⊱ ۫ ׅ pretty young thing ✧

Growing up a Weasley meant you always had someone looking out for you.

It also meant you always had to look out for your family.

When you were very little, you didn’t remember being spoiled the way your brothers claimed you had been. That must have happened when you were still a baby—when your mother finally held her long-awaited daughter in her arms after three boys.

But only a year later, she was blessed again with twins. And suddenly, there were two more mouths to feed, two more babies to soothe, two more crying voices in a house that already never seemed to quiet down.

It wasn’t surprising that somewhere in all that chaos, you slipped through the cracks.

Not completely. Never completely.

Your parents loved you—of course they did. You never doubted that. But love, you would come to learn, didn’t always mean attention. And attention was something that had to be divided carefully in a family as large as yours.

But you didn’t grow up alone.

Not really.

Because where your parents were stretched thin, your brothers filled in the gaps.

Bill. Charlie. Percy.

But especially Charlie.

Charlie had been the one to carry you around the Burrow as if you weighed nothing, settling you on his hip while he did chores, letting you tug at his hair as he laughed and pretended to complain. He was the one who taught you how to climb trees, who patched up your scraped knees, who tied your shoelaces, who read to you when your mother was too tired to finish the story herself.

He liked to joke that you were more his child than your parents’, considering how much he had done to raise you.

So when Charlie first left for Hogwarts, leaving you home with Percy as the only older sibling, you cried.

And cried.

And cried.

For weeks.

Both Charlie and Bill had to send you letters almost every day just to soothe you, but even then you still missed them terribly.

And then the day came when you were old enough to join them.

The platform was loud in the way only Platform Nine and Three-Quarters could be, full of overlapping voices and rushing footsteps and the sharp whistle of the train cutting through it all. Trunks rattled over uneven stone, owls hooted impatiently from their cages, and somewhere behind you, your mother was still fussing over whether you had packed enough socks.

It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way—not yet. Not when you were surrounded on all sides by your family, by the familiar press of bodies and voices that had always meant safety. You stayed close to your brothers, close enough that your sleeve brushed Charlie’s every few steps, just in case.

“Alright,” Bill said at last, sliding open the door to an empty compartment with an ease that made it seem like he’d done it a hundred times before, “In you go.”

Before you could protest, Percy was already lifting your trunk onto the rack with careful precision, muttering something under his breath about proper placement and weight distribution, while Bill adjusted your smaller bags so they sat neatly in the corner.

Charlie nudged your shoulder gently, guiding you inside, but you lingered near the doorway for a moment instead of sitting, suddenly unsure of what to do with yourself now that everything had become real.

You watched as Bill brushed his hands together in satisfaction and Percy gave a small, approving nod, as though everything was exactly as it should be.

You hovered in the doorway instead.

“…Can’t I just come with you?” You asked, quieter than you meant to, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the compartment door.

Bill glanced at Percy, then back at you, and something in his expression softened immediately. He reached out without hesitation, ruffling your hair in a way that was more fond than teasing, even if it left a few strands sticking up at odd angles.

“If you stick with us like that,” He said gently, “you’ll never make your own friends.”

You frowned faintly, not quite convinced, your gaze dropping for a second before flicking back up.

“It’s only for the ride,” Percy added, adjusting his sleeves as he straightened, already half-turned toward the corridor, “We'll meet you back at the castle.”

They lingered only a moment longer before stepping back into the corridor, already being pulled away by the movement of students and the rising noise as departure drew closer. You moved to follow them instinctively, your body shifting forward before you caught yourself at the doorway, fingers curling slightly against the frame as their voices faded into the general hum.

Charlie hadn’t left.

He stood just outside the compartment, watching you in that quiet, knowing way of his, like he could see straight through the brave face you were trying to hold together. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and then something in his expression shifted—something softer, more certain—as he stepped back inside and slid the door shut behind him, shutting out the corridor noise just enough to make the space feel smaller, steadier.

“I’ll be right down the train,” He said, nodding toward the direction Bill and Percy had gone, “Third compartment on the left, I think.”

“If you get lonely,” He continued, crouching slightly so he was closer to your eye level, his voice lowering just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, “or if anything happens—anything at all—you come find me. Yeah?”

You nodded, the tight feeling in your chest easing just a little.

“Alright.” You murmured.

Charlie smiled then, softer than before, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. It was such a familiar gesture that it grounded you instantly, made everything feel just a little less uncertain, a little less overwhelming.

“See you in a bit.” He said.

And then he was gone too.

The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and just like that, the noise of the corridor dulled into something distant, muffled by the glass and wood of the compartment. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the empty seat across from you, listening to the low rumble of the train as it finally began to move.

It felt strange, suddenly.

Too quiet.

You sat down slowly, smoothing your hands over your skirt more out of habit than anything else, your gaze drifting toward the window as the platform began to slip away. Families waved from outside, figures blurring together as the train picked up speed, and for a brief second, you caught sight of your mother’s bright hair among the crowd before it disappeared entirely.

Students passed by in groups, laughing and talking, already settled into friendships you hadn’t had the chance to form yet, their voices carrying faintly through the compartment door. Every now and then, someone would glance in, hesitate, and then move on.

For a moment, you considered getting up.

Going after Charlie.

He said you could.

But Bill’s words lingered, stubborn and unshakable.

You’ll never make your own friends.

You were still turning that thought over in your mind when the compartment door slid open.

You looked up quickly, your attention snapping toward the sound as a boy about your age stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle as he glanced around the compartment.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked.

You shook your head almost immediately. “No—no, it’s not.”

“Good,” He said with a small, easy smile, stepping inside and sliding the door shut behind him before taking the seat across from you, “Every other compartment seems to be full already.”

You nodded, your fingers curling slightly in your lap as you tried to think of something else to say, aware of that familiar flicker of uncertainty beginning to creep in at the edges. For a moment, the silence stretched just a little too long—

Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms against his knees, closing the distance just enough to make it feel less awkward instead of more.

“I’m Cedric." He offered.

You gave your name in return, a little quieter at first, but steadier than you expected, and something in his expression brightened slightly, like he was pleased you’d said it.

“First year?” He asked.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips, “You too?”

“Yeah.” He glanced out the window briefly before looking back at you, “Do you know what house you want to be in?”

You hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “My brothers are all in Gryffindor,” You said, as if that explained anything at all, “So… maybe that one.”

Cedric huffed a quiet laugh at that, not unkind, just amused. “My dad was in Hufflepuff,” He said, “So I think I’ll probably end up there. Though—” his mouth tilted slightly as he glanced at you again, “—Gryffindor doesn’t sound too bad now.”

Whether he meant anything by it or not didn’t really matter.

You felt warmth creep up your face anyway.

The conversation came easier after that, settling into something simple and steady. You talked about classes you thought might be interesting—Transfiguration, maybe, or Charms—and the ones you were a little nervous about.

He admitted he wasn’t sure how he felt about Potions, and you told him you thought it sounded exciting, though your brothers had warned you about the professor being a troll. You weren’t entirely sure if they meant that literally or not, and the way Cedric laughed at that—genuine and a little surprised—made something in your chest loosen.

At some point, he excused himself briefly, returning a few minutes later with snacks in hand, setting a Chocolate Frog carefully on the seat between you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“For you.” He said simply.

You blinked at it, a little startled, “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” He replied with a small shrug, “I wanted to.”

There wasn’t anything grand about it, no expectation behind the gesture, and somehow that made it easier to accept.

“Thank you.” You said, a small smile forming as you picked it up.

You opened the box carefully, peeling back the flap and catching the chocolate frog just before it could leap free, your attention shifting to the card tucked inside. Cedric leaned forward slightly, curiosity lighting his expression.

“Who’d you get?” He asked.

You glanced down at it, then back up at him, “Merlin.”

You looked back at the card, then held it out toward him without much thought, “Do you want it?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, “What? No—are you sure? You should keep it.”

You shrugged lightly, a small, easy motion, “You seem way more interested in it than I am.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, before slowly reaching out and taking the card, something softer settling into his expression.

“Thanks.” He said, quieter this time.

By the time the train finally slowed, the sky had already begun to darken, the last traces of daylight fading into something softer, quieter, as students poured out onto the platform in a rush of movement and chatter. You stayed close to Cedric as you stepped down, not quite thinking about it, just following the steady presence beside you as a large voice called out for first years to gather.

The boat ride felt like something out of a story.

Lantern light flickered against the dark surface of the lake, reflecting in ripples as the small boats carried you across the water, the castle rising ahead of you in a way that made your breath catch without meaning to. It was enormous—far bigger than anything your brothers had ever managed to describe properly—and for a moment, everything else fell away.

You barely noticed how close you and Cedric were sitting until your shoulder brushed his again, the same way it had with Charlie earlier, only this time it didn’t feel like something you needed for reassurance.

Neither of you said much, but you didn’t really need to.

By the time you reached the castle, the noise returned all at once—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, voices bouncing off high ceilings, the shuffle of robes and the occasional nervous laugh breaking through the tension. You followed the line of students into the Great Hall, your gaze lifting almost immediately to the enchanted ceiling above, stars scattered across it like something impossibly real.

It was beautiful.

And overwhelming.

You barely had time to take it all in before the sorting began.

Names were called one by one, each student stepping forward to sit on the stool as the hat decided their place, the hall erupting into cheers with every announcement.

You stood among them, hands clasped tightly together, your attention flickering between the sorting stool and the tables, searching instinctively for familiar faces. It didn’t take long to find them—Bill sitting tall and relaxed, Percy already watching with keen focus, and Charlie leaning forward slightly, his attention fixed on you, giving you a little wave and a thumbs up when you caught his gaze.

You found yourself watching more than listening, your attention drifting until—

"Cedric Diggory."

Cedric stepped forward, looking just a little more serious than he had on the train, though there was still something steady about him, something calm as he sat on the stool and the hat was placed on his head. For a brief second, the hall went quiet.

Then—

“Hufflepuff!”

The table to your right erupted into applause, loud and warm, and you felt yourself smiling without thinking, clapping along as Cedric pulled the hat off and stood. He glanced toward the crowd as he stepped down, scanning faces quickly—

And then he found you.

He smiled, bright and easy, lifting his hand in a small wave in your direction, like it was the most natural thing in the world to look for you in a room full of people.

You smiled back, returning the gesture without hesitation, something light settling in your chest.

Then he turned, heading toward his table, swallowed up by the group that welcomed him in.

The ceremony continued.

Until—

Your name.

It rang out across the hall, louder than you expected, and for a second, everything inside you seemed to go very, very still.

The walk to the stool felt longer than it should have, your footsteps echoing faintly in your ears as you climbed up and sat down, your hands curling slightly into the fabric of your robes. The hat was placed over your head, slipping down just enough to shadow your vision, and for a second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of your own heartbeat.

It didn’t take long.

“Gryffindor!”

The word echoed, followed immediately by a burst of cheers from the table to your left, loud and familiar and impossible to mistake.

Relief hit you first.

Then something warmer.

You barely had time to take the hat off before you were being pulled forward, laughter and voices overlapping as you reached the table.

“There she is!”

“About time!”

“Another one for Gryffindor—brilliant!”

Percy clapped for you as you joined the table, patting your shoulder with pride, Bill ruffled your hair before pressing a quick peck to the top of your head and Charlie enveloped you into a tight hug. You laughed, a little breathless, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it as they crowded around you, hands on your shoulders, your back, your hair—solid, familiar, overwhelming in the best way.

You settled into your seat, still adjusting to the new rhythm of the hall. Plates of food appeared with little fanfare, but everything seemed bigger, brighter, and somehow both familiar and completely new at the same time.

You barely noticed when a familiar blond head turned toward the Gryffindor table again—Cedric, scanning for a glimpse of you before diving into his own group. You caught his eye just long enough to exchange a quick, almost shy smile.

You were just leaving the Great Hall on your way to class when you heard your name.

You slowed slightly, glancing over your shoulder just as someone stepped out of the stream of students moving past you.

Cedric Diggory.

You recognized him immediately, of course. You always did. Not because you sought him out, but because he was noticeable. There was hardly a girl in Hogwarts that didn't know of the Golden Boy Cedric Diggory.

You knew him, in the way that came from shared moments rather than shared time—train rides years ago, the occasional passing conversation, a familiarity that never quite developed into friendship but lingered comfortably in between.

He offered you a small, polite smile when you stopped.

“Hi.” He said when he reached you, slowing his pace to match yours as the two of you fell into step almost without thinking.

“Hi,” You returned, a small flicker of curiosity settling in as you glanced at him, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah—yeah, I just…” He huffed a quiet breath, one hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck in a gesture that almost looked like nerves, though it didn’t quite fit him.

“I was wondering if you’d—well, if you needed a partner for Herbology. Professor Sprout mentioned we’d be pairing up for the next assignment, and I thought…” He trailed off slightly, then smiled, a little more certain this time, “I thought I’d ask before it got chaotic.”

For a second, you just looked at him.

Not because the question was strange—it wasn’t—but because it caught you slightly off guard. You weren’t usually the person people sought out first, not for things like that, and there was something about the way he asked—straightforward, but careful—that made it difficult to respond immediately.

“I—um,” You started, the beginning of an answer forming—

And then you heard it.

Your name.

Again.

This time, it was not calm or measured or easy to miss.

It was strained, uneven, pulled tight with something dangerously close to panic.

You turned instinctively, your attention snapping toward the sound just in time to see Ron pushing his way through the corridor toward you, his face red, eyes glassy, shoulders tense like he was barely holding himself together.

He didn’t even slow down when he reached you—didn’t say anything at all, really—just collided into you with enough force to make you take a half-step back as his arms wrapped around you, his face burying itself into your shoulder.

And then he broke.

Not quietly, not subtly—full, shaking sobs that made his grip tighten as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Any trace of hesitation vanished instantly.

Your entire focus shifted without a second thought, your arms coming up around him automatically as you steadied him, one hand moving to the back of his head in a familiar, grounding gesture.

“Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, your voice dropping into something calmer, gentler, the kind of tone you’d used a hundred times before without even realizing it.

He tried to answer.

“I—she—she sent—” He tried, his voice thick and uneven.

Your brow furrowed slightly, “Slow down, I can’t understand you.”

“A—Howler—” He finally managed, the word coming out in a miserable wail.

And then it clicked.

Of course.

Despite yourself, you glanced up briefly, meeting Cedric’s gaze for just a second, and there was something shared there—understanding, a flicker of quiet amusement that neither of you voiced but both clearly felt.

You looked back down at Ron, your expression softening again as you reached up to wipe at his cheeks, brushing away tears that didn’t seem to stop coming.

“Well,” You said gently, not unkindly, “you did steal and then wreck our car. I don’t think you could’ve expected to get off with only a warning.”

That did not help.

If anything, it made him cling tighter, his voice muffled as he groaned into your shoulder, mortified all over again.

“She didn’t have to do it in front of everyone,” He mumbled, the words thick and miserable, “It was so humiliating—everyone was looking at me—”

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, shifting slightly so you could look at him properly, your hands steady as you wiped the rest of his tears away with your thumbs. “I know. That part wasn’t very nice.”

He sniffed, shoulders still trembling, but the worst of it seemed to be passing now, the sharp edge of it dulling into something more manageable under the familiarity of your voice, your presence.

You hesitated for half a second, then smiled just a little.

“Come on,” You said, tilting your head toward the corridor, “Let’s go to the kitchens. I think you deserve something after that.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, still blotchy and miserable, but already softening at the suggestion.

“Okay.” He muttered, nodding slightly.

You gave his shoulder a small squeeze before straightening, your hand lingering briefly at the back of his arm. Then, as you turned to leave with him, you glanced back at Cedric, your expression apologetic as you mouthed a silent sorry.

He just shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in quiet amusement, like he had expected something along these lines from the moment your brother appeared.

“It’s fine,” He said lightly, though you were already half-turned away, “We’ll figure it out later.”

Professor Sprout, in the end, did assign partners.

Efficiently, without hesitation, and with absolutely no regard for any quiet arrangements that might have been attempted beforehand. By the time you arrived for the lesson, names were already being called, pairs already being formed, and whatever Cedric had been hoping for dissolved into something unspoken and irrelevant before either of you had the chance to bring it up again.

You ended up with someone from your house—pleasant enough, focused, not particularly talkative—and the lesson passed without incident.

Still, you noticed.

Not in any obvious way, not in a way that lingered too long, but just enough to register the brief glance Cedric gave you from across the greenhouse when the pairings were announced, the small, almost amused exhale that followed before he turned his attention back to his own partner.

It wasn’t disappointment, exactly.

Just something that could have been something else.

And then it passed.

Or at least, it should have.

A few days later, you found yourself alone again—or as alone as one could be in a castle like Hogwarts—standing just outside one of the quieter corridors near the courtyard, adjusting the strap of your bag as you mentally sorted through the next part of your day.

The air was cooler there, the noise of passing students softened by distance, and for a moment, it felt like a pause between everything else.

“Hey.”

Cedric stood a few steps away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his expression easy but just slightly more deliberate than usual, like he had made the decision to be there rather than simply ending up there by chance.

“Hi.” You said, a hint of recognition slipping into your tone now, something warmer than before.

He stepped a little closer, glancing briefly down the corridor before looking back at you. “I was going to ask—” He started, then paused, as if reconsidering his wording, “Did you understand the last bit of the Transfiguration homework? The part about switching incantations mid-cast. I was looking over it earlier and—”

It was a better excuse this time.

Though you were questioning why Golden Boy was asking you instead of literally anyone else. It wasn't like he had a shortage of people who were willing to give an arm and a leg to help him.

You opened your mouth to answer, already shifting into the conversation—

And then—

"(Y/N)!"

The voice was sharp, urgent, and far too familiar.

You turned immediately, your attention snapping toward the sound just as Ginny appeared at the end of the corridor, her steps quick and uneven, her expression caught somewhere between panic and embarrassment in a way that made your stomach drop before she even reached you.

With her bright red hair half-falling loose from its tie, her Gryffindor robes swaying around her, and the deep flush spreading across her face, she looked—rather unhelpfully—like a blur of red rushing straight toward you.

She didn’t slow down.

“Can I talk to you?” She blurted the second she was close enough, her voice lowered but no less frantic for it, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

You didn’t even think about it.

“Of course,” You said instantly, your tone shifting the same way it always did, steady and grounding as you stepped toward her, your focus narrowing completely, “What’s wrong?”

Ginny glanced briefly past you—just enough to notice Cedric standing there—before leaning in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that still carried urgency, "In private."

Your eyes racked over her body before they landed on the jacket that she had tied around her waist.

“Oh.” You said softly, not startled, not alarmed—just calm. Understanding. Immediate.

Ginny’s hands clenched slightly at the fabric of her sleeves. “I didn’t know—it just—I don’t know what to do.” She rushed out, her words tumbling over each other now that she’d started, the embarrassment catching up with her all at once.

“It’s okay,” You said quickly, reaching out to steady her, your voice lowering just enough to keep it between the two of you, “It’s alright, Gin. It happens.”

She shook her head, mortified, "A boy from Ravenclaw saw—I'm so embarrassed."

“I’ve got you,” You interrupted gently, already guiding her to turn slightly, positioning yourself just enough to shield her from the open corridor without making it obvious, “Don’t worry about it, okay? We’ll fix it.”

Behind you, Cedric hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t interrupted.

But you were aware of him in that distant way you became aware of anything you had to leave unfinished, the conversation that had barely begun already slipping out of reach.

You glanced back at him briefly, just enough to catch his eye, your expression apologetic in a way that felt almost familiar now.

He didn’t even look surprised.

If anything, there was something faintly amused in the way he exhaled, the smallest shake of his head following like he’d already accepted how this was going to go.

“Go,” He said lightly, one corner of his mouth lifting, “I think this might be more important than Transfiguration.”

You let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, nodding once in thanks before turning your attention fully back to Ginny, your hand settling at her arm in a reassuring squeeze.

“Come on,” you murmured, already guiding her down the corridor, your voice soft but certain. “We’ll go to the dormitories first, alright? I’ll help you.”

She nodded quickly, still flustered but clearly relieved, her steps falling into place beside yours as you led her away.

You gave one last glance to Cedric, "I can ask Percy to share some of his notes with you?"

He nodded, a smile on his face.

He didn't really have the heart to tell you that the homework was already complete.

By the time the castle began to settle again, you didn’t feel like celebrating.

Everyone else did.

The relief had come quickly, spreading through the corridors like wildfire the moment the truth was out—Ginny was safe, Ron was safe, the attacks were over, and whatever had been lurking in the shadows of Hogwarts had finally been dealt with.

There was laughter again, louder than before, conversations filled with retellings and exaggerations and a kind of excitement that only came from surviving something no one had fully understood in the first place.

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to join in.

Because every time someone said her name—every time someone mentioned what had happened, what she had gone through, what she had almost—

All you could think was:

You hadn’t known.

Not once.

Not when she was quieter than usual, not when she seemed distracted, not when something in her felt… off. You had been there. Right there. Watching, talking, helping with everything that didn’t matter—

And somehow you missed the one thing that did.

So instead of staying in the common room, instead of letting yourself be pulled into the relief of it all, you slipped away.

Down familiar corridors, past the places you knew wouldn’t be crowded, until you reached the kitchens. It wasn’t long before you found yourself sitting at the long wooden table with a mug of hot chocolate cradled between your hands, the warmth of it seeping into your skin in a way that should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

You stared down into it instead, watching the faint swirl of steam rise and disappear, your grip tightening slightly around the ceramic as everything you’d been holding back finally began to surface.

It was stupid, really.

Your siblings were safe.

That was all that should have mattered.

And it did—of course it did—but it didn’t erase the rest of it, didn’t quiet the heavy, twisting feeling sitting in your chest, the one that kept circling back to the same thought over and over again.

You should've noticed. You should've known.

Your vision blurred before you realized you were crying, the first tear slipping down before you had the chance to stop it, followed by another, and then another until it became harder to pretend you were in control of it.

You ducked your head slightly, one hand coming up to press against your eyes as if that might be enough to hold it back.

You were her older sister.

That was supposed to mean something.

It was supposed to mean you noticed when things were wrong.

It was supposed to mean she came to you.

Like how you would go to your older brothers.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, slipping into the background of everything else, until the faint shift in the room—the subtle change in movement, in presence—pulled your attention up just enough to break through your thoughts.

You didn’t look up immediately.

Not until they stopped near your table.

“Hey.”

The voice was familiar.

You blinked, the world coming back into focus in slow pieces as you lifted your head, your eyes landing on Cedric where he stood a few steps away, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it, something careful in the way he looked at you like he already knew he’d found you at a bad moment.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you let out a quiet breath that didn’t quite steady, your gaze dropping back down to your mug as your fingers tightened slightly around it.

“Hi.” You managed, your voice quieter than usual, roughened at the edges in a way you didn’t bother trying to hide.

He didn’t ask to sit.

He just did, pulling out the chair across from you with a quiet scrape and lowering himself into it like he intended to stay this time, like he wasn’t going to be interrupted or pulled away or left with half a conversation again.

“I didn’t see you at dinner.” He said after a moment, not accusing, not even questioning—just stating it gently, like an opening rather than a demand.

You huffed a soft, humorless breath at that, your lips pressing together briefly as you shook your head.

“I wasn’t hungry.” You said, which wasn’t entirely untrue.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Cedric didn’t rush to fill it, didn’t push, didn’t try to steer you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. He just sat there, patient in a way that made it easier to exist in the quiet rather than feel like you had to escape it.

And somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in.

“I just—” you started, then stopped, your grip tightening slightly around the mug as your gaze fixed somewhere just past it. “I feel like such a bad older sister.”

The words came out quieter than you expected, but once they were there, they didn’t stop.

“I had no idea,” You continued, your voice wavering just enough to give you away, “I didn’t know she was struggling like that, I didn’t know she wasn’t talking to anyone, I didn’t—”

You swallowed, blinking quickly as the pressure behind your eyes built again, “She had to turn to some stupid, sentient journal with the conscience of the bloody dark lord to talk about things. About feelings. About boys.”

"Your her sister. Not a mind reader. Ginny knows how much you love her. No one expects you to know what's going on with your siblings all the time."

You didn’t respond right away.

Your gaze dropped again, your thoughts shifting, not gone—not fixed—but nudged, just slightly, out of the spiral they’d been stuck in.

After a moment, your shoulders sank just a fraction, some of the tension easing in a way you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I still should’ve been better.” You murmured.

“She’s okay now,” He added after a moment, "That's all that matters."

The hospital wing smelled faintly of disinfectant and something sweet, probably from Madam Pomfrey’s constant efforts to make it more welcoming. The low hum of worry and whispered conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of a tray or the soft footfalls of nurses.

Harry lay in bed, pale and bruised, one arm still in a sling and a bandage running along the back of his head. His eyes were closed when you entered with Ron and Hermione, though you could see the tightness around his jaw even from a distance, the way his body refused to fully relax.

Cedric was already there, standing near the foot of the bed, hands loosely clasped in front of him. His expression was a mixture of concern and that quiet, composed kindness that seemed to follow him everywhere. The rest of the Quidditch team lingered nearby, some leaning against walls, others sitting on chairs, their chatter subdued in the presence of the hospital wing’s calm authority.

You made your way forward, letting your eyes meet Cedric’s briefly. There was an unspoken acknowledgment there, a quiet thread of familiarity that had been building for years—the kind that didn’t need words. He smiled softly, and you returned it with one of your own, both of you sharing a moment of warmth amidst the tension.

“I—uh—how are you feeling?” Cedric asked, stepping slightly closer to Harry’s bedside. His voice was gentle, careful, like he was trying to tread without adding any more worry.

Harry groaned softly, opening one eye, but his voice came out a little hoarse, “I fell off my broom. I think that says it all.”

Cedric’s expression tightened just a little, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, though he quickly masked it with his usual calm demeanor. He glanced at Oliver, who was hovering nearby, arms crossed, and then back at Harry.

"The dementors clearly interfered with the game, Hufflepuff has agreed to a rematch."

“No,” Oliver said flatly, “Hufflepuff won fair and square, we refuse.”

Cedric’s shoulders slumped fractionally, but he kept his gaze on Harry. When his eyes flicked toward you, though, there was a quiet softness there, a flicker of amusement and admiration all at once. You smiled at him, a small, fond curve of your lips. He looked so earnest, so sweet, offering a rematch even though he’d been the one to win.

“Don’t worry about it.” You murmured under your breath, letting the warmth in your smile reach him.

Then, inevitably, the calm shattered.

Fred and George, never ones to miss an opportunity, had clearly been lingering nearby, and their grins were impossible to miss even from across the room. “Oi, Harry,” George called softly, leaning against the wall, “you saw the Grim in Divination, didn’t you? That’s never good…”

“Yeah!” George added, elbowing him lightly, “Better start making friends in the afterlife! Any last words, mate?”

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. Ron’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t speak. Harry’s eyes were already narrowing, more in irritation than fear, though there was a small twitch in his shoulder that betrayed his nerves.

You didn’t even pause. “Forge!” You snapped, your voice cutting through the murmurs like a whip. Both twins froze mid-smirk, turning toward you, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Fred and George exchanged a glance, then slowly sank back, their amusement dampened under your gaze. They muttered under their breath but said nothing more, clearly smart enough to know the game was up—for now.

Cedric blinked at you, clearly caught off guard, and then tilted his head slightly, one brow raised in curiosity.

“Forge?” He asked quietly, amusement lacing his tone.

“With the amount of trouble these two get into,” You sighed, “it’s easier just to call them by one name.”

The courtyard was quieter than usual.

Not empty—Hogwarts was never truly empty—but quieter in the way it always was toward the end of the year. Most students were either shut away in their common rooms or the library, scrambling to finish the assignments they had put off for far too long, or sprawled outside, taking advantage of the rare stretch of warm sunlight.

Students lingered in smaller groups, scattered across benches and steps, their voices softer, their conversations unhurried. The air had finally warmed, sunlight spilling over the stone and settling into something almost comfortable.

You sat on the low wall near the fountain, one leg tucked slightly beneath you, your bag resting at your side as you absently traced your finger along the edge of your sleeve.

Cedric stood nearby at first, lingering just long enough to make it seem unintentional before—after a moment’s hesitation—he sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brushed.

“Done with everything?” He asked, glancing over at you.

“Mostly,” You said, exhaling softly, “I think I’ve got one more essay left for Transfiguration, but I’m pretending it doesn’t exist for now.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at that, his head dipping slightly, “That’s probably for the best.”

A small silence followed and you tilted your head slightly, glancing at him, “What about you?”

“Finished.” He said, though there was a faint hesitation behind it, like his attention wasn’t fully on the answer. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, once, twice—restless in a way you didn’t usually see from him.

“…Everything alright?” You asked, softer now, your gaze lingering on him just a second longer.

Cedric let out a breath, something shifting in his expression—something more uncertain than you were used to. He glanced at you, then away again, like he was trying to find the right words.

“Yeah, I just—” He started, then stopped, his hand lifting briefly to the back of his neck.

“I was wondering if you—” He tried again, his voice quieter now, more deliberate, “if you might want to—”

“Miss Weasley.”

The voice cut cleanly through the moment.

You both turned immediately.

Professor McGonagall stood a few steps away, her posture as straight as ever, her expression composed—but there was something in her eyes, something that made your stomach drop before she even spoke again.

You were already on your feet before you realized it.

“Yes, Professor?”

“One of your brothers has been taken to the hospital wing.”

The words landed all at once.

Your breath caught. “What—?” You took a step forward instinctively, your mind already racing ahead of you, “Which one?”

“Ronald.”

You stared at her for half a second.

Then—despite everything, despite the concern already tightening in your chest—your shoulders dropped just slightly, disbelief slipping in around the edges.

“…Again?” You said, the word coming out before you could stop it.

McGonagall’s lips pressed together, though whether she was suppressing a sigh or a comment, you couldn’t quite tell.

You ran a hand over your face briefly, already turning on your heel.

“Why is it always those three?” You muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, exasperation bleeding into the worry, “Honestly, I leave them alone for five minutes...”

Cedric immediately fell into step beside you, his usual composure giving way to concern, though his hands stayed in his pockets, tight against himself as if holding on to some semblance of control.

“You—do you need me to come with you?” He asked quietly, looking at you with that soft, careful gaze he always reserved for moments like this.

You shook your head. “No… no, I’ve got this.” But your pace quickened, Cedric matching you effortlessly.

As you hurried down the familiar corridors, the casual moment that had been building—the one where Cedric was clearly about to ask you to Hogsmeade—slipped just out of reach. Instead, the urgency of the hospital wing, the thought of Ron writhing in pain, took over.

“You were going to ask me something...” You said quietly, almost to yourself, stealing a glance at Cedric. His lips twitched, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah…” He murmured, the words trailing off as his gaze flicked toward you, “We’ll have to… save that for another day.”

The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open with more force than strictly necessary, your steps quick and purposeful as your eyes immediately scanned the room.

It didn’t take long to find him.

Ron was propped up in one of the beds, his leg elevated and wrapped, hair a mess, freckles standing out starkly against skin that was just a little too pale—but he was awake. Talking. Complaining, probably.

Alive.

Your shoulders dropped slightly, relief hitting first, sharp and immediate.

And then—

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!”

Ron startled so hard he nearly knocked his own pillow over. His eyes went wide the second he saw you, pure instinct kicking in before anything else.

“It wasn’t my fault!” He blurted immediately, sitting up straighter despite the clear pain it caused, “Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew and he framed Sirius Black!”

You stopped mid-step.

“…what?”

The path had long since stopped resembling anything civilized.

What had started as something that could vaguely pass as a trail had quickly dissolved into uneven ground, overgrown roots, and branches that seemed determined to catch on your sleeves at every opportunity.

You stepped over yet another fallen log with a quiet huff, brushing leaves from your skirt as you glanced ahead.

“Dad,” Ron called from somewhere behind you, already sounding tired, “where exactly are we going?”

“Somewhere in this direction.” Your father replied cheerfully, not slowing in the slightest.

“That’s not very reassuring.” Hermione muttered.

Fred snorted, “He hasn’t the faintest clue, has he?”

“I heard that,” Your father said mildly, “And I’d like to remind you that I am leading us to the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Eventually.” George added.

You huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting the strap of your bag as you stepped over a particularly stubborn root, your shoulder brushing lightly against Ginny’s.

“Do you actually know where the portkey is?” You asked, glancing at your father.

“Haven’t the foggiest!” He admitted, cheerfully.

A chorus of groans followed immediately.

Fred and George exchanged a look, Ron muttered something under his breath about typical, and Ginny let out a dramatic sigh as she trudged forward.

Harry and Hermione, walking just behind you, shared a glance that was somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

The group pressed on, the forest thick around you, the sound of footsteps and rustling leaves filling the space between conversations. Just as you were beginning to think your earlier comment might actually be correct—

“Ah! There we are!”

Your father’s voice lit up with sudden triumph, and you looked up just in time to see him veering slightly off the path toward a large tree.

A man stood beneath it, broad and sturdy, holding onto several bags that looked far too heavy to be carried comfortably.

“Amos!” Your father greeted warmly, striding forward, “Good to see you!”

“Arthur!” The man—Amos—returned just as enthusiastically, shifting the bags in his grip as the two men shook hands.

The rest of you filtered in behind, and introductions began almost immediately.

“This is my family!”

Names were exchanged, greetings offered, and you stepped forward when it was your turn, offering a polite smile.

You offered a polite smile, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you, my dear.” He said warmly.

Your gaze flicked briefly to the bags near his feet, and before you could think twice about it, you stepped forward slightly.

“Can I help you with any of those?” You asked.

Amos blinked at you, clearly charmed. “Aren’t you sweet, love? No, no—it’s quite alright.” He waved a hand dismissively before adding, with a touch of amused exasperation, “My son should be carrying them anyway.”

There was a beat.

Then—

A sudden rustle overhead.

Before you could even react, something dropped from the tree above with a solid thud, landing just a few feet away.

You startled sharply, stepping back on instinct, your heart jumping into your throat—

Only to be met with a very familiar face.

Cedric Diggory straightened from where he’d landed, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeves like this was a completely normal entrance.

“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.

Your father lit up immediately, “And this strapping young lad must be Cedric!”

Cedric smiled, polite and composed as ever, “Yes, sir.”

But then his eyes flicked to you. There was a glint of amusement there, a teasing curve to his mouth as he clearly clocked the way you’d jumped.

You told yourself the increase heartrate was because of the fright.

The world snapped back into place all at once.

Your feet hit solid ground, though not gracefully, and for a moment everything spun—wind in your ears, the taste of dust in your mouth, your grip still locked tight around the portkey like letting go might send you flying again.

And then—

Stillness.

Grass beneath your boots. Voices. The distant roar of something massive in the distance.

You let go.

Around you, everyone else was doing the same—stumbling, coughing, untangling themselves from one another in various states of disarray.

“Ugh—” Ron groaned somewhere to your left.

“I hate portkeys.” Hermione muttered, pushing her hair out of her face.

Harry, however, was glaring at you.

“You didn’t have to push my face into the manky old boot.” He whined, wiping at his cheek.

You turned your head, already narrowing your eyes as he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing at his glasses in mild offense.

“I told you to grab the boot,” You shot back without missing a beat, “Twice.”

“I was going to grab it!”

“You weren’t.” You said flatly.

“I was—!”

“Would you rather we’d just left you there?”

He opened his mouth, then paused, “…okay, but you still didn’t have to shove me.”

Behind you, Cedric chuckled, falling into step with you quite easily as your joint families began the trek towards the tents.

“Never a day off, huh?” He said lightly, amusement warm in his voice.

You blinked at him for a second, slightly puzzled by the comment, like you hadn’t quite realized what you’d just done.

“What?” You asked.

He gestured vaguely between you and Harry, his smile widening just a fraction. “You,” He said simply, “And your tornado of siblings.”

You huffed a quiet breath, glancing away for a second as your father’s voice called out ahead, already moving everyone along toward the tents, "They're a circus."

Cedric laughed softly under his breath, falling into step beside you as the group began moving forward, the field stretching out ahead, dotted with tents that grew more and more elaborate the further you walked.

For a moment, things settled—just walking, the distant buzz of the World Cup crowd building in the background, the aftermath of the portkey fading into something almost normal.

Cedric glanced at you again. “So—” He started, clearly picking up a conversation he’d been trying to have earlier, “about—”

“—Charlie! Bill!”

You didn’t even realize you’d cut him off until it was too late.

The second you spotted them—two familiar figures standing just outside one of the tents—you were already moving.

Charlie barely had time to react before you collided into him, your arms wrapping tightly around him as he laughed, catching you easily and lifting you slightly off the ground.

“There she is!” He said, his voice full of warmth.

“Hi!” You breathed, grinning as you pulled back just enough to look at him properly before immediately leaning into Bill next, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Missed us that much?” Bill teased.

“Not at all.” You shot back, though your smile gave you away.

“Well, well, well,” Fred began, spinning around to step in front of you, hands on his hips like the self-appointed announcer of the world, “look at this! Some would think you don’t like the rest of your siblings at all!”

“I don’t.” You said, perfectly deadpan.

Behind you, the rest of your family caught up quickly, voices overlapping, greetings loud and chaotic as always.

Cedric slowed a few steps back, watching the scene unfold with a small smile on his face.

The tents were set, your parents occupied somewhere deeper in the campsite, and your siblings had already scattered—some exploring, some arguing, some undoubtedly causing problems.

You were just stepping out from your family’s tent when you spotted him again.

Cedric.

He was making his way over, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, posture relaxed but purposeful—like he knew exactly where he was going.

Your stomach did that annoying little flip it had started doing around him lately.

You ignored it.

“Well then,” Bill said, straightening slightly as Cedric came to a stop beside you. His tone was light, but there was something amused behind it, “Who’s this?”

You opened your mouth to answer—

But of course, he wasn’t finished.

“We’ve got a lot of siblings,” Bill continued thoughtfully, glancing Cedric up and down as if assessing him, “but I think I’d remember if Mum had another one.”

You rolled your eyes immediately, “Oh, shut up.”

Charlie snorted beside him, arms loosely crossed, watching the interaction with easy curiosity.

You gestured between them. “Cedric, this is Bill,” You nodded toward your older brother, “And that’s Charlie.”

Cedric straightened slightly, recognition settling in almost instantly.

“You need no introduction,” He said, a small, genuine smile forming, “You’re a legend. Best Seeker Gryffindor’s had in years.”

Charlie blinked once—

Then broke into a grin.

“Oh, I like you,” He said immediately, stepping forward and clapping Cedric firmly on the shoulder, jostling him slightly, “Diggory, right?”

Cedric laughed under his breath, steadying himself, “Yeah.”

“Knew I did,” Charlie nodded, as if this confirmed everything, “Bloke with a good head on his shoulders.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going, “Flattery will get you everywhere with him.”

Cedric’s laugh softened as he glanced at you briefly, something warm flickering there before he looked back at Charlie, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only the good things, I hope.” Charlie grinned.

“Debatable.” You cut in dryly.

Bill let out a low chuckle at that, clearly enjoying himself as the four of you fell into easy conversation. It wasn’t anything particularly serious—just small talk, Quidditch, the World Cup. There was laughter and teasing, but nothing too serious—just the kind of light, easy back-and-forth that made Cedric’s presence feel completely natural, like he’d always belonged in these small moments with your family.

And every now and then, you caught him glancing at you.

Then—

“(Y/N)!”

Ginny’s voice rang out across the campsite.

You closed your eyes briefly.

"Can you braid my hair?! I want Dutch braids!"

You let out a long, suffering sigh, already pushing yourself to your feet, “Duty calls.”

Charlie laughed immediately, loud and unhelpful.

“Laugh it up,” You said over your shoulder, glancing back at him, “It’ll be you next.”

He scoffed, completely unbothered, “Please. I already did my time with you.”

Cedric, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, tilted his head slightly, “Did you?”

That was all it took.

“Oh, yes,” Charlie said eagerly, clearly delighted to have the chance to embarrass you in front of someone else for once, “You have no idea—she used to cling to me all the time when she was little. Every time I tried to go out with the lads, there she’d be, bawling her eyes out on the doorstep because she didn’t want me to go.”

You winced, covering your face for a moment, but Charlie wasn’t done.

“And there was this rule,” He continued, voice full of mock seriousness, “if I wanted to play Quidditch, I had to put her down for a nap first. Otherwise she would cry the entire game, thinking I’d get hurt on my broom. Every. Single. Time.”

Cedric laughed, genuinely this time, leaning slightly forward like he was savoring every embarrassing detail, “That’s actually kind of adorable.”

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Well excuse me,” You said sharply, “for loving my older brother! I shall never do such an unsavory thing again.”

With that, you stormed off toward Ginny, leaving Charlie and Bill doubled over in laughter behind you.

The Great Hall was far more somber than usual. The tables had been cleared, and the usual magical sky that lit up the room with sparkling stars was gone, leaving the Goblet of Fire in the center of the hall as the sole source of light, bathing everything in a delicate, almost eerie blue glow.

You inwardly wished you had gotten to the hall before your brothers had downed the aging potion—if you had, you would have smacked them so hard they might think twice before attempting something so dimwitted.

Unfortunately, it seemed you had arrived just a few minutes too late. Fred and George had ignored Hermione’s warnings entirely and were now rolling on the floor, bickering like children—or rather, old men, considering they looked every bit their great-grandfathers, complete with wrinkles, grey hair, and a beard to match.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and let out a long sigh, stepping forward, “Forge! Seriously?!”

They barely noticed, bickering and rolling against each other as if you weren’t even there. You crouched quickly, yanking their ears in opposite directions to separate them.

“Ow! Hey!” Fred yelped, squirming.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” George shouted, flailing.

“I don’t care!” You snapped, straightening and glaring at them both, “Stop it. Right now.”

They froze, glancing up at you with sheepish grins, like they might actually apologize. But, of course, it didn’t last.

“You could sign up,” Fred said casually, tilting his head with a mischievous glint in his eye, “since you’re seventeen. You could—”

“Absolutely not.” You interrupted firmly. “I am not going to do something as moronic as sign up for a death wish.”

“Harsh.” Came the teasing voice beside you.

You turned, and there he was: Cedric Diggory, hands tucked casually into his pockets, looking absolutely soaked to the bone like he had just gotten caught in the rain.

“You wound me, Weasley.” He said, voice light but carrying that teasing edge you’d learned to expect from him.

You frowned, concern quickly replacing your irritation, “You’d better hope your name doesn’t get pulled, Cedric. The tasks are dangerous. This whole thing is imbecilic.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” He said softly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “I’d say you were worried about me.”

“Worried the Yule Ball is going to get canceled on account of a funeral, more like it.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.

“Such little faith,” He said, voice lowering in a way that made your pulse skip, “But—uh, speaking of the Yule Ball—I was wondering… maybe you’d like to—”

Before he could finish, the doors of the Great Hall burst open with a dramatic crash, drawing every eye in the room. The tallest, broadest figure you’d ever seen strode in: Viktor Krum.

All conversation ceased instantly. Every student froze, eyes widening, as the Bulgarian Quidditch star made his way confidently to the center of the hall, robes sweeping the floor with every step.

He passed the line, reached the Goblet of Fire, and placed his name inside, sparing only a brief glance at Hermione as he did. You tilted your head, watching the interaction between them with quiet curiosity.

He withdrew his hand, and the hall erupted into cheers, the excitement and tension washing over the room. Just like that, Cedric’s question—and the small, promising moment between you—was swept away.

The stands were packed.

The noise was overwhelming—cheering, shouting, the low hum of anticipation vibrating through the air—but it all felt distant to you, muffled behind the rapid thud of your own heartbeat.

Because down below—

Cedric was stepping into the arena.

You didn’t realize your hands had clenched until your nails bit into your palms, your breath catching as the gates opened and the dragon came into view.

It was massive.

Far bigger than you’d imagined, scales glinting in the light, smoke curling from its nostrils as it shifted, wings twitching with barely-contained power. You brought your hands up almost immediately, fingers splaying just enough so you could barely see through them.

“I’m not watching,” You said, even as your eyes stayed fixed between the gaps, “I’m not watching—”

The dragon roared.

You flinched.

“—I’m watching.”

Around you, people were shouting, gasping, reacting to every movement—but you were locked in on him. Every dodge, every spell, every second he got just a little too close—

Your stomach dropped.

“Cedric—” You whispered under your breath, like he could somehow hear you.

And then—

It was over.

The egg was in his hands.

The stands erupted.

You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already pushing through the crowd, down the steps, heart still racing as the adrenaline hadn’t quite faded yet. By the time you reached him, he was being ushered toward the edge of the arena, healers already moving in.

You waited until he was back in the privacy of his tent to approach, lest that cow Skeeter see you and decide to write some longwinded lie about how Cedric was madly in love with you.

Cedric blinked, slightly breathless, a little flushed from the heat and effort—but when he saw you, something in his expression softened instantly.

“Well, hello to you too.” He said, voice light despite the situation.

“You’re burned,” You said panicked, ignoring him completely as your fingers brushed carefully along his jaw, already assessing the damage, the skin under your touch began to get remarkably redder and you felt your heart clench, "I told you this was a horrible idea, Cedric."

He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t stop you as you continued to check him over. The burn wasn’t terrible—but it was enough. Enough to make your chest tighten just looking at it.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” You muttered, quieter now, more to yourself than him.

Cedric’s gaze flickered over your face, something softer settling there.

“But I wasn’t.” He said gently.

You didn’t respond right away, finishing what you were doing before stepping back slightly, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction now that he was—relatively—fine.

“…You did well." You said finally, meeting his eyes.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, it was still a completely idiotic thing to sign up for—but you did well.”

He laughed softly, “I’ll take that as high praise, coming from you.”

There was a beat.

The noise of the crowd carried on around you, distant again, like the two of you had been momentarily carved out of it.

Cedric shifted slightly, like he was working up to something again.

"So—about the ball—" He started, a little more confident this time, a little more certain now that he had your full attention.

But before he actually got the words out—

A roar of cheers erupted behind you.

Louder than before.

You turned instinctively, just in time to see Harry enter the arena.

“Oh—”

Your attention snapped away immediately, your head turning fully now, your focus shifting as the crowd surged with excitement again.

“Harry!” You called, already stepping forward slightly, completely pulled into the moment.

Cedric blinked.

Then looked between you and the arena.

Then back at you.

And laughed.

“Well,” He said, shaking his head slightly, a grin pulling at his lips, “way to make a guy feel jealous.”

You glanced back at him, only half-processing what he’d said, still caught up in the adrenaline of it all, “What?”

But he just smiled, stepping back slightly, giving you space as your attention stayed fixed on Harry now.

“Nothing,” He said easily, “Go on.”

The noise from the arena hadn’t quite faded yet.

Students were still talking over each other, replaying every moment of the task like they’d all personally been down there facing dragons instead of watching safely from the stands. The air felt charged, buzzing with adrenaline that hadn’t settled, and even as you stepped away from it all, your heart still hadn’t quite slowed.

You barely made it past the outer edge of the enclosure before a familiar voice cut through the chaos—

“Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”

You froze.

Your head snapped up so fast it almost hurt.

No—

There was no way—

But there he was.

Leaning casually against one of the wooden barriers, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Charlie?”

The word left you half in disbelief, half in something brighter—something immediate.

His grin widened.

And that was all it took.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

“Charlie!”

You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle as he laughed, already bracing for the impact, catching you easily like he always did.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” You said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly, hands still gripping his sleeves like he might disappear if you let go, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

"I couldn't tell you because I'm here for work, love. Someone’s got to handle the dragons.”

You blinked.

“…You brought them?”

Charlie grinned, clearly proud of that, “Course I did.”

"Couldn't you have brought slightly friendlier ones?"

He laughed, "These are the friendlier ones."

The corridors between classes were always busy, but there was a different kind of chaos that came with a castle full of students anticipating something like the Yule Ball.

Voices echoed off the stone walls, laughter bouncing between groups, whispers slipping through in quick bursts—who was going with who, who had already been asked, who was still waiting. Last you heard, Harry was going with Cho, Fred had somehow managed to land Angelina without even properly asking her, and Ron had spectacularly failed every attempt he’d made, growing more miserable by the hour.

You were halfway to your next class, books tucked under your arm, your mind only half on where you were going, when you felt it—that familiar presence falling into step beside you.

You didn’t need to look.

“You really shouldn’t be all alone in these halls,” Cedric’s voice came, light and easy, threaded with amusement, “Who knows what kind of danger could be lurking?”

You glanced over anyway, already fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re right,” You said, nodding thoughtfully, “Who knows when Professor Moody will jump out and turn me into a ferret. I was hoping someone would come rescue me.”

“Lucky day, then.” He said, matching your pace effortlessly, his shoulder brushing yours just slightly as the two of you navigated the crowd.

For a moment, it was easy—just walking, just talking, the noise of the corridor fading into something distant.

Cedric cleared his throat quietly.

“So—about the Yule Ball.” He started, and there was something different this time. Something less certain, less practiced.

You raised a brow, glancing at him, “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking—” He began, and for once, Cedric Diggory actually sounded unsure of himself. His hand lifted slightly, like he meant to gesture, then dropped again, “I was wondering if maybe you’d—”

“(Y/N)!”

Ginny’s voice cut through everything like a blade.

You barely had time to react before she came rushing toward you, slightly out of breath, clutching a bundle of fabric in her arms like it had personally offended her.

“Look at this,” She said urgently, shoving the material up between you and Cedric without warning, “Look at it!”

You blinked, instinctively taking a step back as she held up what could only be described as… a dress.

A very old dress.

“Ginny—”

“It’s ghastly!” She insisted, shaking it for emphasis, lace and sleeves flopping dramatically, “How am I supposed to wear something that looks like it came from the 1700s and not die of embarrassment?”

Cedric, who had been mid-sentence only seconds ago, paused—but to his credit, he recovered quickly.

He leaned in slightly, examining the dress with surprising seriousness, like this was now his responsibility. “It’s… not too bad.” He offered carefully.

Ginny stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.

“They’re ghastly!” She repeated, louder this time, as if volume alone would prove her point.

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, reaching out to steady the fabric before she accidentally smacked someone with it. “Alright, alright,” You said, amused, “What exactly do you want me to do about it?”

Ginny lowered the dress slightly, her expression changing from panic to pleading, “Ron told me you’re altering his dress robes,” She said quickly, “Can you do mine too?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the dress, already mentally deconstructing it—too much fabric, outdated cut, sleeves that needed saving or removing entirely. “I mean… I’m not a professional,” You admitted, “But I’ve gotten pretty good over the years.”

Ginny perked up instantly, “Really?”

You nodded, shifting your books slightly under your arm. “Mum used to buy me these ridiculously long skirts,” You said, rolling your eyes faintly, “The kind that made me look like a complete prude. So I started hemming them myself—just a bit shorter, just enough to make them… wearable.”

As you spoke, you gestured to your own skirt, showing the subtle difference.

Cedric noticed.

Of course he did.

“They are quite lovely.” He said, almost absentmindedly—but his gaze lingered on your legs just a fraction too long, something warmer slipping into his tone.

You blinked.

And then immediately felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your composure slipping just slightly as you let out a small, flustered laugh. “Right—well—I can try.” You said, suddenly very aware of him standing so close, “I’m still altering my own dress to fit properly though.”

Ginny, blissfully oblivious to all of it, grabbed your sleeve and looked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, “But you’ll do it?”

You exhaled, already giving in. “Come on, then,” You said, turning, “I’ll need your measurements.”

Ginny beamed, instantly tugging you along with her.

Cedric opened his mouth—again.

“Wait—”

But you were already moving, Ginny pulling you down the corridor, dress in hand, talking a mile a minute about sleeves, lace, colors, and everything she hated about it.

And just like that, you were gone again—dragged up the stairs toward your dorm, already mentally mapping out every alteration you’d need to make to salvage the disaster in her hands.

Behind you, Cedric slowed to a stop in the middle of the corridor.

His hand, which had lifted slightly to stop you, fell back to his side.

For a second, he just stood there, watching the space where you’d disappeared, the noise of the corridor rushing back in around him.

Then he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head, a soft laugh slipping out despite himself.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered under his breath, though there was no real frustration in it—just something fond.

The Gryffindor common room had never looked like this before.

It wasn’t its usual warm, slightly chaotic mess of scattered books and half-finished homework—tonight, it was alive in a completely different way. Gold and candlelight flickered against polished shoes and pressed robes, laughter spilling from every corner as people adjusted ties, smoothed hair, and whispered last-minute nerves about the night ahead.

And at the center of it all—

You.

Because somehow, despite not even being ready yourself until ten minutes ago, you had managed to get everyone else sorted first.

Ginny had been first. She’d started knocking on your door in tears, having made a complete mess of the little makeup she’d attempted and having no idea what to do with her hair. You sat her down, ignoring the dramatics, and got to work.

Now, she was practically glowing—her dress, which you had managed to salvage into something far more wearable than its original state, actually suited her. You styled her hair neatly and applied a modest amount of makeup, firmly refusing when she tried to convince you to add more.

Then came Hermione. She’d only meant to ask your opinion on her dress and hair, but the moment you noticed how uncomfortable she was with all the bobby pins, you sat her down without a second thought.

Swapping them out for sticking charms—a solution she hadn’t even considered—you adjusted everything with careful precision, touching up her makeup just enough to settle it perfectly into place.

“You look beautiful.” You told her simply.

And you meant it.

Then came Ron.

Which, quite frankly, had been your last nerve.

You forcibly sat him down, ignoring his loud complaints—really, anyone would think you were attempting to torture him rather than make him look even remotely presentable. You fixed his hair, adjusted his robes as much as they could be saved, and sent him off with a firm warning to behave like a human being for once in his life.

Last was Harry—quiet, slightly overwhelmed, but cooperative enough as you smoothed his hair into something vaguely acceptable.

And only then—finally—did you get yourself ready.

By the time you were done, the common room was already beginning to empty, students drifting toward the Great Hall in clusters of excitement and nerves.

You barely spared yourself more than a glance before grabbing your things and heading for the door.

You were late.

Of course you were. At this rate, you’d be lucky to arrive in time to see the champions’ dance.

You pushed through the last cluster of students, adjusting your sleeve as you moved quickly toward the exit when you saw him.

Cedric.

He stood just off to the side, like he’d been waiting—hands flexing slightly at his sides, posture just a little too stiff to be casual. Like he’d been working himself up to something.

Your steps faltered.

Just slightly.

Your stomach flipped.

Again.

He looked up the second he noticed you—and for a moment, just a moment, he forgot whatever he’d been about to say.

Because he was staring.

And for once, Cedric Diggory—confident, composed, effortlessly charming—looked completely, utterly thrown.

You blinked, suddenly very aware of yourself under that look.

“You look beautiful, (Y/N).”

Heat rushed to your face almost instantly. You lowered your gaze, half to hide it, reaching out instinctively to smooth the lapels of his dress robes, the fine material warm beneath your fingers.

“You look quite beautiful yourself.” You murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“I—uh—”

But before he could get another word out—

Ron passed behind you, grumbling loudly, “I can’t believe Hermione is going with the enemy.”

Your expression dropped immediately.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Cedric blinked, “What—?”

“I need to fix that.” You muttered, already turning, fully prepared to march over and set your brother straight.

Because no one—no one—was going to talk about Hermione like that. Not tonight. Not when she finally looked at herself and saw what everyone else already did. And certainly not your little brother.

You barely made it two steps—

Before—

“Oh, Helga—(Y/N) Weasley!”

The room went quiet.

Completely quiet.

You froze mid-step.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned back.

Cedric was standing where you’d left him.

Except now he looked… different.

Still nervous, still unsure—but there was something steadier beneath it now. Like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting the moment slip away again.

Every eye in the room was on him.

On you.

And he didn’t look away.

“Will you,” He said, voice carrying across the room—firm, but softened at the edges by something unmistakably earnest, “be my date to the Yule Ball?”

For a second—

You didn’t move.

Then your brain caught up.

Heat rushed to your face so quickly it was almost embarrassing, a smile breaking through before you could stop it—bright, relieved, a little breathless.

“Of course.” You said, like it had always been obvious.

Your head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction in playful disbelief.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me.” You added, a soft laugh slipping through.

“What took you so long?”

You really hated the hospital wing.

In the last four years, you had been there more times than you could count, and not once had it actually been for you. That was the unfortunate reality of having younger siblings who seemed determined to land themselves in trouble in increasingly creative ways, and you had grown used to it—the scolding, the hovering, the quiet irritation that came with it all.

But this time felt different.

The worry sitting in your chest wasn’t familiar. It didn’t feel like the usual exasperated concern you carried for your brothers—it was heavier, sharper, lingering in a way that made it hard to breathe properly. It crawled up your throat and stayed there, refusing to settle, and no matter how many times you tried to reason with yourself, it didn’t go away.

You didn’t really understand it.

Or maybe you did.

There was a difference between platonic worry and something else. Something deeper. Something that made your hands feel restless and your chest feel too tight all at once.

And the stakes had never been this high before.

When Harry had reappeared from the maze, Cedric’s body unmoving beside him as he spoke of Lord Voldemort, something inside you had dropped so suddenly it left you standing there, unable to think, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare.

Like the ground had given out beneath your feet.

You and Cedric hadn’t even been together that long.

After the Yule Ball—after he had finally managed to ask you—you had slipped into something easy, something familiar, something that hadn’t quite had the time to settle into anything fully real yet. Which was exactly why you hadn’t run to him on the grounds like you’d wanted to.

You had stayed back, forcing yourself to let the professors handle it, to let his father reach him first, telling yourself that it wasn’t your place—that whatever this was between you, it wasn’t enough to justify pushing through that kind of moment.

But then the hours had turned into days, and the waiting had become unbearable. Days of not knowing, days of hearing fragments and whispers but nothing certain, days of that quiet, suffocating fear settling deeper into your chest with nowhere to go.

So the moment you heard he was awake—that he had asked for you—you didn’t hesitate.

You ran.

The heavy doors of the hospital wing swung open under your hands, and you stepped inside quickly, your eyes scanning the room before immediately landing on him.

It was easy enough, considering he was the only one in here that began grinning like a fool at the sight of you.

Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees give out.

You forced yourself forward, one step at a time, until you reached his bed, stopping just close enough to touch but not quite letting yourself yet.

“Hi.”

The word came out softer than you intended.

Cedric’s smile shifted, something warmer settling into it, “Well, hello to you too.”

Your eyes moved over him instinctively, taking in the bandaged burns along his arm, the healing cut near his brow, the faint exhaustion he wasn’t quite hiding as well as he thought he was.

“Are you alright?”

“Right as rain now that I’ve seen you.”

A quiet breath of laughter slipped from you, your head shaking faintly, “Only you would say that after facing bloody Voldemort.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he reached for you.

His hand found yours easily, fingers wrapping around it before gently tugging you closer, closing the distance you had been holding onto without even realizing it. You let yourself be pulled in, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside him, your heart already beginning to beat a little too fast.

Cedric was looking at you—properly looking—but every time you tried to meet his gaze, yours betrayed you, flickering instead to the marks on his skin, the evidence of just how wrong everything could have gone.

Your frown deepened.

“I’m alright." He said gently.

You scoffed, though there was no real bite to it, “You’re in the hospital wing.”

“Which is better than the alternative.”

Your breath caught slightly at that, the words settling heavier than he seemed to intend.

“Cedric—”

“I’m okay.” He repeated, more firmly this time, his gaze steady enough to pull yours back to his.

And then it softened.

His eyes dropped briefly to your hand, still held between both of his, his thumb brushing slowly along your knuckles as though grounding himself in the simple contact. The movement was absentminded, almost, but there was something careful in it too—something that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

Before you could think too much about it, he lifted your hand slightly and pressed his lips gently against your knuckles.

Your breath hitched.

Your heart stumbled, uneven and sudden, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them had changed—quieter now, a little uncertain, like he wasn’t entirely sure how far he was allowed to go.

“Can I—” He started, his voice catching just slightly.

Your eyes flicked to his lips before you could stop yourself, the movement quick but impossible to hide.

You didn’t trust your voice.

So you nodded.

That was all he needed.

He leaned in slowly, carefully, like this moment might slip through his fingers if he moved too quickly. His hand tightened slightly around yours, the other hovering for a second before resting lightly against your arm, hesitant but certain enough to stay.

And then his lips brushed yours, capturing your upper lip between both of his.

Soft. Barely there.

It was so light it almost didn’t feel real at first, the kind of touch that made your head spin simply because it was happening at all. He lingered there, gentle and tentative, like he was waiting—like he was making sure you wanted this just as much as he did.

For a moment, you let it stay like that, suspended in something fragile and quiet.

Until it wasn’t enough.

You leaned in slightly, closing the space between you properly, and that small shift was all it took.

The kiss deepened—not rushed, not overwhelming, but certain. Your hand tightened in his, your other lifting instinctively to rest against the back of his neck, fingers brushing lightly against his hair as you held him there. He inhaled sharply, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss, devouring you—

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

You and Cedric sprang apart like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you whipped around—

Charlie.

Standing in the doorway.

Arms crossed.

Oh Good Godric.

“Charlie—”

“No,” He cut in immediately, pointing a finger at you like you were five again and had just been caught stealing biscuits from the kitchen, “No—don’t you ‘Charlie’ me.”

You blinked at him, “What are you even doing here?”

“I came to check on you and golden boy,” He snapped, before gesturing wildly between you and Cedric, “And I find this?!”

Cedric, to his credit, had the decency to look at least slightly guilty. Only slightly.

You, however, frowned, “It’s just a kiss—”

“JUST a—?!” Charlie looked personally offended. Then, without missing a beat: “You’re grounded.”

You stared at him.

“I’m what?”

“Grounded for,” He repeated firmly. Then, after a brief pause, as if deciding to make it worse: “Until you graduate.”

Your jaw dropped.

“For-Until I graduate?!”

“Yes!”

“Why?!”

He looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “For kissing that git!”

You turned, incredulous, gesturing toward Cedric, “You’re the one who said he was a nice boy! That he had a good head on his shoulders!”

“I take it back!” Charlie shot back immediately, “He’s a bloody cradle-robber!”

Your eyes widened, “We’re the same age!”

Charlie was already moving, grabbing your arm and hauling you off the bed before you could argue further.

“Charlie—Charlie, let go—!”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.”

“This is ridiculous—!”

Behind you, Cedric shifted slightly on the bed, looking far too amused for someone who had just been publicly accused of being a menace to society.

And then—because he clearly had no sense of self-preservation—

“Bye, love.”

"I'm not your love." Charlie replied haughtily, tightening his grip on your arm as he started dragging you toward the door again, “You’re never leaving the house again. Ever.”

“Charlie!”

And just like that, you were being dragged out of the hospital wing, your protests echoing down the corridor.

And Cedric was left sitting alone on the bed, an amused smile on his face, "We have such poor timing."

bonus:

The morning had been quiet.

Suspiciously quiet, really.

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, casting soft gold across the bed, the room still wrapped in that slow, peaceful warmth that only came with days off and nowhere to be. No rushing, no responsibilities pressing in—just stillness.

And Cedric.

You were half-curled into him, head resting against his chest, his arm draped loosely around you, fingers absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm. It was the kind of quiet you didn’t get often anymore—the kind you had learned to appreciate in small, fleeting moments.

For once, there were no interruptions.

No chaos.

Cedric let out a quiet breath above you, something content settling into it as his hand stilled briefly against your arm.

“I’m so glad,” He murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “to have you all to myself.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head just enough to glance up at him, "Truly, we haven't had a quiet moment like this since—”

“Mum!”

“Dad!”

Cedric froze.

You didn’t even try to hide your laugh.

There was a brief, heavy silence as the distant shouts echoed through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—probably several things—being knocked over.

Cedric exhaled slowly.

Then dropped his head back against the pillows with a long-suffering sigh.

“These bloody Weasleys,” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “And their innate ability to know exactly when I’m trying to have a moment alone with my wife.”

You laughed properly at that, shifting slightly so you could look at him more fully, your hand coming up to rest lightly against his chest.

“Well,” You said sweetly, “they’re half Diggory.”

“So their complete lack of sense and tact probably comes from you.”

Cedric blinked.

Then let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Excuse me?”

Before you could respond—

A loud crash echoed from somewhere down the hall.

Followed by—

“That wasn’t me!”

“Yes it was!”

Right outside the door this time.

You laughed, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips before pulling back.

He sighed, finally getting up, "Alright! What have we said about messing about in the kitchen without mum or dad?!"

A beat of silence.

"That we're not supposed to."

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Of course, sneaking out at 6 a.m. had been its own mission. It took you twenty minutes to escape Spencer’s sleepy, koala-like grip. He kept murmuring thank-yous against your skin, kisses trailing from your collarbones to your jaw, like punctuation marks of affection. It had taken everything in you not to crawl back into bed with him.

Now, back in the briefing room, you had even more reason to catch this unsub.

"I got it." Spencer’s voice broke through the silence.

His head snapped up, and the words came pouring out of him like a dam breaking. Facts, patterns, dates, connections. The rest of the team, who had been working in silence, immediately turned their attention to him, hanging onto every word.

“Okay. Morgan and Reid—I want you with me,” Hotch announced the moment Spencer finished unraveling the unsub’s pattern.

Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, sending the coordinates to their phones in a flurry of clicks. This was one of those rare, high-stakes cases where even she had to join them in the field. “Location’s live on your devices,” she said, her usual bubbly tone subdued. Hotch gave her a curt nod of thanks before striding toward the door, Morgan right behind him.

Spencer, however, seemed miles away as he snatched his brown coat from the back of his chair. His mind was already elsewhere, locked onto the unsub. Then, just before following the others, he turned to you.

You were still standing by the board, capping the dry-erase marker and watching him with a soft, worried smile. He seemed exhausted.

“Be careful,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping back into himself for just a second, and mumbled, “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you later.”

His fingers caught your chin, thumb beneath your jaw, index curled gently under your bottom lip. Time stuttered. His kiss was fleeting, achingly tender, and then his lips brushed yours again as he whispered, "I love you," like it was the simplest truth in the world. And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

A pin drop would’ve echoed like a gunshot.

“Oh. my. god.” Garcia’s shriek could’ve shattered glass.

Your fingers flew to your lips, still tingling from the ghost of his kiss. The rest of the team was frozen, Rossi’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline, JJ’s mouth was slightly open, and Emily looked like she was torn between laughing and demanding an immediate explanation.But you barely registered any of it.

Because Spencer had just said I love you. For the first time.And he’d done it in front of everyone.

Garcia was already flailing her hands, rapid-fire questions spilling out of her“Since when? How did I not know? Oh my god, the touching, the lingering looks, the—!”

But all you could hear was the echo of his voice, playing over and over in your mind like a broken record.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Your face burned. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t even notice Emily waving her hand in front of your face until her voice cut through the haze. “Earth to lovergirl,” she teased, grinning.

Blinking, you turned toward the team, all of them staring at you with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and sheer anticipation.

“What?” you managed, voice still breathless.

“That’s all you have to say?” JJ asked, plopping onto the edge of the desk in disbelief. She grabbed a Cheeto from an open bag, crunching loudly. Garcia was still gaping at you, hands pressed dramatically over her mouth. Behind her colorful glasses, her eyes were massive. Rossi sipped his coffee slowly, clearly judging the entire situation.

“Huh?” you repeated dumbly.

Emily’s smirk softened just a fraction. “You okay?”

You stared at her, still dazed, before muttering, “He said ‘I love you.’”

Another beat of silence. Garcia gasped. “That was his first time saying it?” Her hands flew away from her mouth, gripping the sides of her head like she might explode.And then chaos. Again.

“Oh my god—”

“Since when—”

“Wait, wait, wait—that was the first—”

You spent what felt like hours fielding an avalanche of questions, barely able to catch your breath between them. At first, you tried to dodge them, played dumb, gave vague smiles, busied yourself with the files on the table, but it was pointless. Garcia saw straight through you, pinning you with a look that practically screamed, You’re not getting out of this, sweetheart.

So you caved. “Six months,” you said quietly. There was a loud collective gasp. Garcia clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. ( She was. ) “Six?! Six whole months? And you didn’t say anything?”

You winced. “We were trying to be subtle.”

“You failed!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

Emily laughed. “Okay, next—who made the first move?”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “He did.” Another round of dramatic gasps echoed around the room. Even Rossi raised his brows, murmuring, “Didn’t peg him for the bold one.”

“He’s… not. Not usually,” you admitted with a smile you couldn’t quite suppress. “But with me… I guess he was.”

And on it went, question after question, as if they were making up for six months of missed gossip in a single sitting. It was messy, chaotic, borderline embarrassing, but it was also kind of nice. Being known. Being happy. Then came the final question.

JJ’s voice was quieter than the others, softer. “Do you love him too?”

You froze.For a moment, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Even Garcia stopped typing. You looked at JJ, then down at your hands, then back up again. And nodded.

Garcia screeched, practically launching herself out of her chair. “I knew it!” she howled.

Emily beamed, her smile so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes, and even Rossi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like a proud uncle.You were a little overwhelmed, okay, maybe a lot, but underneath the chaos, you also felt a sheer amount of happiness that you've never felt before.

Hotch interrupted the moment by calling Garcia. “Unsub’s in custody. We’re on our way back. Everyone’s okay.”

Your breath left you in a rush. Spencer was okay. Your heart, though, it hadn’t quite gotten the message. It was still thundering in your chest, hammering against your ribs with every second that ticked by.

The others must’ve noticed the way you kept glancing at the door, because JJ finally nudged you gently toward it. “Go wait. We’ll clean up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Garcia waved a dismissive hand. “Honey, please. You’ve got heart-eyes so intense it’s blinding. Go stand dramatically in the doorway like you’re in a movie or something. We’ve got this.”And so you did.

You found yourself hovering in the doorway of the conference room, a half-hearted folder in your hands, pretending to sort through paperwork as you stared through the glass. Watching. Waiting.

Then you heard it, the sound of the SUV pulling up outside. Every head in the room snapped up like it was choreographed. Honestly, for a team of professional FBI agents, they acted like a bunch of high schoolers most of the time.

You glanced back over your shoulder. Sure enough, all of them were watching you, wide-eyed and waiting like you were the final act in a romantic drama. You rolled your eyes with a half-smile, dropped the stack of files onto the table and walked out of the conference room.

As you left, you heard Emily mutter, “Garcia, don’t follow her.”You didn’t wait to hear the response.

The moment you reached the main hallway of the precinct, the doors opened and there he was.

Spencer stepped inside, his curls slightly mussed, cheeks flushed from the cold, and as soon as his eyes found yours, he smiled. That gentle, crooked smile that always made you smile.You barely registered Derek behind him, hand gripping the cuffed unsub and throwing you a confused look when you didn’t even acknowledge him. Even Hotch glanced over in surprise as you made a beeline for Spencer.

“Hey—wait, what—?” Spencer managed, eyes widening as you grabbed his arm and all but dragged him down the corridor.

You shoved open the nearest empty office, tugged him inside, and closed the door firmly behind you, leaning back against it.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice urgent, breath a little uneven.

Spencer blinked. “Mean what?”

You stared at him in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” he said again, completely baffled. “What did I do? Did Morgan tell you about what happened in the field? I know I wasn’t supposed to go near the unsub without backup, but I swear, I had it under control—”He started to ramble, hands gesturing as he pouted in that way he did when he was simultaneously nervous and a little too proud of himself. “He had a weapon, but I de-escalated him. You would’ve been proud.”

“You did what?” you interrupted, your mind now juggling two emotional crises.

Spencer blinked again. “Wait—so Morgan didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you muttered, your voice flat with disbelief. You shook your head slowly, trying to process it all. The nerves, the kiss, the I love you, and the fact that Spencer genuinely hadn’t realized what he’d done.

Spencer’s expression shifted from confusion to concern in a heartbeat. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Did I do something wrong?”

His voice was careful, gentle, and far too kind for how scrambled your brain felt. “Can you tell me what it is?” he added, tilting your chin up just enough so your eyes met his.

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words were stuck. How could he not know? How could he be looking at you like that, all wide eyes and soft brows and pouty lips, and not know?

“Spencer,” you said finally, his name sharp on your tongue.

“Yes?” he replied immediately, those puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours like he was bracing for impact.

“You kissed me.”

His brows pulled together. “I’m—I’m sorry?” he said, clearly confused.

If you weren’t so worked up, you might have laughed at his face. But your heart was hammering, and your nerves were tangled in knots.

“You did it in front of everyone,” you clarified. And then you said it , softly, barely above a whisper. “And then you said—”

“I love you.” His voice cut in before you could finish.You watched as the memory clearly snapped back into place. Realization washed over his face, followed immediately by a bright, burning blush that crept up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding slowly, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you studied his reaction.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide, flustered in a way that only made you want to kiss him senseless. “Oh,” he breathed, glancing away for a second before meeting your eyes again. 

“Yeah… oh.” you repeated. Both of you stayed silent for a second.

“I did mean it,” he stammered out.

A smile tugged at your lips, finally. After an hour and a half of bouncing knees, chewed lips, the words you’d been dying to hear had finally landed.

“I love you,” Spencer repeated, a little firmer this time, like he needed to hear it aloud again to make it real. Like maybe saying it twice would help his brain catch up to his heart.The warmth that bloomed inside you was instant. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt this happy in your entire life.

Then, of course, Spencer kept talking.

“Did I say it too soon? I’m not sure. On average, men say it around three to three and a half months into a relationship, while women usually wait closer to four months,” he rambled, already blushing furiously, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “And I know we’ve been dating for six months, so technically it took me twice as long, which isn’t statistically ideal, but honestly I almost said it on our first date, which definitely wouldn’t have been optimal and—”

He was spiraling. Fast.

So you did the only thing that would shut him up. You stepped forward, gently grabbed his face in both hands, and said, soft but certain: “I love you too, Spencer.”

He stared. Just stared, like he was trying to memorize this exact moment, burn it into his brain with all its warmth and disbelief and wonder. You watched his expression shift, first stunned, then relieved, then something so bright and boyish it made your heart lurch.You’d never seen him so happy before.

Well, once. That first time you kissed him. He’d looked a little like this, dazed and blissed out. But now he looked like his whole world had just clicked into place.

“Yeah?” he breathed, voice shaky with excitement, his grin stretching so wide it practically crinkled his entire face.

“Yeah.” You laughed through the word, nodding, the emotion bubbling up in your chest and spilling into every part of you. Your smile was a mirror of his.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh and pulled you into him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you anymore. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, grinning against his skin.

“This is real, right?” he asked into your hair, voice muffled. “I’m not dreaming? Because sometimes I do dream about you saying that and then I wake up and it’s just—”

You cut him off with a kiss to the warm skin of his throat.“It’s definitely real,” you mumbled against him.

Spencer let out a shaky breath and held you tighter. You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, both of you grinning like idiots. It felt absurdly, wonderfully perfect. Then you muttered into his neck, “You do know you outed our relationship to everyone, right?”

Spencer’s arms stiffened around you just slightly. “Yeah. Totally. I knew that. I did it on purpose,” he lied, too quickly, voice pitched a little too high.

You giggled and pulled back, hands still resting on either side of his neck. “You’re a terrible liar, Dr. Reid.”

He didn’t even bother to defend himself, just gave you an adorable, crooked grin and leaned in to peck your lips. “Yeah, I am,” he mumbled, brushing his nose against yours.

You kissed him back, just once, then poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Also, we’re going to talk about your little superhero stunt at home.”

Spencer blinked. “Right,” he echoed, suddenly very aware of his earlier reckless attempt to talk the unsub down without backup. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not not mad,” you replied, giving him a look. “But I love you, so I’m saving the full lecture for later.”

He winced slightly, then smiled. “Fair.”

You let your fingers drift through the curls on his forehead, brushing them back gently. “Well,” you sighed, “for now, we have to go out there… into the land of chaos and gossip.”

Realization dawned slowly on Spencer’s face. His eyes widened. “Oh no. Garcia definitely filled Morgan in already.”

“And Rossi’s probably already told Hotch,” you added grimly.

“And JJ and Emily—”

“—were there when it happened,” you finished.

You both stood there in mutual silence for a moment, dread creeping in. Spencer cleared his throat. “Maybe we could… go out the window?”

You laughed, smacking his chest lightly. “Nice try, genius.”

He gave a helpless little shrug. “I had to try.”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the handle of the door behind you. “Ready?” you asked.

“Absolutely not,” Spencer said without hesitation.

You squeezed his hand anyway. “Come on, lover boy.”

To say that the conference room was chaos would’ve been an understatement.Garcia let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal-gasp hybrid, immediately launching into a breathless barrage of questions that involved timelines and pet names. Morgan clapped Spencer on the back so hard he nearly stumbled, muttering something about “my boy finally growing up.” JJ just smirked from the corner, quietly sipping her coffee.Hotch had walked by at one point, muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “About time,” and kept moving without missing a beat.

The jet ride was somehow worse.

You’d sat next to Spencer, hoping for a quiet, post-case decompression. Instead, you were subjected to Garcia and Morgan playing twenty questions from across the aisle. Rossi, pretending to read, chuckled behind his wine glass the entire time. At one point, you tried to rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder, and he’d blushed so hard you thought he might combust.

You weren’t sure if he was embarrassed from the attention or just overwhelmed from finally saying what he’d been keeping in for months. Probably both.

But the days that followed? Even worse.

Because the teasing never stopped. Emily sent you heart emojis during briefings. Morgan kept calling Spencer lover boy, which you regretted giving him the vocabulary for. Garcia had created a mood board on her computer and refused to delete it. Even Hotch raised an eyebrow when you asked to share a rental car with Spencer.

But through it all, Spencer stayed by your side. Every awkward joke, every embarrassing comment, every not-so-subtle glance,he never flinched. If anything, he leaned into it. He held your hand in the bullpen and he kissed your cheek at the end of the day. It was domestic chaos.