#write it

Words To Use Instead of "Look"

Words Closest in Meaning (w diff connotations!):

stare

eye

study

behold

glimpse

peek

glance

notice

observe

inspect

regarding

view

review

look-see

get an eyeful

peer

give the eye

eyeball

size up

size up

check out

examine

contemplate

scan

recognize

sweep

once-over

judge

watch

glare

consider

spot

scrunitize

gaze

gander

ogle

yawp

Other (more fancy) words:

glimmer

sntach

zero in

take stock of

poke into

mope

glaze

grope

rummage

frisk

probe

rivet

distinguish

witness

explore

gloat

scowl

have a gander

comb

detect

surveillance

squint

keeping watch

rubberneck

pout

bore

slant

ignore

audit

pipe

search

note

speculation

1. Pick the vibe, not every detail You don’t need to describe every single thing in a room. Just choose the details that match the mood.

Instead of: “The room had a wooden desk, three chairs, a dusty rug, and a cracked window.” Try: “The cracked window leaked in the cold, and dust danced in the stale air—like the room forgot what ‘welcome’ felt like.”

The second one feels like something, right? Pick details that match the emotion.

2. Use the 5 senses You don’t need to force all five senses into every scene, but using more than just sight makes a huge difference. Think smell, texture, even temperature.

“Her sweater smelled like fresh rain and cheap soap. Not bad, just… honest.”

Now your reader feels it, not just sees it.

3. Less is more If you need three paragraphs to describe a hallway, you’re doing too much. Keep it tight. Quick, vivid phrases are much better than long boring blocks.

“The hallway narrowed like it didn’t want us there.” <— that’s way better than a full architectural report.

4. ✨Metaphors✨ Good metaphors or similes can describe and tell us about the character’s worldview.

“The night wrapped around him like a lie.” “Her laugh bubbled up like soda—sharp and fast.”

They add flavor without word count bloat.

5. Use character perspective How your character notices things says a lot. Two people won’t describe the same room the same way. A rich kid might say: “Faded curtains, cheap silverware.” A runaway might say: “Warm curtains, and real silverware.”

| contains - enemies to fuck buddies, also contains jealousy between fred weasley and cedric, they both want you (this story focuses more on you and cedric), aggressive sex, dominance, oral! receiving, teasing, riding, dirty talk.

| context - you and cedric have hated eachother since young, your fathers have always been rivals which caused you to follow down the same path of hating. You have been academic rivals and cedric constantly throws flirty and sneakily mean comments towards you, you hate him but he’s so fucking hot. You and fred have always been flirty, and you do want him but someone gets in the way.

| warning - this story has not been proofread so sorry for any mistakes and if stuff doesn’t make sense, i hope you enjoy.

part one - spark

Returning to Hogwarts always felt like stepping back into a dream, a dream filled with shifting staircases, enchanted ceilings, and the echo of old rivalries that never seemed to fade with time.

My robes were slightly crooked from rushing through the train station, the wind had curled my hair into an even wilder mess than usual, and I hadn’t even had a chance to fix the charm on my bag strap, which kept sliding off my shoulder. Still, I smiled as I crossed the threshold of the castle, warm and familiar magic brushing over my skin like a welcome. I was home. That feeling lasted exactly twelve seconds.

Because, of course, he was the first person I saw. Cedric diggory stood at the far end of the entrance hall, talking to a few of his Hufflepuff friends—tall, golden, and entirely too confident. His laugh drifted across the stone walls, easy and bright, like the world existed just to amuse him.

I tried to walk past unnoticed, but the click of my shoes must’ve given me away. His gaze slid to mine with practiced smoothness, like he’d been waiting.

“Well, well,” he drawled, breaking off from his friends and strolling toward me. “If it isn’t the gryffindor prodigy, back for another year of trying to outshine me.”

I didn’t stop walking, didn’t look up. “If you’re trying to flatter me, diggory, you’ll have to try harder. That was weak.”

“Not flattery,” he said, keeping pace with me now, annoyingly close. “observation, you shine like a star when you’re losing. Thought you’d have learned by now.” I halted, turning slowly to face him. He was taller this year, broader too. It was infuriating. Even his smirk had matured—less smug, more dangerous.

“And I thought you’d outgrow the need to constantly remind me you exist,” I replied, adjusting the strap on my shoulder with forced nonchalance. “Seems I was wrong.”

His eyes flicked down, briefly, to the slight flush on my cheeks. lord help me.

He grinned. “You missed me.”

I scoffed. “Like a wart.”

“Mm.” His tone dropped, quiet and cocky. “warts are hard to ignore. Always showing up at the worst times, just like me.”

I hated how easily he got under my skin—how effortlessly he made my stomach twist in ways I refused to acknowledge.

“I see your modesty hasn’t improved.”

“I left it on the train,” he said. “Wanted to travel light, but I brought this for you.” He held up a rolled parchment, which he promptly flicked at my forehead. “Class schedule, from your new favorite professor—Slughorn.” I snatched it from him, glaring. “Do you always deliver these personally, or am I just special?”

“You’re many things, Y/N,” he said with a sly smile. “Special is one of them.”

Before I could reply, he leaned closer, his voice a little softer—still playful, but with a glint of something else in his eyes, something sharper.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I beat you at everything this year, quidditch, charms, even breathing, if it comes to that.”

“Fine,” I said, chin lifting. “But when I beat you, and I will, I’ll expect the usual, your wounded ego and deafening silence.”

He laughed—low and real, for a second. It caught me off guard. Then his expression shifted. That charming cruelty slipped back in, clean and sharp as a blade.

“I’ll try to hide my disappointment when you fall short,” he said. “Again.”

And just like that, he walked away, back to his group, back to his perfect, golden life. Like our conversation hadn’t twisted something inside me tight enough to ache. I stood there for a moment, clutching the parchment he’d flicked at me, my heartbeat louder than the hum of the castle walls.

This year was going to be different. I could feel it.

Unfortunately, so could he.

The warm flicker of floating candles above the great hall should have settled me, but my skin still buzzed from that encounter with Cedric. I hated how easily he got into my head, like he knew exactly what strings to pull. It wasn’t fair that someone who had spent years tormenting me could look so composed doing it.

I pulled in a deep breath, straightened my spine, and crossed the threshold into the great hall like I owned the place.

The four house tables stretched before me, full of noise and chatter and the rustle of new robes. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky outside—deep navy with the faintest dusting of stars, like a veil waiting to fall. It smelled like roasted meats, pumpkin spice, and melted candles—everything I had missed and more.

“Y/N!”

Hermione’s voice reached me before I could scan the gryffindor table. She waved me over with a bright smile that instantly softened the hard edges of my day. I slid onto the bench beside her just as Ron shoved half a treacle tart into his mouth.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione muttered, nudging him with her elbow.

“’its good t’see you,” he said around a mouthful of pastry.

Harry leaned in from across the table, his green eyes tired but warm behind his round glasses. “Glad you’re back, how was your summer?”

“Chaotic,” I said truthfully, dropping my bag onto the bench. “Mum and Dad fought with the diggorys at the ministry picnic. Again. I’m fairly certain someone spiked the lemonade.”

Hermione winced. “Oh no…”

“They made a scene?” Harry asked, brows raised.

“A scene?” I laughed under my breath. “Try a full-scale, wand-pointing disaster. My dad called amos a ‘hufflepuff puppet.’ cedric looked like he wanted to melt into the lawn.”

Hermione looked mildly horrified. Ron just snorted. “Would’ve paid to see that.”

I glanced up instinctively. Across the room at the Hufflepuff table, Cedric was laughing at something someone said, head thrown back in that easy, infuriating way of his. As if nothing ever rattled him. As if he hadn’t just verbally sparred with me like it was second nature.

Our eyes didn’t meet. He didn’t even glance my way.

Good. He didn’t deserve to.

Just then, someone dropped into the seat across from me, knocking into the edge of the table with a thud. I didn’t need to look to know who it was—the voice gave him away.

“Oi, did you miss me, Y/N?”

Fred Weasley.

I tried very hard not to smile as I turned my head to look at him. His tie was already half-loosened, his red hair wind-tossed from some corridor chase, probably, and there was a spot of mud on his cheek.

“I think I forgot about you by the second week of summer,” I said with mock sweetness.

Fred clutched his chest in mock heartbreak. “Wounded, properly. And here I thought you spent your whole holiday dreaming of me.”

“Please. I was busy dreaming of a world where your jokes don’t backfire on me in charms.”

“That only happened once,” he protested, but the grin pulling at his lips told me he remembered it exactly the way I did—him trying to charm my quill to transcribe notes for me, only to have it start scrawling nonsense about how fit I looked from behind.

“You’re lucky I didn’t hex you into next week,” I muttered, though the corners of my mouth twitched.

He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on his knuckles like he was truly considering me. “You know, Y/N, you’ve got this thing where you glare at people like you’re ready to kill them, but you’re secretly having the time of your life.”

“You’ve got this thing,” I shot back, “where you flirt like you’re being paid per wink.”

Ron groaned. “Can you two flirt after the food arrives?”

Fred ignored him. “Come on, admit it. You missed me more than diggory.”

My expression faltered for a fraction of a second. He noticed. Of course he did.

I shrugged. “That’s not exactly a high bar.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “He get under your skin again already?”

I didn’t answer. Not directly. My eyes drifted again, against my better judgment. Cedric’s head was turned now, face half-shadowed in candlelight as he listened intently to someone beside him. A faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

I looked away before he could glance up.

Fred whistled low under his breath. “Someone’s still nursing a grudge.”

“You’re not wrong,” I murmured, picking at the edge of the parchment Cedric had given me. I hadn’t let go of it yet. I wasn’t sure why.

Before Fred could press, the Hall quieted. Professor mcgonagall stood at the front of the room, her back straight, her expression composed as she lifted the stool with the ragged old sorting hat.

The first years huddled near the front, wide-eyed and whispering. As the hat began its song—this year full of dramatic warnings and cryptic wisdom—we all quieted into the hush of tradition.

But I wasn’t listening.

Not really.

Because when I dared to glance up again, just once, cedric was looking at me.

Not smiling.

Not smirking.

Just looking.

And then, as if it hadn’t happened at all, he turned back to his table and the world moved on.

——

The sorting hat finished its song, and thunderous applause filled the Hall. The first years shuffled to their new tables with shy smiles and wide eyes, the air thick with the excitement of beginnings. Food appeared across the platters—steaming shepherd’s pie, golden roast potatoes, glossy ham, and treacle pudding shimmering under the candlelight.

Fred didn’t reach for the food right away.

Instead, he leaned closer to me.

I could feel the warmth of him beside me, the way his shoulder brushed mine, casual at first—then not so casual. His hand reached across under the table, fingers nudging mine.

I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Just making sure you’re real,” he said smoothly, intertwining his fingers with mine. “You’ve been gone all summer. I was starting to think you were a hallucination brought on by too many cauldron cakes.”

“You think about me that much?” I asked, arching a brow, trying to keep the edge in my voice, but my fingers didn’t pull away.

Fred tilted his head. “Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And maybe the occasional Sunday morning.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

He squeezed my hand gently under the table, thumb brushing along my knuckles. It was so small, but it sent a warm ripple through me—comforting and confusing all at once. He was… good at this. The teasing, the touching. The pretending it didn’t matter more than it should.

As the feast carried on around us, he leaned in a little more. “You’ve grown into your confidence, you know.”

I blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fred grinned. “Used to be, you’d trip over your words if I so much as winked at you. Now you stare me down like you’re about to duel me for it.”

“Maybe I should.”

“I’d let you win,” he said, low. “But only if you say please.”

LORDDDDDDDX.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks flushed, turning my attention to the platter in front of me before he could see the way his words unsettled me. But when I shifted slightly on the bench, his hand slipped from mine—

And rested lightly on my thigh.

Heat bloomed up my legs, my neck, my ears. I froze for a fraction of a second. He didn’t look at me—just continued carving into his chicken like nothing had happened, like this was normal. Like it wasn’t a live wire between us.

I was about to make stuff my face, something to deflect the blush rising up my cheeks like fire—

But my gaze flicked up.

And I saw him.

Cedric.

Sitting back at the hufflepuff table, his fork paused halfway to his mouth, frozen mid-motion. He wasn’t laughing now. Wasn’t talking. Wasn’t even blinking.

He was watching me.

Or rather—he was watching fred’s hand on my leg.

Our eyes locked, and for the briefest second, something dark flickered behind that perfect golden-boy facade. Something sharp. Hot. Possessive.

I felt like I’d been caught doing something wrong, and I hated that.

Then—just like that—he looked away.

Lifted his goblet.

Smiled at something someone said beside him. Played it off effortlessly.

But I saw the tension in his jaw before he turned.

Fred leaned over again, lips near my ear. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

I tore my eyes away from the Hufflepuff table, back to Fred. His fingers flexed gently on my thigh.

“I’m fine,” I said, voice a little too breathy. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Dessert,” I lied.

He laughed, and my heart stumbled because it was such a good laugh—warm and familiar and distracting.

But I felt it again.

That burn.

That tension at the back of my neck.

I didn’t need to look to know that cedric diggory was still watching me from across the hall.

And for the first time in a long time…

I kind of wanted him to.

part two - brewing tension

The first day of lessons always came with a sense of promise—fresh ink, crisp parchment, the whisper of new beginnings between pages and potion bottles. I liked that. I liked order. Control. The quiet power of getting things right.

Which is exactly why my stomach dropped when professor slughorn, beaming from behind his desk, clapped his hands and said, “Today, we’ll be starting with something… enlightening. And, perhaps, a bit personal.”

“Amortentia,” he declared, gesturing to the shimmering cauldron at the front. “The most powerful love potion in existence. Recognizable by its pearl shine and spiraling steam. But most fascinatingly… it smells different to each of us, depending on what attracts us most.”

He paused, clearly relishing the drama of it all. “Now, we won’t be brewing it—you lot would set fire to your desks,but we’ll be working on calming draughts, as those often interact with emotional magic in interesting ways. Pair up!”

I hadn’t even opened my mouth when the stool beside me scraped loudly against the floor.

“I’ll take this seat,” came the voice. Smooth. Confident. Annoying.

Cedric Diggory.

I didn’t turn to look at him. Just inhaled sharply and began preparing my cauldron. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the front row with your little fan club?”

“Decided I wanted to be somewhere a little more… challenging.”

“Challenging?” I asked, arching a brow. “You mean difficult?”

He smirked, his voice a low murmur. “You say difficult. I say stimulating.”

As we measured out ingredients, the scent from the amortentia drifted across the room, wrapping itself into the air like invisible silk. I wasn’t ready for what it did to me.

Because I smelled it.

And I knew.

Warm broom polish, spiced cinnamon sugar—the kind that clung to fred weasley’s jumpers after he snuck into the kitchens. The faintest trace of something earthy and clean—like damp grass after quidditch practice. That had to be Fred.

But then came something else.

Rain on stone, wind through pine trees. The sharp burn of peppermint toothpaste and the worn leather of a well-used broom handle. Cedric.

I felt dizzy.

Exposed.

The scents tangled around each other—fred’s warmth and humor, cedric’s sharpness and storm. I swallowed hard.

“You smell it too?” Cedric asked suddenly, too casually.

I looked up. He was watching me.

His voice was low, almost amused. “Wonder what you’re picking up right now.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he said too quickly. “Just wondering if that ridiculous Weasley cologne made it into your top three.”

I gave him a slow blink. “What’s it to you if it did?”

He leaned closer, voice just under his breath. “Just surprised you’re that easy to impress.”

My jaw tensed. I turned back to the potion, crushing lavender buds with far more force than necessary.

We worked in silence for a few minutes. I was trying to focus—really trying—but the smell still lingered. Every breath reminded me of the two boys currently unraveling every thread of my composure.

Out of the corner of my eye, Cedric watched me. Again. Not casually. Intently. Like he was trying to peel something away from me with just his gaze.

“Busy night last night?” he asked suddenly, voice infuriatingly light.

I narrowed my eyes. “Busy how?”

“I just noticed a certain Weasley had his hands all over your leg.”

My fingers froze mid-stir.

He looked at me then. Fully. Dark honey eyes narrowed slightly, glinting with something dangerous beneath the surface.

I recovered quickly. “Since when do you care what Fred Weasley does?”

“I don’t.” He dropped in a valerian root with unnecessary force. “I just didn’t realize Gryffindor girls had such… generous standards.”

“Funny,” I said coldly, “I didn’t realize Hufflepuffs were taught to slut-shame people.”

His jaw flexed.

Touché.

We fell into silence again, the air heavy with steam and something unspoken. His hand brushed mine briefly as we reached for the same sprig of mint—tiny and accidental, but it shot up my spine like a spark.

He didn’t apologize.

He never did.

“You like him, then?” he asked.

I blinked. “Fred?”

He kept his eyes fixed on the potion. “Yeah.”

“I don’t see how that’s your business.”

“Didn’t say it was.”. “Then maybe shut up about it.”

A silence fell, louder than any words.

I looked up slowly, and there it was again—that look. The mask slipping, he wasn’t just curious. He wasn’t okay.

He exhaled slowly, ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “You can do better,” he muttered under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“I said,” he repeated, louder now, “you can do better.”

“Like you?” I shot back, voice sharp with disbelief.

His eyes flicked to mine, and this time, the mask was gone. There was nothing playful in his expression. Just heat. Hunger. Conflict.

“You said it. Not me.”

My mouth went dry.

He turned away before I could answer, adding a pinch of chamomile to the brew. His hand trembled, only slightly, but I noticed.

And maybe, just maybe, he noticed the blush blooming on my cheeks again—just like last night.

He smirked to himself and said nothing more.

But I wasn’t sure if the scent clinging to my robe was still amortentia…

Or just him.

——

The bell rang, shrill and final, echoing through the dungeons. Chairs scraped back, cauldrons clanged. Students began spilling out into the stone corridors in a steady stream of robes and laughter.

I packed my things quickly, eager to escape the sticky heat of the classroom and cedric’s burning gaze—but the universe, as usual, had other plans.

Because as I moved to leave, Cedric didn’t.

He stayed.

Lingering by our shared workstation, slowly—painfully slowly—wiping down the already-clean surface with a rag that looked far too clean itself.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re pretending to tidy.”

He didn’t look up. “Maybe I’m just thorough.”

“You’ve never stayed a second longer than required in potions. Ever.”

He smiled, faint but unmistakable. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

“Maybe you’re annoying.”

That got his attention. He looked up at me, eyes catching mine, the same eyes that were impossible to unsee—amber and wild in their stillness, like sunlight through honey on stormy water.

“You’re really not going to answer me?” he asked softly.

“About what?”

“Fred.”

I crossed my arms. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to know if it’s real.”

“Why?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “So you can bully me harder if it is?”

He stepped around the workstation now, not close, but closer than I expected. The heat from the cauldrons was nothing compared to the heat between us.

“I’d never touch him,” he said darkly, “but I swear if he so much as hurts you—”

“You hate me,” I interrupted, heart pounding.

His eyes flashed. “I don’t.”

I felt something unravel inside me at the way he said it. Quiet. Brutal. Honest.

And then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. He turned away.

“See you around, gryffindor,” he muttered, brushing past me with his usual effortless grace. But the rag? Still clean. Still folded neatly in his hand.

I stood in the emptying classroom, throat tight, the scent of mint and pine still clinging to my robes like a secret.

⸻

By the time I climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, the fire had already been lit. Warm golden light spilled across the rug, casting shadows over the worn armchairs and scarlet cushions. I was ready to disappear upstairs, maybe breathe for the first time all day—but then I saw him.

Fred.

Leaning casually against the banister by the fireplace, hair slightly tousled, hands behind his back. He grinned the second he saw me.

“I thought you had transfiguration,” I said, blinking.

“Skipped it.”

“Fred!”

He held up a hand. “Relax, McGonagall adores me, said I had perfect attendance last term.”

“You definitely didn’t.”

“she didn’t know that.”

I folded my arms, curious. “So why are you here?”

His eyes sparkled. “Because I’ve got something for you.”

Before I could speak, he stepped forward and handed me a small box, neatly wrapped in deep red paper and tied with golden string. My heart thumped.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I hesitated, then carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside was a delicate gold quill pendant, resting on a fine chain, elegant. Thoughtful. It reminded me of ambition. Intelligence. Words.

Me.

I stared at it, throat tightening. “Fred…”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I saw it over the summer. Thought it looked like something you’d like. Smart, sharp, like you.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

I wanted to kiss him. Part of me really did. Fred was sweet, charming, good with words in a way that made my chest feel too tight and my lips smile when I didn’t want them to. I liked him. A lot.

But…

But Cedric.

Always Cedric.

Haunting my thoughts, my dreams, my moods. He wasn’t supposed to have this kind of power over me. I didn’t even like him, didn’t want to like him—and yet, it was like he was part of me, lodged under my skin in places I couldn’t reach.

Fred must have seen it. Something in my eyes.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

I didn’t answer right away.

Finally, I whispered, “It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“I like you, fred. It’s obvious.”

He nodded once.

“I just… can’t stop thinking about him.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, very softly, he said, “Then I guess I’ll just have to make you the one he can’t stop thinking about.”

I looked up sharply.

There was no anger in his expression. No bitterness. Just resolve.

“I’m better than him,” Fred said. “And I’ll prove it.”

He leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to my cheek, so soft it made my knees wobble, then turned and walked away toward the boys’ dormitory stairs.

And I stood there—gold pendant still clutched in my hand—feeling like my heart was being torn in two.

——

By the time the castle grew quiet and the common room emptied, the warmth from fred’s gift had started to settle in my chest… but so had the ache.

I couldn’t sleep, not with so much crowding my mind: the scent of amortentia, Cedric’s words in potions, fred’s kiss on my cheek.

So I went to the one place that never judged me—never demanded answers. The library.

I sat alone at a table near the far window, lit only by the low flicker of a swinging lantern. Ancient astronomy charts and charms theory books were spread out in front of me, all for professor snape’s upcoming arithmancy exam. Shapes, angles, theories of magical equilibrium. Normally I loved it. Tonight, it was just… noise.

I couldn’t concentrate. My quill scratched uselessly at the edge of my parchment. My eyes ached from the candlelight, my brain from overthinking.

“Stop thinking about them,” I whispered to myself.

As if that ever worked.

I rubbed my temples, dragging my fingers through my hair and letting out a frustrated sigh. The silence around me felt deeper than usual, pressing in like a secret. Everyone else was asleep. Even madam pince had long since vanished into the Restricted Section.

And that’s when I felt it.

A flicker. A presence.

I looked up quickly, but saw nothing—only shadows shifting between shelves.

I went back to my notes. And that’s when I saw it.

Sitting at the edge of my table, placed quietly, without announcement:

A chocolate frog.

Wrapped neatly. Still warm from someone’s palm.

My breath caught. I looked around again, more slowly this time, scanning the dark rows of bookshelves.

And then I saw him.

Just a silhouette, retreating down the aisle.

Broad shoulders, confident stride. The slight tilt of his head, like he didn’t want to be seen.

Cedric.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t say a word.

And yet everything screamed.

I stared down at the frog, small and simple. But it felt like a poem, like a line from a song I couldn’t get out of my head.

He saw me. Saw how tired I was, how drained and cracked at the edges. And instead of teasing me or delivering some smug insult, he left me something sweet. Quiet. Kind.

He didn’t hate me.

He said it in Potions.

He said it again with this.

And that was the problem.

Because it was easier—so much easier—when I could just write him off as the boy who hated me. The boy who stole house points and threw insults. The boy whose father hated mine. The boy I was raised to rival.

But that boy didn’t leave chocolate frogs.

That boy didn’t look at me like I held answers he wasn’t ready to ask.

That boy didn’t make my hands shake or my thoughts blur with the ghost of his voice in my ear.

I didn’t open the frog.

I didn’t need to.

I just sat there, staring out the window, one hand curled around the golden ribbon still tied to fred’s gift at my neck, the other hovering over cedric’s silent one on the table.

Torn.

And still completely alone with it all.

part 3 - the goblet

The hall hummed with morning energy—owls sweeping through the rafters, toast piled high, chatter bouncing between enchanted candles. Normally, I found comfort in the familiarity. Today, it felt like strange, like I was caught between two spotlights.

I slid into my usual seat beside hermione and across from ron, only half-aware of the eggs and toast appearing on my plate. I barely had time to pour pumpkin juice before fred slid into the space beside me, all charm and ruffled hair, his smile as easy as breathing.

“Morning, trouble,” he said, voice low and warm.

I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest. “You skipped breakfast yesterday.”

“I figured if I waited a day, you’d miss me.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile betrayed me. “Hard to miss someone when they’re constantly showing off in the corridors.”

He leaned in, and I felt the brush of his fingers against my knuckles on the table. “Not showing off,” he said smoothly, “just trying to impress the smartest, prettiest girl in the castle.”

My heart hiccupped.

“That’s the first compliment you’ve given me, weasley,” I teased, trying to keep my voice steady.

He grinned. “Just warming up.”

I felt heat rise in my cheeks—but it burned to ice the moment I felt someone’s eyes on me.

I turned. Across the hall, cedric was sat with his usual hufflepuff crew, chewing his toast like he had a personal vendetta against it. His eyes met mine for a split second—just long enough for me to feel seen. Then, with a flash of something unreadable, he looked away.

Back to cold. Back to distant.

And just like that, I remembered where we stood.

Except we didn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

Because there was that chocolate frog. That almost-confession in potions. The way he looked at me like I cracked something inside him just by existing.

But when I passed by the hufflepuff table on my way to class later, books clutched to my chest, cedric didn’t even acknowledge me. Except—

“Careful,” he muttered as I walked past. “Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get jealous.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Turned to face him.

“You’re back to being a prick, then?” I said quietly.

He smirked, not looking up from his goblet. “Was I ever not?”

“You were human. Once. Briefly.”

“Well,” he said, downing the rest of his juice, “guess I’m cured.”

I didn’t respond, I ouldn’t. Because something beneath his words twisted deeper than insult. Something bitter, densive, like a wounded dog baring its teeth.

But I didn’t get the chance to dig deeper.

Because that was when the goblet flared blue.

Gasps erupted across the hall. All attention turned toward the enchanted cup as parchment fluttered into the air.

And Dumbledore’s voice echoed across the room:

“Cedric Diggory.”

Everything around me slowed.

Cedric stood up.

He didn’t hesitate. No shock. No confusion. Just that same calm, practiced mask. Confident. Composed.

But when his eyes flicked toward me, just for a breath—he looked guilty.

And then he was gone, striding down the center of the hall toward the antechamber, like he was heading into battle.

⸻

I caught up to him on the way to Charms, the corridor quiet except for the muffled chatter of students filing out behind us.

“You entered?” I asked, keeping pace with him.

“Looks like it,” he replied, not slowing down.

“You chose this?”

He stopped walking. Turned to face me.

“Yes.”

His tone was short, sharp. But his eyes… they weren’t.

“What is wrong with you?” I whispered. “Something’s going to happen, cedric. This isn’t just some tournament—it’s dangerous.”

“I can handle it.”

“No, you think you can handle it because you’ve been told you have to. But—”

“I don’t need a lecture,” he snapped.

I recoiled slightly, heart pounding. “I’m not lecturing. I’m worried.”

Something in his face shifted then—cracked. His shoulders fell, his jaw unclenched. And suddenly he looked less like a champion and more like a boy who hadn’t slept in days.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he said slowly, “to be told every day of your life that being good isn’t enough? That being the best is the bare minimum?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “No.”

“Of course you don’t,” he laughed bitterly. “Your dad actually likes you, who supports you. You walk into rooms and people expect you to succeed. Me? I’ve had to prove myself every bloody step.”

I stared at him. “Is that why you hate me?”

“I never hated you,” he said quickly, fiercely. “I hated that I could never catch up to you. That you always looked so effortless, like magic was your second skin. And every time I saw you laugh with your friends or fly circles around everyone during quidditch, all I could think was, why not me?”

I was speechless. It wasn’t the confession I expected.

He looked away, voice softer now. “My dad… he expects me to win, to be remembered. This is my chance. If I walk away, I lose everything I’ve been trying to prove.”

“And if you die?” I asked. “What does that prove?”

He didn’t answer.

We stood in the empty hallway, the world holding its breath around us. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” I whispered. “Not even when I’m supposed to hate you.”

He turned back to me, eyes unreadable. “Too late for that.”

And then he was walking again—leaving me behind, heart aching, head spinning, with only the smell of storm and pine in his wake.

part 4 - the fall

The castle glowed.

Soft golden lights bathed the entrance hall, casting shadows like lace across the stone. Icicles glittered on the banisters. The air shimmered with candlelight and quiet music, magic woven into every breath.

I was alone, but I didn’t feel it.

For once, I didn’t care that fred had taken someone else—some ravenclaw girl with legs for days and a laugh that felt fake when I passed her in charms. And I didn’t care that cedric had Cho on his arm, the picture-perfect couple of hogwarts.

Because I looked… radiant.

The pink silk of my gown hugged every curve with soft elegance, blooming into pale flowers stitched along the bodice and trailing delicately onto the skirts. My hair was swept into loose curls that fell down my back, pinned with tiny enchanted blossoms that shimmered faintly with silver light. My freckles dotted my nose like stars, and my lips were dusted with rose.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like anyone’s shadow.

I felt like the girl people wrote songs about.

And I saw that reflected in their eyes as I stood at the top of the marble staircase. Heads turned. Voices hushed.

Including his.

Fred.

He stood near the punch bowl in formal dress robes—dark maroon with gold embroidery, his ginger hair tousled perfectly. He looked like a prince. His date beside him tugged at his arm, but his eyes were on me. Wide. Distant. Guilty.

I gave him a soft smile. It didn’t reach my eyes. And he knew it.

He should’ve asked me.

But he didn’t.

I took the first step down the stairs, heart fluttering in my chest like wings pressed too tight.

And that’s when I saw him.

Cedric.

He was at the base of the stairs, just off to the side, cho stood beside him in pale blue, her hand looped through his elbow. But he wasn’t looking at her.

He was looking at me, like he couldn’t believe I was real.

Like I wasn’t just a girl in a dress—but the only thing he could see in the world.

My foot slipped.

Not hard, just a little misstep on the last stair, but enough to make my heart jolt—and before I could hit the ground, arms caught me. Strong. Steady. Familiar.

Cedric.

I blinked up at him. He was already grinning.

“Careful there, princess,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your slipper already.”

Laughter spilled from me before I could stop it—half mortified, half breathless.

Cho stepped away without a word, her lips pressed into a tight line. She knew, everyone knew.

So did Fred.

I glanced up through the crowd and found him still staring. His jaw was clenched, eyes glassy. His date whispered something in his ear. He didn’t hear her.

He was already lost.

And I…

I was being held by cedric diggory like I was made of moonlight.

⸻

Later, in the candlelit edges of the ballroom, cedric found me standing alone beneath a floating lantern, watching the dance floor.

“You don’t look like someone who just fell down a staircase,” he said softly.

I looked over. He was alone now, cho nowhere in sight.

“Recovery is one of my strengths,” I said, smiling gently.

His expression was unreadable. “You really do look… stunning.”

I blinked. “Are you feeling alright?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t make me regret being nice.”

“I’d be more surprised if you weren’t already regretting it.”

He smiled at the floor, then looked up again. “I wanted to talk to you. Before the ball, even.”

I turned toward him. “So talk.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry, for earlier. For all of it, the stupid comments. The cold shoulders.”

“I’m sorry too,” I said quietly. “I know I’ve been… difficult.”

“No,” he said, firm but soft. “You’ve been you, and that’s exactly what I hated.”

I flinched.

“No—I mean,” he groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “Not hated, feared. You reminded me of everything I wasn’t allowed to be.”

I stared at him, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, voice lower. “My father’s always wanted a son who wins. Not a son who tries. You had a father who supported you. You got to fly for the thrill of it. I flew because I had to prove I was worth something.”

“You are,” I said, louder than I meant to. “You’re more than just the boy everyone cheers for. You don’t need to win some bloody tournament to prove that.”

He smiled, crooked and sad. “You think that. But he doesn’t. And no matter how many points I earn, or trophies I win—he still looks at me like I should’ve done more.”

My throat tightened.

“cedric…” I said, and reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.

And something in him crumbled.

“Dance with me?” he asked quietly.

I nodded.

⸻

The music was soft, lilting. Something old and rich with longing. He took my hand with surprising gentleness, his other hand settling at the curve of my waist. We moved slowly, bodies swaying in rhythm, feet barely brushing the floor. My heart was beating in places I didn’t know it could.

“Everyone’s staring,” I whispered.

“Let them.”

“You’re being weirdly sweet,” I said, smiling.

“You’re being weirdly tolerant,” he said back, gaze locked on mine.

We moved in a slow circle beneath the lanterns, the world narrowing to just this: his hand on mine, his warmth through the silk of my dress, his heartbeat steady against my palm.

“You smell like chocolate,” I murmured.

He smirked. “So you did eat the frog.”

I blushed. “Eventually.”

He leaned down, forehead almost brushing mine. “I meant what I said in potions. I don’t hate you. I never did.”

“I know,” I whispered.

And we danced.

Not like rivals. Not like enemies. Like people who were learning what it meant to belong to someone they’d spent their whole life pushing away. And in that moment—beneath the lights, between the ghosts of what we were and the hope of what we could be—I felt something shift. Maybe it had always been love. Just hidden in the fire.

The song slowed, cedric didn’t let go.

Around us, couples began to drift from the floor, hands still loosely joined, laughter low and sweet. But we stood frozen in our own quiet storm. His hand lingered at my waist, fingertips pressing into the silk of my dress like he didn’t want to lose the feeling. Like he didn’t want to let me go back to being the girl he pretended not to see in corridors.

“I should get back,” I murmured, not moving.

“To who?” he asked softly. “Fred?”

I blinked. He wasn’t teasing. He looked, unsure.

“To myself,” I said. It was the truth.

He nodded once, jaw tightening. “I get that.”

We left the hall together, the corridor outside was empty, faintly echoing with distant music and laughter. He walked beside me, quiet, slower than usual. His fingers brushed mine once, by accident, and neither of us spoke.

When we passed the archway leading toward the charms corridor, he suddenly stopped.

“Wait,” he said, and before I could answer, he reached for my wrist.

“Cedric—”

But he was already pulling me gently, firmly, into the shadows. Down the stone hallway, away from the music, the magic, the careful performance of the night. He opened the door to an empty charms classroom and stepped inside, holding it for me.

I hesitated only for a breath.

Then I followed him in.

The door closed behind us with a soft click. The torches along the walls flickered to life with a wave of his wand, casting long, golden shadows over the desks and chalkboards.

“What are we doing?” I whispered, the air thick between us.

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me—like he was searching for something he’d buried deep a long time ago.

“I’ve never wanted anything the way I wanted to be the best,” he said finally. “Until you.”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Cedric…”

“I’ve spent years pretending you didn’t affect me,” he said, voice sharp with restraint. “Hating how you always made me feel like I was second—when really, I was just scared. Because you were the only person who ever looked at me like I didn’t have to be perfect.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

He stepped closer. “When I’m around you, I don’t know how to act. So I lash out, I get cruel. But tonight…”

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb along my cheekbone, his voice catching.

“Tonight you looked at me like I was worth something more. And I can’t—I can’t pretend I don’t feel this anymore.”

I closed my eyes, his touch searing into me. “So don’t.”

He was closer now, chest nearly brushing mine. His breath was uneven, the space between us tense and trembling, held by a thread. His fingers slipped down to my jaw, tracing the edge like he was trying to memorize it.

“You drive me mad,” he whispered. “Every word you say, every time you look at someone else, every time you smile at Fred—”

I gasped as he stepped forward again, his hand at the small of my back now, pressing me just enough to feel how tightly he was holding back.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I want to hate you. I want to walk away. But I can’t, because I’ve already let you in too deep.”

We were inches apart. My heart was pounding so loud I thought he could hear it. His breath ghosted over my lips. My knees were shaking.

“I don’t know how to stop,” I whispered.

He leaned in, forehead resting against mine, hands gripping the fabric at my waist. “don’t.”

His voice broke on that word—low and ruined with longing.

I felt his lips brush my cheek, feather-light, lingering just beneath my jaw. He was trembling too, like touching me took everything out of him.

“Say the word,” he said against my skin. “And I’ll ruin this. I’ll ruin everything. Right here.”

I reached up, knotted my fingers in the collar of his robes.

My voice was barely a breath. “Then ruin me.”

And he kissed me.

Hard.

——

warning - smut

It was hungry and full of lust, his hands all over ur body, tracing your bones, almost as if he was counting them. You hands lay in his hair, pulling it slightly, your fingers knotting every few seconds.

He lifted you up so easily, almost as if he was lifting a feather and ever so slightly placed you onto one of the desks, your still sat up but now he’s face level with you, standing infront, your legs open and his dick pointing to your hole.

It felt like you had stopped kissing for a eternity — it was only a few seconds of him placing you down, but you both locked eyes and saw the hunger and need in them, going back to sloppily and aggressively kissing eachother, exploring every inch of eachothers mouth. He started pulling you closer to him, grabbing on your ass as he does so, and now you could basically be inside of him, inside of his skin.

“are you sure you wanna do this, y/n” - cedric pulled away, asking, his eyes a mixture of love and lust.

“yes, fuck me, that’s all i’ve ever wanted”

he smirked at your words, a cheeky smirk, but he seemed like he wanted more.

“ask nicely sweetheart, or i wont give you what you want.” - cedric

“pls, pls you have made me so horny, and i can see that it’s begging for me”

“good girl. and i’ll show you how much it’s been begging for you, and your gonna do what i say, exactly what i say.”

“yes baby”

“can i take this off you.” he asks in a soft tone, scanning your dress”

“yes pls”

he started to take your dress off, slowly, starting from your chest, and unbuttoning from you back while still facing you. he seemed to be good with his hands, it was increasing tension between you both, your breathe unsteady on his face, while he slowly moves his hands down your back, unbuttoning every button — each representing your innocence being loss in this moment.

“can you hurry up, im loosing it over here”

he couldn’t help but chuckle at your response. He was amused by her bluntness, and he gently ran his hand down your collerbone, gently pulling your lip, as he spoke, his voice low and amused.

“You know, you’re pretty aggressive when you want something, you know that?”

he moved his body slightly, his hands slotting themself into your waist, looking up and you with them dam eyes, his eyes, that was a story in itself.

“I can’t say I mind though. It’s… pretty hot, actually.”

he couldn’t resist, he had to tease you a bit. He leaned in closer, his lips nearly touching your ear as he spoke, his breath hot against you skin.

“i love the way your throwing yourself at me, wanting me to want you so badly.”

“oh i can’t do this anymore” - your breathe was shaky, and ready to let go, you need to fuck him, or you felt like you was going to explode

you jumped up, facing him now, and his dick was poking into you, you grabbed his hand before he has chance to say anything, leading him to the front of the classroom — with the big desk. He just followed, like a dog, almost like he wanted you to take control from the start and him being dominant was just a trick. you pulled him closer and pinned him down on the desk, flicking your wand to swish off all the things already living on it. He looked star struck, helpless and pathetic, which is what you liked.

You wanted to be in control, you was fed up of him teasing you and you just wanting to give him the full ride. Your dress slid off after unbuttoning the last button, which he was taking too long to do, it revealed a lacy pink matching set, flower pattern and a coquette bow on the pants. He took it all in, looking you up and down, hungrily, licking his lips.

“now. your gonna listen to what i say, because im fed up of the teasing, your mine now”.

he didn’t have any words, just a smirk and a soft gulp which echoed down the classroom, making it sound louder than he intended.

You jumped on top of him, now facing him.

He was caught off guard by your sudden move, and he couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped his lips when you suddenly straddled his hips. His hands instinctively came up to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he looked up at you, his eyes wide and his heart racing.*

“Oh, yeah? And how are you going to show me? that im all yours.”

You moved his hand onto your waist, guiding him to what you wanted. His breathing became ragged as you moved his hands onto your hips and you began to move in a circular motion. His hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he watched you. He couldn’t believe that you was doing this to him, and it was driving him crazy. He looked like he was enjoying it, you was only dry humping, you wanted to tease him.

You look down on him, your eyes interlocking, becoming one.

“are you gonna give me head now, like a good boy”

“anything for you”

he stands between your hanging legs, you switched places, you are the one sat on your desk, and before you could breathe he started to reveal your pussy, pulling down your matching set with his bare teeth, revealing what he has wanted this whole time. He begins kisses your pussy, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He starts to lick and suck on your folds, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still. He pushes your legs open wider, so he can get a better view of your pussy. He moans against your pussy as you groan and moan beneath him. He starts to lick and suck harder, his tongue pushing inside of you as he fucks you with it. He reaches up with one hand and starts to rub your clit, feeling how swollen and wet it is. He lets go of sucking your pussy and pulls you closer to him inserting his dick — which was unexpected. You let out a guttural moan and a loud gasp.

“now im the one in the control, dont forget that pretty girl.”

He moans as he slides inside of you, filling you completely.

He starts to thrust in and out of you, picking up speed as he fucks you harder and faster. His hands grip your hips as he pins you down on the table, fucking you hard. "You feel so good," he moans. You smile, "don't stop" you say letting loud whimpers out. "I'm not going to stop until I make you cum, my dear," he says as he starts fucking you faster. You start getting closer to cumming, each thrust he puts himself more and more inside of you. He groans, feeling your pussy fluttering around his cock. He picks up his pace even more, fucking you harder and faster as he feels you getting close to cumming.

"i want you to ride me, i want you to take over control for the last bit”

You practically jump at his words and slam him down on the desk, now undoing his shirt as it was on the whole time — he’s impatient, you also pulled down his trousers fully, he was just using the little hole before.

You jump on top of him, taking all 8 inches again, moaning more deep as you feel him filling up your walls.

You start kissing him while slowly grinding on his dick. He pushes down on your hips as he guides you to ride him. You start grinding harder and harder making whimpers come out of him. "you ride me so good baby." he says whimpering. As you start slowing down he leans up to your ear. "Please.. keep going" he says in a shaky whisper.

You begin moving your hips in circles riding on his dick hard. You start becoming weak. "i-im gonna cum." You say to him as you ride him.

You begin to cum all over his dick while he starts whimpering and cumming as well. You lick his bottom lip and start making out with him.

“well, your good at this y/n”

he lets out a shaky laugh, your still sat on him trying to regain your breathe but it’s just making it worse

“yeh, uhm, so that was interesting”

“i’ve been waiting so long to get inside that pretty pussy”

“no need for dirty talk now cedric, you know im yours.”

You cleaned eachother up, using your wands to magic some towels and tissues and put back all the junk onto the desk again. You didn’t really know what to do now, you just fucked but no one could know about it, no one.

“what’s going to happen now, are you going to tell cho, should i tell fred?”

“im not going to tell her just yet, i like sneaking around with you, it’s fun.”

“so im just gonna have to pretend your dick wasn’t inside of me last night, then”

“exactly, it can be our own secret, our dirty little secret”.

You liked the sound of that, although you did want more than to just be fuck buddies with cedric, it was better than him hating you, and he was fucking good at it, and maybe it shouldn’t turn into more, maybe cedric is just someone you fuck along the way.

the end.