#veela reader

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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None of it made any sense to you, and as you found yourself in your daily private lessons with Professor Snape, your bitter guardian who was trying to teach you how to wield your powers, even though he himself was as far from a Veela as one could possibly be, you humoured yourself. The teacher you needed to understand yourself, you had realised, needed to be part Veela too. So then what was the point of all of this, despite Professor Snape`s accidental attempts at driving you mad?

Your sleep quality was completely crumbling during that week, where you desperately tried to keep your eyes shut all night, at the highest floor of Gryffindor tower. While unable to sleep you found yourself instead daydreaming of Fred, who was far away from you at his home. The Burrow. Wondering if his nights were just as restless as yours.

On the night which were gladly the last one before the rest of the students would return, you were caught in vivid nightmares. Perhaps that was why you crawled out of bed that night, without being conscious at all. You were not aware that all the while you were battling the past horrors you had experienced so far in life, you were hovering down the circular stairs from the girls dormitory down into the common room. Then out of the portrait hole, were the Fat Lady in the painting were shook awake from her drunken sleep just as you pushed her portrait past you,

“Execuse me young lady, where on earth do you think you are going at this hour?” she yelled from behind you as you already made yourself down the moving stairs without hearing a single thing.

“How rude.”

You were just floating through the halls of the castle, just like any other ghost that swarmed the halls out of boredom at nights. Still lost faraway in your bad dreams.

Eventually you slid by something that was neither a ghost or a sleeping portrait, but a student who had snuck out this late by his own accord and awareness. As you floated through the air past him, with the fabric of your white nightgown moving in the air as if you were underwater, there was a moment he might have mistaken you for a ghost too. That was, until the pale Slytherin boy recognized you. Before you floated away, he quickly grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you down towards the ground.

“Y/ln?” he asked, lightly trying to shake you awake while keeping you from drifting off into the air. “Wait.. are you sleepwalking? Sleep..Floating?” Draco Malfoy was perplexed, an unusual experience for himself. So he did the only thing he could think off, after having briefly considered to let you float away. It was not his problem Afterall. You weren`t friends, you weren`t even in the same house. Yet instead of going the easy route, he dragged you along, down the dark hallways towards Professor Snape`s office.

It was a struggle, as if you in your unconscious sleep were dead set on going in the opposite direction to god knows where, yet he held onto your wrist greatly determined, dragging you in the air behind him like a human shaped kite.

Eventually he reached the door to Professor Snape`s office, knocked twice and waited impatiently for an answer which never came. So, he stood there for a while, waiting with you floating in the air behind. It must`ve surely looked rather silly.

“Professor Snape? Hello?” He called one final time, before he tried the door handle which was unsurprisingly locked. Then he gave up and dragged you along, unsure what to do. How to get rid of you when you were so inconveniently vulnerable floating about like some angel. Eventually he had taken you along to the grand marble staircase, after figuring out the best he could do was to follow you back to Gryffindor tower. With hundreds of portraits snore`s echoing through the whole place, it was rather odd how you did not awaken.

As you both reached the landing where the Portrait of the Fat Lady was situated, Draco first had to complete the near impossible task of making her wake up again. When in fact she was only pretending too, still offended that you had awakened and then ignored her earlier. He briefly considered finding some rope and just tie you to the railing by the stairs like some abandoned helium balloon before he tried awakening the Fat lady yet again.

“Pasword?” she demanded proudly, hardly even looking at him.

“Will you let her in? I can`t stand here all night” he sneered annoyed, if anything this was definitely not how he had expected his night to turn out.

The Fat Lady could not help her curiosity and opened one eyelid to take a peek at you,

“Please, she`s sleepwalking… err.. Sleep-floating”

The Fat Lady sighed, “Alright then… password?” she demanded, with a haughty look not hiding her disdain for the Slytherin standing in front of her. Draco Malfoy almost turned red with rage, while clenching his other fist he almost let you go before dragging you down to the ground again.

“I don`t know what it is and I don`t care, just let her inn she`s a Gryffindor for Merlin`s sake!” Draco yelled while fuming.

The Fat Lady rolled her eyes, “No Exceptions young man, don`t think for a moment I don`t know what you`re up to”

Draco Malfoy really had to take a deep breath, he had never encountered such disrespect from a mere wizard Portrait before.

“Bloody hell just let her in you stupid cow!” he yelled, “Or i`ll just let her float away to wherever shall I?”

The Fat Lady finally gave inn, unable to hide her satisfaction over the trouble she had caused him. She finally creaked open, and Draco hesitated for a moment before stepping in on forbidden Gryffindor grounds.

Inside he tried to shake you awake again to no avail, sighing as he slumped down into the couch in front of the fireplace, you by his side. He had never before seen the inside of Gryffindor`s common room, or any other House except Slyhterin`s for that matter. He would`ve hated to admit it, but it seemed rather cosy. While he turned his head to have a look around the room, you suddenly awakened, stumbling as if you had fallen right back into your body. From the little height you had while levitating above the couch, you fell right down which startled him as well. After a full moment of confusion, not realizing where you were at first or even how you got there, you discovered Draco Malfoy sitting there by your side. Who was, likely the last person you would expect to casually sit by your side.

You immediately shrieked panicky,

“What on earth are you doing here? Get of me creep!” as you jumped out of the couch wielding an accusatory finger at him, as if he were a literal bug who had found itself near you. This pissed him off further, after all the trouble he had gone through to safely get back.

“How dare you!” he said, just as startled as you. “I could`ve just let you float away out there, you should thank me!” he continued haughtily.

“I should thank you!?” you repeated astounded and completely flabbergasted.

“You were sleepwalk-floating out there, did you just want me to tie you up like a balloon and leave you there?” he yelled back, offended by how much offense you had taken on his unusual helpfulness.

“A balloon!?” you took great offence yet again, until you could see just how bewildered and recoiling he became by your accusatory glare. He seemed to be desperate to retreat from Gryffindor`s common room Afterall, it could not be any clearer.

“Alright then, thank you” you quietly mumbled while you gave in, as you really just wanted to go back to your four-poster bed and forget about it all.

He looked slightly mortified on his way to retreat from the common room, before he turned around just before pushing the portrait aside, with a surprisingly worried look on his face.

“You better not go mention any about this to anyone, alright?” he said, slightly more bashful as he was calming himself down.

You nodded,

“I wouldn’t dream of it”

The next day you were glad to push the night as far away from your memory as you possibly could. Because as all the other students of Hogwarts returned after their two week long Easter holiday, so would Fred. All morning to afternoon you could hardly wait, bubbling inside despite your severe lack of satisfactory sleep. You were determined to not give Draco Malfoy another thought, as you got ready to look your very best for Fred when he arrived with the rest later in the day. Despite it only having been a week since you were with him, it had felt dreadfully long to be all by yourself.

When the darkness fell you were already waiting in the partially empty Great Hall. The tables were magically decked for the welcoming feast, and you got lost staring up at the starry skies above you in the roof. You told yourself it would not be long now, as you twirled a silver lock of hair in between your finger while being very careful to not even cast a glimpse across the hall to the Slytherin table. You could be sure he was looking at you, that Draco Malfoy.

Finally, the students came rushing into the hall enthusiastically, your heart was pounding in expectation. You dared not even look to towards the entrance, in case the whole lot of students would see you blush. You accidentaly caught a glimpse across the room where Draco seemed lost in thought, resting his head on his hand tiredly after a long night.

You were startled as Hermione suddenly appeared, hugging you tightly before sitting down next to you. She was happily chattering about her very muggle sort of Easter. Then Harry, Ron and Ginny arrived too, your expectations growing in the bottom of your stomach. You bit your lip as you tried your very best not to smile too brightly yet, you could easily get shy like that. Showing off big emotions in front of everyone. However, you felt a cold gush of wind move past you as Fred and George arrived.

You were thinking he was joking, Afterall he loved making any entrance eventful. Yet as he walked briskly past where you and the others were sitting, you reaching out your hand towards his just as it came out of reach, you realised something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

The feeling washed upon you completely unprepared, he did not even look at you. Him and George walked up way into the room before sitting down with the older Gryffindors. Never even looking your way, none of them did. It was cold, completely cold. And as you sat there, shivering you could not bear yourself to look up at the others. But if you did, you would`ve seen the bashful and guilty looking face of Harry Potter right across from you.

No, you could not bear it. Could not believe it. Before Hermione could say anything you rushed out of the great hall, tears in your eyes as your feet hardly ever touched the ground beneath you. Away from every curious prying eye that looked your way, you never liked to come of as dramatic but then again what could you possibly do?

You flew up the great marble stairs, giving the Fat Lady in the portrat a rather deadly stare before you sputtered out the password, hiccuping.

“Balderash” before you slipped right inside in a hurry. Then up all the stairs of the girls dormitory, right up to the top where once you got inside, you threw yourself onto your bed where you wept.

Part.9

✩ chapter one: summer in america ✩

✩ chapter two: the burrow✩

✩ chapter three: lunchtime with the diggorys ✩

✩ chapter four: the portkey ✩

✩ chapter five: the quidditch world cup ✩

✩ chapter six: return to hogwarts ✩

✩ chapter seven: the triwizard tournament ✩

✩ chapter eight: the goblet of fire ✩

✩ chapter nine: the champions ✩

✩ chapter ten: fleur delacour ✩

✩ chapter eleven: dragons ✩

✩ chapter twelve: the first task ✩

✩ chapter thirteen: champagne lips ✩

✩ chapter fourteen: S.P.E.W ✩

✩ chapter fifteen: scavenger hunt ✩

✩ chapter sixteen: the yule ball ✩

✩ chapter seventeen: you feel like heaven ✩

✩ chapter eighteen: winter break 94' ✩

✩ chapter nineteen: prefect's bathroom ✩

✩ chapter one: dumbledore's visit ✩

✩ chapter two: the leaky cauldron ✩

✩ chapter three: harry, hermione and the weasleys ✩

✩ chapter four: the boy who lived ✩

✩ chapter five: the new student ✩

✩ chapter six: first day ✩

✩ chapter seven: cedric diggory ✩

✩ chapter eight: halloween ✩

✩ chapter nine: quidditch match ✩

✩ chapter ten: hogsmeade ✩

✩ chapter eleven: the firebolt ✩

✩ chapter twelve: buckbeak's trial ✩

✩ chapter thirteen: pure-blooded ✩

✩ chapter fourteen: sirius black ✩

✩ chapter fifteen: the aftermath ✩

✩ chapter sixteen: goodbyes ✩

My arms stayed looped around his neck as he swayed me from side to side, and I clung to his shoulders when he dipped me low, both of us breathless with laughter, dizzy with joy.

As we twirled, folding in and out of each other’s arms, the world around us blurred— just streaks of color and light, until I caught sight of Cho and Harry a few feet away. They looked relaxed, talking close, smiling like they’d known each other forever.

It made something soft stir in my chest, seeing them comfortable. 

When I looked back at Cedric, he was already watching me, grinning like he’d been waiting for me to notice. That soft, knowing smile made my stomach flip. He’d seen it too. Cho and Harry. And not a single flicker of resentment crossed his face.

He looked happy.

At ease in a way that made my heart bloom.

There was no tension, no flicker of jealousy, not even a trace of bitterness.

He wasn’t carrying old feelings. He wasn’t looking back.

There were no games. No second guessing.

Just the kind of steady love that made trust feel easy. Like I could fall into it with my whole heart.

And I already had.

Falling in love is a terrifying thing. It means letting your guard down, allowing someone to see all of you, and hoping they won't take that for granted. It's where you're most exposed. And even though this was my first time being in love, there was no hesitation in giving myself fully to Cedric.

His attention wasn't wavering, and neither was mine. I could continue to allow myself to grow accustomed to his warm, sweet breath, his strong, steady arms embracing me, and his touch that ignited a fire in my entire being. And somehow, I knew that this would be forever.

We fit so naturally. Our senses of humor aligned, and he cared so deeply about the things that mattered to me. Being with him was effortless, like every part of me was seen and understood. I couldn't imagine ever growing bored of him.

I swayed my hips with him as I sighed, unable to believe my luck in finding who I was so sure was my other half.

Then, in a brilliant surprise, The Weird Sisters returned to the stage for an encore, and the crowd erupted into cheers and screams. The energy shifted— brighter, looser, drunk on the high of the night.

As the noise faded into excited murmurs, the lead singer leaned into the mic with a sly grin.

“This one’s going out to all the lovers out there. Hold each other tight, and keep each other warm.”

Before I could even react, Cedric had already pulled me close. His arms wrapped around me like it was second nature, like his body already knew where mine belonged. My heart somersaulted in my chest as I melted into him, my hands finding their place over his heart.

The music shifted into something slower, softer— something that pulled couples together and made the rest of the world fall away.

The crowd around us paired off into couples, the Triwizard Champions among them, all of us slowly swaying to the softness of the ballad.

“Did I mention to you already how fucking happy I am to be here with you?” Cedric asked, his voice sincere.

My eyebrows lifted slightly at the swear, it wasn’t something he did often, but the rawness of it made my heart flutter.

“No, but I know it,” I said, smiling. “I am, too. Tonight might’ve been the best night of my life.”

“The night’s not over yet, angel,” he murmured, and I watched a blush creep across his cheeks.

I thought back to what he’d said the night before, his quiet suggestion, the way it lingered between us even now. I felt a flicker of nerves, but it wasn’t doubt. I knew exactly what I wanted.

“No, it’s not,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and certain.

My arms looped around his neck as we moved in time with the music, our temples resting together, breathing the same air.

The room felt like it had quieted around us. No whispers, no curious glances, and the lack of attention made the moment feel even more intimate.

Like this moment was meant to be just ours.

There were a few exceptions, of course. One of them being the pair of icy blue eyes a few feet away.

I was surprised to see Draco dancing with Pansy. She looked blissful, her cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed with a soft, dreamy smile on her lips. But he couldn’t have looked more uninterested.

He scanned the Hall with visible boredom until his gaze landed on Cedric and me again. And when it did, it stayed, sharpening with something unreadable.

Still, I didn’t give him more than a glance. My focus completely on my Golden Boy, who was looking at me like I was the only thing he saw— his expression open and full of quiet adoration. It made my chest ache in the best way.

We stayed like that through the last few ballads, swaying slowly, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world had fallen away.

He sang every lyric to me like it meant something, like each word came from somewhere deeper, and with every line, I felt myself sink further into him.

Around us, couples began disappearing— slipping away for some privacy or heading up to get ready for the after-party in the Room of Requirement once they’d had their fill of romantic tunes.

But we stayed.

Cedric and I were among the last still dancing, holding tight to the final notes, clinging to the moment before it faded into memory.

When the last song came to a close, a bittersweet hush swept through the Hall. 

For a few seconds, no one moved, then soft applause rippled through the small crowd, all of us thanking Professor Flitwick for his beautiful lineup of love songs. 

One by one, we drifted out into the Entrance Hall, doing whatever we could to stretch the evening just a little longer.

Couples lingered, hand in hand, murmuring slow, reluctant goodnights. No one seemed eager to be the first to let the magic end.

I caught sight of Hermione and Krum sitting on the stairs, whispering excitedly to each other, and couldn't help but grin. It was nice to see that Ron didn't manage to spoil their evening.

“Fancy a smoke in the garden?” Cedric asked, his voice low, warm.

I nodded, slipping my hand into his. Together, we stepped out through the open front doors and into the night air, finally getting the chance to admire the grounds we hadn’t yet explored.

The rose garden shimmered under a canopy of fluttering fairy lights, each one twinkling like it was in on the night’s secret. We moved down the steps, the air crisp against our skin, and followed the path lined with thick rosebushes and looming stone statues. Somewhere nearby, a fountain babbled gently, the sound echoing through the stillness.

Here and there, other couples sat tucked together on carved benches, lost in their own little worlds.

Without saying a word, Cedric shrugged off his dress robe and draped it over my shoulders, shielding me from the bite of the crisp December air. Then, hand still in mine, he led us down one of the garden’s winding paths, fishing in his pocket for his cigarette case and lighter.

I watched him in quiet awe as he moved through the familiar routine. Cigarette balanced between his lips, head tipped low to shield the flame from the wind. He lit it, inhaled slow, then leaned his head back, exhaling a long, steady ribbon of smoke into the cold night air.

When he looked down again, he caught me staring—swooning, really—like one of those lovesick fangirls in the corridors who would eye me enviously.

“What?” he grinned, flashing me his pearly whites.

“Nothing. You’re just disgustingly hot,” I said, stealing the cigarette from his fingers and taking a puff myself.

Cedric was about to respond when voices floated over from one of the nearby rosebushes.

Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies stood half-hidden among the petals, completely entangled in a heated makeout session.

Cedric let out a bewildered laugh, which I quickly smothered with a sharp shush, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the fountain at the center of the garden. I barely held back my own laughter until we were safely out of earshot.

As soon as we rounded the corner, we burst into giggles, our laughter rising into the cold night air as we tried to recover from the shock of catching Fleur and Roger mid-snog.

A cluster of multicolored fairies lifted into the air as we passed, their glow casting soft light across Cedric’s face, highlighting every angle, every detail, like he was something holy.

In the moonlight, he didn’t even look real.

He looked like a Greek God carved from silver.

My own personal Adonis, hands firm on my hips like he never wanted to let go.

“Your face was crafted by the heavens,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, his voice full of something that made my breath catch.

And in that moment, I’d never felt more beautiful in my entire life.

Looking into Cedric’s eyes felt like falling into forever.

Time didn’t tick or pass, it simply paused.

Wrapped around us like something quiet. Something pure.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I was frozen in the softness of it all, in the overwhelming realization that I was looking at the man I was completely in love with.

And I had never been more certain of anything.

“(Y/N), I’m completely and utterly in love with you,” Cedric professed.

I surprised us both by giggling.

Joy bubbled up inside me, too big to contain, tears stinging my eyes and threatening to spill over from the weight of it.

He looked at me with that signature furrow of his brows— confused, but grinning, his whole face lit with something tender and bright.

I swiped at my cheeks, missing one that he caught with the pad of his thumb, brushing it away so gently it made my heart ache.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he said quietly. “I know it can take some time—”

But I was already shaking my head, already blinking back more tears.

“No, I just... I love you, too. I’m in love with you, too.”

His face lit up  with so much pride, so much stunned joy, I thought he might cry right there with me.

It was the look I’d imagined he’d wear if he won the Tournament.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “But it hit me during the opening dance. I just didn’t know if you felt the same—”

I didn’t even get to finish.

His hands were soon cradling my face, and then his mouth was on mine.

He kissed me softly. Carefully.

But it wasn’t gentleness I wanted—not now.

Not after everything.

Not after all the build-up. All the longing.

I curled my fists in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer with wordless urgency until there was no space left between us.

He groaned, low and primal, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as his arms wrapped around me, lifting me with effortless strength until my legs locked around his waist.

We were exquisitely tangled— and this time, he kissed me like he meant it.

Like he couldn’t stand another second of not doing so.

My thoughts scattered.

Nothing existed beyond the electric slide of his mouth on mine, the delicious scrape of his teeth catching my bottom lip, biting down just enough to pull a helpless sound from the back of my throat.

That sound unhinged something in him.

His grip on me tightened, fingers digging into my thighs with desperate greed, like he couldn’t help himself anymore. Like he didn’t want to.

Then his mouth found my neck.

His lips blazed a trail across my skin, his tongue stroking over the heat of it, and I gasped— arching into him as cold air flooded my lungs, my body writhing under his touch.

My eyes fluttered open for a moment, just long enough to catch the endless sprawl of stars above us, the world reduced to a hush of rustling leaves and glittering fairy lights.

It was dizzying.

He was dizzying.

Cedric was something I could so easily lose myself in.

The sweetest kind of intoxication.

But reality pulled at me through the haze, just enough to remind me we were still outside, exposed, and very much at risk of being interrupted.

He felt it too. The way I stilled in his arms, the subtle shift in my breath.

Gently, he lowered me back to the ground, his hands steady at my waist as I caught my balance.

We both took a moment, eyes scanning the garden around us.

It looked empty. Still. Like we were the only two people left in the world.

But we knew better.

Someone was bound to come by eventually.

"Do you... do you want to go back to my dorm room?" Cedric asked, breathless, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to betray how badly he hoped I'd say yes.

"Yeah, let's go." I grinned, not even pretending to hesitate.

Just like that, we were off, hand-in-hand, heading toward the Hufflepuff dungeons.

When we reached the Entrance Hall, it was completely deserted.

Only the sound of our quick footsteps echoed off the marble floors— until the tower bell above us rang out, loud and thunderous, marking the new hour.

One in the morning.

I yelped, startled by the sudden clang in the stillness, and Cedric laughed, wrapping his arms around me on instinct, shielding me playfully as we descended the staircase.

Down in the lower levels of the castle, everything shifted.

Dozens of students from both Hufflepuff and Slytherin lingered about— already hyped for the after-party everyone had been whispering about all night.

“Diggory! You coming or what?” one of his Quidditch teammates called out, smirking.

Cedric barely turned. “Um, maybe in a bit,” he replied coolly, giving them a nod and the briefest smile before tugging me deeper down the corridor, away from the noise, away from everyone.

I heard snickering behind us, and with the urgency in our steps and the flushed look on both our faces, it didn’t take much to figure out what we were up to.

But I didn’t care.

Whatever trace of embarrassment might’ve flickered there was drowned out by the simple, overwhelming need to be alone with him.

If anything, I was frustrated— at the hallway, at the constant chatter, at how long it was taking to get to anywhere private. My whole body ached for him.

Students continued calling out to Cedric, wanting a glimpse, a word, a moment with one of the Triwizard Champions who were the moguls of the night, but he barely offered anything back. Just tight-lipped smiles as he steered us past them without breaking stride.

Eventually, he led me to a cluster of large barrels, stacked haphazardly along the wall. I hovered behind him, watching with curiosity as he crouched and tapped out a rhythm on the middle barrel in the second row.

Immediately, a hidden door opened beside us, revealing a tunnel sloping downward into the unknown.

"And we just get a lousy, weekly password," I muttered under my breath.

Cedric chuckled, stepping aside to hold the passage open for me.

I followed him in, the earthy scent of the tunnel giving way to warmth and woodsmoke as we entered the Hufflepuff Common Room— a cozy, high-ceilinged space that looked like it had been pulled straight from a storybook.

The room opened up around me, spacious but inviting, bathed in honeyed wood tones and soft golden light. Round doors curved into the walls, leading off to the boys' and girls' dormitories. The tables gleamed with polish, and the familiar, comforting scent of soil and fresh greenery clung to the air like a memory.

But what struck me most were the plants.

They were everywhere.

Potted cacti stood like sentinels on narrow shelves. Lush ferns spilled from copper-bottomed holders hung from the ceiling, their long tendrils curling like green smoke. For a moment, it felt less like a common room and more like a corner of the Hogwarts Greenhouses.

While I took it all in, Cedric rifled through his pockets until his fingers closed around a small brass key. He walked over to a carved wooden door tucked just beside the entryway, slid the key into the lock, and turned it. The soft click echoed louder than it should’ve in the hush between us.

The door creaked open.

He turned back to me, bathed in lamplight, eyes glowing with something quiet and certain.

That smile— playful and devastating, tugged at his lips, the same one that always made my chest tighten.

I lingered on it for a moment, breath caught in my throat.

Then I stepped past him, quiet smile on my lips, and crossed the threshold into his room.

It was warm and soft and familiar.

The room bore a cozy familiarity, quilted bedding and layered rugs like my own dorm, though here they were stitched with rich gold and black, Hufflepuff pride woven into every thread.

By the window, surrounded by yet more greenery, stood a desk in gentle disarray— books stacked, parchment half-filled, ink pots open like they’d just been used. It reminded me of his room back home. A quiet reflection of the boy I knew behind the champion title.

And there, tucked against the wall, stood a four-poster bed like mine... except his stood alone.

One bed.

“No dormmates?” I asked, voice quieter now, my eyes flicking from the bed to Cedric as he shut the door behind us and turned the key again with that same steady, deliberate care.

He cleared his throat. “No, erm... House Boy and House Girl get their own room.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer. One hand lifted to brush my hair aside, exposing the curve of my shoulder. His fingers were warm and featherlight, tracing my skin like he’d dreamed of this moment for longer than he’d ever admit.

“Lucky us,” I whispered, turning to face him fully, my pulse a steady drum beneath my ribs.

The low lamplight cast him in gold and shadow.

His skin was flushed. His eyes, dark and blown wide.

And his lips, still swollen from the garden, were parted, waiting.

He looked at me like he needed this.

Like he’d burn if he didn’t touch me.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. Then lower.

Lingering. Devouring.

My breath hitched.

The air between us so thick with desire, it felt like I could drown.

I let out a quiet, trembling sigh as he raised a knuckle to my cheekbone, barely grazing it. The gentleness of it was ruinous.

My eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the heat of him.

Cedric hesitated, just a heartbeat.

Then I looked up, and whatever he saw in my eyes snapped the last thread of his restraint.

He surged forward, and his mouth crashed into mine in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the air from my lungs.

His hands slid to either side of my face, gripping gently but firmly— grounding me, steadying me, while everything else dissolved around us.

There was nothing else.

It was just him now.

His mouth. His breath. The desperate, unrelenting way he craved me.

Nothing had ever felt more right.

We exhaled into each other— one breath, shared between two hungry mouths. The tension between us unraveled, thread by thread, replaced with something hotter. Something electric.

I wanted more.

Our tongues swirled, a heady mix of his slow seduction and my fevered need. I reached up and slid my dress robes off my shoulders, letting them fall in a soft heap to the floor, leaving only the delicate fabric of my gown clinging to me.

His hands followed instinctively, brushing over my neck, skimming the swell of my breasts. But then he stopped, his fingers stalling like he didn’t want to go further without knowing I was sure.

I leaned into him, pressing my chest against his. The heat of his body bled into mine.

And that look on his face— Gods.

His eyes lit up like a boy unwrapping the one gift he never thought he’d get.

He looked down at me like I was something sacred.

And the moment he knew I wanted this too, something in him shifted.

His hands moved— no longer hesitant, but hungry. They slid up to cup my chest, giving a slow, purposeful squeeze that pulled a shaky breath from my lips. The awe in his expression darkened into something deeper. 

Hungrier.

Possessive. 

I breathed, legs weakening, nerves sparking like live wires. I reached for him, greedily touching over the fabric of his clothes, desperate to feel more. My palms slid across his chest— firm, warm, all toned muscle wrapped in cotton.

He seemed to revel in it, his restraint thinning with every pass of my hands.

With trembling fingers, I worked open the buttons of his shirt, peeling it from his shoulders with a quiet rustle. Then I tugged at the white tank beneath, dragging it up over his head. It caught for a second, and he laughed softly, wriggling out of it.

I giggled too, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. Something about the moment— his easy confidence, that playful little grin, so unmistakably him— soothed the nerves fluttering in my chest.

And then the shirt was gone, and he was standing in front of me in nothing but his dress pants.

 Flushed. Beautiful. Real

He looked like the sculpture of David come to life— athletic, striking, his tousled hair falling perfectly out of place.

I reached out, my fingertips tracing along the defined lines of his torso, slow and reverent. He was lean and strong, built with that quiet kind of grace that didn’t beg to be noticed but demanded it anyway.

“You’re so hot,” I murmured, the awe in my voice shameless.

A smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before I could say another word, his hand slid behind my neck, drawing me in. He dipped his head, his lips pressing warm, open kisses down my collarbone, each one branding heat into my skin.

My mouth parted as I melted into him, every kiss stealing the breath from my lungs. His fingers found the buttons of my dress and began undoing them unhurriedly. Savoring the moment.

And then, with a soft exhale, he unhurriedly slipped the straps from my shoulders. 

With the same mannerism as if he were unwrapping something precious.

The dress fell in a hush to the floor, pooling at my feet, leaving me in the silk lingerie I’d picked just for tonight. White. Laced. Barely there.

“Fuck,” Cedric breathed. The word slipped out of him like he didn’t even mean to say it. Like he couldn’t help it.

His eyes drank me in— stunned and starving.

The white bustier hugging my chest, the matching lace low on my hips like a secret meant only for him.

His gaze alone lit something inside me. Hot. Raw. Drenched in desire.

But it also gave me power.

A surprising confidence surged through me. I didn’t feel nervous. I felt wanted. Worshipped. Entirely his.

I stepped closer, slow and sure, guiding his hand to the lace at my hip— the fabric meant to tempt, to be undone.

“I wore it for you,” I whispered, voice low, steady, a smile curling at my lips. “So you could take it off.”

His breath hitched— sharp, almost pained— and for a beat, he just stared, like I’d knocked the world off its axis. His hand tightened at my waist, thumb stroking the lace like he needed to confirm it was real.

Then he moved.

He closed the space between us, hips pressing to mine, the friction sweet and sinful. It dragged a moan from deep in my throat, my nipples hard beneath the lace, nerves igniting everywhere. I arched into him, gasping, pleading silently for more.

Then, finally, his fingers found the clasp of my bra and with a practiced flick, the lace slipped away.

His hands were there in an instant— warm and sure— cupping my tits with a reverence that turned hungry in seconds. I gasped,  the contact sent a tremor through my entire body, my mouth falling open in a breathless cry.

And then he put his mouth on me.

He took one nipple between his lips, sucking gently, his tongue swirling with such tender precision it made me whimper. My hips jerked instinctively, desperate and restless beneath him, and my fingers dove into his hair, holding him to me like I couldn’t bear to let go.

He licked and sucked, murmuring soft, broken praise against my skin like he couldn’t believe I was his.

“Fucking hell, you’re perfection,” he groaned against my chest, voice wrecked and breathless, teeth grazing the bud before biting just enough to make me cry out.

His hands moved lower, slow and steady, sliding down my waist to grip the softness of my hips. He lifted me effortlessly, and I wrapped my legs around him without thought, like my body already knew what to do.

We kissed like it was the only thing keeping us alive, falling into a rhythm that made my head spin. One of his hands cupped beneath me, steadying the curve of my spine as he carried us to the bed, his steps slow, confident, measured.

Then he laid me down gently, like I was something precious to be placed, not dropped. My head sank into the plush give of his pillow, and in the next breath, he was over me again, half-naked and burning.

He dipped down without hesitation, picking up right where he left off, tracing a path of kisses over my chest, worshipping every inch of exposed skin with lips that knew exactly what they were doing. When his mouth found my nipple again, I gasped, arching into him. I couldn’t keep still, my hips rolling up into him, desperate for friction.

And then I felt it— the hard press of him through his trousers, nestled perfectly against the slick heat of me.

We both moaned at the contact. The sound tangled between us, raw and shared. His head dropped into the crook of my neck, and we rocked together, instinctive and helpless, letting the sensation take us over.

When he lifted his head again, I couldn’t look away. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the storm-gray I knew so well. His chestnut hair was a mess— soft, wild, marked by my fingers.

And right then, he looked like everything I’d ever wanted.

He looked fucking beautiful.

My chest rose and fell as I leaned up to kiss him— deep, slow, full of intent. I dragged my teeth along his bottom lip, savoring the way he shivered, before sinking back into the mattress, laid out and open, giving him everything.

Cedric groaned, low and guttural. His hands moved with urgency, sliding beneath me to grip the curve of my ass, fingers digging in as he pulled me against him. His hips ground down harder, rolling in slow, devastating circles that had me gasping, spine arching with each wave of friction.

“Every night,” he rasped, lips brushing my cheek, voice rough and trembling with restraint, “every single night before I’d fall asleep... until my skin burned and my body ached— I thought of you. Just like this.”

A sound broke from me, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and my hands moved down, fumbling with his belt, desperate now.

I undid the buckle, the clink of it sharp in the quiet, then worked at the button beneath. I’d never wanted anyone like this. Not in my entire life.

But before I could free him, he caught my hands in his, his fingers curling around mine like he couldn’t bear to give up control.

“Not yet, darling,” he murmured lowly like velvet dragged across heat. “I need to taste you.”

A gasp tore from my lips as slick heat bloomed between my legs. The words sent a shock of arousal straight through me, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. 

I was soaked. Absolutely aching.

He pinned my wrists gently to the mattress, pressing them down like even touching him might shatter the fragile hold he had on control.

Then he kissed me again, hard and fast, before pulling away— beginning his descent with a hunger that bordered on reverent.

He moved lower, lips dragging fire across every curve he passed, taking his time.

His hands followed in tandem, gliding over my ribs, my waist, my hips, like he was learning me by heart.

He kissed down my stomach in warm, open-mouthed devotion, leaving my skin tingling.

And when he glanced up, I caught it— that flicker of restraint beneath the hunger, the silent question hovering in his eyes as he reached the edge of my panties and paused.

“Can I take these off, princess?” he murmured, fingers ghosting along the waistband.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over the silk, then teasing the fabric with his teeth, just enough to make my hips twitch.

A moan escaped me, sharp and breathless.

“Can I?” he asked again, softer this time, his hands steady on my thighs, thumbs stroking soft, soothing circles.

“Please,” I whispered, barely audible.

And he didn’t hesitate.

He sat up, hooked his fingers under the band, and slid them down... slow. Inch by inch. His mouth followed the path, leaving kisses in their wake.

I lifted my hips to help, needing to be bare for him.

With a lazy flick, he tossed the panties over his shoulder. I flinched slightly as the cool air kissed the slick heat between my thighs.

My legs twitched, starting to close, but Cedric gently coaxed them open again.

His hands skimmed up my legs, from ankles to knees, then knees to thighs, until they resettled, firm but careful.

His eyes locked on mine, and his voice dropped to a murmur.

“It’ll feel good,” he promised, warm and sure. “I promise.”

Then he leaned in and kissed the inside of my thigh.

Soft. Slow. Maddening.

Another kiss.

Then another.

Each one hotter. Closer. More devastating than the last.

My skin burned under his mouth. My body arched helplessly off the bed as anticipation coiled tight in my core, so tight I thought I might break.

“Cedric,” I whimpered, voice high and trembling.

“Yes, my love?” he murmured with a knowing smirk, lips ghosting just shy of where I needed them most. His breath fanned against my heat, and I nearly cried from how close he was.

His eyes sparkled with a quiet challenge. He wanted to hear it. He wanted me to say it.

“Please, Ced...” I breathed, my voice nothing more than a desperate, pleading sigh. 

His gaze never wavered as his strong hands spread me open, pressing my thighs down into the mattress with deliberate, loving pressure.

The look in his eyes made my heart stutter— tenderness tangled with raw, unfiltered desire.

I flushed, heat rushing to my cheeks as I became acutely aware of how wet I was for him.

Warm, glistening, shamelessly dripping down my thighs.

But he didn’t blink. He didn’t look away. He stared at my pussy like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to taste.

And then he did.

He dove in like a starved man, tongue sliding through my folds with a hungry groan that vibrated against me. My back arched clean off the bed, a broken cry tearing from my throat.

His mouth was hot, open, greedy— licking, sucking, devouring me like I was his first meal after weeks of famine. Like he had nothing else in the world to live for but the taste of me.

His tongue moved with devastating precision, practiced and smooth, licking me in long, deliberate strokes that had me gasping and shaking.

“Fuck, you taste divine,” he groaned into my cunt, voice thick and muffled. His eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face deeper, and I was trembling.

Absolutely wrecked.

The heat between my legs had turned into a wet, pulsing ache, and he was feasting on it.

Every wet, obscene sound— his tongue, his groans, the messy squelch of pleasure— filled the room, turning the moment feral and vivid.

I was already unraveling.

He noticed.

He pulled back just slightly, his hands sliding up the backs of my legs, fingertips dimpling my skin as he spread me even wider.

When his eyes flicked up, dark and ravenous, I watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, savoring the taste of me before diving back in.

He flattened his tongue and dragged it through my folds, slow and devastating. I bucked at the contact. His thumb came up to spread me further, circling my clit in maddening, delicate strokes.

My eyes squeezed shut as I writhed beneath him, too gone to care how desperate I sounded.

Then his lips sealed around my clit, sucking gently, then harder, and I cried out— breathless and raw, every nerve unraveling under the weight of his mouth.

“Cedric— oh, fuck—” My fingers clutched at his hair, tugging when his tongue moved in practiced, devastating circles, every flick so perfectly placed it was criminal.

He knew exactly where to touch me. 

Exactly how to push me higher. 

He groaned in response, low and guttural, and the vibration jolted through me, pleasure curling hot and dizzy up my spine.

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

His mouth was drunk on me— ravenous, insatiable. 

I was falling apart, and he knew it.

“Doin’ so good for me,” he murmured against my heat, lifting his head just enough to look at me. His lips were slick, voice wrecked, eyes half-lidded and molten.

I couldn’t form words.

My breath was fast. Uneven.

“You think you can take my fingers?” he asked, and the heat in his gaze pinned me down like a spell.

My breath hitched.

“Yes,” I nodded, my entire body pulsing. “Please.”

He settled deeper between my thighs. One hand traced slow, teasing strokes along my inner leg while the other returned to my center, his thumb brushing over my clit in careful, coaxing circles.

And then I felt it— his finger pressing at my entrance, slipping in slow, stretching me with a tenderness that made my chest bloom with affection and desire all at once.

I gasped. The stretch was unfamiliar, but so good. My body clenched around him, greedy, aching.

He groaned, and just as his finger curled inside me, he sucked my clit into his mouth and I nearly screamed.

“Is that okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Still thick with lust, but gentle. Present.

I nodded frantically, barely able to catch my breath. “Yes— y-yes, please don’t stop.”

He nodded once, never breaking eye contact. Then he leaned in again, lips wrapping around my clit at the same moment his finger sank deeper.

The sensation made me shiver.

His rhythm was perfect, mouth and hand working in tandem, a rising tide sweeping me under.

I started to move with him, chasing every flick, every thrust, hips tilting up to meet him.

He adjusted easily, matching me, lips greedy, eyes gleaming.

Then he brought up two fingers, index and middle, and gently drew back the hood of my clit, baring every part of me to his mouth.

The contact was sharp. Intimate. I choked on a breath, my body seizing under the weight of it, pleasure cracking through me like lightning.

He was so in sync with me, it was like his body spoke a language mine had never known it needed.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured against my cunt, a flicker of amusement woven through his hunger. Then he hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, opening me further.

Candlelight danced across his skin, casting his hand in gold— veined, strong, moving between us like he knew exactly what I could take.

His thumb returned to my clit, circling slowly as his finger curled inside me just right.

A gasp tore from me, sharp and ragged. 

I wasn't a prude. I’d touched myself before— but nothing had ever gone this deep.

His fingers found places in me I hadn’t even known existed. My body clenched around him as he worked in slow, testing thrusts, studying me. Learning.

I was his. Completely.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, catching every cry, every twitch of need.

“Fuck, you’re really fucking tight, dove,” he groaned, voice wrecked and low.

The sound shattered something inside me.

A moan slipped out— thick, wanton— slick flooding from me in response to the rasp of his voice.

“More. Please, Ced,” I whispered, breath catching.

His eyes softened, even through the haze. “Are you sure?” he asked, still making space for my answer, even now.

I nodded— desperate. Every inch of me begging.

He slid a second finger in, slow, careful, stretching me until I gasped, the pressure just enough to burn in the best way.

“I know,” he whispered, soothing, thumb circling my clit. “I’ve got you.”

He stayed still, giving me time, his tongue soothing the stretch with soft flicks, easing me open.

Once I relaxed beneath him, he started to move again— slow thrusts, deliberate, curling with precision.

His tongue kept pace, licking and sucking my clit like he was made for it.

My back arched. A sob of pleasure ripped from my throat.

My hands flew to his hair, anchoring myself in the thick, sweat-damp curls as he devoured me.

His head moved with purpose, mouth locked to the spot that unraveled me.

I was shaking. Sobbing. A beautiful, desperate mess.

And I couldn’t look away.

Watching Cedric Diggory between my thighs— lips soaked in me, eyes wild with adoration— it was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

“I—I’m close,” I gasped, thighs clamping around his head, my whole body trembling.

I sobbed his name, over and over, as the pressure inside me swelled— unbearable, desperate to break.

“Cum on my fingers, love,” he rasped, voice soaked in devotion. “You can do it.”

His fingers moved faster, curling and thrusting, hitting that perfect spot again and again. His thumb circled my clit, steady and precise.

His groan vibrated through me, and everything inside me shattered.

My body locked up, spasming and shaking.

“C-Cedric—fuck—!”

I cried out his name.

A prayer.

A plea.

The orgasm ripped through me like a tidal wave. Violent. Endless.

My thighs locked around him, back arched, toes curling as I broke open in his hands.

My slick coated his fingers, his mouth, dripping down his chin as he held me through it— patient, present, letting me ride every wave.

But he didn’t stop.

He never stopped.

He pressed soft kisses to my overstimulated core, licking me clean through every single aftershock with slow, savoring strokes.

Only when I whimpered did he finally ease off, fingers slipping from me with care. 

He sat up slowly, eyes glazed, lips wet with me, chin glinting. The sight of him, filthy and gorgeous, made me feral all over again.

He looked at me like I was a miracle.

And somehow, in his eyes, I believed I was.

Sweat rolled down my neck. My limbs were limp. I could barely move.

Cedric chuckled, voice hoarse, lips shining.

That look— soft, awestruck, in love— made my stomach flip.

It was obscene. It was everything.

I had never come like that before. Never at someone else’s hands.

And I knew, deep in my bones, I would never forget it.

He looked like something divine.

And still, in his eyes, I was the one worth worshipping.

He hadn’t even come yet.

He’d given me everything.

And I wouldn’t stop until he felt as good as he’d made me feel.

I didn’t even think. I just moved.

I climbed into his lap, straddling him, trembling and undone, but ready for more.

I needed him.

I kissed him hard, deep and hungry, tasting myself on his tongue and moaning into the filthy, beautiful mess of it.

His hands tightened around my waist, groaning into my mouth as I rocked against him, grinding down onto the thick heat of his still-clothed cock.

The friction was maddening. Sharp and perfect. It sent shocks through my overstimulated cunt, making me clench around nothing, my body already spiraling again with need.

The kiss broke, but I didn't move far. I hovered there, our foreheads nearly touching, breaths tangled together in the thin space between us.

He looked up at me like I’d cracked the sky open.

And even though I was bare, flushed, undone, shaking— I had never felt more powerful. More seen.

He’d stripped me down to the rawest parts of myself, and yet somehow, I felt invincible on top of him. Worshipped.

I couldn’t believe how easily he’d made me fall apart.

And still... he was steady. Gentle. That quiet strength coiled beneath every breath. His desire never selfish, never rushed. Just him. The boy I loved.

I rolled my hips again, slow and steady, chasing the friction, the burn, the pleasure— but beneath it, something shifted.

A flicker of doubt bloomed deep in my belly. Not from nerves. Not from him.

But from me.

He looked so wrecked beneath me. So beautiful. Chest heaving, eyes glowing, mouth wet from me, and yet, all I could think was can I give him even half of what he gave me?

He felt it.

Of course he did.

His hands stilled my hips with that same careful touch, grounding me. He looked up through his lashes, reading every silent word I hadn’t said yet.

“(Y/N), we don’t have to do anything else, you know,” he said gently, voice like warm velvet as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to my neck.

His tenderness cracked something open in me.

“It’s not that, Ced... I’ve just never—” I began, my voice faltering, heavy with the weight of truth.

But he didn’t let me finish.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips along my cheek. His hands held me like I was something fragile. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything more.”

And the way he said it— so soft, so sure— made my eyes sting.

But the idea of stopping here squeezed something tight in my chest.

I wasn’t afraid of going further. I didn’t want to pull away.

I wanted him. All of him.

The thought of halting now, of leaving this moment unfinished, felt like standing at the edge of something breathtaking... only to step back into the dark.

“...But I want to,” I said quietly, lifting my head just enough to meet his gaze, letting him see the truth in my eyes.

He held my stare, those storm-gray eyes locking to mine with a quiet intensity that always made my breath hitch.

His thumb brushed gently across my cheekbone, like he couldn't believe I was real.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

I nodded, the movement small but certain.

Then I kissed him— deep, slow— letting him feel the answer on my lips.

My hands trailed down the planes of his chest, tracing every dip and curve until they found the waistband of his boxers. My fingers slipped beneath the fabric, aching to even the playing field, needing to touch him the way he’d touched me.

But before I could move further, Cedric wrapped his arms around me, guiding me gently back down to the mattress, his mouth never far from mine.

I gasped softly as my body met the bed again, legs still curled loosely around his hips, the heat between us simmering.

I reached for him again, but he caught my wrists, lacing our fingers together and pinning them down beside my head— not holding me back, just... pausing. Just being.

I blinked up at him, puzzled by the stillness.

He looked nervous. Something flickered across his face— uncertainty. Vulnerability. His brows knit, like there was something weighing on him.

“Baby...” he started, voice low and unsure. “I want to be honest with you. Cho and I, we’ve—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips before he could say more.

A sharp flicker twisted in my chest. Jealousy, maybe. Or just the ache of knowing someone else had seen him like this. Touched him. Loved him, even.

But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want her name here. Not in this room. Not with us.

“I know,” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

He exhaled, a slow, soft breath, tension melting from his shoulders as I pulled him down for a kiss. This one was gentle. Reassuring. Ours.

I sat up slightly, cupping his face in my hands, my thumb brushing along the curve of his jaw. 

That sweet, dazed look returned to his eyes, soft and awestruck, like he was seeing something holy.

His lips parted, like he wanted to say more, but the words didn’t come. Only silence, warm and full, stretched between us in the most loving way.

Then, finally, he whispered, “You’ve no idea how much I wish you were my first...”

His voice was low, tinged with longing and something heavier that sounded like regret and longing. 

Something inside me ached and bloomed.

I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in, my heart fluttering like it had grown wings. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t taking.

He was waiting for me.

And I was ready.

I gave him a breathless smile as my hand slid down the hard plane of his abdomen, pausing only briefly before wrapping around the thick, heavy length of him through his boxers.

This time, he didn’t stop me.

His breath hitched, hips twitching in my palm, a low gasp escaping him that lit something wicked and wild inside me.

Even the smallest touch unraveled him. And I loved that.

With a shaky breath, I pushed his pants and boxers down, the fabric dragging over his hips until his cock sprang free— thick, flushed, resting hard against his stomach.

He shifted, rising to his knees just enough to shrug out of the rest of his clothes.

And then he was bare.

Utterly, beautifully bare.

My eyes drank him in— every sculpted line, the soft curves of muscle, the slope of his shoulders, the way candlelight made his skin glow like gold.

He was strength and gentleness, power and softness wound into one breathtaking body.

I felt heat pool low in my belly again.

“You're gorgeous,” I whispered, awe thick in my voice. The words weren’t planned. They just spilled out, helplessly true, like everything else about this night.

He leaned down to kiss me again, and this time it was slower— full of meaning, full of us. Our mouths met with a tender intensity that quickly deepened, melting into something hotter, messier, realer.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me closer, like he couldn't stand even an inch between us.

We sank into the kiss, into each other, completely undone.

My hand found him again, wrapping around the thick heat of him— hard, flushed, already slick at the tip. I glanced down, breath catching at the sight of his cock in my smaller hand. The contrast sent a thrill down my spine, lit something bold inside me.

I stroked him slowly, thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of precum over the velvety skin. Cedric groaned, low and guttural, and the sound curled deep in my belly like fire.

I kissed along his jaw, down his throat, trailing heat over his collarbones as I worked him in my hand. Every twitch, every ragged breath he gave me felt like a reward. Like power and devotion braided together.

But just as my lips reached his chest, his hand moved.

He stilled me gently, fingers wrapping around mine, stopping the motion with quiet insistence.

I looked up, confused, searching.

He shook his head, that familiar soft smile spreading across his lips.

“Tonight’s about you, angel,” Cedric murmured, his voice low and warm, laced with something so full of care.

I hesitated, a blush blooming over my cheeks— embarrassed, just for a second— but then he kissed me again. Sweet. Anchoring. Full of promise.

And I understood.

This wasn’t rejection. It was tenderness. It was him.

As he settled against me again, I melted back into the pillows, parting my thighs to cradle him between them, welcoming him into the space my body had already made for him.

His cock pressed against my center, slick and hot, sliding through my folds with a slow, aching friction that made me gasp— so close, so intimate, I could barely stand it.

Every subtle roll of his hips dragged his length along my soaked pussy, sending sparks up my spine. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to.

I was dizzy from it.

His forehead rested against mine, both of us panting softly, his cock nestled right at my entrance. The tension was unbearable. Perfect.

The sounds he made were quiet, wrecked— little gasps, ragged exhales— like even this was almost too much for him to handle.

And it was undoing me, too.

“(Y/N), are you sure?” he asked again, his voice frayed with need, his whole body holding back.

I bit back a laugh, dazed from affection and lust, and cupped his cheek.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, Cedric Diggory,” I whispered, low and steady. “I want this.”

He stared at me for one more breathless beat, eyes locked on mine.

And I let him see everything— every flicker of trust, every ounce of love, every thread of want.

He could’ve taken.

He could’ve given in to the pulse between his hips.

But instead, he kissed me.

He kissed me slow. Kissed me everywhere. Every gasp, every desperate sound he pulled from my throat, he answered with the soft brush of his lips. Down my jaw, across my chest, along the curve of my shoulder.

Like his restraint was the only thing keeping him from burning up.

Like he needed to worship me first, before giving in to everything clawing beneath his skin.

And all I could do was whisper his name— half-groaned, barely coherent.

I was soaked. Aching.

My thighs trembled from the effort of holding back, from the heat coiling low in my belly that begged to snap. My hips kept swaying, unable to stay still, seeking more friction, more of him. Pleasure sparked across my skin like embers catching light, stealing my breath, stealing everything.

Then Cedric shifted, his body taut above me, using his strong thighs to nudge mine wider, opening me up with reverent care.

He braced himself, chest heaving, sweat-kissed skin burning against mine. His cock rested against my slick heat, and I could feel how hard he was, how ready.

“This m-may hurt a little,” he murmured, voice shaking, forehead resting against mine. “Tell me if it’s too much. I p-promise you—”

“Ced,” I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair. “Just do it.”

His eyes locked on mine, wide and serious, searching one last time for doubt.

There was none

He nodded, jaw tight, and reached between us to guide himself.

I held tight to his shoulders, breath caught, heart pounding.

And then he pressed forward.

Slow. Careful. Measured.

The head of his cock parted me, and I gasped— the sound loud, involuntary— as slick heat met slow stretch.

It was obscene.

The sound of it, wet and raw, the mix of his spit and my arousal clinging to every inch of him, sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through me.

The stretch was real, but not cruel. My body remembered the prep of his fingers, welcomed the intrusion— but he was thick, and I felt everything.

His eyes never left my face, watching for any flicker of pain. His brow knit, concerned, but I nodded, breathing through it, keeping myself open.

Then he paused. Froze inside me.

His hand slipped between us, thumb circling my clit with that same perfect, practiced touch.

“Baby?” he whispered, low and tender, soothing me through the pressure.

I winced, but only for a second.

Then something shifted.

My body adjusted. My muscles relaxed. I exhaled, slow and deep.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. “Keep going.”

He kissed my jaw and pushed in deeper.

My breath hitched as he filled me further— the stretch no longer sharp, just thick and slow and deep.

I’d imagined this moment so many times, dreamed it, ached for it— but nothing could have prepared me for the intimacy of it.

The warmth. The weight. The way his body pressed into mine like we were meant to fit.

With every slow inhale, every gentle roll of his hips, he sank deeper. And when he bottomed out, when I felt all of him, I moaned— loud, raw— startled by the fullness, the pleasure blooming through me like a slow burn.

And then I looked up.

His face.

He looked at me like I was divine. Like he couldn’t believe this was real.

Like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Like he couldn't believe he got to have me like this.

My arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was all tongue and sighs and messy, flowing heat.

When he bottomed out, Cedric groaned, deep and low, his breath catching as he stilled inside me, forehead pressing to my shoulder.

I clung to him, our hearts beating in tandem, the room wrapped in a silence that felt thick with meaning.

We had crossed a threshold. And something about it felt eternal.

I was full. Stretched. A little sore, but not in pain.

Alive in a way I’d never felt before.

And I needed more.

I shifted, hips rolling slightly, wincing at first— but his hand was already there, thumb returning to my clit like instinct, coaxing me through the resistance, soft and steady.

The second I clenched around him, Cedric let out a guttural sound that shook through both of us. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open like he couldn’t believe how good it felt.

I wanted to see him lose control.

“Please move, Ced,” I whispered, voice wrecked.

His eyes opened— stormy, shining. “Are you ready, angel?”

“Yes,” I breathed. My nails dug into his back. “Please.”

He nodded, kissed my cheek, and pulled back— just a few inches.

But even that small motion stole my breath. The drag, the stretch, the slick slide of him leaving me only to push back in deeper, fuck.

I cried out, the sound torn straight from my chest.

Cedric laughed, breathless, voice shaking with joy, like the sound of me unraveling was the greatest relief.

I giggled, dazed and high, until he thrust again.

And I shattered.

His pace was slow and deep, hips rolling in waves, fucking me with the kind of care that came from knowing someone inside and out.

Each thrust dragged across every inch of my walls, his cock thick and perfect, filling me so completely I could barely think.

He held back, even now. Each movement was deliberate, like he wanted me to remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

“Fuck, Ced...” I moaned, hands twisting in his hair, my legs locking tighter around him. “You feel so good.”

“So do you,” he whispered at my throat, voice rough and reverent, hips moving with more purpose now. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

And that was it.

It wasn’t just lust.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

This was love.

Cedric kissed along my neck, murmuring soft praises between each thrust, and I moaned, quiet and breathy, as my fingers threaded through the curls at the base of his neck.

He rocked into me with that same tender precision, pulling out halfway only to sink back in, and I gasped, chasing every movement like it was salvation.

The pleasure was a slow build now, all-consuming, the kind that spread like honey through my limbs. The stretch had melted into heat, and every deep push made me tremble.

He moved like the moment mattered— because I mattered. Each stroke felt like a promise written into my skin. He wasn't rushing. Wasn't chasing a finish line. He was showing me what it meant to be wanted. Devoted to.

And god, he was so good at it.

When he shifted, adjusted his angle, and found that hidden spot inside me, I cried out.

My body clenched around him, hips lifting, breath shattering into fragments. Cedric groaned, his head dropping as he captured my mouth in a kiss— messy, open, full of heat and soft, breaking sighs.

I gasped his name between kisses, half-sobbing from the intensity, and he could feel how close I was. His hand slipped between us again, fingers finding my clit with infuriating accuracy.

He rubbed soft, steady circles, and my moan tore through the air, echoing off the walls.

When I tightened around him again, he stilled, hips twitching, his forehead dropping to my shoulder with a rough, broken curse.

“Fuck... baby...”

Even now, he was gentle. Like I was glass. Like I mattered more than anything.

But every thrust came packed with hunger. Every slide deeper pulled us closer to the edge.

He wanted me to feel all of it.

And I did.

Every inch.

Every wordless promise.

He filled me completely, made me feel whole in a way I never knew I was missing. Our moans tangled with the soft slap of skin on skin, bodies rocking in that sweet, aching rhythm.

“God, I fucking love you,” he groaned, voice cracking open. I gasped, overwhelmed, tightening around him like my whole body had been waiting to hear it all along.

My ankles locked behind his back, pulling him deeper, closer, until I couldn't tell where he ended and I began.

I couldn't speak— I was too full of him, too lost in the heat of his body, but he felt it.

He felt how fiercely I clung to him, how deep my love ran.

His lips trailed fire along my throat, murmuring my name like a prayer, his thrusts just a bit deeper now, enough to stoke the fire curling in my gut.

Our bodies moved together like we’d been made for this. And when his hips stuttered, when he choked on the sound of my name, I knew I wasn’t the only one unraveling.

The golden boy, all charm and poise, undone for me.

It was heady. Addicting.

I arched into him, and he clung tighter, like I was the one holding him together. Every twitch of him inside me, every breathless groan, pushed me higher, faster.

I felt him all the way inside— hard and throbbing, his cock twitching every time I clenched.

He kissed me again, tongue slow, teasing, and when I tried to chase the friction, desperate for more, he gently pressed me down into the sheets, shaking his head.

“Slow, sweetheart,” he gasped, voice shredded. “Want it to last...”

And I nodded, dizzy and aching, trusting him to take me there.

We were a mess of tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and breathless, his forearms braced beneath me as he cradled my body close.

My legs stayed locked around his back, silent in my plea.

Don’t stop, please don’t stop.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips at my jaw. “Gonna make you come again, yeah?... You’re so warm for me... so fucking warm, shit—”

His voice cracked, and I felt him tremble.

His cock twitched again, and I knew he was falling apart and trying not to.

He shifted, found that angle— and fuck, he was deeper.

I bit my lip, eyes wide, the sound trapped in my throat.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” he breathed. “So, so good. Such a good girl, (Y/N).” And my body nearly betrayed me right then.

“Ced...” My voice cracked, thick with tears and need. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping just enough to make me whimper.

"I'm here, love. I've got you.Gonna take care of you. My sweet girl..."

He kissed my cheek. My temple. My mouth.

His thrusts hit that spot again and again, and his words— soft, filthy— pushed me right to the edge.

“Gonna make you come all over me. God, fuck, you feel so fucking incredible...”

Each word was wrecked, each thrust more desperate.

“Come for me,” he groaned. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

“Please... Ced, please—” He felt it. Every flutter. Every squeeze. Every shattered gasp.

My hands yanked his hair, hard enough to make him grunt, but I needed him to feel how deep it ran. How real this was.

“That’s it, petal,” Cedric gasped, thrusting hard and deep. “That’s it, my love. That’s right. Come for me, angel, come for me.”

And then, everything stopped.

Our eyes locked.

Nothing but raw, burning love.

I cried out, my body seizing as my orgasm ripped through me. Thighs trembling, nails digging into his back, I held him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

I moaned his name.

And then— I screamed it.

He buried his face in my neck, bit down gently, and I broke.

Screaming. Writhing. Clutching him like he was air.

My whole body seized, clenching and fluttering around him as I shattered, crying out with a force I didn’t know I had.

He held me through it.

Murmuring praise.

Kissing my skin.

Letting me break completely.

“You did so good for me, my gorgeous girl,” he whispered.

And with one last thrust— deep, final, full— he groaned and spilled inside me.

His whole body trembled as I felt him pulse deep inside, warmth flooding me, a final wave of pleasure closing over us both.

I kissed his throat, his shoulder, murmuring his name, our bodies twitching with the last aftershocks.

He collapsed over me, face tucked into the curve of my neck, breath ragged.

“Oh, thank you,” he sighed, and something about it, something honest and sweet and overwhelmed, made me giggle.

He started laughing too, quiet and breathless, and we stayed like that— shaking with joy, tangled in the sheets, tangled in each other.

When he finally pulled out, we both whimpered, and I flinched at the emptiness. But he was already pulling me into his arms, wrapping me up like something precious.

His eyes met mine like I’d hung the stars.

Blushing, I kissed his nose. Then his lips.

“I love you so much, Ced.”

“I love you, darling.”

He held me close, our limbs entwined beneath the blankets, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in like he was home.

With him, I felt safe.

Wanted.

Loved in a way I’d never known before.

So I stayed there.

Wrapped in him.

Exactly where I belonged.

✩ next chapter: winter break 94' ✩

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He wasn't as tall as Fred or George, and he was a bit slimmer, but he had a finely drawn, sensitive face that managed to be thoughtful and looked like it was carved by angels or Michelangelo himself.

His lively, dancing, bright-grey eyes managed to be gentle and sympathetic and held so much emotion in them.

It wasn't for nothing that he attracted girls like honey does flies.

And he was mine.

Or at least, it felt like it.

We never had much of a conversation about the exclusivity of our relationship, but Cedric didn't shy away from kissing me in areas where anybody could see— tuning out the rest of the world until it was just background noise as we got lost within ourselves.

I couldn't deny that it would be awkward when people would ask when we had made it official, but I wasn't interested in anybody else and neither was Cedric, so that's all that mattered.

As for the Tournament, the next task wasn't until the end of February and neither Harry nor Cedric had even touched their Golden Eggs ever since we heard the disturbing, high-pitched screeching they emitted when they opened them in unison at the party.

They had plenty of time to figure it out, so we all let negligence get the best of us as we grew accustomed to everything returning back to normal. 

Even if it was just momentary.

The beginning of December was looming ahead and it was already bringing wind and sleet to Hogwarts. 

I was always grateful for the castles' never-ending, burning fires and thick walls every time I passed the Durmstrang ship bobbing on The Black Lake or the Beauxbatons caravan, which was likely to be chilly as well.

We had just finished our last lesson of the day and were on our way to the Great Hall for dinner. 

It was at the moment we'd sat down and started filling our plates with food when I noticed that Cedric wasn't beside me, like he usually was. 

Not thinking much of it— I took the opportunity to catch up with my friends.

"Harry, did Sirius answer the letter that you sent?" I asked, knowing that Harry had rushed to send his Godfather an update on his survival from the dragon the morning after the first task.

Harry nodded as he worked on chewing his mouthful of pudding to be able to reply to me when Ron hastily interrupted him.

"Yes. He did. And you would've known if your lips weren't glued onto that plonker's face."

"Ron! What is wrong with you!?" Hermione seethed, glowering at him in my defense but I grinned cheerfully, nonetheless— feeling like absolutely nothing could damper my mood.

"So? What did he say?" I asked Harry again, ignoring my redheaded friend who was evidently upset with me, and Harry soon filled me in on everything.

Sirius was relieved, to say the least, but still reminded Harry to be wary of Durmstrang's Headmaster Igor Karkaroff. 

Ron seemed to have been brought up to date on everything that he missed while Harry and he were fighting, because at the mention of Karkaroff's name— Ron went off on a tangent where he claimed that we ought to have suspected that he had been a Death Eater all along.

"I mean, it fits, doesn't it?" spoke Ron over a mouthful of Pumpkin Juice. He took a big gulp before continuing, "Remember what Malfoy said on the train? About his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry— if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the Goblet, he's going to be feeling really stupid now. Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch! There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous. How could they be!?" Ron went on. "You know what? I reckon you could win this Tournament, Harry. I'm serious." 

As if on queue, Hermione scoffed at Ron's ignorance and I smiled privately to myself at how predictable my friends were. 

I had missed them so much.

"Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this Tournament," she said gravely. "If dragons was the first task, I hate to think what's coming next."

We all shuddered at the thought— the panic subsiding into my nervous system again, and Ron seemed to notice because he nudged my knee gently and when I peered up at him, he was looking at me worriedly.

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you, Hermione?" spoke Ron accusingly. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."

I giggled at the idea of Hermione and Trelawney hanging out and Ron's features seemed to soften once I did, pleased to have gotten me to lighten up as he gave me a dorky smile.

When asking Hermione what she's been up to the past weeks, she told me that she remained occupied with her usual long hours of studying at the library, but then informed me of a new project that she was currently working on.

"Hermione! Stop trying to rope her into that spew shit!"

"I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Ron —"

"Changed the name, have you?" he retorted, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front?"

The two bickered back and forth as Harry and I shared a look of wary solidarity for one another for once again being caught in the middle of another argument.

"Shut up, Ron. I wasn't even talking to you! I was simply trying to inform (Y/N) about a very critical situation happening in this school, out of all pla—"

"Tell me then," I interrupted impatiently before Ron could quip back at her, "What's going on?"

"Right. So remember that mountain of food Fred and George got for the party? I was curious about how they managed to acquire so much of it, so I asked them," Hermione explained in an innocently casual sort of voice, "And that's when I found out about the House-Elves! The twins told me how to get to the kitchen dungeons, so Harry, Ron, and I went a few evenings ago—"

"Against our will, might I add," Ron muttered and Harry huffed out a laugh.

"And you'll never guess who we saw, (Y/N)! Dobby! Remember we told you about the House-Elf that Harry freed during our second year who used to work for the Malfoys?"

I thought back to the night that Harry caught me up on the two years that I had missed with them back at The Leaky Cauldron and vividly recalled him telling me about Dobby, the abused elf who once lived his days getting kicked around and scorned at by Lucius Malfoy.

"I remember," I replied, letting her carry on with her story.

"He's working here at Hogwarts, (Y/N). Like actually working down in the kitchens. There are House-Elves cooking us countless of food options for the three meals we eat daily, and guess what!? Most of them aren't even getting paid for it! Dumbledore is paying Dobby, because Dobby asked for it— rightfully so, but most of the other House-Elves are so adamant about providing free labor! Oh, (Y/N), I'm just hoping the other elves will see how happy Dobby is, being free, and slowly it'll dawn on them that they want that too! So I'm making it my mission to inform others of what's going on in the kitchens. In the meantime, I made these..." Hermione trailed off as she started rummaging into her book-bag.

I waited patiently for her— my interest piqued in whatever Hermione had to show me since she seemed so passionate about the subject when I heard Ron curse under his breath.

"For fucks sake," Ron grumbled.

I searched to see what had made him so grouchy and spotted Cedric entering The Great Hall.

Many of the students erupted in cheers as they spotted their Champion, and some Hufflepuffs were even calling out Cedric's name to get him to join them for dinner— but he just waved them off, making a beeline towards me.

His bronze locks were gorgeously disheveled and his yellow House tie hung loosely around his neck— adorning his exposed collarbones stunningly, as the first few buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned. 

Many of the girls in the Great Hall were giggling and fanning themselves with their hands from how devastatingly sexy Cedric looked— but I couldn't find it in me to take it personally, because I completely understood the sentiment. 

Once the Golden Boy was at my arm's length, I didn't waste a second before jumping into Cedric's arms and giggling girlishly as he spun me around.

He chuckled and set me down so my feet were touching the ground again, and I stood on my tip-toes to peck his lips sweetly. 

I caught Hermione smirking at me from the corner of my eye. 

Harry seemed indifferent to us and Ron was eyeing us odiously and told us to 'get a room'. 

"Looking good, (Y/N)!" a voice called out from somewhere in the Great Hall and I noticed that it was Roger Davies from Ravenclaw and he was sitting up on his chair as his eyes roamed me excitedly.

His friends were guffawing at his boldness but the laughter quickly died in their throats— the reason being Cedric who was glaring at them furiously next to me.

He steered me to my seat, his body blocking me from their view protectively.

It was thrilling to see him become so threatening. 

I didn't think it was possible— with him being so soft and gentle most of the time. 

"I don't know how you can tolerate those imbeciles cat-calling you that way," Cedric mumbled as he pulled out the chair I was previously sitting at for me and took his seat right next to mine. 

He soon began filling my plate generously with baked potatoes before starting on his own.

"It comes with being a woman, unfortunately," I remarked nonchalantly, pouring pumpkin juice into both of our glasses. 

"It's crude," he prompted, his eyes flickering up to glower at the Ravenclaw table. 

"I hate to tell you this, Ced, but most guys our age tend to be a bit crude. I just got really lucky with you," I spoke lowly so only he could hear, watching his face soften as his grey eyes peered down at me.

He grinned and pecked me on the lips.

"I'm sorry I'm late, dove. Snape held me up. Ever since he found out that the Triwizard Champions had been excused from exams this year, he's been persistent in assigning me extra coursework." 

"Of course he has," I sighed. 

My attention was grasped when someone stood up abruptly from the Ravenclaw table and stormed out of the Great Hall. 

I noticed that it was Cho Chang who had just burst into tears and was being followed by her friends who rushed to her aid behind her.

I felt a pang of guilt at the prospect that the sight of Cedric and I had made her so upset.

When I turned to look at Cedric worriedly, I saw that he didn't even seem to notice as he ate his dinner.

"Hello, how are you guys doing?" Cedric greeted my friends, nodding at them politely like the gentleman that he was.

Only Harry and Hermione greeted him back, as Ron became engrossed with his pie. 

"What's in the box?" Cedric asked Hermione, pointing at it. 

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, smiling sheepishly as she seemed to forget that she was holding a box in the first place. 

She took off the lid and showed us the contents. 

Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colors, but all bearing the same letters: S. P. E . W.

Ron snorted as soon as he got a good look at them, earning a nasty look from Hermione. 

"S-P-E-W. What does it stand for?" Cedric asked curiously, picking up a badge and inspecting it. 

"It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I've founded it to promote liberation and rights for House Elves."

 "And you expect us to walk around wearing badges that say 'spew,' do you?" said Ron  

"How many times do I have to tell you, Ronald? It's S-P-E-W!" said Hermione hotly. "I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status, but it wouldn't fit. So I made that the heading of our manifesto." Hermione said as she pushed the piece of parchment towards us. "I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now. " 

"Hermione— open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!" 

"Our short-term aims," continued Hermione, her attention on Cedric and I as she spoke even louder than Ron and acted as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure House-Elves' fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures because they're shockingly underrepresented."

"And how can we do all this?" Cedric asked, seeming interested as he pulled Hermione's parchment towards him to read through.

"We start by recruiting members," replied Hermione happily. "Two  Sickles to join, that buys a badge, and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign." 

"How many members have you got?" Harry asked. 

"Well, if you four join, it'll be five members," Hermione replied confidently.

There was a pause in which Hermione beamed at all of us, and I was torn between exasperation at Hermione and amusement at the look on Ron and Harry's faces. 

But the silence was broken, not by Ron, who looked as though he was temporarily dumbstruck, but by Cedric who started rummaging his pockets for two Sickles to buy a badge.

"Count me in," he assured as he pushed the coins towards Hermione and pinned the badge to the front of his robes.

After Cedric bought a badge, Harry and Ron felt obliged and also paid their two Sickles, but I felt like they had only done it to keep Hermione quiet. 

I bought mine because I thought the intention Hermione had was good, and although it seemed like the House-Elves didn't care for being liberated, I was curious to see how far Hermione would take this.

Some people at our table, like Neville, had paid up just to stop Hermione from glowering at them.

A few seemed mildly interested in what she had to say but were reluctant to take any active roles in campaigning.

Many regarded the whole thing as a joke. 

Cedric spoke to Hermione for a few more minutes about the elves, having some knowledge since the Hufflepuff Common Room was in the dungeons, right across the kitchen. 

He was very polite in brainstorming ways that they could ease the hard work for the elves, and even promised that he'd help them wash dishes before heading to bed, which causes Hermione to grin ecstatically.

Already having finished my supper, my eyes roamed the Great Hall and saw students gossiping and glancing at our direction every once in awhile.

This disinterested me, since I was already so used to it— so I merely stared back at everyone blankly until my eyes landed on the Slytherin table where Draco was sitting, surrounded by his friends. 

They looked like The Last Supper mural, but filled with assholes.

After the party, Draco and I had gone back to ignoring each other with a few occasional glances which always ended in me scowling at him or flashing him the finger.

In other words, everything was back to normal.

One morning, Draco caught Cedric and I kissing right outside of the Potions classroom as he was coming down the stairs to the dungeon. 

He seemed livid— looking unreasonably scornful as he stormed towards us and I was almost afraid that he would tell Cedric about our weird moment at the party, but he just walked past us and went into class.

I felt disgusted with myself for allowing Draco to get so close to me that night.

I don't know what came over me. 

My only conclusion as to why I let it happen was that I wasn't sober.

But ever since that day, Pansy Parkinson had been perched on Draco's lap and slobbering disgusting hickies on his pale neck as he sneered at me.

The sight of them was revolting, but I just hoped that our hostility would last this time around because frankly, I never wanted to speak to him again.

After some time, the Great Hall started clearing up as all the students returned to their Common Room for the night.

Cedric took the liberty to accompany us back to  Gryffindor Towers, and the Champions used the time to inquire each other about their process of figuring out the message hidden within their Golden Eggs while Hermione chimed in with suggestions from some book she read but Ron remained tight-lipped and simply brooded.

When we were standing in front of the Gryffindor Common Room entrance, I lingered behind to have Cedric to myself for a few minutes.

"This was sweet of you," I murmured, toying with Cedric's S.P.E.W badge once the last student had shut the entrance with The Fat Lady's portrait behind them. 

Cedric shrugged, placing his hands on my waist.

"Anything to get on your friends' good side," he smirked and cupped my face with his hands.

"Speaking of— I wouldn't get mad if we didn't spend all of our free time together, Ced. I bet your friends find me intolerable for taking their Champion away from them," I grinned, emphasizing the word 'champion' as I stepped closer to him and combed my fingers through his hair.

"They're more understanding than you think. Have you seen yourself, sweetheart? They're downright envious of me," he muttered before nipping the soft skin of my neck which elicited a giddy laugh from me as I squirmed away from him.

"Look who's talking. How very dare you arrive to dinner looking so despairingly handsome. All the girls' eyes nearly rolled out of their heads— you should show them some mercy," I scolded him humorously, my hands working on buttoning his shirt and tying his necktie.

Cedric hummed nonchalantly in response, attempting to kiss me but I moved my head away from him as I pretended to be too preoccupied with tidying him up— earning a frustrated huff from the Hufflepuff as he leaned on the staircase's banister.

"No one's giving you a hard time anymore, are they?" Ced asked, his demeanor becoming serious as he searched my eyes with genuine concern.

I thought about all the dirty looks I got from girls whenever I walked hand-in-hand with him in the hallways. 

And then I remembered Cho's outburst earlier.

I couldn't pretend it didn't make me feel remorseful.

"Well... someone's always bound to be jealous... but maybe we should cool it with the PDA? I'd hate to make any of your... ex-acquaintances any more upset."

Cedric's eyes softened once I said this— looking at me as if he'd been seeing me for the first time in his life, and then he broke into a dashing smile— his eyes crinkling as he flashed his perfect, pearly white teeth.

"This is one of the many things I love about you, (Y/N). How extraordinarily thoughtful you are. I've never met a girl like you, you're incredible." 

Cedric gushed as he pulled me towards him by my waist and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace to cover up the fact that I was blushing furiously. 

I tried to steady my erratically beating heart after hearing him say 'love'. 

I knew we weren't there yet, but it still felt like a genuine confession, even though he spoke it so casually.

Cedric pulled away from the hug, his large hands nestling my face in his hands before he dove down to crash his lips onto mine.

We both hummed in bliss at the contact, his warm lips gliding over mine softly. 

It was inexplicably passionate, the way that we connected like magnets.

Behind us, I could hear the hushed, gossipy whispers coming from the portraits as they peered down at the both of us. 

But they were inconspicuous to me— my attention enveloped by the way my skin seemed to go ablaze with electric shocks when Cedric pulled me towards him to deepen the already feverish kiss— his teeth tugging at my bottom lip as his tongue proceeded to swipe into my mouth. 

Our tongues were greedily exploring each other when he abruptly pulled away, leaving me breathless.

Both our chests rose and fell as we watched each other in silence, allowing one another to breathe for the first time since he initially kissed me. 

Cedric's hands were clutching my face selfishly, and his lips were pink and swollen, but it was the fervor with which he was looking at me that sent my heart racing so quickly that I was sure it was audible.

I've never been looked at in that way.

I was used to receiving the male gaze on the daily basis, but this look held much more than sexual desire.

Cedric was looking down at me as if I were a dream come true.

"You're fucking beautiful" he murmured before slating his mouth over mine again.

My bottom lip was quickly captured between his warm ones, and the kiss was slow like dripping honey this time. 

The ardor and hunger were still very much prevalent, yet he was taking his time with me—wanting to savor the moment. 

I tried to ignore the butterflies that rioted in my stomach.

I didn't think I could ever get enough of him.

Cedric Diggory was overpowering all of my senses and it was driving me fucking insane.

Yet, I wanted more.

I kissed him back ravenously— combing my fingers through his tousled curls as I pressed my body to his. 

I could feel him smirk against my lips but to my infuriation, he didn't do anything else.

"Ced," I muttered as I clung to his robes. I wasn't sure what I was pleading for, but I needed it desperately.

"(Y/N)..." he mumbled against my lips warningly, trailing his kisses down my neck until we were both sighing— out of breath as we usually were after a few heated minutes with each other.

I looked away in shame, acknowledging that I let myself get carried away until Cedric took my chin and angled me to look at him.

"Hey... look at me," he insisted when I still wouldn't meet his eyes.

When I finally did, all my humiliation evaporated as Cedric looked at me pleadingly, his dark eyebrows furrowing in empathy. 

"I want to. I just... want it to be right, okay? You deserve that."

"Okay," I replied in a small voice, not knowing what else to say.

He stood up from the banister and wrapped his arms around me tightly.

"Also, I don't want you to worry about Cho. I see her at Prefect meetings, and she's doing absolutely fine. I'll see you tomorrow angel, okay?"

"See you tomorrow, Ced. Good night." I replied and floated back to my dorm room on a cloud.

༻✦༺

The next morning, I got woken up by Crookshanks who was pawing at my face repeatedly and as soon as I saw that Hermione was awake, I filled her in on what happened with Cedric the previous night as we both got ready for the day.

I appreciated having her as an audience, because really— she was the only one that I could tell these things to.

She'd sigh dreamily when I told her about Cedric mentioning how rightfully envious his friends were that he was seeing me. 

She'd coo when I brought up the nicknames he gave me like dove, angel or sweetheart.

She'd 'awww' when I added how he softened at my regard for Cho's feelings and told me it was one of the many things he 'loved' about me.

But what really piqued her interest was what happened after.

"(Y/N)! Right outside the hallway!?"

"Nothing happened! We just got carried away, a little bit. He was the one that stopped it and said he wanted to wait for the right moment. Gods, it was so fucking awkward. He probably thinks I'm a sex- freak or something," I groaned, becoming more mortified by the second and quickly buried my face in my hands.

"I promise you, he doesn't. This is completely normal. I'd bet you ten thousand Galleons that he's thought about so much more. He is a guy, after all." Hermione added, smirking at my reaction.

Once we were ready, we descended to the Common Room and met up with the boys.

We had a quick breakfast and then Harry, Ron and I sprinted to the other end of the castle for Double Divination— which became thoroughly enjoyable again ever since Harry and Ron rekindled. 

We were still doing star charts and predictions, but everything became very funny, once more. 

Professor Trelawney, who had been so pleased with us when we had been predicting our own horrific deaths, became quickly irritated as we giggled through her explanation of the various ways in which Pluto could disrupt everyday life.

"I would think," she said, in a mystical whisper that did not conceal her obvious annoyance, "that some of us—" she said as she stared very pointedly at Harry, "might be a little less frivolous had they seen what I have seen during my crystal gazing last night. I gazed into its crystalline depths... and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?"

"An ugly old bat in massive specs?" Ron muttered and our whole table fought hard to keep a straight face.

"Death, my dears." she announced and Parvati and Lavender both gasped dramatically, putting their hands over their mouths, looking horrified.

"Yes," said Professor Trelawney, nodding appreciatively at their reactions, "it circles overhead like a vulture, lowering itself over this castle..."

She stared meaningfully at Harry, who in turn yawned very obnoxiously.

"It'd be a bit more impressive if she hadn't done it about eighty times before," Harry said as we finally returned to the fresh air of the staircase beneath Professor Trelawney's room. "But if I'd dropped dead every time she's told me I'm going to, I'd be a medical miracle."

"Maybe you could be the next Gryffindor ghost? Give Headless Nick a run for his money," I suggested and the boys snickered.

"As if he could ever compete with Headless Nick! A lightning-bolt scar is child's play compared to nearly removing your whole head off your neck!" Ron chortled.

"You're right. Harry just has his pathetic little scar," I agreed.

"Oh-kay. Shut up, you two, before I dump you both and make the Hogwarts Ghosts my new friends. Bet they'd show me more respect than you both do,"

"Peeves!? Showing you respect!?" I laughed incredulously.

"Maybe not Peeves," Harry admitted and we all giggled as we went to go pick up Hermione from the library before getting to our Transfiguration lesson.

Once entering, we saw that the library was almost entirely vacant of students.

We found Hermione hunched over her favorite table, doing more House-Elves research— and sitting at a table across from her was Viktor Krum. 

Ron hovered behind the bookshelves for a while, watching Krum and debating in whispers with us whether he should ask for an autograph— but then he realized that six or seven girls were lurking in the next row of books, debating exactly the same thing, and he lost his enthusiasm for the idea.

Hermione seemed flustered for whatever reason as we left the library, glancing over at Viktor who was peering at her over the gigantic book he was reading, giving her a small smile.

I raised my eyebrows as I noticed the discreet interaction, and made a mental note to ask her about it later. 

Our task of the day in Transfiguration was to partner up and convert guinea fowls into guinea pigs before shutting them away in large cage that was placed on Professor McGonagall's desk.

Hermione and I were done within ten minutes and were trying to aid Neville who somehow managed to give his guinea pig some scales.

Ron and Harry had finished a few minutes after us, and there was still awhile left for the end of the lesson so they started having a sword fight behind us with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands. 

You could almost hear Hermione roll her eyes as she neatly copied down our homework from the blackboard.

"Potter! Weasley! Will you pay attention?" Professor McGonagall's irritated voice suddenly cracked like a whip and both Harry and Ron jumped in their seat and looked up.

The whole class had finished by now, all the guinea pigs squeaking merrily in the cage. 

McGonagall made the cage disappear with a swish of her wand and glared at the boys sternly.

"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," said Professor McGonagall, with an angry look at the pair of them, "I have something to say to you all. The Yule Ball is approaching— a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests."

Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle as she clapped her hands gleefully. 

Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs and the both of them turned around to look at Harry. 

"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock, a week before Christmas Eve, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now, the Yule Ball is of course a chance for all of us to... let our hair down... But that does NOT mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way. We will be having a House dance-rehearsal in just a few weeks,"

Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class as we sat in silence, processing what she just told us.

The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders.

We were about to leave when Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Potter— a word, if you please."

Ron, Hermione and I didn't hesitate to follow Harry up to the teacher's desk, and Professor McGonagall didn't protest either— almost as if she had expected us to be in the conversation to begin with.

She waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, "Potter, the champions and their partners—"

"What partners?" interrupted Harry.

Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at him, as though she thought he was trying to be funny.

"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly, "your dance partners."

Hermione and I glanced at each other excitedly at the mention of this, but Ron and Harry's faces both seemed mortified at the prospect of having to find dates for the Ball.

"Dance partners?" Ron asked as his face turned the same shade of his hair.

"I don't dance," Harry said quickly.

"Oh yes, you do," said Professor McGonagall irritably, making me suppress a smile,"That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the Champions and their partners open the ball."

My heartbeat sped in my chest as I thought of Cedric and I entering the Ball arm-in-arm with everybody surrounding us.

I couldn't help but feel just as giddy at the idea as every other girl in the school.

"I'm not dancing," Harry replied vehemently.

"It is traditional," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter."

"But I don't—"

"You heard me, Potter," said Professor McGonagall in a definitive sort of way.

It seemed like the news of the Yule Ball was announced to the entire school now, because as soon as we stepped out of the classroom— we noticed the corridor booming with tittering and excitement.

The boys faces were still tinged green but Hermione and I turned to each other and shared a look of pure enthusiasm and immediately set off to the library to research and prepare ourselves for the highly anticipated Yule Ball.