looking at me like I’m something you have to escape.”

Something in your chest twisted.

Cedric’s eyes softened again. “I just… I want you to stop pretending that night didn’t happen.”

You forced your chin up. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

Cedric tilted his head. “But it did.”

You stared at him.

His gaze didn’t drop. Didn’t flicker. Didn’t retreat. It was infuriating how safe he looked, standing there like your secrets didn’t scare him.

“You don’t understand,” you said finally, voice low.

Cedric’s brows knit. “Then make me.”

You almost laughed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing is,” Cedric said. “But you’re acting like it’s impossible.”

“It is,” you snapped, then immediately regretted the word because it tasted like fear.

Cedric’s eyes sharpened. “Why?”

You swallowed. Your fingers flexed. “Because you’re… you.”

Cedric blinked, thrown off. “That’s your reason? Because I’m me?”

“You’re the Hufflepuff golden boy,” you said, bitterness and honesty tangled. “Everyone’s favourite. The castle’s perfect example of what a good student should be. You’re safe.”

Cedric’s face softened, but there was a spark of something there too. “Safe.”

You hated the way your voice wavered. “And I’m not.”

Cedric watched you for a long moment.

Then he said, very quietly, “I don’t care.”

The words didn’t sound heroic. They sounded stubborn.

Your throat tightened.

“You should,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

Cedric stepped closer until he was close enough that you could smell clean soap and cold air, like he’d been outside. Close enough that your pulse turned into a siren.

His voice dropped. “Tell me to my face that you didn’t feel anything. Tell me that kiss was nothing, and I’ll give you your badge and I’ll never bother you again.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you stared at him, corridor blurred around the edges. 

You could do it. You could lie. You’d lied before. You could slice the moment clean and walk away.

But you could still feel him on your lips if you let your mind drift even a little. You could still remember the way his hand had hovered at your waist like he didn’t want to touch you without permission, even in the heat of an argument. You could still remember the way he’d looked at you afterward, stunned and hungry and careful all at once.

Your voice came out thin. “You’d leave me alone?”

Cedric’s eyes held yours. “Yes.”

You should have said it.

You didn’t.

Silence stretched, heavy with everything you weren’t brave enough to name.

Cedric’s gaze softened. “That’s what I thought.”

You snapped, because you needed control back. “Don’t act smug.”

“I’m not smug,” Cedric said, gentle. “I’m relieved.”

“Relieved?” you echoed, incredulous.

Cedric’s mouth curved faintly. “Because for a second, I thought you’d actually say it. And I didn’t want you to.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him like he was something dangerous.

Maybe he was.

Cedric lifted the badge again and tucked it away, not cruelly, but firmly. “Come on. Rounds.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You’re doing rounds with me tonight,” Cedric said, as if it were settled.

“I’m not,” you said instantly.

Cedric’s brows rose. “Then you’ll explain to Snape why you weren’t on duty and why your badge is missing.”

Your blood went cold.

He smiled, apologetic. “Sorry.”

You glared. “You’re not.”

“I’m a little sorry,” Cedric corrected, then his gaze softened. “Mostly I’m just tired of you avoiding me.”

You took a breath through your nose, fury and something softer fighting inside you.

Then you hissed, “Fine.”

Cedric’s smile warmed, small and real. “Good.”

You turned sharply, stalking down the corridor like you hadn’t just agreed to be trapped with Cedric Diggory for the next hour.

Behind you, you heard his footsteps fall into pace with yours. Not too close, not too far, playing a familiar game of measured patience.

Rounds with Cedric Diggory were, to your deep annoyance, not miserable.

They were worse.

They were… normal.

He checked doors, listened for noises, shooed a pair of second-years back toward their dorms with a kind warning and a promise of detention if they did it again. He didn’t preen, or brag, or act like he was above the job.

He just did it, periodically glancing at you like he was taking attendance for your mood. 

You kept your face composed, your voice sharp, your steps precise. It was exhausting.

Halfway through the second floor, you passed a window and caught your reflection: hair neat, posture perfect, expression like a carved statue.

Cedric, beside you, looked annoyingly relaxed.

“You’re quiet,” he remarked.

“I’m working,” you said.

Cedric’s mouth twitched. “You’re glaring at a suit of armour.”

“It started it.”

Cedric laughed, soft. The sound did something irritating to your chest.

You shot him a look. “Don’t.”

He lifted both hands in surrender. “Alright.”

Silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of all the words you weren’t saying, all the glances you weren’t admitting you were taking.

At the third-floor landing, your steps slowed despite yourself.

This was near where he’d said he found the badge. Near where, weeks ago, you’d argued. Near where your control had slipped like a ring off a finger.

Cedric noticed your hesitation. His voice gentled. “It was around here.”

You kept walking, stiff. “I don’t care.”

He hummed, unconvinced.

You made it to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his attempts at ballet, and your gaze snagged on a small scuff mark on the stone near the baseboard.

A memory flashed: your shoulder hitting the wall. Cedric’s hand bracing beside your head. His voice low, heated. Yours even lower, sharper.

Your breath caught.

Cedric’s voice came quietly. “You alright?”

You forced air into your lungs. “Fine.”

Cedric’s gaze held yours for a beat.

Then, without warning, he reached into his pocket.

Your pulse jumped.

He pulled out your badge.

You halted, glaring. “I thought you said—”

“I did,” he said calmly. “But I’m not a complete monster.”

He held it out.

Your fingers hovered, then stopped short.

If you took it now, you could leave. You could disappear again. You could restore your routine, your distance, your sanity.

Cedric watched you, eyes steady.

“You can take it,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to bite.”

You lifted your chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Cedric’s gaze flicked to your mouth again, quick. “I know.”

Your cheeks heated.

You grabbed the badge sharply, more force than necessary, and pinned it to your robe with stiff fingers.

It took you a second too long because your hands were trembling just slightly.

You hated that, too.

Cedric’s eyes didn’t leave your hands. He didn’t comment. He didn’t tease. He just watched, attentive, as if the small act mattered.

When you finished, you straightened, posture perfect. “There. Happy?”

Cedric’s gaze lifted to your face. “Not really.”

Your temper sparked. “Then what do you want?”

Cedric stepped closer. Close enough that your shoulder nearly brushed his chest.

His voice dropped, private. “I want you to look at me like you did before you ran.”

Your heart hammered.

You scoffed, desperation pushed down. “You’re insufferable.”

Cedric’s mouth curved, faint. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” you snapped.

Cedric’s eyes warmed. “You kissed me in the middle of an argument. I’m not sure you get to call anyone insufferable.”

You glared. “You provoked me.”

Cedric’s brows lifted. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

Cedric leaned in just slightly, close enough that your breath mingled.

“What if I did?” he murmured.

Your pulse turned vicious as you forced yourself not to flinch, not to lean. “You’re playing a game,” you accused.

Cedric’s expression softened. “No.”

“Then what is this?” you demanded.

Cedric’s gaze held yours, steady and serious. “This is me not letting you pretend you didn’t want it too.”

Your throat tightened.

You hated him. You wanted him. Both truths sat side by side like they’d always belonged together.

The corridor felt too warm.

A distant clock chimed. Somewhere, a portrait yawned.

Cedric didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

Finally, you said, voice sharp because you couldn’t make it soft, “You’re going to regret this.”

Cedric’s eyes softened further. “I already regretted it.”

Your breath caught.

Cedric’s voice stayed low. “Not the kiss. The part after, where I let you walk away without saying anything.”

You stared at him, and something in you wavered.

You covered it with ice. “Then say something now.”

Cedric’s gaze flicked over your face like he was memorizing it. “Alright.”

He took a slow breath.

And then footsteps echoed from the stairwell.

You both turned as Filch appeared, lantern swinging, face pinched with suspicion. Mrs Norris prowled at his heels like a furry omen.

Filch squinted at you. “Prefects.”

“Yes,” you said crisply, relief and irritation colliding.

Filch’s eyes flicked between you and Cedric, lingering too long on the space between you. “Hmph.”

Cedric nodded politely. “Evening, Filch.”

Filch grunted and shuffled off, muttering about students and troublemakers.

When he disappeared, the corridor seemed to exhale.

You swallowed. “We should finish rounds.”

Cedric studied you for a moment. Then he nodded, like he could tell you needed the escape. “Yeah.”

You walked briskly.

You didn’t look back, but you could feel him beside you like a shadow that warmed instead of chilled.

You told yourself, afterward, that you were safe.

You had your badge. You’d done rounds. You’d survived Cedric Diggory’s stubborn persistence.

So you went back to avoiding him.

You avoided him on Saturday.

You avoided him on Sunday.

You avoided him with the dedication of someone who treated denial like an Olympic sport.

And it might have worked, too, if Cedric hadn’t developed a new weapon.

Politeness.

He started greeting you in corridors, casual and bright, like you were simply two prefects who occasionally shared duties. He started holding doors open when you passed, as if he was the kind of person who held doors open for everyone (he was, infuriatingly). He started appearing in places you frequented, never cornering, never forcing, just… there.

Like he was giving you chances, waiting for you to take just one.

It made you feel hunted and protected all at once.

By Wednesday, you were running out of excuses and patience.

By Thursday, you were running out of sleep.

And by Friday evening, you were in the prefect bathroom, staring at your own reflection, trying to convince your heart to behave.

The water in the pool shimmered, blue and still. Steam curled softly around the marble like a secret. You’d come here because it was quiet, because it felt like distance, because nobody bothered you here.

Because nobody could look at you the way Cedric did.

You were pinning your badge back onto your robe, checking the clasp twice, when the door opened.

Your spine went rigid.

Cedric’s voice carried in, gentle. “I thought you might be here.”

You turned slowly.

Of course. Of course he knew.

He stood just inside the doorway, hands raised slightly, as if proving he wasn’t here to ambush you. His hair was damp again, like he’d just come in from the pitch or the rain. His cheeks were flushed from cold air.

He looked alive in a way that made you furious.

“This is the prefect bathroom,” you said coolly. “Not your personal meeting room.”

Cedric nodded. “I know.”

“Then leave,” you ordered.

Cedric didn’t move. His gaze settled on your badge, newly pinned, as if it were a symbol of something beyond duty.

Then he looked at your face, and his expression softened.

“You’re still doing it,” he said quietly.

You bristled. “Doing what?”

“Running,” Cedric said.

You scoffed. “I’m standing still.”

Cedric’s mouth twitched. “That’s not what I meant.”

You turned away, hands tightening on the edge of the sink. “I don’t have time for this.”

Cedric stepped further inside, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made your pulse jump.

The sound echoed in the marble room like a verdict.

You turned back sharply. “Don’t—”

Cedric’s eyes held yours, calm. “I’m not here to trap you.”

You laughed, harsh. “You’ve been trapping me for weeks.”

Cedric’s brows lifted. “Have I?”

“Yes,” you snapped. “You stole my badge, you used it to force me into rounds, you keep popping up like—like—”

“Like I’m trying,” Cedric finished quietly.

The words stole your breath.

You stared at him, throat tight.

Cedric took a slow step closer. The steam curled around him like a veil. His voice dropped.

“I’m trying because I don’t like the version of you who pretends she’s made of stone,” he said. “And I don’t like the version of me who lets you.”

Your fingers tightened around the sink. “You don’t know me.”

Cedric’s gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “I know enough.”

You tried for a sneer. It came out weaker than you wanted. “You’re very confident for someone who got kissed once and decided he owned the situation.”

Cedric’s mouth curved, faint. “Once?”

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer again. Now he was within arm’s reach, close enough that you could feel the heat of him through the air.

“You keep acting like that kiss was a fluke,” he said softly. “Like it was an accident.”

“It was,” you said automatically.

Cedric’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Then why are you still thinking about it?”

You froze.

Your anger flared, bright and desperate. “I’m not.”

Cedric’s voice went quieter, dangerously gentle. “You are.”

You swallowed, pulse roaring in your ears.

Cedric moved another half-step closer. His gaze dropped to the badge on your chest.

Then, slowly, his hand lifted.

Your muscles tensed instinctively. You didn’t step back. You didn’t step forward. 

You just held still, caught between pride and want.

Cedric’s fingers hovered near your collar, not touching yet. His voice was low. 

“Do you trust me?”

You scoffed, because the question was absurd. “No.”

Cedric’s mouth twitched. “You’re lying.”

You glared. “I’m not.”

Cedric’s eyes warmed. “You didn’t move away.”

Your throat tightened.

He let the silence stretch, steam and water and torchlight making the room feel unreal.

Then he said softly, “Admit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Admit what?”

Cedric’s smile turned sharper, but not unkind. “You like me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

You forced a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

Cedric’s voice stayed steady. “That’s not an answer.”

You lifted your chin, fury and heat tangled. “You want an answer?”

“Yes.”

You stepped closer until your robe nearly brushed his jumper, until the space between you was a thin thread.

“And what if I do, Diggory?” you asked, voice low, daring.

Cedric’s eyes darkened, just slightly, like someone had turned down the lights inside him.

For a beat, he didn’t speak.

Then, very quietly, “Prove it.”

The words landed like a spark on parchment.

You stared at him, breath shallow.

Cedric didn’t move. He didn’t grab you. He didn’t close the gap for you. He just held your gaze, steady, giving you the choice like he always had.

It made you ache.

It made you furious.

It made you brave.

You reached up and grabbed the front of his jumper the way you had weeks ago, fisting the fabric, yanking him just close enough that his breath hit your mouth.

Cedric’s inhale was sharp, like he’d been waiting for this for days and still couldn’t quite believe it.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” you whispered.

Cedric’s hands lifted, hovering at your waist, not touching. His eyes flicked to your lips. Back to your eyes.

“Then don’t let me,” he murmured.

Your pulse snapped.

You surged forward and kissed him, self control be damned.

It was heat and frustration and all the words you’d swallowed turning into something physical, something undeniable. Your mouth crashed to his and Cedric made a sound in the back of his throat like surrender.

His hands came to your waist, firm now, like he couldn’t help himself anymore. He pulled you closer, and the contact was electric, the badge between you pressing lightly into his chest like an accusation.

You deepened the kiss, because if you were going to fall, you were going to do it properly.

Cedric kissed back like he’d been starved.

Not sloppy. Not reckless. Just intense, like he was trying to tell you a thousand things without speaking. His thumb brushed your side, a grounding touch that somehow made everything hotter.

You broke the kiss just long enough to drag in air.

Cedric didn’t let you go. His forehead dipped briefly to yours, breath shaky.

His voice was rougher than you’d ever heard it. “That… that’s what you’ve been running from?”

You swallowed, pulse wild. “Don’t make it sound ridiculous.”

Cedric’s mouth brushed the corner of yours, not quite another kiss, but close. “It’s not ridiculous.”

You glared weakly. “You’re enjoying this.”

Cedric huffed a laugh, breathless. “I’m terrified.”

You blinked.

Cedric’s eyes held yours, open and honest. “Because you’re going to bolt again.”

Your throat tightened.

You hated that he knew you so well.

You hated that he was right.

You whispered, sharp and shaken, “Then don’t let me.”

Cedric’s gaze softened like sunlight breaking through cloud. “I won’t.”

His fingers slid up, gentle now, to the badge on your chest. He touched the edge of it with reverence that made your stomach flip.

“You lost this once,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

Cedric’s hand moved to the clasp. Carefully, he unpinned it.

You stared at him, startled. “Cedric—”

He lifted the badge away, held it for a second between you like a tiny, shining symbol of all your excuses.

Then, slowly, he pinned it back onto you himself.

His fingers lingered at your collar, warm against your skin through the fabric. The kind of touch that made your whole body pay attention.

His eyes never left yours.

“Perfect,” he murmured, voice soft. “Now it’s where it belongs.”

Your breath came out shaky. “You’re unbelievably arrogant.”

Cedric’s smile was faint and tender and wicked all at once. “And you like me anyway.”

You swallowed, heart pounding.

You could deny it again. You could flee. You could turn this into a mistake and bury it under Malfoy pride and prefect duty.

But Cedric’s hands were still at your waist, his touch steady, his gaze unflinching, and you were so tired of running.

So you leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed his as you spoke.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you whispered.

Cedric’s voice was soft against your mouth. “I’ll spend the rest of the year making sure you don’t.”

Your pulse stuttered.

“You promise?” you breathed, like a challenge.

Cedric’s eyes warmed. “On my honour.”

You scoffed, but your hands tightened on him like you couldn’t let go.

“Good,” you murmured. “Because if you break it, I’ll get my brother to hex you into graduation.”

Cedric’s smile widened, and it was so bright you hated how much you wanted to live inside it.

“I’d expect nothing less,” he whispered.

Then he kissed you again.

Hotter, deeper, like he’d finally been given permission to want you out loud. Your fingers slid up into his hair, tugging, and Cedric’s hands tightened at your waist like he was anchoring you to him, like he was saying stay in a language your body understood better than your pride.

The steam curled around you like a secret the castle would never get to keep.

And for once, you didn’t run.

You kissed him like you were done pretending you didn’t want this.

Like you were done pretending you didn’t want him.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard, Cedric rested his forehead against yours again, eyes half-lidded, smile soft.

“So,” he murmured. “Do I get to say it again?”

You blinked, dazed. “Say what?”

Cedric’s thumb traced your side, light and daring. “That you like me.”

Your mouth opened. No sharp retort came.

Cedric’s smile turned slow, satisfied.

You glared at him weakly, because you had to salvage something. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

Cedric’s laugh was quiet, warm. “Too late.”

You inhaled, steadying, then lifted your chin, forcing steel back into your spine.

“If anyone finds out,” you warned.

Cedric’s eyes softened. “We’ll deal with it.”

“We?” you echoed, suspicious.

Cedric smiled, sure and gentle. “We.”

Your heart did that awful, lovely thing again. 

You swallowed, then muttered, “Fine.”

Cedric’s grin widened, and he leaned in to press a kiss to the edge of your badge, right over your name, like a vow. Then he looked up at you, eyes bright, and said, very quietly, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

“Stop running.”

You stared at him, your own hope reflecting back.

“Alright,” you whispered.

Cedric’s hands tightened at your waist, and he kissed you once more, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world.