#potterhead

The dorms were the worst.

The windows leaked cold, the corners smelled like mildew, the kind that crept back this time of year no matter how many scouring charms someone used. The scent of damp parchment lingered in the air, tangled up with the musty staleness of old socks and wet wool. It clung to everything.

It was good to be back. Still, the mood had shifted.

The holidays were over.

No more sugared puddings. No more Weasley twins detonating enchanted crackers over breakfast. No more sneaking kisses with Cedric under the mistletoe. No more evenings curled up in front of the fire with Ginny and Hermione, tucked under shared blankets, gossiping like our lives depended on it. 

It was all gone now, and in its place was coursework. And pressure. And that cold reality that came every January like clockwork.

Pages and pages of it.

Ancient Runes, a three-foot Transfiguration essay, and Snape's ridiculous demand for three more feet on bezoars. As if we didn't have anything better to do with our lives.

The only thing that stopped me from flinging my books off the Astronomy Tower was the promise of Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the new year.

I'd bundled myself up in cozy winter clothes, wrapping that familiar black-and-yellow scarf tight around my neck. The same one Cedric had wrapped there after our first night together at the Burrow. It still smelled like him, cedarwood and amber and something warm and permanent, like home.

He'd insisted I keep it. Said it looked better on me anyway.

Most of Gryffindor was already scattered around the common room, slouched across couches, tangled in scarves and boots, waiting for the day to start properly. The fire crackled low in the hearth. The smell of smoke and damp wool drifted through the air. Everyone was bundled up and restless, like we were all waiting for something to snap us out of this midwinter trance.

I was curled up alone near the fire, legs tucked under me, Crookshanks making slow, deliberate biscuits into my thigh like I was the only thing worth kneading. The common room buzzed quietly in the background, but my head was somewhere else, drifting through the past two weeks, half-listening to the argument unfolding across from me.

Harry groaned from the couch, his body thrown dramatically over the cushions, looking like he'd lost a duel to gravity.

Hermione was mid-rant, of course.

"You've had weeks to figure it out," she said, tone clipped. "And now you're acting like the second task is years away. It's not."

"I've got until the twenty-fourth," Harry argued weakly, dragging a hand through his hair.

"That's in, like, five weeks," I muttered.

Hermione scowled. "Exactly. And the way you're going, you'll blink and it will be here, and you'll still be standing there with your mouth open and that egg screaming at you."

She had a point. February 24th had started feeling closer now that the holidays were behind us. Before, it lived in some foggy space after Christmas. Now it was looming. And Harry still hadn't figured out a thing about that bloody golden egg.

Back at the Burrow, I'd heard it enough times to haunt my dreams. Every night, Harry would drag it up to Ron's room, crack it open, and sit there listening. Waiting for it to sound different. It never did. Just the same shrill wailing, like thirty musical saws crying out at once. It scraped under your skin, got in your head. 

I'd tried to place the sound. Tried to think of anything I'd heard like it before. But there was nothing. It didn't sound like anything.

I'd even walked in on Harry once, just sitting on the floor with the egg in his lap, yelling at it like it might shut up and give him a real answer.

It didn't.

"But it might take weeks to work it out!" Hermione snapped. "You're going to look like a complete idiot if everyone else knows the clue and you don't. Maybe you should stay behind today. Figure it out while you've got the Tower to yourself."

"Leave him alone, Hermione," Ron cut in. He wasn't even looking up, just picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion with determination.

Harry glanced over at me. "Has Cedric figured it out?"

I shook my head slowly. "He hasn't mentioned anything."

Which wasn't untrue.

His silence said enough. I'd seen the way his fingers kept drifting toward his tie lately, the nervous habit he always fell into when something was weighing on him. He hadn't said a word about the egg, but I'd caught him doing it more than once this week.

I started straightening it for him before he could, smoothing the silk down without being asked. He never said anything when I did, but he always relaxed after. His hands would fall away. His shoulders would let go of whatever they'd been holding.

So no, he hadn't said it was bothering him. But I knew it was.

You wouldn't guess by looking at him. On the outside, he was the picture of calm and collected. Polished. The elusive Triwizard Champion. But he didn't need to say anything out loud.

I could see it anyway.

Fred and George wandered past just as Harry opened his mouth again. Clearly eavesdropping, they veered over without hesitation, each one dropping onto either end of the settee I was lounging on.

Crookshanks gave a grumpy meow and launched off my lap, clearly aggrieved by the sudden intrusion.

Both twins were smirking down at me like they'd been waiting for an excuse.

"I bet you've been keeping him very distracted," Fred said, waggling his brows.

"You little minx," George added, nudging me.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming. "Shut up."

It wasn't even worth pretending. More than half the school already knew about me and Cedric, and I hadn't exactly been subtle the night of the Yule Ball. And for the ones who missed that, the quickie on the train had filled in the blanks.

Hermione, sitting across, shot both boys a sharp look. She muttered something about "crude commentary" under her breath and went right back to glowering at Harry.

We were just getting to our feet when a soft chime rang through the common room, the hour bell that signaled the start of our Hogsmeade visit.

Students whooped and clapped. The low buzz of conversation spiked instantly, turning animated and loud as everyone scrambled to gather their things. Scarves were adjusted, boots stamped, bags slung over shoulders.

We filed through the portrait hole in a jostling blur of excitement and chatter.

Waiting just on the other side, like he'd timed it perfectly, was Cedric.

He leaned against the stone archway, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, his cloak hanging open like the temperature didn't bother him at all. His eyes found mine immediately, and the smallest smile curved at the corners of his mouth.

"Top shagger," Fred whispered as they passed him, clapping him on the back.

Cedric didn't flinch. Just offered a polite nod, eyes flicking down to the scarf still wrapped around my neck. His scarf.

When our eyes met again, everything else dimmed.

"Thought we could walk down together," he said, voice quiet, like it was just for me.

Like this really was a date, not a freezing, school-sanctioned field trip layered in thermal socks and Hogwarts-issue gloves.

Still. I liked the way he said it. Soft. Intentional.

Hermione greeted him first, giving a polite nod andtucking her hands deeper into her sleeves. Harry managed something that resembled a smile. Ron didn't even blink in his direction. The performance was almost impressive at this point.

The snow hadn't let up much. It still covered the grounds in a thick layer, the kind that crunched and collapsed under your boots. The sky hung low and dull above us, stretched in grey like wet paper. Every window we passed was fogged over, condensation trailing in slow lines down the glass. The castle looked like it was holding its breath.

We passed the Durmstrang ship on our way to the gates, its hull slick and dark in the still lake water.

Then a flicker of movement caught my eye, up on the deck.

"What the hell," I muttered.

Viktor Krum had stepped out barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of threadbare swimming trunks. His skin looked nearly translucent in the winter light, a pale blade against the slate-grey water. He barely hesitated. Just stretched his arms once and dove off the side of the ship— clean, sharp, and gone beneath the surface in an instant.

"He's mad," Harry breathed.

"It must be freezing," Ron said, staring.

"It's January!"

"It's colder where he's from," Hermione said, a little quieter. "He told me the Black Sea in winter makes this look mild."

I glanced at her, catching how she was defending him without even realizing it. Her voice had softened the way it did when something mattered, even if she wasn't ready to say why.

I smirked. "He told you that, did he?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to mine too fast. Her cheeks flushed pink.

Back at the Burrow over the holidays, late one night in Ginny's room, buried in blankets and half-tipsy from Firewhiskey, Hermione had told us everything.

They'd kissed.

At the top of the marble staircase, just after the Yule Ball. She'd whispered it into the dark like it was a secret too delicate to say out loud.

"He just leaned in," she'd said, her fingers tangled in the hem of her pajama top. "And it was... it was nice."

Ginny and I had squealed. Proper squealed. We buried our faces in pillows to muffle it, but it didn't help. Hermione had blushed all the way down to her collarbones. She told us they'd exchanged a few letters since. Nothing romantic, just sweet. Book titles. Little thoughts. Quidditch scores.

Both too awkward to say what they actually wanted.

It was almost tragic.

And it was absolutely our responsibility to push her toward him again.

Now, watching Viktor resurface in the middle of the lake like some kind of folk legend, I made a mental note: we weren't letting her talk herself out of this again. Not when she still blushed like that.

"He's really nice, you know," Hermione added after a pause. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He said he likes it better here."

Cedric and I exchanged a look.

"You should go say hi, invite him to the village?" Ced suggested, voice light but knowing.

Hermione shook her head instantly, pulling her scarf tighter.

We didn't press it.

Yet.

The path gave way to the slushy High Street, cobblestones half-lost under dirty snow and salt. The scent of baking drifted out from somewhere— warm sugar, cinnamon, vanilla.

And still, the stares started.

I felt them the way you feel wind shift. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed. Boys elbowed each other. Girls scowled. The kind of attention that always came too fast, too loud.

After being intimate with Cedric, I didn't think it could get worse. But it had. If I had to guess, it was because I felt different. More sensual. Confident. Something had changed in me, something others clearly picked up on. The boys had more trouble containing themselves. And the girls? They didn't bother hiding their bitterness.

It was worse this time.

A Ravenclaw boy actually winked. Another mouthed something I didn't want to hear. I tightened my hold on Cedric's hand.

He squeezed back without looking. Like it was automatic.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

"I'm so over being looked at like this", I muttered.

His gaze swept the street once, slow and deliberate. "Let them look. Anyone crosses a line, I'll sort it."

"They're not exactly being subtle."

"They're not exactly worth your time."

I knew he was right. But part of me wanted to turn around and head back to the castle. And I knew Cedric picked up on that, too. We looked at each other, no words, just the kind of quiet communication that had been happening more and more lately. I was still amazed by how easily he could read me.

He paused a beat. Then added, softer, "Let's stay a bit longer, yeah? I want to ask Harry a few things about his egg."

I nodded, grateful that they were going to have that conversation and deciding not to let anyone ruin my weekend.

Soon, Cedric and Harry were deep in as we made our way around the village— careful, quiet talk about the egg and the task ahead.

Hermione and I walked a little ahead, arms linked, our boots crunching through packed snow.

Ron trailed just behind, scowling down at his own feet. Clearly still peeved about Cedric's presence.

I didn't pay him any mind. I was used to it by now, his sulking, his silence. The way he turned passive-aggressive into an art form anytime Cedric was around.

I was just glad Cedric didn't either.

Harry was the first to speak up as the village buzzed around us.

"Wanna head to the Three Broomsticks?" he asked us. "I could use something warm."

Cedric agreed before I could say anything, and I nearly pouted. I'd been selfishly hoping for time alone with him, even just an hour. But I understood. They were trying, both of them. And with the second task closing in like a storm, sitting down somewhere was probably smarter than wandering the streets collecting stares.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, as usual. Warm and loud and crowded, thick with the smell of butterbeer and roasting meat. Scarves were draped over chairs. Steam rising from mugs. The windows were fogged, the floor slippery with melted snow.

We pushed through the crowd toward the bar and placed our orders with Madam Rosmerta, who barely glanced up, she was juggling at least five drinks at once, her wand flicking wildly between trays. We lingered off to the side, waiting, pressed in tight among clusters of other students doing the same.

Cedric stood just behind me, close enough that I could feel the light touch of his arm against mine, hear every word when he leaned in to make some quiet joke under his breath.

Hermione nudged me suddenly, tilting her head toward the mirror behind the bar.

"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" she whispered.

"Who?" I asked, following her gaze.

"Bagman."

I looked.

Ludo Bagman sat hunched in the far corner, talking to a group of goblins. He looked twitchy— nervous. His hands moved constantly in tight little gestures, like he was trying to talk them into something they weren't buying. The goblins sat stone-still, unimpressed.

"He looks rough," I said.

"Same as he did after the Dark Mark," Harry muttered.

Before we could say more, Bagman looked up. His eyes flicked toward the mirror, landed on Harry, and he froze.

"In a moment, in a moment!" he said to the goblins, already standing.

A second later, he was cutting across the pub, far too cheerful for someone who'd just been cornered by a goblin negotiation.

"Harry!" he said brightly. "Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

Harry blinked. "Fine, thanks."

Bagman's eyes scanned our group, lingering too long on Cedric, then me, then Hermione and Ron.

"Oh, hello, Cedric... Miss (Y/L/N)... Miss Granger, Weasley," he said, like he was trying to remember if we counted as important. "You don't mind giving us a moment, do you?"

Cedric, Ron and Hermione looked at me. I gave a little shrug.

Just then, our drinks slid across the bar. We grabbed our mugs and peeled off without a word, leaving Harry behind as we moved to a table near the frosted windows. The cold from the glass seeped through our coats. Cedric pulled out a chair for me like it was second nature. Before he sat, he leaned down and kissed the side of my head.

My chest ached a little at that.

We'd barely settled, hands still wrapped around warm mugs, when the front door swung open behind us with a gust of cold wind. Snowflakes blew in with it, scattering across the floor before melting instantly. A group of Hufflepuff boys spilled into the pub— laughing, loud, their hair dusted in snow and cheeks flushed from the cold. Their voices rose above the steady din, cheerful and carefree.

One of them spotted Cedric almost immediately and lifted a hand, waving him over.

Cedric's eyes flicked to me. "I'll be back soon, alright?" he said softly, his hand brushing my knee. "Promise."

I nodded. He kissed my cheek and headed over to them, slipping into their orbit with a kind of practiced ease.

I watched him go, trying not to sulk about it.

Tried not to feel like the whole table had dimmed without him there.

He gave them his full attention— nodding, laughing, listening, though I could tell he was still watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I turned away, sipping my butterbeer. The whispers were starting again.

Girls, mostly. Clustered in groups. Heads together. Eyes flicking toward me.

Some weren't even whispering. They were just staring. Like I was something rare and strange and possibly cursed. Like I was going to explode.

I looked down into my drink.

"What's that about?" Hermione muttered, eyes tracking a cluster of Ravenclaws across the room.

"I don't know," I said.

But I did.

I felt it. Something was coming.

Fred and George chose that exact moment to swoop in, cutting clean through whatever Bagman had been saying to Harry. They cornered Bagman with matching grins and a very pointed reminder about the World Cup bet he still hadn't paid back. Before long, they had him squirming in his seat. He stammered a few half-hearted excuses, then bolted, muttering apologies as he hurried out the door. The goblins followed right behind, their expressions unreadable.

Harry returned to our table, looking vaguely annoyed. Cedric was still across the room.

Ron looked up. "What did he want?" 

"He offered to help me with the golden egg," Harry said, already bracing for the reaction. 

Hermione's head whipped around. "He what? He's a judge! That's completely out of line— Dumbledore would never approve. He's supposed to be impartial!"

"I hope he's offering Cedric the same help," I muttered.

"He's not," Harry said quietly. "I asked."

Ron scoffed. "Who cares if Diggory's getting help?"

I shot him a look, sharp and silent.

Hermione, ever the diplomat, tried to shift gears. "Those goblins didn't look too friendly. What were they even doing here?"

"Looking for Crouch," Harry said. "He's still sick. Hasn't been in."

"Maybe Percy's poisoning him," Ron said, smirking. "Figures he'd think that's the fast track to promotion."

Hermione gave him her best do-not-joke-about-death face.

"Funny, goblins going after Crouch," she said, stirring her drink. "They don't usually work with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Thinking of starting a new cause, Hermione?" Ron teased. "S.P.U.G.? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?"

I smiled into my cup.

"Ha, ha, ha," Hermione said flatly. "They don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to Binns about the goblin rebellions?"

"No," we all said at once.

Hermione huffed, but before she could launch into a history lecture, Cedric returned.

His expression was soft, but serious.

"(Y/N)," he said, "can I talk to you?"

I blinked. "Now?"

He nodded. "Just for a minute."

I stood, suddenly aware again of all the eyes in the room. This time they weren't just curious. They were cruel.

Someone near the bar snickered.

Outside the booth, Cedric reached for my hand. His fingers were gentle. Steady.

"Cho's saying things," he said quietly, scanning my face. "That you used Veela magic. That it's why I dumped her."

My stomach dropped.

"She practically enchanted him," someone said nearby, loud enough for us both to hear.

Cedric's jaw tensed. "I won't let them speak about you like that."

I swallowed hard, but before I could respond, the pub door opened.

And my stomach dropped again.

Rita Skeeter had just walked in.

She was impossible to miss.

Banana-yellow robes, heels clicking like warning bells, and nails painted an eye-watering shade of pink. Her eyes darted around the pub— quick, sharp, and twitching, landing on me almost immediately. Then flicking away. Then back again.

Her photographer trailed behind her like a trained parasite, camera already half-raised.

She wasn't even trying to be subtle.

She stopped by a Ravenclaw girl, touched her hair like she owned it, smiling, whispering something. But her eyes never left me.

That smile curled wider.

I felt the nausea rise in my throat.

"I need to find Cho," I muttered to Cedric, barely hearing myself over the blood pounding in my ears. "Before this gets worse."

Cedric's grip on my hand tightened. "Whatever you need," he said, soft and sure. "I'm with you."

We returned to the table. I downed the rest of my butterbeer in a single gulp. Cedric's hand pressed into the small of my back as I sat, his touch grounding.

"You okay?" Hermione asked, brows pinched. "You look nervous."

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

The whispering had stopped.

Now they were just staring.

Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill was already scribbling beside her like a smug little ghost.

"She's talking about me," I said quietly. "Cho started a rumor, I used Veela magic on Cedric. I guess it's spreading."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You're joking."

"I wish I was."

Harry shifted beside me, already slumping. I could tell he'd clocked Rita the second she walked in. His whole posture changed, the kind of defeated slump you only see in someone who's been burned before.

The last time he'd mentioned Cho, he sounded hopeful. Said she'd been writing. She'd gone skiing with her family over break, nothing weird, nothing hostile. Just space.

But this didn't feel like space anymore.

This felt like sabotage.

The crowd shifted again.

Rita was gliding toward us.

Her photographer raised the camera like he'd been waiting for a red carpet cue.

Cedric slid closer to me. His arm draped protectively across my shoulders. I leaned into him without thinking.

Hermione went stiff beside me. Ron's jaw clenched.

"Trying to ruin someone else's life again?" Harry said suddenly, cutting the air like a blade.

Heads turned.

The room fell into that hush only a good confrontation could bring.

Rita's eyes lit up. "Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and confirm some comments made about your American friend," she added, her gaze flicking to me like I wasn't sitting right there. Like I was just another name to slot into an article.

I opened my mouth, rage rising like heat, but Harry beat me to it.

"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," he said coldly.

A few people laughed. Rita's eyes blinked behind her jeweled glasses.

"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—"

"Is that what you're calling it now?" I cut in. My voice was syrupy sweet. Mocking. "Funny, I always thought you just printed whatever bullshit got you off."

The pub went still.

"Answer the witch," George called from the corner, grinning. "You don't want to see a Veela upset."

Even Madam Rosmerta froze mid-pour, amber mead spilling over the rim of a tankard and soaking her fingers.

Rita's smile faltered for half a second. Then she straightened it again, snapping her Quick-Quotes Quill to attention.

"How about an interview, then?" she said, eyes turning on Cedric now. "Handsome boy. Triwizard Champion. Tell me, what's it like being enchanted? Or better yet, what's it like dating someone with... unusual influence? Would you say it's been hard to think clearly lately?"

Hermione stood so fast her butterbeer nearly spilled.

"You horrible woman," she said, voice shaking. "You don't care, do you? You'll say anything, twist anything, just to get a story."

"Sit down, you silly little girl," Rita scoffed. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. I'm a professional, sweetheart. I've heard worse than this. I know things that would make your hair curl, not that it needs it."

I stood, fists clenched, ready to lunge.

But Cedric was already pulling me back.

"Let's go," Hermione said through gritted teeth, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

We left, together. All five of us. And every pair of eyes in the pub followed.

Harry glanced back as we reached the door. Rita's Quill was already scribbling at lightning speed.

"She'll be after you next," Ron muttered to Hermione as we stepped into the cold.

"Let her try," she hissed. "First Harry. Now (Y/N). She's not getting away with it."

I didn't say a word. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.

The wind stung my cheeks. But it wasn't the cold making me tremble. It was the shame, the heat of it. The rage. Knowing my name was already halfway to becoming some snide, pun-riddled headline.

I didn't want to cry in front of everyone. Not now. Not after all that.

"I'll meet you back at the castle," I muttered, stepping away from the group.

"Wait, are you okay?" Ron asked, surprisingly gentle. "You look—"

But I was already moving away from them.

Cedric followed.

He caught up without saying a word, crouching a little so we were eye to eye. He always did that, made himself smaller to meet me where I was.

I stared at the cobblestones between us.

"Where would she be?"

He didn't need to ask who I meant. His eyes scanned the square, sharp and quick.

"She likes Madam Puddifoot's," he said after a beat. "Used to drag me there."

I didn't respond. Just turned and started walking fast. Boots crunching through dirty snow, shoulders tight, heart hammering.

A group of boys leaned against a shop wall, laughing too loud. One of them saw me and called out, "You can enchant me anytime, (Y/N). I won't fight it!"

Cedric stopped in his tracks.

"Say that again and see what happens," he growled. Loud. Cold. Commanding.

The boy froze.

We kept walking.

I didn't speak. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.

If I hadn't been so furious, I might've found it hot.

When we reached the tea shop, I spotted her immediately, Cho, sitting with a group of girls near the foggy window. Her posture was perfect. Her hair fell in neat, silky waves. Her scarf matched her lip gloss.

She was laughing.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn't just kicked this whole mess into motion and wiped her hands clean.

I pushed the door open. The little brass bell above it jingled softly.

Cho looked up. Her expression shifted instantly, smile gone, brows lifted, eyes narrowing like she hadn't expected to see me again, much less like this.

"What do you want?" she asked, not even pretending to be polite.

"I need to talk to you," I said, steady. "Please."

She scoffed. "Why?"

"Because I'm asking."

She held my gaze for a second, then stood. One of her friends leaned in to whisper something, but Cho didn't respond. Her eyes flicked past me, to Cedric just behind, silent and watchful.

I turned to him. "Can you give us a minute?"

He hesitated, just a blink, but nodded and stepped aside to let us pass, his hands in his pockets.

I opened the door again, a small gust of cold air curling around us as we stepped outside. 

Cedric just inside the shop. He didn't sit or move far, just stood near the window, where he could see everything. Quiet. Present. Watching.

Cho and I sat down on the little bench just outside, across from each other. The chill bit through my coat. Everything felt sharper out here, colder. More exposed.

Cho sat like she had a wand to her spine. I could see the tension in her jaw.

"What did I ever do to you?" I asked quietly.

She didn't answer.

"I thought you and Harry were getting on," I said, keeping my voice even. "Cedric and I were happy for you."

Her eyes dropped.

"If you're not over Cedric, fine. That's your business. You two can talk that out. But don't drag Harry into it. And don't drag me into it."

Her throat bobbed. "I'm sorry," she said, voice tight. "About Harry. I didn't mean for him to get pulled in. He didn't deserve that."

I waited.

"But I'm not lying," she whispered, staring at her hands. "That's how it felt. Cedric and I... we were getting close. He invited me to his house. I was going to meet his parents."

She sniffed. It was quick, angry. "Then he just... got distant. I didn't know what I did. I went out with Roger. I flirted with Harry. But it wasn't the same."

Her eyes filled. She blinked hard, fast, but it was no use.

Tears started falling, quiet ones. No dramatics. Just wet cheeks and a broken kind of silence.

And the ache in my chest bloomed.

Because if it had been me, if Cedric had just turned cold, pulled away, I'd be wrecked, too. 

It would've ruined me.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said. And I meant it. "But Cho... you can't say things like that. My life's already turned upside down lately. I'm only just figuring out what I am. Fleur's been helping me, but... do you think I like this attention?"

She looked at me, really looked.

"I get harassed," I continued. "Girls glare. Their boyfriends stare. I feel guilty for just existing sometimes. For being... visible."

I swallowed hard.

"Like I'm some kind of monster. Like just walking into a room means I'm trying to steal something. I get looked at like I'm calculating. Manipulative. And I'm not. I never wanted any of this."

My voice cracked slightly. "I can't change what I am, but people act like I chose it. Like I'm using it. Like I'm dangerous just for being looked at."

Cho nodded, slowly. Her eyes flicked to the scarf around my neck.

The bell over the door jingled again.

Cedric stepped inside, cautious. His eyes went to me first, then Cho.

"Hi, Cho," he said.

She quickly wiped her eyes, blinking hard. Her voice was barely there.

"Hi, Cedric."

He stepped closer, slow. Careful.

"I didn't leave you because of anything you did," he said softly. "And I wasn't enchanted. I wasn't tricked. I just... wasn't the same person anymore. Things shifted for me, and I didn't know how to say it without hurting you."

He hesitated, then added, "Maybe this is all my fault. I should've been honest sooner. I should've communicated better, instead of letting you guess. I'm sorry, Cho. You didn't deserve that. Any of it."

His voice stayed steady, but there was guilt in his eyes. "I never meant to leave you with doubts."

He glanced at me.

Something in his expression softened, like he was seeing me all over again, not just as the person Cho had been comparing herself to, but as the girl standing there, still holding her breath through the aftermath.

My heart skipped.

Cho's eyes followed his, and I saw it, how it landed. How it confirmed everything she'd been afraid of.

She sniffled again, then ducked her head, wiping under her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Her voice was small, uneven.

"Sorry," she murmured, not quite meeting my gaze.

She stood and turned without waiting for a response, her shoulders tight as she walked back into the shop. Her friends looked up, watching her rejoin them like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just cracked open in front of us.

I stayed where I was, stunned by the weight of it all.

Then Cedric moved. Quiet, certain.

He reached out, took my hand in his, and held it like it meant something. Like he needed the contact too. His fingers laced through mine, warm and steady, and for a second, I just let myself breathe again.

"I'm proud of you," he said softly, barely above a whisper.

And I believed him.

I stayed there for a moment longer, hand still in his. The cold didn't feel quite as sharp with him standing close, steady as ever.

Then he gently tugged me forward.

"Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms.

I let myself fold into him, face pressed into the front of his coat. He held me like he meant it, one hand at the small of my back, the other smoothing up and down my spine in slow, even strokes.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I nodded against him, even if I wasn't sure. "Getting there."

We stood like that for a while, the tea shop's noise fading behind the glass, the cold wrapping around us but not sinking in.

Eventually, we started walking back toward the castle, boots crunching through the slush. Our hands found each other again without thinking.

I let out a breath and glanced up at him.

"Well," I said dryly. "That Hogsmeade trip was ruined."

He smirked, stopping mid-step, and reached into his coat pocket.

"Hold on," he said. "Got you something."

He pulled out a slightly crumpled paper bag and gave it a shake. "Fudge. From the tea room."

I blinked. "You bought me fudge in the middle of all that?"

"I had a feeling you'd need it," he said, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He reached in, pulled out a cube, and held it up between two fingers.

"Say ah."

I rolled my eyes, but leaned in.

He popped the piece into my mouth, eyes bright with that playful look he got when he was proud of himself for making me feel better.

I giggled, the fudge melting instantly on my tongue— warm, sweet, and stupidly perfect.

༻✦༺

The library was quieter after sundown. Most students were still in Hogsmeade or dragging their feet back from it, which left the corridors hushed and empty.

Cedric and I had claimed a table in the far back corner, half-hidden behind a crooked brass globe and a leaning stack of Divination books no one had touched in decades. We hadn't planned to stay long, but we'd sunk into the quiet. One small lamp glowed at our table, casting everything in soft gold. It lit the scattered pages between us, the curve of his knuckles, the lines of his face, warm and sharp all at once.

He was helping me study. Or trying to.

One of the perks of being a Triwizard champion was professors cutting you slack. The rest of us? No such luck.

Cedric sat across from me, scribbling something on my Arithmancy chart with neat, looping handwriting. He was left-handed. I hadn't realized that until tonight. He held his quill a little funny, crooked between his fingers like he was still figuring it out after all these years.

I was supposed to be reading.

I wasn't.

My textbook lay open in front of me, but the words had long since blurred into meaningless lines on the page. My eyes kept drifting, inevitably, shamelessly, to him.

Cedric sat across from me, bent slightly over my notes, brows drawn in concentration as he read. His quill moved steadily, the scratch of ink a soft, constant rhythm in the hush around us. He didn't seem to notice I'd stopped pretending.

I had my chin in my hand, elbow propped on the table, just watching him. The slope of his nose. The way his bottom lip curled slightly inward when he was thinking. How his hair kept slipping into his eyes, and how he never bothered to push it away, just leaned in closer to the parchment like the rest of the world didn't matter.

He looked calm here. Peaceful in a way that felt private, almost fragile. Like something only I got to see.

Not the boy on posters. Not the one whispered about in corridors or watched too closely in the Great Hall. Not Hogwarts' Golden Champion.

Just Cedric.

Mine.

He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, a small curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" he asked, voice low, teasing.

I blinked, tried to look innocent, but the grin was already tugging at my lips. "Nothing," I said, drawing it out. "You're just... really nice to look at."

He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, arms crossing over his chest like he was preparing to interrogate me.

"I knew it," he said, mock-offended. "You're using me for my looks."

I snorted. "Please. I've been using you for your notes too."

He gasped like I'd wounded him, hand pressed to his chest. "Unbelievable. Objectified and exploited. Is nothing sacred?"

His smile finally broke through as I tried not to laugh, my cheeks already too warm to hide it. I reached across the table for the parchment he'd just written on.

He grinned and held it just out of reach, arm raised casually like he was playing keep-away with my sanity.

"Cedric—"

I swatted at him, but he only leaned further back, smug and entirely too pleased with himself.

Then, without warning, he stood. Walked around the table in that slow, easy way of his. And dropped the parchment right in front of me.

Before I could say anything, he leaned down and pressed a kiss just behind my ear, light, warm, and maddeningly precise.

My breath stuttered. The air between us shifted.

He didn't move away.

He leaned in again, closer this time, and his voice dropped just enough to make my stomach tighten.

"You know," he murmured, "you're not helping my concentration either, looking like that."

And then he kissed me.

Not on the cheek. Not a tease. A real kiss, slow and warm and entirely consuming, like he had nowhere else to be but here, with me.

His mouth moved to the corner of mine, then lower, brushing the curve of my jaw.

I tried to exhale like a normal person. "Not everyone gets exam extensions, Diggory."

"Mmm," he hummed against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck.

Still kissing. Still completely uninterested in studying.

"Ced."

"Hm?" He sounded occupied, intentionally so.

His fingers brushed my thigh under the table, feather-light, almost teasing. I turned toward him, trying to glare, but it didn't quite land.

"You're distracting," I muttered.

"You're beautiful when you're flustered," he said, like it was just a fact.

I narrowed my eyes. He looked entirely unbothered.

"We could take a break," he offered, nudging his nose along the line of my jaw.

"I haven't even made much progress."

He tilted his head, lips just shy of my skin. "We can finish it later."

And the way he said it— low, certain, lazy with intent, made it very clear that studying was no longer the priority.

"I've got an idea," he said, voice low now— careful, like he didn't want to startle the moment. "Only if you want to. But... there's a place we could go. Warm. Quiet. Somewhere we can stop thinking so hard for a little while."

He paused, then added with a small smile, "Worth hitting pause for. Promise."

I looked at him, skeptical. Not because I didn't trust him— I did, completely, but because I still had homework waiting in front of me. Things to finish. Things to worry about. The responsible choice was to stay and study.

But then again... I was dying to spend time with him.

Curiosity tugged at me, quiet but persistent. And underneath it was something else, something gentler. I wanted him to breathe. To forget about the tournament for a minute. I knew how much the second task was eating at him, even if he didn't say it out loud. It showed in the way his hands fidgeted, in the tightness of his shoulders he kept trying to hide.

He must've seen it in my face, because he didn't push. Didn't explain or try to sweeten the offer. He just waited.

Then, gently, he kissed the corner of my mouth. Not rushed. Not trying to change my mind. Just reminding me he was there. Steady.

"Could help us both relax," he murmured.

I hesitated another beat.

Then slowly, I started closing my books.

He reached out without a word and started helping, gathering my parchment into a careful stack, slipping quills and folded notes into my bag with that quiet focus he always had when he was trying to make things easier for me. His hand brushed mine once, and something in me stilled at the touch. Not because it startled me, but because it felt purposeful. Gentle. Reassuring in a way nothing else had been all day.

I stood before he could say another word.

"Lead the way."

We moved fast and quiet through the castle, keeping to the edges, through narrow stairwells and winding back halls, places only someone who knew the building like a second home would think to use. Cedric didn't hesitate once. I followed without needing to ask where we were going.

A few portraits muttered as we passed. One winked.

Fifth floor.

We stopped in front of a tall statue, Boris the Bewildered, still looking very much bewildered, his top hat on backward, arms frozen mid-gesture like he'd just forgotten what he was doing.

Fourth door to the left.

Cedric didn't explain.

He just stepped forward, leaned in close, and whispered something to the thick oak door.

"Pine fresh."

It creaked open.

And I stepped into heaven.

The Prefect's Bathroom was marble from floor to ceiling, sleek and shining, the white and gold catching the light from a floating chandelier that swayed ever so slightly overhead. The glow was soft and amber-toned, reflecting off the polished surfaces like candlelight. Everything gleamed like it had been scrubbed by hand just minutes before. No dust. No trace of anyone else.

The centerpiece was impossible to miss: a massive sunken bath, wide enough to swim laps in, rimmed with hundreds of ornate, jeweled taps. They glittered like gemstones in the low light, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby, each one promising something strange and lovely if you dared to turn it.

Curtains hung from high, frosted windows, pulled just enough to let in the blue tint of moonlight. A soft mist drifted across the tiled floor, curling lazily in the warm air. The scent hit me next— vanilla, lavender, and something sweet I couldn't name. Like spun sugar or warm honey. Something meant to make you forget everything else.

Fluffy towels were stacked in neat piles, thick and inviting. Above them, a large stained window of a blonde mermaid snoozed in a shell-shaped chair. Her hair floated up and down as she snored, rising and falling like sea foam on a tide.

I took a few slow steps in, completely stunned.

"Merlin," I breathed.

Cedric grinned behind me. "Told you it was worth sneaking out for."

He set his bag down near the towels, and I caught a glint of gold inside, the egg. Its surface shimmered, catching the light in a quiet flash.

I knelt by the bath, curiosity pulling me in, and twisted a few taps at random. The pipes rumbled softly. Water poured in from three directions at once, one stream fizzed with pink and blue bubbles, another released violet steam that smelled like ripe plums, and a third spilled in thick golden foam, glittering and silky, like it had come straight from a dream.

I stared, then looked over my shoulder at him. "You're seriously allowed to use this?"

He shrugged, "Perks of the badge."

I shook my head and turned back to the bath, a smile already tugging at my lips. Everything felt lighter now. Warmer. Like the weight of the day had started slipping off the moment I stepped into this strange, hidden world.

Cedric handed me a towel, his fingers brushing mine. His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary— checking in, making sure I was still with him, still okay.

I was more than okay.

Then he started undressing.

Calm. Unrushed. Just a quiet rustle of fabric, the soft scrape of buckles and buttons undone with ease. His uniform fell away layer by layer.

Before I joined him, I dug through my bag and pulled out my Discman, tucked beneath books and parchment like a little secret. I flipped it open, slid in Cedric's CD, and hit play.

Music crackled through the tiny speakers. A sweeping overture, haunting and familiar. Opera House by Cigarettes After Sex. The intro bloomed through the steam, velvet-rich and echoing, as if the marble itself carried the sound.

Cedric glanced over, amused. "This one ours?"

His voice was soft, but his eyes were already hazy, already fixed on me, and said something else entirely.

I just smiled, slow and deliberate, feeling that flicker of power rise in my chest. 

He turned back to the bath and adjusted the taps again, testing the water with a sweep of his hand, making sure it was perfect for me. Water rippled golden, bubbles heaped like clouds, and a steady rise of vanilla-sweet mist curled over the surface like breath. It was nearly overflowing now— lush, glimmering, decadent.

His eyes then tracked me like I was gravity itself as I started to undress peeling off my clothes slowly, feeling the room's warmth curl around my skin as I did. The air buzzed softly, thick with steam and candlelight and the faint, sugary scent clinging to the mist.

Seductive, in control, sure of the way his gaze followed every move I made,I stood at the edge of the bath, completely bare now, skin flushed from the warmth in the air. 

One hand rested lightly on my hip, the other brushing back a damp strand of hair. I moved with intention, slow and fluid, stepping into the water like it was a stage and I knew exactly what I was doing to him.

The heat wrapped around my legs first, then higher, silken and golden. Bubbles lapped at my thighs. I sank deeper, every motion smooth, enticing, deliberate.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The look on his face, hungry, reverent, already wrecked, told me everything.

The heat sank into me instantly, wrapping around every inch of bare skin like silk. Like I was being held. I let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed as the tension in my body eased.

Behind me, Cedric moved, slow and sure, crossing to me through the water and wrapping his arms easily around my waist, pulling me back into him.

I melted.

It was hard not to. 

His chest was warm against my back, solid and steady, the heat of his skin seeping into mine. Water beaded along his collarbones, gliding down the lines of his body, catching the light as it traced muscle and bone. Every angle of him looked sculpted, deliberate, like the bath had been built to make him look this good. His arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer, and the movement alone made my breath catch.

His hands found my hips, fingers moving in slow, grounding circles, warm and firm, his thumbs brushing the curve of my waist with just enough pressure to make my breath catch. Every pass of his touch sparked heat that unfurled low in my belly, steady and sure, like he was drawing me back into myself, coaxing tension out of my spine with nothing but quiet reverence.

It wasn't just grounding, it was claiming, soothing and sinful all at once.

No rush. Just touch.

My head tipped back against his shoulder, and his mouth found my neck, just a brush at first, light enough to make me shiver. Then firmer. Slower. He took his time.

"Better than studying?" he murmured, lips grazing my skin between words.

I hummed, smiling despite myself. "Slightly."

He laughed— a low, soft sound that rumbled through his chest and settled into mine like a second heartbeat.

Then he turned me in his arms.

The water shifted with us, sloshing gently, bubbles clinging to our skin like silk. My knees bumped his beneath the surface. I moved without thinking, straddling him, drawn in by gravity or something stronger.

His hands slid to my hips again, fingers curling tight, anchoring me as he pulled me fully against him.

The kiss started slow.

Intentional.

Like he was memorizing the moment.

But it deepened almost instantly— greedy, consuming, the kind of kiss that stripped away the rest of the world. His mouth moved over mine like he'd been starving for it, each kiss laced with the kind of urgency that came from nights spent dreaming and days spent holding back. 

Yet beneath the hunger was a tenderness that made my chest ache, like he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words, needing me to feel it in the way his lips moved against mine, deliberate and careful, aching with all the things he'd been holding back too long.

My fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer.

The heat between us coiled tighter with every pass of lips, every breath we shared. His hips rolled beneath me, slow, deliberate, maddening in the best way.

I gasped softly against his mouth.

And he kissed me deeper. 

Like he was hungry for it. 

Like this was the only thing tethering him to reality. 

And I kissed him back with the same wild need— mouth hungry, fingers pulling at his locks, thighs squeezing tight around his waist when he ground up into me with a slow, sinuous roll of his hips.

He swallowed my moan, deep and breathless, then chased it with his tongue, brushing against mine with a slow stroke that sent sparks down my spine. I was dizzy with it already, drenched in heat, soaked in want.

Then lower, his lips dragged down my neck, tongue tasting salt and steam, teeth grazing the soft spot beneath my ear that made my whole body flinch.

"Fuck, you sound so good," he rasped, voice low and filthy against my collarbone as his mouth kept moving downward. He worshipped every inch of skin he passed, hot breath and open-mouthed kisses leaving wet trails that had me squirming under his touch.

He paused just enough to look at me, eyes dark with want, water dripping from his lashes. His hands slid to my thighs under the bubbles, thumbs drawing slow, teasing circles that made my pulse thunder.

"You okay?"

I nodded fast, breathless. "More than."

That smile, the one that always undid me, spread across his face. Sin incarnate.

He kissed down my chest next, reverent and greedy all at once, taking his time, dragging his tongue along my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan low against my breast.

Then his hand slid between us— no hesitation, just firm, practiced fingers finding where I was already throbbing for him. He circled once, twice, then pressed, slow and rhythmic. I choked out a sound, clutching at his shoulders.

"You're always like this for me," he muttered, mouth brushing back up toward mine. "Dripping. Needy. Fucking perfect."

I whimpered, biting my lip hard, as he found the exact pressure that made my thighs tremble.

"Tell me baby," he moaned. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped. "Yours, Ced. Always."

He made a sound, half-groan, half-growl, and lifted me like I weighed nothing. My back met the cool marble of the bath wall, water sloshing around us. One hand guided himself to my entrance, the other cradled my spine like something precious.

And then—

He pushed into me.

Slow. Deep. Stretching me wide, filling every inch until my breath caught and my fingers dug into his arms. He stayed there for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead resting against mine as we both fought to breathe.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You feel unreal. So tight around me. Like you were made for me."

I nodded, jaw slack, eyes fluttering. And then he started to move.

Measured at first. Smooth thrusts that rolled through me like slow waves— each one deeper, heavier, more deliberate than the last. His hips rocked against mine in a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. His mouth hovered near mine, catching every whimper, every curse I tried to swallow.

"That's it, baby," he murmured. "Take it. Just like that. Fuck, you're gripping me so good."

I arched into him, nails raking down his back. The water lapped against our skin, thick with the scent of sweat and steam and sex. Music still played faintly in the background, but all I could hear was the wet slap of his hips and the desperate sounds he dragged from me.

He angled his thrusts slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made me jerk and cry out.

"Right there?" he asked, breath hot against my lips. "You want more of that?"

"Yes! Yes, Cedric, please—"

He gave it to me.

Harder. Deeper. Each stroke driving me closer to that edge but never letting me tip. My thighs shook. My back scraped softly against the tile. His hand found my throat, just enough pressure to ground me, and he groaned at the way I clenched around him.

"You're so close, aren't you?" he murmured, voice low and full of awe. "I can feel it, how your body's trying so hard to hold on for me."

"I-I don't want to yet—"

"Then don't. Hold it for me. I've got you. I could stay buried in this perfect little pussy forever."

He slowed, just a fraction. Long, dragging thrusts that let me feel every inch of him. His hand slipped between us again, fingers finding that perfect rhythm, synced with every movement of his hips.

I was shaking, sobbing his name.

"You're doing so fucking good for me," he whispered, voice rough with need. "Taking me so deep. Look at you, baby. My good little girl. Fucking gorgeous. All mine."

The pressure built again— hotter, harder. I felt like I was unraveling, held together only by the way he moved, the filth he whispered, the way his mouth claimed mine between every breath.

"Fuck, you feel so good, so perfect around me," he groaned, thrusts deeper now, voice wrecked. "My perfect girl. Can't wait to feel you cum, to feel you milk every drop out of me. Gonna fill you up so good, make sure you know who you fucking belong to."

And I broke.

The orgasm tore through me like lightning, sharp and endless. My body convulsed around him, every muscle clenching as I screamed his name into the mist. Cedric held me through it, hips stuttering as he followed with a deep, strangled groan, spilling inside me with a full-body tremor.

We collapsed into each other, panting, water rocking around us in slow, lazy ripples. My legs were still wrapped around him. My fingers dug into his back like I hadn't realized I was holding on so tightly. Every nerve in my body felt rung out, trembling, soaked in heat and something heavier, something holy.

I couldn't move. Didn't want to.

He held me through it, arms banded around my waist, one hand splayed against the curve of my spine like he was anchoring me to this moment. To him. His chest rose and fell beneath mine in steady, shallow swells, the rhythm of his breath syncing with mine as the aftershocks ebbed away.

He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along my temple, down to the damp curve of my shoulder, then lower, his mouth brushing the hollow of my collarbone like he was still tasting me. Still claiming me.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "You're going to kill me."

I laughed, hoarse and breathless, the sound barely rising above the shifting water.

Then he kissed me again softly, lips brushing mine like a benediction.

The bubbles had started to fade, collapsing in clusters around us. Steam drifted above the surface like mist over a still lake, curling and catching in the dim candlelight. The chandelier above us swayed gently with the warmth, casting gold across his skin, turning the droplets on his chest into liquid fire.

I tucked my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, soap and sweat and something sweeter, something that felt like him alone. 

His hand moved slowly on my back, drawing soothing circles, grounding me even now. His other arm wrapped fully around my waist, holding me there like I belonged, like I was home.

His cheek pressed to the top of my head. A hum rumbled low in his chest, soft and content.

"Definitely better than studying," he murmured.

I giggled, the sound slipping free before I could stop it, muffled by the curve of his neck. My whole body felt weightless and heavy all at once, boneless, satisfied, wrapped in warmth that went deeper than the bath. I could've stayed there forever, skin against skin, his breath soft against my temple, the water cradling us like a lullaby.

And so we did.

Tangled and trembling. Wrapped around each other while the world outside the tiles and steam and candlelight fell away.

Eventually, I stirred. Not because I wanted to, but because I remembered why we were here in the first place. We'd come to take Cedric's mind off the egg, to give him a break from the weight of it all, but watching him now, submerged and searching, I felt a sudden urge to help. Maybe if I looked closer, really studied it, I'd see something he missed. Something we both had.

"You brought your egg, right?"

He hummed against my shoulder. Nodded.

I shifted slightly, dragging my fingers lazily through the water. "Can I see it?" I asked, soft but curious.

Cedric groaned, playful, dramatic, not bearing to be away from me for a minute. But he was already leaning in to kiss my temple, warm and quick, like he couldn't help himself.

Then he waded away from me through the slowly cooling water, and I watched him go— watched his muscles shift under the candlelight, droplets tracing the clean lines of his back and shoulders. 

When he reached the edge of the bath, he bent to his bag and retrieved the golden egg, cradling it carefully in both hands like something sacred.

Even now, it gleamed like treasure, round and ornate and pulsing faintly with magic, its seams glowing gold beneath the softened light.

He brought it back to the center of the bath.

Instead of opening it himself, Cedric handed me the egg.

Carefully.

Like it might bite.

I took it with both hands, surprised by its weight. It was smooth and cold against my palms, surprisingly dense for something so beautiful. I turned it slowly, inspecting every curve, every etched detail. Gold glinted under the candlelight. I squinted, trying to see if there was some kind of writing hidden along the seam, some tiny mark or rune that might explain what it held.

Cedric watched me from across the bath, arms resting on the edge, his gaze calm but attentive, curious, amused, a little wary.

Without thinking, my thumb brushed over the small, almost-invisible screw at the top.

And I turned it.

The egg cracked open with a click.

And instantly, it screamed.

The sound tore through the air like a curse— high and piercing and shrill, like a banshee let loose in a cathedral. I flinched violently, nearly dropping it right there. Cedric winced, jerking upright, hand half-lifting out of instinct.

Even the mermaid in the stained-glass window behind us clamped her hands over her ears, her face twisting in disgust.

Panicking, I let go.

The egg slipped from my fingers and vanished beneath the surface with a soft splash, sinking like a stone into the golden water. The moment it disappeared, the screeching stopped, cut off as if someone had slammed a door shut on the sound.

The silence that followed was deafening in its own way. We sat still, breath caught in our throats, both of us blinking, the echoes of the screech still ringing in our ears.

Then, faintly, from somewhere below, the water began to hum.

Not with the sharp, violent wail from before, but with something deeper. Lower. Sadder. A sound that shimmered beneath the surface like a secret waiting to be heard.

A melody.

It tugged at the edges of my awareness, strange and sweet and aching, as if the bath itself had shifted into a portal. I turned toward Cedric, wide-eyed. His gaze met mine at the same moment. We didn't speak, didn't have to. The realization passed between us in a heartbeat, silent and charged.

He inhaled, deep and calm, and then he slid beneath the water.

One fluid movement, shoulders rolling forward, arms slicing down. Focused. 

I didn't think. I just followed.

The moment I dipped beneath the surface, the world changed.

Sound warped around me, soft and strange, muffled like a dream. Cedric's body moved ahead of me, shimmering in the golden light that filtered through the bubbles. He was already at the bottom, crouched over the glowing egg, hair floating like silk around his face, his fingers braced against the marble floor.

And then I heard it.

Truly heard it.

The melody was no longer just a hum, it had taken shape. 

A song, woven from currents. 

It filled the water like light, glowing with a magic that wrapped around my limbs and spine and heart, sinking deeper with every note.

"Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, And while you're searching, ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss.

An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took, But past an hour, the prospect's black, Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

I stared, wide-eyed, the last notes still ringing in my bones. The water shimmered with the echo of the song, golden bubbles drifting upward like they too had heard something sacred.

Cedric burst through the surface with a gasp, water streaming down his face in rivulets, his chest rising and falling fast. His hair was slicked back, eyes bright with something wild, triumph and disbelief wrapped into one.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, panting, voice low and electric.

I nodded, stunned.

He blinked once, then his whole face lit up. It was like watching sunrise happen all at once. His smile spread quick and wide and completely unguarded.

Then he laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a polite little puff of air.

A full, loud, triumphant laugh that echoed off the marble like celebration.

And before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapped both arms around my waist, and lifted me out of the water. I let out a yelp, half squeal, half laughter, as he spun us in the center of the bath, droplets flying everywhere, bubbles sloshing over the edge in glittering heaps.

"Cedric!" I shrieked, holding tight to his shoulders, laughing so hard my sides hurt.

He kissed me, fast and breathless and smiling against my lips. Then again, slower this time. A kiss that said thank you. That said we did it. That said I can't believe I get to share this with you.

"I could kiss you forever," he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.

My smile softened, heartbeat still wild. "You just might get to."

And there it was again, that grin that broke through clouds. He looked at me like I was the whole reason the bath still glowed. Like the clues, the pressure, the looming second task, none of it could touch this. Not tonight.

Because right now, it was just us.

Wrapped in candlelight and steam, glowing water lapping at our skin, the echoes of an ancient song fading gently into silence.

The mystery had begun to unravel.

But in this moment, we weren't thinking about what came next.

We were just standing in the middle of it, laughing, soaked, kissed breathless and weightless.

And I knew, without question, I'd remember this night for the rest of my life.

♱ 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱

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